3 - Drugs/alcohol
Bonus kinks: dub con, semi-public sex, misuse of champagne (but no Tyler Shields in sight) and bondage (as usual)
Claire entered the diner with trepidation. Sylar's message informing her of their meeting place was terse and to the point, but even though it gave no orders, Claire had decided to play it safe and respected all his previous gross requests. She was wearing nothing but the purple dress and a pair of shoes, and had put the BDSM restraints in her purse.
She wondered what he had in store for her. Claire liked to think that she was tough enough to withstand anything after all the crap she had lived through, but she had to admit that the torture in the slaughterhouse had been too much. The thing that had bothered her most was the crawling; it implied a lack of respect for her humanity which even the rapes hadn't conveyed. Claire was hoping that this session would involve nothing worse than semi-public molestation, or preferably normal sex in a bed. But she wasn't getting her hopes up too high.
Sylar was sitting in a booth at the back, reading a novel with an iced coffee in one hand. Despite her fears, Claire couldn't help smiling when she saw him. He was clean shaven and his dark hair was neatly trimmed, no longer stringy and greasy as it had been the last time she saw him. Even though he had taken offense at the time, he had listened to what she said.
"Hi," she said as she approached.
"Oh, hey. I didn't see you there."
Sylar put down his book and stood up. Claire realized that it wasn't just a gentlemanly gesture; he indicated the empty space beside him. She scooted into the corner of the booth, between Sylar and the wall.
"Nice hair," she commented.
Sylar grinned and half-shrugged. He waved the waitress over and Claire ordered a chocolate milkshake.
"You look nice too," he said, leaning in to kiss her mouth.
Claire sat passively while he kissed her, even though her heart was beating fast, filled with simultaneous excitement and apprehension. The least one could say about their encounters was that they were interesting. Sylar pulled away when the waitress brought Claire's drink, smiling benevolently at them as if they were young lovers.
"I brought you something," said Claire, placing her bag in between them before Sylar could stick his tongue down her throat again. She handed him the folded paper. "Gretchen always gets the local paper, and there was a mention of the bus we saw on Wednesday."
"Only a couple of lines," commented Sylar, reading the article. "I bet they were disappointed no one died. Still, twenty-three people." He smiled and cocked an eyebrow at her. "I hope that made it worth your while. I mean for the stuff in the slaughterhouse."
Claire sighed and sipped her drink. She had kind of hoped that bringing him the article might make him proud, maybe encourage him to do the right thing for its own sake. But no, he just saw it as payment for the ordeal he had put her through.
"Thanks," said Sylar after a pause. "It's, um… very thoughtful."
Out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw him fold the paper and tuck it in his shirt pocket. Sylar put Claire's bag on the floor and sidled up to her. Seeing no alternative, she raised her face towards his when he cupped her chin, though she focused on his ear rather than his eyes. She noticed that he had small ears for such a large man, with practically no earlobe.
Claire closed her eyes as he kissed her again. Sylar was a good kisser for a rapist; Ryan and West had both tended to stick their tongue down her throat like it was some kind of dick. Sylar seemed more focused on the actual act of kissing, sucking on her lips with his and licking gently her tongue. It was more like Gretchen's technique only with added stubble.
Sylar slipped his hand under her skirt and Claire jumped a little as his fingers, cooled by the iced coffee, brushed against her sex.
"Hmm, no panties, and I didn't even ask," he murmured. "You are a good girl."
He kissed her again before she could answer, his hand moving between her legs at the same time. Leaning back in the corner of the booth, her legs slightly parted under the table, Claire could feel her body inexplicably responding to the dual sensations. Sylar's fingers were sliding more easily along her folds as she became wet and it wasn't long before he parted her lips and teased the entrance of her vagina. Claire tensed, clenching her muscles instinctively to fight the intrusion. She was acutely aware of the circumstances; people probably watching, the fact that she was parting her legs for her parents' murderer, and not least, remembering the demeaning treatment he had put her through the last time they met.
Claire tried to turn her face away, breaking the kiss, but he froze her in place. She grunted involuntarily as Sylar pushed a finger inside her. She could feel his other knuckles rubbing against her inner thighs and then against the outer folds of her sex when he shoved all the way in. He kissed her again, using his free hand to keep her head in position.
Unable to move much, Claire forced herself to relax; there was very little she could do against a man who could move a bus full of people with his mind. She needed to heed Luke's advice and just enjoy the ride until the day she could make Sylar stop. In the meantime, she hoped no one could see what he was doing.
Sylar pulled away after a moment, nuzzling her cheek gently, his eyes hooded with arousal. The finger inside her continued to move back and forth, fucking her lightly. Freed from his control, Claire fought the urge to push him away or smack him; it would draw attention and no doubt encourage Sylar to do something worse.
"Gosh, Claire. You make me so hot," whispered Sylar, his breath tickling her ear.
"Gee, and all I'm doing is sitting here," muttered Claire.
A fat guy sweating at one of the tables across the aisle smirked at her. Claire felt sick and shifted her hips, twisting away from Sylar. To her surprise, he took the hint and pulled his finger out. He followed her gaze; the fat man lowered his eyes and paid hastily, leaving the diner.
"What did you do to him?" asked Claire in alarm.
"Nothing," said Sylar, discreetly wiping his finger under the table with a napkin. He smiled and raised his eyebrows. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I can look kind of scary when I want to."
Claire decided not to rise to the bait and tell him exactly what she thought of his looks. She just nodded politely and drank her milkshake. Sylar turned towards her, raising one leg on the bench.
"You did well last time and I want to reward you," he said. "So I'm going to give you what you want most. I know you feel like a freak because your ability suppresses pain. I can fix that."
He pulled out a small pill bottle and placed it on the table with a proud smile. Claire stared at it with apprehension.
"These are the pills the Company used to keep its long-term inmates in check," explained Sylar. "An ex-Primatech employee sold the formula and they've been on sale online ever since the government witch hunt last year, so I picked up a few for you. They're not as potent as the ones the Company made, but they do work. Take one and your ability will be switched off for two to three hours."
Claire had often thought that the loss of pain was the most dehumanizing aspect of her power. She remembered Peter accidentally disabling her ability at Nathan's wake and how welcome the sting of lemon juice had felt on the small cut on her finger. Feeling pain did make her feel normal. However, there was no way in hell she was going to let Sylar anywhere near her when she couldn't heal.
"No," said Claire, disgusted by the terror she felt at the thought of Sylar torturing her without her ability. He was a sadist; a repeat of Wednesday's scene would keep her in agony for hours. She swallowed, hating herself for begging. "Please. Please don't do that to me."
Sylar looked puzzled. "It's only to make you feel normal again," he argued. His eyes widened as realization dawned on him. "You think I'm doing this just so I can hurt you?"
"Of course I do," she snarled angrily, keeping her voice low, but too scared to contain her anger. "You strung me up over a freaking red hot metal pole! You- you spanked me in front of Luke. You're a sadist and I am not a masochist!"
Sylar smirked. "Well, I'll take your word for that. But as long as you comply, I'll have no reason to hurt you. The spanking was a punishment, and the pole was an experiment. There would have been no point going that far if you could feel pain, and definitely not while you couldn't heal. I'll admit I haven't always been gentle with my victims," he said with a cruel smile, "but since you have agreed to be my sex slave, I intend to be a good master."
The idea of Sylar being her "master" made her want to puke, but the pills were still on the table. Claire had to humor Sylar if she wanted to keep them out of her throat.
"Um, good," she said cautiously, trying to be polite without lying. "I-I think a good master is better than a bad master."
"I knew you'd be sensible about this. I won't force you to take the pills right now," he continued, putting the bottle away. "But they're there if you change your mind." He tucked a stand of hair behind her ear and took a deep, satisfied breath. "Now, if you like, we could go get something to eat, maybe catch a movie, then have some fun later."
Claire stared at him. She tried to imagine having dinner and "catching a movie" with Sylar. He had already finger fucked her tonight; he would probably make her go down on him in the theater or something. It would be anything but a normal date. More to the point, she was nervous enough about his sex-related plans already; having to sit through dinner and a movie before finding out what he planned would be excruciating.
"That sounds nice," she said, hoping that he wouldn't detect a lie and go ballistic. "Um, having fun sounds nice, though."
That had to be a true statement whatever the context, and Sylar looked pleased. Claire was disgusted at herself for implying that she wanted to have sex with the guy who had raped her, but these were exceptional circumstances, and she firmly told herself that she needn't be ashamed.
Sylar ran his hand up her inner thigh and cupped her sex again.
"So you'd prefer to cut to the chase?" he purred.
"Yes," she said frankly. That was the truth. She wouldn't have to wait to find out what he had planned, and she wouldn't have to listen to him talking about himself for hours.
"Fine. I booked a hotel room around the corner, so I guess we can go straight there," said Sylar with a grin. "We can always order room service if we're hungry."
Sylar handed Claire her bag and led her out of the diner. At least this way, he'd get on with the sexual torture -- Claire swallowed hard with trepidation at the thought -- and she would be back in her dorm for a good night's sleep. She was moving her stuff to her father's apartment in the morning; that was going to be weird enough, and doubly weird after whatever horrible thing Sylar planned to do to her tonight.
* * * * * * * * * *
Sylar was a little surprised when Claire turned down his offer of a date. He had imagined that she would jump at the chance to do something normal after their last encounter, so he had looked up restaurant reviews and checked the times at the local theatre. His intention was to reign in his more bizarre tendencies for the evening and use Nathan's experience to charm Claire for a change. Part of him was annoyed that his research would go to waste, but on the other hand, Claire had gotten so turned on by him touching her that she had actually requested sex; he wasn't going to pass up an opportunity like that.
In any case, it wasn't as if he had found Claire to be very interesting company when they had spent a week-end together at his father's house. She was an eighteen-year-old girl and he was a thirty-three-year-old man; aside from some intriguing similarities in their pasts and a common interest in kinky sex, they didn't have a great deal to discuss.
The hotel room Sylar had booked was ostensibly the "honeymoon suite" but turned out to be just a large room with a super king sized bed. Although Sylar didn't dwell on those memories, he knew that Nathan had enjoyed this room a great deal in recent years. He took some perverse pleasure from the idea of screwing the politician's daughter in this very room where a series of interns and secretaries had dropped their panties. Sylar chuckled privately at the thought that Claire had very obligingly dropped her panties before they even started.
"Stand here," he ordered, indicating a spot by the entrance as he locked the door.
Claire dropped her bag onto the floor and obeyed, standing still while Sylar settled in one of the arm chairs. She looked nervous now, her small eyes following Sylar's movements with apprehension. Enjoying the attention, Sylar stayed quiet for a long time, appraising her while he decided which fantasy he would play out tonight.
"Sylar, can we get on with it? Um, please," said Claire, unable to stand the silence any longer. "I still have stuff to pack tonight before I move out of the dorm."
Sylar grinned. "I am getting on with it. You know I like a little game with my sex."
Claire rolled her eyes. She stared at a point on the wall behind him and waited while Sylar continued to admire her. Claire was a pretty girl; she wore too much makeup, but her blonde hair was loose over her shoulders and she looked young and desirable. The purple dress suited her; the full skirt clung to the top of her hips and the tight bodice emphasized the dip of her waist.
Its only flaw was that the wide shoulder straps that covered her chest were too loose and tended to slide off her shoulders; Sylar flicked a finger and the straps both slid off at once. They caught on Claire's upper arms, still high enough to cover her breasts but already baring her solid shoulders. Another flick and the straps slid further down, uncovering the white triangles of untanned skin around her little pink nipples as her chest was fully exposed.
Sylar imagined himself licking the tips of her nipples; Claire caught her breath and wet her lips as her nipples rose in response to the stimulation. A shot of arousal coursed through Sylar's veins as he remembered how wet she had become in the diner. Claire might not think she was enjoying his attentions, but her body at least had a different idea.
The question was what to do with her now. He had plenty of plans in mind, but the one he had originally picked -- using the pills to test her reaction to pain during sex -- didn't appeal as much now that she had come here willingly. Perhaps it was the influence of Nathan's many memories of consensual sex, but Sylar liked the idea of Claire wanting him out of her free will. He decided to reserve pain for the next time she deserved a punishment.
"I have to say, you're a quick learner, Claire," he said. "You get a bonus point for dressing the part. Now, why don't you show me what else you've learned since we've been together?"
"Aside from the fact you're a kinky asshole?" she muttered under her breath.
Sylar didn't need his long-lost superhearing to catch that. "That's one malus point for being rude," he said.
'Malus' being the Latin antonym of 'bonus', Sylar thought it was an appropriately pedantic word to use on a college girl. He had actually read about it in an article about car insurance, but Claire didn't need to know that. He glanced at his watch and an idea popped into his head.
"Tell you what, since you're in a rush, you'll get time off for good behavior. I could keep you busy until eleven p.m. but I'll deduct ten minutes for every point you earn." Sylar leaned forward in his seat, excited by the game that was forming in his mind. "One point for every one of my previous requests that you remember and obey. Double points for initiative. How does that sound?"
Claire stopped pretending to look at the wall behind him and stared at him in disbelief. He could tell that she was torn between wanting to tell him to fuck off and her fear of incurring another malus point; assuming that she even knew what "malus" meant.
"Can't I just lie on the bed?" she said finally.
Sylar shrugged. "Another malus point for arguing. Like I said, if you don't play, I'll keep you here until eleven p.m. You'll get kind of bored just lying on the bed for four hours."
"Yeah," said Claire, gritting her teeth. "Even including the twenty seconds when you actually screw me."
Before he could even think about it, Sylar waved his finger and Claire flew into the wall, suspended halfway up by an invisible hand around her neck. She grimaced but didn't bother to struggle, though she did raise her arms to slip the wide straps on the dress back over her breasts.
"The rules are very simple, Claire. Time off for good behavior. Punishments for bad behavior," said Sylar, not bothering to stand up. A wicked smile twisted his lips as a good punishment came to mind. "I had hoped to explain this to you later, but malus points work on a 'three strikes and you're out' basis. Since you apparently can't control your tongue, we'll start with your punishment."
Keeping her suspended, Sylar opened his backpack and pulled out the bottle of pills.
"Sylar, please, don't do that!" she begged. "Listen, the last time my ability was disabled for more than a couple of minutes was when you and Elle shot me. I have no immunity at all. I died of septic shock!"
Sylar hesitated as the memories from that fateful day flooded his mind. Elle had been trying to shoot Bennet and hit Claire when the stupid girl threw herself in front of her father. That was the day Sylar discovered the Petrellis' deception. The day Elle gave herself to him and he repaid her by putting an end to her life. The day all his hopes of turning back the tide of his destiny had died.
"That was a busy day," he said bitterly, opening the bottle. "I died too, you know. Your father slit my throat with a box cutter. Tit for tat, I guess, with you lying in hospital. Another parallel in our lives."
Sylar held up one of the pills. Claire looked at it with such terror that something like pity stirred in Sylar. He dismissed it firmly as another annoying side-effect of his brainwashing, but the immunity issue gave him pause. It would ruin his evening if she died of an infection. He held out the pill in the palm of his hand and burst it in half.
"I'm not going to shoot you, Claire," he assured her. "And as I intend to be a good master, I'll only give you enough to disable the ability for a short while. But I need you to do as you're told and I figure that'll be easier if you know I can hurt you if I have to. Besides, you want to be normal, don't you? Normal people play these games too."
He hadn't investigated the matter very far, but Googling for the bondage straps had brought up a host of images that were now burned in his mind. Strange as they were, at least Sylar knew his fantasies were relatively common. He wondered if all the women in the photographs had been coerced like Claire. For some reason, that thought bothered him.
All this talk and emotional nonsense had killed his arousal, but Sylar didn't want to back down now. He forced Claire's mouth open, rammed a half pill into it and kept her still until she swallowed reflexively. He let her drop to her feet. Claire touched her throat and glared at him as if she couldn't believe he had just done that to her.
"You son of a bitch!" she exclaimed. "How am I going to regenerate if I die while the pill is still working?"
"I'm not going to fucking kill you!" snapped Sylar, irritated that his game was spoiled. "Now, let's get back to what we were doing. I'll be generous and give you points for dressing correctly and being compliant in the diner. Earn a few more points and you'll be free at ten. Three more malus points, on the other hand, and I'll remind you exactly what pain feels like. Now, show me what you've learned."
Claire looked as if she couldn't believe what he was demanding. Her pretty little face filled with teenage defiance, she turned away from him and undid the zipper on her dress. Sylar relaxed in his chair. He hoped she would earn a couple of hours off so he could have his fun, then kick her out and still have time to get himself something to eat. In the meantime, he started keeping track of the points she was accruing.
Claire had already earned one point apiece for being naked under the dress and letting him touch her. In fact, he was tempted to add another point for her being turned on as well, which was a big bonus in his mind. On the other hand, it was perhaps best not to make the game too easy.
One point for removing her dress and shoes so she was standing naked in front of him. Although she had turned away, he could still see one breast in profile, a perfect little mound topped with a pointed nipple. Like her shoulders, her back gave an impression of strength, but it was belied by the very feminine tapering in of her waist and the rounded curve of her ass. Sylar's arousal returned.
One point for walking naked to get her bag, her breasts jiggling attractively with every step. Claire crouched down to rummage in her purse, her back to Sylar in an effort to conceal her sexual attributes. He could just glimpse a tuft of moisture-darkened hair between her legs and he wondered if she was turned on by this game. Definitely another point if she was.
One point for bringing her restraints. Sylar took a deep breath. Make that two points; she'd made it clear last time that she hated the things after he used them to suspend her from the ceiling, but she had still brought them with her. She was really playing the game well.
One point for putting all four straps on, even if Claire still had her back to him and he wanted to see her face. Opening his mind to her emotions, Sylar could sense that she was turned on, but also resigned and filled with righteous indignation. Claire pulled the two chains out of her bag and observed them, apparently unsure what to do.
Sylar added a point when Claire sighed and clipped one of the chains between her ankles. Another point when she clipped the remaining chain to her left wrist strap, though he interrupted her before she fastened the other end.
"Put your hands behind your back and loop the chain onto your ankle chain," he ordered.
Claire turned to look at him over her shoulder, her finely shaped eyebrows raised in shock. Given her usually grumpy countenance, Sylar appreciated the fleeting look of innocent surprise; it reminded him suddenly how young she was. Claire heaved another deep sigh and put her hands behind her back, complying with his instructions so that her wrists and ankles were loosely bound to each other. It wasn't enough to make her uncomfortable, but it incapacitated her hands and rendered her unable to walk or even crawl.
Curious to see what she would do next, Sylar observed her in silence, admiring the chains crisscrossing her large white bottom. After a moment's hesitation, Claire shuffled around to face him on her knees. She earned an extra point for spreading her thighs slightly, even though she looked annoyed as she did so.
"I guess that's all I can think of," she said, her slightly husky voice betraying none of the shame he could feel pouring off her emotions.
"That's very good," he said. He was too turned on to remember how many points she had got. "I guess we'll finish around nine p.m. instead of eleven."
Claire looked pleased. "Oh good."
Even then, Sylar wasn't sure how long he could keep his hands off her or what he would do if there was time left after they had sex. Now that his prowess was improving, Sylar might consider a second round, but he wasn't sure if Claire could manage that without her ability. He dismissed his musings impatiently; this kind of self-doubt appeared to be yet another remnant of his ordeal. He focused his attention back on the present moment.
Opening his backpack, Sylar pulled out one of the scarves he had bought when he first captured her. Claire watched with visible trepidation as he walked over to her and tied a large knot in the scarf.
"Open up," he ordered, placing the knot in front of her lips.
"I might choke if you put that in my mouth," she said, looking up at him in horror.
"No, you won't," said Sylar, cocking his head to one side. "I take it your power is gone now?"
Claire swallowed hard and nodded. "Everything feels weird."
"I'll be careful then," he said gently. "But that's a malus point for refusing to do something. You have to trust me, Claire. I have enough abilities to tell if you're going to choke."
Claire looked aghast, no doubt realizing that another punishment would be imminent if she wasn't careful. Sylar pressed the knot in the scarf to her lips again; Claire closed her eyes and opened her mouth. Sylar fed the knot in between her teeth and tied the scarf around her head. The makeshift gag wouldn't do much to stop Claire talking, but it completed the look that the bonds created. She looked helpless and embarrassed, and the wave of arousal that flooded Sylar's senses made him feel lightheaded. He crouched beside her and kissed her cheek.
He had just slipped his hand in between her legs when they were interrupted by a knock on the door. He caught Claire's eye and they exchanged a puzzled look before Sylar levitated her into the bathroom, closing the door to conceal her from sight. He laughed when he realized what the bellboy had brought. Someone had taken their use of the "honeymoon" suite a little too literally.
"Claire, can you imagine that the hotel staff actually thinks we're on our honeymoon?" he said, leaning into the bathroom when the man was gone. "Look what they gave us!"
Claire lifted her eyebrows as he showed her the bottle of champagne. Sylar smiled at the sight of her kneeling naked on the tiled floor with her hands tied behind her back, the colorful scarf obstructing her mouth. Claire looked like a slave, captive and bound for her master; Sylar wasn't sure why, but there was something familiar about the sight that aroused him and filled him with an emotion oddly like comfort. Even he found that a little disturbing.
The only thing spoiling the image was that the scarf was making Claire dribble. Sylar didn't find that very attractive; he removed it and froze her vocal chords instead. Claire glared at him when she realized what he had done.
"I guess we might as well drink it," said Sylar, looking at the bottle in his hand.
He opened it with a thought but didn't realize it had been shaken by the trip up to their room. The frothy liquid spurted out, hitting the floor and Claire's naked thigh. She frowned at him, no doubt thinking some obscenity, and Sylar laughed. The hotel had provided glasses but he took a swig from the bottle before putting it to Claire's lips.
"Here, maybe this will cheer you up," he said.
Had she been able to speak, Claire might have objected on the grounds that she wasn't of legal drinking age. Instead, she just opened her mouth and let him pour a small quantity onto her tongue.
"I'm guessing you haven't tasted that before," said Sylar.
Claire shrugged so he asked her if she wanted some more. Since the response was another almost Gallic shrug, Sylar tipped the bottle again, higher up this time so Claire had to lift her face to drink. There was something strangely arousing about forcing her to drink like this, watching her throat move as she swallowed in increasingly erratic gulps.
Feeling a familiar evil impulse rise inside him, Sylar gradually raised the bottle higher, moving it back and forth so that Claire had to chase the champagne with her open mouth to prevent it from splashing all over her. She only succeeded for a short while before the bottle was too high; champagne splashed onto her face and hair, tricking down her extended throat.
Some part of Sylar, whether it was Nathan or just the shred of decency of the man he had once been, told him that he should stop now but he didn't. He continued to pour the champagne on Claire even though she was gasping and trying to pull away. Seen without the bottle, the yellow liquid looked like something else and Sylar felt both repulsed and intrigued. He spurted the last drops onto her and put the bottle down on the floor.
Claire's head was bowed now; she tried to shake the champagne off of her face and hair, spattering the lower part of Sylar's pants. A thin stream wound its way down Claire's left breast, dripping off her nipple onto her thigh. Soon another one found its way between her breasts and along her belly until it disappeared into her pubic hair. When she looked up to glare at him, Claire's wet hair was dark and stuck to her face; something about her made him think of a wild animal, soiled and dangerous.
The sadistic impulse that had made him shower her in champagne quietened. Arousing though the experience had been, a tiny part of Sylar was shocked by the fact that he had just emptied a bottle of champagne on Claire. That was kinkier than anticipated. The bathroom now stank of wine and the floor was drenched with it.
Sylar freed Claire's hands so she could wipe her hair out of her face, releasing her voice at the same time. As it dried, the champagne left sticky streaks that shone like a bizarre pattern on her naked skin. Smoothing back her sodden hair, Claire looked up at Sylar and, surprisingly, smiled.
"God, you are one sick puppy, Sylar," said Claire. She licked her fingers and Sylar was so aroused and startled by the erotic gesture that he was speechless. "Hmm. Champagne does taste nice though."
What the hell? Intrigued, Sylar stroked her head, pulling her hair slightly to tilt her head up. "You enjoyed that?"
"Uh, no," she said, her pink tongue licking her shiny lips.
The statement registered as false; Sylar gripped her hair hard enough to make her yelp in surprise. "Now, now, don't lie, Claire, you know I don't like that."
"Oh yeah, how could I forget?" she said, rolling her eyes. "Another 'malus' point, I guess?"
Claire shifted her position, her knees splashing in the shallow puddle of champagne beneath her until she was kneeling before him, her back straight and her hands clasped in front of her pert little breasts. Sylar released her hair.
"Oh, please, master, don't punish me," she said in a playful, slightly slurred voice. She looked up at him and batted her eyelashes; her mascara was smudged, making her eyes look greener than usual. "I promise I'll be a good girl and earn loads more points."
There was enough sarcasm in her statement to trip his lie detection again, but it finally dawned on Sylar that Claire was drunk. He felt a twinge of misplaced guilt at the idea of taking advantage of a young girl after forcing her to drink alcohol. It was the same strange impulse that had saved Micah and Molly's lives, and stopped Sylar from raping a 17-year-old Claire at the Stanton. He dismissed it easily.
"Don't push me or you'll get another punishment," he warned her, though he decided to forgive the sarcasm this once since she seemed to be in a playful mood. "So what do you think I should do with you now?"
Worry flashed across Claire's pretty face, but her expression brightened almost immediately. "Maybe you should clean me?" she said, looking up at him coquettishly. "I mean, I am a very dirty girl."
Sylar laughed at the insincerity of her tone, but he liked Claire as a willing participant in his game. Although she was lying, he appreciated the things she was saying.
"Oh yes, you are a dirty little girl, Claire," he said. "Stand up."
Claire obeyed, graceful despite the chain connecting her ankles. Sylar held her arms and turned her around so she was leaning against the shower cubicle. He kissed her, intending to back her into the cubicle; his plan was to undress and then join her for a shower. He all but forgot his plan when he realized that Claire was kissing him back, her little tongue in his mouth and her chained arms around his neck. Since it seemed to be something she liked, he slid his middle finger between her legs again, pumping it into her moist sex harder than before. Uninhibited by the alcohol, Claire moaned and ground her hips against his hand.
"Do you like this?" he murmured.
"Oh fuck off," she groaned.
Remembering that this was her third malus in a row, Sylar slapped her ass hard enough to sting. She bucked her hips, trying to move away from him, but couldn't because she was impaled on his finger. He smacked her rump again and she whimpered.
"Ow! Okay, yes, I like this!" she snapped.
The admission gave Sylar a thrill; he pressed his lips to her cheek this time, and snaked out his tongue to taste the remnants of the champagne on her soft skin. When she didn't say anything, he continued, lapping his way down to her breasts. He had to lean down uncomfortably to get a good angle, but he was rewarded by a little moan.
Very pleased with himself, Sylar sucked her nipple into his mouth, worrying it lightly with his teeth. Claire whimpered again but none of his abilities suggested that she was in real pain, so Sylar continued sucking, adding occasional nibbles as he continued to play with her sex. His erection was caught up in his underwear, straining to escape the elastic supporting his briefs; he rearranged it without stroking himself, wanting the game to last as long as possible. When a couple more minutes had passed, Sylar used his thumb to rub Claire's clitoris with a little added electricity, just as he had done in the photo booth two weeks earlier.
Claire was panting now, her hips shifting slightly in rhythm with Sylar's hand. Fucking her was fantastic, of course, but playing with her like this, forcing her to take pleasure from what he was doing to her while he watched seemed to satisfy some deep seated need within him. He dropped to his knees; keeping his finger inside her, he spread her pubic hair with his other hand and replaced his thumb with his tongue.
"Oh god," moaned Claire. "Sylar!"
He could feel her arousal so clearly that Sylar had to stop what he was doing to regain control of himself. Even if he would recover and be ready for action again shortly, it would be a shame to waste an orgasm on the inside of his underwear. After a deep breath, Sylar pressed his nose to her pubic mound and started licking again. Claire's chained hands came down to rest on his head, her fingers curling into his short hair, and he could sense her climax building up inside her body. She tugged at his hair as she came with a loud cry, mumbling incoherently as she rode the orgasm for several seconds.
Sylar stayed as he was, the hand between her legs supporting her weight as she recovered. Claire looked down at him.
"You look as if you're wearing a mustache," she giggled.
"And you look like a drowned rat," he muttered with irritation. He'd just given her possibly the best orgasm she'd ever experienced at his hands, and she was making fun of him.
"I'm not a drowned rat," she said flirtatiously. She ran her hands up her body, letting the chain trail over her skin. "I'm your dirty girl."
Sylar decided that drunken Claire was weird, but fun. His heart sank a little at the thought that raping her from the start had probably destroyed any chance of her ever being like this while she was sober. Sylar stood up and kissed Claire. On impulse, he released all her chains and straps, and picked her up.
"My turn to have some fun," he said.
"Oh good," she said without enthusiasm. "Does that mean I can go afterwards?"
Sylar grabbed a couple of towels and carried her to the bed. She lay on the spread out towels, her matted hair tangled around her small round face. Sylar removed his pants and shirt -- both smeared with champagne now -- though he kept his vest and briefs on. Claire had seen him naked before, but he felt he had lost some of the control he had had during their previous encounters, and being dressed while she was still naked seemed like a way to redress that.
Lying on her back, Claire spread her legs as he climbed on top of her. Something occurred to him as he pulled his erection out of his briefs and rubbed the head between her folds. He was afraid that Claire might lose her playful compliance if he mentioned it, so he positioned himself and pushed inside.
"Ow!" she yelped, her green eyes wide. "Oh shit, I forgot about that."
"Yeah, me too," murmured Sylar, though there was no way he was stopping now.
Claire winced and held on to his shoulders. Sylar kissed her forehead because it was within easy reach, then bent over to get to her mouth. She barely kissed him back, probably too focused on the pain of losing her virginity to think about playing anymore. The mushy part that seemed to be taking over made Sylar feel a little guilty for causing her this kind of pain.
His more normal self on the other hand was very turned on by the thought that he was the first to hurt her like this, and by the visual image of effectively stabbing her with his penis. He let his abilities drink in her pain and fear, reveling in their combination with his own intense pleasure. Though he was tempted to thrust away and pursue his own end, Sylar gave in to a sadistic impulse to make Claire feel that heady mixture of emotions too. He imagined himself going down on her again, pictured every fold and nerve ending in her sex so that she would feel pleasure even though his erection was scraping painfully against her torn hymen.
"No," she murmured. "Ow, ow, no. Oh god, oh no."
Feeling his own orgasm ready to burst out of his balls at her mewling noises, Sylar used his ability to put pressure on his perineum almost to the point of pain, reigning in his ejaculation to remain hard. The suppressed orgasm shook his body, making him cry out. Claire looked up at him hopefully, no doubt thinking that the ordeal was over.
Sylar gave her his best evil smile and continued. He knew she didn't want to come like this; her emotions were crystal clear in his empathic mind, but he was the first to make her feel this and he wanted her to remember enjoying it. Claire glared at him with hatred as she climaxed with a loud cry. Sylar let go of all his control, thrust a few times and groaned.
"Oh, Claire. Oh, that was good," he moaned, collapsing on top of her. He panted for a few seconds, hot and sweaty despite the air-conditioning, before adding, "I'm sorry."
He froze, horrified at what he had just said. The point of taking Claire had been to exact his revenge and be in control. Apologizing because he had hurt her didn't seem to fit either of those goals. On the other hand, he had never hurt her before because she couldn't feel pain. Maybe he wouldn't have taken her all the way to his father's house if she'd been hurt when they first had sex in the car. But then, exacting revenge was all about hurting Claire; and hurting people had been an important part of his life. Admittedly, except for the agent at Luke's house and a couple of his victims, he had mostly focused on killing people as quickly as possible. He liked to frighten them, but not necessarily torture them. Or was he just whitewashing his own past?
"Um, Sylar, are you okay? Only, you're kind of heavy."
Sylar blinked and realized that his mental musings had gone on too long. He knew where the apology had come from; Nathan's memory of deflowering a girl when he was in college. Sylar pulled out of Claire with a squelching noise and wiped himself on the towel before pulling up his briefs. Further annoyed by the fact that Claire had just asked if he was okay, Sylar sat up and smirked at her.
"I'm fine. I just never imagined that I would be your first."
"You're not," said Claire, sitting up and pulling the towel between her legs. As usual, her reaction to violation was anger. "You're just the first dickhead who got to hurt me like that. Now… Please may I have a shower, master?"
"Sure," said Sylar, amused by the combination of her usual acerbic self and the half-hearted slave play. He would make her play that game when she was sober next time. They were going to have a lot of fun.
* * * * * * * * * *
When Claire came out of the bathroom, feeling fresh and clean again, she was sober and had made two decisions. One was that she was going to humor Sylar if it meant playing silly games like tonight's and not creepy scary ones like the previous encounter. The other was that she was going to try and cultivate the side of Sylar that had apologized for hurting her during sex. She wasn't sure exactly how to do that, but she figured that humoring him would be a start.
Eventually, she would gain his trust. At that point, she would steal a shitload of those pills, feed them to him, and then tie him up and hand him to her dad. And boy, would Noah Bennet go medieval on Sylar's ass. The thought was so satisfying that it gave Claire a little tingle.
Sylar was watching TV and eating a room service pizza. He was wearing different clothes; a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans that made him look like any ordinary Joe relaxing in front of the news. For that matter, she looked very ordinary herself; just a nice-looking blonde girl in a purple dress, with nothing to indicate that she was a psycho's sex toy.
The news headline was all about the latest victim of a serial rapist in New Jersey who had murdered three young women so far. He was described as tall and dark. Claire's heart skipped a beat.
"Please tell me that isn't you," she said.
Sylar looked at her in surprise. "I'm a murderer, not a rapist!"
"Oh yeah?" challenged Claire, toweling her hair.
"I mean I was a serial killer, not a serial rapist," explained Sylar sheepishly. Sheepish Sylar was weird. "I killed people for a reason."
"And killing people because you want to open their brains is less bad than killing people because you want to fuck them," said Claire in a deadpan voice. She pulled her panties out of her purse and put them on. "You're forcing me to have sex with you, why wouldn't you do it to other girls?"
Sylar seemed taken aback. "Because… Look, I told you. I need… You're special because of your family and because I can't hurt you. Even when I do hurt you, you're only upset for a little while. I wouldn't go out and traumatize vulnerable girls I don't know just to get off." He paused and frowned, as if he was asking himself whether he would or not. "No, I wouldn't. I guess your ability is back, by the way."
Claire shrugged; she wondered if he expected her to be hobbling about in pain. She had to admit that the sex had hurt a hell of a lot more than expected, but not that badly. Still, it was a relief to be back to her normal self again.
Sylar asked her if she wanted to share his pizza, but she assured him that she didn't. For some reason, sharing food with him seemed gross, as if she might catch cooties; Claire was aware of the lack of logic there considering he had poured his bodily fluids into every orifice on her body.
Sylar stood up to open the door for her and handed Claire a handful of pills.
"You can give these a try in your own time," he said. "Like I said, a whole one will last about three hours, and you can take them as often as you like."
Utterly baffled by his gesture, Claire grabbed the pills before he could change his mind. Sylar threw back his head and laughed. In the harsh light from the lamp above them, long laugh lines appeared down his narrow face and Claire caught a glimpse of a man in his prime behind the familiar monster.
"Just so you don't get your hopes up too high," he said. "They don't work so well on me. I guess they pumped me so full of them when I was on Level 5 that I'm immune."
Claire wondered if that was a lie. On the other hand, he had escaped from the Company every single time they held him, so maybe it was true. She muttered a thanks and pocketed the pills anyway.
Claire didn't think about their encounter at all as she walked back to her car. The heightened sensations caused by the pill and the alcohol were gone, and she felt all right. But Claire knew that things sometimes sneaked up on her unexpectedly. She was sure that Sylar's reference to being her "first" would come back to make her cry at 3.00 am one night.
And then she'd get up in the morning and everything would be back to normal, except for one more trauma swept under the carpet. Maybe some day, everything would burst out and she would go crazy. But for now, she was like those cartoon characters that bounced back when they were flattened by a steamroller. Claire Bennet, the Indestructible Girl.
Author's note (April 2010): this is as far as I've got so future updates will be much slower to come. But there are about 16 squares left to fill on the bingo card so there should be plenty more to look forward to if I can just keep going (see http://i874.)