Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

16 December, 2009

Wednesday found the gourmet kitchen, typically left untouched by guests, in chaos. The current occupants had taken full command of the facilities. Claire had managed to dissuade Sylar from making cookies the night before, convincing him that he absolutely needed to see the Nightmare Before Christmas. With a few well placed kisses and a coy smile, Claire had the much bigger man curled next to her on the couch like a kitten. Sylar had not particularly taken to that sentiment and had smacked her rather firmly on the behind in retaliation.

Sylar, being a very stubborn man, had only been dissuaded for so long. He had woken her and forced her to eat breakfast in bed, although forced might be a strong word. Claire had tucked in with vigor, and smacked away Sylar's hand each time he attempted to take possession of the fork and feed her. On the surface it was a very sweet gesture, what girl didn't want breakfast in bed, however, Sylar had quickly unmasked the deed by trying to force feed her so he could drag her grocery shopping.

Claire, being a former cheerleader actually had quite the baking repertoire. Sylar, on the other hand, as expected, lacked any sort of repertoire. He had recited a recipe from memory, or from a book, and demanded they make it. The whole affair led Claire to a series of more and more frustrating discussions about the merits of name brand or generic ingredients, flour types, and butter disputes.

The kitchen was just as much as a mess as their whole shopping trip. Sylar for all his skill had managed to nearly blow up the mixer, and splattered Claire with a heavy dose of flour and butter. So she had sat back and let him attempt to sort the whole mess out.

"What did I do," Sylar asked in desperation, the dough cracking and dry in his hands.

Sitting cross-legged on the counter Claire sighed and peered curiously at the dough. "Not enough liquid," Claire guessed, "didn't combine very well, forgot something, followed the directions perfectly, it's a toss-up."

Sylar dropped the dough with a clunk, "What do you mean followed the directions perfectly, how can that mess up a recipe!"

One hand swiped at her cheek, leaving a larger streak of flour than it had removed. Sighing in frustration Claire shrugged at Sylar, "Baking isn't a science, as much as people say it is, it isn't. Sometimes following every step perfectly doesn't work, you need to use your intuition."

"So what do I do," Sylar demanded, resting his messy hands on Claire's bare knees, leaning forward to brush his nose against hers.

"More butter," Claire decided with a yawn, "I need a bath."

"No," Sylar exclaimed, eyebrows rising in alarm as Claire made to move from her position on the counter, "you can't leave me alone."

"Can, will, am," Claire smirked and scooted backwards away from him. Sylar scrambled to reach her, he missed and ended up dodging around the island to catch her around the waist and drag her off the counter, swinging her around lightly.

"No," he purred against her neck, teeth sinking sharply into the tender skin of her neck.

She twisted sharply, forcing Sylar to drop her to her feet, she spun and shoved him, a puff of flour rising from his shirt as she did. "Jeeze, you made a mess," Claire snorted.

"No thanks to you," he glared.

"Look," Claire smiled tightly and rested her hands on his shoulders, "there are some things in life that can't be learned from a book, they have to be experienced, okay?"

"Fine," Sylar exhaled dramatically,removing Claire's hands from his shoulder and spinning her around. "Go have your shower," he ordered, giving her a pat on the butt to spur her on.

"Hey," she squeaked indignantly before walking off, "just for that, I'm going to take a bath, and when you finish being messy you can come massage my neck."

"Oh can I," Sylar muttered under his breath as she disappeared.

The tub was a work of art, Claire decided after sinking into the steaming water and relaxing back against the curve of the tub. There were jets too, jets that the blonde had gleefully twisted on and dumped a good measure of vanilla bubble bath into the water. She was admittedly moaning in relief. Although Claire didn't actually feel the wear and tear that each day wrought on the human body, that didn't lessen the pleasure she felt in this sort of activity.

Twisting so that she was submerged up to her neck, Claire closed her eyes and let the gentle gurgling sound and tickling pressure against her skin lull her into a state of meditation. The occasional curse made her jolt. Apparently Sylar was still battling the good fight against sugar cookie dough. It was actually fairly cute. Sylar was childlike in some respects. Claire supposed that came from a lack of a happy or full childhood. Sylar had let slip enough about growing up that she had come to some conclusions about what had made him who he had become.

Somewhere in between humming a seventh nameless tune, Sylar slipped into the bathroom and perched on the edge of the tub. Claire cracked one eye open and watched him dip one hand into the still steaming water, letting her eye close, Claire focused on the sensation of the water lapping against her skin, and then a hint of a brush of skin against skin.

Sighing and shifting, Claire looked up lazily at him, "Cookies cooking?"

"Yes," Sylar breathed, arm dipping deeper into the water to skim along Claire's thigh, her knee, her calf, her ankle.

Biting back a weak moan, Claire allowed Sylar to lift her right leg from the water, his fingers and knuckles kneading the muscles gently, carefully. "And will these cookies kill us," Claire exhaled as he hit a particularly pleasurable spot on the back of her knee.

Sylar shrugged, his attention thoroughly split, "Let's just be glad neither of us is susceptible to food poisoning." Claire moaned at his ministrations, her whole body sinking a little in the water, "It would be your fault anyway."

"What," Claire jerked, hands pushing at the bottom of the tub to push herself into a sitting position. "How is it my fault?"

"I don't know if it has escaped your notice," Sylar set her leg back in the water, hands moving to cup her face, "but you are very distracting, Ms. Bennet."

"Still not seeing how this is my fault."

"The thought of you, in here, naked, writhing," Sylar's words rumbled in the air, making Claire relax back.

"Fair point," she sank beneath the surface of the water in a guise of protection.

"More than fair," Sylar ran his wet hand through Claire's hair, "you are a merciless tease, torturing me so I'll do exactly what you want."

"And what do I want," Claire asked, unsure of the answer herself.

"Me, on your terms," Sylar told her, "but that's not how this goes."

She shuddered under the weight of his stare, the implication of his words.

A/N: 16/25. I keep thinking about all of Sylar's book knowledge and is total lack of applicable skills, this is the result. Happy Holidays!