jaune_chat (jaune_chat) wrote,

Can't Tell A Killer From A Savior

Title: Can’t Tell A Killer From A Savior
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairing: Claire/Gretchen, Gretchen/Sylar
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,142
Spoilers: Through end of S4
Warnings: Implied femslash, betrayal, angst angst angst
Disclaimer: Heroes is owned by Tim Kring, NBC, et al.
Notes: Written for bellonablack’s Five Acts Meme.
Summary: After Claire’s jump, Gretchen begins to think things are going well between them. In truth, she couldn’t be more wrong.

Dreams never translated well into reality. You tried to get what you wanted, and hoped that everything would turn out well and hoped someone else would share your dream. Gretchen had hoped her and Claire would turn out that way.

And they did, sort of. Claire had a bag full of issues, but in the little quiet in-between times, when she was being Claire and not Noah Bennet's Daughter or The Girl Who Jumped or The Granddaughter of Angela Petrelli, she was still Gretchen's Supergirl. She was the one that held her hand in public, kissed her when she came back from class, held tight to Gretchen in the night, both of them warm and relaxed with lovemaking.

It made Gretchen feel privileged. She knew how hard Claire worked to handle the "Special Situation." In between college classes, she was helping calm fears, talking with government officials and special interest groups, having meetings with her family and her father... and she still managed to come home every night. "Home" now was the Petrelli mansion, rather than the dorm. Privacy and security would have been impossible to obtain otherwise. Claire could take care of herself, but she didn't want anything to happen to Gretchen. Fine with her, the beds at the Petrelli manse were far more comfortable (and bigger!) than anything they could have gotten on campus.

While they had that together, it didn’t negate some of the precautions Claire had Gretchen take. She was subtle about it, but Gretchen knew she was having someone guard her every time she went out. Sometimes it was her uncle Peter, other times her father, Mr. Bennet. René sometimes shadowed her, and other times it was rotating hired guard in a distinctive black pea coat. At least at home, however, they could be as safe as possible, and finally alone.

"Hey." Gretchen looked up from her women's studies homework to see Claire walking in, a smile lighting up her face.

"I thought you'd be at a meeting until late!" Gretchen closed her books with relief and pulled her girlfriend down into a quick kiss.

"I got away. If I have to be super-responsible for one more minute, I'm going to scream."

"So, you want to be bad?" Gretchen said suggestively, raising an eyebrow. Claire was trussed up in a conservative suit, and she’d been on the run all day. It was time to throw caution to the winds for a while. Gretchen lay back on the bed and slid one hand under the waist of her jeans, loving the way Claire's eyes dilated when she did that.

“I could totally be down with that,” Claire husked, leaning over the bed to press her chest to Gretchen’s, the soft crush making her moan slightly. Gretchen flexed her fingers and ran them through Claire’s hair, and down to the collar of her jacket.

“Too many clothes,” Gretchen complained, tugging slightly.

Claire smiled against her mouth and pulled back enough to shrug out of her jacket. Gretchen took advantage to push up against her, getting enough space to work on the buttons of her blouse.

“I’m sorry I was away so long today. It’s not fair that you have to stay cooped up in here,” Claire murmured, slowly carding her fingers through Gretchen’s hair.

“Well, hey, I crushed on you first,” Gretchen pointed out, sliding off the blouse. Her fingers trailed down Claire’s arms as the cloth dropped away, and then returned to skim down her ribs and belly, circling her navel and watching gooseflesh break out all over.

Claire let out a shuddering breath and reached behind her back to unhook her bra, flinging it away like she couldn’t wait to be rid of it. Gretchen surged up immediately, hands gently cupping Claire’s naked breasts, her lips and tongue wrapping around one nipple, then the other, to tease them to hardness. Claire sucked in air in surprise, both her hands tangled in Gretchen’s hair, keeping her clasped to her breast.

“I don’t deserve you. Gretchen, God, who else would wait for me, who else would share me? Please, please, don’t stop!”

Gretchen didn’t bother to answer, just hugged Claire close, kissing up her breastbone and throat until she’d found her lips, and kissed her as hard as she could.

“I won’t, because you asked so nicely,” Gretchen said, grinning cheekily as Claire came up for air.

Claire’s pupils were so wide that her eyes looked dark, and Gretchen had never seen her looking so wanting and open.

“I want to try something,” Claire blurted out, her fingers dancing around Gretchen’s belt, tugging at it ever-so-slightly. “Close your eyes?”

“I can do that.” Gretchen closed her eyes and let herself go loose as Claire rapidly pulled Gretchen’s clothes off her body, divesting her of shirt, pants, socks, and underwear so fast it was like she scarcely touched her.

“Turn around, please? On the bed?” Claire asked, sounding desperate. “No peeking!” she admonished, when Gretchen tried to sneak a glimpse.

“Ok, ok, oh-!” Gretchen silenced herself when she felt Claire’s fingers, slightly slick, slide between her legs, teasing her gently. Gretchen hung her head down, bracing her arms as she felt herself get wet under Claire’s skillful hand. “Yes, Claire! Please…”

She pulled away, but was back again before Gretchen could do more than sigh. Something slick, warm, and thick nudged at the entrance to Gretchen’s body, and she gasped and giggled at the same time.

“Oh my God, Claire, did you actually order that strap-on?” Gretchen asked, feeling her whole body tingle with excitement. Claire was so new to this, compared to Gretchen, that sometimes it took a lot of effort to introduce her to anything different. Gretchen had never been so glad that she’d made the effort to enlighten her girlfriend before.

Claire didn’t respond, other than leaning forward to drop a soft kiss on the small of Gretchen’s back as she slowly pushed in. It was warm, just thick enough to be exciting without being uncomfortable, with the realistic, soft skin that could only come from a really expensive product. Gretchen wondered if some of the pocket money Angela Petrelli provided her granddaughter had paid for this toy. The thought of that somehow made things just that much more fun.

Thought abruptly fled as Claire began to thrust shallowly, far more coordinated than any of Gretchen’s previous boyfriends. Panting and murmuring encouragement, Gretchen braced herself and helped Claire deeper, shoving back so Claire could get as much out of this as Gretchen was. She was deep now, and speeding up, her hands clutching Gretchen’s hips in a surprisingly firm grip, every stroke hitting deep and wonderful inside her.

“Claire, sweetie, so good. Yes, please, like that, please, Claire, harder!” Gretchen was moaning now, and not particularly caring if someone heard. Claire was doing something to rub her clit on every stroke, and never mind that she still had both hands on Gretchen’s hips, because pausing to think was the very last thing she wanted to do.

“Love you, Gretchen!” Claire managed to gasp, as Gretchen’s body seized around the toy, her orgasm breaking over her in wave after wave of pleasure. Open and boneless after her orgasm, Claire kept thrusting for another few strokes, drawing out Gretchen’s pleasure, until the thickness inside Gretchen’s body stiffened and spasmed, a rush of heat filling her.

Shocked, Gretchen’s eyes flew open and were drawn to the mirror above the bed. Behind her, the form of Claire was melting and shifting into a much taller, dark-haired man with thick eyebrows and heavy features. He wasn’t wearing anything but a look of combined panic and chagrin.

“Sylar?!” Gretchen demanded. Alternately blushing and paling, Sylar pulled away from Gretchen (her mind noted with relief that he had been wearing a condom, that he quickly disposed of), and started to grab at some of his, Claire’s, clothes on the floor. One of which, by the door, was a black pea coat.

A few dozen things came solidly into place, and Gretchen felt faint as she turned herself over on the bed to look at the once-killer.

“You’re the bodyguard,” Gretchen said with certainty. Sylar nodded, and abandoned the pretense of trying to dress. It wasn’t like they hadn’t already seen, or felt, all that the other had to offer. “And sometimes you’re Claire.” Another nod. “How long have you and I been…?”

“Four months,” Sylar said, his deeper voice shocking after only hearing Claire’s sweeter tones in her bedroom.

“Oh my God.” Gretchen buried her head in her hands, outrage and betrayal making her shake. Four months dated back to the times in the evening when Claire had been willing to try anything beyond a little kissing and tentative touching. During the day, she still played the skittish virgin, but Gretchen had always chalked that up to the fact that she was in the public eye, and living in her grandmother’s house.

“Have you been comparing notes or something?” Gretchen demanded. “Are you practicing on me for her?”

“She’s… she wanted to be more for you,” Sylar said softly. “I… offered her a way.”

“You-.” Gretchen couldn’t even speak, she was so angry. But not at Sylar. Claire had been the one to take the offer, which Sylar might have felt obligated, in a fucked-up sort of way, to provide. Claire had told her Sylar had been bending over backwards to accommodate everyone he’d ever hurt in his quest for redemption, and he’d hurt her most of all. Or, Gretchen reflected, at least she thought Claire had told her. Maybe Sylar had only been explaining himself to her.

“She doesn’t want to… do anything?” Gretchen asked, almost pleading.

“I don’t know,” Sylar said, his face flushing with shame.

Gretchen was trying to keep herself from hyperventilating. Part of her wanted to scream at Sylar, to call Mr. Bennet and have him dragged out of here for how he’d deceived her and what he’d done to her. And part of her wanted to go find the real Claire, wherever she was, and demand to know what the hell she was thinking. Did she think so little of Gretchen that she’d let the man whom she still had nightmares about take her place in their intimacy? What kind of fucked-up relationship did Claire think she had that she had to resort to something like this?

“Did she tell you to say those things?” Gretchen asked, hugging her knees to her chest and letting her long hair hide her nude body. “Did she tell you what to say?”

“No.” Sylar closed his eyes for a second, and then fixed his dark gaze on Gretchen. “I said them-.” He stopped himself before he could go any farther, his hands restlessly curling and uncurling at his sides. “I’m sorry.” He looked devastated when he said it, absolutely despondent, and turned back to grabbing his clothes. Without another word, he slipped out the door.

Gretchen bit down on her wrist to try to keep herself from crying, failed, and made two pillows soggy with her tears by the time exhaustion finally claimed her. Claire climbed in with her at around midnight. Gretchen didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.


The next morning, Claire saw her at breakfast, chipper and cheerful. She didn’t seem to notice Gretchen’s short, monotone answers, and dashed off to an early meeting without more than a brief kiss to her girlfriend. As usual, Angela Petrelli politely ignored the display. Not as usual, Sylar came down to get his morning coffee.

Gretchen found herself staring at him, and couldn’t seem to make herself stop. From the blush on Sylar’s cheeks, he was more than aware of her scrutiny.


That night, Claire came to Gretchen’s room wearing a black pea coat.

At a fierce shake of Gretchen’s head, Sylar dropped the disguise and reached out a hand towards her. Tentatively, open. Slow enough for her to stab him, if she felt so inclined.

Instead, Gretchen turned back towards the mirror and watched as Sylar stripped them both with hands and mind both, making no pretense tonight of being anything other than who he was.

“I don’t deserve you,” Sylar murmured into her ear, his hands trailing down her sides to rest on her hips.

“Neither does she,” Gretchen said, her voice ragged and uneven.

“Okay.” Sylar breathed the word so quietly, she almost didn’t hear him. So she clamped her hands atop his and pushed back against his body.

With a soft curse, Sylar touched her more firmly, bending her over, opening her up, the heat of her anger making her more than ready.

Ready as she should have been for Claire. Who, if she ever got her courage, would have to earn as much of Gretchen’s respect as the serial killer who loved her.
Tags: claire bennet, femslash, fic, gretchen berg, heroes, het, sylar

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