Title: Popsicle Love and Pie Crust Promises
Prompt: Pain for sylaire chall and "I want to hurt you" for un love you
Word Count: 670 words
Summary: How's that for revenge?
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Some long buried part of him needs to ask. He looks down at her naked form, splayed open and waiting against the concrete bed of his cell. He can't help the waves of disgust and anger that fight his lust for dominance. She should be so much better than this.
"Are you?" she shoots back haughtily. She wants this, maybe not him exactly, but that was beside the point. And it wasn't like he was in any kind of position to deny her. Hell, why would he want to. Her fingers tease the waistband of his company issued prison pants, before darting down to cup his erection, just in case he need still needed to be convinced.
He rips her hand away with narrowed eyes. His other hand closes around her throat, but it's a warning they both know she won't heed. When was she going to learn that little girls that play with fire get burned?
"Answer me," he says in a voice low and dangerous.
"Yes," she breaths out annoyed. But, her reply is not for him. Her eyes focus on the security camera above his head, catching their every move. She knows he's watching; she can almost feel his rage. It turns her on more than whatever Sylar was doing with his hands.
"Good. Because I wasn't planning on stopping." He shucks off the pants and enters her in one quick movement. If she really wanted this, he'd give it to her. He was generous like that.
"You would have," she gasps out, as he hits that spot. "If I said no, you would have stopped." Her hands tighten around his biceps, as every one of his strokes sends her closer and closer to that invisible line. She never expected him to be so good at this.
"I'm no prince, baby doll. Get those notions out of your head right now."
"You're a good man, Gabriel." It was the wrong thing to say and she knows it. That kind of thing had no place in what they were doing right now.
His eyes darken, even further. He pulls out and flips her around. He forces her on her hands and knees, slamming into her with unrelenting force. In another time, in another place, he would worry about making it good for her. But they both know that isn't what this is all about.
"Sylar." He growls out, digging his fingernails into her hips. "My name is Sylar. You call me that again and I'll regret being so nice."
"We're not doing this to be nice, remember." She swivels her hips and moans at the new sensation.
"I hate you," he growls against her throat before biting down and making her scream. He should be the one in control. She doesn't get to take that away from him.
She closes her eyes and lets her orgasm wash over her. She leans her head back, riding out the aftershocks in almost complacent patience, before Sylar pulls out again. He flips her over, rougher this time and her head cracks against the edge of the bed.
"You bleed so pretty," he gasps out, fingers dipping into the pool of blood and then moving to stroke his cock. "I've always thought so. I always do this thinking of you."
She wants to pull away in disgust (she already got what she came for, after all), but he's pinning her down with invisible hands.
"Hurry up. He should be here any minute" She knows; she's timed how long it takes to get from his office to the level five cell.
Sylar comes with a sharp laugh. She's become so calculated, so meticulous, so like him. Sylar bets it drives him crazy.
He looks down at her, hair tangled, flushed from orgasm, and a mix of her blood and his come on her breasts. She looks thoroughly debauched beneath him. Just like she asked for.
How's that for revenge?