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watson_ofarkhamClutching the piece of paper in her hand, Claire looked down at the address she had scribbled down in a hurry and then she glanced once more at the numbers on the building in front of her. Rolling her tongue between her lips, she hesitated as she wondered just what she was doing in that moment. What did she really have to say to Dr. Suresh? She really hadn't had much to do with the man since he had attacked and shot her father but there she was standing on his doorstep.
She knew a large part of it was the anger she felt at her own life at the moment and the fact that she had no control over it. She wasn't in New York because she wanted to be, no one had given her a choice in the move that she had ended up making and now she only sought for a way to escape the current situation. She wanted someone to talk to, someone who might understand and so she knocked on the front door of the loft.
For a moment there was silence on the other side of the door, nothing stirring, no indications that the geneticist was home at all. Then, finally, there was the tell-tale sound of life -- a shudder of something plastic, faint but audible through the thin walls, then footfalls approaching -- and a moment after that, the door was pulled open but a fraction of an inch. Mohinder peered out into the hallway, something like malice shining in his eyes for an instant before disappearing, replaced by confusion, and he stepped back, pulling the door open wider.
"Claire?"
She worried for a moment that he wasn't home and she frowned slightly at the idea that she had missed him somehow. She wasn't sure she could build up the courage to come back sometime in the future. Or perhaps Angela would know somehow -- she was a psychic, after all -- and stop her from ever returning.
Right when she was about to give up, she heard the sounds on the other side of the door and she was relieved when suddenly he appeared. "Dr. Suresh." She managed a somewhat awkward smile. "Uh, hi. I hope you don't mind me just showing up but, well, I was in the city ... "
"It's alright." He offered her a smile in return, polite but somehow nervous, and shifted from one foot to the other. I -- is there something you needed?"
"Well ... I was hoping that maybe I could talk to you about something." She seemed to sense his nerves and somehow they played on her own as she mimicked his movements by shifting from one foot to another as well. "Did I interrupt something?"
He looked uncertain as how to answer that, then finally shook his head, stepping out of the doorway so she could come inside. If she became a problem, she'd join the others cocooned to the wall at the back of the lab behind the sheets of plastic he had hung up; until then, though, he couldn't risk drawing more attention to himself by acting the part of the child caught with his hand in the biscuit tin.
"Nothing terribly important," he assured her, trying for another smile, this one closer to genuine than the last. "Just some research I've been doing, and that, I think, can wait a bit."
Claire felt almost nervous as she stepped over the threshold but she had no idea what the warning that tingled at the base of her skull really meant. She half-considered coming up with an excuse to leave but she made herself walk into the loft before turning around to face him as she tried a genuine smile of her own. "Good. I would have called but I didn't know your number."
She glanced over her shoulder at the loft. "What research are you doing? Is it to do with abilities?"
"Isn't it always?" he asked wryly, moving to his workbench to start shuffling around some of the clutter there. If anything, he hoped the gesture came off as absent -- a man with sudden company trying to tidy up a bit just to avoid looking like a slob. In reality, however, he wanted his notes and tape recorder off the table, just in case. He doubted very highly that she would understand anything he'd scribbled down in his moments of lucidity, when the weight of what he'd done to himself overpowered the beastly rage and need in his heart, but one never knew and he didn't want to take any chances.
"A ... friend of mine has an particularly dangerous ability that manifests whenever she experiences a heightened emotional state." He shrugged, unable to stop his eyes from drifting to the wall of plastic at the far end of the room, even if it was only for an instant. "She asked for my help in removing it and I agreed. I'm afraid I haven't had much luck so far, though."
And there was the rub. He could give abilities, hideous and wonderful and broken, but he couldn't take them away.
"Removing abilities, or at least symptoms of abilities, is actually what I'm here about." She didn't seem to notice or grow suspicious of the fact that he was toying with the papers on his work bench. She merely moved to place her purse on one of the chairs, quietly stuffing away the crumpled piece of paper inside, and then she turned to look at him again.
"I'm hoping that maybe you can help me or give me an idea on something." She felt somewhat nervous now but she didn't like sharing the change in her ability or how it happened. She didn't like the look that appeared on people's faces when they heard about what Sylar had finally managed to do.
Mohinder raised his eyebrows, not quite following. "How do you mean?"
She drew in a slow breath to steady herself. "I don't feel pain anymore."
"You don't -- " he started to repeat, but he managed to catch himself, shaking his head abruptly. "May I ask how or when that happened?"
"It happened a few weeks ago." She tried not to make a face or betray any of what she was feeling but it was incredibly hard to do. "After Sylar found me and took my ability."
Eyes widening, he stared at her for a long moment, his jaw working soundlessly as he struggled to wrap his head around that. The theft of abilities and how she had survived, he could understand; why Bennet had not been there to prevent it, he could not, and even beyond that, there were the implications of what that meant. Sylar was practically immortal now. He couldn't be killed, couldn't be stopped, and while there was a pinprick of fear that -- he had something the murderer wanted now -- it was swiftly crushed by hot-cold fury.
His father's murderer was out there, alive forever.
He took a deep breath and looked away, his fingers curling into fists at his side, and coldly, grimly, he offered, "I'm sorry."
He wasn't particularly. Perhaps he would be later, if and when his anger ever stilled, but at the moment he wanted nothing more to vault over the table, slam her into the wall, and demand to know how she could let that happen. How any of them could have when they had spent months trying to save the cheerleader. He barely managed to restrain himself, and took a slow, thick breath.
Claire's jaw tightened as she watched him, tracking the different emotions that rippled over his features as he absorbed the information and tried to figure out what it all meant. It tortured her every day that Sylar was now immortal like her. She knew everyone who knew was bothered by it because there was practically no way to stop him now.
Plus she didn't like the idea that, after everyone died, she was going to be stuck with him.
Drawing in a slow breath, she shifted her weight once more while waiting for him to do something. The moment was incredibly awkward and she wasn't going to feel better until he did.
He took another calming breath, then another and another, and finally, slowly, his temper shrank back, shifting into something he could get a handle on. He uncurled his fists and flexed his fingers at his sides, trying to coax some measure of feeling back into them. "And you haven't been able to feel pain since?"
"No." She shook her head, looking back at him. "Doesn't matter what happens, I don't feel anything."
"I would imagine you've tested this theory and rather violently," he said, sitting down on the stool behind the table; he could just see her throwing herself off of some ridiculously high vantage point just to see if it hurt, "but have you tried anything less ... life threatening? Something simple, clinical even, that poses no real threat? A blood draw, perhaps?"
The purpose of the question was two-fold. One, he wanted a vial of her blood -- perhaps in analyzing it, he'd be able to find a cure for what ailed him -- and two, the scientist in him couldn't help but wonder if she would react differently to a bit of poking and prodding. Slicing your own wrist open was one thing, dangerous and frightening, even to one who could heal; having a bit of blood drawn was in and of itself rather harmless. Maybe she would be able to feel something that put her in no real danger?
"I tried." She wrinkled her nose at the memory of trying to throw herself in front of a train and Peter stopping her. Of course, she had tried other things since then but nothing brought the little flash of pain that she craved. It was irritating, to be honest. She knew people wouldn't understand but the pain had reminded her that, through all of this, she was still human but now she had to question what she truly was.
"I've been hurt accidentally, without me noticing right away, and I still don't feel it. But we can try whatever you think." She wondered if he would try to keep her blood and that made her a bit wary but the need to have answers was stronger.
"I'd like to take a vial of your blood for examination," he told her, getting to his feet again in order to gather the needle and tourniquet. He cast her a glance over his shoulder, a faintly embarrassed smile touching his lips. "I'd apologize for any discomfort you may feel ahead of time, as I've never quite gotten the hang of drawing blood, but ... "
He shrugged, looking away, not particularly wanting to see her reaction to that, whatever it may have been, and brought his supplies over to the table. He doubted her blood would tell him much about her condition -- perhaps only whether or not her body still produced endorphins in response to pain, the real part of agony in the brain rather than the blood -- but it at least made him look as though he were doing something constructive rather than trying to serve his own ends. And if she knew more about pain than he gave her credit for? Well, he could always tell her he wanted to rule out the least likely before they moved into the realm of spinal taps and CT scans.
"Right." Claire nodded her head, watching him as he started to gather the things that he needed. She offered a faint smile when he looked somewhat embarrassed and she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not overly bothered by someone drawing my blood," she reassured him, rolling up her sleeves.
"Still," he started, his eyes drifting down to her exposed arm as he wrapped the tourniquet around her arm. "I thought you deserved the benefit of a fair warning."
He glanced up, offering her another one of those thin smiles -- or, well, he'd meant to, anyway. Instead, however, as he raised his eyes, their closeness enveloped him in a thin haze. She was right there, so warm, and it twisted knots in his gut, hot and unbidden want rippling through him, stealing his breath for an instant. He wet his lips with his tongue, caught rapt by the curve of hers, and inched towards her without really realizing he'd done so.
Maya had rejected him, called him a monster, but maybe Claire wouldn't. She was young, naive, and in that instant she smelled Godly wonderful. Why hadn't he ever seen her like this before? He supposed, dimly, that it had something to do with the heat of the moment -- they'd only ever been in the same vicinity when something terrible was happening -- but how could he not have noticed? Even dimmer still, the last vestiges of his rapidly fading control screamed at him to snap out of it even as he traced his fingers over the inner curve of her arm.
"Thank you, I appreciate it." Her lips curved into a smile, softening her features as she definitely did appreciate the fact that he tried warning her despite knowing she couldn't feel pain.
When their eyes connected, she felt a strange little jolt and wondered what it was that she was feeling. The way he looked at her made her stomach tighten in response and her insides feel warmer than before. Clearing her throat, she shifted nervously again while opening her mouth to say something but the feel of his fingers running along the inner curve of her arm stopped all words from forming coherently.
"You have very lovely arms, Claire," he mumbled dumbly, his eyes dropping to her inner elbow, fingers still brushing over the smooth skin there.
It was a rather odd compliment, she decided as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, but she couldn't deny the little tremors that shot from the contact of skin against skin. She silently cursed her own inexperience and the need to feel any sort of sensation.
"Thank you," she murmured, wondering she really did sound as breathless to him as she sounded to herself.
"Mm?" He looked up at her, want glittering in his eyes, distracted from grasping whatever it was she'd said to him.
"I said thank you," she said softly.
He hummed, accepting, letting his attentions drift down and away, his eyes raking over her chest hungrily. He took a deep breath, not in an effort to clear his own head -- he hadn't bothered to think of this as madness -- but rather to try and still his heart, his pulse thick and heavy in his ears, his breathing growing rapidly more shallow. He was dimly aware that it did nothing, however, but he decided he didn't care and slid closer to her instead.
He'd long since invaded her personal space; now he was practically pressed up against her, staring at the swell of her breast as it rose and fall with her breathing. A small sultry smirk turned his lips, and he turned his hand with it, the backs of his nails ghosting up her arm slowly, cutting across when he could to brush his fingers over her chest.
The light feel of his finger tips skimming up her arm sent the strangest little tingles through her body, echoing through the center of her being as they melted into a heat that she didn't recognize. His breathing wasn't the only one growing shallow as hers seemed to slow down into shallow breaths as well, causing her chest to heave a little more heavily by the time his fingers moved across her skin just inches above the low neckline of her tanktop.
"Dr. Suresh." She wondered when her voice had taken on such a husky note but it was there as she breathed out the name she used for him. She had no idea what was happening as the sparks seemed to dance along her spine.
That seemed to catch him off guard somehow, and he blinked, once, twice, rapidly, looking as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over his head, waking him from a terribly confusing dream. In that instant, he realized that this was all terribly wrong. She'd come here for help, not to be made some unwilling slave to his mad passions, and she was only a child for Goddsakes. He couldn't recall quite how old she was and was in no state to do the math, still dazed and horrified both, but over the legal age of consent or otherwise, she would forever be no older than sixteen. Even without her ability, even if somehow she could age as steadily as he surely would, he could never think of her as more than a girl, just a handful of years older than Molly.
He took another deep breath, this one willfully, hoping that he could pull himself further out of his haze and find some way of explaining himself. He doubted he could, wondering wildly what one said to excuse this sort of behavior, and -- and his stomach brushed hers as he filled his lungs with air, dissolving what passed for rational thought for him nowadays back in a shiver of sensation.
He moaned softly, eyes slipping closed, and without thinking, he leaned down, mouth colliding with hers viciously. He could have her blood -- his salvation -- later; right now he needed her body for other purposes.
Claire would have taken offense to him thinking that she was nothing more than a child but it wasn't like she had a very clear mind these days either. Every thought, every desire, was driven by a need to feel something. A need to feel human and to prove that she wasn't just a living statue. She wanted to know that she wasn't completely defined by her ability; that someone could look at her and see something more than what she had become. A freak.
Perhaps that need to feel something more kept her where she was, adding to the strange desire that twisted through her body and aided in heightening the sensations that she felt at the moment. Her eyes had darkened at some point through the whole exchange, taking on a darker hue now as she watched him, still panting softly for air even though neither one of them had done anything to make her so breathless.
Watching his features, she saw the moment when reality splashed over him like a glass of cold water but she also saw when he lost all rational thought when their bodies brushed. She opened her mouth to say something more but was effectively silenced by his mouth covering her own. Surprised by the sudden kiss, she made a soft noise as she brought her hands up to his chest, pushing at him even if she wasn't attempting to break the kiss.
He caught her wrists, pulling them away from his chest sharply, and used his new hold on her to push her back towards the wall, his lips still demanding on hers.
Perhaps she would have winced at the strength in his hold but she felt no pain, not even when he slammed her back into the wall and pinned her there. Her breathing hitched unevenly in the back of her throat as she struggled just enough to try twisting her wrists free, like she was fighting him, but now she was kissing him back.
Dimly, he seemed to note that she was at least returning his attentions, and experimentally, he let one of her wrists go. The other he simply tightened his hold on, grinding her back into the wall, pinning her arm above her head.
She balled her hand into a fist, thumping it hard against his shoulder as though in protest. The next blow was softer and the next was only a half-hearted attempt before she gripped his shoulder instead, digging her nails into his skin. The heat was nearly insufferable now but there was no reprieve as he started grinding her against the wall.
Distant fury slithered down his spine at the punch even though it did not particularly hurt, and he nipped at her lower lip sharply, trying to warn her without words not to test him. Whether or not she understood became a moot point, however, as her fingers dug into his shoulders far too close to the scales that had formed there, destroying his back, and he moaned again, tensing against her, pleasure and pain both replacing rage.
Even if there was nothing behind the sharp nip to her bottom lip, she tasted a hint of blood and she understood the warning but it didn't seem to deter her as she hit him two more times. Possibly for nipping her in the first place. But soon it didn't matter as she dug her nails into his shoulders, listening to him moan as she gained a bit of an edge in the kiss, taking more of an aggressive role as her tongue swept along his bottom lip before seeking his own tongue out.
He twisted against her, trying to get away from her fingers and press into them simultaneously, every muscle still drawn taut, every inch of him on edge. It was sheer luck that he managed to find the hem of her shirt, his fingers fisting in the fabric as his mouth yielded to hers, and simple reflex to tear at it, pulling it from her shoulders without effort or thought. He dropped it at their feet carelessly, his fingers seeking the heat of her skin immediately and roughly.
She made a second surprised noise as he pulled at her shirt, ripping it away from her frame like it was nothing but a layer of air. Her heart jumped into her throat, hammering almost uneasily as she arched into his hands, secretly thrilled by the roughness of his touch. She couldn't quite realize what was going on now as her mind was clouded by desire and so her touch was a bit rough as she reached to touch him in return.
He rocked into her fingers, his own sliding up over her side. He paused for an instant as he reached the bottoms of her breast and bra, then he continued onward, slipping his hand up under the elastic. His thumb stroked over her skin, that the only part of his hand that had not made it under his fabric, and hummed against her mouth, the sound almost a growl but pleased nevertheless.
Claire couldn't stop herself as she squirmed lightly under his hand, surprised slightly by the feel of his hand moving under her bra and his thumb brushing over her skin. No one had ever touched her like that before and now she hesitated, her inexperience starting to show through, even as she rocked her body tighter against his.
Suddenly, sharply, he flexed his fingers, curling them under the elastic of her bra. There was a faint tearing, a whisper of metal groaning against metal, and then her bra went slack, sliding down around his wrist half-destroyed, no longer clinging to her small frame. He pulled his hand away, letting it slip down around her waist, then cupped her breast lightly, kneading at it in soft contrast to the violence in his lips.
The sharp pressure of her bra rubbing against her skin, biting into her frame, gave her a hint of something that she was missing and it stole her breath away again once more. She felt some heat rush into her cheeks, staining them a lovely shade of pink, when her bra fell limp against her and then suddenly his hand was over her breast. The roughness of his palm against her skin caused her nipple to tighten against his palm as she moaned softly against his mouth.
Mohinder echoed the moan, a shiver running through him, pressing him tight against her, his own arousal apparent through the denim of his jeans. He ground against her, his breath stuttering in the back of his throat, and while it forced him to break the kiss again, his lungs desperate for air, he stayed close, lips still barely ghosting hers, his fingers teasing idly at the peak of her nipple.
Swallowing thickly as soon as he broke the kiss, she gasped for air while trying to grasp some sense of clarity but there was none to be had as he continued to tease her both with his fingers on her nipple and his arousal grinding against her. There was no denying her own arousal as she could feel the damp heat between her legs, the tingling pressure shooting up her spine and through her body again. "Dr -- Mohinder," she gasped his name softly, wetting her lips, their closeness causing her tongue to brush against his lips as well.
He whimpered, his breath catching again, but somehow still, he managed to find words. Or at very least the close cousin of them. "Mm?"
"I ... I've ... " She had no idea how to say what she needed to say because she didn't want to assume that things were heading in the direction that they seemed to be heading. What if she was wrong? What if he laughed at the idea of her being a virgin?
It was hard to tell whether or not he understood what she couldn't say, his eyes dark and unfathomable, his pupils blown, but regardless, he allowed her no chance to finish, his mouth covering hers again. His fingers resumed their exploration of her nipple breast, backs of his nails dragging ever so lightly against her skin, a line of goose pimples raising in the wake of his hand, and satisfied by that somehow, he let his fingers wander lower. He leaned away faintly, fluidly, fitting his hand between them to brush over her stomach.
He paused at the waist of her jeans, stroking the skin there teasingly.
Any other argument she might have had was lost under his mouth as he kissed her again. Hesitating for a second, she thought of breaking away again but her lips were pliable and warm beneath his, parting easily as her breath caught again when his hand slid over her skin. She shivered beneath his touch, goosebumps rising up all over her body while the muscles tightened and quivered in response.
Her stomach sucked in against his hand and she trembled again, feeling oddly breathless as she waited to see what he would do next.
He kept his hand at her waist between them, pulling her wrist away from the wall with his other hand. He touched her fingers first to his hip, then to his belt, his hips bucking against her hand suggestive, then finally let go, hoping she would get the hint. He wanted her, yes, but he wanted her to touch him, too.
Breaking the kiss, she bit her bottom lip as he moved his hand down to her hip and then his belt, rocking against her hand till she got his suggestion. She was almost fearful again of her inexperience and so her hand was slow to glide against him, skimming along his stomach as she traced his muscles, exploring. She touched him from hip bone up to his collar bone and then back down again to hesitate at his waist.
"I'm overdressed, Claire," he murmured impatiently, rocking into her fingers again. "At very least you could relieve me of my shirt."
He was hoping for something a bit lower, of course, but he wouldn't complain if she focused herself on his button-down.
God, she knew she was blushing again as she ducked her head a little, hiding her gaze from his as she moved her fingers to the bottom button of his shirt. She fumbled for a second before she got a little more confident in the task of undoing each button till his shirt fell open. Drawing in a slow breath, she touched him skin-to-skin this time, reveling in the heat of his body while she leaned forward to ghost her lips lightly along his collarbone and chest.
He let his head fall back, allowing her lips better access to where ever they wished to stray, and slid his hand away from the waist of her jeans, his arm snaking around her waist lazily. He pulled her against him, humming pleasure, and closed his eyes, murmuring, "Much better."
Leaving a trail of soft kisses over his skin, she pressed her lips to the parts of his body where she could reach in their current entangled position. Sliding her fingers along his sides, she traced her way along his ribs, nearing his back before suddenly changing her mind to slid her arms around his neck while moving her mouth to his neck where she could nip at the tender spot behind his ear.
A tremor ran through him, twisting knots in his stomach, and he rolled with it, curling into her, molding himself against her. And as he turned his head away to allow her better access, he slid a hand under the folds of denim and cotton at her backside, fingers tracing shaky patterns over her ass. "I need you. Please."
Her own breath shuddered at the feel of his fingers tracing over her ass and she pushed back into his hand while trying to wrap her mind around exactly what he meant in that moment. "Mohinder, I've never, you know, done ... that."
She finally lifted her head to look at him, her eyes dark and unfocused as she squirmed against him, pressing her thighs together as her body hummed with desire.
He lowered his head and opened his eyes to look at her, a smirk catching in the corners of his mouth. He wasn't laughing at her, however -- if anything, he looked sort of darkly triumphant. "But you want to."
The blush that went from a light pink to a much darker shade would be answer enough in that moment.
Arching away from her, he pulled his hand away from her ass, arm going back around her waist to hold him against her as he slipped his other hand between them again, fingers working the zipper of her jeans down deftly. He brushed over her through the thin fabric of her panties on his way to her hip, his fingers curling in the waist of it, tugging at it, threatening to destroy her underwear in much the same way he had her shirt and bra. "I'll be gentle."
Her pupils widened, flaring as his fingers brushed against her so intimately, and then she closed her eyes while taking a second or two to try steadying herself. Swallowing again, she opened her eyes to look at him again before giving a small ghost of a smirk. "You need to stop wrecking my clothes. What am I going to walk out of here in?"
He moved his mouth to her ear. "I'm sure I can find you something."
The low breath of his voice against her ear made her tremble again. "O-okay."
Maya was probably about her size, after all, and she was unfortunately otherwise occupied. Such a pity, but he had Claire now and she wanted him -- he could smell it on her with every shallow, shuddering breath he took.
Still smirking, he pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear and forced himself to take a deep breath, stretching his heightened senses so he could soak in the smell of her arousal. "God, you smell good," he murmured, tugging at her jeans, feeling them give way to the strength of his hands.
As he stripped away her jeans, she felt like he was stripping away the last of her reservations. It struck her as weird that he would compliment her on her smell but she figured he meant the exotic scent of her perfume and not her arousal. Shyly, she dropped her hands to his belt, working at it a bit clumsily as she got it undone and then she moved to open his jeans as well.
He lifted his hips into her hand, trying to help her along, and moaned softly against her skin when she finally managed to get his belt undone. It took some great act of will to keep himself from moving his hands over hers and shredding his own pants, but somehow he managed it, brushing his fingers over her instead, his shirt shifting on his shoulders as he reached to tease his fingers through her heat.
Her fingers slid over the button of his pants, undoing it easily but she hesitated again at the zipper and then lost all focus as his fingers started to tease her. She was wet with anticipation and from everything he had done to her. Rocking her hips to grind gently against his hand, she moaned sweetly while tilting her head back against the wall. "Oh ... "
Curling her fingers around the waist band of his pants, she almost jumped as the back of her fingers brushed against the head of his arousal.
Mohinder did jump, though it was a thankfully human reaction, sparks of pleasure sliding down his cock and so suddenly that he could do nothing else but start, moaning. He took a moment, trying to catch the breath that had been stolen from her in that second of contact, and snapped his hand away from her abruptly, suddenly pushing at his pants. It never really occurred to him that he could tear into them with as much fervor as he had derobed her, but he managed to get them down off his hips just the same, pressing close again once he had as much freedom as he needed.
"It's going to hurt," he told he huskily, pressing a hand to the back of her thigh, trying to coax her into hooking it around his waist.
"I don't feel pain," she murmured softly, reminding him why she had come to see him in the first place. At his gentle guidance, she brought one leg up to hook it around his waist, feeling breathless and nervous again as she got closer to the edge of something new and exciting. With Mohinder Suresh, of all people.
He'd somehow forgotten about that and he considered it again only briefly, rolling one shoulder in a shrug as he dismissed it. Dropping his head to her shoulder, he attached his mouth there and thrust into her with a hard, fluid roll of his hips, shattering the resistance he found inside her with little effort and a noise of pleasure against her skin.
On the edge of her peripheral vision, she caught sight of something that didn't quite make sense but then he was entering her in one hard thrust and she couldn't think anymore. It didn't hurt but the pressure was utterly exquisite as it split her apart, causing her to stretch to accommodate him as she tightened around him with a low moan.
He echoed the sound back to her, holding deep within her for a time so that she could get used to the feel of him buried inside her. Time so that the lack of feeling she'd mentioned would pass and she could feel the pleasure of it, his cock all but twitching inside her. Time so that he could cope with the swell of sensation that ripped through him and left him shivering, nearly too much with his heightened senses.
And eventually, finally, he forced himself to pull back, nearly withdrawing from her completely before he slammed back into her with another soft cry.
It felt like she barely had time to adjust before he was slamming into her again, causing her to cry out as she arched against him, her hips involuntarily rocking against his as she met his thrust. The pressure inside and against her was enough to drive her on as she rocked her hips, urging him to set some kind of steady rhythm so that she could find some kind of release.
He took his cues from her body, setting a certain but careful cadence with his hips in spite of his first few moments of reckless abandon. He wanted hard, fast, now, wanted to break himself in her heat and tightness, but more than that, he wanted to feel her trembling around him, his eyes on her face as she broke, and if steady won that race, then so be it. He could be gentle, kind, when the situation called for it, he was learning, and especially if it gained him something in the process.
Strangely, she hadn't minded the reckless abandon as it had made her feel something that was so familiar and yet so far out of reach that she could actually cry with frustration because of it. She moved with him, finding and matching his rhythm, using the natural grace of a gymnast's unbreakable body as she looked at him again. She watched his features, the darkness of his eyes, tracking his emotions and reactions as her hips rocked a bit faster, wanting him to follow suit. Running her fingernails over his shoulders, she felt the strange change of something harder under her nails but she couldn't comprehend it as the pressure continued to build inside of her. "Please ... "
He would have allowed her another sly, smug look if she hadn't touched the scales at his back. Instead he hissed, his mouth breaking free of her shoulder so he could arch into her fingers and into her with renewed vigor, driving her on in time with the rising heat that was weaving its way through the muscles in his stomach, drawing them tight.
She gasped as he started to thrust into her, harder now, and she strained against him, her touch getting a little rougher as she clutched at him, holding on with a bit more strength. Her breathing was ragged and raw, turning into explosive and needy pants for air as every muscle in her body tightened nearly to the point of snapping. As her nails scored his skin, she rocked against him a little faster, needing more and more till she reached the pinnacle that made her cry out. Tightening around him blissfully, she shuddered with each wave of mind numbing pleasure.
Between the way her inner walls shuddered against him and the sharpness of her nails on the little patches of sick, harden skin at his back, he was more than happy to follow her into the fire that burned in his stomach. A swear on his lips, the word half English, half Tamil, and horribly butchered either way, he broke with a final, sharp twist of his hips, spilling into her hard and fast. He slumped against her and the wall behind her, whimpering in sensation, drowning in it yet trying to catch his breath regardless, and dropped his head to her shoulder again.
Every part of her burned without any pain and she relished it, existing in the fire that they had caused and allowed to consume them both. She heard the butchered swear, truly unable to make any sense of it but she understand the intent. When he spilled into her, she shuddered again and merely held on till he relaxed. She relaxed as well, slumping against him as much as she could while turning her head to press her cheek against his.
She took a moment or two to steady herself and then she glanced down, about to say something completely other than what slipped out of her mouth. Mohinder, your back ... "
Still caught in a haze, though this one pleasantly sated rather than violent and lustful, he raised his head sluggishly. He'd barely heard her; all he wanted right now was to sleep the rest of the day away. "Mm?"
"What's on your back?" she asked finally, her fingers skimming over the hardened skin as her brows drew together in confusion.
That seemed enough to snap him out of his stupor, and suddenly, coldly, he pulled away from her. He shrugged a bit, more to force his shirt back up onto his shoulders than for her benefit, and worked at righting his jeans. "Nothing you need be concerned about."
The sudden loss of his body against hers, as he pulled out, was cold and sharp as the cool air rushed against her naked body. Since all her clothes had been ripped apart, she felt even more vulnerable as she reached for her torn jeans to use them as some sort of shield. "Are you ... are you hurt?"
"Never better, actually." His voice held a bitter note that said otherwise, but he didn't give her much a chance to react, moving almost impossibly fast towards the space he'd cordoned off when he'd started collecting bodies. "Stay here. I'll get you something to wear."
She felt the heat crawling into her cheeks again but this time it was accompanied by a sense of shame and a sense of self-hatred for being so stupid. Clenching her jaw, she pressed herself against the wall as she fought back an onset of angry tears.
He came back a moment later, some of the clothing Maya had left gathered in his arms, and offered them to her wordlessly, not quite looking at her. He couldn't, not when something so simple as a glance might fuel more questions. Her hurt pride, his own vague shame at letting his baser impulses overcome him -- neither of them mattered right now. What mattered was getting her out of the apartment before she said or did the wrong thing and he had to stop her.
"Do you mind turning around?" She knew it was a silly request after what they had just done but she didn't want him to look at her anymore. She studied the clothes for a second but she wasn't going to complain because she definitely wasn't going to walk out of his loft naked. Pulling on the jeans that were a size or two too big for her, she let them sit on her hips before pulling on the shirt. Tugging her hair free from under the collar, she stalked past him to grab her purse and her jacket.
He did as asked, studying the floor intently as she changed and trying to get some handle on his thoughts. He only glanced up when she moved for the things he hadn't destroyed in a fit of mad passion. "Wait. I -- your blood sample. I still ... "
He still needed that, at least.
She stopped dead as he brought up her blood and she snorted softly as she rolled her eyes before turning around to face him. "Seriously? You just ... we ... and all you're concerned with is my blood?"
"You did come here for help, originally," he shot back, a bit more pointedly than he'd meant to.
Clenching her jaw, she tossed her jacket back over her purse before moving to sit in another chair. Placing her arm on the arm of the chair, she stared at him coldly as she waited.
He watched her sit down, black rage bubbling up in the back of his throat, choking him. How dare she. It was her fault that he'd lost control of himself. She could have stopped him, said something, done something and he would have -- or that was what he told himself, at any rate. Part of him knew that wasn't true, that he wouldn't have stopped and she would have ended up plastered to a wall somewhere, plastic consuming more and more of his workspace in an effort to hide her.
Sobered by that thought, as distant as it was, he swallowed down his anger and moved to retrieve the needle from where he'd set it down when things had gotten out of control. He took care not to stray too close to her, not wanting a repeat performance, and pushed the needle into her arm as carefully as he could manage, pulling a vial of blood from her. He stepped back when he finished, shame finally settling on him in the wake of his desperation and anger.
"I'll ... let you know if I find anything."
Claire was relieved when he didn't get too close to her while drawing the blood from her arm. She didn't know if she was more angry or ashamed at the moment but all she knew was that she wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. Letting out a little breath, she avoided meeting his gaze now as she rose to her feet and moved to grab her stuff again.
"Yeah, fine." She pulled her jacket on, making sure to zip it closed before grabbing her bag and hurrying towards the door. She didn't bother making sure that he had her phone number.
He let her go, retreating to the stool behind the workbench the second the door closed behind her, and set the vial of blood down on the table. He'd have to run tests -- for her sake, in apology, as well as his own -- but it could wait a few more minutes and he had something he wanted to do, first.
He reached for the tape recorder he'd set out of reach when she'd first come in and clicked it on. "Journal entry number fourteen. My adverse reaction to the formula -- my ... instability -- has been growing steadily worse ... "
Muse: Mohinder Suresh
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 7604
She knew a large part of it was the anger she felt at her own life at the moment and the fact that she had no control over it. She wasn't in New York because she wanted to be, no one had given her a choice in the move that she had ended up making and now she only sought for a way to escape the current situation. She wanted someone to talk to, someone who might understand and so she knocked on the front door of the loft.
For a moment there was silence on the other side of the door, nothing stirring, no indications that the geneticist was home at all. Then, finally, there was the tell-tale sound of life -- a shudder of something plastic, faint but audible through the thin walls, then footfalls approaching -- and a moment after that, the door was pulled open but a fraction of an inch. Mohinder peered out into the hallway, something like malice shining in his eyes for an instant before disappearing, replaced by confusion, and he stepped back, pulling the door open wider.
"Claire?"
She worried for a moment that he wasn't home and she frowned slightly at the idea that she had missed him somehow. She wasn't sure she could build up the courage to come back sometime in the future. Or perhaps Angela would know somehow -- she was a psychic, after all -- and stop her from ever returning.
Right when she was about to give up, she heard the sounds on the other side of the door and she was relieved when suddenly he appeared. "Dr. Suresh." She managed a somewhat awkward smile. "Uh, hi. I hope you don't mind me just showing up but, well, I was in the city ... "
"It's alright." He offered her a smile in return, polite but somehow nervous, and shifted from one foot to the other. I -- is there something you needed?"
"Well ... I was hoping that maybe I could talk to you about something." She seemed to sense his nerves and somehow they played on her own as she mimicked his movements by shifting from one foot to another as well. "Did I interrupt something?"
He looked uncertain as how to answer that, then finally shook his head, stepping out of the doorway so she could come inside. If she became a problem, she'd join the others cocooned to the wall at the back of the lab behind the sheets of plastic he had hung up; until then, though, he couldn't risk drawing more attention to himself by acting the part of the child caught with his hand in the biscuit tin.
"Nothing terribly important," he assured her, trying for another smile, this one closer to genuine than the last. "Just some research I've been doing, and that, I think, can wait a bit."
Claire felt almost nervous as she stepped over the threshold but she had no idea what the warning that tingled at the base of her skull really meant. She half-considered coming up with an excuse to leave but she made herself walk into the loft before turning around to face him as she tried a genuine smile of her own. "Good. I would have called but I didn't know your number."
She glanced over her shoulder at the loft. "What research are you doing? Is it to do with abilities?"
"Isn't it always?" he asked wryly, moving to his workbench to start shuffling around some of the clutter there. If anything, he hoped the gesture came off as absent -- a man with sudden company trying to tidy up a bit just to avoid looking like a slob. In reality, however, he wanted his notes and tape recorder off the table, just in case. He doubted very highly that she would understand anything he'd scribbled down in his moments of lucidity, when the weight of what he'd done to himself overpowered the beastly rage and need in his heart, but one never knew and he didn't want to take any chances.
"A ... friend of mine has an particularly dangerous ability that manifests whenever she experiences a heightened emotional state." He shrugged, unable to stop his eyes from drifting to the wall of plastic at the far end of the room, even if it was only for an instant. "She asked for my help in removing it and I agreed. I'm afraid I haven't had much luck so far, though."
And there was the rub. He could give abilities, hideous and wonderful and broken, but he couldn't take them away.
"Removing abilities, or at least symptoms of abilities, is actually what I'm here about." She didn't seem to notice or grow suspicious of the fact that he was toying with the papers on his work bench. She merely moved to place her purse on one of the chairs, quietly stuffing away the crumpled piece of paper inside, and then she turned to look at him again.
"I'm hoping that maybe you can help me or give me an idea on something." She felt somewhat nervous now but she didn't like sharing the change in her ability or how it happened. She didn't like the look that appeared on people's faces when they heard about what Sylar had finally managed to do.
Mohinder raised his eyebrows, not quite following. "How do you mean?"
She drew in a slow breath to steady herself. "I don't feel pain anymore."
"You don't -- " he started to repeat, but he managed to catch himself, shaking his head abruptly. "May I ask how or when that happened?"
"It happened a few weeks ago." She tried not to make a face or betray any of what she was feeling but it was incredibly hard to do. "After Sylar found me and took my ability."
Eyes widening, he stared at her for a long moment, his jaw working soundlessly as he struggled to wrap his head around that. The theft of abilities and how she had survived, he could understand; why Bennet had not been there to prevent it, he could not, and even beyond that, there were the implications of what that meant. Sylar was practically immortal now. He couldn't be killed, couldn't be stopped, and while there was a pinprick of fear that -- he had something the murderer wanted now -- it was swiftly crushed by hot-cold fury.
His father's murderer was out there, alive forever.
He took a deep breath and looked away, his fingers curling into fists at his side, and coldly, grimly, he offered, "I'm sorry."
He wasn't particularly. Perhaps he would be later, if and when his anger ever stilled, but at the moment he wanted nothing more to vault over the table, slam her into the wall, and demand to know how she could let that happen. How any of them could have when they had spent months trying to save the cheerleader. He barely managed to restrain himself, and took a slow, thick breath.
Claire's jaw tightened as she watched him, tracking the different emotions that rippled over his features as he absorbed the information and tried to figure out what it all meant. It tortured her every day that Sylar was now immortal like her. She knew everyone who knew was bothered by it because there was practically no way to stop him now.
Plus she didn't like the idea that, after everyone died, she was going to be stuck with him.
Drawing in a slow breath, she shifted her weight once more while waiting for him to do something. The moment was incredibly awkward and she wasn't going to feel better until he did.
He took another calming breath, then another and another, and finally, slowly, his temper shrank back, shifting into something he could get a handle on. He uncurled his fists and flexed his fingers at his sides, trying to coax some measure of feeling back into them. "And you haven't been able to feel pain since?"
"No." She shook her head, looking back at him. "Doesn't matter what happens, I don't feel anything."
"I would imagine you've tested this theory and rather violently," he said, sitting down on the stool behind the table; he could just see her throwing herself off of some ridiculously high vantage point just to see if it hurt, "but have you tried anything less ... life threatening? Something simple, clinical even, that poses no real threat? A blood draw, perhaps?"
The purpose of the question was two-fold. One, he wanted a vial of her blood -- perhaps in analyzing it, he'd be able to find a cure for what ailed him -- and two, the scientist in him couldn't help but wonder if she would react differently to a bit of poking and prodding. Slicing your own wrist open was one thing, dangerous and frightening, even to one who could heal; having a bit of blood drawn was in and of itself rather harmless. Maybe she would be able to feel something that put her in no real danger?
"I tried." She wrinkled her nose at the memory of trying to throw herself in front of a train and Peter stopping her. Of course, she had tried other things since then but nothing brought the little flash of pain that she craved. It was irritating, to be honest. She knew people wouldn't understand but the pain had reminded her that, through all of this, she was still human but now she had to question what she truly was.
"I've been hurt accidentally, without me noticing right away, and I still don't feel it. But we can try whatever you think." She wondered if he would try to keep her blood and that made her a bit wary but the need to have answers was stronger.
"I'd like to take a vial of your blood for examination," he told her, getting to his feet again in order to gather the needle and tourniquet. He cast her a glance over his shoulder, a faintly embarrassed smile touching his lips. "I'd apologize for any discomfort you may feel ahead of time, as I've never quite gotten the hang of drawing blood, but ... "
He shrugged, looking away, not particularly wanting to see her reaction to that, whatever it may have been, and brought his supplies over to the table. He doubted her blood would tell him much about her condition -- perhaps only whether or not her body still produced endorphins in response to pain, the real part of agony in the brain rather than the blood -- but it at least made him look as though he were doing something constructive rather than trying to serve his own ends. And if she knew more about pain than he gave her credit for? Well, he could always tell her he wanted to rule out the least likely before they moved into the realm of spinal taps and CT scans.
"Right." Claire nodded her head, watching him as he started to gather the things that he needed. She offered a faint smile when he looked somewhat embarrassed and she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not overly bothered by someone drawing my blood," she reassured him, rolling up her sleeves.
"Still," he started, his eyes drifting down to her exposed arm as he wrapped the tourniquet around her arm. "I thought you deserved the benefit of a fair warning."
He glanced up, offering her another one of those thin smiles -- or, well, he'd meant to, anyway. Instead, however, as he raised his eyes, their closeness enveloped him in a thin haze. She was right there, so warm, and it twisted knots in his gut, hot and unbidden want rippling through him, stealing his breath for an instant. He wet his lips with his tongue, caught rapt by the curve of hers, and inched towards her without really realizing he'd done so.
Maya had rejected him, called him a monster, but maybe Claire wouldn't. She was young, naive, and in that instant she smelled Godly wonderful. Why hadn't he ever seen her like this before? He supposed, dimly, that it had something to do with the heat of the moment -- they'd only ever been in the same vicinity when something terrible was happening -- but how could he not have noticed? Even dimmer still, the last vestiges of his rapidly fading control screamed at him to snap out of it even as he traced his fingers over the inner curve of her arm.
"Thank you, I appreciate it." Her lips curved into a smile, softening her features as she definitely did appreciate the fact that he tried warning her despite knowing she couldn't feel pain.
When their eyes connected, she felt a strange little jolt and wondered what it was that she was feeling. The way he looked at her made her stomach tighten in response and her insides feel warmer than before. Clearing her throat, she shifted nervously again while opening her mouth to say something but the feel of his fingers running along the inner curve of her arm stopped all words from forming coherently.
"You have very lovely arms, Claire," he mumbled dumbly, his eyes dropping to her inner elbow, fingers still brushing over the smooth skin there.
It was a rather odd compliment, she decided as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, but she couldn't deny the little tremors that shot from the contact of skin against skin. She silently cursed her own inexperience and the need to feel any sort of sensation.
"Thank you," she murmured, wondering she really did sound as breathless to him as she sounded to herself.
"Mm?" He looked up at her, want glittering in his eyes, distracted from grasping whatever it was she'd said to him.
"I said thank you," she said softly.
He hummed, accepting, letting his attentions drift down and away, his eyes raking over her chest hungrily. He took a deep breath, not in an effort to clear his own head -- he hadn't bothered to think of this as madness -- but rather to try and still his heart, his pulse thick and heavy in his ears, his breathing growing rapidly more shallow. He was dimly aware that it did nothing, however, but he decided he didn't care and slid closer to her instead.
He'd long since invaded her personal space; now he was practically pressed up against her, staring at the swell of her breast as it rose and fall with her breathing. A small sultry smirk turned his lips, and he turned his hand with it, the backs of his nails ghosting up her arm slowly, cutting across when he could to brush his fingers over her chest.
The light feel of his finger tips skimming up her arm sent the strangest little tingles through her body, echoing through the center of her being as they melted into a heat that she didn't recognize. His breathing wasn't the only one growing shallow as hers seemed to slow down into shallow breaths as well, causing her chest to heave a little more heavily by the time his fingers moved across her skin just inches above the low neckline of her tanktop.
"Dr. Suresh." She wondered when her voice had taken on such a husky note but it was there as she breathed out the name she used for him. She had no idea what was happening as the sparks seemed to dance along her spine.
That seemed to catch him off guard somehow, and he blinked, once, twice, rapidly, looking as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over his head, waking him from a terribly confusing dream. In that instant, he realized that this was all terribly wrong. She'd come here for help, not to be made some unwilling slave to his mad passions, and she was only a child for Goddsakes. He couldn't recall quite how old she was and was in no state to do the math, still dazed and horrified both, but over the legal age of consent or otherwise, she would forever be no older than sixteen. Even without her ability, even if somehow she could age as steadily as he surely would, he could never think of her as more than a girl, just a handful of years older than Molly.
He took another deep breath, this one willfully, hoping that he could pull himself further out of his haze and find some way of explaining himself. He doubted he could, wondering wildly what one said to excuse this sort of behavior, and -- and his stomach brushed hers as he filled his lungs with air, dissolving what passed for rational thought for him nowadays back in a shiver of sensation.
He moaned softly, eyes slipping closed, and without thinking, he leaned down, mouth colliding with hers viciously. He could have her blood -- his salvation -- later; right now he needed her body for other purposes.
Claire would have taken offense to him thinking that she was nothing more than a child but it wasn't like she had a very clear mind these days either. Every thought, every desire, was driven by a need to feel something. A need to feel human and to prove that she wasn't just a living statue. She wanted to know that she wasn't completely defined by her ability; that someone could look at her and see something more than what she had become. A freak.
Perhaps that need to feel something more kept her where she was, adding to the strange desire that twisted through her body and aided in heightening the sensations that she felt at the moment. Her eyes had darkened at some point through the whole exchange, taking on a darker hue now as she watched him, still panting softly for air even though neither one of them had done anything to make her so breathless.
Watching his features, she saw the moment when reality splashed over him like a glass of cold water but she also saw when he lost all rational thought when their bodies brushed. She opened her mouth to say something more but was effectively silenced by his mouth covering her own. Surprised by the sudden kiss, she made a soft noise as she brought her hands up to his chest, pushing at him even if she wasn't attempting to break the kiss.
He caught her wrists, pulling them away from his chest sharply, and used his new hold on her to push her back towards the wall, his lips still demanding on hers.
Perhaps she would have winced at the strength in his hold but she felt no pain, not even when he slammed her back into the wall and pinned her there. Her breathing hitched unevenly in the back of her throat as she struggled just enough to try twisting her wrists free, like she was fighting him, but now she was kissing him back.
Dimly, he seemed to note that she was at least returning his attentions, and experimentally, he let one of her wrists go. The other he simply tightened his hold on, grinding her back into the wall, pinning her arm above her head.
She balled her hand into a fist, thumping it hard against his shoulder as though in protest. The next blow was softer and the next was only a half-hearted attempt before she gripped his shoulder instead, digging her nails into his skin. The heat was nearly insufferable now but there was no reprieve as he started grinding her against the wall.
Distant fury slithered down his spine at the punch even though it did not particularly hurt, and he nipped at her lower lip sharply, trying to warn her without words not to test him. Whether or not she understood became a moot point, however, as her fingers dug into his shoulders far too close to the scales that had formed there, destroying his back, and he moaned again, tensing against her, pleasure and pain both replacing rage.
Even if there was nothing behind the sharp nip to her bottom lip, she tasted a hint of blood and she understood the warning but it didn't seem to deter her as she hit him two more times. Possibly for nipping her in the first place. But soon it didn't matter as she dug her nails into his shoulders, listening to him moan as she gained a bit of an edge in the kiss, taking more of an aggressive role as her tongue swept along his bottom lip before seeking his own tongue out.
He twisted against her, trying to get away from her fingers and press into them simultaneously, every muscle still drawn taut, every inch of him on edge. It was sheer luck that he managed to find the hem of her shirt, his fingers fisting in the fabric as his mouth yielded to hers, and simple reflex to tear at it, pulling it from her shoulders without effort or thought. He dropped it at their feet carelessly, his fingers seeking the heat of her skin immediately and roughly.
She made a second surprised noise as he pulled at her shirt, ripping it away from her frame like it was nothing but a layer of air. Her heart jumped into her throat, hammering almost uneasily as she arched into his hands, secretly thrilled by the roughness of his touch. She couldn't quite realize what was going on now as her mind was clouded by desire and so her touch was a bit rough as she reached to touch him in return.
He rocked into her fingers, his own sliding up over her side. He paused for an instant as he reached the bottoms of her breast and bra, then he continued onward, slipping his hand up under the elastic. His thumb stroked over her skin, that the only part of his hand that had not made it under his fabric, and hummed against her mouth, the sound almost a growl but pleased nevertheless.
Claire couldn't stop herself as she squirmed lightly under his hand, surprised slightly by the feel of his hand moving under her bra and his thumb brushing over her skin. No one had ever touched her like that before and now she hesitated, her inexperience starting to show through, even as she rocked her body tighter against his.
Suddenly, sharply, he flexed his fingers, curling them under the elastic of her bra. There was a faint tearing, a whisper of metal groaning against metal, and then her bra went slack, sliding down around his wrist half-destroyed, no longer clinging to her small frame. He pulled his hand away, letting it slip down around her waist, then cupped her breast lightly, kneading at it in soft contrast to the violence in his lips.
The sharp pressure of her bra rubbing against her skin, biting into her frame, gave her a hint of something that she was missing and it stole her breath away again once more. She felt some heat rush into her cheeks, staining them a lovely shade of pink, when her bra fell limp against her and then suddenly his hand was over her breast. The roughness of his palm against her skin caused her nipple to tighten against his palm as she moaned softly against his mouth.
Mohinder echoed the moan, a shiver running through him, pressing him tight against her, his own arousal apparent through the denim of his jeans. He ground against her, his breath stuttering in the back of his throat, and while it forced him to break the kiss again, his lungs desperate for air, he stayed close, lips still barely ghosting hers, his fingers teasing idly at the peak of her nipple.
Swallowing thickly as soon as he broke the kiss, she gasped for air while trying to grasp some sense of clarity but there was none to be had as he continued to tease her both with his fingers on her nipple and his arousal grinding against her. There was no denying her own arousal as she could feel the damp heat between her legs, the tingling pressure shooting up her spine and through her body again. "Dr -- Mohinder," she gasped his name softly, wetting her lips, their closeness causing her tongue to brush against his lips as well.
He whimpered, his breath catching again, but somehow still, he managed to find words. Or at very least the close cousin of them. "Mm?"
"I ... I've ... " She had no idea how to say what she needed to say because she didn't want to assume that things were heading in the direction that they seemed to be heading. What if she was wrong? What if he laughed at the idea of her being a virgin?
It was hard to tell whether or not he understood what she couldn't say, his eyes dark and unfathomable, his pupils blown, but regardless, he allowed her no chance to finish, his mouth covering hers again. His fingers resumed their exploration of her nipple breast, backs of his nails dragging ever so lightly against her skin, a line of goose pimples raising in the wake of his hand, and satisfied by that somehow, he let his fingers wander lower. He leaned away faintly, fluidly, fitting his hand between them to brush over her stomach.
He paused at the waist of her jeans, stroking the skin there teasingly.
Any other argument she might have had was lost under his mouth as he kissed her again. Hesitating for a second, she thought of breaking away again but her lips were pliable and warm beneath his, parting easily as her breath caught again when his hand slid over her skin. She shivered beneath his touch, goosebumps rising up all over her body while the muscles tightened and quivered in response.
Her stomach sucked in against his hand and she trembled again, feeling oddly breathless as she waited to see what he would do next.
He kept his hand at her waist between them, pulling her wrist away from the wall with his other hand. He touched her fingers first to his hip, then to his belt, his hips bucking against her hand suggestive, then finally let go, hoping she would get the hint. He wanted her, yes, but he wanted her to touch him, too.
Breaking the kiss, she bit her bottom lip as he moved his hand down to her hip and then his belt, rocking against her hand till she got his suggestion. She was almost fearful again of her inexperience and so her hand was slow to glide against him, skimming along his stomach as she traced his muscles, exploring. She touched him from hip bone up to his collar bone and then back down again to hesitate at his waist.
"I'm overdressed, Claire," he murmured impatiently, rocking into her fingers again. "At very least you could relieve me of my shirt."
He was hoping for something a bit lower, of course, but he wouldn't complain if she focused herself on his button-down.
God, she knew she was blushing again as she ducked her head a little, hiding her gaze from his as she moved her fingers to the bottom button of his shirt. She fumbled for a second before she got a little more confident in the task of undoing each button till his shirt fell open. Drawing in a slow breath, she touched him skin-to-skin this time, reveling in the heat of his body while she leaned forward to ghost her lips lightly along his collarbone and chest.
He let his head fall back, allowing her lips better access to where ever they wished to stray, and slid his hand away from the waist of her jeans, his arm snaking around her waist lazily. He pulled her against him, humming pleasure, and closed his eyes, murmuring, "Much better."
Leaving a trail of soft kisses over his skin, she pressed her lips to the parts of his body where she could reach in their current entangled position. Sliding her fingers along his sides, she traced her way along his ribs, nearing his back before suddenly changing her mind to slid her arms around his neck while moving her mouth to his neck where she could nip at the tender spot behind his ear.
A tremor ran through him, twisting knots in his stomach, and he rolled with it, curling into her, molding himself against her. And as he turned his head away to allow her better access, he slid a hand under the folds of denim and cotton at her backside, fingers tracing shaky patterns over her ass. "I need you. Please."
Her own breath shuddered at the feel of his fingers tracing over her ass and she pushed back into his hand while trying to wrap her mind around exactly what he meant in that moment. "Mohinder, I've never, you know, done ... that."
She finally lifted her head to look at him, her eyes dark and unfocused as she squirmed against him, pressing her thighs together as her body hummed with desire.
He lowered his head and opened his eyes to look at her, a smirk catching in the corners of his mouth. He wasn't laughing at her, however -- if anything, he looked sort of darkly triumphant. "But you want to."
The blush that went from a light pink to a much darker shade would be answer enough in that moment.
Arching away from her, he pulled his hand away from her ass, arm going back around her waist to hold him against her as he slipped his other hand between them again, fingers working the zipper of her jeans down deftly. He brushed over her through the thin fabric of her panties on his way to her hip, his fingers curling in the waist of it, tugging at it, threatening to destroy her underwear in much the same way he had her shirt and bra. "I'll be gentle."
Her pupils widened, flaring as his fingers brushed against her so intimately, and then she closed her eyes while taking a second or two to try steadying herself. Swallowing again, she opened her eyes to look at him again before giving a small ghost of a smirk. "You need to stop wrecking my clothes. What am I going to walk out of here in?"
He moved his mouth to her ear. "I'm sure I can find you something."
The low breath of his voice against her ear made her tremble again. "O-okay."
Maya was probably about her size, after all, and she was unfortunately otherwise occupied. Such a pity, but he had Claire now and she wanted him -- he could smell it on her with every shallow, shuddering breath he took.
Still smirking, he pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear and forced himself to take a deep breath, stretching his heightened senses so he could soak in the smell of her arousal. "God, you smell good," he murmured, tugging at her jeans, feeling them give way to the strength of his hands.
As he stripped away her jeans, she felt like he was stripping away the last of her reservations. It struck her as weird that he would compliment her on her smell but she figured he meant the exotic scent of her perfume and not her arousal. Shyly, she dropped her hands to his belt, working at it a bit clumsily as she got it undone and then she moved to open his jeans as well.
He lifted his hips into her hand, trying to help her along, and moaned softly against her skin when she finally managed to get his belt undone. It took some great act of will to keep himself from moving his hands over hers and shredding his own pants, but somehow he managed it, brushing his fingers over her instead, his shirt shifting on his shoulders as he reached to tease his fingers through her heat.
Her fingers slid over the button of his pants, undoing it easily but she hesitated again at the zipper and then lost all focus as his fingers started to tease her. She was wet with anticipation and from everything he had done to her. Rocking her hips to grind gently against his hand, she moaned sweetly while tilting her head back against the wall. "Oh ... "
Curling her fingers around the waist band of his pants, she almost jumped as the back of her fingers brushed against the head of his arousal.
Mohinder did jump, though it was a thankfully human reaction, sparks of pleasure sliding down his cock and so suddenly that he could do nothing else but start, moaning. He took a moment, trying to catch the breath that had been stolen from her in that second of contact, and snapped his hand away from her abruptly, suddenly pushing at his pants. It never really occurred to him that he could tear into them with as much fervor as he had derobed her, but he managed to get them down off his hips just the same, pressing close again once he had as much freedom as he needed.
"It's going to hurt," he told he huskily, pressing a hand to the back of her thigh, trying to coax her into hooking it around his waist.
"I don't feel pain," she murmured softly, reminding him why she had come to see him in the first place. At his gentle guidance, she brought one leg up to hook it around his waist, feeling breathless and nervous again as she got closer to the edge of something new and exciting. With Mohinder Suresh, of all people.
He'd somehow forgotten about that and he considered it again only briefly, rolling one shoulder in a shrug as he dismissed it. Dropping his head to her shoulder, he attached his mouth there and thrust into her with a hard, fluid roll of his hips, shattering the resistance he found inside her with little effort and a noise of pleasure against her skin.
On the edge of her peripheral vision, she caught sight of something that didn't quite make sense but then he was entering her in one hard thrust and she couldn't think anymore. It didn't hurt but the pressure was utterly exquisite as it split her apart, causing her to stretch to accommodate him as she tightened around him with a low moan.
He echoed the sound back to her, holding deep within her for a time so that she could get used to the feel of him buried inside her. Time so that the lack of feeling she'd mentioned would pass and she could feel the pleasure of it, his cock all but twitching inside her. Time so that he could cope with the swell of sensation that ripped through him and left him shivering, nearly too much with his heightened senses.
And eventually, finally, he forced himself to pull back, nearly withdrawing from her completely before he slammed back into her with another soft cry.
It felt like she barely had time to adjust before he was slamming into her again, causing her to cry out as she arched against him, her hips involuntarily rocking against his as she met his thrust. The pressure inside and against her was enough to drive her on as she rocked her hips, urging him to set some kind of steady rhythm so that she could find some kind of release.
He took his cues from her body, setting a certain but careful cadence with his hips in spite of his first few moments of reckless abandon. He wanted hard, fast, now, wanted to break himself in her heat and tightness, but more than that, he wanted to feel her trembling around him, his eyes on her face as she broke, and if steady won that race, then so be it. He could be gentle, kind, when the situation called for it, he was learning, and especially if it gained him something in the process.
Strangely, she hadn't minded the reckless abandon as it had made her feel something that was so familiar and yet so far out of reach that she could actually cry with frustration because of it. She moved with him, finding and matching his rhythm, using the natural grace of a gymnast's unbreakable body as she looked at him again. She watched his features, the darkness of his eyes, tracking his emotions and reactions as her hips rocked a bit faster, wanting him to follow suit. Running her fingernails over his shoulders, she felt the strange change of something harder under her nails but she couldn't comprehend it as the pressure continued to build inside of her. "Please ... "
He would have allowed her another sly, smug look if she hadn't touched the scales at his back. Instead he hissed, his mouth breaking free of her shoulder so he could arch into her fingers and into her with renewed vigor, driving her on in time with the rising heat that was weaving its way through the muscles in his stomach, drawing them tight.
She gasped as he started to thrust into her, harder now, and she strained against him, her touch getting a little rougher as she clutched at him, holding on with a bit more strength. Her breathing was ragged and raw, turning into explosive and needy pants for air as every muscle in her body tightened nearly to the point of snapping. As her nails scored his skin, she rocked against him a little faster, needing more and more till she reached the pinnacle that made her cry out. Tightening around him blissfully, she shuddered with each wave of mind numbing pleasure.
Between the way her inner walls shuddered against him and the sharpness of her nails on the little patches of sick, harden skin at his back, he was more than happy to follow her into the fire that burned in his stomach. A swear on his lips, the word half English, half Tamil, and horribly butchered either way, he broke with a final, sharp twist of his hips, spilling into her hard and fast. He slumped against her and the wall behind her, whimpering in sensation, drowning in it yet trying to catch his breath regardless, and dropped his head to her shoulder again.
Every part of her burned without any pain and she relished it, existing in the fire that they had caused and allowed to consume them both. She heard the butchered swear, truly unable to make any sense of it but she understand the intent. When he spilled into her, she shuddered again and merely held on till he relaxed. She relaxed as well, slumping against him as much as she could while turning her head to press her cheek against his.
She took a moment or two to steady herself and then she glanced down, about to say something completely other than what slipped out of her mouth. Mohinder, your back ... "
Still caught in a haze, though this one pleasantly sated rather than violent and lustful, he raised his head sluggishly. He'd barely heard her; all he wanted right now was to sleep the rest of the day away. "Mm?"
"What's on your back?" she asked finally, her fingers skimming over the hardened skin as her brows drew together in confusion.
That seemed enough to snap him out of his stupor, and suddenly, coldly, he pulled away from her. He shrugged a bit, more to force his shirt back up onto his shoulders than for her benefit, and worked at righting his jeans. "Nothing you need be concerned about."
The sudden loss of his body against hers, as he pulled out, was cold and sharp as the cool air rushed against her naked body. Since all her clothes had been ripped apart, she felt even more vulnerable as she reached for her torn jeans to use them as some sort of shield. "Are you ... are you hurt?"
"Never better, actually." His voice held a bitter note that said otherwise, but he didn't give her much a chance to react, moving almost impossibly fast towards the space he'd cordoned off when he'd started collecting bodies. "Stay here. I'll get you something to wear."
She felt the heat crawling into her cheeks again but this time it was accompanied by a sense of shame and a sense of self-hatred for being so stupid. Clenching her jaw, she pressed herself against the wall as she fought back an onset of angry tears.
He came back a moment later, some of the clothing Maya had left gathered in his arms, and offered them to her wordlessly, not quite looking at her. He couldn't, not when something so simple as a glance might fuel more questions. Her hurt pride, his own vague shame at letting his baser impulses overcome him -- neither of them mattered right now. What mattered was getting her out of the apartment before she said or did the wrong thing and he had to stop her.
"Do you mind turning around?" She knew it was a silly request after what they had just done but she didn't want him to look at her anymore. She studied the clothes for a second but she wasn't going to complain because she definitely wasn't going to walk out of his loft naked. Pulling on the jeans that were a size or two too big for her, she let them sit on her hips before pulling on the shirt. Tugging her hair free from under the collar, she stalked past him to grab her purse and her jacket.
He did as asked, studying the floor intently as she changed and trying to get some handle on his thoughts. He only glanced up when she moved for the things he hadn't destroyed in a fit of mad passion. "Wait. I -- your blood sample. I still ... "
He still needed that, at least.
She stopped dead as he brought up her blood and she snorted softly as she rolled her eyes before turning around to face him. "Seriously? You just ... we ... and all you're concerned with is my blood?"
"You did come here for help, originally," he shot back, a bit more pointedly than he'd meant to.
Clenching her jaw, she tossed her jacket back over her purse before moving to sit in another chair. Placing her arm on the arm of the chair, she stared at him coldly as she waited.
He watched her sit down, black rage bubbling up in the back of his throat, choking him. How dare she. It was her fault that he'd lost control of himself. She could have stopped him, said something, done something and he would have -- or that was what he told himself, at any rate. Part of him knew that wasn't true, that he wouldn't have stopped and she would have ended up plastered to a wall somewhere, plastic consuming more and more of his workspace in an effort to hide her.
Sobered by that thought, as distant as it was, he swallowed down his anger and moved to retrieve the needle from where he'd set it down when things had gotten out of control. He took care not to stray too close to her, not wanting a repeat performance, and pushed the needle into her arm as carefully as he could manage, pulling a vial of blood from her. He stepped back when he finished, shame finally settling on him in the wake of his desperation and anger.
"I'll ... let you know if I find anything."
Claire was relieved when he didn't get too close to her while drawing the blood from her arm. She didn't know if she was more angry or ashamed at the moment but all she knew was that she wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. Letting out a little breath, she avoided meeting his gaze now as she rose to her feet and moved to grab her stuff again.
"Yeah, fine." She pulled her jacket on, making sure to zip it closed before grabbing her bag and hurrying towards the door. She didn't bother making sure that he had her phone number.
He let her go, retreating to the stool behind the workbench the second the door closed behind her, and set the vial of blood down on the table. He'd have to run tests -- for her sake, in apology, as well as his own -- but it could wait a few more minutes and he had something he wanted to do, first.
He reached for the tape recorder he'd set out of reach when she'd first come in and clicked it on. "Journal entry number fourteen. My adverse reaction to the formula -- my ... instability -- has been growing steadily worse ... "
Muse: Mohinder Suresh
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 7604
