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17 July 2007 @ 04:36 pm
Fic: Singing in the Rain (Sylaire, Noaire, NC-17)  
Title: Singing in the Rain
Character: Sylar/Claire, Noah/Claire
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,980
Warnings: Violence, bloodplay, adoptive!incest, cross-gen, covers the varying degrees of con like a pansexual would cover the varying degrees on the Kinsey scale, aka, con, dub-con, non-con, mentions Stockholm Syndrome, dildo (for the sex-toy challenge), force, voyeurism, breathplay, sex, sex with a minor, oral sex, delayed gratification. @_@ Whew.
Summary: Three months after the events of November 8th, Claire finds herself in a pact with the devil that she can't get out of. Unfortunately for her, now her father is dragged in as well.
Author's Notes: I am a sick, sick, morbid person. I've probably ruined that song for all of you now. I'm so sorry. I'm so horrible. @_@ Let's ignore the fact that I had that song on repeat while writing this, hahahhahaa. Cross-posted in a lot of places
Disclaimer: Characters and some storyline belongs to Tim Kring and NBC.

It was never supposed to be like this, Claire thought briefly when she heard the sound from below. She wasn't supposed to make a pact with the devil.

"How about you make a deal with me, hm?"

"What does it matter; I'll lose my life anyway."

"But that's just the deal, isn't it, Claire-bear?"

That had been three months ago. Three months in which her family had left Texas, and moved into a nice little suburb just outside New York. Three months in which she settled into a new school, taking on cheerleading again. Three months in which she'd developed something that could almost constitute a twisted relationship with a deranged serial killer. Three months in which she'd taken anything he would give her, for fear of losing her life. Three months in which she let her senses slip away, a warped version of Stockholm Syndrome setting in.

She wasn't supposed to feel anything for him.

And now… it was like the teddy bears on her bed were staring accusingly back at her; how could you let him into your house, time and time again? How could you let him rape you on your bed, over and over and over again, while we sit here, watching? How could you? Claire clenched her eyes shut, trying to keep out the infiltrating thoughts of sanity. It's not rape, he loves me. I love him. This isn't wrong. I'm doing this because I want to stay alive.

Excuses, excuses.

But if it was a sacrifice she had to make to stay alive, how could that constitute love?

Even if Claire wanted to think about this, here, now, she didn't have a choice.

"My, sounds like daddy's home, Claire…" he said slowly, a smirk coming over his features. "Why don't we go and say hello?"

"No," Claire said, swallowing hard and shaking her head slowly. This wasn't happening. He wasn't asking her to do this.

"No? Oh, I don't think so. You remember our deal, don't you Claire-bear?" she winced for a moment, before letting him draw her close, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "Now I want you to go downstairs, and tell your father that you have a guest who has something very special to show him… and why doesn't he go ahead and take a seat in the living room if he isn't sitting already."

Claire nodded, feeling numb as she slowly walked out of her bedroom, down the stairs, suddenly questioning if this was not perhaps almost worse than death.

"Dad," she said slowly, her voice shaking when she'd finally reached the bottom of the stairs, "I… didn't think you'd be home from work so soon."

"Claire, is everything all right?"

"No, I… there's someone here, I… you need to leave," she said in hushed tones, fear in her eyes that she hoped he would recognize.

"Now, now, that wasn't the deal at all, was it, Claire?" came a voice from up above, and she froze where she stood. "You seem to have forgotten that I…" he was behind her then, his breath hot against her ear, "can… hear… you…"

"Sylar," she heard her father's voice ring out from inside the kitchen, the alarm in it scaring her.

"You're not going anywhere."

She watched in horror as her father's body was thrown against the living room wall. He groaned, trying to pick himself up again. "If you don't do as I say, your daughter dies… how about that for an agreement, hmm? If you're still unsure, I an give you a teaser, and you can watch your daughter's blood slowly trickle down her forehead."

"I assure you, that won't be necessary," he said, wincing as he stood once more.

"Good. Then why don't you go ahead and take a seat there and don't move."

At this point, she had no idea what was in store for her. She had disobeyed him, had tried to save her father, had failed to do so…

But he wasn't planning on letting him watch him kill her. He would have already done so if that was the plan. But her father was sitting there, watching them, and when Claire turned to look, Sylar was grinning.

"Funny, isn't it? How well she listens? How well she obeys? Until you show up, of course. Done a good job training her, have we? You sure seem to care a great deal about your Claire-bear… more so than the average father should, in fact. Why don't we see just how much you really do care."

Each word was like a punch into her gut, worse every time as she realized exactly what it was that he had in mind.

"Please don't make him watch this. Why don't you just kill me already," she whispered, tears threatening to spill as she looked back at her father.

"Claire, no—"

"Oh, so now with daddy at stake, you're suddenly willing to give up everything that we've built up. Interesting…"

"What have you done to her?" he suddenly demanded, and a low, rumbling laughter escaped Sylar.

"I haven't done anything she didn't want me to do. And she's done plenty to me, too, so it's kind of unfair to just blame one person here, don't you think?" he paused, and Claire could feel a knot tying itself in the back of her throat. "Claire likes to suck it, you know. Get down on her knees and take me into her mo—"

"Stop," she heard her father say, but his voice lacked the sort of resolve he usually had. He was shaking; she could tell, and sweat was running down his face.

"You're right… why tell you what your little Claire-bear does when you're gone… when it's so much more fun to show you…"

Her eyes went wide, as did his, but a second later she could feel herself being pushed onto the ground, onto her knees, Sylar coming forward and unzipping his fly, his gaze trained on her father. "Go ahead, Claire. Do what you're so very good at, why don't you…"

Any sense, any emotions, any feeling that went into it before now was gone, and Claire stared in horror at him. He wasn't looking at her – he was looking at her father – his expression one that could only be described as lecherous at best, and with shaking fingers, she slowly reached up to undo the button of his pants, working to slip them down his thighs, freeing his aching cock from the restraints of his boxers, the tip already leaking precome. Any other day – any other situation – this would have been something she enjoyed, something she wanted to do, for him; but now…

"Go on, Claire… let your father watch you suck me off."

She couldn't see his face – it was better that way – but she could imagine the horror written across it, knowing that his Claire-bear was doing this; and not just this once, because she was forced to, but several times before.

Taking him into her mouth – he was already hard – she had to will herself to keep from gagging, his hand coming up to force more of his length down her throat, and she did her best to lick and suck and swallow down the precome, her hand coming up to grip the base to keep herself from choking.

When he suddenly gripped onto her hair and pulled her away, coughing, he grinned. "Oh no, I'm not letting myself come just yet. That can wait. I want to make you beg me for it…" he said slowly, zipping himself up again. "Now I want you to sit down on the couch. No one moves, or there is going to be a bloodbath later on. I… will be right back." She watched him as he disappeared up the stairs, turning to her dad as soon as he was out of sight.

"Dad, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I—"

"He can hear you," was all her dad said, seemingly stoic, sweat slowly running down his forehead as he stared ahead of him.

"Dad, please—" she tried, but he just shook his head.

"As long as you listen to him, we'll get out of this alive. I love you, you hear? I can't lose you. For now, there's nothing we can do."

"And how right he is," came a low voice down the stairs, followed by a laugh. "Isn't it funny that I should find something like this in your daughter's room?"

Claire's eyes went wide, and she scrambled backwards on the couch, gripping onto a pillow, her knuckles going white.

"Not so much daddy's little girl then, I guess, if you look at something like this, hmm?"

"This isn't what it looks like," Claire burst out, and Sylar laughed. "Please, Claire, what could you possibly be using a dildo for? Other than pushing it inside of yourself and imagining it's me doing that, of course? Or, even better, daddy dearest?"

Claire shook her head wordlessly, watching in horror as he slowly approached her. "But why don't we try, hmm? Go ahead. You know what to do. Stand up and take that cheerleading outfit I love so much off for daddy."

She threw a look at her father, who nodded. "Just do it, Claire."

Closing her eyes, she stood slowly, her fingers trembling as she slid her skirt down, letting it pool at her ankles, along with her panties.

Shaky fingers came up to slowly pull her top over her head, dropping it onto the floor, unhooking her bra and sliding it off her arms.

"Very good. So she does listen to daddy. How handy. Sit down, Claire."

Claire swallowed audibly, taking a deep breath. "I said – sit down!" he repeated, and she could feel herself forced into the cushions and pushed back, her legs opening. "That's better. I want him to be able to see your pretty little cunt when I fuck you with this."

There was nothing gentle, nothing romantic, nothing at all comforting for her to hold onto; she was back to just gripping the cushion she had before, and she could see him settling in between her legs, grinning lecherously as he licked her, very slowly, making her emit a small whimper. "Now, now. That's better. Why don't you…" he brought the dildo up to her face, pressing it against her lips, "lick this for me like you did my cock?"

She obliged – not like she had much of a choice – catching his father's eyes even if just for a moment; she would have thought he would have his eyes closed, refusing to watch; instead, they were open, lips slightly parted, his breathing irregular and heavy.

"There we are," Sylar said, as he took it from her mouth. He was pushing it inside of her now, Claire biting down on her lower lip to keep from whimpering aloud, and she heard him laugh. "You're enjoying this, aren't you Bennet? Watching your daughter get fucked like this? I can one-up even this… all it takes for me to stop is for your daughter to ask."

That freed her tongue. "Please—please stop." She whimpered, trying to force herself from bucking up against his hand, his fingers, that seemed to have found her clit.

"But you know that isn't what I meant, Claire," he said slowly, almost languidly pumping the dildo in and out of her. "I want to hear you beg for my cock inside of you. To plead and whimper for me to come inside of you like I have so many times before."

More than anything, Claire Bennet wanted to cry. But she didn't, instead repeating her plea. "Please stop… please…"

"Not good enough," he whispered in her ear, the rubbing of his finger quickening for a second, her back arching for a moment when she suddenly felt pressure around her neck, suddenly having trouble breathing, before he stopped entirely, coughing as she regained the ability to breathe once more, a small whimper escaping her at the loss of contact.

"Please… fuck me," she finally said, and he grinned, the offending object slipping out of her body as he picked her up and threw her unceremoniously onto the table, inside of her faster than he thought he would be able to, her body clenching almost instinctively around him.

"Why don't you sing with me Claire? Your father is so stoic, so silent. Why don't we give him some entertainment?" he said, and she had no idea what he could possibly mean for a second, before he started, "I'm singing in the rain, just singing in the rain" each line accentuated with his thrusts, "What a glorious feeling, I'm happy again… laughing at clouds…"

"Stop it," she heard her father's voice crack, but he didn't give in, "so dark up above; the sun's in my eyes and I'm ready for love…"

"Stop it!"

"Let the stormy clouds chase…everyone from the place…" But her father finally got what he wanted, when Sylar's body convulsed, shaking from his own release, a grin on his face as his mouth opened and closed wordlessly, her name this time replaced by laughter when he pulled out of her.

"How about sloppy seconds then, huh Bennet?"

"I would never do that to my Claire."

Her body was shaking as she pulled herself into fetal position on the table, and he laughed again. "But she's not your Claire, is she? You're a horrible liar, Bennet. Now don't make me force it out of you…"

"This isn't the set of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, Sylar, what do you want?" he spat, Sylar still unaffected.

She watched as he slipped forward to whisper in her father's ear. She looks beautiful when she bleeds, did you know?

"Stand up," he commanded, more audibly that time, and she stood, slowly, her body still shaking as he turned to face her, moving to stand behind her, his hands coming around to run over her front. "You're beautiful," he whispered, tiny cuts raining over her body as his hands glided over her skin. His middle finger ran across her collarbone, leaving a long red line, blood trickling down slowly before her body closed the wound again. He reached up to her temple, the other hand slowly reaching for her forehead…

"Stop it, please, I'll do anything, just don't kill her."

"I'm not planning on killing her," Sylar said slowly, and she could hear his grin in his voice, his hands shifting, tiny cuts appearing on her thighs for seconds before disappearing again. "I want to watch you fuck her."

It was like the world came to a stop suddenly, and he let her go, her body going limp as she dropped to the floor, barely catching herself, staring down at the ground.

"No," she heard her father say slowly.

This wasn't happening.

"No," he repeated, and a small part of her almost felt rejected. Did he not want her like that?

Suddenly disgusted with herself, she shook her head as well.

"Oh, come on now. I know you want to. You've always wanted to. You've always felt sick for wanting it, and now here's your opportunity. Force. Such a lovely thing, isn't it? Get down on the floor." A beat; nothing happened. "I said get down on the floor," he repeated, and she watched as he was forced from the chair.

"Go on," he said, and she noticed suddenly just how hard she was shaking as he dad moved over, next to her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly into her ear for a moment, his voice cracking, before kissing her.

Unexpected, but Claire could feel herself melting into his touch, safe in his arms as he held her, lowered her onto the floor, heard him sliding those dress pants down to around his ankles, and she suddenly noticed that she was crying as he kissed her, touched her, caressed her, let his hand run down her front, breaking the kiss for a moment to tell him, "it's okay," and feeling him slip inside of her at the reassurance.

She was crying now, really crying, as his body rocked back and forth against her, his eyes closed, biting his lip as her legs came to wrap around him, the tears endless, it seemed, as she heard Sylar to her side, his breaths coming out short as he jerked himself off, watching them both.

That thought – alongside the jumble of emotions running through her head, feeling her father inside of her – made her come suddenly, unexpectedly, almost violently, her body undulating underneath his as she cried.

"I love you Claire-bear," he whispered in her ear for a moment, and she nodded, afraid to say anything."

It was over sooner than it had begun, it seemed, and he pulled out, his back against the sofa, his body shaking. She wasn't sure if he was crying; it didn't matter; and she felt Sylar lift her up, pulling her into his arms, a grin on his face.

"dancing… and singing… in the rain," he sang softly, carrying her limp, naked body out of the house. "You're mine now," he adds for good measure, and Claire realizes suddenly, that it doesn't matter anymore.

She signed a pact with the devil. Now there was no out anymore.
sweetfacedlion on August 16th, 2007 12:33 am (UTC)
I can't take Sylar/Claire (I try so hard not to hate Claire or Hayden because of the pairing and these fics. And it's kind of weird for me since Hayden is only about a month younger than I am) but I do indulge once in a while. It is pretty canon, at least, his creepy stalkerish obsession with her.

Oh, darn it all, you're starting to get me hooked. *covers eyes and ears*

And your Noah is very well-written. You've got the voice down pat.