before you throw | those stones at me.

FIC: No Escape [NC-17; Explicit]

  • Aug. 21st, 2009 at 4:13 AM
noexitwounds: (Heroes + Claire A Little Hazy)
No Escape by RedHillBones/NoExitWounds
Rated Mature for violence, language, and sex. Contains rape
Fandom/Characters: Heroes; Sylar/Claire, Molly Walker
Kink: Barebacking

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Sylar smiled as he caressed Claire's cheek and she flinched away.

“Stop touching me.”

Electricity trailed down her face and she flinched again, this time in pain. “Didn't I tell you I don't like being told what to do?”

Her teeth clenched for the longest moment but then, simply, she ground out, “Please stop touching me?”

“Better, but the answer is no.” He took his hands down to her flat stomach and tugged at the hem of her shirt, pulling off the forest green cashmere as she tried to clench her muscles and make it as hard as possible. Her bra was baby blue and he smiled, liking the color on her. “Stand up.” She nearly growled, shaking her head, and he held out his hand in threat. “Stand up now.”

Still she held her ground – and her seat – so he backhanded her again, adding a little TK to the impact. Enough that her jaw broke but she didn't cry out in pain. She was one tough bitch; one of the reasons she was worthy of his affection. As she healed he stood up, yanking her by her hair upwards, and knelt down to remove her jeans. Her calves clenched, ready to strike, so Sylar reminded her, “I'll start with a spanking. Something small for Molly,” and she hissed.

“I hate you.”

He got the button of her jeans undone and took down the zipper. Her underwear, he realized as he discarded her jeans, matched her jeans and he could see the soft outline of curly pubic hair under the thin, light fabric. Maybe he should make her shave there, just to humiliate her. Sylar stood, taking in a deep breath to scent her body as he came up. God, she smelled good. He couldn't wait to mingle their scents, marking her in his own way. His hands went out behind her and undid the latch of her bra with an ease practiced on Elle. As the bra slipped off her shoulders and she sucked in a breath, vulnerability written all over her face, the world seemed to stop. He could do that now, thanks to Hiro Nakamura's affection for the 'flying man' but he hadn't. Her breasts hung with just a little weight from her small frame, with wide, perky little nipples that were hard from fear. One was slightly larger than the other, giving her a small imperfection that, somehow, made her more perfect. “Mmm.” He didn't touch for now, his fingers slipping into the sides of her panties instead. He tugged down and the small underwear dropped to her ankles until she stepped out of them of her own accord.

“You're going to rape me,” she said, terror in her eyes but not in her voice. Not just terror of him either. “The last person that tried to do that, I drove into a brick wall at 70 miles per hour.”

He laughed, touching her face. “Good thing I can't die then. You can fight, if you want. That'll be exciting. I won't punish Molly for it.”

Claire's throat produced a frustrated noise as she backed away from him, reaching for the lamp behind her. No, he wouldn't fall for that a second time and he grabbed her hand. Her other hand came up to claw at his neck and then, as soon as he bled, she started running. He didn't use his powers to catch up with her and she made it to his front door – always to the front door – and had the deadbolt in her hand when he reached her. Frantically, her hands scrambled at the lock, freeing it and flinging the door open.

“Wait,” he ordered and, thanks to the puppet master, she did. “Very good.” He pressed himself, his hard erection, his hard chest, his hard grip, up against her back and laid his hands on her breasts from behind, freeing her from the puppet hold. “No leaving.”

With that he circled one arm around her throat, pressing tightly to cut off the air, and dragged her back to the bedroom. The front door slammed shut telekinetically as she dragged her feet, kicking and clawing at his arms with her hands. He ignored the pain and continued dragging her, watching her chest struggle for breath. Then he threw her on the bed.

She got up again. “I will always hate you. This isn't a goddamn bridge.” Clearly someone had never heard of Stockholm Syndrome.

He smirked as he threw her back down bodily. “Maybe not but it's going to be fun.” The fear and torment rolled off of her in waves, twisting his stomach as his ability tried to force him to empathize. He stayed hard through sheer force of will but he knew he'd have to soften her up before he fucked her. His eyes trailed the path of her body, taking in her curves. The bounce of her breasts, the slight slope of her stomach, and her molded, strong thighs. He saw the kick coming just in time to grab her ankle, yanking her feet out from underneath her, and she slammed down on the bed with a rush of air.

As quick as he could, he climbed on top of her and pinned her hands above her head, using more force than strictly necessary. A bone threatened to snap as he put most his weight on that hand and unbuttoned his own black jeans. Claire shuddered prettily for him. “Please don't do this. Goddamnit, Sylar, don't rape me. W-Wait until I'm ready. You say I'm going to love you, can't you just wait for that?”

“I have poor impulse control.” He used his fine control over TK to strip himself of his clothing, switching his grip to the other hand briefly so he could take off his shirt.

Her eyes bobbed down to his erection, which had flagged a little bit. He could tell, from the intake of breath, the patter of her heart, and the way her throat caught, that it still scared her. God had graced him with notable size, yet another proof that he was meant to do this as far as he was concerned. “What's the matter? Never seen one so big before?”

Squeezing her eyes shut for only a second before she opened them and looked at him, she said, “I've never seen one.”

“You mean I get to be your first?”

Grinding out words again, she answered, “Yes.”

“Perfect.” Unsullied by another man's touch, he couldn't have planned this better if he tried. “Here,” as he spoke he shifted up on the bed and released one hand. “Go ahead and touch it, get familiar with it.”

Her bottom lip trembled with disgust. It only doubled when he reached down and rubbed her clit gently, like a considerate lover might. It took forever to warm her up, her mind fighting every step of the way as her body betrayed her by clenching and shaking and, finally, bucking as he dug his thumbnail into the sensitive nerve. “Well, well, well, are you a masochist, Claire?” Her eyes narrowed without recognition for the sheltered, little girl. The best way to test it would be to do it again, so he released her other hand as he reached down to tweak a nipple. His finger clenched down on the warm flesh like a vice grip and he nearly yanked it off, long past the point any normal girl would be whining in pain. Wetness gushed against the hand on her sex.

It turned out he was blessed.

She'd stopped verbally responding to him right after he'd undressed and now she stared off at the side wall, her eyes wide and unfocused. For now, he let her. Her breathing picked up and her legs jerked as she worked closer and closer to her climax until, eventually, her whole body thrummed with energy. Then she did something that surprised him. She balled up her hand into a fist and punched him. “No. No, you can't make me do that.”

Grabbing her by the shoulders, he shoved her against the mattress and pinned her wrists together again with one hand. His other worked at her soft, wet cunt. His fingers slipped between her inner folds easily, thumbing her clit even as he pushed one finger up inside of her. Her whole body clenched deliciously but she had more than enough lubrication to accommodate him and another finger. Claire thrashed her legs, trying to buck him off as he knelt one leg across hers, and she screamed in outrage.

Then she screamed in forced orgasm as he bent down and bit her already punished nipple. “That's a good girl.”

“I hate you.” This time, when he got off of her, he still held her hands, but she just turned onto her side and curled into herself. “I hate you. I'm going to kill you. I'm going to make you suffer. You're going to die, painfully, at my hands. It's going to take a long time.” That out, she started over with, “I hate you. I'm going to kill you...” She repeated it like a mantra, or a prayer as he uncurled her legs and spread her thighs gently with one hand.

“I hope you're ready.”

Her teeth grit together, she still got out a strangled word, breaking her litany. “Condom.”

“No. You'll take what I have to give you.” And there it was, the terror. It flared up again and she panicked, fighting like a woman possessed, or hysterical. Her knee colliding with his stomach, he coughed but kept her down, pinning her physically and mentally. “Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be a good mother when the time comes. I'm not giving up the biological imperative. After all, our offspring would undoubtedly be strong and powerful.”

Sylar bent down to kiss her and she bit him viciously, so he bit back and pinned her thighs apart. He fit right between them as the blood flowed between their lips and he spit some of hers back into her mouth. She choked on it and turned her head away finally to go back to the wall.

And he found his way home. The head of his cock nudged against her entrance, testing the slick muscle there as he reached down to guide himself in. Getting in was the hardest part, her cunt a vice as he rocked against her and, finally, slid in with a pop. He groaned, giving her that much power, but she had already started whimpering. With no intention of being vicious now, he let her adjust to the new, unfamiliar intrusion in her most protected place. Sylar laid kisses on her neck and forehead, drinking in the taste of her skin and tears, soaking up her smell. Then he remembered the plan. “That's a good girl,” he repeated quietly, rocking against her once more. “Open up for me. It'll feel good for you.” He rocked in a little harder, reaching the barrier she miraculous hadn't damage with all her death attempts. “Maybe this'll grow back. Then I can deflower you over and over. Mmm.”

She hissed, trying to buck away from himself, struggling against his hold and, in her struggles, she bucked forward, making him laugh as she thrust him through her hymen. Claire started crying in earnest now, no longer the virginal little girl, and he licked up her tears as he bottomed out. “I'll give you a choice: fast or slow.” He'd make her cooperate in her own rape. Maybe she'd chose fast, to get it over with. Or maybe she'd choose slow to make it gentler. Sylar waited for her answer, still inside her gripping, hot cunt. “Claire.”

“Slow! Oh, god.” Her eyes clenched tightly shut as the nausea built up in her, threatening to make her puke, but she fought it under control.

“That's a good girl.” That'd be his mantra, every time she did something he liked. Eventually she'd come to look forward to it. She didn't seem to be aware of holding him inside of her or trying to keep her grip as he slowly inched his way out, sighing in satisfaction. Her cunt pulsed, getting used to the sensation, growing resigned to the violation. He smiled down at her. “How does it feel as I violate you? Right? Unsurprising? You always knew I'd take everything from you and I will. I'm,” he started to slide back inside of her welcoming body, “going to annihilate you, Claire Bennet. I'm going to break you down into a new person, someone who can live by my side and be happy. This is all for your happiness.”

“You're a bastard,” she accused, whimpering as he started slow, steady thrusts. “If you wanted me happy, you'd let me and Molly go.”

“No, I prefer my way.” He bit her neck and reached between her legs to rub little circles against her clit and, to his shock, she climaxed again suddenly. It ripped the breath away from her, surprising her every bit as much as him, and when she could breath again she gave a choked sob.

“It's just physical. I hate you. I'm going to kill you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and he listened to her whimpers in between the words of her litany, groaning when she tightened or her hips gave an involuntary thrust. But he'd prepared for her, masturbating for hours earlier so that this would draw out as long as possible.

And he kept up the pressure.

Her body grew winded and she trembled from the force of him before her third orgasm. He kissed her on the lips again and told her what a good girl she was. He'd never felt anything quite like this before; a woman's body welcoming him while her mind fought him desperately. It caused a heady feeling, a feeling like he'd gotten drunk with power, and he didn't even mind when she bit his lips. Still, he soldiered on. It felt a lot like heaven as he pinned her beneath him, pinned her wrists so that she was denied control of herself. His own climax pooled in his stomach and ran through his balls as they tightened up, drawing into him to prepare for the end. His thrusts turned faster and harder as he worked her body like a finely constructed watch and the pitch of her whimpers took on a different tone.

When he came it felt like no release he'd ever gotten before, from his powers or from sex, and he dragged her over the edge with him. She just sobbed harder and plastered herself against the bed in an effort to avoid his punishing, pleasuring touch.

He stayed inside of her, soft but warm and content, as he telekinetically reattached the cuffs to her wrists. He'd worry about the ankles later. Then, whispering for her to try to rest, he pulled a blanket over both of them and turned off the light.

“Please, get out of me,” she pleaded.

“No, this is where I belong.”

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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.