Future fic. A snapshot of an entry that makes their time ever so interesting.
Rated M (just to be safe)
They had discovered quite by accident that she could feel pain.
Sylar had been eager to get to Phillips; Claire had wanted to be cautious. Just because they couldn’t die didn’t mean they couldn’t suffer.
And suffering was what Mark Phillips specialized in.
That day Sylar had wanted to play, had stepped into the room knowing exactly how much he could make Mr. Phillips suffer.
Claire should have known better, she did know better, knew that when he walked into a room like that she wouldn’t want to be in the way.
Of course she had charged in blindly moments after he walked in.
Claire arrived in just in time for Sylar to unleash a blast of the Haitian’s ‘borrowed’ ability directly at the startled man.
The power hadn’t been aimed at her, she had taught her self to never ever step in front of the outstretched wrist angled just like that, but enough energy blew back, enough to slip under her skin; enough to make it hurt like the devil when her knee banged into a poorly positioned coffee table.
Both men looked over at her, maybe her gasp of pain was more of a shriek, but, ‘it hurt.’
Sylar arched one perfect eyebrow at her, following her eyes as they flicked to his hand, ‘interesting.’
His smile at her had set her heart beat racing as it did every time he looked at her like that.
Like she was everything he had ever wanted and knew he had.
The warmth in her body crashed against the throbbing in her knee and she sat hard on the offending coffee table.
Sylar had begun to play.
Mark Phillips had begun to scream.
Stunned, she had there, the room, with its growing smells and sounds, had faded as the red mark on her skin darkened.
A bruise was forming, delighted she poked at the skin, wincing as nerves protested; it hurt and it was everything she had ever remembered about pain.
Sylar had taught her pleasure, had convinced her that she had moved beyond them all, beyond him; that her body had sifted out the pain just as it sifted out the injuries.
Pain and feeling were not the same. His fingers and tongue and cock had taught her that and thru those life lessons she had begun to live again; to feel.
This however was different, there was pain and her body embraced it as much as it struggled to heal it.
Sylar smirked down at her, his hands conspicuously absent of blood; his intent had not been to take, but simply to hurt.
And judging by the awkward angles of the limbs attached to the body on the floor there had been lots of pain.
‘About as much as you had,’ she smirked back up at him.
He shrugged, taking a knee before her, the next breath she took yanking in his scent.
‘Does it hurt?’ he asked as he pressed his lips to the mark.
‘Yes,’ a whisper, but considering his tongue had begun to trace the edges of broken skin, any speech was a victory.
‘Interesting,’ he smiled as he kissed her knee, his fingers ghosting over ankle, she felt his power pulling away, felt her own beginning to grow.
The groan, one of disappointment, her knee was healed within a heartbeat, was followed as quickly by a deeper grunt of pleasure. Teeth dug into her thigh, amused by the sound, he liked it when she vocalized for him.
Long fingers, ones that had snuck up and into her cunt, manipulated her flesh until she came apart with a frantic, ‘Sylar.’
Still reeling from her orgasm she had not protested when he had pulled her onto shaky feet, chattering away about further experiments and Thai food.