for muses_inthesack: it matters
Aug. 20th, 2009 12:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
heroslayerHe won't touch her for days after the incident with her father. They still sleep in the same bed, and he might let her curl up around him as she dozes off, but beyond that they have a sex life on par with people twice their age. He knows it's upsetting her, can feel it through the connection he's never sure is her fault or his but exists just the same, but it doesn't matter.
If he doesn't touch her, there's no risk of getting caught again; no risk of having to sit through another awkard family dinner, her parents watching him like he just murdered a puppy, her grandfather seemingly on the edge of a laughing fit. Funny thing to be worried about given who he is and what he does, he's sure, but murder doesn't embarrass him the way sex does. He could come back to her parents house bloody and power high, and he wouldn't bat an eyelash as they edged away from him at dinner. Being caught more than feeling up their daughter, however?
It's safe to say that the good Catholic schoolboy in him hasn't been chased away entirely, despite his best efforts.
"Why does it matter?" she asks him one night, when they're curled up in bed chastely. She plants a hand on his chest, pushing up and away from him a little so that she can frown down at him curiously, and he can't help but wonder if, for once, her perception has failed her.
If she can't see it, he's not going to help, and he shifts away a little so that he doesn't have to be her handstand anymore and makes a face. "It matters."
She huffs out a sigh, the sound nothing short of disgusted, and rolls onto her side away from him. She spends a moment staring at the wall, and then, "I know you're upset that my father caught us, but he'll get over it. You need to get over it. We're both consenting adults, I introduced you as my boyfriend, and my mother already made it a point to have the safe sex talk with me."
He manages a soft, amused noise at that; safe sex is the least of the things Melissa's mother should be worried about. And while he's sure Melissa thought the same thing throughout that particular conversation, it still earns him a look, shot over her shoulder before she turns back to the wall. "What did he honestly think we were doing up here?"
"That's not -- " Another look and he stops short, scowling.
"Did I mention the part where you need to get over it?"
He steels his jaw, certain for a moment that, on some level, she's calling him a coward, calling him out, and he doesn't like it. And while when that moment passes, when the anger fades, he can see the statement for what it is -- she's baiting him -- he finds he can't back down. He's never bowed out of a challenge before, and he won't stop now.
Pulling himself into a half sit, he flicks his fingers towards the door, lock on it snapping shut with a dull click. She turns, pushing herself onto her back to watch him, and he wonders briefly if she heard it or she's just looking to see why he moved, then he decides he doesn't care. He takes a deep breath, almost afraid still in spite of the fact that he's made sure they won't get caught this time, and then he's dipping his head to kiss her hungrily. She makes a soft, pleased noise at the back of her throat, slipping her arms around his waist to pull him down against her as she returns the kiss.
After that, they move in a blur, want fueling want built up over too many days. He pulls away, stripping her of her shirt, once again thankful for tanktops with bras built in, and after she returns the favor, he presses back close, fingers creeping up her side to rest against her breast. She whimpers a bit, nails digging into his shoulders for leverage, and twists into his hands, forcing his fingers to skate over his nipple.
He sighs and takes up a less passive role, brushing circles around sensitive skin with his thumb until he feels her harden to a peak under his fingers. Then he's shifting, lowering himself to a point where he can wrap his lips around her nipple, carefully. And it's a quiet moan that falls from her lips this time, a deep breath following, her chest pressing into his mouth as she attempts to steady herself.
Her hands slide from his shoulders down his arms, cutting off midway so that she can press the palms of her hands to his sides, and automatically he's echoing her moan, mouth humming against her skin. Her nails find the spaces between his ribs, and he arches into her with enough force to slice himself on them before he rocks back, making sure her fingers barely ghost rapidly healing skin.
Another moan, this one bordering dangerously on loud as he's forgotten all about her parents and his fears, and then his hands are at her hips. Then the waist of her capris. Then at the tie holding them closed. He tugs at it hurriedly, tongue teasing at her nipple as he works her pants open, his fingers slipping past fabric as soon as he's able. He brushes over her, barely touching, and again she arches up into him, shoulders digging into the mattress as she writhes, desperate for contact.
He hums against her skin, this time amused, and then he's pulling away from her breast, mouth finding hers again as he presses a finger into her, slowly. She whimpers, kissing him hard on reflex, and sinks back into the mattress for an instant only to press her hips into his fingers more forcefully. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he pulls his finger away, sliding up through her heat to brush over her clit, and then she's breaking the kiss, breathless.
"Please."
He can't say he doesn't love the fact that she's not above begging, if she thinks it'll get her what she wants.
Teasingly, his fingers make a second pass over her, and then he's pulling away entirely, hands falling to her hips to work at her pants. He pushes them down as far as he can reach, reaching for the fly of his own jeans as she kicks out of her clothing. A second later, he's doing the same, stretching out over her now that they're both naked, and with a marginal shift of his hips he's pressing into her.
With no great amount of effort, they fall into a rthym, her hips rolling to meet less than kind thrusts, his mouth finding hers with a gentleness that seems ridiculous when compared to their violence elsewhere. And as he feels her ready to break around him, as he reaches that point himself, he presses down into her and holds there, her hips pinned by his. Somehow, he manages to gather enough presence of mind to keep her from moving with his telekinesis, and together they hover on that edge, unmoving, the slightest shift all it would take to send either of them tumbling headlong into pleasure.
She groans, struggling against his bonds almost pleadingly, a litany of less than nice things falling from her mouth, and feeds her desire -- her closeness to climax -- into his. He shivers involuntarily, and the moment snaps. They fall apart together, her shuddering around him as he spills into her, his fingers curling and uncurling at her hip ineffectually, hers digging into his shoulder with enough force to draw blood as his hold on her breaks. She buries her head in his shoulder, moaning, mindful of her volume and he digs his teeth into his lower lip to mute himself.
They lay there in shaking, sated silence for the longest time, and then finally and lazily, she asks, "Does it still matter?"
"Not anymore."
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1355
Note: Melissa is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
capturedworlds and is used with love and permission.
If he doesn't touch her, there's no risk of getting caught again; no risk of having to sit through another awkard family dinner, her parents watching him like he just murdered a puppy, her grandfather seemingly on the edge of a laughing fit. Funny thing to be worried about given who he is and what he does, he's sure, but murder doesn't embarrass him the way sex does. He could come back to her parents house bloody and power high, and he wouldn't bat an eyelash as they edged away from him at dinner. Being caught more than feeling up their daughter, however?
It's safe to say that the good Catholic schoolboy in him hasn't been chased away entirely, despite his best efforts.
"Why does it matter?" she asks him one night, when they're curled up in bed chastely. She plants a hand on his chest, pushing up and away from him a little so that she can frown down at him curiously, and he can't help but wonder if, for once, her perception has failed her.
If she can't see it, he's not going to help, and he shifts away a little so that he doesn't have to be her handstand anymore and makes a face. "It matters."
She huffs out a sigh, the sound nothing short of disgusted, and rolls onto her side away from him. She spends a moment staring at the wall, and then, "I know you're upset that my father caught us, but he'll get over it. You need to get over it. We're both consenting adults, I introduced you as my boyfriend, and my mother already made it a point to have the safe sex talk with me."
He manages a soft, amused noise at that; safe sex is the least of the things Melissa's mother should be worried about. And while he's sure Melissa thought the same thing throughout that particular conversation, it still earns him a look, shot over her shoulder before she turns back to the wall. "What did he honestly think we were doing up here?"
"That's not -- " Another look and he stops short, scowling.
"Did I mention the part where you need to get over it?"
He steels his jaw, certain for a moment that, on some level, she's calling him a coward, calling him out, and he doesn't like it. And while when that moment passes, when the anger fades, he can see the statement for what it is -- she's baiting him -- he finds he can't back down. He's never bowed out of a challenge before, and he won't stop now.
Pulling himself into a half sit, he flicks his fingers towards the door, lock on it snapping shut with a dull click. She turns, pushing herself onto her back to watch him, and he wonders briefly if she heard it or she's just looking to see why he moved, then he decides he doesn't care. He takes a deep breath, almost afraid still in spite of the fact that he's made sure they won't get caught this time, and then he's dipping his head to kiss her hungrily. She makes a soft, pleased noise at the back of her throat, slipping her arms around his waist to pull him down against her as she returns the kiss.
After that, they move in a blur, want fueling want built up over too many days. He pulls away, stripping her of her shirt, once again thankful for tanktops with bras built in, and after she returns the favor, he presses back close, fingers creeping up her side to rest against her breast. She whimpers a bit, nails digging into his shoulders for leverage, and twists into his hands, forcing his fingers to skate over his nipple.
He sighs and takes up a less passive role, brushing circles around sensitive skin with his thumb until he feels her harden to a peak under his fingers. Then he's shifting, lowering himself to a point where he can wrap his lips around her nipple, carefully. And it's a quiet moan that falls from her lips this time, a deep breath following, her chest pressing into his mouth as she attempts to steady herself.
Her hands slide from his shoulders down his arms, cutting off midway so that she can press the palms of her hands to his sides, and automatically he's echoing her moan, mouth humming against her skin. Her nails find the spaces between his ribs, and he arches into her with enough force to slice himself on them before he rocks back, making sure her fingers barely ghost rapidly healing skin.
Another moan, this one bordering dangerously on loud as he's forgotten all about her parents and his fears, and then his hands are at her hips. Then the waist of her capris. Then at the tie holding them closed. He tugs at it hurriedly, tongue teasing at her nipple as he works her pants open, his fingers slipping past fabric as soon as he's able. He brushes over her, barely touching, and again she arches up into him, shoulders digging into the mattress as she writhes, desperate for contact.
He hums against her skin, this time amused, and then he's pulling away from her breast, mouth finding hers again as he presses a finger into her, slowly. She whimpers, kissing him hard on reflex, and sinks back into the mattress for an instant only to press her hips into his fingers more forcefully. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he pulls his finger away, sliding up through her heat to brush over her clit, and then she's breaking the kiss, breathless.
"Please."
He can't say he doesn't love the fact that she's not above begging, if she thinks it'll get her what she wants.
Teasingly, his fingers make a second pass over her, and then he's pulling away entirely, hands falling to her hips to work at her pants. He pushes them down as far as he can reach, reaching for the fly of his own jeans as she kicks out of her clothing. A second later, he's doing the same, stretching out over her now that they're both naked, and with a marginal shift of his hips he's pressing into her.
With no great amount of effort, they fall into a rthym, her hips rolling to meet less than kind thrusts, his mouth finding hers with a gentleness that seems ridiculous when compared to their violence elsewhere. And as he feels her ready to break around him, as he reaches that point himself, he presses down into her and holds there, her hips pinned by his. Somehow, he manages to gather enough presence of mind to keep her from moving with his telekinesis, and together they hover on that edge, unmoving, the slightest shift all it would take to send either of them tumbling headlong into pleasure.
She groans, struggling against his bonds almost pleadingly, a litany of less than nice things falling from her mouth, and feeds her desire -- her closeness to climax -- into his. He shivers involuntarily, and the moment snaps. They fall apart together, her shuddering around him as he spills into her, his fingers curling and uncurling at her hip ineffectually, hers digging into his shoulder with enough force to draw blood as his hold on her breaks. She buries her head in his shoulder, moaning, mindful of her volume and he digs his teeth into his lower lip to mute himself.
They lay there in shaking, sated silence for the longest time, and then finally and lazily, she asks, "Does it still matter?"
"Not anymore."
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1355
Note: Melissa is
capturedworlds and is used with love and permission.
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Date: 2009-08-20 05:27 am (UTC)Melissa is purring in my head.
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Date: 2009-08-20 05:28 am (UTC)