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The Fall of Claire Petrelli
folder
G through L › Heroes
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
3,727
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
G through L › Heroes
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
3,727
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Heroes or the characters in this story. I make no money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 2
Claire toweled off her honey-blonde hair and her tanned skin, feeling very refreshed, the scent of lavender fragrant in the heavy, steamy air. Everything was fine now. Nathan was her father, Peter was her uncle, they were brothers, and a kiss shared between them meant they loved each other. Simple enough.
She dragged her hairbrush through some unruly strands of hair until it looked nice, neat and shiny. She gave a brilliant smile to the mirror and swiped on some peach lip gloss. She knew she’d be going to bed soon, but she felt naked without it. Claire felt absolutely wonderful now, and pleasantly drunk to boot. Instead of a shower she had taken a hot bath, and drank the liquor while soaking languidly in the tub, managing to finish half the bottle in that time. She sauntered out the bathroom door, her eyes closed in drunken bliss, nearly knocking her uncle off his feet.
“Hi, Peter,” she giggled, gripping his forearm, steadying herself against him.
“Are you drunk, Claire?” Peter asked, horrified, seeing the bottle in her hand. “When did you get home? Don’t let Nathan see you like this!” He ushered her into her bedroom, closing the door behind them before Claire could even answer. Peter blew out a frustrated sigh and groaned, “Go to sleep, Claire, okay?”
Claire set down the bottle on the bedside table. She looked into Peter’s deep brown eyes and said teasingly, “Why are you worried? I could metabolize this alcohol in a second if I wanted to.”
“All right, then, the real question is, why do you want to be drunk?” Peter asked, his arms crossing his chest, leaning into Claire’s dresser. He was shirtless, and his dark brown hair had almost grown back out to its usual state of disarray. Claire couldn’t help but notice that though he was her uncle, how absolutely sexy he was: his youthful face, those smoldering eyes, long, graceful neck, his upper body defined and angular.
She walked slowly towards him and raised her arms to place her hands on his shoulders. A shiver ran through her when her fingertips touched his bare flesh; his skin was unbelievably soft. She traced her thumbs along his collarbones, and Peter’s eyes widened in alarm.
Claire whispered, “You want to know why I want to be drunk? So that I could do this and not worry about it.“
Claire stood on her tiptoes and smacked a wet, sloppy kiss on Peter’s lips.
Peter touched a finger to his mouth, which now shone with a residue of shimmery lip gloss. She emitted a giddy laugh at his furrowed brow, his confused expression.
“Claire--ah--I--think maybe you better go to bed. Really.”
Claire said, her voice lowering seductively, “What, only my father gets to kiss you?”
Peter’s face darkened.
*Oops. Well, he didn’t know then, but he sure knows now,* Claire mused, fully enjoying her loss of inhibition. She had clearly touched a nerve, though, and Peter’s voice lowered to a growl.
“Go to bed.” He swiped the rest of the lip gloss off his mouth and turned away.
“I’m sorry, Peter! Don’t be mad!” she pleaded after him. He did not acknowledge her, and he hurried down the hall into his bedroom and closed his door.
Claire closed the door and sat down on her bed. She definitely shouldn’t have done that. Peter was probably going to be mad at her for a while. But how could she help it? She’d had a slight crush on him before she’d found out by some freak chance that the person who had saved her from Sylar was her uncle. She’d tried to force the feelings away, never quite succeeding. And she had truly, honestly thought he wouldn’t mind; he had let his brother kiss him, after all.
The adrenaline rush she’d experienced cleared the alcoholic haze very quickly, and suddenly she felt ridiculous and embarrassed, hoping he wouldn’t mention to her father what she’d done. *No, he knows how that would make me feel. He wouldn’t. I’m sorry, Peter.*
She heard Peter’s voice in her head. *It’s okay. I won’t say anything. Just go to sleep, Claire. Please.*
Claire sighed and relented, Peter’s suggestion making her mind fuzzy, her eyelids heavy. She snuggled under her comforter. *One more thing,* she thought, grabbing Peter’s white teddy bear and hugging it. Sleep drifted softly upon her like a silent winter’s snowfall.
***
She dragged her hairbrush through some unruly strands of hair until it looked nice, neat and shiny. She gave a brilliant smile to the mirror and swiped on some peach lip gloss. She knew she’d be going to bed soon, but she felt naked without it. Claire felt absolutely wonderful now, and pleasantly drunk to boot. Instead of a shower she had taken a hot bath, and drank the liquor while soaking languidly in the tub, managing to finish half the bottle in that time. She sauntered out the bathroom door, her eyes closed in drunken bliss, nearly knocking her uncle off his feet.
“Hi, Peter,” she giggled, gripping his forearm, steadying herself against him.
“Are you drunk, Claire?” Peter asked, horrified, seeing the bottle in her hand. “When did you get home? Don’t let Nathan see you like this!” He ushered her into her bedroom, closing the door behind them before Claire could even answer. Peter blew out a frustrated sigh and groaned, “Go to sleep, Claire, okay?”
Claire set down the bottle on the bedside table. She looked into Peter’s deep brown eyes and said teasingly, “Why are you worried? I could metabolize this alcohol in a second if I wanted to.”
“All right, then, the real question is, why do you want to be drunk?” Peter asked, his arms crossing his chest, leaning into Claire’s dresser. He was shirtless, and his dark brown hair had almost grown back out to its usual state of disarray. Claire couldn’t help but notice that though he was her uncle, how absolutely sexy he was: his youthful face, those smoldering eyes, long, graceful neck, his upper body defined and angular.
She walked slowly towards him and raised her arms to place her hands on his shoulders. A shiver ran through her when her fingertips touched his bare flesh; his skin was unbelievably soft. She traced her thumbs along his collarbones, and Peter’s eyes widened in alarm.
Claire whispered, “You want to know why I want to be drunk? So that I could do this and not worry about it.“
Claire stood on her tiptoes and smacked a wet, sloppy kiss on Peter’s lips.
Peter touched a finger to his mouth, which now shone with a residue of shimmery lip gloss. She emitted a giddy laugh at his furrowed brow, his confused expression.
“Claire--ah--I--think maybe you better go to bed. Really.”
Claire said, her voice lowering seductively, “What, only my father gets to kiss you?”
Peter’s face darkened.
*Oops. Well, he didn’t know then, but he sure knows now,* Claire mused, fully enjoying her loss of inhibition. She had clearly touched a nerve, though, and Peter’s voice lowered to a growl.
“Go to bed.” He swiped the rest of the lip gloss off his mouth and turned away.
“I’m sorry, Peter! Don’t be mad!” she pleaded after him. He did not acknowledge her, and he hurried down the hall into his bedroom and closed his door.
Claire closed the door and sat down on her bed. She definitely shouldn’t have done that. Peter was probably going to be mad at her for a while. But how could she help it? She’d had a slight crush on him before she’d found out by some freak chance that the person who had saved her from Sylar was her uncle. She’d tried to force the feelings away, never quite succeeding. And she had truly, honestly thought he wouldn’t mind; he had let his brother kiss him, after all.
The adrenaline rush she’d experienced cleared the alcoholic haze very quickly, and suddenly she felt ridiculous and embarrassed, hoping he wouldn’t mention to her father what she’d done. *No, he knows how that would make me feel. He wouldn’t. I’m sorry, Peter.*
She heard Peter’s voice in her head. *It’s okay. I won’t say anything. Just go to sleep, Claire. Please.*
Claire sighed and relented, Peter’s suggestion making her mind fuzzy, her eyelids heavy. She snuggled under her comforter. *One more thing,* she thought, grabbing Peter’s white teddy bear and hugging it. Sleep drifted softly upon her like a silent winter’s snowfall.
***