heroslayer | Entries tagged with verse: just a little lie

He could hear them moving down the hallway. Not that the Haitian was ever particularly loud, not much of a talker and quite possibly better at the whole stealth game than he was, but Elle was making a show of things, babbling loudly to him, her voice echoing down the corridor as they moved towards him.

Any other time, he supposed it might have made a guy suspicious -- why talk so loud if you weren't trying to signal someone else you were on the way? -- but he thought it worked rather well here. Elle was the hysterical near-widow, after all, and fear or worry or whatever stew of emotions she was supposed to be marinating in had a tendency to change the quality of one's voice. He'd heard it enough times when one of his victims bothered trying to beg him for mercy.

Dimly amused, he turned his chair away from the door and sunk down in it, stretching out until he was sure his head couldn't be seen over the top of the leather. The door swung open just seconds later.

( Elle cleared her throat. "Can you just wait here for a minute? I think I need something to drink." )

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1225
Note: Elle is

not_myfirstday and is used with love. The use of the Haitian is not directed at any specific journal.

The foreman just wouldn't shut up. He supposed, on some level, that it was understandable -- the man was proud of what he and his construction team had managed to accomplish in the few short months they'd been given to build the office complex and their benefactor was nothing if not demanding -- but it was still irritating.

So much so that he's spent the last twenty minutes wondering what would happen if he dropped Nathan Petrelli's face and just destroyed the place. He planned on doing it later anyway, after all -- his own little contribution to the economy when he blamed terrorists and commissioned a new crew to build bigger and better -- and the cameras weren't hooked up just yet. No one would see him for who he truly was but the foreman, and he would die tragically as the building came down on his head, its supports mysteriously collapsing.

It was a tempting idea truly, and the only thing that was stopping him was the fact that people knew that he would be here. They knew that Nathan would be here. It had been all over the news that the good senator had planned on visiting his shiny, new business complex, and if he escaped the devastation, it would appear suspicious. Nathan just dropping dead wasn't on the agenda either, unfortunately; he needed his position as much as he hated his face.

( He also apparently needed another way out of this ridiculously one-sided dialogue. )

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 752
Note: Elle is

not_myfirstday and is used without permission but with love. ♥

i.

"I have something for you."

Mohinder looks up, smiling. "What?"

His fingers curl around the box in his pocket. It's not a ring, that part of their relationship almost two weeks behind them, but it's just as good and he's just as nervous. So much so that he finds he can't find the words, no matter how much he wants this.

Somewhere in the distance, bells toll the start of the new year, giving him an out, and he darts around the table to crush his lips against Mohinder's, wordlessly. He has all the time in the world to ask later.

ii.

The new year comes with a raucous cry and an explosion of color, and despite the fact that he was damn sure he wouldn't be awake to see it, the sound is more than enough to rouse him from dozing. He shifts a bit, straying just far enough away from Claire to glance at the clock, and then he curls up around her again.

He waits, counting the minutes until the fireworks stop making the shadows shudder, and leans to brush a kiss over her lips. She smiles against his mouth, never really asleep either, and kisses him back, softly.

iii.

( "It's midnight on the East Coast." )

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1000
Note: Each of these ficlets are 100 words exactly. May I never, ever decide I want to do something like this again.

The party is in full swing when he finds her hanging out by the buffet table, smiling and nodding and looking for an out in the conversation she's holding with one of the foreign dignitaries that ended up stopping by. He has half a mind to leave her there, as amusing as it is to watch the pained faces she's making and the way the man either doesn't recognize them or ignores them as he babbles on, but he thinks better of it. She'd make him regret it, if she knew he'd been lurking nearby the whole time, and she always seems to know, so he steps up behind her, fingers touching her arm lightly to let her know he's there. She makes no attempt to hide her relief.

"Ambassador." He smiles winningly, but he has no intentions of getting caught in this stupid conversation, too. "I don't suppose you'd mind if I borrowed my wife for a minute?"

The man smiles and waves them off, and he wraps his fingers around Elle's arm, leading her off towards one of the private rooms. The door closes behind them, and he pulls away, stepping up to the desk with a sigh, his back still turned to her; it's not hard to miss the shift, even so. He reaches up, running his fingers through his hair as if he needs to fix it -- as if he's been stuck in costume for an age, and it's the end of a long Halloween -- and turns to face her.

"You realize that's probably not the best idea, right?" Even so, she leans back against the door to ensure that no one walks in on them, her arms folding under her breasts. "I mean, all those people out there and me in here with a wanted murderer?"

He scrubs a hand over his face, then drops them back to his side, shrugging. "Good thing I'm not going to be here for very long." She tries to start and he cuts her off. "I'm tired of this. Tired of playing this game and all the stupid parties and the film crews. I'm getting out of here."

( "Because people aren't going to notice Nathan Petrelli's suddenly fallen off the face of the Earth." )

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 930
Note: Elle is

not_myfirstday and is used without permission but with much love. Merry Christmas, hon. Hope this works for you. ♥

( Claire (Dangerous Game) )

( Elle (Canon; I Am Become Death) )

( Elle (Grace the Tide) )

( Elle (Just a Little Lie) )

( Erin (Do No Harm) )

( Melissa (Canon; Diverted )

( Mohinder (New Beginnings) )

You really need to ask? Right. Fine. Whatever. I'd kill them.

I guess it's kind of laughable for someone like me to demand monogamy, but it's -- I watched my father walk out on my mother, when I was a kid. I don't know if he was screwing around on her or not, but it destroyed her. She wasn't always so -- so obsessive. I know I have my days, but I don't want to end up like her, clinging to everything, afraid it's going to run out on me, too. So alone. I don't want that.

Even if it weren't for that, though, I've been used already by so many people. I don't need that either. And that's what sleeping around on someone is. Using someone's affections to get what you want, it's -- well, I'd be being a hypocrite if I said evil. I don't exactly have room to talk, and I did it to Suresh when we first met. Not that we were sleeping together, but the principle's the same. I used the attraction between us.

I wouldn't do it again, though. Or at least not to someone I'm committed to. I expect monogamy, I return the favor. An eye for an eye. Just like everything I do.

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 212

He forces her back onto the table, hips hitching upwards so that he can press into her once she's settled. She moans and hooks a leg low around his hips, heel of her palm pressing against his shoulder as she forces him closer, and he leans against her, their bodies pressed flush together. She turns her head, mouth working at his collar bone, and slides her fingers up into his hair. For a moment they hold there, their breath coming short and soft already, and then he's pulling away.

A soft, displeased noise falls from her lips, humming against his skin, and she twists her fingers in his hair, pleadingly. He huffs out a sigh of a laugh, turning his head into her hair to murmur something dark and wordless, then he's jerking forward, hips grinding against hers without mercy. She whimpers in spite of the fact that she arches up to meet him, body working on it's own, and drags his head down to her shoulder with a tug of her fingers.

Teasingly, he nips at her shoulder, then settles his chin against her as they fall into a rhythm. Her hand drifts back down to his back, resting comfortably for a moment, and then she shifts against him, swatting at her hair to push it over the shoulder he's not leaning against. He shoots her a sideways glance out of the corner of his eyes, wondering hazily why she bothered -- in the heat of the moment, the fall of her hair is hardly important -- and then it hits him.

Why she moved her hair. Why she picked this room in the first place, when it's not the Good Senator Petrelli's usual. Why she seemed so insistent on getting him to the table the second they were in the door. It all suddenly makes sense and all because the wall at the far side of the room is paneled in mirrors.

He watches her in the glass as she resettles against him, the muscles in her shoulders quivering with the rise and fall of her breath. Sweat gathers in the small of her back, and he slips his hands down to trace shaking fingers through it, fascinated somehow. And when she breaks around him, he holds on for a few more seconds, unmoving and teeth gritted, just so he can watch as she bucks up off the table violently, her shoulder blades nearly touching as she forced herself into him as she climaxes.

With a cry, he follows her down, his eyes sliding closed, and minutes later when they settle and he pulls away to just hold her, she raises her eyes to him hazily, a smirk on her lips. "Enjoy the show?"

If he wasn't sure before, he is now -- he likes this room.

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 464
Note: Elle is

not_myfirstday and is used with love and permission.

What Kind of Serial Killer Would You Be? Your Result: Organized and Mission-Oriented You're a planner. You'd carefully plot each murder, and carry it out methodically. You'll kill them in one location and move them to another later, and you'll study up your forensic science. The good news is, you're much harder to catch. You'll have a specific reason to kill. You'll target a specific group, like prostitutes or members of a minority, and you'll believe their deaths are justified on the grounds that you're "cleansing" the earth of that particular kind of people. You'll think you're helping society.
Organized and Hedonistic
Organized and Goal-Oriented
Organized Visionary
Disorganized and Mission-Oriented
Disorganized and Hedonistic
Disorganized and Gain-Oriented
Disorganized Visionary
What Kind of Serial Killer Would You Be? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

I never would have guessed. Really.

Current Mood: amused

When he gets back to the room, he's bloodstained and tired, still wearing Nathan's face; she watches him for a moment then slides to one side of the bed, telling him to ditch the senator and to come back to her; the tension he didn't know he was carrying fades, leaving a smirk in its wake.

He'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." )

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. ♥