cruiscin_lan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cruiscin_lan) wrote2009-03-09 11:38 pm
cruiscin_lan) wrote2009-03-09 11:38 pm
FIC: Striptease
Title: Striptease
Characters: Claire/Elle
Rating: R
Word Count: 1300ish
Disclaimer: I don't own any aspect of Heroes or its characters
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for the end of Vol. 3
Summary: Claire takes home a drunken Elle.
A/N: Originally written for the YAHAKM.
I
Sometimes Claire resented the fact that she wasn't yet twenty-one. She couldn't legally have a drink, and no matter where she went, she always managed to get carded. She'd always end up playing to role of baby-sitter to her inebriated college friends, and she was growing tired of it.
But then, one evening at a dive bar near campus, she ran into a familiar face.
"Hey Pom-Pom," Elle slurred, barely comprehensible as she slurped her drink. "Want to do a shot with me?"
Claire looked from Elle to the bartender, who shook his head. Claire had tried to get him serve her before. "Can't, sorry," she said, although she really wasn't. Getting drunk with someone she thought was dead didn't seem like a great idea, but still she sidled up next to her. "What are you doing here?"
"I can't go back to the Company, I can't go back to Pinehearst," Elle started to ramble. "Angela Petrelli fired me, Sylar tried to kill me, here I am," she concluded, and Claire had to imagine how to fill in the blanks of her story.
"You know they both were destroyed, right?" Claire asked, her voice low. "And now they're rounding up the specials? You better stay out of the way. Everyone thinks you're dead - you're probably safer than anyone. Where are you staying?"
"I don't know," Elle replied, her voice edged with sadness.
Even after all the shit Elle had dragged her through, Claire still felt a pang of sympathy. "Why don't you stay with me?" Claire offerred.
Elle looked at Claire intently, trying to gauge the sincerity of the suggestion. Claire put her hand on Elle's and smiled as sweetly as she could muster. "Sure," Elle said finally.
"Then I'm cutting you off," Claire said, reaching into her wallet and leaving a handful of bills, hoping it was enough to cover the six or seven empty glasses on the countertop.
Claire didn't know what she would do with Elle once she got back to the East Village studio that her grandmother was paying for. She only had a futon and a few extra throw pillows - she wasn't really prepared to have a guest.
As Claire adjusted the futon into narrow double bed. She heard an eruption of laughter from the bathroom. Elle apparently found her shower radio and turned it on, increasing the volume so it could be heard in the rest of the apartment.
"I love this song!" Elle declared as she emerged through the doorway. She gyrated her hips and flung her hair wildly as she twisted and turned in a clumsy, inhibition-free dance. "Do you like pina coladas!" Elle shouted along. "And getting caught in the rain!"
"Elle, you need to quiet down!" Claire interruped, jumping up and grabbing Elle by the shoulders. "The neighbors will complain."
Elle wrested away from Claire's grip, letting her jacket come off in the other girl's grasp. "If you like making love at midnight... write to me and escape..." Elle continued, trying to catch up with the lyrics of the song. She giggled playfully as she continued to evade Claire's attempts to calm her down and shut her up.
Claire, exhausted, sank onto the futon and sighed, deciding to wait for the song to end. Elle took this as some sort of acquiescence. She peeled off her tank top slowly, holding it above her head for a moment. Claire found herself unwittingly mesmerized by Elle's movements, her naked skin, her skewed drunken smile. Elle threw her tank top at Claire's face, snapping her back into the moment.
"Like what you see?" Elle asked, tempting. Claire blushed, and Elle kicked off her shoes. "You're the lady I've come for... come with me and escape!" she sang again, with a little more sincerity. Claire set her hands on her thighs and curled her hands into little fists, partially in indignation, but partially in anticipation as well. Elle unfastened the top of her jeans and leaned against the futon, inviting Claire to peel them down herself. And Claire did.
It was an interesting evening, to say the least, and it was just getting started.
II
Claire used to resent having to babysit her drunken friends all the time.
Key words: used to. Something about an impromptu striptease from an old enemy had changed her mind, as she found herself pulling off Elle Bishop's jeans.
Elle stumbled backwards, struggling to get her pants off. Even with Claire's help, the tight jeans clung to her thighs, and the fabric bunched up around her ankles. She finally managed to kick them off hastily, standing in the middle of Claire's apartment clad only in pink lacy boyshorts and a mismatched polka-dot bra. Obviously she hadn't anticipated doing this tonight.
But what Elle Bishop lacked in preparedness and grace, she made up for in being goddamn hot, Claire thought. The sight of Elle in her underclothes made her breath run hot, and without even thinking, Claire slid her own hand down the front of her jeans and started playing with her clit. Elle noticed, and she smiled deviously. It was encouraging, seeing Claire get off on her good looks.
Another song came on the radio, something much slower and mellow, and Elle rocked back and forth on her feet, hesitant for a moment. Suddenly she spied a wide pashmina draped across the back of Claire's desk chair, and she grabbed it and tied it around her waist. Slowly she gyrated her hips once again, imitating a high-class courtesan in her own imagination.
She stretched her arms upwards and unhurriedly reached behind her, undoing the clasp of her bra and letting the straps fall from her shoulders. She let the bra fall one cup at a time, hiding her breasts behind the palms of her hands as the bra dropped to the floor. Playfully she exposed her breasts to Claire, showing one first for a split-second, then spinning around and revealing the other. Her nipples were pink and perky and perfect, Claire thought, and she leaned back onto her bed and finally pulled her own jeans and panties off. She was getting to wet to keep wearing them.
Elle laughed and lifted her arms above her head, twisting her wrists in a tempting way, letting her breasts jiggle unhindered as she moved. As she edged closer to the futon, Claire reached out and grabbed the pashmina, pulling it away and throwing it to the floor. Now all that came between them was the fancy lace of Elle's panties.
"Elle," Claire finally said, having grown suspiciously silent during Elle's improvised frolicking. "You need to lie down and relax. You look tired."
Elle paused. "I don't know, Pom-Pom," she said. "I have a lot of trouble sleeping at night."
"I think I know a pretty good cure for insomnia," Claire smiled, thinking back to a thing or two she picked up from all those cheerleader sleepovers in high school. She patted the section of futon beside her, and Elle finally assented. As soon as she sat down Claire's hand flew to Elle's waist, and her lips met Elle's in a playful smooch. To her delight, Elle opened her lips and let Claire's tongue inside, just as she opened her legs and let Claire's hand inside there too.
"You're not a bad dancer," Claire lied, as Elle gasped with greater and greater tempo. Invigorated, Claire increased her speed, her fingers pumping in and out of Elle as her thumb circled her clit. Before too long, Elle's lacy pink panties were soaked, and Claire smiled satisfactorily as she made Elle shriek loud enough to make the neighbors complain in the morning.
They slept together that night curled into one another, their blonde hair mingling, their hands clasped together, their limbs intertwined. Neither of them had slept so well in a long, long time.
Characters: Claire/Elle
Rating: R
Word Count: 1300ish
Disclaimer: I don't own any aspect of Heroes or its characters
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for the end of Vol. 3
Summary: Claire takes home a drunken Elle.
A/N: Originally written for the YAHAKM.
Sometimes Claire resented the fact that she wasn't yet twenty-one. She couldn't legally have a drink, and no matter where she went, she always managed to get carded. She'd always end up playing to role of baby-sitter to her inebriated college friends, and she was growing tired of it.
But then, one evening at a dive bar near campus, she ran into a familiar face.
"Hey Pom-Pom," Elle slurred, barely comprehensible as she slurped her drink. "Want to do a shot with me?"
Claire looked from Elle to the bartender, who shook his head. Claire had tried to get him serve her before. "Can't, sorry," she said, although she really wasn't. Getting drunk with someone she thought was dead didn't seem like a great idea, but still she sidled up next to her. "What are you doing here?"
"I can't go back to the Company, I can't go back to Pinehearst," Elle started to ramble. "Angela Petrelli fired me, Sylar tried to kill me, here I am," she concluded, and Claire had to imagine how to fill in the blanks of her story.
"You know they both were destroyed, right?" Claire asked, her voice low. "And now they're rounding up the specials? You better stay out of the way. Everyone thinks you're dead - you're probably safer than anyone. Where are you staying?"
"I don't know," Elle replied, her voice edged with sadness.
Even after all the shit Elle had dragged her through, Claire still felt a pang of sympathy. "Why don't you stay with me?" Claire offerred.
Elle looked at Claire intently, trying to gauge the sincerity of the suggestion. Claire put her hand on Elle's and smiled as sweetly as she could muster. "Sure," Elle said finally.
"Then I'm cutting you off," Claire said, reaching into her wallet and leaving a handful of bills, hoping it was enough to cover the six or seven empty glasses on the countertop.
Claire didn't know what she would do with Elle once she got back to the East Village studio that her grandmother was paying for. She only had a futon and a few extra throw pillows - she wasn't really prepared to have a guest.
As Claire adjusted the futon into narrow double bed. She heard an eruption of laughter from the bathroom. Elle apparently found her shower radio and turned it on, increasing the volume so it could be heard in the rest of the apartment.
"I love this song!" Elle declared as she emerged through the doorway. She gyrated her hips and flung her hair wildly as she twisted and turned in a clumsy, inhibition-free dance. "Do you like pina coladas!" Elle shouted along. "And getting caught in the rain!"
"Elle, you need to quiet down!" Claire interruped, jumping up and grabbing Elle by the shoulders. "The neighbors will complain."
Elle wrested away from Claire's grip, letting her jacket come off in the other girl's grasp. "If you like making love at midnight... write to me and escape..." Elle continued, trying to catch up with the lyrics of the song. She giggled playfully as she continued to evade Claire's attempts to calm her down and shut her up.
Claire, exhausted, sank onto the futon and sighed, deciding to wait for the song to end. Elle took this as some sort of acquiescence. She peeled off her tank top slowly, holding it above her head for a moment. Claire found herself unwittingly mesmerized by Elle's movements, her naked skin, her skewed drunken smile. Elle threw her tank top at Claire's face, snapping her back into the moment.
"Like what you see?" Elle asked, tempting. Claire blushed, and Elle kicked off her shoes. "You're the lady I've come for... come with me and escape!" she sang again, with a little more sincerity. Claire set her hands on her thighs and curled her hands into little fists, partially in indignation, but partially in anticipation as well. Elle unfastened the top of her jeans and leaned against the futon, inviting Claire to peel them down herself. And Claire did.
It was an interesting evening, to say the least, and it was just getting started.
Claire used to resent having to babysit her drunken friends all the time.
Key words: used to. Something about an impromptu striptease from an old enemy had changed her mind, as she found herself pulling off Elle Bishop's jeans.
Elle stumbled backwards, struggling to get her pants off. Even with Claire's help, the tight jeans clung to her thighs, and the fabric bunched up around her ankles. She finally managed to kick them off hastily, standing in the middle of Claire's apartment clad only in pink lacy boyshorts and a mismatched polka-dot bra. Obviously she hadn't anticipated doing this tonight.
But what Elle Bishop lacked in preparedness and grace, she made up for in being goddamn hot, Claire thought. The sight of Elle in her underclothes made her breath run hot, and without even thinking, Claire slid her own hand down the front of her jeans and started playing with her clit. Elle noticed, and she smiled deviously. It was encouraging, seeing Claire get off on her good looks.
Another song came on the radio, something much slower and mellow, and Elle rocked back and forth on her feet, hesitant for a moment. Suddenly she spied a wide pashmina draped across the back of Claire's desk chair, and she grabbed it and tied it around her waist. Slowly she gyrated her hips once again, imitating a high-class courtesan in her own imagination.
She stretched her arms upwards and unhurriedly reached behind her, undoing the clasp of her bra and letting the straps fall from her shoulders. She let the bra fall one cup at a time, hiding her breasts behind the palms of her hands as the bra dropped to the floor. Playfully she exposed her breasts to Claire, showing one first for a split-second, then spinning around and revealing the other. Her nipples were pink and perky and perfect, Claire thought, and she leaned back onto her bed and finally pulled her own jeans and panties off. She was getting to wet to keep wearing them.
Elle laughed and lifted her arms above her head, twisting her wrists in a tempting way, letting her breasts jiggle unhindered as she moved. As she edged closer to the futon, Claire reached out and grabbed the pashmina, pulling it away and throwing it to the floor. Now all that came between them was the fancy lace of Elle's panties.
"Elle," Claire finally said, having grown suspiciously silent during Elle's improvised frolicking. "You need to lie down and relax. You look tired."
Elle paused. "I don't know, Pom-Pom," she said. "I have a lot of trouble sleeping at night."
"I think I know a pretty good cure for insomnia," Claire smiled, thinking back to a thing or two she picked up from all those cheerleader sleepovers in high school. She patted the section of futon beside her, and Elle finally assented. As soon as she sat down Claire's hand flew to Elle's waist, and her lips met Elle's in a playful smooch. To her delight, Elle opened her lips and let Claire's tongue inside, just as she opened her legs and let Claire's hand inside there too.
"You're not a bad dancer," Claire lied, as Elle gasped with greater and greater tempo. Invigorated, Claire increased her speed, her fingers pumping in and out of Elle as her thumb circled her clit. Before too long, Elle's lacy pink panties were soaked, and Claire smiled satisfactorily as she made Elle shriek loud enough to make the neighbors complain in the morning.
They slept together that night curled into one another, their blonde hair mingling, their hands clasped together, their limbs intertwined. Neither of them had slept so well in a long, long time.