for muses_inthesack: distraction
Aug. 1st, 2009 01:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
heroslayerHe's been drumming on the desk for nearly five minutes now, only half paying attention to the mountain of paperwork under his fingers or Elle behind him, too set on the cadence he's tapping out on his ink blotter. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each beat perfectly uniform, each pause between sound the same length, never faltering as he tattoos the ticking in his head on his desk, his breathing somehow even despite his state of unease. And just when he starts to think it's helping, Elle rounds the desk sharply, catching his hands with hers.
"You want to cut that out?"
He frowns up at her for an instant before his expression seems to one-eighty, shifting into a smile that never reaches his eyes. "I'm sorry." He's not and they both know it. "Am a bothering you?"
"Just a little," she chirps brightly, her tone as near-mocking as his smile, and then she's sighing, letting his hands go. He doesn't go back to drumming, however, instead fixing his attentions on watching her as she moves around the room, seemingly as restless as he is. "Look, I get it, okay? You being Nathan Petrelli? Not a big turn on for me, either, trust me. But the whole I think I'm a drummer in DC's newest emo kid band thing?"
She shakes her head, shooting him a glance over her shoulder before turning in full, fixing him with a sour look as she sinks back against the wall. "Not exactly working out well for either of us, Sylar."
He sighs, reaching up to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose before dropping his hand back to the desk. "It's getting to me," he tells her, grudgingly. She's known him for years now, but he still hates talking about what goes on in his head half the time, and this is no exception. "I've been fine since the Petrellis decided it was a good idea to screw with me. The hunger? It's ... " He shakes his head. "But the last few days it's been ... "
"Bad. Yeah, I know." She shifts a bit, one foot and then the other, uncomfortably -- she knows what it is to be on the wrong side of him, and he can tell the idea that he's even near that breaking point frightens her -- and then reaches up to brush a bit of her hair out of her face. A deep breath, which she exhales shortly, and then, "We'll go find something for you to do tomorrow night after the speech. And in the meantime ... "
"In the meantime?" he echoes, prompting her to finish.
She manages a smirk, something in her expression nothing short of wicked. "In the meantime, I can think of a few other things you could do."
He gets where Elle's going with that, even if it is a cheap come on -- even for her -- and the corners of his lips twitch, mirroring her expression. Sex might not help with the pangs of need he's been carrying around in his chest for days now, but he's not about to turn her down. It's rare that he gets to touch her like this, like himself, these days, too busy pretending to be senator Nathan Petrelli for either of them to manage it. And besides, he figures he owes her something for promising him a hunting trip. He holds no illusions that Elle might not be as crazy as he is, if only in different ways and for different reasons, but he's never quite sure where she stands on him taking what he thinks he deserves. She didn't seem to happy when she and Bennet first broke him, and while times have changed, he doesn't want to scare her off. She's all he has left, right now.
That in mind, he gets to his feet, swaying over to her. With no regard to personal space, he moves in close, looming over her as he presses her back into the wall, and there's a moment of uncertainty between them. He swears he can hear her heart hitch in her chest, despite the fact that he lost that particularly ability ages ago, and he savors it, memory and reaction both, before leaning down to kiss her, crushingly.
She makes a soft noise at the back of her throat, pressing up on bare toes to meet him, her fingers slipping up into his hair, and he echoes it, his own hand falling to her waist. He lingers there for a moment, the heat of his hand almost a tease and he knows it, and then he's shifting his hand up, under the hem of her shirt.
Twisting into him, her nails bite into his scalp, half reflex and half urging, and he sighs, leaning down into her further, chest pressing at the rise of her breasts so that he can feel her pulse fluttering under her skin. His lips twitch against hers, their mouths muting a smirk, and then he rocks back just a little so that he can trace his fingers over her nipple through the thin material of her bra.
Taking a deep breath, she holds it, forcing her chest up into his fingers. Her own drag down out of his side, nails leaving wicked lines on his skin that are there and then gone in and instant, and he shivers against her. She breathes out a sigh, a whimper on the edge of the sound at the lack of contact, and he slips his fingers back down her side, before pulling away. She looks up at him for a moment, fingers curling at the back of his neck as if she can force him into another kiss, and he considers it briefly before shaking his head at nothing in particular.
A pout stains the corners of her mouth, and he huffs out a sigh of a laugh, the smirk that had been lost a moment before climbing onto his face. He doesn't move right away, though, drawing out the tension between them, and then, when she seems to reach a breaking point, mouth opening to question him, he silences her with another quick kiss before moving to strip her of her shirt.
Her clothing whispers protest, but neither of them notice as he bows his head, pressing his lips to her collar bone.
"Bed," she suggests a bit breathlessly, her fingers twining in his hair again, and he nods. He doesn't pull away, however, instead guiding them back away from the wall and towards their bedroom, telekinesis aiding him so that it's not too awkward. And when they reach it, only then does he pull away, a hand going to her shoulder to guide her down into the mattress.
He lowers himself down on top of her a moment later, a knee falling between her legs for support as he dips to kiss her again. As is custom for them, she lets him have the upper hand for a moment as she kisses back, and then her hands are moving to his shoulders, pushing him back, forcing him to roll over so that she's the one on top, knees on either side of his hips, tightly. Elle smirks down at him for a moment, and then she's reaching up and back, fingers finding the clasp of her bra since he always has problems with it.
Undoing them slowly, she slides one strap off her shoulder and then the other, the gesture a show and a tease all in one, and then she's reaching for his hands. She guides them to the straps of her bra, before dropping her own hands away, watching him toy with the lace she's led him to out of the corners of her eyes. Then her eyes are sliding closed as he pulls the bra away, fingers skating over bare skin, now.
She breathes in intentionally, soaking up the heat of his fingers as he drags his fingers along the bottom of her breast, and then she's sighing, her own hands finding the buttons of his shirt. And despite his best attempts to distract her, drawing one of her nipples to a hard peak with a flutter of his fingers, she still somehow manages to get his shirt open with minimal fumbling, pressing her palms to his shoulders to slide it from them when she can. He leans up, equal parts trying to help and trying to catch her nipple between his lips, and she presses him back into the bed.
"Can't let you have all the fun," she tells him, amused by how disappointed he's sure he must look, but it disappears quickly as she lowers her head to his chest. Her mouth brushes over his chest, stopping over his heart to press there, her tongue ghosting over his skin in such a way it draws a low moan from him. There's a flicker of a smirk against his chest, and then she's doing it again, her nails finding his side, dragging lightly over his skin.
Another moan, this one louder, and he puts his hands to her hips, fingers curling in the material as he tries to drag himself into her, his skin a wash of pleasure and pain. She flashes another smile into his chest, and then her hand is dancing across his stomach, giving him momentary relief as she reaches for the fly of his slacks. Her fingers hover there for a moment as he struggles to catch his breath, and then she's sliding the zipper down, a hand pressed past fabric to brush over his arousal, briefly, before pulling back.
His eyes shutter closed for an instant, breath abandoning him again, caught at the back of his throat. He manages a shuddering sigh after a moment, and then he's intent on returning the favor, hand slipping under the waist of her skirt, the motion vaguely awkward with the way the material of it catches his wrist. Not that he's thinking awkward for very long, however, because rather than hit panties like he was expecting, the tips of his fingers find heat instead, and she rolls her hips down into his hand with a groan.
"No underwear?" he mumbles, pressing a knuckle against her, lightly. She doesn't answer, breathing too shaky for words, and he can imagine this is why she didn't want him getting too far, too fast. She wanted them to be on level footing.
So much for that idea, he thinks, uncurling his fingers to brush over her clit lightly, drawing another soft noise from her. He doesn't get much further though, her hand closing around his wrist to pull him away. She doesn't explain the gesture, just drops his hand back on the bed once she's gotten him away from her, and then she takes a moment to hunt down her breath before hooking her fingers under the waist of his slacks to start tugging them off.
Almost reluctantly, hating to be interrupted in what he was doing, he pushes his shoulders into the bed, lifting his hips with dual purpose. The first and most obvious, to help her with his pants. And the second? The second is that so he can push against her, his cock twitching in his boxers at the promise of her heat. He moans, she echoes, and he holds himself there, letting her work him out of his pants and then his underwear.
He shifts a bit under her, kicking them off once they've managed a point that she can't reach them anymore, and then he's slipping his hands under her skirt at the hips, peeling it off of her with a minimal amount of effort. He takes a moment, eyes raking over her bare body hungrily, and then he's squirming under her, demanding. Her fingers find his shoulders again, pressing against him as she realigns her hips for her own comfort, and then slowly, she's obliging, sinking down onto him with a sigh.
Hands at her hips again, he holds her there for a moment, enjoying the feel of her around him, hot and tight, and then he's arching up bodily, thrusting deeper into her as he captures her mouth in a kiss.
They fall into a rhythm that near matches the one that he was drumming on the desk, if not for how fluid they are, and he breaks the kiss, nuzzling at her jaw before catching her ear lobe between his teeth, lightly. He nibbles at it, breathing warm and hard at her ear, and she breathes his name on a moan as they work to drive each other higher and higher. And just as the tension starts driving hooks into his stomach, there's a knock at the door.
"Mister Petrelli!"
They don't wait for an answer, the door to their suite proper opening in the other room, and he freezes. Elle stares at him with wide eyes, as the footsteps in the other room grow louder, closer to them now, and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. "Get off," he mutters, pushing at her sweat-slicked shoulders to leave no room for questioning.
She scowls at him hazily, but does as she's told, climbing off him hastily to curl up next to him. And annoyance fades to the bastard child of horror and disappointment as his skin shudders violently, the sheen of sweat on him all but shimmering as Nathan Petrelli's face claws its way out of his. Now she understands why he pushed her away -- she could have been stuck screwing the senator -- but she still doesn't look happy.
He manages to get the sheets pulled up over them just in time for one of Homeland Security's good old boys to burst through the door.
"Sir, I -- " He spots them almost belatedly, then steps back, hurrying to close the door so that they can have their privacy back. There's a pause from the other side of the door, and he can almost sense shame -- remnants of the empathy he never uses rolling through him, tangible since he's left himself so open -- before the man clears his throat. "Sir, we have an issue downstairs."
"Can it wait until morning?" He shoots Elle a look, rolling his eyes, the expression clearly directed at the GI behind the door.
"No, sir. I'm sorry."
He sighs, annoyance flooding back in in the wake of heated skin and Elle, and then he's pulling himself into a sit. "Five minutes," he tells him, struggling to keep his tone level. "I'll be down in five minutes."
"Yessir," the other man agrees, and Sylar waits until he hears him clomp out of earshot before he rearranges his vocal patterns so he can talk to Elle in anything but Nathan's voice.
"I'll make this quick," he assures her, reaching for his boxer shorts, discarded on the floor in their shuffle.
"You damn well better," she snaps back, shifting so that she can sit up, folding her arms over her chest.
Silence follows after that, and he dresses in it, feeling her eyes on his back the entire time, casting him murderous looks. He doesn't blame her -- he's in more than a mood now himself, and it shows in the way he frames his shoulders -- but it only strengthens his resolve to fix whatever the problem is quickly and quite possibly messily. Appearances to keep up or not, someone is going to suffer for distracting him from more important things.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 2584
Note: Elle is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
not_myfirstday and is used with love and permission. Credit for the idea also goes to her, since I was drawing a blank for my final prompt of the month. ♥
"You want to cut that out?"
He frowns up at her for an instant before his expression seems to one-eighty, shifting into a smile that never reaches his eyes. "I'm sorry." He's not and they both know it. "Am a bothering you?"
"Just a little," she chirps brightly, her tone as near-mocking as his smile, and then she's sighing, letting his hands go. He doesn't go back to drumming, however, instead fixing his attentions on watching her as she moves around the room, seemingly as restless as he is. "Look, I get it, okay? You being Nathan Petrelli? Not a big turn on for me, either, trust me. But the whole I think I'm a drummer in DC's newest emo kid band thing?"
She shakes her head, shooting him a glance over her shoulder before turning in full, fixing him with a sour look as she sinks back against the wall. "Not exactly working out well for either of us, Sylar."
He sighs, reaching up to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose before dropping his hand back to the desk. "It's getting to me," he tells her, grudgingly. She's known him for years now, but he still hates talking about what goes on in his head half the time, and this is no exception. "I've been fine since the Petrellis decided it was a good idea to screw with me. The hunger? It's ... " He shakes his head. "But the last few days it's been ... "
"Bad. Yeah, I know." She shifts a bit, one foot and then the other, uncomfortably -- she knows what it is to be on the wrong side of him, and he can tell the idea that he's even near that breaking point frightens her -- and then reaches up to brush a bit of her hair out of her face. A deep breath, which she exhales shortly, and then, "We'll go find something for you to do tomorrow night after the speech. And in the meantime ... "
"In the meantime?" he echoes, prompting her to finish.
She manages a smirk, something in her expression nothing short of wicked. "In the meantime, I can think of a few other things you could do."
He gets where Elle's going with that, even if it is a cheap come on -- even for her -- and the corners of his lips twitch, mirroring her expression. Sex might not help with the pangs of need he's been carrying around in his chest for days now, but he's not about to turn her down. It's rare that he gets to touch her like this, like himself, these days, too busy pretending to be senator Nathan Petrelli for either of them to manage it. And besides, he figures he owes her something for promising him a hunting trip. He holds no illusions that Elle might not be as crazy as he is, if only in different ways and for different reasons, but he's never quite sure where she stands on him taking what he thinks he deserves. She didn't seem to happy when she and Bennet first broke him, and while times have changed, he doesn't want to scare her off. She's all he has left, right now.
That in mind, he gets to his feet, swaying over to her. With no regard to personal space, he moves in close, looming over her as he presses her back into the wall, and there's a moment of uncertainty between them. He swears he can hear her heart hitch in her chest, despite the fact that he lost that particularly ability ages ago, and he savors it, memory and reaction both, before leaning down to kiss her, crushingly.
She makes a soft noise at the back of her throat, pressing up on bare toes to meet him, her fingers slipping up into his hair, and he echoes it, his own hand falling to her waist. He lingers there for a moment, the heat of his hand almost a tease and he knows it, and then he's shifting his hand up, under the hem of her shirt.
Twisting into him, her nails bite into his scalp, half reflex and half urging, and he sighs, leaning down into her further, chest pressing at the rise of her breasts so that he can feel her pulse fluttering under her skin. His lips twitch against hers, their mouths muting a smirk, and then he rocks back just a little so that he can trace his fingers over her nipple through the thin material of her bra.
Taking a deep breath, she holds it, forcing her chest up into his fingers. Her own drag down out of his side, nails leaving wicked lines on his skin that are there and then gone in and instant, and he shivers against her. She breathes out a sigh, a whimper on the edge of the sound at the lack of contact, and he slips his fingers back down her side, before pulling away. She looks up at him for a moment, fingers curling at the back of his neck as if she can force him into another kiss, and he considers it briefly before shaking his head at nothing in particular.
A pout stains the corners of her mouth, and he huffs out a sigh of a laugh, the smirk that had been lost a moment before climbing onto his face. He doesn't move right away, though, drawing out the tension between them, and then, when she seems to reach a breaking point, mouth opening to question him, he silences her with another quick kiss before moving to strip her of her shirt.
Her clothing whispers protest, but neither of them notice as he bows his head, pressing his lips to her collar bone.
"Bed," she suggests a bit breathlessly, her fingers twining in his hair again, and he nods. He doesn't pull away, however, instead guiding them back away from the wall and towards their bedroom, telekinesis aiding him so that it's not too awkward. And when they reach it, only then does he pull away, a hand going to her shoulder to guide her down into the mattress.
He lowers himself down on top of her a moment later, a knee falling between her legs for support as he dips to kiss her again. As is custom for them, she lets him have the upper hand for a moment as she kisses back, and then her hands are moving to his shoulders, pushing him back, forcing him to roll over so that she's the one on top, knees on either side of his hips, tightly. Elle smirks down at him for a moment, and then she's reaching up and back, fingers finding the clasp of her bra since he always has problems with it.
Undoing them slowly, she slides one strap off her shoulder and then the other, the gesture a show and a tease all in one, and then she's reaching for his hands. She guides them to the straps of her bra, before dropping her own hands away, watching him toy with the lace she's led him to out of the corners of her eyes. Then her eyes are sliding closed as he pulls the bra away, fingers skating over bare skin, now.
She breathes in intentionally, soaking up the heat of his fingers as he drags his fingers along the bottom of her breast, and then she's sighing, her own hands finding the buttons of his shirt. And despite his best attempts to distract her, drawing one of her nipples to a hard peak with a flutter of his fingers, she still somehow manages to get his shirt open with minimal fumbling, pressing her palms to his shoulders to slide it from them when she can. He leans up, equal parts trying to help and trying to catch her nipple between his lips, and she presses him back into the bed.
"Can't let you have all the fun," she tells him, amused by how disappointed he's sure he must look, but it disappears quickly as she lowers her head to his chest. Her mouth brushes over his chest, stopping over his heart to press there, her tongue ghosting over his skin in such a way it draws a low moan from him. There's a flicker of a smirk against his chest, and then she's doing it again, her nails finding his side, dragging lightly over his skin.
Another moan, this one louder, and he puts his hands to her hips, fingers curling in the material as he tries to drag himself into her, his skin a wash of pleasure and pain. She flashes another smile into his chest, and then her hand is dancing across his stomach, giving him momentary relief as she reaches for the fly of his slacks. Her fingers hover there for a moment as he struggles to catch his breath, and then she's sliding the zipper down, a hand pressed past fabric to brush over his arousal, briefly, before pulling back.
His eyes shutter closed for an instant, breath abandoning him again, caught at the back of his throat. He manages a shuddering sigh after a moment, and then he's intent on returning the favor, hand slipping under the waist of her skirt, the motion vaguely awkward with the way the material of it catches his wrist. Not that he's thinking awkward for very long, however, because rather than hit panties like he was expecting, the tips of his fingers find heat instead, and she rolls her hips down into his hand with a groan.
"No underwear?" he mumbles, pressing a knuckle against her, lightly. She doesn't answer, breathing too shaky for words, and he can imagine this is why she didn't want him getting too far, too fast. She wanted them to be on level footing.
So much for that idea, he thinks, uncurling his fingers to brush over her clit lightly, drawing another soft noise from her. He doesn't get much further though, her hand closing around his wrist to pull him away. She doesn't explain the gesture, just drops his hand back on the bed once she's gotten him away from her, and then she takes a moment to hunt down her breath before hooking her fingers under the waist of his slacks to start tugging them off.
Almost reluctantly, hating to be interrupted in what he was doing, he pushes his shoulders into the bed, lifting his hips with dual purpose. The first and most obvious, to help her with his pants. And the second? The second is that so he can push against her, his cock twitching in his boxers at the promise of her heat. He moans, she echoes, and he holds himself there, letting her work him out of his pants and then his underwear.
He shifts a bit under her, kicking them off once they've managed a point that she can't reach them anymore, and then he's slipping his hands under her skirt at the hips, peeling it off of her with a minimal amount of effort. He takes a moment, eyes raking over her bare body hungrily, and then he's squirming under her, demanding. Her fingers find his shoulders again, pressing against him as she realigns her hips for her own comfort, and then slowly, she's obliging, sinking down onto him with a sigh.
Hands at her hips again, he holds her there for a moment, enjoying the feel of her around him, hot and tight, and then he's arching up bodily, thrusting deeper into her as he captures her mouth in a kiss.
They fall into a rhythm that near matches the one that he was drumming on the desk, if not for how fluid they are, and he breaks the kiss, nuzzling at her jaw before catching her ear lobe between his teeth, lightly. He nibbles at it, breathing warm and hard at her ear, and she breathes his name on a moan as they work to drive each other higher and higher. And just as the tension starts driving hooks into his stomach, there's a knock at the door.
"Mister Petrelli!"
They don't wait for an answer, the door to their suite proper opening in the other room, and he freezes. Elle stares at him with wide eyes, as the footsteps in the other room grow louder, closer to them now, and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. "Get off," he mutters, pushing at her sweat-slicked shoulders to leave no room for questioning.
She scowls at him hazily, but does as she's told, climbing off him hastily to curl up next to him. And annoyance fades to the bastard child of horror and disappointment as his skin shudders violently, the sheen of sweat on him all but shimmering as Nathan Petrelli's face claws its way out of his. Now she understands why he pushed her away -- she could have been stuck screwing the senator -- but she still doesn't look happy.
He manages to get the sheets pulled up over them just in time for one of Homeland Security's good old boys to burst through the door.
"Sir, I -- " He spots them almost belatedly, then steps back, hurrying to close the door so that they can have their privacy back. There's a pause from the other side of the door, and he can almost sense shame -- remnants of the empathy he never uses rolling through him, tangible since he's left himself so open -- before the man clears his throat. "Sir, we have an issue downstairs."
"Can it wait until morning?" He shoots Elle a look, rolling his eyes, the expression clearly directed at the GI behind the door.
"No, sir. I'm sorry."
He sighs, annoyance flooding back in in the wake of heated skin and Elle, and then he's pulling himself into a sit. "Five minutes," he tells him, struggling to keep his tone level. "I'll be down in five minutes."
"Yessir," the other man agrees, and Sylar waits until he hears him clomp out of earshot before he rearranges his vocal patterns so he can talk to Elle in anything but Nathan's voice.
"I'll make this quick," he assures her, reaching for his boxer shorts, discarded on the floor in their shuffle.
"You damn well better," she snaps back, shifting so that she can sit up, folding her arms over her chest.
Silence follows after that, and he dresses in it, feeling her eyes on his back the entire time, casting him murderous looks. He doesn't blame her -- he's in more than a mood now himself, and it shows in the way he frames his shoulders -- but it only strengthens his resolve to fix whatever the problem is quickly and quite possibly messily. Appearances to keep up or not, someone is going to suffer for distracting him from more important things.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 2584
Note: Elle is
not_myfirstday and is used with love and permission. Credit for the idea also goes to her, since I was drawing a blank for my final prompt of the month. ♥
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