Claire Bennet stood over the black, shiny casket in the cemetery. Feeling her hand shaking slightly, she lowered her arm, depositing a white rose on her grandmother's chest. Angela Petrelli's funeral was the affair of a lifetime. Like her, it was expensively furnished, tailored to a specific set of guidelines, and cold. It was March in New York City. Claire was surprised there wasn't snow on the ground.
It had been twenty years since her stunt at the carnival in Central Park. This was the first time she had been back to the city since that night. Her father and Angela had been quick to step in with a cover-up. Despite her protests, they had quickly called in favors and worked closely with Lauren to defraud all the videos and pictures taken from the event. A month later, no one even remembered that night. Essentially, it had never happened.
Claire had finished college, moved back to Texas, and had stopped all communications with her father and Angela. It wasn't until two days ago, when Peter had called her, that she even realized how long it had been. Peter's voice had been the first indication that something was wrong. When she heard him on the other line, she instinctively knew it had begun. This would be the first of many funerals she would have to attend in the coming years.
While the priest began his liturgy Claire surveyed the attendees. Peter was to her right, holding Emma. The two had stayed in New York after the carnival incident. They now had three kids and were living in the Petrelli mansion with Angela. Peter had never been one for the luxurious life his mother aimed for, but with three children, he and Emma had outgrown their apartment. The hospital didn't pay well enough for them to secure housing elsewhere.
Sandra, Doug, and Lyle had come, which was awkward, since Noah and Lauren had also arrived to pay their respects. After Claire had severed ties with her adopted father, Sandra had had less of a reason to remain in contact with her ex-husband. Claire wasn't sure how many years had passed since they had spoken to one another, let alone see each other. Lyle was polite, but quiet. He didn't bother to speak to anyone besides his mother and Doug. He barely managed a wave at Claire.
The one person she hadn't expected to see was Gabriel Gray, aka Sylar.
He was standing alone, away from the crowd, under a massive oak tree, one of the few remaining original trees left in the graveyard. He was dressed in a black suit, clean shaven, and hair slicked back. If she hadn't known him, she would have mistaken him for a Wall Street broker or some other hot-shot New York City type. However, she couldn't mistake the way he was looking at her.
Several other Specials had turned out as well. Hiro Nakamura, Ando Masahashi, Tracy Strauss with her nephew Micah Sanders, and Matt Park had all made the journey. They were standing together, near Peter and Emma. She had suspected they had kept in touch, but she had never been sure until now.
The liturgy concluded and the priest moved onto the internment. Claire focused on all the roses lying on Angela's casket. Within a few days, the flowers would wilt, wither up, and die. They would return to the Earth, where they came from. She knew she would never go through that process. She would never have a funeral. She would never die. Instead, she was cursed to watch all those around her live their lives and eventually pass on, leaving her alone to suffer without any of them left to comfort her.
When they began lowering the coffin, Claire stepped away from the crowd. The reality of her situation always became clearer during moments like this. She needed to put distance between herself and the ceremony. She noted her father attempting to work his way over to her. She quickened her pace, heading down the hill to where taxis were beginning to line up. Noah must have anticipated she'd try to escape. He called after her. Claire tuned him out, reaching for the door handle to the closest taxi, only to find it already occupied.
"Move over," she demanded, sliding in and slamming the door behind her. Her bare arm briefly touched his hand. Realizing she had slid over to far, she moved back toward the door. To the taxi driver, she said, "JFK, please."
Sylar raised an eyebrow at her. When she defiantly glared at him, he smirked. "Running away again, Claire?"
"Needless to say, I'm not in the mood to speak to my father." She crossed her arms over her chest, believing he was referring to Noah, who was running down the hill after her. The taxi pulled away, while he yelled. "Not that it's any of your business." She paused for a moment, then asked, "Why are you here?"
"Angela Petrelli was one of us. I owed it to her and to Peter to pay my respects."
Claire scuffed, rolling her eyes. "Respect? Yeah, right."
He leaned forward. "Excuse me?"
"Angela Petrelli was cold, calculating and manipulative. She never did anything that didn't eventually serve her and her wishes in the end." Claire shook her head, recalling all the times her grandmother had tried to use her. Like Nathan, Angela Petrelli had a knack for controlling situations and people. She had often been the center of the orchestration of Claire's life. It had both fascinated and frustrated the forever teenager. However, they had always agreed on one point. Staring out the window, she stated evenly, "She hated you."
"I assumed so. It's a long list."
"You're looking at number one."
"Really?" He didn't seem convinced. She ignored his taunting tone. "Then why are you in this cab right now, Claire?" When she refused to answer him, he chuckled to himself and leaned back in his seat. She continued to stare out her window, watching other cabs drive by, as the buildings seemed to come in closer and closer.
After several minutes, Sylar knocked on the divider of the cab, signaling the driver to pull over and stop. Claire sat in her seat for a moment, unsure what was happening. He leaned forward, producing several bills to pay the man. She got out of the cab, turning to meet his gaze. He had already come around the other side of the vehicle, stopping only inches from her. "Where are we?"
"My place."
"Why?"
He didn't answer. He simply grinned. It was the same Chesire cat smile she had come to expect when he prepared to slice someone's head open. This time it was slightly different. The killer instinct was still present in his eyes, but it had lessened. There was something else lurking beneath the surface, another hunger, a more primal need.
"Alright then." She brushed past him, sauntering into the apartment building's lobby.
Sylar followed behind her, wordlessly. The grin was still on his face. Claire slipped into the elevator, leaning back into the corner, her hands gripping onto the metal handle bars on either side of her, as she watched him. He pressed the button for the top floor, turning his attention back to her. She matched his predatory gaze. Though deep down she was nervous and a little afraid, this was the most excitement she had had in years. The unknown, the likeliness she was about to do something wrong, the danger — it all thrilled her.
She didn't take notice of the corridor or his apartment. Once they were inside, his hands were on her. One hand wrapped around the front of her, sliding down her hip to her thigh. He guided her back, until her spine was flush against his chest. Claire gasped, when she felt his arousal pulsing against her backside. His opposite hand held her underneath her chin, forcing her head back while he lowered his face down to nip at her neck. She let out a sigh, reaching up to graze her fingers along his head and neck. She felt the last of her nerves die, as euphoria took over.
His hand moved back up her thigh, under dress. The pad of his thumb stroked down her underwear, snapping the front of her lace thong against her skin, before continuing. Her breath hitched as he moved to slip a finger inside her. His opposite arm tightened around her, holding her against him as he moved the digit in and out of her folds. Claire moaned, letting her head fall back. His mouth was on her collarbone, sucking and biting at the flesh. She knew there would be a mark tomorrow.
Another finger pushed into her and then a third, pumping in rhythm with the first.
Sylar pushed her forward, causing her to bend over onto the kitchen table. He hiked up her dress with one hand, tearing off her panties with the other. Claire didn't have a chance to object before he thrust into her. She cried out. His hands were firm on her bare hipbones, holding her in position, while he pulled out and thrust in again with more force. He let out a grunt, as he drove himself in and out, working fast to find a rhythm. Her muscles clenched around him, unaccustomed to having such a large member.
"Claire Bennet", he breathed in her ear. "You've been holding out on me."
His words baited her on. She pushed back, off of the table, turning around to face him. Pulling her dress off over her head, she tossed it away. She closed the space between them, her hand massaging his manhood, while her lips caressed his chest. Slowly, she worked her mouth across his skin, while her hands cupped his erection, teasing it between her thighs. She heard him hiss, when she sucked on his earlobe. In the next instant he grabbed her by her wrists, backing her up into the wall. He lifted her up easily, burying himself inside her once again.
Flexibility from cheerleading came in handy, as she spread her legs wider, allowing him to drive in deeper. His breathing became heavier, coming out in short bursts near her ear. His grip on her upper thighs tightened, as they both reached closer to the tipping point. Her shoulder blades were smacking into the wall with each thrust, but she didn't mind. The pleasure was worth the pain.
She dugs her fingers into his shoulders, feeling the climax brewing. He drove deeper and faster, causing her to cry out with each plunge. "Say my name," he told her, as he penetrated her again. She bit her lip, holding back another cry. "Say it, Claire." He shifted his hands, holding her up with one arm, while the other held her breast, bringing his mouth to close around her nipple.
"Sylar," she breathed, begging for more.
"You're mine," he told her, before sucking on her nipple.
She nodded, breathless under his touch. Her legs were beginning to lose feeling and her mind was foggy. She used what concentration she had left to keep their hold around his torso locking her feet together behind him. The slight shift of her body, gave him a different angle and they both screamed with his last final push.
Claire felt her body go limp. Her arms draped over his shoulders, as her legs began to fall down. Wordlessly, he left her, pulling out with a groan, but still holding her up. Like a child, he carried her into the adjoining bedroom. She barely felt his touch. Her body was still feeling ripples of the explosive activity. He gently deposited her on one side of the bed and taking his spot across from her. Within minutes, they were both asleep.
When she woke up, she got dressed, grabbed her things, and went straight to the airport. There were bruises all over her body, including a prominent mark on her collarbone, which was visible under the thin straps of her dress.
She didn't wait for him to wake up. She didn't leave a note. She didn't call. It was sex. It was a way to ignore the grief, so she didn't have to deal with it. Eternity would a long, lonely existence. They needed each other for the release, to keep from going insane by the cold, hard truth. There was no point in looking into it any further.
A few years after Angela passed, she received a call from her mother that Renee, the Haitian, had died. The Company paid for the funeral arrangements, which meant he was going to be buried in New York near the Petrelli family. Claire made the trip back out to the city, not knowing exactly what to expect. When she saw Sylar across the room at the viewing, she hadn't been surprised. When he grabbed her arm out in front afterwards, she had been startled.
He pulled her into an empty limo, telekinetically locking the doors once they were inside. She hadn't bothered to wear any underwear this time. He sat down across from her, waiting. She put her knees down on the leather seat on either sides of him, straddling his waist. Her small fingers worked to undo his belt and unzip his pants. When she released him from the constraints of his jeans, he was throbbing with anticipation.
She decided on a different approach. Pushing up off the seat, she laid down on the opposing side, undoing her belt and slipping off her suit pants. She was aware of his eyes watching her, regarding her every movement. His hands, which had been resting at his sides, were now balled into fists, pressing into the leather interior. She arched her back, as she lifted her blouse up and over her head, shimmying her head out of it and revealing a black lace bra.
Claire crawled over to him, on her knees, slowly slipping the straps off her shoulders, one at a time, before finally unlatching the bra. It feel to the limo floor. She stopped in front of him, kneeling between his legs. Her hands slid up his thighs, pulling the pants and boxers off his hips and down to his ankles. He didn't bother to kick either off.
Lowering her face to the tip of his manhood, Claire breathed in the scent of hot flesh and arousal. Her lips slid over the head, as she took him into her mouth. His hips bucked slightly when she continued to take in the length of him. She felt his hands tangle into her hair, one grasping for her neck, the other steading her head. He pushed her further down on his member, until she thought she would choke. He didn't seem to noticed. He moaned, as her tongue began circling around him, paying special attention to the head.
While her tongue and mouth worked on him, her hand cupped his balls, slowly massaging. She felt him shiver slightly at her touch, making her feel more in control and aroused. Quickening her pace, Claire sucked gently on his hot flesh. Suddenly, his fingers yanked on her hair, causing her to release him and pulling her face up towards his.
Sylar captured her mouth with his, drawing her into his lap. He situated her over his manhood, guiding her down on top of it. Smiling, she held onto his shoulders, gyrating her hips slowly against him. His eyes rolled back, as he groaned. He held onto her waist, his grip possessive and strong. She began to move faster, arching her back to go further. They both let out a cry, hitting a specific spot.
He started bucking his hips. Claire felt the familiar explosion building. Her legs began to feel loose and she started to slow down. He thrust hard, a human jack hammer into her, driving deeper and deeper. Her arms wrapped around him, as she buried her face in his shoulder. She hit her climax, her muscles contracting around him as she screamed out, clinging onto him as if he was a life raft. He grunted, ramming into her a couple more times, before letting out a half-cry, half-groan.
Wordlessly, he lifted her up, setting both of them down on the floor of the vehicle, so they could stretch out. She saw beads of sweat on his forehead and chest. It had gotten a lot warmer in the limo. Steam was on the windows. Blush formed on her cheeks, but she didn't regret what they had done.
It wasn't until Claire heard the driver entering the front of the car, that she realized she had fallen asleep. She rolled over, finding Sylar still out. His arm was over her waist, skin against skin. Neither of them had bothered to redress. She slowly moved herself out of his way, slipping her outfit back on. Since she couldn't explain her tardiness, she decided it was best if she left before anyone noticed her.
The day of her father's funeral, Claire laid in bed, debating whether to go or not. Noah Bennet was being buried in Texas, only an hour away from where she was currently living. Her mother would be there, along with Lyle. She hadn't seen either of them in almost ten years. It was painful. It hurt to see how they had grown and aged, each with their own new family, each living a life she would never be able to embrace.
When she finally made up her mind to go, she was surprised to find him waiting outside her apartment door. She had never told him where she lived. They never discussed anything. They barely spoke at all. Claire preferred it that way.
"What are you doing here?"
"Giving you a ride to the funeral."
"No thanks." She brushed past him, annoyed. This was not how they did things.
Regardless of her irritation, she still felt the familiar pull towards him when she saw him at the funeral home. Noah had asked to be cremated, so there would be no trip to the cemetery. Claire had taken a seat near the back. She wasn't in the mood to socialize today. Peter and Emma were seated up front, along with Hiro, Ando, Matt, and a few others. She deliberately avoided them all. Her irritation was making her extremely bitter.
Once the ceremony was over, she left. She didn't have the heart to make up a smile or discuss her father's life with anyone, including her mom and Lyle. As she exited the crowd, she spotted him leaning against the door frame, eyeing her expectantly.
"One hour," she said, slipping an address into his hand as she walked past.
To anyone else, it would have appeared she had just said goodbye in passing or possibly a thank you for attending. That was how it was with them. It wasn't a real relationship, she told herself. They barely ever spoke. It was a need, a hunger that had to be sated. Each time it intensified, burning longer, consuming both of them until they were spent.
She waited for him at the river, about a half-mile outside of her town. He pulled up in a blue convertible, a flashy choice, but she liked it. As Sylar approached where she was sitting, she unzipped her dress, discarding it to the ground. She let the sunlight run across her bare skin, for a moment, waiting. Then with a quick glance over her shoulder at him, she jumped in.
The water was cool, refreshing. Compared to the heat she knew would soon follow, it was a welcomed relief. Surfacing, she spotted him on the edge of the river, staring at her. He was still in his gray suit. She let his gaze travel down her body slowly, taking in each curve. When his eyes finally returned to her face she gave him a sultry grin and asked, "Coming?"
Her voice broke through to him, as if he was waking from a dream. He pulled off his jacket, tossing it behind him, as he walked forward, undoing his tie. Within seconds he was naked, joining her in the water. She swam over, sliding her arms up his firm chest and wrapping her legs around his hips. There was no need for any games. No pleasantries required.
He held onto her backside and thighs, guiding her. Claire lowered herself on his full length, throwing her head back and sighing as he filled her. She gyrated her hips, rounding down on him until he let out a soft groan. The water sloshed around them, as they moved. As she bounced herself up and down, he snaked one arm around her, using his other arm to brush her hair back.
"Harder," she breathed, tightening her legs around him.
"What would your father say, Claire-bear?"
"Stop talking," she snapped, grabbing his face and drawing him down for a kiss.
He responded by taking them both out of the river, laying her on her back down in the sand of the bank.
About a year later, Claire was in Chicago attending the funeral of West Rosen. She was the only Special from the old group to be invited. She was sure if her father was still alive, he would have received an invite as well. The circumstances surrounding West's death were considered strange by the attendees. He had been struck by lighting, but his wife believed he was flying home at the time. Of course to Claire, her definition of flying home was different than his wife's definition.
Seeing her ex-boyfriend's body lying in the casket scared Claire. West had been one of the first people to show her how wonderful it was to have an ability. He had loved life. He had loved his gift of flight. When other people remained the same and stuck to the status quo, he had been searching for different, always looking for a new adventure. To see him now, older and lifeless was another jab in her heart.
Immortality meant more of this. It meant she'd have to see everyone she came into contact with suffer. Tears came. She cried so hard the sobs racked her body and made her feel as if she'd be sick to her stomach. People around her seemed uncomfortable about her level of grief, but she didn't care. They had no idea who she was. They couldn't understand who West was to her.
When the service concluded, she returned to her hotel room, falling asleep instantly. After several hours, she awoke to hear the city's night life waking up. She didn't want to mourn. She didn't want to be sad. So she decided not to.
She hailed a taxi, taking her credit card with her. The first stop was to pick up a new outfit, still black though not appropriate for a funeral by any means. The next stop was for shoes, then to a salon, and finally to the hottest night club in the city. Since drinking wasn't an option, she made her way out onto the dance floor.
It wasn't long before a guy came over to attempt to keep her company. She didn't ask his name, or bother to really look at his face. In the end, it wouldn't matter. She'd never see him again. With any luck, he'd be dead in a few decades and she'd have forgotten all about today. Claire let him put his hands on her hips, guiding her with the music and holding her close. Her mind focused on the loud, pulsating beats in the air.
Something about his scent was off. He was out of sync. She tried to take the lead, but his hands tighten, pressing her against him. She could feel his need, but she wasn't in the mood. Claire peeled his hands off of her, pushing herself away from him, working herself out of his hold. The guy reached forward to grab her arm, when someone sent him flying backwards onto the ground. She flipped around.
And there he was, smirking back at her.
She quickly walked away, moving through the crowd. As she shoved past intoxicated people, she felt him following her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him breaking through. "You could have called," he teased. She glared at him, exiting the club. Standing on the curb, she waved her arm to grab a cab. He was next to her in a second.
His arm snaked around her waist, bringing her flush against him. "I know how you like it," he breathed against her face. His tongue tracing a line from the top of her ear, down the side, ending at her earlobe where his teeth lightly bit. Her arm fell to her side. Ripples of pleasure coursed through her. She tried to hold back a sigh.
"What are you doing here?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"You're mine." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't insult me," he gestured toward the guy who she had been dancing with earlier. He had exited the club looking for her. Noting the position of Sylar's arm on her frame, he rolled his eyes and walked back inside.
Pushing his arm off of her, she growled. "You have no right!"
"Maybe not, but I don't like sharing."
"I'm not yours."
"Really?"
He grabbed her wrist with lightning fast reflexes, pulling her body up against his. Her breasts were crushed against his chest and his manhood was pulsating underneath his pants. It was impossible not to feel it through the thin fabric of her outfit. His arms locked her in place, though she attempted to pull away. Unable to stop herself, she let out moan. He took that as permission to take her.
Raising his left arm, he hailed a cab, while keeping her flush against him with his opposite arm and kissing her feverishly. Claire wasn't aware of the cab or the drive back to her hotel. Her mind could only comprehend that his mouth and his hands were on her, roaming her body, finding her weak spots and manipulating her like putty in his hands. Somehow they got through the lobby and up to the fifth floor. He all but kicked the door in, scooping her up instantly and locked the door behind them.
Grabbing the neckline of her skimpy dress, he yanked down on the zipper. She sighed as the thin fabric fell free of her back, hanging loosely at her hips. His eyes ran over her torso, taking in every curve. His hand lifted and cupped her breast. He dropped his face to suck on it, making her whimper. As he worked, his free hand went to her hip. A quick tug on her dress and it fell over her hips, puddling at her feet.
"Lovely." He fingered the satiny, black lace material of her thong and she shivered.
Claire raised her face up. Her lips attached to his, hungrily kissing him. Her hands moved over his body and his went to hers, one cupping her breast and the other squeezing her butt. Claire moaned into Sylar's mouth and pressed her body even closer against him.
As one, they moved over to the bed and she pushed him down onto it. She then knelt down next to him on the bed and undid his pants. She pulled them and his boxers down to reveal his member. She took the head of his cock into her mouth and sucked on it. She ran her tongue up and down, coating it with her saliva. She moved even further down and sucked on one of his balls, eliciting a groan from Sylar, who was lying back and not in control for once.
Noticing he had let her be in control, Claire stopped her attention to his manhood and slid her body up, over his until they were eye to eye. She wanted to take advantage of this chance. She straddled his waist and slowly lowered herself on top of him until she felt the warm hardness of his erection on the inside of her thigh. She reached down and guided him into her, letting out a moan as he entered her. As he filled her, she felt the pleasure slide up from her lower region. As she pumped herself up and down on him, Claire arched her back, throwing her hair back over her shoulders with a happy cry.
Moans and other guttural sounds filled the air as the two moved. Claire leaned forward. Sylar took advantage of the angle to capture her breasts, one with his hand and one with mouth. The room began to feel warmer and soon their bodies were beading with sweat. As she continued gyrating her hips, Claire could feel her orgasm lingering off in the distance. She wanted this to continue. This was the most intense night they had had together since Angela's funeral.
As if sensing what she was thinking, Sylar moved his arms to flip her over so Claire was lying on her back. He climbed on top of her, parting her legs and spreading them wide. He positioned himself at her entrance, slowly circling the head against her lips. Claire let out a gasp. "Please." Her words were all he needed. He slid his cock back into her. Before he started thrusting into her again, he placed his hands down on the mattress on either side of her. "You belong to me" he reminded her. Claire nodded.
He reached his hands behind her, holding her up slightly. He humped into her as hers legs reached up to tighten around his hips. It didn't take long for the angle to cause her body to react to his pulsating member. As her face slowly reddened, her body struggled against it's natural urge to orgasm and her pussy clamped down on Sylar's manhood. He was surprised by how tightly she gripped him and the pleasure made him hold her closer to his chest.
Claire's body jerked and jumped, her hips humping upwards against Sylar. The intensity was driving her to move with him. She needed him to fill her. She needed him to bring her the ecstasy she had been without over the last few years. Her face was covered in sweat and she could feel her orgasm getting increasingly closer. Her mouth gaped open, trying to get air, trying to hold off. She didn't want this to end. She didn't want tonight to be over. She needed him. She needed him to fulfill her every night, not just these moments.
Sylar couldn't have realized where Claire's mind was. He didn't have Matt Parkman's ability. She wanted to ask but she didn't know how. And her pride wouldn't let her. Before she could decide if her needs outweigh her pride, she came hard, her juices gushing out of her as she gripped onto Sylar even tighter. He kept thrusting into Claire's twitching legs until he finally exploded in her. Claire collapsed, exhausted and spent. She felt the bed shift as Sylar came to lay next to her. Instead of rolling on his side away from her, he pulled her to him. She froze for a moment, not expecting the gesture.
"Come back to New York with me," he said. That was it. There were no promises, no begging, no guarantee. She wouldn't have had it any other way.
"Alright then."
And that was how it started. Claire found a job in public relations working on covering up scandals and other high profile cases for celebrities, politicians, and the extremely wealthy. Solar maintained his original watch shop. When it was slow, he would come visit her at work. On one such occasion, Claire was in her office, preparing for a meeting with a new client, when Sylar burst in.
"I have a call in-."
He cut her off by hooking his hand around her chin and pulling her up for a kiss. It was demanding and overpowering. Claire dropped the manilla folder in her hand, feeling her body gone numb. "Cancel it."
"I can't. This is with-."
Once again, he cut her off with a leg-weakening kiss. The context of which, she did not miss. She stepped back, breathless. "Fine," she hissed. She excused herself from the office for a moment to go down the hall to a co-worker. When she returned, she shut the door, locking it.
"You have my attention." She had to go on tip-toes to whisper into his ear, running her tongue against the length of his earlobe before biting down on his neck. Primal instinct and sheer desire took over as he pushed her down onto the desk. She watched him close his eyes and began ghosting his fingers against her skin, lingering a bit too long on the bumpy rungs between her ribs. She whispered his name with a shudder.
She moaned as his fingers brushed against the damp spot on her panties. His response was to bit down on her lip. Claire could feel the heat building between them. Sylar's fingers toyed with the edge of her underwear, tracing the lines. She couldn't stand the teasing. She reached forward, unbuckleng his belt, unzipping his pants, and freed him from his boxers. He chuckled lightly against her mouth, still kissing her with a clear intent. He positioned himself at her entrance, which was already wet in anticipation. "Please." She whispered, voice straining with painful need as he began brushing the tip against her, barely dipping it in. "You're evil."
As if to prove her wrong, he suddenly pulled his lips away from her and pushed himself all the way inside of her. Claire gasped and dug her nails into his back. His shirt would protect him slightly, but she figured it didn't matter anyway. The slight pain only seemed to fuel the way he thrust in and out of her rapidly, going harder and harder. Never once breaking eye contact, he tightly grasped her thighs and rocked her tiny body. She bit her lip to resist the moans threatening to come out. If she had given up her meeting, she was going to make this last.
He turned them and leaned back on her desk, resting on his elbows as he stared her down with eyes full of lust and intent. Shakily, Claire got up and put her arms around his neck before lowering herself onto his hardness. They both drew a sharp breath as he slowly filled her warmth with his length. When he was all the way, deep inside of her, she started rocking back and forth, creating a gentle friction between them as their eyes still remained trapped in the other's smoldering gaze. Soon her slow rocking wasn't enough for him. He sped it up as he gripped her hips and impaled her faster and faster. "Harder." She whispered, against his ear, allowing her tongue to dart out along the side of his earlobe.
Sylar groaned darkly, lifting her legs over his shoulders and swiftly burying himself inside. He silenced her screams by covering her mouth with his own. Claire groaned into his mouth, squirming against him in an attempt to bounce her hips in time with his. "You're mine." He murmured, hardly able to catch his own breath due to the speed of his thrusts. They tightened their grips on each other as the end came closer and closer. He bit down harshly into her soft neck with a final thrust before turning to collapse on top of her and the desk.
When work wasn't slow at the watch shop, she wouldn't see Gabriel until the evening. He usually didn't come by until after ten. One night when he showed up, she was prepared. She had been watching the Weather Channel closely, searching for a specific date. She had to wait a couple of years until it happened, but finally a solar eclipse was lined up. So Claire began planning.
She lived in an apartment that was rented out by a majority of NYU students. It helped her fit in and tonight especially, it worked in favor. The eclipse gave everyone a reason to throw epic parties and celebrate with lots of alcohol and food. It was exactly the type of evening she was looking for.
That night when he arrived, she led him into the apartment. The lights were dimmed and music played low in the background. They sat on opposite couches. A bottle of tequila and two shots glasses, the same type as the ones she had had in Mexico when she had been across the border with Nathan, were sitting on the coffee table between them.
"Bottoms up," she grinned at him, taking a shot.
"Does Peter know about this?" He teased, mirroring her moves and downing his own gulp of alcohol.
"Please," she rolled her eyes. He poured another round, pushing one of the glasses towards her. "Oh, what the hell. It is college, isn't it?"
As she said the words, she felt a slight twinge of deja vu. He was grinning. It didn't occur to her that she needed to watch what she said around him, however he seemed particularly intrigued by the fact she remember what he had said to her when he had stolen a kiss at her college. That fact encouraged her in her idea to down a couple more shots. By the time she had them down, she was delighted to feel the effects of the alcohol. Things were becoming blurry. One thing remained intact. All that mattered was the fact that he was here with her.
She watched him carefully as he took his. Without hesitation, she dished out another round. They gulped down the new splash of tequila. She got a wicked idea. "Let's make things more interesting." She slid off her leather jacket and pulled her striped shirt over her head, leaving her sitting in her jeans and a camisole.
Sylar laughed, his face scrunching up slightly. "What are you doing?"
"Playing."
"Cat and mouse?"
"Isn't that your favorite game?" She queried knowingly and leaned forward.
"Only if you're playing," he matched her stance. "So tell me, Claire. Are you the cat or the mouse?"
She tried to hold his gaze. His dark eyes were intense, staring into her own, unyielding. Suddenly the tequila hit her. She felt drunk, or at least what she imagined drunk felt like from what she had been told. She had never experienced it before. Grabbing the edge of the couch, she tried to pull herself to her feet and stand. Her legs felt as if they were full of lead, but her feet felt as if they were floating on clouds. Ultimately, it gave her a very poor perspective on where to step.
Claire started to fall forward. He was there in an instant, holding onto her, steadying her, until she could stand solidly on her own. His gaze was on her, but the intensity had changed, softened. His hands rose to cup her face. Her stomach began doing somersaults. Not the type of acrobatics that came from alcohol, the kind that came from nerves. He smiled, before leaning down to kiss her gently. The gentle context caught her off guard. She began to push back on him, wondering if the drunken stance was causing this.
He deepened the kiss, hungry and conquering. Her arms stopped pushing. She felt herself melt into him, pushing her hands up his muscular chest. She pulled down on his shirt, bringing him closer to her. She could feel the rough pad of his thumb as it caressed her cheek. Claire brought her arms up to lock behind his neck, keeping herself flush against him. Then, just as suddenly as he had moved forward to kiss her, he pulled back.
Sylar gazed her. Her mouth was parted and slightly open, as she stared back, unsure of what was happening. His hands dropped from her face. He stepped back.
"What?"
His eyes hadn't moved from her face since he had stopped the kiss. They were searching for something. After another long pause of silence between them, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. She wanted to pull him back down to her and tell him to screw whatever else he was thinking about. When she moved to touch him, he closed the space between them, lifting her up. She was surprised, but didn't object, as he walked them down the hallway to her bedroom.
That night he made love to her. He didn't rush. He didn't tell her that she belonged to him. He didn't tell her to say his name. He was agonizingly slow. He took the time to kiss each inch of her skin, covering her body in light touches and gentle moments. Claire attributed the evening to the alcohol and never considered anything else.
The day Peter died, neither of them spoke. Claire came to the apartment directly from work. She hadn't even had to knock. He was waiting at the door. The moment she arrived, he let her in. She had floated in, staring at nothing in particular and feeling emptier than she had in years. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, she had sat stiffly, her knuckles white as she gripped her kneecaps, clenching and unclenching her hands. When the first tear feel, she didn't notice. It wasn't until he stood before her and wiped the tears off her cheek that she realized she was crying.
He had knelt down in front of her. Being eye-level with him, caused her to notice he had tears in his eyes. They had never spoken about his relationship with Peter. She knew from speaking with her uncle that Sylar had become one of his closest and dearest friends. From his face, she could tell the same could be said for him about Peter. She had lost her uncle, her hero. He had lost his first real friend, a true confidant who had helped him get on his road for redemption. They were both broken.
At some point, they moved to lie on the bed together. He didn't remove her dress. She didn't reach for his belt buckle. Instead, they laid on their sides, facing each other. Claire told him about the first time she met Peter, which coincidentally was also the first time she had met Sylar. He, in turn, told her about their time together in the mental prison Matt Parkman had created. And so it went on through the night, back and forth, a story for a story.
She rolled over onto her other side, thankful when he pulled her back against him, draping his arm over her frame. Sylar rested his chin at the top of her head. Claire could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The stories ceased. A familiar silence enveloped the apartment. The two immortals were not bothered by the lack of sound. In a way it was soothing. Sleep came easier that evening.
Before the sun rose the next morning, Claire got up, gathered her things and left. The whole experience had unnerved her. With the new day beginning, she recognized what she had done. She tried to justify it based on her grief, but one glance at his sleeping form and she knew that was a lie. Suddenly the apartment felt small. The city was louder, more hostile and demanding. She took off, much the same as any other time, only this time, she left for good. She ran away from it, leaving her apartment, her job, and him.
She never made it to her uncle's funeral.
Two years later found her working in a diner, just outside of Seattle. She had changed her name, dyed her hair a deep, dark brown, and no longer maintained any connections to her former life. So it surprised her when she turned around to find him sitting at the front corner table, sipping a cup of coffee. Her fear of his presence had faded long ago. She walked over with a dish cloth and began to wipe down his table.
"Claire."
"Sorry, you must have me confused with someone else. My name's Sandra."
"Of course it is," he smirked. "My mistake."
"Can I get you anything else?"
"Just the check."
"Right away."
She turned on her heel to go to the cash register. It would have been too easy for him to leave it like that. She expected him to drag her out of the restaurant or take her in the backroom to get his release. Just thinking about it made her arms break out in Goosebumps. It had been years since their last rendezvous. And though she longed for the thrill of it, her fear of what else may happen between them scared her.
When she returned to his table with the check, he was gone. There was a twenty dollar bill sitting on the middle of the table, along with a key. It was the silver, circular key, unlike other she had seen. She picked it up carefully, examining it as if it were a priceless treasure.
"What's that?" Taylor, another waitress at the diner, asked as she walked by.
"I'm not sure."
"By the way, that guy was hot. Did he ask you for your number?"
"What?" Claire had only be half-listening to her co-worker.
"He's the best looking guy who's walked in here in over a month. How did you not notice?"
While Taylor went on a little rant, Claire sat down at the counter, still speculating over the key. It was far too small to be for a door. She considered a safety deposit box, locker, or another storage area for valuables, but she knew most places now had fingerprinting technology or eye scanners. Also, old-fashioned keys were typically stamped with a serial number to trace them to their original owners.
"Clyde?" Claire asked her manager. "Have you ever seen a key like this before?"
The older gentleman looked it over for a moment, then nodded. "It's for a grandfather clock. It opens the back so you can work on the wheels and cogs."
"Seriously?" Claire said to herself more than to Clyde.
"Oh yes," Clyde answered, not understanding her tone. "Clocks are beautiful. Some are considered art, you know. It's all very precise. Every wheel, every cog, all the parts have to fit together for it to run. When you look at it from far away, you can see all the pieces, but you can't tell how they join to create the masterpiece. You have to watch them. You can see how each piece relies on another piece to work. They build on each other." He smiled at Claire, handing the key back to her. "It's a lot like a relationship that way."
"You mean love?"
"There's no greater power."
Claire bit back her bottom lip and nodded. Power and weakness. Control and limitations. Life and death. Villains and heroes. Back and forth they had gone for years. Fighting each other. Hating each other. Killing each other. Leaning on each other. Pleasuring each other. Each encounter, a piece of the puzzle. Each moment shared another building block that had brought her to now.
She knew where she had to go.
There was only one watch shop around. It was roughly ten miles outside of town. Claire had never heard of it, but she didn't think much, since she didn't own a watch. They represented too many things she didn't want to think about.
Sitting inside, just above the gears was a black, velvet box. It was already open, purposely displayed to reveal the white gold engagement ring inside. The band had several diamonds on either side of the main, square cut diamond. The band was in two parts, which entwined at the top to hold the main diamond in place. Though it was exceptionally beautiful, she could tell by the style that it was a vintage ring, possibly a couple hundred years old. Despite her unease, she reached forward, retrieving the box and holding it in her hands to examine the ring closer.
Suddenly, she noticed how silent the house was. And she knew.
Pivoting around, she shoved the box away from her and into his hands. He was only inches away from her. She raised her eyes daringly to meet his, not wanting him to see how angry she was at herself for falling into his trap.
"What is this?"
"A proposal."
"You can't be serious."
"It's been over a hundred years," he shrugged, as he was talking about something else, something less important like the score of the local baseball game or the weather. "The flies have dropped."
"You bastard." She hissed at him, enraged and pushed past him. Clenching her fists as she walked, she made for the front door.
"Is that a no?"
She paused at the door. For a moment, she paused, hand over the doorknob, telling herself just to leave. If she got into this with him, he would only pull her further down. She was confused. He always confused her. She needed air. She needed to leave.
"N-O. No." She stated evenly, keeping her back to him. She turned the doorknob, quickly opening the door.
His response was quicker. "Really?" She froze. "Why?"
Damn it.
Claire shut the door and turned to face him. She slammed her fists against his chest, desperately shoving him away from her. He caught each at her wrist, forcing her to stop. Claire raised her knee, attempting to make contact with him in another way, but he anticipated her response, brining his own leg up to counter attack. He shoved her back, pinning her against the door. She let out a frustrated half-cry, half-groan, struggling against his grip.
"Stop fighting it, Claire."
"There's nothing left to fight, except for you."
"And you love it," he chuckled, lowering his face so he spoke the words against her neck.
"Like hell I do."
"Liar."
"What makes you think I'd marry you?"
"Just a theory I have." She continued to struggle against him. Her limbs were becoming tired from fighting, but she kept trying to kick him or scratch at his skin. "Do you want to hear it?"
"No."
He smirked. "You can't lie to me."
Her brows furrowed in frustration, as she screamed out for help. He clamped one of his hands over her mouth, bringing his face right in front of hers, so close that the tip of his nose touched the tip of hers.
"Remember when I said we have the same blocks? Grief isn't an emotion that comes easy for me. I could tell it would be the same for you, though I was surprised at the outlet you chose to alleviate the grief, not that I'm complaining." He paused to plant a kiss at the corner of her mouth. She growled under his hand. "I noticed something during our time together, Claire. While at first it was fun and ironic that you would come to me for release, I realized I needed you for the same reason. And in time, I understood that that need wasn't just sex. It was you."
He dropped his hands, letting her go entirely. Claire remained standing where she was, watching him with cautious eyes, her back hand twitching for the door knob. Slowly, he rolled us his sleeve, revealing the still present tattoo of her face on his upper arm. Her eyes turned into angry little slits. "You're sick," she hissed.
"Maybe," he replied, his eyes searching her face. "That still doesn't change the fact that I love you."
"What?"
"And it doesn't change the fact that you love me."
"I do not love you."
"Liar."
He stepped forward. Her hand latched onto the doorknob. She was trying to use her rage, but bubbling to the surface of her emotions was fear. "Stay away from me," she said, the desperation in her voice making it crack slightly.
"I couldn't, even if I wanted to." He placed his hands on her hips, holding onto her. His touch wasn't dominating or controlling. She could have easily stepped out of it. "You belong to me. I belong to you. We're soul mates, Claire." Slowly, he ducked his head down to kiss her. She had time to pull away. She had the opening to run for it, but something made her stay. Something held her feet in place.
The moment his lips touched hers, she erupted. She felt the fire. She felt the hidden desire coursing through her, unyielding. Her hands reached up to his face, slipping back into his hair, drawing him closer and hauling herself up to him. She could feel him smiling, as he deepened the kiss. He lifted her up, carrying her away from the door. His hand snapped to the side, telekinetically locking the house up, as he took her upstairs.
The following morning, Claire played with the ring, slipping it on and off her finger. She loved how the light caught the diamond, causing jagged sparks of light to dance across the room. She smiled down at her hand. It wasn't the worst outcome she could imagine. Marriage wasn't a contract she had ever been prepared to make. She hadn't seen a successful one besides Peter and Emma's, but they were special.
The rustling of sheets told her that Sylar had woken up. He glanced at her, noting the ring's placement. He didn't say anything. The emotion in his eyes had changed. She wasn't sure when or how, but it had. The primal urge was still there, looming just beneath the surface. There was more too it now. There as another need, another urge.
"Soul mates, huh?"
"It had a nice ring to it. Pardon the pun." She rolled her eyes, running her finger over the band slowly, feeling the coolness of the metal beneath. His hand wrapped over hers, tugging gently so she would look at him. "I'd prefer it if you'd call me by my name, if you're saying yes." She raised an eyebrow. "Gabriel." He offered. She realized somewhere she had heard that name before, but it hadn't fit him so she had ignored it.
"Alright then…Gabriel."