AN: Another fic where Claire is abducted against her will by the demented Sylar. Enjoy.
This is my favorite Heroes fic Ive written so far.
Warnings: language maybe, slightly AU no age for Claire is given so you can have her 16, 19, 22 whatever you like.
Pairing: Sylaire.
His dark eyes captured mine in their wicked embrace, daring me to make my move.
"I hate you," I mutter bitterly.
I bite the inside of my mouth hard, holding back telling him why I loathe him. Im so fucking disgusted I refuse to look at him, so my eyes glare flames at the door he stands beside.
Since my arrival, I had tried not to upset him. I tried to be a good little prisoner, but it became more difficult the longer I was with him. At first I was only insubordinate rarely, but seeing how I was able to get away with it without any consequences I expressed myself more freely. Until this moment I had never told him that I hated him. I didn't know how he would react to that, but when he had told me to pack my things because he was targeting my father Nathan Petrelli with the intent to kill him, I just couldn't keep silent.
A leer twists his lips as he steps in front of the door intercepting my stare so now my fiery eyes burn into him.
Sylar speaks highly amused, "Do you? Because that doesn't imply that you feel nothing towards me. To hate means you feel something for me."
"You're so pathetic you have to resort to twisting things to fit your insane logic," I ridiculed him disdainfully.
"God I love your mouth," he said hungrily.
A look of repugnance seized my face at his remark. I didn't want to turn him on. He expressed many times how he'd like to "make a woman" out of me. Sometimes he'd touch my face, or run his hands over my breasts and hips which were barred by my clothing. Other than that he never forced himself on me, never demanded that I take off my clothes, for that I was grateful.
In a blink he now was standing so close to me. I held my breath, determined not to allow tears to filter. I didn't want him to see me cry again. Make it quick, I thought waiting to feel his callous hands seize me.
I had asked him several times why he had taken me captive. Sometimes he'd say I was bait to lure Peter, Nathan or whoever. Sometimes he'd say I had a purpose, and leave it at that. Sometimes he'd dryly say my other option was death, and he'd ask which did I perfer.
"Hatred is better than apathy," he seemed to hiss as a finger ran down my cheek.
I did not say a word. I had no problem speaking my mind when he was on the other side of the room, but when he was so close to me I uttered not a word. I was scared of what he would do if he didn't like what I had to say.
His deep and seductive voice explained quietly, "Unlike apathy, you have to care enough to hate. You care enough to conjure up some emotion to hate the being or object."
His fingertips traced my bottom lip. He stared transfixed by them it seemed. His face moved so close to mine. His parted lips barely grazed mine. He had never kissed me before. Why he felt it was perfectly acceptable for him to touch me where he wished without my approval, but he could not kiss me unwillingly I did not know. I recently gave up trying to understand how his twisted mind worked. I don't even think he understands how it works.
He pulled his lips back then returned so close I thought he'd make contact, but he didn't. He seemed to be in a battle with himself: to taste my lips or not.
His eyes never wavered from what he was mesmerized by, but he didn't want me to notice his moment of weakness. So making it seem like their was no inner-conflict raging in him he continued pensive and clearly aroused, "Hatred is better than the nothing that could exist between us."
He was clearly torturing himself, having difficulty choosing whether to do what he wanted or...What was stopping him from acquiring what he wanted?
His finger found its way pressed against my lips again. His lips fell against his finger in an effort to feel so close to my lips without actually touching them. Watching him in such affliction, I couldn't help but feel...
No I didn't feel, I reminded myself. I rememebered the lives had taken, the lives he was willing to kill. He would like no more than to see the people I loved dearly dead so he may take their powers he selfishly desires. He was nothing more than a cold-hearted creature who takes what he wants, to hell with anybody who gets in his way.
But here he was not taking what he wanted because I was stopping him. He could disregard that and kiss me anyway, but he didn't. He who was blind to humans, only seeing them as possessions he wanted to take or worthless voids, saw me.
He saw me differently than the others. Though he would never admit it to me because he was distrustful of such matters like feeling, he (in is own sick way) loved me. His face moved from mine as his finger dropped from my lips to wrap around one of my gold curls.
He didn't say it, but I knew that he also perfered my hate to indifference because to be unfeeling I'd attempt to ignore and avoid him, but hate is a way for him to get my attention. Its not the best way to get attention, its not love, but if love is unable to be attained hate is a decent substitute which captures the other's notice. His mantra was anything, whatever it takes for me to, give him some sort of attention, see him.
The muscle in his chin tightened and his eyes appeared venemous. He was in a cold rage after the self-torment he had endured because he wanted me and I wouldn't let him have me.
"I hate you too," he said with malice.
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