Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

24 December, 2009

Let it never be said that men are the faster of the genders in getting dressed. Claire was dressed in a slinky red number that Sylar had picked out, her hair was already slicked back into a little twist, and her heels were dangling off her toes as she reclined back on the neatly made bed.

"We're going to miss next Christmas Eve if you don't get a move on," Claire called to her partner. "Seriously, we were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago."

Sylar leaned around the bathroom door to glare at her, hands firmly fixed in his hair, "Looking this good takes time."

"I could have gotten ready twice already," Claire shot back, "besides, if it takes you this long to get ready, well…"

"How are you not on Santa's Naughty list," Sylar grumbled.

Claire smirked as she pulled her phone from her cleavage and began to text, "Who says I'm not?"

There was no answer from Sylar, he could only verbally spar for so long with Claire before he felt the need to kiss her everywhere and maybe do a few very indecent things as well. That was simply what Claire did to him; no matter what she was doing it was enticing. Hell, even when she had been evading him he had wanted her. Hell, he had found every single stab wound oddly thrilling. That wasn't to say that he found being stabbed and murdered erotic, but he was very attracted to Claire's feisty behavior.

Tonight was supposed to be the start of their first Christmas together. Sylar was determined he was going to be a gentleman, even if it killed him. Which, at the rate Claire was going it might…at least for a moment. He had helped pick out her dress, it was a dark red number that fell to the floor after hugging every curve Claire had and cutting a wide, low, v across her chest. It hid everything it needed to, but it revealed more than was safe. On top of the low neckline there was the dipping back of the dress and the slit that ran up the skirt nearly to the hip.

Steeling himself, Sylar pushed the image of Claire reclining on the bed, golden legs on display, from his mind. Patience was the watchword. Sylar had gone into this entire month unprepared, he had taken every day by storm. His only goal had been to force Claire to give him answers. Somewhere along the way answers had become irrelevant, it didn't matter who or what he was, it mattered that he was beside her. If the rest of this impromptu vacation with Claire had been haphazard, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, would be methodical. He would convince her that she wanted to be with him, not just for an hour, not for a week, not for a month, but forever.

Stepping out of the bathroom as he straightened his cuffs, Sylar smiled at Claire. "You look beautiful," he complimented, extending a hand to help her up from the bed.

"Thank you," Claire's demure answer wasn't what Sylar was expecting. Claire had never been one to buckle under pressure, so he had expected a little more backchat.

Curling one arm around Claire's waist he pulled her into his body, "I mean it."

The blush was fleeting, there and gone in an instant. It was charming; Sylar ducked his head and pressed his lips against Claire's. It didn't go any further than his lips brushing against hers.

"Thank you," Claire murmured as Sylar pushed her chair in before ducking down to kiss her cheek.

"You're welcome," he grasped her hand and holding it as he settled in his own chair. "Our first Christmas together," he mused.

Darkened lashes fluttered against her cheeks, "It is, first holiday we've been together."

"Together," Sylar grinned, "I like the sound of that."

"Of course you do," she tried not smile, but failed miserably.

"I do," Sylar agreed, falling silent as the waiter came over.

They sat and drank champagne and ate steak, Sylar laughing at just how efficient Claire was at putting away food. They talked softly, discussing past Christmases and their best memories. It was nice, soft. Anyone looking in on their conversation would see two people who were more interested in each other than the wine or the meal.

When the meal was cleared away Sylar downed the last sip of his champagne, stood and extended his hand to Claire, "Care to dance?"

Claire stood up, rolling her eyes as she did, "You've seen me dance, and I don't do this kind of dancing."

The music was far from anything Sylar had seen Claire dance to. It was slow, mostly string instruments and a few brass components. It wasn't the heavy bass music that Claire danced to on the field, or at parties, or anywhere. Sylar had been an avid Claireologist, still was, he had watched her constantly, seen so much of her. He hadn't seen her dance to anything like what was playing.

Hand cradled in his, Claire let him pull her to him, her free hand slipping up to rest on his shoulder as his came to rest on her bare back. Sylar stepped them back towards the dance floor, keeping Claire's body firmly pressed against his. They swayed gently, Sylar twisting his hand to trap Claire's hand against his chest.

Claire couldn't help but grin as Sylar led her around the floor, the swaying becoming distinct steps. The smile became soft laughter as Sylar twisted them across the floor, tipping Claire back slightly before pulling her upright again.

Head tipping up, Claire kissed Sylar's cheek. His hands stroked her spine, holding her to him. "So you do dance," Sylar breathed.

"I do not," Claire rejected, head falling to hide her smile. "This is all your fault, I don't dance like this."

"My fault," Sylar cracked a smile, his voice a breath of laughter, "Well if you are placing blame for having you in my arms, I'll gladly take it."

Fingers curling in the smooth fabric of Sylar's jacket Claire inhaled deeply, "You are horrible."

The comment lacked any bite, "I am horribly in love with you, if that's what you mean."

"I didn't," Claire giggled.

Sylar pulled her closer, "I think you did, because you know I love you."

There was the blush again, a flash of pink in her cheeks that disappeared just as quickly Sylar spun them around catching her lips in a small kiss. He repeated the three words in her ear, dancing her across the floor.

Claire pulled away, "Hey Sylar."

"Yes, Claire," he asked.

"I don't hate you," Claire offered, "I might actually sort of like you. Sort of."

"I'll take that," Sylar grinned as he led Claire off the dance floor and towards the lobby and elevator, "One step at a time."

"Once step at a time," Claire agreed.

Together they sat on the couch, lights off, in the glow of the lights of the tree. Claire had been telling the truth on the dance floor. She might not totally be ready to admit that she was kind of, sort of, in love with Sylar, but she could at least give him the hope he deserved. It wouldn't take much more time, he had already made a point of pushing his way into her life and making sure she wouldn't be able to live without him.

Once step at a time Sylar had become a part of her. And it wasn't the worst thing in the world. In fact, Claire was looking forward to spending more than just this Christmas with Sylar. He kept using the word "first" and Claire kept thinking the word "next".

A/N: 24/25. Merry Christmas Eve, all! One more chapter to go, lots of love, ta!