(no subject)
electricity and homicidal tendencies - prompts
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar/Elle
Rating: K.
Table: here
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Summary: A handful of drabbles for the prompt table. No particular connection between any of them.
04. I would like another diagnosis.
Elle rolls her eyes-actually, inwardly, whichever-whenever someone calls her sociopathic, because whatever, what’s the big deal? Sylar usually kills the people that call him a psychopathic serial killer, and Elle thinks that’s a commendable move; she supports him in that decision, because hats-scalps?-off to anyone stating the obvious.
They’re lounging, naked and sweaty and sated, in some motel room in Ohio when he asks her if she thinks he’s a psychopathic serial killer, and she pauses only a second to really think about it.
“Yeah,” she finally admits, and props her chin on his chest.
His eyes glitter with mischief.
“Do you really think I’m sociopathic?” she asks, just for prosperity’s sake.
“You are with the psychopathic serial killer,” he announces dryly.
11. You need a haircut.
“You need a haircut.”
She says it at a convenience store, with pursed lips. He jerks away from her fingers when she runs them through his slick-back hair and shoots her a glare that seems to scare the shit out of everyone except for her.
They’re working on a case, and she’s on his nerves already-she’d made him stop five minutes from their assignment (some kid who can breathe underwater) to get a slushie because pleeeeease I really want one, Gabriel, please please please, and she’d added a little pout to top it off.
“Don’t touch me,” he growls in response, and she rolls her eyes and sips from her desired beverage, her roaming eyes locking on the man waiting online behind them.
“He’s so mean to me,” she tells the guy with a shaking head, and Gabriel straightens with indignation. “If you were my boyfriend, would you be so mean to me?”
The kid’s young and carrying two six-packs, and he looks momentarily alarmed when addressed. Then he grins, wide and suggestive. “Wouldn’t even think of it,” he says.
One, Gabriel is not her boyfriend in the first place, and two, the guy’s comment makes him bristle anyway. He can feel his heart rate speed up, and his imagination runs rampant with all the ways he can gut the little prick for looking at Elle like that.
“See, Gabriel?” she whines, jutting out a hip. “I could have a better boyfriend in a second.” She snaps her fingers in his face to emphasize her point, and he grabs her wrist viciously, enjoying the little gasp she makes and how she doesn’t try to pull away.
He looks at the kid, narrowing his eyes with a sneer, happy when his dumb as fuck grin falls. Elle’s simpering when he turns back to her, and he enjoys the sparkle in her eyes for a moment before he pulls her forward against his chest and kisses her hard, just to prove a point.
She giggles a little into his mouth, her drink cold against his side, but her mouth hot on his, opened and accepting the exploration of his tongue. She tugs at his tie and zaps his chest, just a little. She doesn’t look anywhere else but him when they pay and leave.
19. Take it from me.
The stupidest thing Elle could possibly ever do is to trust him.
And she doesn’t-she never has trusted anyone, she knows, so why start now? He’s Gabriel-her sweet, cardigan-wearing angel of death-but he’s Sylar too; deep in those warm chocolate eyes he’s not the momma’s boy that called her miraculous and salvation and other misled adjectives.
That’s the first thing she tells herself, the moment he kisses her, his lips hot and mouth moist and wanting on hers. Take it from me, she tells herself. This is too good to be true.
She kisses him back anyway, because love is stupid like that.
28. It’s just you and me against the world.
He’s not one for grandiose overtures or big gestures-unless blood splatters and brains fall into that category-but when he looks into her blue eyes, he feels like he should. He feels his thoughts thicken with cotton and his heart warm and his fingers tingle to touch her.
She smiles and sometimes it distracts him right before the kill. She likes to watch him work, and she’ll hug one of his arms to her chest, her chin on his shoulder, her lips curled into an excited, playful grin.
The unfortunate prey he’s cornered will cry, or scream, or whimper, and the hunger that was seizing him will abate, if only for a moment, and he’ll smile back.
29. Author’s Choice: Shock me.
Elle has a thing. Her daddy used to call it “a juvenile plea for attention” she had to learn to desist at his earliest convenience. (Daddy’s earliest convenience was always immediately.)
Elle’s thing is simple-she’s electric, and she likes it. She likes teasing the prisoners, and the company people, and anyone. She loves that blue spark, and that telling flinch. It makes her feel alive, kind of like she’s the one being electrocuted, and she does it every chance she gets. Always has, always will-and if her dad doesn’t like it-well tough cookie.
Sylar has a thing for her thing, and Elle finds it absurdly pleasing how his breath catches and he arcs into the thrumming, hot shocks. He smiles a little sexy smile sometimes when she does it discreetly in public, and sometimes she bites her bottom lip against a grin and throws her arms around his neck in joy. She loves it especially when he asks for it, his voice usually rough and thick with arousal-and it’s cheesy maybe, but those are the moments she loves him the most.
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar/Elle
Rating: K.
Table: here
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Summary: A handful of drabbles for the prompt table. No particular connection between any of them.
04. I would like another diagnosis.
Elle rolls her eyes-actually, inwardly, whichever-whenever someone calls her sociopathic, because whatever, what’s the big deal? Sylar usually kills the people that call him a psychopathic serial killer, and Elle thinks that’s a commendable move; she supports him in that decision, because hats-scalps?-off to anyone stating the obvious.
They’re lounging, naked and sweaty and sated, in some motel room in Ohio when he asks her if she thinks he’s a psychopathic serial killer, and she pauses only a second to really think about it.
“Yeah,” she finally admits, and props her chin on his chest.
His eyes glitter with mischief.
“Do you really think I’m sociopathic?” she asks, just for prosperity’s sake.
“You are with the psychopathic serial killer,” he announces dryly.
11. You need a haircut.
“You need a haircut.”
She says it at a convenience store, with pursed lips. He jerks away from her fingers when she runs them through his slick-back hair and shoots her a glare that seems to scare the shit out of everyone except for her.
They’re working on a case, and she’s on his nerves already-she’d made him stop five minutes from their assignment (some kid who can breathe underwater) to get a slushie because pleeeeease I really want one, Gabriel, please please please, and she’d added a little pout to top it off.
“Don’t touch me,” he growls in response, and she rolls her eyes and sips from her desired beverage, her roaming eyes locking on the man waiting online behind them.
“He’s so mean to me,” she tells the guy with a shaking head, and Gabriel straightens with indignation. “If you were my boyfriend, would you be so mean to me?”
The kid’s young and carrying two six-packs, and he looks momentarily alarmed when addressed. Then he grins, wide and suggestive. “Wouldn’t even think of it,” he says.
One, Gabriel is not her boyfriend in the first place, and two, the guy’s comment makes him bristle anyway. He can feel his heart rate speed up, and his imagination runs rampant with all the ways he can gut the little prick for looking at Elle like that.
“See, Gabriel?” she whines, jutting out a hip. “I could have a better boyfriend in a second.” She snaps her fingers in his face to emphasize her point, and he grabs her wrist viciously, enjoying the little gasp she makes and how she doesn’t try to pull away.
He looks at the kid, narrowing his eyes with a sneer, happy when his dumb as fuck grin falls. Elle’s simpering when he turns back to her, and he enjoys the sparkle in her eyes for a moment before he pulls her forward against his chest and kisses her hard, just to prove a point.
She giggles a little into his mouth, her drink cold against his side, but her mouth hot on his, opened and accepting the exploration of his tongue. She tugs at his tie and zaps his chest, just a little. She doesn’t look anywhere else but him when they pay and leave.
19. Take it from me.
The stupidest thing Elle could possibly ever do is to trust him.
And she doesn’t-she never has trusted anyone, she knows, so why start now? He’s Gabriel-her sweet, cardigan-wearing angel of death-but he’s Sylar too; deep in those warm chocolate eyes he’s not the momma’s boy that called her miraculous and salvation and other misled adjectives.
That’s the first thing she tells herself, the moment he kisses her, his lips hot and mouth moist and wanting on hers. Take it from me, she tells herself. This is too good to be true.
She kisses him back anyway, because love is stupid like that.
28. It’s just you and me against the world.
He’s not one for grandiose overtures or big gestures-unless blood splatters and brains fall into that category-but when he looks into her blue eyes, he feels like he should. He feels his thoughts thicken with cotton and his heart warm and his fingers tingle to touch her.
She smiles and sometimes it distracts him right before the kill. She likes to watch him work, and she’ll hug one of his arms to her chest, her chin on his shoulder, her lips curled into an excited, playful grin.
The unfortunate prey he’s cornered will cry, or scream, or whimper, and the hunger that was seizing him will abate, if only for a moment, and he’ll smile back.
29. Author’s Choice: Shock me.
Elle has a thing. Her daddy used to call it “a juvenile plea for attention” she had to learn to desist at his earliest convenience. (Daddy’s earliest convenience was always immediately.)
Elle’s thing is simple-she’s electric, and she likes it. She likes teasing the prisoners, and the company people, and anyone. She loves that blue spark, and that telling flinch. It makes her feel alive, kind of like she’s the one being electrocuted, and she does it every chance she gets. Always has, always will-and if her dad doesn’t like it-well tough cookie.
Sylar has a thing for her thing, and Elle finds it absurdly pleasing how his breath catches and he arcs into the thrumming, hot shocks. He smiles a little sexy smile sometimes when she does it discreetly in public, and sometimes she bites her bottom lip against a grin and throws her arms around his neck in joy. She loves it especially when he asks for it, his voice usually rough and thick with arousal-and it’s cheesy maybe, but those are the moments she loves him the most.