Sylar walked behind Aydra grudgingly, admitting even to himself that he had no choice but to follow. She walked as if she were hearing some internal rhythm and Sylar found himself entranced by the hypnotic sway of her hips. He forced his eyes from her backside and focused his attention on the terrain around him. He had to memorize everything he saw, so when the time came, he could escape. Yet it seemed that each time he turned around to survey the land from whence they came it would change ever so slightly.
They stopped an hour later and she led him inside a cave. The walls were lit softly with glowing embers and the walls gave off a slightly ethereal glow.
"Do not think of escaping human,"
"I wasn't--," Sylar began and then stopped.
"I noticed you looking about you when we were walking. Don't be fooled by what you see. The land has a mind of its own. It changes on a whim, not drastically, but it does. It is easy for one such as yourself to get lost here."
"Well, how is it you don't get lost?" he inquired. She swept her hair from her face, revealing a pair of pert and bountiful breasts. Sylar forced his eyes from her chest and looked into her eyes.
"I don't know why. Perhaps it's intuitive. I know the land for what it is, not what I think it should be."
Sylar was more than a little puzzled by her cryptic answer. He was getting agitated with his experience. He should be wrapping his hands around her pretty little throat and forcing her to get him off the island. Instead, he found himself feeling like a horny teenager, distracted by a nice pair of boobs and a set of legs. It's this place, he reasoned. It's this damn place with its fairies and it's mermaids and crazy meadowland spirits, he railed inwardly. It's too much chaos, too strange, too uncontrolled.
He followed her down a long tunnel and into a chamber. Stalactites hung far above them, their reaches shined as if they were laced with diamonds and the room was bathed in light, though Sylar could not see a light source.
They walked further inside and he could now see that the walls were coated in precious metals. She walked beneath a deep overhanging and sighed.
"Undress," she ordered.
Sylar stared at her for a moment, shocked beyond words. "What--,"
"Do not make me repeat myself human. Now, take off your garments or I will do it for you,"
Though he should be bristling with anger, the thought of her taking off his clothes sent a tendril of thrill shooting through him. He angrily yanked up his shirt and pulled it over his head. This wasn't like him. It wasn't like him at all. The cool, hard space in his head was beginning to fill up with things he didn't like contemplating, and he hated every moment of it.
He quickly divested himself of his pants, shoes and socks and stood unashamed before Aydra's eyes. She gave him a long once-over and then paused as her eyes traveled lower, then she finally humphed, but not before he saw a look of approval in her dark, brown eyes.
For some reason it pleased him to think she liked what she saw. He was very diligent about staying in top physical shape. After all, he couldn't always just rely on his powers.
She touched a knob in the wall and a rain shower came down from the overhanging rock. The water was warm, scented and a bit soapy.
Aydra began to soak herself in the water and cooed with contentment. He watched as the water began to slide down her hair and down her backside. Sylar grimaced and turned and stepped beneath the water.
"Human," she called, "You will not go to the queen with dirt in your hair. Come, let me," she offered and she came up behind him. He felt her fingers gently wind into his short hair and before he could stop it, a moan of pleasure escaped his lips. He had never had anyone wash his hair. He supposed his mother may have, but he had never had anyone else touch him so intimately. He had seen it in the few movies he had dared to sit down and watch and he would always scoff at the weakling of the man who'd let such a thing transpire.
But this—ah, this was—good. Her fingers slid to his neck and began to work at the tense muscles there. He began to feel the stress of the last few hours melt away beneath the magic of her fingers and he sighed. He wanted to feel that familiar anger coursing against his skin, but couldn't muster even the slightest bit of agitation as her fingers spread across the nape of his neck.
He often wondered why high powered businessman would spend hundreds of dollars on a massage. He thought it frivolous and weak. But, oh, this was—well, it was nice.
She massaged and kneaded the sensitive areas beneath and around his ears and gently coerced mud and dirt from his locks. He felt himself grow hard when she dipped down to his back. He turned and grabbed her hands.
"Stop," he told her. He couldn't take it. He was feeling like a kid again, as if he were the science nerd who couldn't control himself and she was the hot, popular girl everyone wanted.
"But you are not clean. I have to--,"
"No, I'll do it myself."
"Nonsense. You look as if you've swam in mud. And you were emitting quite a smell. Let me bathe you."
His breathe caught as she reached up and gently massaged the dirt from his pecs. His breathing became rapid and he felt his heart hammering in his chest as she traveled down the length of him.
If she doesn't stop, he told himself, if she doesn't stop….
He suddenly grabbed her and ground his mouth against hers. She resisted at first, her mouth shut tight against his assault and then—she let him in. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, as if he were punishing her for making him desire her.
Her body was soft and warm and he reveled in her planes and curves. She moaned and deepened the kiss. She tasted sweet, as if she were made of nectar and honey. Sylar wanted nothing more than to grab her by the waist, pull her legs around him and slam himself inside her….
He pushed her away roughly, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.
"Stay away from me," he told her.
Confusion swept across her beautiful face and she stepped closer, "Why?"
"Don't touch me, I am not having sex with you," he told her and held his hands in front of him.
She chuckled. "Don't think so highly of yourself human. I was merely curious about what it'd be like to kiss a man," she told him haughtily, "I would never mate with you." She threw the word out as it left a bad taste in her mouth.
She shot him a look of disgust. "Mating with a human. That is not natural."
"If my presence bothers you, I will let you bathe alone. I trust you will not try to escape," she said, the veiled threat hung in the air between them.
She turned and stalked away, retreating deeper into the recesses of the cave. Once she was gone, Sylar began to ponder his unabandoned response to her. Perhaps it was this place, perhaps it emitted some sort subsonic frequency that disrupted his powers, perhaps it was hunger, disorientation, anything but that—that—feeling.
He shook his head in anger. He was growing soft. He'd have to get out of here by any means necessary. He laughed bitterly. He couldn't believe that she'd left him alone. He knew he wouldn't have any other chance to escape.
He walked over to where his clothes lay in a pile and hesitantly slid on the mud encrusted trousers, shirt and socks before donning his shoes.
He slid noiselessly from the cave and into the fading daylight. The landscape looked just as it had before. He rolled his eyes and shrugged smugly. She was lying, he thought. Land doesn't change. Land is just a stupid piece of floating molten rock with no purpose other than to exist, he thought before stepping from the shadowy recesses of the cave and into the light.
He began at a brisk pace, not quite knowing where to go, but feeling as if any distance from the deranged spirit he'd met was a good thing. He laughed humorlessly. Here he was, the fearless killer, calling someone else deranged. If the situation weren't so damned ironic and sad he'd could probably see the humor in it. But the only thing he felt at the moment was an intense need to escape. It was a feeling he hated and despised. He hated feeling hunted, as if he were no better than an animal. He was Sylar, for goodness sakes. He was special. And before this was all over, he'd get his powers back and show that spirit bitch exactly who he was.
The thought of strangling that meadowlands queen bitch what's-her-face made a warm feeling unfurl in down his spine. Once he got his powers back, everything would be fine. He'd wake up from this hellish nightmare and everything would be normal—well, as normal as they could be for someone such as himself.