When You're With Me

Claire Bennet had never had a thing for her uncle. Of course as a high-schooler she had idolized him, how could she not after he'd thrown himself off of a rooftop to save her? But she'd never, not once, had an erotic dream about the man she shared blood with. Until now.

The fantasy had come out of nowhere, a product of anxiety and finals which had conspired to make her as uncomfortably aroused in her sleep as possible. She'd woken to slick thighs and a throbbing pulse between them where swollen folds ached for some sort of release. It hadn't gone unnoticed.

He had been watching her, eyes half lidded and cheek propped against the palm of one hand. His dark hair was sticking out every which way and the stubble on his face made him look positively feral.

"Good morning," he had said huskily. She tried to smile at him, pressing her legs together uncomfortably and feeling her thighs slip together in the sticky mess she'd made.

"Morning," she greeted, licking her lips and trying to keep from making eye contact. They said the eyes were the windows to the soul, and she did not want her lover knowing what had just been going on behind them.

He grinned at her then, drawing her close for a kiss. His hands trailed up her bare back, settling at her shoulders and the nape of her neck as his mouth slated over hers and her breasts pressed against his naked chest. He was clearly aroused, the hot length of him pressing against her belly.

Eyes fluttering open as lips parted, she caught his gaze. He had the loveliest dark eyes she'd ever seen.

"I'm going to go get something to eat," he murmured against her lips, "Do you want anything?" Shaking her head, Claire shifted so he could get out of the bed. The mattress felt oddly empty as he rose. She'd gotten used to the weight of him in it over the past few weeks.

He walked nude across the room and into the kitchen, casting a glance over his shoulder before disappearing through the door.

Claire sighed, stretching across the bed and arching her back as she sighed contentedly. It had been a good night. They'd gone dancing together, an art he'd picked up more quickly than she could ever have imagined. One minute he was watching her furtively from his chair by the wall, and the next he had been spinning her around the floor, pulling her in for breathless kisses and full body caresses that set her blood on fire.

And then there had been the after. The slamming into walls and moaning and whimpering. The scratching nails, biting teeth, and questing tongue. The pounding hearts, pounding heads, and pounding cock.

It had definitely been a good night.

From the kitchen, Claire heard the clanging of pots and pans and the subtle whoosh as the refrigerator opened and closed. She let her eyes flutter shut, content to listen to him move around her kitchen like he owned it.

It was the sudden bang that brought her out of it though, the thunderous crash and the strangled groan. And then silence.

Claire scrambled up into a sitting position, dragging her sheets up to cover pert breasts as her eyes widened. The intruder was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe and peering at her from under long, side-swept bangs. Strong arms were crossed over a broad chest… and he was scowling.

"Peter!" she gasped, trying her best to disappear into the headboard. Why couldn't she have an ability that was actually useful when it came to conflict situations?

The dark haired man in the doorway, her uncle, tilted his head slightly to the side, peering at her with a hard expression on his face.

"What's going on here, Claire? I come to rescue you, imagine you tied to the bed and bleeding, and you're here… of your own free will?" He looked confused, upset… angry. She shivered. Those brown eyes were taking her in and the way they were doing it made her more than uncomfortable. She pulled the sheet to her chin, yanking the pale green comforter up to join it.

"I- I don't know what you mean," She stammered. He had known about the way things were. She thought he'd accepted it…

"Don't fuck with me, Claire," he hissed. He lunged across the room then, drawing up just short of the bed as she flinched. Slowly, he dropped to sit on the corner of the mattress, sighing. "I just don't understand how you could turn to him of all people, especially after us."

Claire shivered violently. Them? There had never been a them. He had always been her hero, the type of man she hoped to some day find… but he was family.

"Peter, I don't think—"

"Shut up, Claire," he hissed. Was that pain in his eyes? And… arousal? Claire's eyes widened further as he sighed. "You were always so beautiful, so perfect and wonderful… I always thought so."

Claire started shaking, violently. "Peter—"

"I said shut up!" he raged, lunging at her until he was over her, hovering and looking down at into her green eyes, one hand tangled in her hair and the other sweeping down her side over the blankets. "Why does he get you? What does he have that I don't?"

Rather than respond, Claire only struggled, flailing and trying her damndest to budge him. But he would not be moved, settling instead so that he laid over her, his clothes and her blankets the only thing between them as he tried to calm and stroke her. She started to cry. This wasn't at all what she'd dreamed about. This was awful. How had he gotten in? How had he gotten past—

"I know you dream about me," he whispered, voice low and husky. His hand trailed up and between them, fingers settling on the duvet above her slick sex. "I know that if this blanket were to disappear I'd be running my hand through soaking wet curls." Claire sobbed loudly as his other hand settled over her mouth and he shushed her. "You want me Claire. You miss me. You know I'm better than him."

Claire shook her head frantically, kicking her legs beneath the comforter and achieving nothing but to draw a low chuckle from the man on top of her.

She struggled as he drew down her blanket and sheet. She cried as he suffocated her, removing his clothes and starting to kiss her neck and bare breasts. He horrified her even as he stroked her in all the right places. How could he do this? How did he know that just there beneath her left breast was the spot that took her breath away every time it was nipped? How did he know that if he cut off her oxygen supply and left her reeling she'd become more aware in her skin?

The panic and the terror she felt didn't do much to ease the tension he was building inside of her. He was raping her for Christ's sake, her uncle and her hero was forcing her… And no amount of horror could stop her body from enjoying it.

She arched, she sobbed, she kicked, she cried… all it achieved was to spur him on as his hands roamed and he whispered assurances into her ear. "Shh, calm down Claire. You know you want this. You know you need me. Just calm down and let me--" he stopped speaking abruptly as he sank the length of himself deep inside of her. She was still wet from the mornings dream and he slid in with no trouble, making her nails dig and scratch frantically at his bare back as she stared over his shoulder, wide eyed and gasping.

This couldn't be happening, Peter couldn't be doing this.

"Why not, Claire? Haven't you been dreaming about this while you've been fucking him? Haven't you been wanting me inside of you, just like this? Don't you need me?" He punctuated each question with a thrust, reaching the back of her channel and jolting her each time. She was whimpering in tandem with his thrusts now, breathing heavily as tear filled eyes rolled back I her head and he stroked her to a peak she did not want.

Soon, he was following her over the edge, groaning as he came right inside of her. She panicked again. God no. He wasn't wearing a—and she didn't take pills because it reacted much the same was as alcohol to her system. That was, it didn't. Angry tears of humiliation rolled down her cheeks as Peter kissed her, drawing his lips over hers and letting them trail down to her throat.

"God Claire, you're fantastic," he moaned as he buried his lips between her breasts. She was cold and shivering beneath him and he worked his way back up her body, nuzzling her as he went and finally meeting her eyes. She tried to close her own and found she couldn't.

And then it changed. Those brown eyes darkened and his hair receded to a short and spiky mess. Eyebrows thickened and lips grew perfect and full as his face and body morphed above her. And suddenly, she was staring not at her rapist, but at her lover.

Claire burst into a fresh bout of horrified tears at the sight of him above her. His expression was curious, furtive, and satisfied. She felt her entire body go slack as she sobbed and his hands caressed damp cheeks.

"Be quiet, Claire," he ordered impatiently, rolling off of her to lay beside her prone form, dragging her so that her back was nestled against his front. She couldn't stop the tears as they streamed down her face. A mixture of horror and relief flooded her as she began to hyperventilate.

"Shush," he chastised behind her, "it's over. He's gone. And now you know better than to think about him while you're with me."

Claire hiccupped in his arms, biting her lip and nodding frantically.

A touch of concern found its way into his voice. "Tell me you're okay, Claire," he ordered, hands settling on her hip and breast. She gulped trying to stop the tears and failing miserably. Instead, she nodded, speaking through the gasps.

"I'm okay… Gabriel."

The man behind her nodded contentedly and let himself fall into a drowsy, contented sleep.

Claire tried her best not to wake him as she continued to weep.

Please review! That is the only sign I get that you enjoy what you read.

--Mel