for just_fck_me: forbidden
Dec. 5th, 2009 02:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
heroslayerHe's not sure how long he lays there, listening to the rain come down outside and the sound of Matt snoring, before he realizes he's laying there. Matt's asleep, and as tied to the other man's consciousness as he is, he shouldn't be here -- not physically, at least. He should be trapped in Matt's dreams, forging them into nightmares, but here he is, in his and Janice's room in Los Angeles. He can feel the bedspread under his fingers and the lingering warmth from where the little woman was laying until just a few minutes ago, rather than the numb disconnect he's suffered as of late, cut off from his sense of touch when he lost his body. He's here, and Matt's --
He sits up, reaching out to poke the cop in the shoulder, the gesture both a test and a way to get him to stop snoring if he's wrong and Matt's still the physical presence here, and his fingers slide right through him. Like trying to touch a ghost conjured by a projector. Like trying to touch someone on the wrong side of their divide of physical and mental. Like Matt's, all the times he's tried to touch -- punch, throttle, whatever -- him. He's here, honestly, truly here, and it sends a shudder of exhilaration rocketing up his spine and a smile to his lips. It's not what he wants in full, not his body, but it's a start.
Rocking back on the bed, he lets the headboard dig into his shoulders and soaks in the discomfort. "You've just taken over Matt Parkman's body -- " He doesn't need a mirror to tell that much; missing height and the shadows of his hands in the near dark are enough to clue him in. " -- what are you going to do next?"
Matt keeps right on snoring, not that he's surprised, and his grin grows just a bit. Getting up off the bed, he moves for the door, ignoring how unnatural his usual slink feels trapped in this fat suit, and pauses just inside the door. He shoots a glance over his shoulder at Matt, leering. "I'd say I was going to Disney World, but the wife is closer and so much more fun, don't you think?"
Assuming the wife isn't off screwing the water boy, instead of hanging around where he can hurt her, anyway. He hasn't trusted her not to run off with Roy since he made Parkman send him away. Not that that's his problem. Not that he cares.
He pops one shoulder in a shrug, casually dismissive to no one in particular, and heads out of the room. He takes the steps slowly in spite of the anticipation of causing pain, feeling out every imperfection in the banister, every inch of lacquered wood, a sucker for sensation at the moment. And when he gets to the bottom of the stairs, he's almost pleased he did. Not because the wife is missing, though -- oh, no, much to the contrary, she practically gift wrapped for him, stretched out on the floor in a tangle of blankets just a foot or two from the fireplace. He has all the time to enjoy this as he needs to; he has all the time in the world.
The grin taking on a feral note, he creeps towards Janice slowly. He makes it about halfway there when he stops, straightening. She deserves to suffer, yes, but he wants her to be able to see his face -- see Matt's face -- and the light from the fire isn't quite enough. He needs something more, but he isn't stupid enough to just flick on the lights; she'll wake up or the baby will, and he can't have that. He needs something more, and it doesn't take him long to spot the collection of candles on perched on the coffee table.
Moving again, this time with purpose, he snags the matchbox off the table and lights the candles one by one. On the last, just for the feel of it or just to leave Matt something to remember him by if and when this ends, he intentionally singes one of his fingers. It seems like a good idea as his fingers slide towards the flame, but he's quick to change his mind when the actual burn comes, hand snapping back from the fire with a hiss.
He has just enough time to stuff his fingers in his mouth before the little woman is writhing on the floor as she comes to. "... Matt?"
"Yeah, it's me, baby." It's strange hearing Matt's voice come out of his mouth -- it's even odder to use the word baby in serious conversation. "Go back to sleep."
She doesn't listen, pulling herself into a half-sit to watch him, blearily. "What're you doing?"
He resists the urge to tell her that he's trying to make the room smell like a whorehouse -- he's always hated scented candles, and something in them is screwing with Matt's nose -- and offers her a small smile, instead. "I can't sleep and you weren't in bed, so I thought I'd come down here and check on you and Matty. But, uh, it was kinda dark, and I didn't want to accidentally trip over you. Or wake you up by hitting the lights."
Apparently content to take this at face value, she hums, reaching up to rub at one of her eyes, briefly. "Come here?"
Biting back a sigh, he moves over to her, lowering himself to the ground. He allows her to put an arm around him, wanting to keep up appearances just long enough for her to be awake enough to register what he plans on doing, and as her fingers find his side, he immediate regrets it. Deprived of touch for as long as he has been, he can't stop the soft noise that passes his lips.
"Coming to check on me and Matty, huh?" Janice asks slyly, deliberately dragging her nails back down over his ribs.
It's a moan she gets this time, him wantonly twisting into her fingers, and without thinking about it, he leans down to crush his mouth against hers. She seems startled for the briefest of instants, and then kisses back without hesitation, her fingers stilling against the fabric of Matt's shirt. And as his mind comes back to him and he manages to get past the taste of the salt of her lips, the cruelest of thoughts occurs to him.
Reaching down, he rests his hand on top of hers briefly, before dragging it away from his side. He breaks the kiss with a nip and drags her hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips there as he fixes his eyes on her face. She's surprised, but not unhappily so. "Jesus, Matt. What's gotten into you?"
"I need you," he mumbles into her skin, barely a whisper over the roll of the sky outside.
She lowers her eyes, watching him through her eyelashes demurely, and he can't fight the twist of his lips. So this wasn't the original plan, but he thinks he likes this one better. He craves the attention now more than he ever has, every touch like water in the desert of lost sensation he's been stuck in, and beyond that, he can only imagine Matt's reaction when he tells him what he's done and that he can't do anything about it. It's all so perfect, so much more permanent than murder if he looks at it right, and as he leans to kiss her violently again, it's not a moan that falls out of him but a sound of triumph.
He's always been good at taking what belongs to other people; why should he stop now?
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1297
Note: Contains spoilers for Heroes 4x07 (Strange Attractors) but left uncut since it's been about a month since it aired. I figured I'd warn anyway, though, just in case people were behind.
He sits up, reaching out to poke the cop in the shoulder, the gesture both a test and a way to get him to stop snoring if he's wrong and Matt's still the physical presence here, and his fingers slide right through him. Like trying to touch a ghost conjured by a projector. Like trying to touch someone on the wrong side of their divide of physical and mental. Like Matt's, all the times he's tried to touch -- punch, throttle, whatever -- him. He's here, honestly, truly here, and it sends a shudder of exhilaration rocketing up his spine and a smile to his lips. It's not what he wants in full, not his body, but it's a start.
Rocking back on the bed, he lets the headboard dig into his shoulders and soaks in the discomfort. "You've just taken over Matt Parkman's body -- " He doesn't need a mirror to tell that much; missing height and the shadows of his hands in the near dark are enough to clue him in. " -- what are you going to do next?"
Matt keeps right on snoring, not that he's surprised, and his grin grows just a bit. Getting up off the bed, he moves for the door, ignoring how unnatural his usual slink feels trapped in this fat suit, and pauses just inside the door. He shoots a glance over his shoulder at Matt, leering. "I'd say I was going to Disney World, but the wife is closer and so much more fun, don't you think?"
Assuming the wife isn't off screwing the water boy, instead of hanging around where he can hurt her, anyway. He hasn't trusted her not to run off with Roy since he made Parkman send him away. Not that that's his problem. Not that he cares.
He pops one shoulder in a shrug, casually dismissive to no one in particular, and heads out of the room. He takes the steps slowly in spite of the anticipation of causing pain, feeling out every imperfection in the banister, every inch of lacquered wood, a sucker for sensation at the moment. And when he gets to the bottom of the stairs, he's almost pleased he did. Not because the wife is missing, though -- oh, no, much to the contrary, she practically gift wrapped for him, stretched out on the floor in a tangle of blankets just a foot or two from the fireplace. He has all the time to enjoy this as he needs to; he has all the time in the world.
The grin taking on a feral note, he creeps towards Janice slowly. He makes it about halfway there when he stops, straightening. She deserves to suffer, yes, but he wants her to be able to see his face -- see Matt's face -- and the light from the fire isn't quite enough. He needs something more, but he isn't stupid enough to just flick on the lights; she'll wake up or the baby will, and he can't have that. He needs something more, and it doesn't take him long to spot the collection of candles on perched on the coffee table.
Moving again, this time with purpose, he snags the matchbox off the table and lights the candles one by one. On the last, just for the feel of it or just to leave Matt something to remember him by if and when this ends, he intentionally singes one of his fingers. It seems like a good idea as his fingers slide towards the flame, but he's quick to change his mind when the actual burn comes, hand snapping back from the fire with a hiss.
He has just enough time to stuff his fingers in his mouth before the little woman is writhing on the floor as she comes to. "... Matt?"
"Yeah, it's me, baby." It's strange hearing Matt's voice come out of his mouth -- it's even odder to use the word baby in serious conversation. "Go back to sleep."
She doesn't listen, pulling herself into a half-sit to watch him, blearily. "What're you doing?"
He resists the urge to tell her that he's trying to make the room smell like a whorehouse -- he's always hated scented candles, and something in them is screwing with Matt's nose -- and offers her a small smile, instead. "I can't sleep and you weren't in bed, so I thought I'd come down here and check on you and Matty. But, uh, it was kinda dark, and I didn't want to accidentally trip over you. Or wake you up by hitting the lights."
Apparently content to take this at face value, she hums, reaching up to rub at one of her eyes, briefly. "Come here?"
Biting back a sigh, he moves over to her, lowering himself to the ground. He allows her to put an arm around him, wanting to keep up appearances just long enough for her to be awake enough to register what he plans on doing, and as her fingers find his side, he immediate regrets it. Deprived of touch for as long as he has been, he can't stop the soft noise that passes his lips.
"Coming to check on me and Matty, huh?" Janice asks slyly, deliberately dragging her nails back down over his ribs.
It's a moan she gets this time, him wantonly twisting into her fingers, and without thinking about it, he leans down to crush his mouth against hers. She seems startled for the briefest of instants, and then kisses back without hesitation, her fingers stilling against the fabric of Matt's shirt. And as his mind comes back to him and he manages to get past the taste of the salt of her lips, the cruelest of thoughts occurs to him.
Reaching down, he rests his hand on top of hers briefly, before dragging it away from his side. He breaks the kiss with a nip and drags her hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips there as he fixes his eyes on her face. She's surprised, but not unhappily so. "Jesus, Matt. What's gotten into you?"
"I need you," he mumbles into her skin, barely a whisper over the roll of the sky outside.
She lowers her eyes, watching him through her eyelashes demurely, and he can't fight the twist of his lips. So this wasn't the original plan, but he thinks he likes this one better. He craves the attention now more than he ever has, every touch like water in the desert of lost sensation he's been stuck in, and beyond that, he can only imagine Matt's reaction when he tells him what he's done and that he can't do anything about it. It's all so perfect, so much more permanent than murder if he looks at it right, and as he leans to kiss her violently again, it's not a moan that falls out of him but a sound of triumph.
He's always been good at taking what belongs to other people; why should he stop now?
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1297
Note: Contains spoilers for Heroes 4x07 (Strange Attractors) but left uncut since it's been about a month since it aired. I figured I'd warn anyway, though, just in case people were behind.
