(no subject)
electricity and homicidal tendencies - prompts
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar/Elle
Rating: K.
Table: here
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Summary: Two drabbles for the prompt table. No particular connection between any of them.
18. How can you know these things, unless you've been inside my head?
She’s bartending at some dive, all skin-tight jeans and t-shirts that fall off her shoulders. She wears too much eyeliner, too many smiles, and too little spark. It’s smart, he realizes, settling down in a hick town and disappearing into the hot Southern sun and swamps, and he wonders if she likes living in a shack covered in vines, driving an rusty old Chevy and becoming a nobody.
It would be hard trailing her, watching her so closely in such a small town, and he bets she counts on that in case anyone finds her. If he couldn’t change his face, she might have figured it out by now, and it’s troubling how easy it is not to get lost in someone else’s body and mind and soul when her thoughts are in his head (poor, dead Parkman) and she’s so close.
She smells like sweat and sweet whiskey now, and he can see sheen of damp perspiration on her neck when he orders a beer, and she’s thinking of a paycheck as she opens a bottle skillfully and slides it over to him. She’s thinking she needs a drink, and maybe she’s becoming an alcoholic, and maybe if that sleaze ball Rick comes in to hit on her tonight she’ll snap and fry him to a crisp.
She’s thinking of everything but beaches (she’s landlocked, now) and death (she’s already dead) and being special and damaged goods.
He wonders what it would be like to drive her old truck and sleep under her thin sheets, hot and restless in the summer sauna while her small body is curled with his. He wonders if he could get a job in this useless town and make her fall in love with him (again) and he wonders if he could do it with his real face.
He doubts it. But he’ll make it happen.
What is it that she says? She’ll learn to like it.
01. Would you kill for me?
He doesn’t finish the cut on her pretty forehead.
Just slices through her creamy skin.
Through her skull and into her delicate brain.
She’s beautiful dying, but what else did he expect? Her pale lids cover those blue eyes, lashes kissing her soft cheeks. He kisses her rose petal lips and whispers goodbye, like a lover would, and he wonders if she feels it before she’s gone.
He likes to think she does, because it’s all for her; all of it-the blood, the hunger, and the darkness in him. And now it's hers in the most intimate way possible.
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar/Elle
Rating: K.
Table: here
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Summary: Two drabbles for the prompt table. No particular connection between any of them.
18. How can you know these things, unless you've been inside my head?
She’s bartending at some dive, all skin-tight jeans and t-shirts that fall off her shoulders. She wears too much eyeliner, too many smiles, and too little spark. It’s smart, he realizes, settling down in a hick town and disappearing into the hot Southern sun and swamps, and he wonders if she likes living in a shack covered in vines, driving an rusty old Chevy and becoming a nobody.
It would be hard trailing her, watching her so closely in such a small town, and he bets she counts on that in case anyone finds her. If he couldn’t change his face, she might have figured it out by now, and it’s troubling how easy it is not to get lost in someone else’s body and mind and soul when her thoughts are in his head (poor, dead Parkman) and she’s so close.
She smells like sweat and sweet whiskey now, and he can see sheen of damp perspiration on her neck when he orders a beer, and she’s thinking of a paycheck as she opens a bottle skillfully and slides it over to him. She’s thinking she needs a drink, and maybe she’s becoming an alcoholic, and maybe if that sleaze ball Rick comes in to hit on her tonight she’ll snap and fry him to a crisp.
She’s thinking of everything but beaches (she’s landlocked, now) and death (she’s already dead) and being special and damaged goods.
He wonders what it would be like to drive her old truck and sleep under her thin sheets, hot and restless in the summer sauna while her small body is curled with his. He wonders if he could get a job in this useless town and make her fall in love with him (again) and he wonders if he could do it with his real face.
He doubts it. But he’ll make it happen.
What is it that she says? She’ll learn to like it.
01. Would you kill for me?
He doesn’t finish the cut on her pretty forehead.
Just slices through her creamy skin.
Through her skull and into her delicate brain.
She’s beautiful dying, but what else did he expect? Her pale lids cover those blue eyes, lashes kissing her soft cheeks. He kisses her rose petal lips and whispers goodbye, like a lover would, and he wonders if she feels it before she’s gone.
He likes to think she does, because it’s all for her; all of it-the blood, the hunger, and the darkness in him. And now it's hers in the most intimate way possible.