Claire pressed her back against the wall, praying the petite frame she had always hated would make her practically invisible in the dark. The frantic drumming of her heart pounded in her ears as she cautiously held her breath to keep from exposing her location. While she couldn't be hurt by those that were hunting her, she could be rendered unconscious and then God knows what they would do to her. The word "experiment" became one to fear for every Special after the dream Angela had told her about.

Damn it, how could she have done something so stupid? Launching herself off a Ferris wheel was supposed to open up doors of communication and acceptance, not revive the hunt for Specials like herself. She had become the FBI's number one Most Wanted and all because she had exposed herself for what she truly was. So much for being yourself, she mused. Before, her late father's highly illegal, but government funded, plan to round up Specials for their "own protection" had produced the truly unique and sadistic individual known as Danko. But now? Now her father's thought-to-be-dead plan had produced hundreds of men and women like Danko and all of them wanted to eradicate the planet of people like her with the President's blessing. No wonder, when Specialslike Sylar existed.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a noise come from the doorway to her right – the kitchen. Her head whipped to the side, expecting the barrel of a sniper rifle to appear at any moment. Being stalked by Sylar had been bad enough, but being stalked and pursued endlessly by five agents intent on taking you to a mad scientist's lab was somehow spookier.

Where was her psychopath when she needed one?

As if the object of her annoyance had read her mind, Sylar appeared from the shadow of the doorway in front of her – the bedroom – with his finger pressed to his lips. Dressed all in black, he gave her a wicked smirk. Claire rolled her eyes, amazed that the man could find the situation humorous, never mind that he was in her home, again, and in her bedroom no less. Wait a second…her bedroom? Where she had just been five minutes ago changing into the wispy nightgown she had on right now? Claire narrowed her eyes at the serial killer. She had a sneaky suspicion he had been there the whole time, watching her.

His grin wider, he winked when she folded her arms over her chest and glared at him.

Another thump! from the kitchen brought their attention back to the matter at hand. Agents were in her house and something needed to be done about it. She watched as Sylar's playfulness turned to seriousness as he approached her. She needed his help to get rid of them and damn it, she hated to admit that, but she didn't want him to kill them either. She mouthed her request to spare their lives to him when he was barely an inch away from touching her, really hoping he would listen to her for just this once. It was bad enough that Specials now had a bad reputation and she didn't want to make the situation worse.

Sylar cocked an eyebrow, that magical eyebrow that had a life of it's own, before he pushed her to the side and partially behind him in a wholly protective move. It was so unlike Sylar to protect anyone and for a second Claire wondered if Peter had been right about Sylar becoming a better man.

And then he grabbed her half-naked ass. Facing his back, she pinched him, hard, in retaliation.

He didn't flinch. Instead, he grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers in with hers. Startled, Claire didn't move, totally unprepared for that action. His hand was soft, yet warm, and amazingly not permanently stained with blood. It felt comfortable and natural, like her hand should have been held by his a long, long time ago. Snorting at the ridiculous thought, she tried to unlace her fingers and pull away.

"Trust me," Sylar whispered, looking back at her. He gave her hand a squeeze and Claire could swear she felt a spark of electricity zap her palm. "Save the cheerleader, save the world."

Did he really just say that? And trust him? Yeah, right.

Sylar moved forward, dragging her with him. He held up his other hand in front of him and moved toward the front door. Surely he realized that they wouldn't make it to the balcony doors before being intercepted by—

Three agents rounded the corner of the hall connecting to the kitchen, their guns raised and pointed at Sylar's head.

"Freeze, you freak!," the taller agent said. She heard Sylar tsk three times in reply. She could just imagine him rolling his eyes, too. Claire almost felt sorry for the three men. Almost.

Sylar threw his hand out, blue electricity arcing from his hand to the barrel of each gun. Guns sparked and exploded into pieces as the agents scrambled to pull another gun or two from their body arsenal. Sylar moved his hand forward, but this time he used his telekinesis to push. The agents went flying in different directions, hitting the walls. Dents appeared in the drywall, frames fell to the floor, glass shattered, and men grunted in pain before being smacked unconscious from the impact. The entire time, Sylar held her hand and used his body as a shield from any matter that might fling her way.

Well, that takes care of three, she thought. There were still two left stalking in silence.

Sylar flung the French balcony doors open with his TK. "Ready to play Lois Lane?"

Claire's eyes widened. She didn't particularly mind human flight, but the thought of flying with Sylar bothered her, especially when she knew he had stolen it from Nathan. Yea, that was it and not because she was only wearing a thin-as-air nightgown.

"If you think I'm going to—"

Yes, he did. Sylar scooped her up in perfect Superman style before she could finish her protest. With his arms under legs, he launched them into the air. Knowing it was futile to argue, Claire sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, hanging on for dear life.

Oddly enough, she fought to resist the urge to inhale his wonderful, spicy masculine scent when she buried her face into the crook of his neck.

# # #

It didn't take long before Sylar reached his destination and flew in through the open window with precious cargo cradled in his arms. Peter had given him strict instructions to keep watch over Claire no matter what and he had no problem following orders for once. Since the day of Claire's little stunt, when he'd prevented the mass murder of hundreds of people in Central Park, he had watched her from the shadows. He suspected she had no idea the number of times he had prevented agents like Danko from kidnapping her. He had to give her credit for trying to escape the mess they were all in. Claire probably thought she had disappeared off the face of the planet with a name change and her move to the French Quarter in busy New Orleans, but he knew they would find her eventually. Sylar had no doubt agents would be after Claire from now to eternity and he was going to make damn sure nothing happened to her.

Invisibility, an ability that he had honestly picked up by accident, had its perks. She liked Fruit Loops for breakfast. She worked in a metaphysical shop on Canal Street. She liked beignets from Café Du Monde with hot cocoa. And he knew her nightly routine by heart. The sultry scent of her shampoo, a combination of basil, caraway, and mint, created the most exotic aroma that drove him insane. The way she would take extra time to pick out the perfect set of pajamas was adorable. The tank top with red and pink hearts had to match the flowy bottoms with red and pink hearts and so on. But, tonight she had chosen a frilly, pink nightgown with matching panties and he wondered if they were intended as floor decoration. If so, he'd have to break his vow to Peter of not killing anyone ever again.

As much as he was her invisible guardian and a former psychopath, he wasn't a pervert. He gave her privacy when she needed it and never peeked when she was changing clothes or taking a shower. Well, most of the time. After she had cried out his name from the bathroom once, his mind went into overdrive imagining what she had been doing in there to cause her shout. Unfortunately, she was already wrapped in a towel, drying her hair by the time he had decided to get a glimpse…

The sound of Claire clearing her throat brought him out of his thoughts. She was glaring at him, silently demanding he put her down. He complied, slapping a billowing curtain out of his face as he set her down on the plush carpet. Claire stomped over to the bed and whirled around, her hands planted on her hips.

"Where the hell are we?" Damn, she was pretty when she was mad.

Sylar smiled at the fury in her voice. "This condo is a safe house. They won't find you here."

"Where is here?"

"Here is Manitou Springs in Colorado, a small artsy town that probably isn't on the list of places to find you at the moment."

"Yet you found me…"

"Yes, I did," he answered, not telling her he was her guardian angel.

"How exactly did you do that? Although, I shouldn't be surprised. You find prey to kill easier than a scorpion does."

"You needed me. I was there. That's all you need to know right now."

"No, that's not all I need to know right now. You can't just kidnap me, Sylar."

Annoyed that he hadn't received a thank you yet for saving her sweet little ass, Sylar stretched his arm out behind him and pointed at the sky, indicting the flight path they had just taken. "I kidnapped you? Claire, those agents were going to kidnap you."

"Doesn't mean I needed to be rescued by you, of all people. I could have taken care of them," Claire lied, the tingling going off in his head. "What do you want, Sylar?"

Sylar swept his gaze from her pretty blonde curls down to her pearly pink manicured toes and back up. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he wanted and Claire wasn't stupid. A cool breeze had nothing on the shiver he just witnessed. He intentionally dropped his voice. "For you to be safe, Claire."

Claire scoffed. "I'll be safe when you're dead."

Sylar sighed and watched as Claire paced around the bedroom, taking inventory. He hadn't time to fill the condo with a whole lot of furniture or supplies, save for the bed and a tall floor lamp. She whipped open the closet doors and scowled at the bare contents.

Crap, he forgot clothes, too. He hadn't exactly intended to bring her here in just a nightgown, but he had no choice. Not that he didn't mind her in such a skimpy article of clothing, of course. The way the moonlight shimmered off the satin material covering her full backside was the Eight Wonder of the World. Still, he had his black pea coat off and held out to her to put on before she turned around.

"Thanks," she murmured, begrudgingly slipping her arms through it. Due to their difference in height, the coat came down to her knees. He followed as she padded into the kitchen and opened the fridge. "No food either, huh?"

At least he had set up everything else. "I wasn't exactly prepared—"

"So, who'd you murder to get this place?"

Sylar closed his eyes and quickly counted to ten. "I didn't kill anyone. I don't do that anymore."

"Right, because you've been redeemed," she replied with a sarcastic snarl in her voice.

"Look, I know you don't believe me, but it's true. You have to trust me." He wasn't going to give up. If it took forever to get her to figure out he was telling the truth, so be it.

"You're right. I don't believe it."

Was there even hope? "Claire, what would it take to make you believe me? Seriously, ask Peter. He was there." He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"What would it take? Oh, let's see." She pulled a carving knife out of the wooden block sitting on the counter and pointed it at him. "Where is it?"

He knew what she was asking, but asked anyways to keep the conversation going. Any conversation with Claire was better, even if it was bouncing questions off each other. "Where's what?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Your off switch. The kill spot. Where is it?"

"Even if I tell you, what makes you think I'll be telling the truth?"

"If you don't tell me the truth, I'll never believe you. Ever."

He detected no lie from her statement, but it still didn't sit well in his gut what she wanted from him.

"You'll just have to trust me not to kill you, won't you?" Claire pursed her lips. "That's the only way. Take it or leave it."

It was a gamble. A big gamble, one he wasn't sure he wanted to bet on. Despite his feelings for her, he was pretty sure she still loathed him and would probably castrate him if she could. But, if he sought to mend their tumultuous relationship anytime soon, he had to start somewhere, even if that meant putting his life ultimately in her hands. A part of him knew that she had always held his life in her hands. Hell, she took a little piece of his heart each time she stood up to him. Her feistiness was an aphrodisiac to him and he would march through the fires of Hell for her, but the question was if he was about to. If she didn't let him heal, then he would have no way to protect her.

"Okay."

"Okay? Are you serious?" The startled look on her face was endearing. She actually sounded like she cared.

"If I have to trust you first in order to get you to trust me, then so be it." He sure hoped he knew what he was doing.

"You're seriously going to tell me where your sweet spot is?" Claire asked him incredulously, still holding the carving utensil tight in her fist, but dropping her arm to her side.

"Yes." Sylar stepped a little closer, pinning her back against the counter. "But you have to bring me back and… you have to do something for me first," he said in a low tone. He knew he was pushing it, but didn't care. This was his last chance.

"What?"

He grinned. Her voice was a breathless whisper.

"Kiss me."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. "Kiss you? You have got to be joking."

"Doesn't a dying man deserve one last wish?"

"No!"

"Just a kiss and then I'll show you exactly how to rid the world of me."

"I don't want to kiss you, Sylar."

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips at the lie. So, Claire did feel something other than contempt for him. "Yes, you do," he replied, planting both hands on either side of her on the counter behind her. He pushed the lower half of his body against hers. He had her trapped, she knew it, and yet didn't try to escape even with a weapon in her hand. "Kiss me, Claire," he whispered. "Please?"

A fire lit in her eyes, he could see the struggle to decide. "All right, fine," Claire sighed. "But—"

Sylar didn't give her a chance to finish. She had said yes, giving him permission and that was all that mattered. His lips met hers in mid-sentence, effectively silencing her. He expected Claire to respond with a simple peck and then pull away but he was pleasantly surprised that was not the case. Instead, the light feathery kiss he started out with became one of urgency and need. He felt the tip of Claire's tongue against his mouth and he opened to allow entrance. Pushing her tongue against his, she clamped one weapon-fisted hand and one palm against his cheeks, locking him to her embrace. For anyone else, the need to breathe would have come into play for them as his mouth slanted over hers again and again, but he didn't care and neither did she. Their tongues danced with each other, and yet they pulled against each other to find release. When Claire whimpered, he groaned. Spikes of pleasure rocketed straight to his groin as he made love to her mouth with his tongue.

It seemed as if Claire realized what they were doing, or rather what she was doing which was devouring him. She broke the kiss abruptly, pushing him back. Despite not needing to breathe to survive, technically, both of them heaved and panted.

Holy fuck! That was one hot last kiss, Sylar thought.

"Now I'll show you, if you still want me to." Sylar whispered, pushing a curl behind her left ear. Her lips were perfectly pouty and rosy and he couldn't help but brush his lips against hers again just one last time.

"Yes," she said in a breathless whisper, finally opening her eyes and locking her gaze with his. Her eyes glistened with moisture.

He stepped back slightly and tugged his t-shirt over his head. The blush that crept over her cheeks complimented her complexion perfectly.

"What are you doing?" The panic in her voice made him laugh. His jeans suddenly tight, he unbuttoned and unzipped them just enough to reveal the elastic band of his boxers.

"Here," he whispered, arousal heavy in his voice. Her fingers still clutching the knife, he wrapped his hand around hers and pulled the blade to a spot to the right and down from his belly button just above his crotch. "I moved it here. I trust you, Claire." Her gaze shifted from the blade to his face and back, disbelief in her eyes. "I trust you not to make it permanent."

"Sylar, I…" Her voice wavered. Was she having second thoughts?

"Kill me." When she hesitated, he pushed verbally. "Do it. It's what you've wished for. Me dead and I'm granting that wish." He wrapped his other hand over hers, his and the knife.

He was fairly certain his favorite little cheerleader had never killed anyone before. Even if she did hate him, an emotion he seriously doubted she still held for him, would she be able to go through with it? Murder a serial killer and rid him from her life? Forever?

Forever was a very, very long time for someone to be alone.

"Do it, Claire!"

A tear slipped down her cheek. "No."

That single word, just one syllable, was one he had ignored many times in the past and today was no different. The word had barely left those sweet lips he would never touch again when he jerked her wrists forward, plunging the blade of the carving knife into his gut.

He grunted in response to the sharp pain at the same time she screamed in horror.

"Forgive me, Claire."

# # #

The cry flew from her throat. What had she done? What had Sylar done? Nonononono it wasn't possible! He was just toying with her, right? He really didn't just shove the knife she was holding into his abdomen—his kill spot— just to prove his case, did he? For some ungodly reason, her stomach twisted at the thought of losing Sylar, of being alone forever, as she slowly sank to her knees with him.

She tried to pry her hands out of his grasp to no avail. "Sylar, stop it! Let me pull it out so you can heal." Wait, didn't she want him dead five minutes ago?

"Not until you s-see I'm telling you the t-truth," His words stuttered by pain, he still had much more strength than she did to hold the knife to him as she continued to struggle with him. "Let me die, Claire. Then you'll see. You'll believe me."

This was ridiculous. He truly was nuts! If he was telling the truth, then she didn't need to believe him as he'd be dead and it wouldn't matter anymore. She'd finally be free. But, it didn't make sense. If he was still the insane psychopath she knew him to be, they wouldn't even be in this situation. He never would have let her hunt for his off switch, unless he was fucking with her, much less help her kill him! Then again, if he was screwing around, wouldn't he have pulled it out by now and laughed at her stupidity? What purpose would that serve?

"Oh my God, please don't do this," she begged. Though her vision was clouded by tears, she saw blood pooling from the wound, over both their hands, to the linoleum kitchen floor. He was fast losing color.

"Fuck, this hurts…" Sylar squeezed his eyes shut, falling back to the floor.

Not as much as it hurts to believe you… "Damn you," she whispered.

"You…you don't have to pull it out, Claire. Just…just say you believe me. N-not asking for…forgiveness."

Which you don't deserve, her mind screamed at her. Her heart told her a different story, however. For so long, she could feel no pain and yet it was all she felt right now as she watched him die beneath her. Damn it, if she let him go, she'd truly miss how comfortable she'd gotten with his obsession with her. "Why?" Tears were free falling now.

"Because I love you, Claire. I always have." He coughed, his breath coming much faster now. "I'd rather die with you believing I've c-changed then have you continue to hate me for eternity..."

It was a simple explanation and the last words he would ever speak to her.

# # #

She stopped breathing when he closed his eyes and exhaled for the last time. He was gone. Dead. Here lies Sylar, the psychopath who let me kill him… What now? If he was truly dead, the world was free of one less Special, possibly the most dangerous one to exist to date. It was free of the pest who had plagued her family for years and murdered numerous people. She should be rejoicing, shouting from the rooftops that she was free!

Claire pried her fingers away from the handle of the knife, looking at the blood staining them. His blood was on her hands. I need to wash my hands, she thought. Claire knew it was a ridiculous thought, but what else could she do? Slowly standing, she stumbled to the kitchen sink and pulled his jacket off her shoulders. She turned on the facet, letting the water burn to the hottest temperature possible and scrubbed. She scrubbed and scrubbed until the sticky, crimson fluid disappeared down the drain.

She wiped her hands on the black and white towel before deciding that she should clean him up, too. Sylar had always left a mess when he murdered his victims, but she could at least be more civilized than he when killing someone—Oh God, she had killed him hadn't she? Panic threatened to overwhelm her and she felt her knees wobble. Alone. She was going to be Alone. Forever!

Even if he was a pest, he was her pest, and the tiny demented part of her that had come to depend on him to always be there loved him for it.

Claire grabbed the t-shirt he had tossed aside earlier and took a deep breath. That same spicy sent she had resisted earlier had a calming effect on her nerves.

Just wipe the blood away, Claire. Do that first, and then you'll figure out what to do. He's probably just playing dead.

Thoroughly wetting the towel, she mopped up and cleaned away as much blood as she could around the blade of the knife and the floor. She expected him to wake up at any moment…any second to make fun of her for worrying over something like leaving blood everywhere.

Two hours later, she rocked back and forth with her arms wrapped around her knees as she stared at the lifeless body in front of her. She had pulled out the cell phone from his jeans pocket, intending to call Peter and tell him Sylar was still a twisted fuck for pretending he was dead just to goad her, but her fingers never touched the keypad.

Another two hours later, she gave up. She threw the phone against the wall, shattering it into pieces. In a fit of rage, she slammed her fists onto his pale, cold chest.

"You son of a bitch," she snarled between gritted teeth. "How dare you make me believe you? Trust you!" She paused, a fresh batch of tears stinging her eyes. She sobbed into her palms and moaned, knowing she had to keep her promise. "Forgive you…"

Sniffling and sucking in a deep breath, she laced her fingers around the hilt of the blade and pulled. It took her two tries but she was eventually able to jerk it free from his body. She hurled the offending utensil out of sight.

And waited.

He didn't move. In frustration, she repeated her earlier action of punching his chest. "Wake up!"

Nothing. "Damn it, wake up!" She tried smacking life into him again.

Still nothing. "Don't you dare leave me, you bastard, or I'll hate you even more…"

Mid-sob, she saw his chest move. Claire jerked her gaze down to study his wound. The deep fissure was slowly knitting back itself back together, rebuilding tissue and muscle and finally forming smooth skin. The final proof of life was his sharp intake of breath followed by a heavy groan.

Claire would never be as happy to see Sylar alive and breathing as she was at this very moment.

Damn it! She knew that fine line between love and hate existed… and she just crossed over it.

# # #

What a wicked headache, Sylar thought as he palmed his forehead. His head throbbed like he had slammed himself into a concrete wall. Oddly enough, it was how he felt every time he came back from the dead. He wondered if Claire had ever felt the same way, despite her claim to no longer feel pain.

Claire… She had kept her promise? That didn't make sense. He had been fully prepared to walk into the afterlife and face judgment for his crimes because she wanted him dead, he loved her that much. He had given her the chance, so why was he breathing?

Sylar opened his eyes and found Claire Bennett's beautiful, angelic face hovering over him.

"You died." It was a statement, not a question, which was followed by a frown.

"Yes," he replied pushing himself off the cool linoleum floor into a sitting position. He inspected his kill spot, just making sure he was whole again and briefly debated whether or not he should move it now that she knew where it was located. "Disappointed?" he inquired quietly, noticing how her cheeks were red and her eyes were puffy. Had she been crying? A tiny balloon of hope swelled inside of him somewhere. Had Claire actually cried over his death?

"Yes…I mean, no." Claire sat back on her heels. "You weren't supposed to die."

Sylar didn't respond. Claire's face scrunched up as if she was trying to solve all the mysteries of the universe.

"Claire?"

Sylar was totally unprepared for her attack. He grunted when the back of his head hit the tile as Claire straddled him. Planting her palms against his cheeks, she kissed the daylights out of him and he could only hang on. Her kiss was desperate, filled with pressing need, and Sylar was confused. Really confused. Claire was not acting like she despised him. Honestly, she was acting like the Claire of all of his fantasies…

"Stop. Claire, stop," he mouthed around her kisses, deciding he had lost his mind. "What are you doing?" He was able to pry her hands off his face for two seconds to look her in the eyes, before he sat up with her on his lap.

Claire continued to straddle him, just staring back at him with a fire blazing in those alluring, green eyes. Her face took on an innocent expression, but contradicted it with a devilish smirk as she dipped her head to the side.

Was this a test? Sylar narrowed his gaze. Had Claire suddenly had a change of heart or was he just hallucinating in Hell?

He jerked when she reached behind her and cupped the full-on erection straining against his boxers. Fuck, this had to be a test. His gaze dropped to focus on where her other hand was– toying with the ribbon on the swooping neckline of her skimpy nightgown. She was slowly undoing the little ribbon in the front, keeping him paralyzed in bafflement.

His gaze jumped back up when he realized her full intent. He opened his mouth to ask what the hell she was doing when her hand shot up to cup over his mouth, silencing him.

"Shhhh," she whispered, before dropping her hand.

He sat motionless, as the new side of Claire was revealed. She titled her head to the side again and slowly caressed her hands over his rapidly rising and falling chest, seemingly to study his form. She smoothed her hands over his body as if he was some statue that meant to be worshipped. Claire ran her hands over the corded muscles of his arms, feeling the sinewy strength hidden underneath, before running her fingertips lightly over his broad shoulders and across his chest. Sylar shuddered in response. Finally, she made her way down his stomach and he heard his own sharp intake of breath as she memorized with her hands the muscles defined there.

Sylar tossed his head to the side, trying to fight the sensations his little Claire was causing. He had pictured this very thing – well, him being the aggressor rather than her – so many times in the past. In fact, he had the whole thing planned out in his mind just how it would go and well, that wasn't happening. Just being so close to her, even when she was simply glaring at him, was enough to drive his hormones into the fast lane but this… This, oh Jesus, she smelled so wonderful… He took a deep breath, hoping the painful ache in his groin would subside long enough so he could figure out how to proceed. He could stop her at any moment, but fuck, he didn't want to. Her hands were so soft and graceful as they swept over his skin. But he had to, didn't he? This was something he had always dreamed of, yet could never have. He wasn't going to let her win this time, damn it. He needed to take control and stop…when he felt her hands move lower, he turned his head back to see she was trying to tug his boxers down. At that moment he tried again to say something, but her hand shot up again to silence him.

Well, damn it, Claire didn't even possess TK or the ability to silence anyone with just a thought and yet, he couldn't seem to find his voice. Despite all of his abilities, he felt powerless to the determined and wild look in her eyes. He got the feeling that if he even tried to stop what she was doing, she'd find that carving knife and shove it through him one more time.

His whimper was muffled by her hand as she freed his arousal, all the while keeping her gaze locked with his. She kept him silent with a look as she dropped her body to the floor, her sweet little ass open to the air. Lowering her mouth onto the tip of his erection, Claire tasted the wet bead that had formed there. Sylar groaned, vowing he would stop her torment in just a second…

Oh God, her tiny little mouth was doing such amazing, delicious things to him. She kissed and flicked her tongue over his weeping slit, ran it up the length of him, swirled it around the purple head… Fuck, she just took him deep into her mouth. Christ, was she going to go all the way to his balls? He was too overwhelmed with what she was doing to him to do nothing more than keep his hands fisted at his sides and pray that he wouldn't pass out. She popped him out of her mouth briefly to twist her fist around his cock. He let out a load moan and bucked his hips forward when she retook him into her sweet little mouth.. Her rhythm was making him lose his mind. He had never felt something so incredible in his entire life. His abdominal muscles pulled tight as he leaned back and planted his palm to the floor. He dropped his head back and lifted his other hand to slowly entwine in her hair as a familiar sensation began to build.

"Claire, wait… I-I'm…" he begged in a harsh and desperate whisper. His rapidly building orgasm was only getting stronger as she sucked him harder and harder. He was on the brink of exploding. He was barely able hear the little erotic sounds she was making over his own heavy breathing. "If you don't stop, I'm going to come and I swear I'll make you swallow it."

When his little fearless cheerleader giggled around a mouthful of his dick, his mind snapped. He forced her to stop by jerking her up by her hair. He slammed his lips down onto hers, still tasting himself in her mouth. He quickly lifted her onto his thighs and madly ripped her panties off. Grabbing her ass, he swiftly plunged upwards into her, immediately releasing his load into her. Her gasp was drowned out by his cry against her lips as he shuddered and jerked.

She recovered before he did. She cupped the sides of his face and waited for him to look at her. Perspiration broke out on his brow and his eyes were glued shut. Thanks to the healing ability he stole from her, he was hard as a rock already despite the fact he had just had the best orgasm of his life. She had kissed his forehead and the bridge of his nose before he finally opened his eyes to look at her.

Something dark, foreign, and extremely lustful glowed in Claire's eyes. Clutching his shoulders, she gently lifted herself up and then back down, taking his full length into her. She closed her eyes and moaned, repeating the movement.

Sylar brought his hands back up to her waist and took over the pace, lifting his hips to meet hers. He watched in amusement as her expression changed rapidly from dominance to confusion to pleasure, as he knew exactly how to make her burn for him. He could read her mind and her body with his abilities with blissful ease. Claire dug her nails into his shoulder blades and her hair fanned down around him as he lifted her up and down once, twice, three times. Her breasts hovered in front of his face and he wanted to rip the damn nightgown off and suck on them until morning.

"Oh, God," was all Claire could mumble as she glided her hands down his arms, arching backwards to the floor and pressing her lower back against his thighs. Sylar unfolded her legs and brought them up to rest behind his back. He leaned forward, surging into her again. He splayed his hands across her lower back, lifting her up to meet his thrusts.

Sylar swept her damp hair off her shoulder and pulled the nightgown down, revealing one of her perfect breasts. He moved forward, penetrating her even deeper, to take a nipple into his mouth. He laved it with his tongue and brought his other hand up to cup her other breast. He massaged the hard nipple through the fabric with his thumb, pulling to and teasing it in time with his thrusts.

Feeling her hands grip his hair, Sylar groaned. Please don't let this be a dream, he thought. Even if it was, he never wanted to wake up.

# # #

Claire threw her head to the side, crying out softly. She never wanted Sylar to stop. She tried to tell him so, but wasn't able to form the words. She whimpered instead. Oh God, he was hitting her sweet spot every time… every fucking time! She wondered briefly if he knew that, but was unable to focus on that thought long as a sudden—ohmyfuckingGod! and it built with increasing speed and—her cries became screams as she tossed her head from side to side. She tugged on those beautiful dark brown locks, begging him to end her agony. For some reason, she could feel the brink of an orgasm, but it never fully hit her. It was absolute bliss and torture at the same time. She opened her eyes long enough to find them fuzzy with tears and to see that same sadistic grin on his face that she had loathed so many times before. She knew immediately that he had something to do with her inability to fully come.

"Oh my… Oh my God, Sylar, PLEASE! Please…" The last of her plea ended on a sob as Sylar entwined his hands in hers and lifted them above her head. He silenced her sobs with a demanding and possessive kiss. Claire felt like a million stars had just exploded inside her body. She screamed his name and arched her back as a blissful euphoria crept over her. She lost the ability to breathe, let alone think, as Gabriel Gray, continued to fuck her brains out.

# # #

Sylar didn't feel the least bit guilty for prolonging what Claire wanted to feel most of all. He allowed himself to revert back to his evil self for a just a moment to feel what she wanted to feel most of all at the same time he did… which was right now. Up to this point, he had been keeping as silent as was physically possible, only enjoying the screams that were coming from her. But with the last few hard thrusts into her, he stopped his torment and let the orgasm hit her full force and the same time his washed over him, letting out an almost inhuman shout and again poured his hot seed into her. "Oh fuck, Claire!"

Sylar dropped his head down onto her shoulder and tried to catch his breath. He was still shaking when he lifted his head to find her looking at him expectantly. "W-what?"

Her answer was to use some kind of newfound strength she had stored somewhere and flip them over, keeping him embedded in her as she straddled him. His sweet little Claire, with wild curls about her shoulders and her nightgown half off of her, raked her nails against his stomach. Extra sensitive from emptying himself completely into her not once, but twice, Sylar gasped and twitched. Once again on his back, Sylar was at her mercy.

"Don't ever do that again."

Her voice, while not laced with malice, was still full of contempt. Dare he ask what not to do again? Let her suck him off? Screw her? Hold off her orgasm? "Um…"

She smiled, running her hands over his stomach again until she had lowered herself until she was nose to nose with him. "Don't ever die again."

Oh, was that all? Sylar grinned. Claire was looking at him like if he so much as tried to disobey her command, she'd do something worse to him than just stab him with a carving knife.

"Your wish is my command, Claire." He brought his hands up to her waist, briefly wondering if she was at all ticklish.

Claire rolled those beautiful green eyes of hers. "I'm serious, Sylar."

"I know you are, Claire. And I have no intention of dying, that is… if you don't stab me again."

"I'm sorry, Sylar, I—"

"Why?" He had to know.

She looked startled by his question. "What?"

His first question was to ask why the sudden, super awesome sex she just had with him, but instead asked what he had wanted to know since she brought him back from the dead. "Why did you bring me back?" Would she lie or would she give him an honest answer? He really didn't care either way, but he wanted to know.

"I can't say it's for the same reason why you died for me, Sylar, but…it's close."

Well, damn…he hadn't been hoping for her declaration of love, but he would take that. She leaned down and brushed her lips against his. "But, I can honestly say that dying alone would suck. And you… I can't believe you were telling the truth. For once."

Sylar let out a bark of laughter. "Baby, I'm just full of surprises."

Her slap to his chest was dainty and non-threatening. "I'm serious, Sylar. While you were gone I just…I thought about how boring life would be without you and I—I didn't like it."

He felt like chuckling again, but the tremble in her voice gave him pause. He used the little bit of strength he had gathered in the last minute and slowly flipped them over, putting her underneath him once again.

"I'll never let anything happen to you, Claire." He paused for dramatic effect. He ran his fingers through her hair before pulling a strand behind her ear. "Especially if we have sex like that again. There's no way in hell I'm missing that."

He silenced her oncoming rant with a kiss of his own that was full of every warm and fuzzy emotion he could put forth.

Damn, but he loved Claire Bennett.