Claire fights back with mixed results. Rating:
Kinks are bite marks/bruises and sensory deprivation. Bonus: electricity. Notes:
~6300 words. Yay me.
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When Claire woke up some time later – how long or what time she didn't know because Sylar's room didn't have a clock or a window for her to look out of – she felt rested but uneasy.
The little act they'd just finished caused a ripple of unease to snake down her spine and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep the warmth in. Acting hadn't been that bad but for a minute, as he kissed her lovingly and told her how he felt, she'd believed in the sick little fantasy. It'd been a trick, of course, no matter what the other
trick of overwhelming her with emotions said. He didn't love her. He wanted to own her and possess her like a thing; he wanted to show her dad that he could, like a sick child trying to make daddy proud. It put her own bids for her father's respect into a perspective she didn't like but it didn't mean he loved her.
Alone and unrestrained for what felt like the first time since Sylar sedated her in Nathan's apartment she remembered the promise that'd been tucked in with the threats he'd made to get the video. He said he'd leave her alone for a few hours to read or relax. She stood on wobbly feet, glancing around the room as if to check for cameras he wouldn't leave out in the open anyway.
Should she crawl? Would he know? Would he care?
After a minute Claire walked over to the book case, skimming all the different titles of medical and scientific journals mixed in with true crime and horror fiction. His collection had to be the exact opposite of anything she had so she picked up a medical journal at random, about genetics, and skimmed the article titles. The simple freedom to do that made the article more interesting than she'd usually find it. Then she noticed the MP3 player and the ear buds. She smiled, tucking them into her ears. When she'd found some music she liked she went back to the bed to sit down.
The journal had lulled her into a strange state of rapt attention, the music thrumming in her ears as she worked out how the experiments were each done. Without a better background in science she didn't understand a lot of it besides the summaries but the challenge of trying to figure it out made her feel good. No one else would've left this sort of thing for her. She didn't even notice when the door cracked open and Sylar stepped into the room, at least not until he stood in front of her at the end of the bed. Her eyes flashed up to his before she cursed mentally, dropping them down to the bedspread fast enough she could hope he hadn't noticed. From the way he tsked a little he had but instead of a slap he ran a hand through her hair and went to get something from the dresser.
What sort of something? His turning around answered that question and at the very edge of her vision she saw a tray coming into focus with a colorful bowl of something on one side and two small cups on the other. When he sat he brought it down into her line of sight – a fruit cup, a cup of juice, and a cup of oatmeal.
All of a sudden her stomach, that she'd ignored for so long, roared back to life to beg her for food. It took all her concentration not to rip the bowl out of his hands when he held it up. She almost bit him when he picked up a cube of honeydew and held it out for her to eat but her stomach protested. Eating came before making him pay, even for her. If eating meant eating out of his hand, so be it; she carefully nipped the fruit, tugging it out of his fingers before she put it fully in her mouth and waited for the second piece. Grapes, cherries, strawberries, mangos, mandarin oranges –- each fruit came and went, sating her stomach for the first time in what felt like days.
“When's the last time you fed me?” she asked finally, when the last piece of food had gone.
“A day and a half ago?” He didn't seem sure and did a low glare, careful not to let him see her eyes.
“Have you been feeding Molly?” If poor Molly hadn't been eating she was going to be pissed, overpowered or not. The bullshit of using food to manipulate a young girl would be low, even for him. When he nodded his head in the affirmative she relaxed some. His hands made quick work of a straw and he placed it in her drink before holding it up to her mouth. Some sort of fruit punch thing? She hoped Molly got the same sort of food she did because the thirteen year old would need her strength. She didn't have Claire's freakish body.
His hand cupped the side of her face for a second. “I'll make sure to feed you more often. You were very good for the tape.”
“You're sending that one, not one of the others?” The idea of her dad, her dad of all people, seeing Sylar on top of her, taking her by force, hitting her for fun... he'd go apocalyptic. He'd find a way to find Sylar and then he'd be dead. She couldn't have that death on her hands, she just couldn't do it.
“That one. It's better he's at least a little reassured I haven't hacked you to pieces or beheaded you.” What a lovely picture. Suddenly the oatmeal reminded her of brains, of melted brains, and she shook her head when Sylar offered a bite out on a spoon. “Why not?”
How to skirt the truth without telling it? She tried, “I don't think I could keep it down.” He cocked his head but seemed to decide she'd told the truth and put the oatmeal down.
“We'll try again later. Now, I thought we'd talk a little about expectations now that you've settled in some.”
Her nose scrunched up as she stared at him, her eyes narrowing more in confusion than malice when he tugged a lock of hair. “What's that mean?”
He frowned. “First, it means that you're going to be polite. Please, thank you, you're welcome. What do you say when someone makes you breakfast?” Let me go home!
Instincts told her giving him that answer would lead to a world of pain she wouldn't handle gracefully. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome.” His frown shifted back to a smile in the beat it took him to cup her jaw. “You already know the rules and you seem to be following them – except for the whole walking thing you did when you thought I wasn't watching.” She didn't flinch but her lips pressed down into a thin line as she waited for his reaction. “That's good. I'd like to be able to give you more freedom but to do that I'm going to have to trust you, Claire. You can see why I wouldn't, what with the trying to kill me on a regular basis thing you've got going. That's understandable, I haven't exactly been the nicest to you, but it's going to change.
“After all, you'd like to be able to go outside or at least move freely around the house, wouldn't you?”
That seemed to demand an answer and, watching her hands, Claire nodded. She wondered what her dad had going now and if Matt and Angela were in on it. They had to be looking for her and Molly; even with the girl here and not there they had resources, abilities, connections, all the type of thing they'd need to find Sylar wherever he'd dragged her off to. Her dad would find a way to come get her and maybe he'd even stop Sylar, once and for all, and this time Claire herself would make sure he lost his head. She couldn't trust her family to do it anymore. Her eyes skimmed over the bedspread as he started speaking again,
“Each time you show you can follow a rule or a command I'll trust you a little more. If you're good, you'll gain privileges. If you're bad, there's always those chains you don't like so much.” Her palms ached in sympathy and she shook her head sharply. “I didn't think you wanted that.” He ran his fingers over her stomach, teasing her body to distraction. She didn't get why she responded to this so much. She'd even liked most of the pain. You had to be weird to like pain, didn't you? “I expect you to be good.”
Before she could say anything, or think of anything to say, he raised his hand and she felt the vaguely familiar pressure come over her ears again before they popped and sound disappeared completely. His face loomed into her line vision and she watched his mouth as he smiled before raising her hands.
Could she do it? Could she really go through with acting like he'd broken her if it meant protecting Molly and never experiencing another horrible day like she had in the kitchen? Did she really have a choice?
Claire shuddered covering the motion by taking a deep breath, then signed, “What should I do now, Master?”
His eyes lit up from the quick glance she got when he bent down to kiss her and she tried to relax. Part of her wished he'd hurt her so that she could hold tight to the anger again but a bigger part of her felt tired, too tired for a big battle of wills.
“Lay here and put your arms above your head,” he ordered, standing up to pad over to the dresser behind him. She watched for a second before moving her hands. In one of the larger cabinets he found a short chain with odd looking ends and brought them back to the bed. Sylar's body stretched out long as he straddled her and reached for her wrists, paying no mind to the way she tilted her head up to watch as he put the chain against the cuffs, one at a time, and held his hand up. The metal melded together in seconds, effectively limiting her reach to six inches. Great. Now she couldn't hear and she couldn't 'talk.' “Today is all about sensation and what you feel. I want you to let go, Claire, relax as much as you can. You can do that for me, can't you?”
With him on top of her she didn't feel sure she could but she gave it her best try, finally forcing the tension out of her shoulders as he started to get impatient. Only then did he slide off, tugging her over the side of the bed and on her knees. She found crawling a little bit harder with her hands stuck so close together but knew better than to complain; it wouldn't help her and it'd probably piss him off. After stopping her he moved the bed from the center of the room and, for the first time, she noticed the hooks handing from the ceiling as he hung another chain from it. When she stood and raised her arms her wrists were still a good six inches below but Sylar took care of that by levitating her long enough to attach the chains together in the same way he had before. She grunted when he dropped her, all her weight straining against her shoulders as the chains tugged on each other.
Now he stood in front of her, nearly eye-to-eye, and she slid her gaze away as she tried not to think about what he might do to her and what he had planned. It couldn't be good.
“No sound.” He tapped her ears after signing it. “No sight.” And circled around her to fit a snug blindfold over her eyes, rendering her unable to communicate. If he said anything else, it got lost in the senses blackout he'd created. Her sense of smell, bizarrely, went next and she had to wonder if he'd taken away her sense of taste too. Without anything to test it with she couldn't be sure.
Lots of things she couldn't be sure of, not a lot of things she could.
Claire dangled from the chain, spinning in slow, tight circles from an odd touch here or there. He never laid his hands fully on her or touched anywhere private but she could still feel the arousal starting up again. Damnit. Then, from nowhere, his lips brushed her neck. She shivered at the unexpected touch. His hands skimmed her waist next, his warm palm wrapping around the front of her body to where she'd get bigger if she did get pregnant. That meant a lot to him, having a family, making a family with her, and it creeped her out. Why her? Why couldn't he want to make his little psycho family with Elle? She'd have fit in already.
None of these thoughts rolled off her tongue as she waited for the next assault. It came in the form of his teeth nipping at her upper arm, an unexpectedly sensitive spot, and she bit back a moan. A moan she lost in the next second when he scraped his nails against the inside of her thighs. “Sylar,” she thought she said and she felt him press a smile into her back before kneeling.
Before she could process why he'd be kneeling he lifted his head and brought it to her sex, flicking his long tounge over her sensitive entrance. Every nerve she had jumped like a live wire as he lapped. Her girlfriends at school had giggled about this, in a foreign sort of way that Claire had long since been disconnected from – since Odessa – but none of them had experienced it. And definitely none of them had a man who could read their moods and their arousal work them up to a peak with just his tongue. Her fingers itched to bury in his hair, holding him to her, but she could only clench them ineffectually and take deep breaths. The pressure on her wrists started to ache a little bit and she discovered he'd left enough slack that if she stretched as far as she could she could only just get on her tiptoes to relieve the tension in a bearable way. Or rock her hips back and forth into his mouth.
She rocked on the balls of her feet, glad she couldn't hear herself whimper as he bit down on her clit and her whole world exploded. The orgasm rolled through her from head to toe, shaking every nerve, clenching every muscle, bucking her hips forward wildly, her head tilted back, his name on her lips. Sensation overpowered her, more intense than when she could see and hear and smell him. Slowly she came down, floating between full awareness and a sorta plateau of desire. When he kissed her she could taste him and the proof that she'd come for him once again.
Embarrassment flooded through her suddenly, sharply, and she tried to turn her head away and squeeze her eyes shut. He pulled the blindfold off seconds later, signing rapid-fire words at her, telling her not to do that. “You don't get to deny me.” Claire shivered and wished she could use her hands.
When he let her down from the hook she could, though limited by her range of motion. “I should. Sometimes I'm not in the mood. You should respect that. After all, you claim to love me.”
His expression flushed with anger and she knew she'd absolutely gone too far even before his hand raised to toss her through the air and onto the bed. She hit the far wall without a sound she could hear and then dropped, splayed out, on the bed underneath. Seconds later he gripped her hair, using it as a lead to flip her over onto her back. “Claire, Claire, Claire. I don't think you understand that you're not my partner here, not yet. You're my captive. After I know I can trust you and you'll stay then you can be not in the mood sometimes. Until then if I kiss you, you kiss back or everyone's going to be a little less happy.”
The implied threat made her shiver and she stared down at her hands, then spread her legs submissively. He wanted her to be a fuck toy? Fine. He'd get a real life blow-up doll. Sylar's hand rubbed over her thigh and he nodded at her change of attitude, approving. He said he didn't want a mindless slave but every time she tried to express anything he got angry.. Crazy would do that to you.
“Don't give me that pout. All I'm telling you to do is be respectful and accept that, for right now, I have control. I'm trying to help you realize your full potential so stop being such a bitch about it before I get angry.” This wasn't? She would have laughed if she could but she couldn't tell if her huff of breath was a laugh or a sigh to him until his hand came down swiftly, backhanding her across the face. “We were having such a nice time. Why did you have to go and ruin it?” he 'asked' her and she squeezed her eyes shut for a breath before bracing herself and opening them again. I fucking hate you.
Sylar shrugged philosophically, “You won't always feel that way but I can see that we have a lot of work to do. On the floor.” When she'd backed off the bed, going to her knees, he added, “If you're very good we can forget all about this. If you insist on still being stubborn, on the other hand, I have a lot of other things I can do to you.” Screw you!
What gave him the right? What gave him the fucking right to steal her from her home, from her family and friends, from the life she knew to keep her as a sex toy and baby incubator until he got bored of taking care of kids and left her with all the responsibility? Nothing except his oversized ego.
He scooped up her hair at the neckline and wrapped it around his hand, dragging her upwards. “Down.” Her blood boiled at the barked command or the way he snapped his fingers and pointed after he said it. She fell forward, onto her hands; the grip in her hair forced her back to arch as he tugged her along the floor. They left the bedroom and crossed the hard floor,reaching the stairs before her knees had gone numb from the contact. The stairs were even worse with sharp edges biting into her skin or banging against her thigh above the knee. One memorable hit against her shin made her wince and stop for a second. A second too long for Sylar's liking because he bent down, his hand pressing her face into the wood with her ass in the stair, and gave her five hard smacks to the ass. By the time they reached the top of the house, climbing a ladder into a little attic area, she'd started panting and wanted to refuse to go any further.
At the top, in the attic, she knelt painfully and he crouched down. “You want to be a good girl. It makes your life easier and significantly less painful. But you always have to do things the hard way, don't you?” His hand ran jerkily through her hair, tearing out two knots. “Alright, then we'll make this simple. You obey. I feed you, clothe you, and let you move around. You mouth off, you end up back in here.” Grabbing the back of her neck, he shoved her forward.
For the first time she saw the small cage-like box in the corner of the room. The top of it had bars, she thought, but each side could hardly be seen through all the black. It unlatched at one corner and went maybe four and a half feet up by four and a half feet long – not enough to stretch out or get comfortable in any position.
When he grabbed her again she realized he planned to put her in the box. She shook her head violently, breaking his grip, and tried to scramble away. No way she wanted to go in there, be stuck in there until he decided to let her out. That small, dark space creeped her out but he froze her with the stretching out of his hand and stalked over to where she'd fled, knocking her over. “Crawl.”
Claire hissed, staring up at him defiantly as she pushed herself up on her hands. He'd bullied her around enough, damn it. She was a person, with feelings and thoughts, and treating her like a convenient place to come made her feel like shit.
“No.” She knew she'd said that one out loud with the vibrations in her throat and the way his face went bright red with rage.
“I'd bring Molly up here for a demonstration but I think we'll handle this between us,” Sylar told her as he crouched down low. A second later she spit in his face and he punched her, hard, in the stomach.
She'd broken every bone in her body, at least twice; he was going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that. “You disgust me.” She wished she could hear the words but she felt them, shaking with anger as he gripped her around the neck and yanked her to her feet. Bitch
. Oh, that hurt. She rolled her eyes angrily, glad Molly wouldn't be here to see this. Or experience it. Without the threat of the younger girl being dragged into their fight Claire felt strong enough to take him on and only gritted her teeth when he threw her forward, into the cage. Her upper body slammed against the bars at the top as he put a hand between her shoulder blades and kicked her legs apart quickly before she could twist and kick at him. With one hard thrust that tore up every inch inside of her Sylar entered her, a stabbing pain marking the invasion. She fought wildly, elbows aiming for his organs and feet trying to stomp his. She started to rear her head back when his hand slid down around her neck, pressing the other side against a bar that crossed her throat. It made her swallow, then gag, but she couldn't cough as the air cut off.
He pulled his hips back slowly to the point of nearly pulling out of her and bent down to kiss the top of her ear before biting it. She'd suffocated before, or nearly had, in the train wreck, in the shipping container with Meredith, but the pressure on her neck urged her to fight and Claire used every ounce of her strength to throw Sylar off. In the end, he shook her like a rag doll and thrust back in, all the way in until his cock head hit her cervix and pushed through. It felt like a knife twisting inside of her and her body tensed, trying to push him back out or breathe through the pain as the need for air burned at her lungs. Please
. She hated thinking it, saying it to him, inside his head, but she needed to breathe.
She could almost hear the sneer on his lips as he took in her words, chuckling a little mentally. Hmm, that's not quite right. Let's try... 'Please Master, I misbehaved and need to be punished but please have mercy.' Then I'll think about it.
Her vision shook a little in the absence of air but like hell did she plan to say that. It wouldn't kill her. She'd wake up again. Not the funnest way to go to sleep but she still had some shreds of dignity and pride left.
As his concentration dropped sound came rushing back to her in a wave. The harsh pants of his breathing, the small gasps in hers, the slap of flesh against flesh and her hand slamming against the bar as she lost her grip on his wrist again. He let up suddenly, enough that she could gasp in two long breaths, and then started to return the pressure, but not badly enough to cut off her ability to speak this time. She took it. “You disgust me,” she growled at him. “I could never love you. Or tolerate you. You're nothing. You're less than nothing and everyone that sees you knows it. You're barely even worth my contempt.” His thrusts got more vicious and her legs slammed against the side of the cage so she must be doing something right. “You think I don't know why you're doing this? You're trying to show off to my dad 'cause yours abandoned you – both of them. What does that say about you, Sylar, that they knew you were a bad bet even from the very beginning?”
His arm pressed hard again, grinding against her larynx, so she kept the rant up mentally. He's never going to respect you. No one's ever going to care about you. You're just a monster, my very own monster, and the only reason any of them bother with you is because you're obsessed with me.
“SHUT UP!” he roared as he pulled out of her and flipped her over. She ended up sitting on top of the cage, the bars digging into the underside of her thighs as he pinned her hands to them. “You don't get to judge me. You can't even be honest with yourself. At least I know what I am. What are you? Daddy's little girl? Miss independent? The girl next door? The fighter? The hero? The victim?” His lips turned up in a smirk. “You don't belong anywhere and you know that. You're too much of a freak.”
“I might be a freak,” she hissed scratchily, “but I'm not a monster.”
“Claire,” he said, shoving a knee between her thighs. “You need to get some new material. Tell me something I don't know.” His lips curved up in a predatory smile that made her spine shiver uneasily. “Sylar's a monster, blahblahblah. We're all monsters, in the right circumstances, and in this case it took a monster to make a monster. Noah has a lot to answer for. I'm not trying to impress him; I'm trying to impress upon him that his actions have consequences that he cannot, for once, weasel out of. Then I suspect he'll come after me and, in self-defense, I'll have to kill him.” He blinked innocently and she tried to shove her knee forward. “It's a win-win. The only question is... will Peter be there as well?”
Her frustration sounded with a primal growl and she ripped her hand free of his hold, balling her fist on the way up. It connected with a resounding smack, his neck snapping back as the hit stunned him. She took the opportunity to free her other hand and weasel down between their bodies to get off the cage. He caught her a few meters away, almost to the ladder, and she spun on him when his fingers circled 'round her wrist. “Let me go!”
Using his superior weight he swung her around his hip into the wall next to him and spun so he could drive his forearm against her throat and lift her. It reminded her of Primatech, the night Meredith died. She kicked at him, her feet connecting only with the wall behind her, and she clawed at his bare arm to leave gouges.
“Stop fighting,” he ordered. “If you stop now, I'll let it go. You're upset; it's understandable, you've had a rough week. If you keep fighting me, I will strangle the life out of you and you will not like where or how you wake up.”
“If I stop fighting I might as well admit I'm your bitch. Woof.” She sneered. “What makes you think I'd ever stop fighting you?”
“You were making such nice progress.” To her disgust he actually sounded disappointed. His free hand squeezed her thigh where he had it between her legs to hold her steady. “Be smart about this. Bringing additional pain on yourself serves no one.”
Claire wanted to rip her hands off his arm and pummel him but she knew she wouldn't be able to reach. “Why? We both know that as soon as I give in you're going to beat the shit out of me for being a 'bad girl.'” Her angry eyes scanned all over his face looking for a sign of some sort of plan, or agreement, or recognition that she wouldn't give in no matter how difficult he made it for her.
“What if I promise not to?”
“I don't believe you.” That set off the anger in his eyes again and they flashed with lightening right before his lower hand lit up with blue electricity, channeling it right into her sensitive cunt. She screamed; she couldn't help it. The pain felt unimaginable, beyond the nuclear explosion or all her skin melting off in fire. A haze of white clouded her mind as she worked to control her breathing and not pass out from the pain but when he touched her sensitive lips with his fingers again she whined low in her throat, really scared for the first time. She couldn't die, but she could sure as hell be hurt. “Sylar!”
His fingertips flared to life again and she yelped, tears welling up in her eyes. “You know what you have to do.”
It made her stomach roll with nausea but she nodded quickly to show her cooperation. When he released his grip enough her feet fell back on the floor she dropped to her knees, glad to have her sensitive parts away from his hands. Her hands still shook as she clasped them together against her thighs and waited for the next burst of punishment.
He touched the top of her head with his open palm instead and told her, “I expect an apology, Claire. Don't make this worse on yourself.”
Her bottom lip trembled a little bit and her throat felt thick with tears. “I'm sorry.” A bolt of lightening glanced her cheek and she flinched away. Fuck. She put herself even lower to the ground, trying to get out of range of his hand and avoid looking at him too. What had he told her to say? Something about mercy. “Please, have mercy. I k-know I did the wrong thing. I'm angry and scared. You would be too,” she whispered. “I'll be good now.” It turned her stomach to say it but she added, “I'll be your good girl.” For a little extra sympathy, if he had an ounce in his black soul, she let a few of the tears fall and sniffled afterward.
Maybe she could convince him of her weakness. He wanted to be the big man, to be in charge, and she didn't know how else to convince him he was than to put him in charge. When she glanced up he stared hard down at her and she kept her eyes away from his. “Show me.”
Chills ran up her body as she realized she'd get one shot at this. So she took a deep breath and inched forward on her knees, putting her head level with his cock. Slowly, uncertainly, she kissed it. She'd only done this the once and that'd been awful but maybe this time wouldn't be so bad. The skin tasted salty with a tangy drop of fluid coming from the tip. Her pre-come and blood had already dried and left only a vaguely metallic after taste behind. She stuck out her tongue slowly, her hand circling around the base of his cock, and then she put the head in her mouth. It felt huge, too big for her to fit in her mouth, let alone down her throat. She tried her best anyway.
Sylar seemed to like it. He hissed 'yes' and tangled his hand, now lightening-less, in her hair to encourage her, his hips rocking softly to the rhythm of her sucking. She hummed, remembering some girl, probably Jackie or Becca, had told her guys liked the vibration. When he groaned she knew they were right. She slid off his dick anyway.
“Sy,” she tried out the nickname. If she could stop thinking of him as 'Sylar' – the man of her nightmares – this might be slightly less abhorrent. “Am I doing it right?”
“You know you are,” he told her, practically cooing, docile for the moment as she swirled her tongue around the tip again and then went back to sucking. “A little harder.” Claire complied slowly as she pumped her hand up and down his shaft working his cock in and out of her mouth. Aside from a little tedium it wasn't so bad and it beat the hell out of being shocked again. “Though I'm not sure why I'm surprised,” he mused. “You've been fantastic at everything I've tried with you so far. Almost as if this picture perfect body of yours was made to fuck. How about it, Claire, do you enjoy fucking?”
She wanted to glare. She dearly wanted to bite him. Instead she nodded as slightly as she could get away with and focused on her task. It had a sort of pattern to it and she could tell by the sounds he made and how his hand clenched if he liked something, didn't like something, didn't want something, wanted more of something else. She followed these cues and found her mouth stretching over five inches of his cock, her nearly non-existant gag reflex – who needed that when you never got sick? – never kicking in.
After a small eternity his whole body went rigid and he grabbed his cock, pumping into her mouth once, twice, before the muscles twitched and tangy, bitter liquid spurt over her tongue. Uck. He'd probably expect her to swallow too. When he seemed to be done, slowly withdrawing from her as he let his softening dick go, she did it without argument and then wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand while she made a face. Ick. Still better than being shocked.
“Very good. Good girl,” he praised.
“May I go now?” she asked quietly, retraining her eyes on the floor. She wanted to take a shower. She wanted to get out of this room.
“Yes,” he said and she started to shift forward onto her hands and knees. “To the cage.” What?
“You heard me. Get in the cage and close the top behind you.” She glanced at the cage and then back again, hoping he'd say 'haha just joking' but she knew he wasn't joking. Instead she took a deep breath and crawled over to the cage, standing up just long enough to stretch her legs one last time and then climb in, shutting the lid behind her like he instructed. Sylar pushed a thin blanket through the bars of the cage for her to make a bed out of she assumed and then welded the pieces of metal together. “Give me your wrists.”
Claire thrust one between the bars in the cage and waited patiently while he cut it apart at the joiner using telekinesis. He did the same thing with the other hand, which left her wrists free except for the somewhat heavy metal shackles around them. To secure her he attached a chain to one of her ankle cuffs and then locked that to a bolt in the far corner of the cage. “There I'm in. Sy.”
“This'll be your new home for awhile,” he told her, crouching down only far enough he could still look over the top and peer down at her. She didn't bother to lift her head. “If you're good, it won't be long. More days like today and you'll be lucky if you're out of here by the time you're legal to drink.”
She nodded quickly and curled up on top of the blanket to rest, already closing her eyes. It'd been a long day even though it only just seemed like she'd woke up.
“Goodnight,” Sy told her as he trailed a finger over one of her nipples. “Sleep well.”
“Um, you too.” She needed to get some sleep before he actually started making sense.
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Feedback appreciated, anon or otherwise! This story is definitely going to take a darker turn before things get better for Claire and she has her chance to shine.