The Fall of Claire Petrelli

Claire opened herself to Peter, arched her body, impatiently urging him on, but something was holding him back. The head of his cock hesitated at the very edge of her entrance, the two of them about to commit the ultimate sin of the evening.

Peter whispered, “Oh, Claire. I can’t believe I’m doing this. You have one more chance to save me from myself, Claire.”

Claire smiled, and said, “Looks like you’re done for, Peter.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” he breathed.

He slid into her, and she gasped; his heat seared her inside, flowed through her like quicksilver. The intensity threatened to take her over the edge immediately, but Peter soon assumed a slow and shallow rhythm, just barely thrusting, as if it were even too much for him. He seemed to touch every nerve in her body just by moving ever so slightly, and she moaned into his mouth as he kissed her deeply. She buried her fingers in his disheveled dark hair, traced her hands over every bit of his skin that she could reach, trying to imprint the memory of him into her fingertips.

Peter’s head dropped to her shoulder, and he made soft sounds that became louder and more insistent as he moved faster, drove himself into her, pulling her legs up and around his waist. His heart crashed into his ribs, his chest pressed flush against hers. Claire was now absolutely sure that heaven was right here on earth, right here in the arms of Peter Petrelli.

That odd vibrating sensation had returned, slightly different but noticeable, and there was simply no explanation for it. The only thing she knew for sure was if he kept it up she wouldn’t last much longer, and she couldn’t let him go just yet. She never wanted to let him go, not now, not ever.

Claire took Peter’s face in her hands, and she caught his hazel eyes in her green ones. He stopped moving, and she realized his whole body was shaking atop her. She ran a hand down his back, his skin slick to her touch. Tiny beads of perspiration had collected at his hairline, the back of his neck, down his spine, the small of his back.

“Peter, are you okay?”

He groaned through clenched teeth, his breathing labored, “I’m--trying so hard not to come--wanted to wait for you--I can’t--”

His fingers dug painfully into her thighs, his eyes widened, and she felt every one of his muscles seize, then release, and from his throat escaped a sound that chilled her and excited her as he let himself go.

Before he finished, Claire felt that vibration one last time, a strong push and pull on the most sensitive part of her, inside and out, and she realized Peter had done it with his mind. She came, her body shuddering madly, the orgasm taking her with such force there was no way she could stop herself from crying out. Claire pulled his head down and sunk her teeth into the place where Peter’s neck met his shoulder, crushing her screams against him. She bit down so hard his flesh opened, and her mouth filled with his blood, hot and metallic, strangely intoxicating, heightening her senses. After a moment, the wound closed right under her lips, and she relaxed, utterly spent.

Peter looked down at Claire, and for a second, she didn’t really look like that soft, innocent Claire he had always known. She seemed older than her years, and she had a wild look in her eyes, her forehead glistening with a sheen of perspiration, her lips stained ruby-red with his blood. He emitted a shrill laugh, gasping for air, and he asked, “Are you always that vicious?”

The wild look left her, and she said, “No. I would have definitely woken up Angela if I didn’t do that. I’m sorry,” she said, letting out a nervous chuckle, and Peter laughed too, collapsing on top of her.

Nathan’s voice sounded from the other side of the room, “She tried to take your head off, Pete, and all you can do is laugh?”

“You watched? You fucking watched?” Peter asked incredulously. He pushed himself off of Claire and stood up, sweat positively dripping off him, some mixing with the blood running down his neck. Claire knew it was time to make herself scarce, so she got up too and started searching for her discarded clothing.

When Claire retreated into Nathan’s bathroom, Nathan smirked and said, “Of course I watched, Pete. You two together are very…what’s the word? Stimulating.”

“Fuck you, Nathan,” Peter hissed, his body shaking, anger boiling in him. He grabbed a towel and wiped his face, neck, chest, and back, then cleaned his and Claire’s fluids off himself. He pulled on his pants, glared at his brother and reached over for the bottle of alcohol.

“What the hell was I supposed to do? I mean, neither of you asked me to leave or anything. Would you rather I joined in?”

Peter almost choked on the shot he’d taken, and directed his brother a furious look.

“Didn’t think so,” Nathan said. He got to his feet and went to him, slipped his arms around him, trying to pull him in. Peter did not move.

Nathan implored softly, “Come here, Pete. Come on, don’t be upset. I know how you feel about her.”

“No, you don’t,” Peter insisted.

“Yes, I do. I know how it feels wanting someone you’re not supposed to have. I wanted you for ten years before I ever did anything about it.” Peter sighed and gave in, embracing him briefly. Nathan looked down at his little brother, hoping he’d say something, but he remained silent, sullen, pensive.

Peter still was angry, Nathan could tell; pain lingered in his eyes. A thought occurred to him when he noticed Peter’s gaze was fixed on the bathroom door.

Nathan wondered if Peter wasn’t so much angry, but feeling guilty about what he’d done with Claire. After his and Peter’s first encounter, Nathan had done two things he’d never done before in his life: he had cried inconsolably for hours, and had refused to talk to Peter for almost two weeks.

Claire emerged from the bathroom, dressed, hair neat, face freshly washed. Her tanned skin seemed to glow from within, and she was smiling broadly. Peter couldn’t help but smile too, and Nathan pretended he didn’t see. Part of him didn’t really want to accept that his brother was in love with his daughter. To accept that would be to admit that he had lost some of what he secretly shared with Peter, and that was something Nathan could not bring himself to do.

“Peter, seriously, let it go. Claire doesn’t seem to mind. Does it bother you that I watched, Claire?” Nathan asked.

Claire said, “Ah--no, I can’t really say that it does. It’s a little weird, because you’re my father, but then again, this whole experience has been quite strange.”

Nathan saw an indirect way to make Peter feel better, and reassure Claire all at once. “Claire, that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about. Now that you’ve taken part in this thing that we do, I want to explain something to you. When we do this, neither I nor Peter try to get too hung up on that fact. I know it’s hard at first, but it gets easier. The way you feel about Peter, the way he feels about you, it goes deeper than lust, deeper than love, than blood. That’s the way he and I feel about each other. That’s why I stayed. I wanted to make sure that you both could deal with it afterward. Okay?”

Claire nodded, and said, a smile playing on her lips, “It must be a Petrelli thing.”

Nathan laughed. “I suppose you could say that. Come on over here.”

Claire wiggled underneath Nathan’s arm, and he said, “Everybody all right? You still pissed off, Pete?”

“No, Nate, I’m not, at least not about that. But sometimes I hate it that you always know the right thing to say.” Peter was never able to stay mad at Nathan for long, and he gave his brother a smile.

Nathan said, “It’s definitely been fun, to say the least, but it’s getting light out. There’s no chance I’m going to sleep, because if I do I won’t get up, and I have to be in the office at ten. You two are lucky with your damn healing ability. I’m going to have one hell of a hangover. I’m making myself some coffee. You two do what you like.”

Nathan left them alone in his bedroom.

***