Saving Peter's Hair
Title: Saving Peter's Hair
Characters: Peter/Claire (futurefic)
Summary: Doesn't the title say it all?
Spoilers: No specific spoilers, but assumes everything up to 1.11 Fallout happened.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, just borrowing. All NBC's and Tim Kring's. Please don't sue!
Author's Notes: Inspired by Milo's hair. No, really. No ... really. I saw a picture of him with his gorgeous hair and needed to write about it (so much so it distracted me from my other fic).
Feedback always welcomed and craved.
"I think I'm going to cut my hair this afternoon." Peter murmured innocently to Claire as he was reading his paper one morning, decked out in sweat pants and white t-shirt. "Maybe a buzz cut, it's starting to annoy me."
Claire, who had been lazily reclining on the couch after a fuller than usual breakfast, still in her pajamas, jerked awake at Peter's declaration. She raised herself to a sitting position so quickly it almost brought stars to her eyes. "What did you just say?" She demanded.
Peter frowned, flipping his bangs unconcernedly off his face. "I said, I think I'm going to get a buzz cut. This afternoon."
"Okay, so I wasn't hallucinating and having a nightmare." Claire stood and advanced on a still ignorant Peter sitting serenely at the table in their kitchen. "You so cannot cut your hair." Claire declared flatly. "Not now, not ever. Do you understand me? I mean, you can get it trimmed like you always do, but you cannot cut off more than this." She gestured with hands.
That finally alerted Peter that something serious was about to go down. Why was she making such a big deal out of this? It was his hair and what did it have to do with her what he did with it, and was he actually having an entire conversation in his head about his hair? "What's the big deal?" He asked, still a little too nonchalantly for Claire's taste.
"The deal is, is that you can never, ever cut your hair, got that? Not more than half an inch and certainly not a buzz cut." She declared hotly, sticking her tiny hands on her hips to emphasise the point.
Okay, this was straying from 'that's kind of cute' territory into serious psychotic meltdown. "What is it to you whether I cut my hair or not?" He asked indignantly.
"Emphasis on the not." She retorted, flames seeming to shoot out from her brilliant blue eyes. "You cannot cut your hair because it makes you look hot, idiot."
Her tone – so angry, passionate and determined – began to irritate him. Peter prided himself on being a patient, caring person, but firecracker Claire was sometimes a little bit too much for even him to handle. But at the same time, a smile tugged on the corner of his lips seeing her so riled up, about his hair of all things. Claire could be so infuriatingly cute sometimes. "That's the most stupid thing I have ever heard." He was deliberately goading her now, curious to see the result. "Except for the looking hot part." He added.
She must have known he was pushing her buttons, but she didn't seem to care. "I'm serious Peter. As serious as …" She was waving her arms wildly in the air. " … as saving the world. I've seen pictures of you when you were younger, with different hair and it so did not suit you at all. I mean, you were still cute, but nothing like this." Here she gestured toward him like he was some prize on a game show. "In fact, I think you looked a little on the malnourished side. Maybe even a little weedy. In fact, I'm not sure I would have ever have dated you in high school." Amusingly to Peter, it appeared that she had previously given the matter some serious contemplation.
"Thanks ... I think you may have hurt my feelings a little." He mocked.
"I'm serious about this Peter." She repeated, for what seemed like the umpteenth time. "Also, Heidi showed me some pictures from when you were younger and trust me, your current hair is The Hair you should have. Forever."
"Oh?" Peter asked curiously, his interest peaked. "What kind of pictures did she show you?"
"Your old family ones." Claire said, breezily brushing stray tendrils of her own blonde locks out of her face. "Including some from when you were little. You know, at Halloween and stuff."
Suddenly Peter's eyes widened, somehow dreading what was coming. She couldn't have seen … could she?
Claire seemed to be thinking the same thing because she continued. "There was one especially that I thought was interesting." She began draping her lithe frame over his, languidly sliding first one leg, then two, over him in his still sitting position on the chair until they were able to wrap around the outside of his thighs. Peter swallowed uncomfortably. He had just ingested a bagel and half a cup of coffee and suddenly he felt … well, way too excited for a lazy Sunday morning.
Why the hell had he wanted to cut his hair that morning again?
Dreamily brushing her finger tips over his arms and chest while kneading his thighs with hers, she continued as if nothing was happening. "This one picture, I think you were dressed up as Alice in Wonderland. You had long hair. You were blond. It so did not suit you." Stopping suddenly, she finally cracked a smile. "If you ever get a buzz cut, I will make sure that every single person that we know has a colour copy of that picture. Are we clear, Mr Petrelli?" She said, unexpectedly leaping off his lap.
Peter groaned at her absence, but then brightened seeing her advance to the door of their bedroom. She turned, a hungry look in her eyes. "Do you understand?" Claire asked fiercely, coyly.
Try as he might, he could not deny her. He was a grown man for heaven's sake and he was being blackmailed by his wife about his hair. "I understand you loud and clear Mrs Petrelli." He answered obediently.
"Good." A sly smile slowly spread over her face. Crooking a finger in his direction, she asked him huskily. "What are you waiting for?"
Peter could not for the life of him remember just why he wanted to cut his hair that morning.