I'm Just a Bad Girl (That's Why We Get Along)
Sylar/Elle.
Rated R for language, serious sexy-time and a strip tease.
Written for sarahetc in response to the Secret Santa challenge on livejournal. Prompt: Celebration of a successfully completed assignment.
Summary: Elle knew that tone of voice--it told her that Gabriel was busy with his gears and springs and he didn't have time for her right now. This was, in Elle's mind, completely unacceptable.

"Whoo, that was fun!" Elle collapsed on a rickety chair in the corner of Gabriel's workshop, stretching lazily. Gabriel didn't even look up from the watch he was winding. Elle rolled her eyes. "Whoo," she said louder, "that was fun!"

"What was fun?" His words said he was interested, but his voice was distant. Elle frowned. She knew that tone of voice--it told her that Gabriel was busy with his gears and springs and he didn't have time for her right now. This was, in Elle's mind, completely unacceptable. She had a good day and a good assignment. She wanted to celebrate! She did not want to sit in the back room of Gabriel's shop, waiting for him to notice her.

Elle rose from the chair slowly, like a cat stalking her prey. "I shot someone today," she said. Her voice so soft she was almost purring. "A big, bad man with a gun. I shot him so that he wouldn't shoot me." Elle paused, waiting for a reaction--any reaction.

"That's nice," Gabriel mumbled absently, reaching for a pair of miniature pliers. "Wait, what?" He turned, raising his eyebrows with concern. "You shot someone? Who? When? What?"

Elle giggled, "It was an assignment," she explained patiently. "I don't think I was supposed to shoot him," she continued, examining her cuticles, "but he wasn't cooperating. Besides, all Bennet said was that I couldn't barbeque him, so using my gun was totally fair game." With a sway in her step, Elle sauntered up to Gabriel's workbench. "Are you jealous?"

Gabriel turned back to the pocket watch he was fixing. "Of course not," he said. Elle wanted to scream in frustration. What was wrong with him? There was a perfectly willing, very sexy woman standing in front of him and all Gabriel wanted to do was fix his stupid watches. Elle grinned mischievously--maybe there was something she could do to distract him. Elle kicked off her shoes and waited until Gabriel turned back to his silly watch. Widening her eyes, she hooked her thumbs under the hem of her shirt and examined it closely.

"Oh my," she said, sounding surprised. "I think some blood may have gotten on my shirt." There was a smile in her voice as she continued. "I'd better take it off." Elle raised the hem slowly, exposing her soft skin inch by inch. To her satisfaction, Gabriel lifted one eye from the pocket watch to investigate the fascinating turn of events that was taking place in front of him.

Elle just smiled a wicked, knowing smile. She stopped just short of exposing her bra and dropped her shirt back in place. "What am I doing?" she asked, putting on a show for herself as much as for Gabriel. "This is not the proper place to undress." She turned to leave, but Gabriel grabbed her hand, quick as lightning. "I'm sorry," she said, "did you need me?"

Gabriel's eyes darkened, "I believe you were in the middle of something," he pointed out.

Elle stopped, "You're absolutely correct. Where was I?" Without waiting for an answer, Elle resumed her impromptu strip tease. Gabriel leaned back into his chair; his eyes never left her face. Elle revealed her bra slowly, suddenly glad that she wore an interesting one today--bright pink and lacy. Straightening her arms above her head, she pulled the shirt off and tossed it at Gabriel. It hit his shoulder and slid to the floor--the watchmaker just crossed his arms and smiled, waiting for her next move. With a sly grin, Elle slowly unbuttoned her jeans and slid the zipper down. Rotating her hips, she wiggled out of her pants, letting them fall to the floor before kicking them into the corner.

Elle took her time, letting her hands explore her body, enjoying Gabriel's transfixed stare. His gaze made her heart flutter and the blood pound through her veins. She felt her body respond in kind--arousal pooled in the pit of her stomach as she slid her hands over the tops of her thighs. When Gabriel spoke, his voice was low and rough. "You are a very bad girl."

Elle just sauntered over to Gabriel and straddled his lap. "That's why we get along," she whispered in his ear. With a smile, she bent her arms back and unhooked her bra with practiced ease. Letting the straps fall across her shoulders, Elle raised one eyebrow at Gabriel as if to say "Should I end it here?" before she dropped her hands, flinging the bit of lace behind her, and exposed her breasts to his hungry gaze. Elle's eyes flew open in surprise as his hand slipped into her panties. Covering his large hand with her smaller one, she guided him and pushed his fingers against her clit. Gabriel smiled, he loved doing this to her--winding her up like one of his clocks, letting her go, watching her explode with pleasure. He covered her mouth with his, kissing her long and hard.

Elle pulled her hand out of her panties. Her fingers, tiny and quick, unbuttoned Gabriel's shirt. She tried to pull it off his shoulders without forcing him to remove his hand, but this was, unfortunately, impossible. Gabriel withdrew his hand and stood, placing Elle gently on the floor. He shrugged off his shirt as Elle made quick work of his pants. They paused for a moment, registering for the first time that they were standing half-naked in the back workroom of Gabriel's watch shop. The whole situation would probably be amusing if they could keep their hands off each other long enough to laugh about it, but they couldn't, so it wasn't.

Gabriel picked her up like she weighed nothing, slamming her against the wall so hard that the windows rattled and the passersby briefly wondered what was going on inside. But they're in Queens, after all, and no one was nosy enough to investigate. Elle wiggled against Gabriel, begging him to slide her panties down her legs, to take her now, right now, and satisfy her craving. She loves when he gets rough. She loves the words he whispers in her ear--harsh and dirty. She shivers as he tells her how much he wants her, how good he'll make her hurt.

Elle thinks that she shouldn't like the violence so much. Isn't she supposed to want tender, gentle love? She's not supposed to like being thrown against a wall. She's not supposed to beg him to fuck her harder, faster, more. Elle's not supposed to wrap her legs around his waist or bury her face in his neck as she comes, but she does. Gabriel pumped into her again and again until he came at last, collapsing against her. They untangled from each other, kissed and separated, locating their missing clothes. Elle pulled Gabriel toward the door--hinting that what she could really use right now is a big piece of pie.

"Admit it," Elle said, linking her arm through Gabriel's. "I'm more fun than your silly old watches."

And there's nothing he could say to the contrary.