Verboten
By Alaricnomad
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick
She was quiet, eerily quiet as he watched her from his place at the window. The only sound in the room was the steady ticking of that damned clock, ticking away their fate. His mind seemed so utterly blank, unsure what he should be feeling, what he should be thinking.
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick
He just…couldn't…
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It was a cold, rainy, dark October night when she lost her virginity.
She had been standing on the balcony extending from his apartment, overlooking the city sixteen floors below them and listened to the beating of the rain against the metal roofing of the building. Silent as he was, somehow down to her bones, she still felt the full magnetism of his approaching presence, slipping his coat around her shoulders- a long black trench he'd bought to replace the one lost in Texas the night they met- his arms wrapping around her to provide further warmth.
"I thought you hate the cold," his voice was low, just barely carrying above a whisper, and Claire found she couldn't stop the shiver coursing down her spine as his warm breath brushed against her skin with each word spoken.
"I do. I just like the rain."
He nodded, choosing not to speak again as she felt him rest his chin atop her head, his arms consequently tightening around her as she shivered again and he mistook the reaction, pulling her closer to the warmth of his body.
In the slight movement, the bottom of her shirt began to ride up, his hands at her hips inadvertently coming into contact with warm, bare skin. His thumb brushed against her spine, her back unintentionally arching under his touch, her breath involuntarily ragged. Peter froze behind her, suddenly hyperaware of her every reaction to him and Claire, mortified beyond belief, couldn't bring herself to look at him.
But then, those same strong hands gently turned her around to face him, framing her face to coax her to meet his eyes, warm and soft with emotion, with questions he found his assent to as he lowered his head and kissed her.
She'd told him about Brody, she could still remember the sheer horror and worry painted all across his swarthy features when she told him, remembered his arms around her and the kisses to her hair, the soft voice whispering in her ear that everything would be alright, as she finally let herself cry.
Knowing those fears lurked ever-present in the back of her mind, he was gentle and slow and sweet, asking permission with every new, exciting exploration or touch, soothing her nerves with warm kisses and whispered reassurances, and then pleasure that seemed to go beyond the brinks of reality as she knew it.
It was a cold, rainy, dark October night when she gave herself over to him, body and heart…invariably handing over her soul in the process.
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She shifted, the first sign of life Peter had seen from her in nearly an hour, the sight of her naked body wrapped up under the duvet covering belonging to his bed a strangely painful sight- for she looked so achingly young, vulnerable, delicate…breakable.
She glanced over at him, blue-green eyes glassy and misted over with tears as they locked with his. Silently, he crossed the room to reach her, the mattress sinking with the addition of his weight as he pulled her into his arms, her blonde head nestling against the warmth of his bare chest.
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick
…That damned clock just wouldn't stop ticking…
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Peter found the letter two days after she'd first received it.
He had noticed her acting out of the ordinary, watched her walk around for nearly three days in a sort of preoccupied daze that had him constantly questioning, only to be rebuffed by a vague, closed-off answer.
Now he had his answer to her sudden bout of what she called the stomach flu that had her up close and personal with the toilet bowl two mornings before. For a few short, inexplicable moments, he'd even feared a pregnancy.
His stomach rolled at the very thought.
A muffled sob broke through the air, catching his attention to a pale and tearful Claire standing in the doorway, her eyes locked on the letter from the private investigator they'd hired to dig up her biological mother's past, the truth staring back at them in mocking black and white print.
Quiet and unassuming, his voice rang through the air, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't know what to think," a pause, a muffled sob, an inner chastising over the fact that all she seemed to be doing lately was crying, "I didn't want to believe it."
As she stared at him with those deep, fathomless turquoise eyes that drew him to her and claimed his soul in the first place, it was all he could do to keep from crying himself.
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Like Peter before her, Claire took note that the silence between them was a wickedly intense sort of thing, feeling ready to explode at any given second.
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick
If there was ever a time when she wished for Peter's mimic to manifest, it was now…somehow conjure up Hiro's abilities and stop the inevitable passing of time in its place. She tucked her head against his bicep, closing her eyes to the soothing caress of his fingers stroking her hair as he held her tight.
She focused on the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, trying desperately to drown out the steady rhythm of the clock on the wall.
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick
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It was just an hour ago that he hung up the phone to Nathan's rambling and ranting about the phone call his big brother had received at his office.
Given he was clear across the city in his office, Peter calculated they had at least an hour and a half until the elder Petrelli's arrival.
Claire was waiting for him in bed as he returned, her long honey-blonde hair draped across the black of his bed sheets, her smile welcoming him back quickly twisting into a frown as he quietly informed her of the identity of the caller.
"Does he know?" Upfront and blunt, her question took him off guard.
He sat down beside her on the bed, burying his face in his hands as he let out a frustrated groan, finally nodding his answer as he grunted out a petulant, "Yes."
Scary how one little word could bring their entire world crashing down.
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Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick
She sat between his legs, quiet, contemplative and oddly calm, naked as the day she was born and not giving a damn. The duvet was wrapped around them both, the apartment cold in the early November chill.
Wrapped up so intimately to him, she was surrounded by his scent. He smelled of sex and sweat, faint touches of his favorite cologne and the masculine spice that was uniquely him. He was just Peter…and just Peter had become everything so rapidly she couldn't even bring herself to think of the inevitable.
"I want you to remember something," his deep voice rumbled out to her, quiet but commanding, drawing her attention from their idly entwined fingers to meet his dark gaze.
"Hmm?"
"I want you to remember that no matter what I can't give you…real love, a home, family…normal, I want you to remember what it is you've given me."
"What's that?"
His voice was soft, tender, a caressing whisper in her ear, "You've given me back my hope."
Her heart swelled and she opened her mouth to answer, her stomach dropping a split moment later as the clock struck the hour and a reverberating pounding at the front door echoed through the small apartment.
Peter gently grasped her chin, his mouth a warm softness against hers as she melted into his kiss, that one contact bringing all her memory into sharp context…the smooth, angular planes of his back beneath her fingers, the rough caress of his chin stubble everywhere he tasted against her body, the feeling of his hands, strong and calloused, grazing against her skin.
Everything…she remembered everything…she remembered him.
Peter didn't say another word as they separated and he fished out his tee-shirt from the clothes littering his bedroom floor, stopping momentarily to press a kiss to her forehead before leaving the room to meet their reckoning, closing the door to give her enough time to change before the blow-out.
She dressed quickly as possible, winced at the screaming on the other side of the door, and tried desperately to ignore the phantom feeling of his lips against her brow.