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rabid1stTABOO
by Rabid1st
A Heroes Story
Peter/Claire
RATING: Adult, due to themes and sexual content
WARNING: This fic deals with uncle/niece incest and might be disturbing to some for that reason.
BETA: LJ users Bohemianrose24 and Keswindhover
SUMMARY: Peter has an uncontrollable compulsion to sin.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Incest is no joke and not very titillating in my opinion. Before anyone gets too bent out of shape one way or the other about that, know that I'm not convinced Peter and Claire are related. I know it's canon at this point but I think there is more to their story than we have learned by the end of S1. This is not an incest story in my mind, however, it IS one in the minds of the characters as they still believe they are related.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Please do not shower me with gold and brownies in hopes of gaining some right to these characters. I only do this because at Comic Con Hayden assured us there was no hope of seeing it happen on TV.
Dusk's half-light was fading as Peter, knapsack over one shoulder, arrived at the Petrelli family home. He keyed open the French doors and entered, but paused for a moment on the threshold before stepping in from the terrace. The alarm gave no warning beeps. He glanced at the keypad and found it turned off. So much for security. No boys squealed and rushed down the stairs to greet him. No staff scurryed about. The house seemed chilled and eerily quiet now that Nathan and his family had relocated to Washington for the Congressional session. For the five-hundredth time, Peter asked himself why he'd agreed to house-sit in this mausoleum. He'd never felt at home here.
He allowed himself a second or two to regret not accepting Magda's offer to work late. At least she'd be some company. She would have be happy to bustle around him, making soup and a tossed salad, asking about his day. But he didn't need that. And by now the old family retainer would be tucked away in her apartment above the garage. Peter sighed. It was probably for the best. If loneliness was the price he had to pay for self-sufficiency, so be it. He wasn't about to ring the bell for dinner, just so he could feel connected to someone. He had two hands. Hell, he could probably whip up a meal hands-free, using telekinesis.
The idea of super-powered cooking, maybe a little radiation to nuke some veggies, brought a ghost of a smile to his lips. Suddenly, the house seemed a bit more like home. He deposited his knapsack on a chair and made his way to the kitchen. The shadows were pooling thick. He flicked on a few lights as he went. When he hit the switch inside the kitchen door, it was like cuing a spotlight on stage. Everything gleamed into stark relief, the counter tops, the scoured copper pots and regimented cutlery. It was all so pristine. The overall effect intimidated.
“Sandwich,” he muttered, after a moment of hesitation. “How wrong can that go?”
Straightening his spine, he crossed to the cupboards on the far side of the island bar. He found plates, glasses and silverware with minimal searching. Things hadn't changed much since his childhood. Gaining confidence, he went to the refrigerator. There was still food on hand. Most likely, Magda had gone shopping for him. He scanned the shelves until he located roast beef, tomato slices, lettuce leaves and pickle chips. He stacked this bounty between two pieces of rye bread. Disappointed there was no prepped onion, he thought about cutting one, but decided not to make a mess. Instead, he finished his masterpiece with a generous dollop of horseradish mustard. A tall glass of milk completed his meal. He carried his food to the bar, eased onto a chair and took his first bite.
“Mmm, that's good,” he mumbled around a mouthful.
A dribble of tomato juice escaped down his chin, but he caught it with his thumb before it could splatter onto his shirt. Looking around for napkins, he heard a loud thump from upstairs. He tensed, head cocked to catch any further noise as he glanced at the ceiling. The sound didn't repeat but another one, a droning hum, drew his attention to the sink. The remote chill he'd noticed earlier crept back into his awareness. The island bar where he sat now seemed isolated, its cheerful ambiance almost forlorn. Hair rose on his arms as he stood and cautiously approached the sink. Water. There was water rushing through the pipes. Someone else was in the house.
Magda, he thought. Surely, it was Magda working late, readying a room for him. But it wasn't like her not to make her presence felt. Maybe it was the sprinkler system on automatic timers He brushed back a curtain and peered out into the yard. There was nothing to see but security lights and deeper darkness. What if someone had broken in? Free food. Hot shower. Cozy bedrooms. The house had been empty all week. Maybe Nathan really did need a house-sitter. Peter thought about calling the police. But a showering burglar? It seemed unlikely. Still, no point taking chances. He found the nearest approximation of a weapon, a heavy marble rolling pin, before heading for the stairs.
The sound of running water didn't carry into the hallway. As Peter crept up the stairs, he wondered if he'd be able to trace the noise. He'd intended to check each door on the second floor, but quickly realized he should focus his search on the three rooms with attached baths. The master or guest suites seemed the logical place to start. He went to the guest room first. Claire's room, he thought, as his hand closed around the knob. She popped out of the bathroom, as if his thoughts had conjured her, just as he barged through the door. It was hard to say which one of them was more startled. But, at least, he didn't scream.
She shrieked, flinching so violently that she banged into the bathroom's open door. Her towel toga unwound. Hastily clutching the sliding terry cloth to her breast, she exposed far too much hip as she gasped, “Peter? What...?”
“I...heard something...I thought,” his mouth worked for a moment but no further words came out. He swallowed as his line of sight dropped, scanning her from water-beaded shoulders to frosted, pink toenails. Forcing his eyes to meet hers, he noticed her gaze had fixed on his raised weapon.
A mischievous expression chased her frown away. Relaxing now, she let her sense of the absurd lift the corners of her mouth. “Were you making pies?” she asked innocently.
“Pies? What? Oh!” Realizing how ridiculous he must look, he drew his free hand through his hair and hastily sought a place to put down his rolling pin. The bedside table seemed best. “I heard the water running. Thought we might have...burglars.” It sounded worse out loud than it did in his head.
“Showering burglars?” Claire flashed her cheerleader smile. “So you grabbed the nearest blunt object?” Her light tone told him she was teasing. “Don't you have like...super-powers?”
“Yeah, okay,” he drawled. “Excuse me for improvising.”
“You're excused,” she said. “But only if you turn around so I can put some clothes on.”
“I can wait outside,” he offered, with a half-hearted gesture at the hallway. Claire always made him feel like he was standing in a sunbeam. It was hard to walk away from that.
“No, you're fine. I'll only be a minute.”
Staring out the open room door, he listened to the soft sounds behind him, identifying the towel hitting a chair, the whisper of clothing unfolded and the growl of a zipper pulled closed. “What are you doing here?” Claire asked, her voice slightly muffled.
He craned his neck as he answered her, almost peeking. “Me? I'm house-sitting. What are you doing here?”
“I've got a key. Nathan said I could stop by anytime,” she said, sounding defensive.
“Something wrong with the shower at your place?”
“You can turn around.”
He did. And again his gaze seemed compelled to travel. “Nice,” he said, softly, damning her with faint praise. She looked beautiful in her cream-colored, boat-necked sweater and dark blue jeans. She had her hands crammed in her front pockets. Her feet were still bare.
“Thank you,” she whispered, eyes shyly avoiding his. Silence expanded, forming a cozy bubble around them. Peter found he was fighting to contain a smile. Seeing his smirk, Claire threw her hands up and declared, “Okay, Mr. Told-You-So. I had a fight with Chet about my new job. Are you happy?” She didn't wait for an answer, just shrugged off the argument as she said, “It's no big deal. He'll get over it. But I didn't want to go straight home from the plane. I needed somewhere to stay for the night. And thought since the family was in Washington and I had a key...”
“So...Chet's unhappy?”
“I wish you wouldn't say his name like that,” Claire sighed. “He loves me. Maybe more than I deserve.” Crossing to the bed, she began to fold a skirt and blouse, which she'd obviously been wearing before the shower, into her open suitcase. It was nervous busy-work.
“You deserve...” he began so quietly she probably didn't notice when he stopped talking.
“We're engaged.”
Icy tendrils snaked rapidly under Peter's skin. An electroshock hit his heart, like someone was trying to restart it. He took a few involuntary steps toward her. “Engaged? Claire?” He knew he was gaping at her, and tried to get control on himself. He shook his head sharply. He couldn't have heard her right. “You're joking.”
“I'm not.”
“You don't love him.”
Claire's brow furrowed. “How can you say that? Have you looked in my mind? Do you know what I'm thinking?”
He hadn't. He didn't want her to think he would. “No...it's not like that.” Closing the gap between them, he spoke gently, “All I'm saying is it's too soon. You're just a kid. You're...”
“I'm nineteen. And I haven't been a kid since...” she shrugged, darting a glance at him from the corner of her eye. “Since Homecoming.”
They were standing very close together. Too close. The bed seemed to expand behind Claire until it dominated his field of vision. “I don't know what to say,” he told her, staring down at the top of her bowed head. Everything he wanted to say went far beyond inappropriate.
“I had to do something,” she said. “We can't go on like this.”
As she lifted her chin, that sad, sweet face nearly buckled his knees. He framed it with his hands, his fingertips lightly caressing her cheeks. “Claire...”
She swayed toward him and had to brace a hand against his chest. “Peter, don't,” she whispered, her eyes pleading with him. “It's wrong.”
“I know,” he murmured as he drew her lips to his.
This was his drug. He couldn't stop. Already she was warming him. Sunny Claire seeped into his soul, illuminating all his cold, dark places. Though separated from her touch by a layer of cotton, his skin still burned where her fingers plucked at his shirt front. She'd stopped offering even a token resistance. His tongue found hers as his hands slipped under her sweater. Her skin was softer than the cashmere. As he shoved the sweater up, Claire lifted her arms. She brought them down again around his neck. Dropping the sweater, he flattened his palms against her back, stroking up and down.
Claire writhed in his grasp, but not in an effort to escape. Tilting her neck, she gave him complete access as his lips worked down her throat and along her collarbone. He unclasped her bra and followed the strap around until he could cup one of her breasts. His thumb circled her taut nipple. Oh, God, he was going straight to Hell for this.
Claire moaned a similar sentiment into his open mouth. But she didn't let go. If anything, her hold on him became more intimate. She pressed into his cradling palm. Her fingers curled around his shoulders and tugged at the hair on his nape. She yanked fretfully at his shirt collar, sending a button flying. Peter applied levitation. One arm around her waist, he lifted Claire easily, turning them until they floated up and over the bed. Using his powers to undress them freed his hands for more important things. Very soon they were entwined in naked abandon, every precaution and taboo forgotten.
As Peter settled them to the bed, he gave into his wickedest fantasies. His fingertips melted into Claire's butter soft skin. His mouth laid insistent claim to her curves. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her. Any second now, they would pass the point of no return. She would fold around him, satiny smooth and tight. It would be done, no more denial. He positioned himself carefully. Bracing his weight on one elbow, he forced himself to move slowly, tenderly. If this only happened once, he wanted to savor every nuance of it.
“This can't happen,” she said, as he ran a palm down her inner thigh, urging her open. “This can't be real.” The certainty in her voice caught his attention, he lifted his chin and met her eye. “It's the dream again, Peter,” she told him. “We have to wake up. I need you to wake up...now.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“And that's when you generally wake?” Dr. Ellis asked, after Peter lapsed into silence. “When one of you realizes it's a dream?”
Peter nodded. Red-faced with embarrassment, he shifted in his seat, trying to see what the psychiatrist was writing on her notepad. This had to be one of the hardest things he'd tackled in therapy.
“It can't be healthy, right? She's my niece. We didn't grow up together. We just found out a couple of years ago, but still...”
“You feel guilty?”
“Yes. Dirty. I shouldn't feel this way. If I know that... if I would never consciously....why do I keep having these dreams?”
“We can't always control the way we feel—what we dream. The important thing is you understand there are boundaries. You've never acted on these impulses? Never approached her?”
“Of course not,” he snapped. “She's... It's not like that.”
“How do you think Claire feels about you?”
Peter blew a gust of air at his bangs and spread his hands wide. “She's a kid. There's a bit of hero worship, I guess. But she's got a boyfriend.”
“Chet?”
“West,” he corrected. “I don't know why I call him Chet in the dreams.” Maybe they were dreams of the future, he thought. Was that crazy? Given everything that had happened to him, all the talents he'd absorbed, maybe he was prognosticating. The very thought nearly turned his stomach. He wasn't going to have sex with Claire. “Why can't I stop thinking about it?”
“Is she's interested in you?” Dr. Ellis said, trying to lead him back to her earlier question.
Peter wanted to deny it. He knew denial was the right choice, the sane choice. But Dr. Ellis put a lot of emphasis on trust. “Sometimes...she looks at me...with her heart in her eyes and...” he grimaced, spreading the fingers of one hand as if grasping for a concept, but then he cut his hand sideways like a chopping ax. “It doesn't matter. We're related. End of story.”
“All right,” Dr. Ellis soothed. “Try to remember it's only a dream. You haven't done anything wrong.” She glanced at the wall clock. “We're nearly out of time. But how often would you say this is happening?”
Peter rubbed his cheek as he confessed, “It's getting worse. Three, maybe four, times this week.” He neglected to mention how often his waking thoughts turned to daydreams about Claire, her lips, the curve of her throat. His hands wanted to slide up her spine. It was getting uncomfortable to be in the same room with her.
“I'm going to prescribe something.”
He had a knee-jerk reaction. “I don't want drugs.”
“It's just a mild sedative, to help you sleep. And I want you to try the guided imagery exercises we talked about.” Peter nodded and she went on, “Visualize the dream while awake, but change the outcome. Then, the next time you have the dream, as soon as you recognize it, try to apply your new ending. And...” she gave Peter a pointed look. “I think you should try talking to Claire about this. If she's doing something to encourage it, even subconsciously.”
“No!” Peter said, shaking his head. “No. Definitely not. We're not going there.” His tone changed to less panicked, more incredulous, one. “What would I say? 'Ever dream we are acting out our own Greek Tragedy?'” Bad enough we're both demigods he added silently.
Dr. Ellis smiled. “She might laugh and you can put this all behind you.”
“She might think I'm a pervert and never speak to me again,” he countered, his brows arching. “I'm her uncle.”
“Fair enough,” Dr. Ellis said. “You have to do what you think is best. Just remember, it's not a sin to think about sinning. Discussing it frankly might be the adult thing to do. As long as you don't act on your...cravings.” Her pen scratched across a prescription pad. Then, she handed him the slip and a card for their next appointment. “September 18th, same time, okay?”
Peter nodded and, standing to leave, absently pocketed the card and scrip. He was thinking about Claire. Maybe he could go see her, test the waters for a confession. The idea of seeing her shouldn't excite him so much. What was happening to him? The dreams seemed to be making his desires manifest. Maybe it would be best to avoid Claire for a bit. But they were both invited to the Yamagato Industries reception on Friday. After everything that happened last year, Hiro would be devastated if he didn't go. Closing the office door behind him, he was too preoccupied to notice the blond man waiting in the hall.
The man watched him leave, green-eyed gaze fixed like velcro on Peter's back. Peter made his way to the elevators. Once the elevator doors dinged shut, Dr. Ellis stepped out of her office and the man nodded after Peter. “How's it going?” he asked, casually.
“It's unethical to discuss a patient,” Dr. Ellis said but her smug smile made a mockery of ethics. Moving closer to the blond man, she said, “He's primed to fall. All we have to do is give him one more good push.”
“You think he'll go to the girl?”
“I'm certain of it.”
“If he phones her...if they start comparing notes...”
“I've taken care of that. He's determined not to tell her. But sooner or later they'll be in the right place together and subconscious suggestion will take over. It's only a matter of time, really. He's madly in love with her. All you and I are doing is removing a few quaint cultural barriers.”
“In the name of evolution?” he suggested.
“In the service of a greater good,” she corrected, waving him ahead of her toward her office.
TBC
by Rabid1st
A Heroes Story
Peter/Claire
RATING: Adult, due to themes and sexual content
WARNING: This fic deals with uncle/niece incest and might be disturbing to some for that reason.
BETA: LJ users Bohemianrose24 and Keswindhover
SUMMARY: Peter has an uncontrollable compulsion to sin.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Incest is no joke and not very titillating in my opinion. Before anyone gets too bent out of shape one way or the other about that, know that I'm not convinced Peter and Claire are related. I know it's canon at this point but I think there is more to their story than we have learned by the end of S1. This is not an incest story in my mind, however, it IS one in the minds of the characters as they still believe they are related.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Please do not shower me with gold and brownies in hopes of gaining some right to these characters. I only do this because at Comic Con Hayden assured us there was no hope of seeing it happen on TV.
Dusk's half-light was fading as Peter, knapsack over one shoulder, arrived at the Petrelli family home. He keyed open the French doors and entered, but paused for a moment on the threshold before stepping in from the terrace. The alarm gave no warning beeps. He glanced at the keypad and found it turned off. So much for security. No boys squealed and rushed down the stairs to greet him. No staff scurryed about. The house seemed chilled and eerily quiet now that Nathan and his family had relocated to Washington for the Congressional session. For the five-hundredth time, Peter asked himself why he'd agreed to house-sit in this mausoleum. He'd never felt at home here.
He allowed himself a second or two to regret not accepting Magda's offer to work late. At least she'd be some company. She would have be happy to bustle around him, making soup and a tossed salad, asking about his day. But he didn't need that. And by now the old family retainer would be tucked away in her apartment above the garage. Peter sighed. It was probably for the best. If loneliness was the price he had to pay for self-sufficiency, so be it. He wasn't about to ring the bell for dinner, just so he could feel connected to someone. He had two hands. Hell, he could probably whip up a meal hands-free, using telekinesis.
The idea of super-powered cooking, maybe a little radiation to nuke some veggies, brought a ghost of a smile to his lips. Suddenly, the house seemed a bit more like home. He deposited his knapsack on a chair and made his way to the kitchen. The shadows were pooling thick. He flicked on a few lights as he went. When he hit the switch inside the kitchen door, it was like cuing a spotlight on stage. Everything gleamed into stark relief, the counter tops, the scoured copper pots and regimented cutlery. It was all so pristine. The overall effect intimidated.
“Sandwich,” he muttered, after a moment of hesitation. “How wrong can that go?”
Straightening his spine, he crossed to the cupboards on the far side of the island bar. He found plates, glasses and silverware with minimal searching. Things hadn't changed much since his childhood. Gaining confidence, he went to the refrigerator. There was still food on hand. Most likely, Magda had gone shopping for him. He scanned the shelves until he located roast beef, tomato slices, lettuce leaves and pickle chips. He stacked this bounty between two pieces of rye bread. Disappointed there was no prepped onion, he thought about cutting one, but decided not to make a mess. Instead, he finished his masterpiece with a generous dollop of horseradish mustard. A tall glass of milk completed his meal. He carried his food to the bar, eased onto a chair and took his first bite.
“Mmm, that's good,” he mumbled around a mouthful.
A dribble of tomato juice escaped down his chin, but he caught it with his thumb before it could splatter onto his shirt. Looking around for napkins, he heard a loud thump from upstairs. He tensed, head cocked to catch any further noise as he glanced at the ceiling. The sound didn't repeat but another one, a droning hum, drew his attention to the sink. The remote chill he'd noticed earlier crept back into his awareness. The island bar where he sat now seemed isolated, its cheerful ambiance almost forlorn. Hair rose on his arms as he stood and cautiously approached the sink. Water. There was water rushing through the pipes. Someone else was in the house.
Magda, he thought. Surely, it was Magda working late, readying a room for him. But it wasn't like her not to make her presence felt. Maybe it was the sprinkler system on automatic timers He brushed back a curtain and peered out into the yard. There was nothing to see but security lights and deeper darkness. What if someone had broken in? Free food. Hot shower. Cozy bedrooms. The house had been empty all week. Maybe Nathan really did need a house-sitter. Peter thought about calling the police. But a showering burglar? It seemed unlikely. Still, no point taking chances. He found the nearest approximation of a weapon, a heavy marble rolling pin, before heading for the stairs.
The sound of running water didn't carry into the hallway. As Peter crept up the stairs, he wondered if he'd be able to trace the noise. He'd intended to check each door on the second floor, but quickly realized he should focus his search on the three rooms with attached baths. The master or guest suites seemed the logical place to start. He went to the guest room first. Claire's room, he thought, as his hand closed around the knob. She popped out of the bathroom, as if his thoughts had conjured her, just as he barged through the door. It was hard to say which one of them was more startled. But, at least, he didn't scream.
She shrieked, flinching so violently that she banged into the bathroom's open door. Her towel toga unwound. Hastily clutching the sliding terry cloth to her breast, she exposed far too much hip as she gasped, “Peter? What...?”
“I...heard something...I thought,” his mouth worked for a moment but no further words came out. He swallowed as his line of sight dropped, scanning her from water-beaded shoulders to frosted, pink toenails. Forcing his eyes to meet hers, he noticed her gaze had fixed on his raised weapon.
A mischievous expression chased her frown away. Relaxing now, she let her sense of the absurd lift the corners of her mouth. “Were you making pies?” she asked innocently.
“Pies? What? Oh!” Realizing how ridiculous he must look, he drew his free hand through his hair and hastily sought a place to put down his rolling pin. The bedside table seemed best. “I heard the water running. Thought we might have...burglars.” It sounded worse out loud than it did in his head.
“Showering burglars?” Claire flashed her cheerleader smile. “So you grabbed the nearest blunt object?” Her light tone told him she was teasing. “Don't you have like...super-powers?”
“Yeah, okay,” he drawled. “Excuse me for improvising.”
“You're excused,” she said. “But only if you turn around so I can put some clothes on.”
“I can wait outside,” he offered, with a half-hearted gesture at the hallway. Claire always made him feel like he was standing in a sunbeam. It was hard to walk away from that.
“No, you're fine. I'll only be a minute.”
Staring out the open room door, he listened to the soft sounds behind him, identifying the towel hitting a chair, the whisper of clothing unfolded and the growl of a zipper pulled closed. “What are you doing here?” Claire asked, her voice slightly muffled.
He craned his neck as he answered her, almost peeking. “Me? I'm house-sitting. What are you doing here?”
“I've got a key. Nathan said I could stop by anytime,” she said, sounding defensive.
“Something wrong with the shower at your place?”
“You can turn around.”
He did. And again his gaze seemed compelled to travel. “Nice,” he said, softly, damning her with faint praise. She looked beautiful in her cream-colored, boat-necked sweater and dark blue jeans. She had her hands crammed in her front pockets. Her feet were still bare.
“Thank you,” she whispered, eyes shyly avoiding his. Silence expanded, forming a cozy bubble around them. Peter found he was fighting to contain a smile. Seeing his smirk, Claire threw her hands up and declared, “Okay, Mr. Told-You-So. I had a fight with Chet about my new job. Are you happy?” She didn't wait for an answer, just shrugged off the argument as she said, “It's no big deal. He'll get over it. But I didn't want to go straight home from the plane. I needed somewhere to stay for the night. And thought since the family was in Washington and I had a key...”
“So...Chet's unhappy?”
“I wish you wouldn't say his name like that,” Claire sighed. “He loves me. Maybe more than I deserve.” Crossing to the bed, she began to fold a skirt and blouse, which she'd obviously been wearing before the shower, into her open suitcase. It was nervous busy-work.
“You deserve...” he began so quietly she probably didn't notice when he stopped talking.
“We're engaged.”
Icy tendrils snaked rapidly under Peter's skin. An electroshock hit his heart, like someone was trying to restart it. He took a few involuntary steps toward her. “Engaged? Claire?” He knew he was gaping at her, and tried to get control on himself. He shook his head sharply. He couldn't have heard her right. “You're joking.”
“I'm not.”
“You don't love him.”
Claire's brow furrowed. “How can you say that? Have you looked in my mind? Do you know what I'm thinking?”
He hadn't. He didn't want her to think he would. “No...it's not like that.” Closing the gap between them, he spoke gently, “All I'm saying is it's too soon. You're just a kid. You're...”
“I'm nineteen. And I haven't been a kid since...” she shrugged, darting a glance at him from the corner of her eye. “Since Homecoming.”
They were standing very close together. Too close. The bed seemed to expand behind Claire until it dominated his field of vision. “I don't know what to say,” he told her, staring down at the top of her bowed head. Everything he wanted to say went far beyond inappropriate.
“I had to do something,” she said. “We can't go on like this.”
As she lifted her chin, that sad, sweet face nearly buckled his knees. He framed it with his hands, his fingertips lightly caressing her cheeks. “Claire...”
She swayed toward him and had to brace a hand against his chest. “Peter, don't,” she whispered, her eyes pleading with him. “It's wrong.”
“I know,” he murmured as he drew her lips to his.
This was his drug. He couldn't stop. Already she was warming him. Sunny Claire seeped into his soul, illuminating all his cold, dark places. Though separated from her touch by a layer of cotton, his skin still burned where her fingers plucked at his shirt front. She'd stopped offering even a token resistance. His tongue found hers as his hands slipped under her sweater. Her skin was softer than the cashmere. As he shoved the sweater up, Claire lifted her arms. She brought them down again around his neck. Dropping the sweater, he flattened his palms against her back, stroking up and down.
Claire writhed in his grasp, but not in an effort to escape. Tilting her neck, she gave him complete access as his lips worked down her throat and along her collarbone. He unclasped her bra and followed the strap around until he could cup one of her breasts. His thumb circled her taut nipple. Oh, God, he was going straight to Hell for this.
Claire moaned a similar sentiment into his open mouth. But she didn't let go. If anything, her hold on him became more intimate. She pressed into his cradling palm. Her fingers curled around his shoulders and tugged at the hair on his nape. She yanked fretfully at his shirt collar, sending a button flying. Peter applied levitation. One arm around her waist, he lifted Claire easily, turning them until they floated up and over the bed. Using his powers to undress them freed his hands for more important things. Very soon they were entwined in naked abandon, every precaution and taboo forgotten.
As Peter settled them to the bed, he gave into his wickedest fantasies. His fingertips melted into Claire's butter soft skin. His mouth laid insistent claim to her curves. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her. Any second now, they would pass the point of no return. She would fold around him, satiny smooth and tight. It would be done, no more denial. He positioned himself carefully. Bracing his weight on one elbow, he forced himself to move slowly, tenderly. If this only happened once, he wanted to savor every nuance of it.
“This can't happen,” she said, as he ran a palm down her inner thigh, urging her open. “This can't be real.” The certainty in her voice caught his attention, he lifted his chin and met her eye. “It's the dream again, Peter,” she told him. “We have to wake up. I need you to wake up...now.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“And that's when you generally wake?” Dr. Ellis asked, after Peter lapsed into silence. “When one of you realizes it's a dream?”
Peter nodded. Red-faced with embarrassment, he shifted in his seat, trying to see what the psychiatrist was writing on her notepad. This had to be one of the hardest things he'd tackled in therapy.
“It can't be healthy, right? She's my niece. We didn't grow up together. We just found out a couple of years ago, but still...”
“You feel guilty?”
“Yes. Dirty. I shouldn't feel this way. If I know that... if I would never consciously....why do I keep having these dreams?”
“We can't always control the way we feel—what we dream. The important thing is you understand there are boundaries. You've never acted on these impulses? Never approached her?”
“Of course not,” he snapped. “She's... It's not like that.”
“How do you think Claire feels about you?”
Peter blew a gust of air at his bangs and spread his hands wide. “She's a kid. There's a bit of hero worship, I guess. But she's got a boyfriend.”
“Chet?”
“West,” he corrected. “I don't know why I call him Chet in the dreams.” Maybe they were dreams of the future, he thought. Was that crazy? Given everything that had happened to him, all the talents he'd absorbed, maybe he was prognosticating. The very thought nearly turned his stomach. He wasn't going to have sex with Claire. “Why can't I stop thinking about it?”
“Is she's interested in you?” Dr. Ellis said, trying to lead him back to her earlier question.
Peter wanted to deny it. He knew denial was the right choice, the sane choice. But Dr. Ellis put a lot of emphasis on trust. “Sometimes...she looks at me...with her heart in her eyes and...” he grimaced, spreading the fingers of one hand as if grasping for a concept, but then he cut his hand sideways like a chopping ax. “It doesn't matter. We're related. End of story.”
“All right,” Dr. Ellis soothed. “Try to remember it's only a dream. You haven't done anything wrong.” She glanced at the wall clock. “We're nearly out of time. But how often would you say this is happening?”
Peter rubbed his cheek as he confessed, “It's getting worse. Three, maybe four, times this week.” He neglected to mention how often his waking thoughts turned to daydreams about Claire, her lips, the curve of her throat. His hands wanted to slide up her spine. It was getting uncomfortable to be in the same room with her.
“I'm going to prescribe something.”
He had a knee-jerk reaction. “I don't want drugs.”
“It's just a mild sedative, to help you sleep. And I want you to try the guided imagery exercises we talked about.” Peter nodded and she went on, “Visualize the dream while awake, but change the outcome. Then, the next time you have the dream, as soon as you recognize it, try to apply your new ending. And...” she gave Peter a pointed look. “I think you should try talking to Claire about this. If she's doing something to encourage it, even subconsciously.”
“No!” Peter said, shaking his head. “No. Definitely not. We're not going there.” His tone changed to less panicked, more incredulous, one. “What would I say? 'Ever dream we are acting out our own Greek Tragedy?'” Bad enough we're both demigods he added silently.
Dr. Ellis smiled. “She might laugh and you can put this all behind you.”
“She might think I'm a pervert and never speak to me again,” he countered, his brows arching. “I'm her uncle.”
“Fair enough,” Dr. Ellis said. “You have to do what you think is best. Just remember, it's not a sin to think about sinning. Discussing it frankly might be the adult thing to do. As long as you don't act on your...cravings.” Her pen scratched across a prescription pad. Then, she handed him the slip and a card for their next appointment. “September 18th, same time, okay?”
Peter nodded and, standing to leave, absently pocketed the card and scrip. He was thinking about Claire. Maybe he could go see her, test the waters for a confession. The idea of seeing her shouldn't excite him so much. What was happening to him? The dreams seemed to be making his desires manifest. Maybe it would be best to avoid Claire for a bit. But they were both invited to the Yamagato Industries reception on Friday. After everything that happened last year, Hiro would be devastated if he didn't go. Closing the office door behind him, he was too preoccupied to notice the blond man waiting in the hall.
The man watched him leave, green-eyed gaze fixed like velcro on Peter's back. Peter made his way to the elevators. Once the elevator doors dinged shut, Dr. Ellis stepped out of her office and the man nodded after Peter. “How's it going?” he asked, casually.
“It's unethical to discuss a patient,” Dr. Ellis said but her smug smile made a mockery of ethics. Moving closer to the blond man, she said, “He's primed to fall. All we have to do is give him one more good push.”
“You think he'll go to the girl?”
“I'm certain of it.”
“If he phones her...if they start comparing notes...”
“I've taken care of that. He's determined not to tell her. But sooner or later they'll be in the right place together and subconscious suggestion will take over. It's only a matter of time, really. He's madly in love with her. All you and I are doing is removing a few quaint cultural barriers.”
“In the name of evolution?” he suggested.
“In the service of a greater good,” she corrected, waving him ahead of her toward her office.
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-16 11:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 03:45 am (UTC)Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 12:19 am (UTC)welcome to the freakshow!
Nick Midian
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 03:46 am (UTC)Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 01:46 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 03:47 am (UTC)Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 04:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 02:00 am (UTC)BTW, I love your style of writing. To me, it seems to be on the verge of being poetic and it is very descriptive without becoming dulled down by it.
Nice job!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 03:49 am (UTC)Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 04:55 am (UTC)I was SO surprised when the whole wake-up/dream/psychiatrist thing happened!
That was a great beginning.
And I can't wait for more, even though the evil therapists scare me.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 05:41 am (UTC)Chet. Is that by chance pronounced "shet" or "shit"? Because then I can get why Claire would comment on how Peter pronounces the name.
Talking to Claire about the incest dream normally would sound like a really bad idea. (Especially if she's not all that into him.) But, knowing that Claire probably does hold some feelings for him, it might serve to relieve some tension. At least she knows that she's not alone in this odd feelings and the pair can work on that together.
You know what this fic reminds me of? Arrested Development. In the show, the cousins were really into each other, hijinks ensued, and the family never noticed. At the end of the series, you find out that the pair were never related in the first place because one parent was adopted. But, one of the dads said that pursuing a relationship still wouldn't be such a good idea because they're both still in the family. They've always recognized each other as cousins and parentage doesn't change that. So, it's still wrong.
Do you think this issue will ever come up with Claire and Peter? I figured that if the pair aren't related, we won't find out for at least another year. By then, Claire would already be well implanted in the family as Nathan's daughter and Peter's niece. So, they would be recognizing their relationship as one between an uncle and niece. I can see people givine them weird looks despite the parentage because of who they were previously known as.
And total randomness, can't people still marry within the family in some states? I think I read that somewhere.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 05:41 am (UTC)I wonder what brought on that statement...
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 08:09 am (UTC)Well...me, maybe...but I'm not telling. ;->
Rae
thanking you for your feedback, which I failed to do in the last rambling post...it's late, here. Sorry about that. And thank you so much for the feedback.
I'm pretty sure you can't marry your uncle...
Date: 2007-09-17 08:07 am (UTC)Unlike a more conventional Uncle/Niece relationship where the two people have a lifetime to reinforce their roles, Claire and Peter have lived completely separate from one another. More than that she is very committed to her role as Noah Bennett's daughter. She doesn't tend to think of herself as a Petrelli. Also, they were (I think) attracted to one another before they had the blood relationship superimposed on them. And...as Milo points out...they hook up mentally and from the heart...fulfilling one another on a number of levels.
Rae
knowing that if the show reinforces them as relatives for a couple of seasons...it will be much harder to break free of the incest taboo...but if the show continues to play as it has so far...then, it won't be that hard to restructure the relationship in S3, by simply adding more information.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 08:35 am (UTC)Excellent start. I wonder what the doctor's motives are.
And personally , I think Peter will turn out to be adopted or switched at birth. My favorite personal theory is that Peter is Sylar's fraternal twin and the original Peter lived and died young as a member of the Grey family. Maybe in a car accident with Sylar's father.
see icon to know that they have way too much chemistry to really be related.
Oh...I like that theory...
Date: 2007-09-17 08:49 am (UTC)My reasons for thinking Peter is the adopted one have to do with the fact that it is clear he doesn't really fit in with the Petrelli's. But now that you mention it there is a superficial resemblence to Sylar...what if Peter and Sylar were switched at birth? Since, Sylar always felt he didn't belong in HIS family.
Of course, not fitting in with your family is a fairly common scenario...and many people wish they were adopted. But we also have that intriguing scene with Peter's mom and Simone's Dad where there are some very clinical references to Peter. And...somehow...that whole plan to let Peter explode...put Angela into an "anything goes" category in my book. If she's his mother...that was cold.
I stopped seeing her as Peter's caring, slightly-batty mom at that point and started seeing her as someone manipulating him. She strikes me as a "Company woman."
Anyway, thanks so very much for the feedback. I'm glad you like the story. And it's good that I rotated back into a fandom you follow. Though, I haven't really left the Doctor Who fandom, yet. I just wanted to write something different for a change of pace.
Rae
Re: Oh...I like that theory...
Date: 2007-09-17 03:50 pm (UTC)And, that would make up for that disappointing fight scene in the season finale. There was so much build up last season that you expected a major rough and tumble. Not so. *sigh...
The fight between Peter and Sylar should have been awesome because we all know both are very powerful humans. (Even though Peter's probably the least experienced of the two.) Maybe we'll get a big fight next season. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 08:55 am (UTC)Your fic looks wonderful! I can't wait to read the next installment. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 10:29 am (UTC)Brilliant work, as usual. :D
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 12:44 pm (UTC)Or maybe I just know a good idea when I see one. :hee:
Thanks for the offer to recc. the fic. I'm flattered and would certainly be grateful to you for the publicity. Your kind encouragement for my work is always appreciated.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 03:53 pm (UTC)About Billie Piper. Did you hear the rumours about her wanting to come back for at least David Tennant's episode? That would be awesome, wouldn't it?
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 03:53 pm (UTC)I had heard that rumor
Date: 2007-09-17 06:46 pm (UTC)But what if the Doctor arranged for the Rani's TARDIS to channel him some power? A sort of link back to the Vortex? Then, he (and Rose) could pop between the worlds as needed, home in time for tea. Also, I may be the only Rose fan that isn't going to be heartbroken if she ages and dies...I just want the Doctor to know what it's like to have a home and family and be loved completely as Rose loves him.
Rae
still thinking that if they had kids, Rose would stay home with them and not hop around so much. I know many, many people disagree with me about this but I can see her not wanting to risk both of them in the line of fire.
Re: I had heard that rumor
Date: 2007-09-18 04:20 am (UTC)I just want Tennant to do the final installment of the Sally Lockhart TV film. Billie's character gets a new love interest that supposed to be a bit older than her. So, Tennant would be perfect!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 08:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 09:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 12:51 pm (UTC)aand i agree with the one who said that its a joy to be sailing the same ships as you.
that said, what was the name of the fiancee in the 5yrs gone one? and who is the blond guy?
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-17 02:02 pm (UTC)Happy to have you onboard. I love seeing the familiar names again. You guys kind of know what to expect from me. Find yourself a sunny deck chair and a tall cool drink and relax. :-> And thanks for the feedback...I am thrilled to be getting some comments in a new fandom. Makes me feel like I belong.
Rae
I don't know if you can trust the actor's input
Date: 2007-09-17 02:08 pm (UTC)To me...this is what we have here...open options. I, frankly, don't care if we see consummation of Peter and Claire onscreen but I would like the possibility to be there for fanfiction. I would like their relationship to be the hot and emotional one they currently have...so...I think...if I really wanted this to go my way...WE, the audience, would find out they weren't related but they wouldn't...they would just be confused about their feelings...and their inability to break the heartbond with each other.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-18 04:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-18 05:13 pm (UTC)