Get Used To It
Disclaimer: If Claire was mine to do with what I wished, I'd certainly have fed her to a shark by now. (Think she can survive being digested? Think that'd be fun for her? I think so. ^.^) And if I owned Sylar . . . well. For lack of something to say that doesn't objectify the poor guy, I'll just stop there.
AU after 3x01
Warning: This fic has dark and depressing themes, but I think the ending is very sweet and happy. Mention/suggestion/subjective occurrence of rape, as well as hot'n'heavy smut. If you're not into that sort of thing (the smut), I suggest you have your head examined (by Sylar, if at all possible), but otherwise just turn back now.
Chapter One – Feigned Cruelty and Laid Destiny
She knew he'd be back. She didn't expect it to take him so long, but then Claire didn't really know him. Didn't know what his self-control was like. Not that it was about denying himself anything; not that he really had to exercise much willpower. He didn't want her all that badly. He had no strong desire to go back to the Bennett house, now that he had her power. It was just something he should get around to, like replacing his lightbulbs with more eco-friendly ones. If he ever had responsibility over lightbulbs, that is.
He did get around to it, though. And while it started out as something he 'may as well do' because he had no one to kill that day, it soon became more. The closer he got to Costa Verde, the more details he added to the night's itinerary. And then those details wouldn't leave his mind. They just kept replaying and weaving themselves into what he refused to admit was a fantasy. The arousal he could write off as a symptom of being a relatively human male. No one, not even himself, could fault him for that. She was hot, in a sense. Not his type, exactly, but then he'd never met anyone who could be described as his type. Nor did he want to.
Maybe, he let himself admit, this visit would turn out to be enjoyable. More than just teaching her a lesson, more than a demonstration of what was to come. But certainly not more than a good fuck.
He'd left her feeling empty. Worse than before. Was it just the inability to feel pain? That, and the feeling of failure, inadequacy? Ah, that was getting closer to the truth. But it wasn't that she was too weak to stop him taking her power. It wasn't that the world was in more danger than ever from him because of her. It was that she wasn't . . . and he didn't . . .
She let out a frustrated groan, unbecoming and unlike her. But this train of thought always upset her. Her disappointment sickened her. It should have been relief. Relief that coloured her tone when she'd told her mother that "No, not that. He just took my power." Relief that washed over her every day he didn't return. Should have been. Wasn't quite.
Her dad was back now, and he saw that something was bothering her. He spent a lot of time at home. Took her out to lunches. Paid all kinds of special attention to her, because she was still a bit traumatized. Because she wasn't eating and didn't seem to care about seeing West, and because on the occasions when he'd seen her cheerlead recently, her pom-poms sagged and her head was always turning, eyes scanning the bleachers. Not concentrating on her cheers because, Noah could only assume, of that night in Odessa when a football game had become bloody and scary and full of Sylar.
She did scan the crowds. But she also lingered in the locker room, in the hallways. Maybe he'd come to another game. Like an anniversary, a running tradition. Only this time Peter wouldn't be there to save her.
Yeah, and Peter. He'd been no help. Especially as she'd been relying on that silly crush to pull her out of darker fantasies. Even darker ones than thoughts of her own Uncle. Compared to some of the things that'd been running amok in her mind lately, the incest of last month's dreams looked clean-cut and safe. But he'd not been warm or inviting or even very friendly. Just doom and gloom and distance.
Eighteen days –exactly- after Sylar's visit, things had only gotten worse. The mix of denial and self-hatred and emptiness had turned Claire into someone else. She couldn't look her parents in the eyes, especially her father. And she knew something was going on there. Her dad was trying to track the monster down, or maybe they already had. He might not have been at work very much, but there were still phone calls. He never once brought it up beyond 'are you alright, sweetie?' and 'how're you holding up, Claire-Bear?' and other such vaguities. She certainly never asked, though she ached to know whether Sylar was locked up, whether he was back to killing random innocents, whether he was nearby or on the other side of the country.
Her guard was down, her hopes were dry, and she was feeling fairly safe –if not particularly fulfilled- when he came back. It was late by then, at least two or three, but of course she wasn't sleeping so well, with all that was on her mind.
He was too dignified to climb up to her window, even though there was a tree right there. This kind of situation alone was reason enough to kill Nathan Petrelli. Another item on the to-do list, but he'd definitely enjoy that one. Anyway, he used the front door. Quietly.
Claire heard it click-click as he used some power or other (telekinesis? Something else?) to open the door and still the alarm system.
He stood in the doorway to her bedroom a moment, listening. (Super-listening, actually.) She wasn't asleep. Her breathing was far from regular, as was her heartbeat. He clearly heard her slide off of the comforter. Heard her feet touch the carpet, one at a time. And then she opened the door and he had to smile at her courage and hospitality. He positively grinned, and it wasn't a psycho thing. It wasn't sarcastic or sadistic or anything, he was just happy to see her.
In all the scenarios she'd half-heartedly tried to lodge in the back of her mind, he was never grinning. Ear-to-ear. That was what made her think she'd dozed off and this was a horribly wonderful dream. So she blinked, hard, and shook her head a bit. This only made him smile wider –she looked like a puppy- and she understood that this was reality. Perfectly real reality.
His use of daddy's pet name roused her a bit from that middle-of-the-night surreal feeling. Enough so that she could swallow –her throat felt so dry- and realize that she had absolutely nothing to say. Beyond "Hi."
"Wondering why I'm here?" He asked quietly. Her parents' and Lyle's rooms were both just down the hall.
"Sort of." She admitted.
"I'm here to hurt you more, Claire."
"Okay." She said, breathless. Starting to feel the terror again. Starting to forget desire and hope and all those other silly things.
"Yeah. I hoped- I thought you'd . . . " she still couldn't finish a sentence, but she didn't really want to.
"You hoped I'd come back?"
"No. I mean, uh, get out of my house." Not as forceful as she meant it.
"My dad's right down the hall. He's a company agent, doesn't that mean anything?"
The grin came back to his face, full-force. "Yeah, it makes this all the more appealing. If you want, you can wake him. He'll come running, and he can watch. Watch as I do what I need to do to his little girl . . . I bet he'd like that. Unable to stop me . . . this is sounding more and more fun. Go on, shout for him, Claire."
She was quiet, stomach sick and starting to remember why she didn't like him. She hadn't thought much about him hurting her family. When she finally asked her question, she knew the answer. "So is that why you're here? To rape me?"
"Well, if you had hopes of me coming back, I might not be able to. All that about 'not rape if you want it', you know. It's a pity."
"No, I don't want- stay away from me." she stepped back, regretting all she'd felt for three weeks. She'd been stupid and silly and she didn't want this.
"Good. Consent would put a bit of a damper on this."
"Why are we talking like this? I should be screaming." She noted.
"Screaming would bring daddy –probably mommy and your brother, come to think of it- running. And we determined you don't want that. You know what? In case you find you can't help yourself, I'll give you a hand with the quiet thing."
And suddenly, as though there were cotton balls shoved down her throat, she found she couldn't make a sound. He may have been being facetious, but she thought of it as a real favour. But the feeling started to panic her as soon as she found she couldn't breathe, either. Not that suffocation was a problem for her, but she still felt it. She shook her head rapidly, hooping he'd abide and let her vocal chords go. He did.
"I . . . I won't scream."
"We'll see about that." He took a step forward.
"You said you were going to hurt me. But I . . . can't hurt. Not anymore."
"Did I do that?" She nodded. "Huh. Well, you're welcome."
"I'm not thanking you."
"You'd rather feel it? You'd rather I really hurt you?"
She thought about it and somehow found herself nodding again.
"Don't worry, Claire-Bear, I can make you hurt." He took another step forward and she wanted to back away, but didn't move. He laid a hand on the back of her head. "I've got this empathy thing going on, which means I don't have to cut heads open anymore. Not that I don't still like to, but . . . I've seen the inside of your skull, nothing exciting."
She felt it, the second he fixed her. "Thank you."
"You're not as typical as I thought. Now, let's get to it."
With a wave of his hand she found herself slamming through the air and landing, hard, on her bed. And then she couldn't move at all. Another wave of his hand and her pyjama pants shoved themselves down her legs and onto the floor. He did the panties by hand, though. First he trailed a finger across the top of them, feeling her shiver.
"That tickles. I haven't felt something tickle since you poked around in my brain."
"I bet you haven't felt a lot of things, Claire." He smiled again. They were both only half-committed to keeping up the pretence that this was a true-blue rape, now. She couldn't move, but they were bantering and practically flirting. He wanted to stop and fuck her senseless, maybe make himself stop thinking, too. But he found himself unable to speed things up, unable to get on with it. He was angry at himself. You're not supposed to make love to her! He found himself screaming inside his head. Screaming at Gabriel, he realized. Maybe this was Gabriel, or at least Gabriel's fault. Especially what happened next.
"You're a virgin. I can tell." He noted.
"What of it?"
"Makes it more fun."
"Well, get on with it, then."
"No. I think I want to make you enjoy this."
"That's cruel. And it won't happen."
"Because I hate you. It's sadistic of you to try to make me like this or want you in any capacity."
"Well, I'm good at cruel and sadistic."
"Don't. Just fuck me, please."
And now he felt the excitement again. It was getting boring because she was so resigned. But knowing that here was something she really didn't want, something cruel and sadistic, something that'd make her really hate him . . .
He edged her panties the rest of the way down and brought his fingers to her skin.
"Don't do this." She begged. "Please."
He ignored her, tracing his fingers through her light, curly hair. Down, then up, slowly. Never delving. He continued this for a long time, never getting any closer, until he'd had enough.
He brought his mouth down, suddenly like a hawk strikes, and pushed it in near her entrance, licking hard and thoroughly all the way up, barely flicking her clit at the end. She gasped and shook all over with the feel of it, after not feeling anything for weeks. Bringing one finger to her sensitive clit, he delicately drew circles over it. Her body responded with a little surge of wetness.
Acting purely on instinct and arousal now, not being very manipulative or cunning or cruel at all, he reached out with his tongue and lapped every drop up. She moaned and squirmed and he realized that he'd forgotten to hold her still with his mind. Unsure if she'd noticed her freedom, he pretended he hadn't and kept going.
He pushed his tongue deeper until it was probing into her, wriggling in an attempt to go further. He pushed it hard against the wall of her vagina and dragged it out, pulling on a million tiny ridges and nerves along the way. More moisture gushed at this, more for him to desperately suck in and swallow, however much he didn't plan to. He found he'd lost himself completely, and he had no idea whether it was Gabriel or Sylar acting now.
In a sudden fit of determination, he pulled himself away from Claire fully, leaving her writhing and in the middle of the buildup, nearly crying at the cruelty of him stopping right then. That brought a small smile back to his lips- he was teasing her, ruining her by holding what she wanted just out of her reach. He put the telekinetic holds back on her. Sylar was back.
Bored of watching her pant and quietly beg for more, he figured it wouldn't hurt to finish her off once more. It was with much more self control that he brought his tongue to her clit this time. Shoving two fingers inside of her sharply made him feel even better, sure that he'd caused her pain. Then it was three, and he thrust hard before curling them and dragging them out, stretching her insides out of shape and making sure to grate them with his fingernails. This definitely finished her off, making her come violently. He held back this time, though, letting her juices seep all over the bed.
Claire hadn't expected this. Even when he'd insisted on making her 'enjoy it', she never imagined it would feel this good. She hated herself so much for how easily she'd given in, but there was no turning back. Now she was full-on begging him for anything he'd give her, even though she felt as though she'd just run a marathon. When he looked up at her, it was with his full serial killer face on, as though in denial about having just eaten her out magnificently.
"You should've," she said between breaths, "looked up 'Rape' in the dictionary before you came.
"Be quiet. You begged me."
"So now you cave at the requests of mere mortals such as myself? Oh, Sylar, I'm disappointed."
She was starting to piss him off, so he gave her a 'you asked for it' glare and leaned back until he was kneeling over her, torso straight. She looked thoroughly debauched, with her hair loose from its ponytail, her face flushed and sweaty, and her body naked and glistening with moisture from the waist down. She was quite a sight to see, panting beneath him and starting to look scared again.
He was quite a sight himself, straddling her heavily with his back straight. He had shrugged his big coat off at some point, but didn't seem to plan on removing his uncharacteristic t-shirt. He was, however, busy undoing his jeans. Claire ached to reach out and do it for him, but that would shatter any remaining fiction about rape. Soon enough his pants and boxers were out of the way and Claire was somehow surprised by what she saw. Sylar had always seemed more a god or demon than a man, for one thing. But moreso, she was shocked that he would be aroused by her. He'd only ever talked down to her, like she was some silly little pest far below him. But here was evidence, staring her quite literally in the face, that on a very biological level he wanted her.
Sylar lifted himself and with one hand guided his cock to her entrance, slick and waiting. In his fantasies she'd been relatively unprepared and he'd had to shove really hard, hurting her, to get inside. But this would have to do. He was about to ask her if she was ready, maybe offer some sort of words of comfort, when he stopped himself. He was a monster and this was a rape. So he just thrust.
Oh, did it hurt. Oh my God, it hurt. Claire still had to stop from smiling around her gasp.
Sylar was suddenly very happy he'd stolen super hearing from that woman's head. Hearing Claire's hymen tear was the most erotic, sick, twisted, and beautiful noise he'd ever heard. It distracted him a second, but her gasp brought him back to the moment. When he looked down she was smiling.
"It hurts so bad." She gasped out in a breath, and the look on her face suddenly fit her words, going from a smile to a grimace. Her eyes watered slightly before the smile returned, and in that instant Sylar might have stopped, if he could've. Gabriel wanted to, wanted to stop hurting her and let her heal properly, but Sylar was fucking her brains out and snarled at Gabriel to get back in the corner.
Claire might have understood when Sylar, in complete animal abandon, took over. He thrust so hard she wondered if maybe he'd picked up super strength, and also if she'd be seriously hurt if she wasn't superpowered herself. The pain from her hymen hadn't gone away like she'd thought. Wasn't it supposed to only hurt for a second, until the pleasure took over? Now she only felt pain and more pain, in her whole abdomen as he pummelled her. But pain was so precious and so missed, for Claire, that it was almost better.
One thing was for certain, the feeling of rape had come back to this encounter. Until pleasure did, amazingly, manage to edge into her consciousness around the pain. That was around the time she noticed the nausea, too. The feeling of being filled fully and totally, over and over again . . . and it felt like he was pushing on internal organs, with the sick pain inside her. She was starting to feel raw, but he was also hitting some series of little spots inside her and she'd never felt anything like it.
Sylar felt himself about to come, but held back using his amazing self-control. He slowed his pace until it was a slow series of slamming and sliding. This was her cue to meet his eyes, and the look he gave her back wasn't mean or distant or psycho at all, it was a 'You know what? You're alright' look. That was enough to send her over the edge, and burying himself once more in her, he finished, too.
Claire felt the warm flood leaking throughout her and onto the bed, and it should have worried her but all she felt was sick and in pain and happy. As soon as he pulled away, she felt her body fixing itself. Along with the zip of his pants she felt the stitch of cells that meant a layer of skin, and soreness washed away like dust in the rain, all over her. At one point they both heard a loud crack, as something he'd dislocated or broken mended itself.
Claire might have been all better, but her bed was damp. The air from the open window was already making the wetness cold to the touch. Sylar, in an act much like the replacement of the top of her scalp, folded the covers over Claire so that she might be wet and dirty and sticky, but at least she'd be warm.
Then he turned to leave.
"No end speech? No goodbye lecture?" She asked.
"Did you want one?"
"I just want to know . . . was this the only time? Will you be back?"
"Oh, yeah. That was the point of this. To let you know."
"Let me know what?"
"That I will always be in your life."
" . . . what?"
"Claire, you're never ever going to die. And neither will I. Everyone you know will be gone someday, as well as everything you've ever known to be home. Except for me. You and I are two constants, the rest of the world is in flux. Except, I suppose, for Peter Petrelli, but screw him."
"What're you saying?"
"You and I will always be somewhere on this planet, and our goodbyes will never be forever."
"But I hate you. And you hate me."
"I don't hate you."
"You don't like me."
"Fair enough." He admitted. "But I think . . .eventually . . . maybe six lives from now, when you're a kindergarten teacher and I'm, say, a dentist. When we've forgotten who we are and where we came from, and each of us has nothing left but the other. Maybe then we'll . . . like eachother. And best of all?"
"What?" Claire asked, breathless yet again, this time from the picture of despair he was painting.
"We'll both always be hot. And you, Claire-Bear, might always be a virgin."
"We'll see. You're awfully accepting of this future I've decided on."
"Because I see that you're right. My parents will die. The Earth will move forward, and I'll have to, too. But you'll always be there. It's inevitable. I'm just not sure why you felt the need to rape me to illustrate this."
"Hmm. Now that you mention it . . . in the planning it made perfect sense. As an afterthought, though, it might not have been absolutely the only way."
"Well, it was very very wrong and horrible and it had better never happen again, got that?" Claire said, forcefully but with an inflection of sarcasm.
"Definitely." he said, nodding curtly and chuckling just a very little bit. He turned towards the door again.
"You're going? Now? After laying all that on me? The destiny bit, I mean, not that actual laying me part, but that, too."
"Like we said, we don't like eachother, yet. And in this lifetime, I'm not exactly the cuddly type. But I'll be in touch. And, Claire?"
"Enjoy your life. Make friends, have boyfriends, love your family, pet your dog."
"And what're you going to do?"
"Kill people. For now, until I get tired of it. And you can't stop me. You have to accept me as-is, even if it takes you a century to forgive me, a millennium to make peace with it all. Maybe it'll be sooner than you think, though."
She nodded. He thought about kissing her, but really didn't want to. Maybe next time. Much as he hated to admit it, he didn't think it'd take six lifetimes to start to like her.