for the_muses_stage: stars

Streaks of color lit the night sky, falling to earth with all the glowing intensity of shooting stars. This was far more sinister than a simple meteor shower, though, he knew, the bright flashes the shimmer of Alliance bombs as they screamed into the dark, but he couldn't help but be morbidly fascinated. It was almost pretty, after all, and he was fairly certain he could pick out constellations of a home long dead, if he tried hard enough. Besides, it was better than thinking to hard about the war. The one he'd joined foolishly to be a part of something and because it had felt right at the time. The one they, the Browncoats, were losing to friends, to family older than war and sides or concepts of right and wrong.

He sighed, tilting his head to one side as he studied the sky, another rain of fire peppering the night, this time closer, and tried not to consider his choices too closely. As the smell of ash and death and shattered ground rose up from the bomb site to greet him, carried by wind and force, he couldn't help letting his mind wander, though. It smelled like home, like nights spent in his youth stalking and killing--people like him, occasional vampires when Claire had shown an interest in hunting them, and so on--and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd been smarter when he'd been younger. Or at least wiser, as then, he'd known his place. He wouldn't have marched off to war just to see what it was like, then--not without consulting Adam. Not when his mentor, his friend, always had an end game.

He hadn't even asked. The other immortal hadn't said a word to him, either, but he hadn't asked. He would have, five hundred odd years ago, or at very least, he would have hesitated to act, waiting for some kind of permission or approval, hanging on Adam's every word. He wasn't sure what changed and when, if anything, or what that said about him and who he'd become, but he wasn't sure how much he liked it. It was a regret, and in those five hundred years, he'd tried not to harbor any.

He'd dragged Claire into this, too.

Another firestorm of destruction, and he shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts before reaching for the gun at his side. Even after all these years, even after using one in his youth on more than one occasion, the metal felt foreign, somehow. His abilities, for how infrequently he used them anymore were still his weapon of choice, and this was just another thing that felt wrong in a long line of things. He didn't have a choice, though, already having made his in damning himself to this fool crusade in the first place and unwilling to expose himself anymore than he had to. He'd made his choice, and there was a war to be fought.

And that in mind, and Claire's footsteps echoing behind him as she moved to join him on the rise he'd been standing on, he shot a glance over his shoulder, gracing her with a small, grim smile. "Kàn wŏmen zĕnme sĭ ba."


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 539
Note: The Chinese translates to, "Let's see how we die."

for just_fck_me: wet sex

Sylar can't help the feeling of deja vu that sweeps over him as he moves out to the lake. It was night last time, true, but he and Claire have done this dance before, her wading in near the exact same spot she had been last time, him hovering at the water's edge. He's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing--it could be a do-over for the other night, it could be a repeat of past performances--but it doesn't stop him from going through the same motions as last time.

He toes off his boots, moving them away from the water with an idle gesture, his other hand going to the buttons of his shirt. Deftly, he undoes them, shrugging out of his shirt to drape it over a low hanging tree branch a few feet away. His pants follow suit, and he's left standing in his boxers at the water's edge, staring out at it dubiously, knowing just how cold it will be. Like last time, though, he doesn't let it stop him, and with a deep breath, he slips into the water, fighting the urge to shiver. At least the sun has lent some warmth to the lake, this time.

In surprising silence, he moves over to where she's treading water and wraps his arms around her from behind. She starts a bit, tensing, and then she's relaxing back into him slowly, her shoulders pressing into his chest. They float there in silence for what seems like forever, both fixated on the shimmer of the water as it catches the sun and dances around them, and then she's tilting her head back so she can stare up at his chin. He lowers his head, looking down at her, trying to keep his expression unreadable.

"You're not gonna get all weird this time, are you?" she asks, after another moment of silence.

He shakes his head. He's not sure what his problem was, last time--that should have been his moment of triumph, given that she picked him over Peter--but he doesn't want to go there again. He doesn't want another half-fight or whatever the hell he should be calling the other night; he doesn't want to spend the night awake and alone without her, brooding. Funny how dependent he's gotten, how the admission of three little words have all but shaken up everything he is, but he doesn't comment on it. He doesn't comment on much, actually, content to watch her mutely, instead.

Claire quirks a little smile, like she was expecting that, and then she's nodding, more for her own benefit than his own. She turns in his arms, looking up at him, and then, "Good."

A soft noise by way of agreement, and he's reaching up to press his fingers to her mouth lightly, tracing the curve of her lips. She shivers a bit, and he can't help but crack a small, pleased smile before dropping his hand away, leaning down to kiss her in the wake of touch. She returns it, almost tenderly--funny how they can have that, too, given who they are and in spite of what she told Peter--and then he's pushing her back towards the rock at water's edge.

Her clothes are still there, and they're either going to get damp or dirty, depending on whether or not they stay on the rock with them, but he doesn't care. Neither does she, judging by the way her fingers curl against his shoulder, dragging him up onto it along with her as they reach it. She pulls away, once they're situated, looking up at him coyly, and he grins a bit, threading his fingers through her wet hair, slipping through it to rest on her chest, over her heart and dangerously close to sensitive skin.

Arching up into his hand, she moans as he lets his touch wonder down over her breast, and he lowers his head to catch the sound, mouth pressed to hers again. And as they stretch out on the rock, his fingers skating over water-slicked skin to press against her hip, he can't help but think this is a do-over. They didn't get as far as this the other night, after all, and even if they had, he wouldn't have been as gentle as he is now.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 720
Note: Claire is girl_ofsecrets and is used with permission. Yes, I copped out on the smut, but you can deal with it. :P