[FTM] Lyric prompt
Mar. 3rd, 2009 10:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deep_red_bells[ooc: written for
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
heroslayer at their request...um, it's kind of an odd little fic and it may not even work, IDK, but it's what came out. :D]“Pennies in a well, a million dollars in the fountain of a hotel.
Broken mirrors and a black cats cold stare,
Walk under ladders on my way to hell, I'll meet you there.
But I'm not scared at all...I'm not scared at all.
Bout the cracks in the crystal, the cracks in the crystal ball”
-Pink ‘Crystal Ball’
The first night is coffee, and the surface is barely scratched.
She doesn’t trust him anymore than he trusts her, but with curiosity as their inertia, they talk. About nothing of consequence or much importance, of course. Where they grew up. Movies they like. Inane things that neither of them are particularly interested in knowing, when it comes down to it. What they really want to know of each other are cards that they hold close to their chest, and allow only the slightest flash of a view.
Eventually she pays for her own coffee and leaves.
He knows where to find her.
======================================
The second night is dinner, but they end up pushing French fries around their plates. The conversation becomes more important than greasy Diner food.
He tells her what he can do. That he’s special. Like a superhero from the comics, she thinks. Evolved. Something better, and new. It saddens her somewhat that there’s still a trace of disbelief in his face when she offers him the same candor and tells him what she is. But only a trace. She clings to that. It’s understandable that even in the broad scope of his world, it still must widen to include hers.
Eventually she pays for her food and leaves.
He knows where to find her.
======================================
The third night is drinks, and with drinks comes stories. He asks questions, and she doesn’t hold back. She tells him everything he wants to know. The dreams, the ability, the rush of slaying. What she fights. What she‘s capable of.
He wants to see. She fishes the cherry out of her drink with a straw and says him first. She watches beer mugs slide down the bar without being, her straw spin through the ice left in her glass seemingly all on its own. But it’s obvious there’s something he isn’t giving up, something he isn’t telling her.
Eventually she pays for her drinks and leaves.
He knows where to find her.
======================================
The fourth night they walk together by the Bay, without pretense of food or drinks or coffee.
He can do more, he tells her beneath the light of the moon and streetlamps that glisten on the water and give his eyes a fascinating shine. Much more. He knows how things work, he tells her. He can see it, sense it, hear it. People are like watches, he says. They tick, every one of them the slightest bit off. He can hear it, and fix it. Everyone but you.
What’s wrong with me? she asks, before she even considers that she might not want to.
You’re different, he says. It’s what caught my attention. You’re like sand. Slipping through an hourglass.
She swallows hard and looks away.
She had to ask.
He wants to see, but she can’t tonight. Tomorrow, she promises, and she turns away to go back to her car.
I’ll be there, he replies, and his tone carries the threat of and you’d best be there as well.
The threat is unnecessary, of course.
He knows where to find her.
======================================
The fifth night, and she keeps her word. She shows him. How the creatures hunt, how they congregate, how they rise, how they fight, how she fights them. How they die.
He watches. He doesn’t say anything, or offer to help. He asks more questions in between battles, many of which she doesn‘t know the answer to. The tension his presence causes to run through her is exhausting, and she calls it a relatively early night.
He’s silent and merely watches her walk away.
The sixth night, he finds her.
======================================
She lets him in. He confesses things to her. What he does with his gift. What he’s done. What he’s taken. What he intended to do to her. But I can’t, he says. I could tear you apart and never find it. He isn’t sorry. But neither does he seem terribly disappointed.
You wouldn’t want it, she remarks, and distantly thinks that maybe he sensed this already, and that she should be horrified, but horror never comes. She doesn’t push him away when he touches her shoulder. He doesn’t pull away when she raises up on her toes to kiss him, not at first, but when her hands slide through his hair and tighten he steps back, stares down at her in confusion.
Why are you doing this? he asks, and it’s a valid question, and yet another to add to the pile of ones she has no good answer for.
Because I want to.
Which is good enough, and he pulls her back in. Clothing falls away article by article leaving a trail up the stairs, his coat, her shirt, his shirt, her bra, his shoes, socks and belt. Her back is against the bedroom door, his fingers tight in her hair, pulling back, exposing the line of her throat. He doesn’t kiss her skin, but presses, tip of his nose and mouth and chin to her pulse, to feel it flutter. There, he murmurs, and she feels it on her skin, the vibration, the faint, faint scrap of stubble. Her breath quickens. She says something--it might have been please or fuck or God--and then there is no surface behind her, and he yanks her to him to keep her from stumbling back, and the door bangs hard against the wall, and the frantic removal of clothing continues the rest of the way to the bed.
Foreplay is unnecessary but still he touches her and watches her react under him, almost smirking but not, until she pulls him in, leg twining over his, thigh pressed to his hip, back arching to tease him with her heat, and she sighs with relief finally thank God as he presses into her. He doesn’t kiss her. His face stays pressed against her throat, where her pulse flutters faster, slides up to her jaw once or twice and then back down again. There, he murmurs again, just there, and he lifts her sweat slicked leg higher and moves harder and faster and oh, God, yes, there. She bites her own lip hard enough to make it bleed, shudders beneath him, clenches and spasms around him, she feels his breath coming in sharp pants, the fingers tightened on her thigh tremble. Her muscles go lax when he collapses, shaking arms keeping most of his weight off of her until he rolls away.
I saw it, he murmurs when they’ve caught their breath. And felt it. Just a glimpse of it, a piece. And she has the good sense to be afraid for a split second, to sit up and clutch a pillow to her chest as though it would stand a chance of defending her against him, but he’s merely watching her, studying her with something close to...pity.
You poor girl. He almost sounds like he means it.
He doesn’t stay long, just to use the shower and redress. Goodbye isn’t necessary, but he says it anyway, and she tries to smile. They won’t see each other again.
He knows where to find her.
But he won’t.
word count: 1186
ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 05:25 am (UTC)Thank you for this. ♥
Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 05:28 am (UTC)Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 05:31 am (UTC)And seriously. With a line like, "You’re different, he says. It’s what caught my attention. You’re like sand. Slipping through an hourglass." you think you can't write Sylar? Are you insane? That's perfect. Hell, I wouldn't have even thought of being that awesome, and I write him on a regular basis.
*loves!!*
Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 02:34 pm (UTC)Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 06:17 pm (UTC)... :D ♥!
Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 06:25 pm (UTC)...He might've poked at it a bit, though. XD
Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 06:28 pm (UTC)Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 02:36 pm (UTC)The defense of WIN rests, Your Honor. ;p
Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 02:41 pm (UTC)Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 02:55 pm (UTC)Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 02:56 pm (UTC)Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 02:57 pm (UTC)Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 02:58 pm (UTC)Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 03:05 pm (UTC)Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 06:20 pm (UTC)Also! Thank you for my shiny new title. Alicia, She of the Awesome Sylar. ♥
Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 06:21 pm (UTC)Re: ooc;
Date: 2009-03-04 06:22 pm (UTC)