Rated Mature for violence, language, and sex. Contains rape
Fandom/Characters: Heroes; Sylar/Claire, Molly Walker
Note: This is not part of the Bingo but comes from another square on the card. Included for completeness.
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The early hours of Claire's first Thursday with him found Sylar unable to sleep and unable to distract himself with more wholesome measures until the first rays of sunlight peaked over the New York horizon. Soon they would be leaving this place and moving somewhere both more remote and more comfortable for his personal requirements but for now his mind danced with the image of introducing Claire to her new, permanent home. Some day she would move away from it, once a lifetime had passed, and he allowed it but for now he'd thought it all through as much as possible.
“Claire. Oh, Claire!” He almost sang the name, tugging on her long, straight hair. It'd been curlier once and whether that'd been through intervention or this new straightness was, she'd turn it back soon. He'd make sure of it. For now he yanked once, roughly, and she sputtered awake. “Good, you're up! No, don't try to talk. Keep your mouth shut.” She did as told for once. “Good girl.” Then, without further ado, he grabbed the duffel bag at his feet, her arm, and teleported them both to the new house.
Thank someone for strange Japanese heroes, he supposed.
Claire kept her mouth shut still, peering around the new home with an awkward curiosity. She should recognize the housing type as far more familiar after her year in Costa Verde than he, a native New Yorker, found it but she didn't comment about the adobe walls or high, Spanish ceilings. She didn't even ask where they were as he instructed her to enter the hallway and then go through the last door on the left. The first floor master bedroom proved easy to find and, hoisting the bag with a bit of kinetic help, he followed her in and closed the door behind her. Then he locked it.
“Welcome to our new home. We're not moving in quite yet but I wanted you to see the place. It is where you'll live the next, oh, fifty years of your life or until everyone you know is dead. Whichever comes first.” Proving that she still had a little bit of spirit left in her spine, Claire glared at him for the comment. “Don't worry. If you behave, I'll let Sandra visit.”
Her eyes shot open wide and what had been an off-the-cuff comment for him suddenly gained a lot of importance. She wanted that. No, she didn't just want that, he realized as he glanced off the surface of her thoughts and emotions, she'd be grateful for it. When she gave him a pleading look, he gestured that she could speak. “Really? You'd let my mom visit? Without hurting her?”
“If you behave, sure.” He grinned. “I'm not completely heartless and Sandra, unlike the rest of your family, has never done anything to me. You'd have to earn it though, you realize.”
Yes, you son of a bitch, just tell me how! Wow, that thought came loud and clear. “Okay.”
Keeping the grin easily propped on his face, Sylar considered how he could exploit this. “In fact, if you do exactly as you're told for the next... four hours, until we get Molly up for breakfast, I'll allow your mother to visit for dinner later this week. I promise no harm will come to her from my hand before, during, or after the retrieval. Do we have a deal?”
“Indoor voice,” he scolded. “And what do you add to that?”
“Thank you.” At his raised eyebrow, she wracked her brain and came up with, “Sir.”
“Good girl. Now, go on through to the bathroom and draw a bath.”
Without even a thought of argument, Claire followed his instruction and he left her to it while he quickly unpacked the bag he'd prepared. Besides a few interesting toys and even more interesting household items, he'd been experimenting with a few things lately and he thought he had them ready. Most everything had been put away by the time she returned from the bathroom except for a syringe and the vial he planned to draw from, a small water proof vibrator, a shaving kit, and plastic restraints.
Her eyes stuttered over the syringe first. “Is that for me?”
“Yes.” Without further ado, he tested the syringe for air bubbles – not that it would kill her for long – and then held out his hand for her arm.
“What's it for?” she asked but, to her credit, she gave her arm too.
Before he answered he jabbed the fatty muscle at the back of her arm, what little there was, and depressed the plunger. Then he grabbed the other gear and tugged her towards the bathroom. She stumbled at first, her feet unsteady underneath her until he sat her on the edge of the bath to undress himself. “I once knew a woman named Eden – it wasn't her real name but she wasn't exactly the most original woman on this Earth either – who had this amazing voice. Literally, it could amaze you. Compel you, specifically, into doing things. I was able to resist it, to her horror, and she shot herself in the head rather than allow me to take her ability.
“A sad story, all around.” Claire nodded as if he were telling the most fascinating story she had ever heard and he allowed his voice to lull her into relaxing, her eyes unfocused. “When I found a man recently who was literally able to produce a chemical similar to adrenaline that served the same function of increasing suggestibility I decided to pick it up. Don't worry, he's fine.” It'd been before their little deal but the man had been able to impress just enough – a suggestion that Sylar didn't want to hurt him – before he'd lost consciousness to save his life. “Now I can produce the same chemical. Which I just dosed you with. I thought that might make this all a little easier.
“It won't make you believe anything you really don't believe already, sadly, but it'll help you accept what's going to happen tonight.” At her stricken look, he laughed. “Oh, don't worry. I'm not going to beat you again... at least, hard. But we need to talk and a few other things.” After he tossed the last of his clothing clear, he gestured for her to stand in front of the bathroom sink.
The bathroom, like most of the house, sprawled outwards, feet and feet of cool tile without anything else in the way. This room had a slightly blue-gray, almost sky, color scheme to it and her eyes watched the slate blue wall behind the sink as he levitated the case next to him. The first thing Sylar pulled free was a large pair of barber scissors. He'd tried this first on his own hair and it seemed that so long as it was cut and not burned off hair would stay shortened. In one quick, even cut, he sheered her long blonde tresses off to shoulder-length and she gasped. “Sylar!”
“You will call me 'Master,' not 'Sylar' or anything else,” he informed her, brushing the discarded hair away. Already the remaining hair had regained some of its curl. “Who am I?”
Stubborn to a fault, she pressed her lips together hard and glared at him in the mirror. He grabbed the back of her head and rammed it forward, the mirror and her skin cracking. Still she didn't reply.
“Who am I? You do want that visit, don't you?”
“Master. You're master.”
“I'm your master,” he agreed. “Who am I?”
“You're my master.” Claire shivered as the cut healed and he wiped the blood away.
“Good girl.” He gave her a gentle smile in the mirror and led her over to the tub, picking her up to put her in. She looked angry, at the treatment and at being picked up like a doll, but wisely kept her mouth shut as he asked the next question. “Who are you?”
The question weighed heavy in her eyes, answers flitting over each shift of light, each new hitch of breath she took. 'I'm the woman that's going to kill you.' 'I'm Claire Bennet, you sicko!' 'I'm your slave, god help me. Anyone help me.' But as her tan body sunk down into the steaming water, she answered him, “I'm your good girl.”
Points for creativity and usefulness. “Good girl.”
He didn't think she caught the tiny smile that flit over her lips but that was probably for the best. The water sloshed around his skin hotly as he sat down in the bath across from her, his hand playing on her knee but otherwise leaving her alone. That felt like enough progress for now and, with a sigh, he let his eyes drift shut and he settled in the water, receptive water. Across from him five feet of stubborn woman squirmed, shifted and finally stilled when she realized that for the moment at least he had finished with her. Some books on torture and breaking prisoners suggested constant bombardment and keeping them off balance but that sounded exhausting – for him – and he had all the time in the world.
“May I ask you a question?” He waited and smiled when she added, “Master,” a second later. Without his eyes open he couldn't tell whether she frowned or sneered at his smile but it didn't matter. He nodded and she took a deep breath, her knee twitching underneath his hand. “If you just want a simpering slave girl, why not find one – willing, unwilling, whatever – and inject her with your blood to keep her young and healthy forever? You wouldn't be alone that way.”
A part of him registered both surprise and respect that she'd realized the easiest and most effective way of keeping others with them artificially, indefinitely.
“I don't want a simpering anything. I'd buy a dog like Mr. Muggles if I did.” He sneered over the name. “But I'd like to be able to trust you won't try to kill me in the night and that necessitates breaking you.” Not that it wouldn't be fun.
“Not that you won't find it fun,” she echoed.
God, he loved this woman. “And that's why you,” he added brightly. “You're so much smarter than my average victim. Quick on the uptake, adaptable, resilient and I don't just mean physically. You're really one of a kind, Claire. It's beautiful. And perhaps, if I were a better man, I'd have been willing to wait for you. But we are who we are and we have the limitations that we have.”
“Plus, if everyone keeps insisting you're a monster, eventually you're going to believe it, aren't you?” she asked quietly, the water lapping at his chest as she moved. “Eventually, you'll live down to expectations. And never let it be said that you do things halfway.” There might actually be a compliment buried deep inside there somewhere.
“Unfortunately, your innocence will apparently be the final victim of my murder spree.” Sylar cracked his eyes open, catching himself from gasping or, worse, yelping when he discovered her body inches from his. “What, missed me already?”
She sneered. “I'm just sick of waiting, Master. Whatever this drug does, making me more agreeable does not seem to be it.”
No, it started by making people more honest and Claire, quite honestly, was kinda a bitch. He liked that about her. Smiling, he reached up and tweaked one of her nipples roughly. “No, I didn't expect it would.” He kissed her neck, since she'd so thoughtfully leaned in close, and she swallowed hard. “Come here.” Pulling her close proved easy as he ran his tongue and teeth along her jaw. Under the influences of the drug she responded even more enthusiastically than usual. Her whole body shook slightly as the pleasure ran through her when he rubbed his hand between her legs. “For a girl who worried until recently about not being able to feel anything, you seem to be very sensitized to touch.”
“You fixed it,” she muttered, dropping her forehead against his shoulder. “Thanks for that, by the way. Whatever else you've done, I honestly am grateful to be able to feel pain again.”
The sentiment made him smile and his fingers caught in the short strands of her hair. “I like this length better. It suits you.” Her baleful glare provided answer enough and he laughed a little. “Love you too. So, I was thinking that once you're better behaved you could start college. Perhaps even this fall if we make progress. What do you think of that idea?”
“I think it doesn't matter what I think. You're going to make the decisions you're going to make.” The reply should have sounded bitter but he heard, or felt, a touch of hope in there that she'd be able to go to school. Not so much for the school experience, he suspected, but because going to college at eighteen would be a normal thing to do, what all the other girls her age with half a brain would be doing. She nuzzled her face against his shoulder and relaxed. “I feel tingly.”
Bingo. “Claire,” he started, hesitation marring the words. Once he'd pulled her to his chest, her back to his front, and she settled in, he felt a lot better. There they were. “Are you listening, Princess? Remember, I'm your master.”
“Yes. Master.” Her words slurred together a little bit and he kissed her temple.
“You want to listen to me, don't you? Listening to me makes you feel safe because you know that no matter how horrible the truth might be I would never lie to you.” Interspersing the truth with the message you wanted received had been an overriding theme in the literature he'd read. “I love you. You know that. I'd never lie about something like that. I'll always take care of you.” Letting the words sink in for a minute, he focused on massaging her shoulders and getting her into a more relaxed and receptive state. “I'm the one best able to take care of you. Other men have let you down. They've always let you down.” She leaned into his hand when he dragged his fingers through her hair. “They've lied to you. They've betrayed you. They've died on you. They've abandoned you.”
Claire whimpered, trying to turn her head away and hide her face against her knee. He caught her knees, keeping them spread, and nudged her into laying back against his chest. “No. Stop it!”
“Don't tell me no!” She flinched and he soothed her, kissing her temple again. “You don't tell your master no. Especially when I'm only telling you the truth. I want you to tell me the truth now, princess. Have I lied to you?”
Her lower lip jutted out but, slowly, inescapably, she whispered, “No.”
“Have I abandoned you?”
“Do you believe that I will?”
A pained, angry noise tore from her throat, reminding him of the day that he first ripped her open. This was its own sort of surgery, emotional instead of physical, and he'd gained another part of her by doing so. “They all do!” As he opened his mouth, she cut him off, her fists clenched. “What did I do wrong? Why do they always leave me?”
Oh, no. No way. They couldn't have made it this easy for him. All this struggle and fight to keep their precious indestructible golden child safe and they'd left her vulnerable like this. It just went to show that none of them deserved her. Sylar relaxed into the ceramic backing of the tub, considering his next move. He could reassure her that, as his and under his command, Claire represented perfection because he'd accept nothing less. Or he could rip into her fragile, angry fears, listing every imagined slight, every potential failure, that she would need to work on and keep vigilant of in order to prove herself worthy of any love, even his.
Pressing his dry lips against her temple one last time for now, he came to a decision. In the end, the decision proved incredibly simple. “Why do they always leave you?” He pinched his voice low, smiling to himself. “Why would they stay? You're broken. Worse, you don't even have the dignity or the respect for them to be quiet about this fact. You stand out, even when your family's lives hang in the balance because you're a selfish, confused little girl who cannot stand to be ordinary in the face of your extraordinary capabilities. It's the same crime they accuse me of.”
Her voice caught in a muffled gasp of denial that she and he were anything alike. But they were. They were everything alike and it allowed him a sort of understanding of her that her family, friends, and protectors either lacked by limitation or by the design of having so little concern for the young girl drowning among them. They'd ignored him as well and look what that brought them.
Chuckling against her neck, Sylar used his teeth to nip and then his words to bite. “You have nowhere near the capacity for obedience that they would demand of you. You've never shown promise of that even here, now. Knowing that little Molly's life and happiness hung on the line you still had to make that attempt, didn't you? And then you were going to abandon her. Oh, I'm sorry. You'd come back. And her throat would be slit ear to ear before you reached the end of the hallway.”
“MASTER!” he shouted the word and she cringed down into the warm water, nodding.
“Master,” she whispered.
“Do you believe that I will abandon you, Claire?”
“No, master.” From this angle he watched the top of her head as she started to realize the futility of fighting him. “I don't think you're lying to me either.”
“Do you have any questions you'd like to ask?”'While you're feeling honest' finished the question silently and he ran his fingers up and down the sides of her arms as she burrowed against his chest.
“Will I get in trouble if you don't like them?”
That might be a fun game for later but, no, not while she was effectively under the influence. “No, of course not. You've just been given permission to ask any question you like, though being polite and respectful would serve you well.”
For a long moment she stayed silent, breathing slowly in and out as she rested against his chest. Then finally she nodded, wetting more of her straight blonde locks with every shift of her head. “Why not find someone easier to live with?” That again. Why not someone simpering? Why not someone obedient? Why not someone agreeable? She might as well ask 'why am I worth all this effort?' because that's what she meant.
“Your father might have convinced you that your only worth is in shutting up and sitting pretty,” he started, thinking of the way that Noah had said 'you don't get to talk to her, not ever.' Here he was talking to precious Claire now, wasn't he? “But I honestly believe that underneath that Barbie-doll appearance, there's a woman worth knowing. I know, it must seem so foreign and unbelievable to you, given the way in which you've been treated by those around you all this time, but I enjoy your company. Even when you're angry at me. I had a more agreeable, more obedient, quieter, attractive, young woman at my mercy once, did you know that? Her name was Maya and she had the most delicious power. Maybe I'll show it to you someday.” Someday Sylar would allow Claire to learn that before he had killed Arthur Petrelli, finishing the assassination Peter never should have been tasked with, he'd picked up the man's myriad of abilities. Between that and saint Peter's own talent his reservoir of dangerous, apocalyptic abilities had reached a high even he could not have imagined. The fact was that he didn't need to kill to gain abilities any longer and he really had no need for any further abilities. For the time being the hunger had been sated, at least in that way. Perhaps if he ran across one he found particularly interesting he'd sample it but otherwise keeping his promise to Claire would prove simple. “Where was – Ah, yes. Maya. Beautiful, sweet, giving, and she listened very well.
“I was able to separate her from her twin brother with limited difficulty for the first time in their lives. She probably wouldn't even have complained had I decided to introduce her to pain. In short, exactly the sort of woman you're describing. And, frankly, I was bored.” He laughed. “'Oh, Gabriel, thank you, Gabriel, this is beyond what I could have imagined.'” He mimicked her high voice before snorting. “That's when I realized it had to be you.”
Claire sucked in a breath near silently, her eyes shut as she leaned into his shoulder. “The way you talk about her and insult her: it's so casually cruel. That's why I hate you, more than anything. Maybe I am like you. We're different, we're special, and we're angry – but at least I'm not cruel.”
“Oh?” He raised his voice. That was the moral line she wanted to draw. “So, you've never lashed out at someone solely because it felt good and that person made you angry?” As he asked the question, he skimmed the surface of her mind. Scattered thoughts of Costa Verde and Odessa flitted through her mind, of face-offs with other teenage girls mostly, and the satisfaction of a prank, or punch, perfectly landed. “Remember, I can tell if you lie.”
“Eerrggh!” The wordless protest had less to do with the violation and more to do with having been caught. Her hands weren't nearly as lily white as she hoped to pretend. “Shut up, Sy – Master.”
Even without the bite in her tone, he couldn't tolerate that sort of disrespect and he seized the back of her head. Then he shoved it forward, between his legs and her own, as she flailed. With the help of his TK her head rocked desperately but remained inches under water while he counted. Thirty seconds.
“Thirty-five. Forty-five. Sixty. Seventy-five.”
There! Her thrashing took on a new tone as the burning mercilessness of oxygen deprivation and small gasps of hot water tore through her tolerance to pain and fear. At ninety seconds she tried rearing back hard enough he had to put his elbow on her back, kneeling over her, to weigh her down. At one hundred and three seconds, her mouth opened and water flooded in as she sputtered, choked, and gagged. If she puked in the water, she'd regret it. He forced her to take three big gulps of water before he yanked her head up, freeing her of the prison her own body had been made into as she hacked.
Claire coughed up water but kept all bile down, collapsing back against his chest as she shoved her drenched hair back out of her face. Then, to his surprise, she murmured, “I'm sorry, Master.”
“Did you just apologize?” he asked curiously, running his hand over the side of her breast as he inhaled the scent of minty soap and her salty skin. “I think you're actually learning.” An apology, an unprompted one at that, showed real progress. He smiled against the curve of her neck, nipped down, and added, “Are you beginning to understand that you are completely at my mercy?”
She nodded, her hair falling back into her face and he used one hand to yank it backwards and tuck it between their bodies. He didn't make her say anything to that as he wrapped his palm around her right breast and squeezed roughly. Predictably, she moaned and tried not to. But she couldn't resist the betrayal of her own body and its craving for any sensation, all sensation, whatever he could and would give her. He had an idea about that and he smiled, his hands going around her hips. Flailing a little bit when he picked her up and set her on the edge of the tub, he gestured the straight blade he used for shaving to him and her eyes went wide.
“I'm going to shave you.” The blade hovered in mid=air, within her reach if she'd dare to grab it but he knew she wouldn't. It wasn't fear that held her back but practicality. Molly had been locked into her room an hour ago and nothing Claire did could change that. So she relaxed on the tub's edge as he lathered first his hands, then her cunt with soap. “Spread 'em.” As her thighs parted, he grinned, “This is my favorite view of you. It's how you belong – open to me, available to me. You're mine, Claire. You'll always be mine.” Smartly she didn't answer and he started at the outside edge, using long, broad strokes of the recently sharpened blade to scrap off the trimmed hair. He tapped it off into a washcloth because he didn't want to get the water dirty yet. With each new touch her pussy swelled, flushing a deep, aroused red that he traced with one sharp fingernail. Without warning he thrust that finger inside of her welcoming opening, plunging it once, then twice, then added a second finger to pump a few more times. By now she'd swollen enough that her pussy had flowered open, the lips pushing out and giving him easy access to the edges of her pubic hair.
Come mixed with the lathered soap and she moaned.
He finished the job meticulously, leaving no stray hair – he even had her kneel over the side of the tub and spread her ass cheeks, shaving off the little wisps of hairs around her hole while she shivered. She definitely shivered.
“Almost done.” When the lotion landed in his hand with a solid thump he uncapped it and squirted some directly onto reddest spots. She whimpered when he rubbed and just barely teased her, and she whimpered harder when he pulled his hand away but didn't give him the satisfaction of saying his name or 'Master.'
What she did do was slip back into the water, hissing a little at the liquid he kept a perfect ninety degrees stung her most sensitive flesh. He left her there quietly for a long minute, cradling her to his chest but little else. Someday she'd come to crave this and then to need it. If he stayed patient that patience would be its own reward. “Sylar?” He tweaked a nipple harshly and she gasped, already correcting herself. “Master.”
I hate you. Make me come. Make me come, goddamn you. He smirked at her and she seethed mentally. “I'd like to come,” she said through gritted teeth.
“You're forgetting the magic words.” This was fun, as much fun as baiting Noah at the Stanton had been. Despite the consequences, which he still shrugged off like an ill-fitting coat, he didn't regret that action. Noah burned with rage for him and if he knew how Sylar had defiled his precious daughter he'd go insane with rage. Maybe he'd fuck Claire in front of him once she was broken.
“A full sentence now. I know you can do it,” he prodded.
She responded beautifully. “Please, I'd like to come, Master.” She even rubbed up against his chest for good measure and so of course he gave in. Her tight hole sucked two fingers in like they belonged there and her chest vibrated against his while she relaxed into the hold. In-out, in-out, his fingernails scrapped the hair trigger inside of her and she bucked in time with her breath catching.
“Go ahead and come, good girl.” The suggestion didn't take her over the edge immediately; that'd take months to train her into at minimum but one day she'd be able to come at just the single order to. For now he rubbed viciously at her exposed clit. He worked her body for another two minutes before he felt it building, inside and out, and her whole body shuddered her release as she gasped for breath and rolled her hips to-and-fro, giving his cock some much wanted friction. “See, when you ask you get rewarded.” His teeth trailed over her neck and after he slid his fingers out, he flipped her on his lap to make her straddle him. He didn't tug her down on his cock, not yet at least.
Instead he sucked one of her hard nipples into his mouth, letting the fleshy mound of her tit fill his eager mouth as he sucked. Elle had liked this, she made the cutest noises that sounded like little squeals of excitement. Claire kept more sedate, her mouth pressed together in determination not to moan but a whimper cut through when he nipped at the nerves and popped off. She didn't like the loss of contact. Grinning, no, smirking really, he told her, “I'm just giving the other one equal attention,” before he bit into that flesh and lick at the salty pink skin.
Today would be about overwhelming her with pleasure, taking her over the edge so that she couldn't deny that – at the very least – he understood her body well. That was, after all, what he did. He knew how things worked. “Let me go, please?”
Now why would he want to do that?
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Comments welcomed in all forms. (Please do!) Feedback/concrit cherished. All typos mine (and probably hilariously inappropriate).
Additional parts: One ; Two ; Three ; X ; Four ; X ; Five.