FIC: Twilight [Chapter Five] (Heroes)
Aug. 5th, 2008 08:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ashinaeTwilight
by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ashinae and linden_jay
Pairing: Nathan/Claire
Rating/Warnings: NC-17; prostitution, dub-con, mention and aftermath of rape (by original, not canon, characters).
Spoilers: Up to the beginning of season 2. This would take place within the first few episodes, but doesn't follow the established plot.
Disclaimer: Not written for profit.
Summary: "I wasn't trolling for a hooker. I just happened to bump into one."
Note: This is a multi-part, but complete, story. This is not a work in progress.
Previous Parts: Teaser, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four
Twilight: Chapter Five
Claire stumbled as she walked up to the front door, exhausted all the way through. She should be aching all over, she knew that, objectively, and she almost wished she was. Maybe if it actually hurt, she'd have made it an earlier night, not pushed so late. Rubbing her eyes, she slipped of her shoes and found her key, turning it slowly in the lock and padding inside, finding her way in the dim light of the room.
Nathan sat up. The cup of coffee four hours ago had helped a lot. He quietly stood, padded with bare feet to stand in the kitchen doorway. And wait for her to find him.
Everything was dark, and the apartment was silent--good. She checked a sigh and set her boots down beside the couch, stretching a little before she headed to the kitchen for a bottle of water, gasping and jolting back a step or two when she almost ran into Nathan.
"Hi," he said, quietly. "How's business, Claire?"
"God!" she exclaimed, giving her head a shake and waiting for her heart to start beating again. "What are you doing awake? You should be sleeping."
"Yeah, maybe I should. But... I'm not. How was your night?"
"Fine," she said shortly, stepping around him and reaching into the fridge for water, going to the sink and rinsing her mouth out. "Just fine."
"Well, that's good." He stepped up behind her. This was familiar. But he reached into her shirt this time, under her bra strap, and pulled out the wad of cash there. He dropped it on the counter beside the sink. "Did well tonight, I see."
She looked down and away, not wanting to look up at him. "You should go to sleep."
"I'm not sleepy." He stepped back and turned her around. "You smell like other men. Again. I don't like it."
"Hazard of the job," she said, tired and a little bit cranky, not sure she was in the mood to do this all over again, only to have to do it again the next night. "I'll shower, you'll sleep, I'll sleep, you'll forget." Except... that he just said 'again'.
"Yeah," Nathan said, softly. "We will." He took a step back.
"Yeah," she repeated, draining the bottle of water and setting it on the table, trying to hide that her hands were shaking. That was probably from being tired.
"I want you," he said. "I dreamed about you today. I dreamed about fucking you again."
"And then you drank a bottle of wine and passed out on the couch, and in the morning you'll wake up, and you won't remember having told me any of this, and I'll nurse you through the hangover, you'll feed me, and we'll do this all over again," Claire said, not looking up at him.
"I didn't drink the bottle," Nathan said. "I didn't even have two glasses."
She went still again. She actually hadn't paid that much attention to what he'd been drinking. "Then... that, plus whatever you drank before I got home from shopping. Whatever--it's the same thing." Her voice was starting to shake, and it was pissing her off that she couldn't keep it steady. "It was easier in the alley--at least there it made sense--you wanted to fuck, you paid me, you fucked me, and I didn't end up standing here feeling like an idiot."
"I'm not drunk tonight, Claire," Nathan said. His voice was quiet, rough, and he took another step toward her. "As much as I might want to be, I'm not. I had two glasses of wine. That's all."
She stepped back when he stepped forward, bumping into the table and having to put her hands out to steady herself. She was breathing faster, fingers clutching at the edge of the table, not knowing how to respond to Nathan, or what to do.
"You want to be a whore, Claire?" Nathan asked. "Is that it?" He reached into his pocket and threw money at her feet. "There. You're a whore." He crowded her against the table, his hands falling flat against its surface, and he leaned in and bit her lip, not at all gently. "You can be my whore."
Her eyes flashed angrily, tongue flicking over the place where he'd bitten her, not that there was even so much as the impression from his teeth left behind. "Is that what you want?" she shot back at him, ignoring the money at her feet and writhing up against him, skirt already starting to ride up.
"Yeah," he said. One of his hands went to the hem of her skirt, and he pulled it up to her waist. "That's what I want. Bend over the table, Claire."
Claire looked right into his eyes for a moment or two, then pushed herself up off the table, turning around slowly, then bending at the waist and laying herself out across the table, and spreading her legs wide.
He watched, for a moment, then pushed a finger inside her without a word. He groaned, faintly, squeezed himself through his pants, and eventually whispered, "Fuck. Claire..."
"Go ahead, Nathan. Take what you want--fuck me," she rasped, squeezing around his finger, staring straight ahead as she shoved back against him.
He pulled back to open his pants, pull his cock free, then pressed up against her. He wasn't thinking anymore; there was nothing to think about. He just needed this. He needed her--or, at least he'd tell himself that he did. Later, if he had to try to explain this to himself. For now, he pushed into her, groaned loudly, bent over her back. "Fuck yes. Claire."
Claire moaned loudly, just shy of overdoing it, but still managing to sound completely sincere. He wanted a whore, she'd give him a whore. "God, yes--more--harder. You wanted to fuck me, so fuck me."
He bent over her back and bit her neck. "Fucking hot little cunt," he whispered, licked at her ear, and gave it to her harder. That's what she wanted. She wanted to be fucked; he'd give it to her.
She gasped at the bite, then cried out, nothing feigned at all this time. Her fingers clung more tightly to the table, hips shoving back as she fucked him back, feeling bruises forming against her hipbones, fading, then blooming all over again.
He grunted with each thrust, felt the table move under them. One of his hands went into her hair, pulled her head back, to give him better access to her neck. He sucked on her skin, wanting to mark her, no matter how temporary it might be.
Claire kept moving with him as long as she could, legs trembling as he kept pushing her higher and higher up the table. Her feet were just about dangling off the floor by the time she stopped trying to move with him and just let him fuck the hell out of her.
When he came, he growled low in his throat and fell still. He closed his eyes, rested his forehead against her shoulder, and whispered, "I'm sorry." Then he withdrew, took a few steps back, and leaned heavily against the wall.
She didn't move--she wasn't sure she could move. She just closed her eyes and set her head down against the table, breathing hard, fingers still clamped tight to the edge of the table.
He stepped close again, ran his fingers up the back of her thigh. "When was the last time you had an orgasm, Claire?" he asked, as if he was asking her what the latest weather report was.
Claire keeps her eyes closed, feeling goose bumps rising up against her skin as Nathan's fingers traced along her skin. "It doesn't matter," she said, her voice hoarse.
He rubbed two fingertips over her clit. "Doesn't it?" His touch was soft, teasing; stark contrast to how rough he'd been not minutes before.
A shiver ran up her spine as she felt the soft touch of his fingers rubbing against her, the inside of her thighs slick, the smell of him making her dizzy. She shook her head, eyes squeezing even tighter shut. "No, it doesn't," she whispered, even more quietly. "You don't have to. It's not part of your payment."
With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out one more bill, tossed it on the table. "There," he said. His fingers kept moving; still light, still teasing, and god, he wanted to see her come.
That wasn't what she meant--she wasn't asking for more money, just trying to tell him that he didn't owe her money and an orgasm, but somehow she hadn't said it right. She opened her eyes, lips parting to try and explain again, but all that came out was a whimper as his fingers kept rubbing against her.
"That's it," he murmured. "I just want you to feel good, too. So when was the last time, Claire?"
She stiffened as he asked her again, biting her lip and mumbling something, wishing he'd just leave it alone.
"Claire..." He leaned over her again and whispered in her ear, "Tell me. You don't want me to stop, do you?"
Some of her did. A lot of her didn't. The rest didn't have a fucking clue. "Never," she finally whispered, opening her eyes and staring at the wall.
"Never? Then I hope you enjoy this..." He kissed her neck. There was a little thrill at that, at being the first one to bring her off.
"You don't... you don't have--ohhh," she whimpered again, rocking back against his fingers, moving with him.
"I don't have to, but I want to. I want to make you come. Just give in to it."
She cried out again, very softly, her body a strange combination of relaxed and tense. Her movements were fluid, but her stomach was tight, muscles coiled, a tingling sensation starting to spread through her body. "Nathan..."
"Shh," he whispered. "It's okay. I want to do this. It's really the least I can do. Let go, Claire."
Another sobbed breath, and she let go, pleasure spiraling through her body as she writhed against Nathan's fingers. She kept shaking and shivering, tears pricking behind her eyelids as she kept moving, not entirely sure she could stop. It wasn't in her control anymore.
He kissed her shoulder, then pulled back again. And walked away. "Feel free to shower. I'm off to bed."
As his hands pulled away, she slowly stopped moving, letting go of the table and sliding down to the floor, kneeling on the money Nathan'd dropped at her feet. She nodded, wrapping her arms around her waist, skirt still hiked up over her hips. Trying not to think. "Goodnight," she murmured.
Halfway to the bedroom, Nathan stopped. He closed his eyes a moment, then turned back to the kitchen. "C'mon," he said, simply.
She looked lost in thought, taking a moment or two before she even recognized that Nathan had spoken and looked up at him. "Come on?" she repeated.
He held out his hand. "Let's get you showered."
Claire hesitated again, then reached up and took his hand, letting him help her off the ground. She tugged her skirt back down ever her hips, not sure why she was even bothering, considering she was about to get in the shower, but she just felt wrong walking around like that.
He squeezed her hand and didn't let go; guided her into the shower even though she knew where it was, leaned down to turn on the faucet for her. But he didn't look at her again, not yet. Didn't say a word, either.
She didn't let go of his hand until he'd gotten the shower going, feeling oddly shy considering that he'd just fucked her for the second time, into a table, no less. Looking down, she started working her way out of her clothes, her hands feeling clumsy, awkward.
He turned to her, and gently pushed her hands away. He was careful with her clothing, taking his time, and his hands were steadier than hers. But he wouldn't make eye contact, just watched his hands work.
She let her hands fall to her side after Nathan pushed them away, not trying for eye contact either, just watching him undress her, shivering a little as he stripped the last of her clothes away.
He looked at her mouth as he lifted a hand to her hair, brushing it back from her face. "Claire..." He took a step back and tugged his shirt over his head, dropped it to the floor; the rest of his clothes followed, then he pulled her into the shower with him.
Claire moved easily, letting Nathan pull her into the shower with him. She went right under the stream of water as soon as she was in, automatically reaching for the faucet and trying to turn the water up hotter, lifting her face up into the spray and closing her eyes.
He reached around her and grabbed her wrist. "I can't heal if I get burned," he murmured. There was an odd catch in his voice. He reached for a face cloth, put it under the spray, and turned her to face him. Gently, he washed her face, one hand in her hair. "Even if it's just for five minutes, let me take care of you."
She stiffened a little as he said that, almost pulling away before she stopped herself, biting her lip, then relaxing, going still. She could give him that, for five minutes, anyway.
The soap and sponge were next, and soon he was on his knees in front of her, scrubbing right down to her feet. He had to suppress a strange, wild urge to tickle, and then he sat back on his heels and looked up at her, silently.
Claire looked down at him, black hair looking out of place, artificial. Her hand reached out, stopping just shy of touching his cheek. "Is this real?" she whispered, the sound of her voice surprising her.
He closed his eyes and pulled her a little closer, rested his cheek against her belly as his arms went around her. "It's real, Claire."
One hand moved through Nathan's hair as Claire nodded, even though he wasn't looking at her. "Okay... okay," she murmured, not sure she completely believed him, but deciding that it didn't matter. This moment, real or not, she was going to keep it.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Claire. I shouldn't... shouldn't have..."
"Don't--don't." She actually covered his lips, stopping him from saying anything else. "Please, don't."
He closed his eyes and sucked her fingers into his mouth. He was certain he'd told himself not to think, at some point. Or maybe he didn't. He couldn't remember; everything was strange, and jumbled, and he didn't want to let her go, not now he had her in his arms.
She watched his mouth, a soft sound coming from her as she felt the suction around her fingers. She didn't know what was happening, or why, or what any of it meant. And she couldn't shake the fear that she'd wake up tomorrow and be the only one who remembered what had happened.
Moments later, he opened his eyes. His knees were protesting, and he groaned faintly, and got to his feet. "Are you ready for bed?" he asked.
One last rinse under the water, and Claire nodded, tempted to turn the hot water all the way on for at least a few seconds, managing to keep herself from it, but only barely. "I'm pretty tired," she admitted.
"So am I," he said. He reached around her again, shut off the faucet, and reached for towels. He wrapped one around his waist and used that same care and gentleness he had washing her, to get her dry. He dropped a kiss to her shoulder before stepping away to rub his own skin dry, leaving it rather on the pink side.
It had been more than five minutes, but even still, she didn't protest or argue when Nathan dried her off, allowing the gentle touches. She watched him for a few moments as he started drying himself, eventually walking over to find her hairbrush, untangling her hair and brushing it back from her face, even her bangs.
He stood behind her, bending forward to press kisses along her shoulder. This wasn't right. Everything he'd done--every touch, every glance, everything--it was wrong. She should make him stop. He knew she should.
Claire set the brush down on the counter and reached for the shirt she'd been sleeping in. Peter's shirt. She held onto it with both hands, looking up and looking at the both of them in the mirror, then looking down again. Not able to meet her own eyes.
He pulled away; hung the towels over the curtain rod, then took her hand again to pull her to the bedroom, not giving her the chance to put the shirt on. He didn't bother putting on pajamas, just slid into the bed. "You don't have to sleep on the couch," he said.
She looked very, very uncertain, hanging back and chewing on her lip again. A few long moments went by before she climbed into bed beside Nathan, balling up the shirt she was still holding and snuggling it into her arms, holding on tightly.
He rolled onto his side, facing away from her.
When he dreamed that night, they were in the alley again. Peter was watching them. When it was over, Peter shoved him against the wall and kicked his legs apart, fucked him hard. And then Claire and Peter walked away, hand in hand, leaving Nathan alone.
*
by
ashinae and linden_jayPairing: Nathan/Claire
Rating/Warnings: NC-17; prostitution, dub-con, mention and aftermath of rape (by original, not canon, characters).
Spoilers: Up to the beginning of season 2. This would take place within the first few episodes, but doesn't follow the established plot.
Disclaimer: Not written for profit.
Summary: "I wasn't trolling for a hooker. I just happened to bump into one."
Note: This is a multi-part, but complete, story. This is not a work in progress.
Previous Parts: Teaser, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four
Claire stumbled as she walked up to the front door, exhausted all the way through. She should be aching all over, she knew that, objectively, and she almost wished she was. Maybe if it actually hurt, she'd have made it an earlier night, not pushed so late. Rubbing her eyes, she slipped of her shoes and found her key, turning it slowly in the lock and padding inside, finding her way in the dim light of the room.
Nathan sat up. The cup of coffee four hours ago had helped a lot. He quietly stood, padded with bare feet to stand in the kitchen doorway. And wait for her to find him.
Everything was dark, and the apartment was silent--good. She checked a sigh and set her boots down beside the couch, stretching a little before she headed to the kitchen for a bottle of water, gasping and jolting back a step or two when she almost ran into Nathan.
"Hi," he said, quietly. "How's business, Claire?"
"God!" she exclaimed, giving her head a shake and waiting for her heart to start beating again. "What are you doing awake? You should be sleeping."
"Yeah, maybe I should. But... I'm not. How was your night?"
"Fine," she said shortly, stepping around him and reaching into the fridge for water, going to the sink and rinsing her mouth out. "Just fine."
"Well, that's good." He stepped up behind her. This was familiar. But he reached into her shirt this time, under her bra strap, and pulled out the wad of cash there. He dropped it on the counter beside the sink. "Did well tonight, I see."
She looked down and away, not wanting to look up at him. "You should go to sleep."
"I'm not sleepy." He stepped back and turned her around. "You smell like other men. Again. I don't like it."
"Hazard of the job," she said, tired and a little bit cranky, not sure she was in the mood to do this all over again, only to have to do it again the next night. "I'll shower, you'll sleep, I'll sleep, you'll forget." Except... that he just said 'again'.
"Yeah," Nathan said, softly. "We will." He took a step back.
"Yeah," she repeated, draining the bottle of water and setting it on the table, trying to hide that her hands were shaking. That was probably from being tired.
"I want you," he said. "I dreamed about you today. I dreamed about fucking you again."
"And then you drank a bottle of wine and passed out on the couch, and in the morning you'll wake up, and you won't remember having told me any of this, and I'll nurse you through the hangover, you'll feed me, and we'll do this all over again," Claire said, not looking up at him.
"I didn't drink the bottle," Nathan said. "I didn't even have two glasses."
She went still again. She actually hadn't paid that much attention to what he'd been drinking. "Then... that, plus whatever you drank before I got home from shopping. Whatever--it's the same thing." Her voice was starting to shake, and it was pissing her off that she couldn't keep it steady. "It was easier in the alley--at least there it made sense--you wanted to fuck, you paid me, you fucked me, and I didn't end up standing here feeling like an idiot."
"I'm not drunk tonight, Claire," Nathan said. His voice was quiet, rough, and he took another step toward her. "As much as I might want to be, I'm not. I had two glasses of wine. That's all."
She stepped back when he stepped forward, bumping into the table and having to put her hands out to steady herself. She was breathing faster, fingers clutching at the edge of the table, not knowing how to respond to Nathan, or what to do.
"You want to be a whore, Claire?" Nathan asked. "Is that it?" He reached into his pocket and threw money at her feet. "There. You're a whore." He crowded her against the table, his hands falling flat against its surface, and he leaned in and bit her lip, not at all gently. "You can be my whore."
Her eyes flashed angrily, tongue flicking over the place where he'd bitten her, not that there was even so much as the impression from his teeth left behind. "Is that what you want?" she shot back at him, ignoring the money at her feet and writhing up against him, skirt already starting to ride up.
"Yeah," he said. One of his hands went to the hem of her skirt, and he pulled it up to her waist. "That's what I want. Bend over the table, Claire."
Claire looked right into his eyes for a moment or two, then pushed herself up off the table, turning around slowly, then bending at the waist and laying herself out across the table, and spreading her legs wide.
He watched, for a moment, then pushed a finger inside her without a word. He groaned, faintly, squeezed himself through his pants, and eventually whispered, "Fuck. Claire..."
"Go ahead, Nathan. Take what you want--fuck me," she rasped, squeezing around his finger, staring straight ahead as she shoved back against him.
He pulled back to open his pants, pull his cock free, then pressed up against her. He wasn't thinking anymore; there was nothing to think about. He just needed this. He needed her--or, at least he'd tell himself that he did. Later, if he had to try to explain this to himself. For now, he pushed into her, groaned loudly, bent over her back. "Fuck yes. Claire."
Claire moaned loudly, just shy of overdoing it, but still managing to sound completely sincere. He wanted a whore, she'd give him a whore. "God, yes--more--harder. You wanted to fuck me, so fuck me."
He bent over her back and bit her neck. "Fucking hot little cunt," he whispered, licked at her ear, and gave it to her harder. That's what she wanted. She wanted to be fucked; he'd give it to her.
She gasped at the bite, then cried out, nothing feigned at all this time. Her fingers clung more tightly to the table, hips shoving back as she fucked him back, feeling bruises forming against her hipbones, fading, then blooming all over again.
He grunted with each thrust, felt the table move under them. One of his hands went into her hair, pulled her head back, to give him better access to her neck. He sucked on her skin, wanting to mark her, no matter how temporary it might be.
Claire kept moving with him as long as she could, legs trembling as he kept pushing her higher and higher up the table. Her feet were just about dangling off the floor by the time she stopped trying to move with him and just let him fuck the hell out of her.
When he came, he growled low in his throat and fell still. He closed his eyes, rested his forehead against her shoulder, and whispered, "I'm sorry." Then he withdrew, took a few steps back, and leaned heavily against the wall.
She didn't move--she wasn't sure she could move. She just closed her eyes and set her head down against the table, breathing hard, fingers still clamped tight to the edge of the table.
He stepped close again, ran his fingers up the back of her thigh. "When was the last time you had an orgasm, Claire?" he asked, as if he was asking her what the latest weather report was.
Claire keeps her eyes closed, feeling goose bumps rising up against her skin as Nathan's fingers traced along her skin. "It doesn't matter," she said, her voice hoarse.
He rubbed two fingertips over her clit. "Doesn't it?" His touch was soft, teasing; stark contrast to how rough he'd been not minutes before.
A shiver ran up her spine as she felt the soft touch of his fingers rubbing against her, the inside of her thighs slick, the smell of him making her dizzy. She shook her head, eyes squeezing even tighter shut. "No, it doesn't," she whispered, even more quietly. "You don't have to. It's not part of your payment."
With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out one more bill, tossed it on the table. "There," he said. His fingers kept moving; still light, still teasing, and god, he wanted to see her come.
That wasn't what she meant--she wasn't asking for more money, just trying to tell him that he didn't owe her money and an orgasm, but somehow she hadn't said it right. She opened her eyes, lips parting to try and explain again, but all that came out was a whimper as his fingers kept rubbing against her.
"That's it," he murmured. "I just want you to feel good, too. So when was the last time, Claire?"
She stiffened as he asked her again, biting her lip and mumbling something, wishing he'd just leave it alone.
"Claire..." He leaned over her again and whispered in her ear, "Tell me. You don't want me to stop, do you?"
Some of her did. A lot of her didn't. The rest didn't have a fucking clue. "Never," she finally whispered, opening her eyes and staring at the wall.
"Never? Then I hope you enjoy this..." He kissed her neck. There was a little thrill at that, at being the first one to bring her off.
"You don't... you don't have--ohhh," she whimpered again, rocking back against his fingers, moving with him.
"I don't have to, but I want to. I want to make you come. Just give in to it."
She cried out again, very softly, her body a strange combination of relaxed and tense. Her movements were fluid, but her stomach was tight, muscles coiled, a tingling sensation starting to spread through her body. "Nathan..."
"Shh," he whispered. "It's okay. I want to do this. It's really the least I can do. Let go, Claire."
Another sobbed breath, and she let go, pleasure spiraling through her body as she writhed against Nathan's fingers. She kept shaking and shivering, tears pricking behind her eyelids as she kept moving, not entirely sure she could stop. It wasn't in her control anymore.
He kissed her shoulder, then pulled back again. And walked away. "Feel free to shower. I'm off to bed."
As his hands pulled away, she slowly stopped moving, letting go of the table and sliding down to the floor, kneeling on the money Nathan'd dropped at her feet. She nodded, wrapping her arms around her waist, skirt still hiked up over her hips. Trying not to think. "Goodnight," she murmured.
Halfway to the bedroom, Nathan stopped. He closed his eyes a moment, then turned back to the kitchen. "C'mon," he said, simply.
She looked lost in thought, taking a moment or two before she even recognized that Nathan had spoken and looked up at him. "Come on?" she repeated.
He held out his hand. "Let's get you showered."
Claire hesitated again, then reached up and took his hand, letting him help her off the ground. She tugged her skirt back down ever her hips, not sure why she was even bothering, considering she was about to get in the shower, but she just felt wrong walking around like that.
He squeezed her hand and didn't let go; guided her into the shower even though she knew where it was, leaned down to turn on the faucet for her. But he didn't look at her again, not yet. Didn't say a word, either.
She didn't let go of his hand until he'd gotten the shower going, feeling oddly shy considering that he'd just fucked her for the second time, into a table, no less. Looking down, she started working her way out of her clothes, her hands feeling clumsy, awkward.
He turned to her, and gently pushed her hands away. He was careful with her clothing, taking his time, and his hands were steadier than hers. But he wouldn't make eye contact, just watched his hands work.
She let her hands fall to her side after Nathan pushed them away, not trying for eye contact either, just watching him undress her, shivering a little as he stripped the last of her clothes away.
He looked at her mouth as he lifted a hand to her hair, brushing it back from her face. "Claire..." He took a step back and tugged his shirt over his head, dropped it to the floor; the rest of his clothes followed, then he pulled her into the shower with him.
Claire moved easily, letting Nathan pull her into the shower with him. She went right under the stream of water as soon as she was in, automatically reaching for the faucet and trying to turn the water up hotter, lifting her face up into the spray and closing her eyes.
He reached around her and grabbed her wrist. "I can't heal if I get burned," he murmured. There was an odd catch in his voice. He reached for a face cloth, put it under the spray, and turned her to face him. Gently, he washed her face, one hand in her hair. "Even if it's just for five minutes, let me take care of you."
She stiffened a little as he said that, almost pulling away before she stopped herself, biting her lip, then relaxing, going still. She could give him that, for five minutes, anyway.
The soap and sponge were next, and soon he was on his knees in front of her, scrubbing right down to her feet. He had to suppress a strange, wild urge to tickle, and then he sat back on his heels and looked up at her, silently.
Claire looked down at him, black hair looking out of place, artificial. Her hand reached out, stopping just shy of touching his cheek. "Is this real?" she whispered, the sound of her voice surprising her.
He closed his eyes and pulled her a little closer, rested his cheek against her belly as his arms went around her. "It's real, Claire."
One hand moved through Nathan's hair as Claire nodded, even though he wasn't looking at her. "Okay... okay," she murmured, not sure she completely believed him, but deciding that it didn't matter. This moment, real or not, she was going to keep it.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Claire. I shouldn't... shouldn't have..."
"Don't--don't." She actually covered his lips, stopping him from saying anything else. "Please, don't."
He closed his eyes and sucked her fingers into his mouth. He was certain he'd told himself not to think, at some point. Or maybe he didn't. He couldn't remember; everything was strange, and jumbled, and he didn't want to let her go, not now he had her in his arms.
She watched his mouth, a soft sound coming from her as she felt the suction around her fingers. She didn't know what was happening, or why, or what any of it meant. And she couldn't shake the fear that she'd wake up tomorrow and be the only one who remembered what had happened.
Moments later, he opened his eyes. His knees were protesting, and he groaned faintly, and got to his feet. "Are you ready for bed?" he asked.
One last rinse under the water, and Claire nodded, tempted to turn the hot water all the way on for at least a few seconds, managing to keep herself from it, but only barely. "I'm pretty tired," she admitted.
"So am I," he said. He reached around her again, shut off the faucet, and reached for towels. He wrapped one around his waist and used that same care and gentleness he had washing her, to get her dry. He dropped a kiss to her shoulder before stepping away to rub his own skin dry, leaving it rather on the pink side.
It had been more than five minutes, but even still, she didn't protest or argue when Nathan dried her off, allowing the gentle touches. She watched him for a few moments as he started drying himself, eventually walking over to find her hairbrush, untangling her hair and brushing it back from her face, even her bangs.
He stood behind her, bending forward to press kisses along her shoulder. This wasn't right. Everything he'd done--every touch, every glance, everything--it was wrong. She should make him stop. He knew she should.
Claire set the brush down on the counter and reached for the shirt she'd been sleeping in. Peter's shirt. She held onto it with both hands, looking up and looking at the both of them in the mirror, then looking down again. Not able to meet her own eyes.
He pulled away; hung the towels over the curtain rod, then took her hand again to pull her to the bedroom, not giving her the chance to put the shirt on. He didn't bother putting on pajamas, just slid into the bed. "You don't have to sleep on the couch," he said.
She looked very, very uncertain, hanging back and chewing on her lip again. A few long moments went by before she climbed into bed beside Nathan, balling up the shirt she was still holding and snuggling it into her arms, holding on tightly.
He rolled onto his side, facing away from her.
When he dreamed that night, they were in the alley again. Peter was watching them. When it was over, Peter shoved him against the wall and kicked his legs apart, fucked him hard. And then Claire and Peter walked away, hand in hand, leaving Nathan alone.
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Date: 2008-08-06 11:17 am (UTC)Really good Lol
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Date: 2008-08-11 02:39 pm (UTC)Thanks!
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Date: 2008-08-06 02:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-11 02:40 pm (UTC)The dream... oh, I think my heart broke when Ashinae wrote that line. Poor Nathan.
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Date: 2008-08-07 05:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-11 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 08:35 pm (UTC)Oh, I love details like this that give us a little insight into Nathan's thoughts and frame of mind :D
The whole chapter was really very powerful, a great combination of hot and disturbing. I like that Nathan and Claire are, on some level, growing closer yet are still leagues apart, particularly as they're both fighting their mutual feelings so much.
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Date: 2008-08-11 02:41 pm (UTC)Nathan doesn't like to think about being burned. And he really, really doesn't like to talk about it. I don't even know what Claire knows about the whole thing. Probably as little as Nathan does.
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Date: 2008-08-15 05:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 08:41 pm (UTC)