Sylar

He 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." )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1355
Note: Melissa is capturedworlds and is used with love and permission.

(Melissa is capturedworlds and is used at their request. Based on this picture.)


When they'd gotten to the hotel room, Melissa had muttered something about needing a shower, grabbed a few things her bag before dropping it in its usual place by their bed and made a beeline for the bathroom. He couldn't say it was a lie, the both of them covered in dirt from where they'd collapsed in the parking lot of the diner, and it hadn't tripped his ability to feel when someone was making things up, but he didn't quite buy her line, anyway. She wanted to escape for a bit--he couldn't blame her, as he did, too--and the shower was the only real out either of them had, anymore. So he'd let her go.

Sighing, he collapsed on the bed they wouldn't end up sharing, not really caring if he destroyed it with road grime, and toed off his boots before stretching out. He laid there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling numbly, too--too something--to be bothered with trying to count the tiles, and then he was turning his head into the pillow. His eyes falling closed, he bit down on his lower lip to stifle the urge to scream, then as it passed, he was sucking in a slow breath through his teeth, letting it out just as slowly. In and out, over and over again, as he tried to remember how to breathe like a sane person, rather than the short, shallow attempts at air that had been all he'd managed since they'd left the diner. Then, once he was sure he had mastery over something as simple as breathing again, he pulled his head out of the pillow to eye the ceiling uselessly, again.

To his credit, he managed to stave off feeling like peeling off his skin would resolve all his issues for all of thirty seconds.

Another sigh, this one frustrated, and he was up from the bed, moving around the room in idle circles, as if the pacing would help, somehow. It didn't, though it did end him near the bathroom door when he realized it would do nothing for the swirl of pain and rage he was trying to keep under wraps, and he could almost swear, above the sound of the water, he could hear someone sobbing. And that, thankfully, was enough to get his mind off his own issues for more than an instant or two.

Head tilted to one side, he stared at the closed door for a moment before pushing inside. He hesitated for a moment, back pressing against the door as it closed behind him silently, and then he was reaching for the buttons of his shirt. Seconds later it was off of him, forgotten on the floor along with her clothing, his pants and boxers following suit shortly thereafter. A hand raised to nudge the curtain of the shower aside almost delicately, and then he was stepping into the shower alongside her.

( She didn't turn to face him, didn't even register that he'd gotten into the shower with him. )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1325

Two days had passed since they'd discussed why the area had felt familiar, and still he was driving them in circles. Now, however, he made no bones about the fact that they weren't really making any progress, and if she asked, he'd tell her the truth--he was trying to find the rock formation that he'd thought had looked like a bird, in his younger days. Not that he'd come out and said this on his own or had actually made any progress in finding what he was looking for, but at least he was trying in both senses now.

Sighing, he cast Melissa a sideways glance, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel in frusteration, and then he was turning down a side road, dusty and unpaved, despite the fact that he was sure they'd been down it at least once before. He doubted they'd find much they hadn't seen before, but considering the fact that they'd already traveled this way, he was fairly certain that they could get back to the main highway by cutting across this road. Once they reached it, he could decide whether or not he wanted to give up the ghost.

Another quick glance at his traveling companion and--and he was slamming on the breaks so sharply it was a small miracle that they were both wearing seat belts and that they weren't going that fast. There it was. There was the damn rock and the diner, dusty and abandoned, a few feet beyond it. And without so much as waiting for her reaction to how violently he'd stopped the car, he was unbuckling his seat belt and pushing the door of the car open to head for it, only half-aware she was even still there in the first place.