The Trouble With Uniforms

He couldn't think of one thing that made her look more childish than the uniform. Low cut as it was with a tiny skirt that slit up the front, the cheerleading habit practically screamed 'high school', which made it awkward as hell when he wanted to think about her as Elle's lips wrapped around his cock. It wasn't that he hadn't tried to picture her in something else, God knew he had, it was just that when he thought of Claire Bennet, he inevitably saw her just as she'd been that first night: a lovely blonde homecoming queen and cheer captain who just happened to have been covered in blood.

And it wasn't the blood that did it for him so much as the idea behind it. He'd thrown the girl into a wall, crushed her face in on itself… and she'd lived to glare at him from beneath blood caked lashes. He'd never been able to do that before, be completely free with his strength and his powers and come away with it anything but utterly alone. Even now as his hands lay tangled in Elle's hair, his cock buried deliciously in her throat, he was still restrained. It would never have to be like that with Claire. That girl could take all of his punishment and more.

Woman, he corrected himself. Even if the outfit did make her look too young… those breasts, the hips… the way he had seen her stare at him with defiance and a hint of fear… She was definitely a woman.

Sharp nails dug into Sylar's thighs, forcing his attention back to the bobbing blonde head between his legs. Elle didn't like it when his thoughts wandered while she was in the middle of deep throat –ing him. It took every ounce of his considerable self restraint not to suffocate her during this sort of play, and she knew it. She wasn't, after all, able to spontaneously regenerate like the woman he wanted so much. It was a pity, really.

He bit his lip as she continued, mouth dragging up and down his cock as teeth grazed the sensitive skin and her nose went from being buried in the tangle of hair at his base to the top of his shaft in seconds. She was a real pro at this.

Caught in the moment, he let his eyes flutter shut and his imagination take over for just a moment.

Claire was there, long blonde hair curling gracefully over bare shoulders, lithe arms tied back painfully behind her at the elbows. He bare breasts were thrust forward, pink nipples tight and budding as they brushed the tops of his legs, moving his light dusting of hair and making him want to grab hold so they'd stop tickling him.

She was on her knees, her green eyes wide and filled with a mixture of fear and pure lust as bright red lips smeared lipstick up and down his dick. She was moaning, groaning around him as pleasant vibrations pooled in his groan, bringing him just this side of explosion. He had to take a moment to breathe, to focus on keeping himself sane and hard, and by the time he was done he had buried his hands in her wonderful silken curls and was guiding her back down so that he could touch the back of her throat with his head. She gagged, of course she gagged. She had never done this before.

Sylar smiled at the thought of being the first man to touch the back of this cheerleader's throat, the first one to show her exactly what it meant to take all of him and blow the hell out a man's cock.

Hands still fisted in her hair, he drew her back, withdrawing completely before setting the tip of him at her lips again. She opened her mouth without protest, sighing softly and contentedly as he slid home once more. He little throat pulsed around him of its own volition as she struggled to keep him inside of her mouth fully. God she was good.

Moaning himself, Sylar pulled her off and then down again, thrusting straight to the back of her throat until he couldn't go any farther. Rapidly, he withdrew and thrust again, using those hands to guide her on him.

"God, Claire, Blow me," he groaned, keeping up a steady rhythm. At his words, she made a noise, but all he could hear around his cock behind those perfectly shaped lips was a muffled moan. He decided to ignore the sound and continue as he had been, speeding up the pace and feeling her lips touch his base suddenly and on every thrust. She didn't seem to appreciate his ardor, beginning to struggle against the bonds behind her back, shoulders straining as if she imagined she could escape. But he'd tied those knots himself, and Sylar was nothing if not proficient.

"That's it baby, I'm going to come right in your throat," he was mumbling now, grunting on each thrust as her eyes filled with tears and her airways closed off. He hadn't moved himself from her throat in the last minute, contenting himself with tiny thrust and constant gagging. She felt so good, convulsing around his cock like that.

And then, just as he was about to come… her eyes glazed over and she was wearing that fucking uniform again. Red and white cotton/polyester blend made her look like a kid. He was fucking a kid.

Horrified, Sylar bellowed as he came.

Too late to stop the inevitable now. It was purely biology having its sordid way with him. Because his mind was screaming, reeling at the thought of the little cheerleader he'd just fucked to death. Sylar was many things, but a pedophile was not one of them.

When he came back to himself, he was staring down at Elle. She was bleary eyed and furious, pulling away and spitting out the last of his cum as he collapsed back against his favorite arm chair, shaking his head in disgust and trying to banish the uniform again as his cock wilted between strong thighs, still deliciously saturated in Elle's saliva.

"What the fuck," Elle cried hoarsely, still half coughing half sputtering as she tried to regain composure. He might have felt guilty for losing control like that if he wasn't still horrified over the completely undesired and disturbing ending to his little fantasy; or if he had had a conscience. As it was, he was merely irritated that Elle was still there on her knees gasping like some sort of dying victim. Grabbing her by the arm, her pulled her onto his lap, stroking her arm absentmindedly in an effort to calm her.

But the mother fucking princess would not be calmed, straining against him and calling him all sorts of dirty names as she struggled. He didn't have time for this shit.

Growling, he let her go, giving her a disgusted push as she stumbled to her feet before looking back at him over her shoulder, completely naked and extremely haughty. Under normal circumstances he probably would have appreciated the view, but today, this particular blonde just wasn't cutting it. He wanted her out of the room and far away so he could focus on his fantasies and on day dreams that didn't involve the woman he wanted looking like a virginal school girl.

"Get out," he ordered, waving a hand at Elle's clothes and sending them floating towards her. Her eyes went wide with shock and sizzling anger. No matter how pissed off she was at him, the thought of rejection still managed to send her over a completely different cliff, one that involved not only fury, but fears of neglect and abandonment. He liked to call them her daddy issues, but whatever they were they always worked readily in his favor.

"Gabriel—"

"Christ, Elle. Can't I get a minute alone? Do you have to cling so much?" Resentment and fear flitted across the woman's features and she recoiled as if she'd been slapped. Suddenly, she wasn't the one who had been wronged any longer. Now she was the offender. Just like always. Just as it should be.

Sylar watched her slump out of the room, pulling on her long t-shirt. He congratulated himself on another conflict evaded with the woman he was getting regular sex from… and then he let his thoughts turn towards the fantasy again. He needed to find a way to imagine her out of that fucking uniform consistently, but that was impossible. He'd only ever seen her in the one thing…

And then the solution popped into his head like an annoyingly catchy tune, and he smiled.

He'd just have to see her in something else then.

He rose quickly, grabbing his jeans and slipping them on as he rushed excitedly from the room. Elle looked up from the table where she sat, head in her hands as he swept past her.

It was time, time to stop fantasizing and start doing. He had never waited this long to get something he wanted before, and honestly, he didn't know what had been keeping him. All he knew now was that he'd enjoy seeing the cheerleader bound and naked and blowing him. He'd enjoy it immensely.

And if he had to, he'd burn the fucking uniform.

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--Mel