(no subject)
electricity and homicidal tendencies - prompts
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar/Elle
Rating: K for the first one, STRONG M for the second.
Table: here
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Summary:Two drabbles/ficlets for the prompt table. No particular connection between them.
WARNING: The second one is non-con. Technically.
15. Sleepless night you creep inside of me.
He’s not there.
It’s domestic, maybe, but she’s used to it by now. She’s used to being able to reach out into the night, under the covers of dreams, and feel him warm and real beside her. But he’s not there, not this time-and she blearily opens hers eyes to see the indent his body left in their sheets.
The window’s open, and one of her legs is exposed, cold, and she blinks a few times to clear her vision, to see his stoic figure by the drapes, silhouetted by the silver of the moon. She can see the stars but not his eyes, just the tense set of his shoulders and the thin blue pajama bottoms he favors.
“Can’t sleep?” she all but whispers, but even if she were to breathe it, he could hear her, and not just because it’s quiet.
“Thinking,” he murmurs.
“About what?” She snuggles into the pillow, breathing in his scent with a smile.
“Time,” he says on a sigh, and she can nearly hear the ticking in his brain, the calm recollection of a second-hand counting in deafening beats.
“What about it?” she questions. She knows the answer; he doesn’t provide one, and for a long time he looks out at the stars, past the little window of their little house secluded in the middle of nowhere. “Wanna come back to bed?” she asks. It’s getting colder, and she wants him next to her.
He turns, dark eyes deep and far away, and lies with her, and it’s all very familiar how she wraps around him. She brings a hand up to smooth back his hair and shivers from the new warmth on her cold skin.
“You miss it,” she whispers.
His finger strokes the line from her waist to her hips, and back again. “No,” he responds, and it sounds almost like a question. “I just… want it.” There’s frustration in the words, and there’s the frightened man she met that day in the watch shop.
A normal wife would tell him she believes in him, that he’s strong and good and he can fight it. Elle smiles and kisses his skin, twirling his hair between her fingers. She sends a little shock from her lips, and nuzzles into his neck when he tenses up and gasps out a little pleasurable sigh.
“We can’t have both.”
“I know that, Elle,” he says, contrite. “I know that,” he repeats, but Elle knows the second time is mostly for him.
22. What’s it feel like?
This wasn’t how she imagined it would happen.
Elle knows what it feels like, to want something so bad it’s impossible to say no. She knows when Sylar corners her in the cell, his eyes black and angry, that whatever he wants, she’ll give it to him.
She just didn’t know it’d be this, didn’t know he’d push himself on her in desperation, his hands ripping and clawing at her clothes. She didn’t know his mouth on hers, invasive and hot and harsh, would feel so good.
It took her a moment to realize what was happening, that she was clinging to his thin shirt, his fingers shoving between her legs and hooking up. Her breath caught at the violence in his words, the choice of syllables as they rolled over his tongue on grunts into their kiss. That he hated her, and he was going to make her scream, and when he forced her to the floor, her head slamming against the concrete, that he wasn’t sorry for it.
She didn’t want him to be sorry, and she kept her eyes open and on his even though he stopped looking at her face; he ignored her encouraging hands and pulled his hard erection out of his pants and ripped the seam of her slacks and panties with a painful rip.
She could stop him, she knew. She could fry him up and stop him from taking something as precious as her virginity, but she didn’t. She didn’t do anything but open her legs and gasp as he forced himself inside of her, crackling and trembling with the throbbing flash of agony and electricity. She didn’t stifle the cry or wipe away the hot tears that left her eyes.
She let out stomach-bottoming chokes as he fucked her, fingers clenched around her neck and his eyes shut tight, and when he shuddered in fast completion, she weaved her hand through his hair and looked up at the blurry ceiling, holding back the sobs.
She let him take it. Once upon a time, he’d given her his heart. She could part with this.
Like an eye for an eye, or a happily ever after.
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar/Elle
Rating: K for the first one, STRONG M for the second.
Table: here
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Summary:Two drabbles/ficlets for the prompt table. No particular connection between them.
WARNING: The second one is non-con. Technically.
15. Sleepless night you creep inside of me.
He’s not there.
It’s domestic, maybe, but she’s used to it by now. She’s used to being able to reach out into the night, under the covers of dreams, and feel him warm and real beside her. But he’s not there, not this time-and she blearily opens hers eyes to see the indent his body left in their sheets.
The window’s open, and one of her legs is exposed, cold, and she blinks a few times to clear her vision, to see his stoic figure by the drapes, silhouetted by the silver of the moon. She can see the stars but not his eyes, just the tense set of his shoulders and the thin blue pajama bottoms he favors.
“Can’t sleep?” she all but whispers, but even if she were to breathe it, he could hear her, and not just because it’s quiet.
“Thinking,” he murmurs.
“About what?” She snuggles into the pillow, breathing in his scent with a smile.
“Time,” he says on a sigh, and she can nearly hear the ticking in his brain, the calm recollection of a second-hand counting in deafening beats.
“What about it?” she questions. She knows the answer; he doesn’t provide one, and for a long time he looks out at the stars, past the little window of their little house secluded in the middle of nowhere. “Wanna come back to bed?” she asks. It’s getting colder, and she wants him next to her.
He turns, dark eyes deep and far away, and lies with her, and it’s all very familiar how she wraps around him. She brings a hand up to smooth back his hair and shivers from the new warmth on her cold skin.
“You miss it,” she whispers.
His finger strokes the line from her waist to her hips, and back again. “No,” he responds, and it sounds almost like a question. “I just… want it.” There’s frustration in the words, and there’s the frightened man she met that day in the watch shop.
A normal wife would tell him she believes in him, that he’s strong and good and he can fight it. Elle smiles and kisses his skin, twirling his hair between her fingers. She sends a little shock from her lips, and nuzzles into his neck when he tenses up and gasps out a little pleasurable sigh.
“We can’t have both.”
“I know that, Elle,” he says, contrite. “I know that,” he repeats, but Elle knows the second time is mostly for him.
22. What’s it feel like?
This wasn’t how she imagined it would happen.
Elle knows what it feels like, to want something so bad it’s impossible to say no. She knows when Sylar corners her in the cell, his eyes black and angry, that whatever he wants, she’ll give it to him.
She just didn’t know it’d be this, didn’t know he’d push himself on her in desperation, his hands ripping and clawing at her clothes. She didn’t know his mouth on hers, invasive and hot and harsh, would feel so good.
It took her a moment to realize what was happening, that she was clinging to his thin shirt, his fingers shoving between her legs and hooking up. Her breath caught at the violence in his words, the choice of syllables as they rolled over his tongue on grunts into their kiss. That he hated her, and he was going to make her scream, and when he forced her to the floor, her head slamming against the concrete, that he wasn’t sorry for it.
She didn’t want him to be sorry, and she kept her eyes open and on his even though he stopped looking at her face; he ignored her encouraging hands and pulled his hard erection out of his pants and ripped the seam of her slacks and panties with a painful rip.
She could stop him, she knew. She could fry him up and stop him from taking something as precious as her virginity, but she didn’t. She didn’t do anything but open her legs and gasp as he forced himself inside of her, crackling and trembling with the throbbing flash of agony and electricity. She didn’t stifle the cry or wipe away the hot tears that left her eyes.
She let out stomach-bottoming chokes as he fucked her, fingers clenched around her neck and his eyes shut tight, and when he shuddered in fast completion, she weaved her hand through his hair and looked up at the blurry ceiling, holding back the sobs.
She let him take it. Once upon a time, he’d given her his heart. She could part with this.
Like an eye for an eye, or a happily ever after.