I don't make any profit or claim anything, I'm just having fun.

He is a tease.

I should've known, he loves talking and toying with people, only it is different in bed. He is the very essence of a tease. He kisses here, touches there, never stays long enough in one place before he moves on to the next. But two could play at that game. I am a tease too.

I push him down and enjoy him, pushing away his needs and focusing solely on my own. I want to touch his chest, so I do; I want to kiss his fingers, so I do; I want to feel his manhood stroking against my clitoris, so I move my hips to increase my own pleasure.

He groans beneath me and throws his head back just as I move my hips up. His hands travel up my sides but I push them down again. He alluded to my frankness and candor as we danced the flirting dance, suggesting my manners would be no different between the sheets. He seems happy with the confirmation of his theories.

Gabriel Sylar. For a moment I wonder what his real name is, why he lies to me even though we are both aware that this will never happen again, that we will never meet again. A wife maybe, or someone who loves him and misses him dearly. Someone who has never seen this side of him. What is holding him back? I look down at him and, for a moment, think of how it could have been, had I gone back home instead of staying with him. I know it shows in my eyes as I ride him, and I quickly close them and mask it behind exctasy. He told me the first time I met him that while everyone around me one day would pry my fingers from the boat, everyone but him. Still, I somehow feel I could love him more than he could love me. That's the problem with teases.

"Look at me."

I open my eyes again and his control over me makes me both aroused and afraid. He has seen me. He holds my gaze and now I can't push his hands away. He claims me, he rolls me around so that he is above me and leans in close. "Tell me you love me."

I can't speak for a moment. He pushes and I gasp audibly. He repeats his command and I can't understand his game. All I can think to do is be honest. How is a woman to lie to a man who is so deep inside her she can hardly breathe?

I take his face in my hands, an action that causes his pace to slow and stop, and look him straight in the eye. "Gabriel, I love you."

Maybe it's the fact that I mean it, maybe it's his love of being in control, but I get the feeling he actually believes me. He strokes my face and kisses my lips, and I respond with alacrity. He brings me over the edge with a cry and lets himself go moments later. We lie in bed, a few blinks from sleep, and I stroke his chest, just the way he likes it. His face is relaxed, calm. It makes me happy for some reason.

"I do, you know," I say. I know he is not asleep yet. "Love you, I mean."

"I know," he says confidently. I close my eyes and do something I never do: I use my gift to lull him, to soothe him. I give him peace.

"Fascinating," he mumbles and I can't help but giggle at how his deep voice makes his chest rumble. "You really are special. I wonder how that works..."

Looking up at him, I see no trace of the tease.

I see murder. And Pain.