Testosterone Boys and Harlequin Girls
Title: Testosterone Boys and Harlequin Girls
Author: cameroncrazed
Rating: Um… let’s go with PG-13.
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Disclaimer: Not mine. I asked Santa for the rights to Heroes for Christmas, but he just laughed and said that I wasn’t good enough this year. Darn.
A/N: Ok, so this is a weird format for me, a bit of an experimental piece. Claire’s thoughts are in italics, what she’s really thinking as she speaks. It’s very much a psychological study. Blame “House” and “Survivor” for this one; it got me thinking about odd things. Title comes from the lyrics of “Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off” (Panic at the Disco).
It starts innocently enough, a little white lie to add spice to the burnt cookies - “Of course they’re great, Mom!” ewww, charcoal chocolate chip, Mom really can’t cook; a slight bending of the truth to make life a little bit easier - “Of course I’ve done my homework!” who cares about homework when my favorite TV show is coming on? I’ll do it later; a tiny variation in which key facts are left out - “I’m spending the night with Jackie” and she’s got the keys to her father’s liquor cabinet.
She doesn’t see the harm, can’t see the harm, won’t see what she’s doing to herself.
The lies grow, more fantastical, easier to tell. “Hanging out with Zach after school” and we’re going to find my birth mother, so there! “No, there’s nothing wrong” everything’s wrong.
She soon finds herself unable to tell the truth even when she wants to. “I hate chocolate, it makes me fat.” God, I’d kill for Godiva, I love chocolate and “I love you West” no, not really, I’m just bored and feeling rebellious.
The day she leaves home for good, the only truthful thing she says is that she’ll miss them. Her father kisses her on the forehead, a sad smile on his face when he hands her the keys to his car and one of his favorite guns. “I’m fine, Dad, I can take care of myself; you don’t have to do it anymore.” I want a protector; I don’t like having to take care of myself.
The lies continue to grow as the years past, and soon even she has trouble telling the difference between truth and her fictions, not sure anymore who she is. She’s not sure if she’s the innocent victim, the femme fatale with the lethal gun, the virgin, the whore, Claire Bennet or Claire Butler or Claire Petrelli or whatever name she’s calling herself these days; it’s hard to tell what’s more realistic, the blonde curls or the tight straight brunette ponytail or the red braids she sports on occasion, and she tells herself that it’s okay, that she has forever to find out who she really is. It’s not okay, it’s not okay at all, I'm so lost and why can’t someone help me?
There’s times she thinks that maybe she’s what they call a pathological liar, but she ignores the idea, telling herself that she’s no different than everyone else, that everyone lies.
- - - - - - - - - -
Even when he finds her again, pushing her up against the rough bricks of the exterior wall of her apartment, she can’t help but lie. “I’m not scared of you anymore, Sylar.” Oh God, oh God, help me, please don’t let him hurt me, I’m so scared.
“Don’t lie to me. You do it so smoothly, but your heart beats faster when you do.” He leans closer to her, and she gets dizzy at the smell of him, the feel of him pressed against her.
“I’m not scared. I’m just…” she can’t complete the sentence when she realizes she’d be telling the truth for once. I’m just so turned on I can’t think.
He looks at her, like he’s trying to see what she’s thinking, how’s she’s feeling, how she works, and she can’t let him come to any conclusions, so she wraps her arms around him and kisses him as a distraction.
She’s gasping for breath when she lets him go, but she tries to be nonchalant. “You could use a few lessons; you really need to work on your technique.” He’s the best kisser in the world, maybe the universe.
“You volunteering, princess?”
She just shrugs.
- - - - - - - - - -
“I love you.” Sylar murmurs against her neck as he pulls her closer to him. She squirms, uncomfortable with the whole situation. He’s too clingy, the bed’s too small, it feels like the walls of the apartment are closing in on her, and she gasps for breath as yet another panic attack starts.
He misinterprets why she’s gasping, and runs his hands down her body, trying to give her what he thinks she wants.
She wants to run out of the room. “Sylar…”
“Shhh, it’s okay, I’ll take care of you, Claire.” He rolls over on top of her, pinning her in place and using a slow telekinetic touch to spread her legs just a bit more, a gentle prelude to a night of tender love-making.
It’s too slow, he’s too tender and Gabriel-like, it’s not what she wants or needs but when he asks “Is this okay?” she can’t help but tell him “It’s perfect.” No, it needs to be harsh and rough and a hard fuck - punish me for being so awful to you all the time.
When he finally coaxes an orgasm from her, she cries; he believes her when she tells him that she’s crying from happiness.
- - - - - - - - - -
Claire knows that she probably should ask to him stay, but she won’t. “I don’t care, leave if you want to.” Please don’t leave, please don’t, I need you.
He methodically packs his suitcase, ignoring her until he’s ready to leave. “Did you ever love me, even for a single minute?”
“No.” From the very first day; please don’t leave me. I can’t do this alone, can’t you hear that extra heartbeat yet, why are you leaving me now? She tells herself that she’s not being fair; she’d only found out the day before, there’s no way he could possibly know.
“Well, fair enough.” He looks over their house again, making sure there’s nothing he’s leaving behind of any value other than his heart. “I guess there’s nothing here for me, no reason to stay.”
She fights all her instincts that are telling her to wrap her arms around her stomach protectively, telling her to beg him not to leave. “No, nothing.” Everything. Please stay, we can be a family. I want you to stay, please don’t leave us.
He grabs his bags and walks away, but before he can make it all the way down the sidewalk, he turns around; her heart skips a beat when she thinks there’s a chance he’s coming back. “I always did love you, still do.”
As she closes the door, sliding to her knees and crying, she can’t find it in herself to believe him no matter how much she wants to.
After all, everyone lies.
Author: cameroncrazed
Rating: Um… let’s go with PG-13.
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Disclaimer: Not mine. I asked Santa for the rights to Heroes for Christmas, but he just laughed and said that I wasn’t good enough this year. Darn.
A/N: Ok, so this is a weird format for me, a bit of an experimental piece. Claire’s thoughts are in italics, what she’s really thinking as she speaks. It’s very much a psychological study. Blame “House” and “Survivor” for this one; it got me thinking about odd things. Title comes from the lyrics of “Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off” (Panic at the Disco).
It starts innocently enough, a little white lie to add spice to the burnt cookies - “Of course they’re great, Mom!” ewww, charcoal chocolate chip, Mom really can’t cook; a slight bending of the truth to make life a little bit easier - “Of course I’ve done my homework!” who cares about homework when my favorite TV show is coming on? I’ll do it later; a tiny variation in which key facts are left out - “I’m spending the night with Jackie” and she’s got the keys to her father’s liquor cabinet.
She doesn’t see the harm, can’t see the harm, won’t see what she’s doing to herself.
The lies grow, more fantastical, easier to tell. “Hanging out with Zach after school” and we’re going to find my birth mother, so there! “No, there’s nothing wrong” everything’s wrong.
She soon finds herself unable to tell the truth even when she wants to. “I hate chocolate, it makes me fat.” God, I’d kill for Godiva, I love chocolate and “I love you West” no, not really, I’m just bored and feeling rebellious.
The day she leaves home for good, the only truthful thing she says is that she’ll miss them. Her father kisses her on the forehead, a sad smile on his face when he hands her the keys to his car and one of his favorite guns. “I’m fine, Dad, I can take care of myself; you don’t have to do it anymore.” I want a protector; I don’t like having to take care of myself.
The lies continue to grow as the years past, and soon even she has trouble telling the difference between truth and her fictions, not sure anymore who she is. She’s not sure if she’s the innocent victim, the femme fatale with the lethal gun, the virgin, the whore, Claire Bennet or Claire Butler or Claire Petrelli or whatever name she’s calling herself these days; it’s hard to tell what’s more realistic, the blonde curls or the tight straight brunette ponytail or the red braids she sports on occasion, and she tells herself that it’s okay, that she has forever to find out who she really is. It’s not okay, it’s not okay at all, I'm so lost and why can’t someone help me?
There’s times she thinks that maybe she’s what they call a pathological liar, but she ignores the idea, telling herself that she’s no different than everyone else, that everyone lies.
- - - - - - - - - -
Even when he finds her again, pushing her up against the rough bricks of the exterior wall of her apartment, she can’t help but lie. “I’m not scared of you anymore, Sylar.” Oh God, oh God, help me, please don’t let him hurt me, I’m so scared.
“Don’t lie to me. You do it so smoothly, but your heart beats faster when you do.” He leans closer to her, and she gets dizzy at the smell of him, the feel of him pressed against her.
“I’m not scared. I’m just…” she can’t complete the sentence when she realizes she’d be telling the truth for once. I’m just so turned on I can’t think.
He looks at her, like he’s trying to see what she’s thinking, how’s she’s feeling, how she works, and she can’t let him come to any conclusions, so she wraps her arms around him and kisses him as a distraction.
She’s gasping for breath when she lets him go, but she tries to be nonchalant. “You could use a few lessons; you really need to work on your technique.” He’s the best kisser in the world, maybe the universe.
“You volunteering, princess?”
She just shrugs.
- - - - - - - - - -
“I love you.” Sylar murmurs against her neck as he pulls her closer to him. She squirms, uncomfortable with the whole situation. He’s too clingy, the bed’s too small, it feels like the walls of the apartment are closing in on her, and she gasps for breath as yet another panic attack starts.
He misinterprets why she’s gasping, and runs his hands down her body, trying to give her what he thinks she wants.
She wants to run out of the room. “Sylar…”
“Shhh, it’s okay, I’ll take care of you, Claire.” He rolls over on top of her, pinning her in place and using a slow telekinetic touch to spread her legs just a bit more, a gentle prelude to a night of tender love-making.
It’s too slow, he’s too tender and Gabriel-like, it’s not what she wants or needs but when he asks “Is this okay?” she can’t help but tell him “It’s perfect.” No, it needs to be harsh and rough and a hard fuck - punish me for being so awful to you all the time.
When he finally coaxes an orgasm from her, she cries; he believes her when she tells him that she’s crying from happiness.
- - - - - - - - - -
Claire knows that she probably should ask to him stay, but she won’t. “I don’t care, leave if you want to.” Please don’t leave, please don’t, I need you.
He methodically packs his suitcase, ignoring her until he’s ready to leave. “Did you ever love me, even for a single minute?”
“No.” From the very first day; please don’t leave me. I can’t do this alone, can’t you hear that extra heartbeat yet, why are you leaving me now? She tells herself that she’s not being fair; she’d only found out the day before, there’s no way he could possibly know.
“Well, fair enough.” He looks over their house again, making sure there’s nothing he’s leaving behind of any value other than his heart. “I guess there’s nothing here for me, no reason to stay.”
She fights all her instincts that are telling her to wrap her arms around her stomach protectively, telling her to beg him not to leave. “No, nothing.” Everything. Please stay, we can be a family. I want you to stay, please don’t leave us.
He grabs his bags and walks away, but before he can make it all the way down the sidewalk, he turns around; her heart skips a beat when she thinks there’s a chance he’s coming back. “I always did love you, still do.”
As she closes the door, sliding to her knees and crying, she can’t find it in herself to believe him no matter how much she wants to.
After all, everyone lies.