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aunt_zeldaTitle:
Rating: R. ‘Claude’ swears, ‘Elle’ talks dirty, there’s a bunch of smex.
Characters: Mr. Rolex, Naveen Atlas, Janny Dasher, Martin Michelangelo, The Ghost, Bethany, Maraschino Sherri, Yukio Matayashi, Cain, Charlotte (Sylar, Mohinder, Molly, Peter, Claude, Claire, Elle, Hiro, Adam, Charlie)
Series:
Pairings: (sort of, read below) Mylar, Plaude, Kiro, Elle/Claire, Chiro (yeah, HET, you got a problem with Chiro: take it up with management!)
Word Count: 2,766
Warnings: Watch Heroes, Seasons 1 AND 2. Otherwise, it’s not safe here for you here.
Disclaimer: If any of us owned Heroes, Claude would not have left.
Summary: The people and creatures of
My Thoughts: I know I haven’t posted any slash in forever and I haven’t been reading fics but I was at a funeral last week and tomorrow/today play rehearsals begin.
So! *claps hands* Here it ‘tis! What I promised: ![[info]](https://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
tessykins! This was mostly was written between nine-in-the-afternoon and one-in-the-morning, so bear with my mistakes and please point them out, I had no time for a beta! (Just you wait,aussievamp …)
I’m posting a lot more stuff tonight: prepare to be BOMBARDED with bad Doctor/Master fanfiction!
(The name ‘Yukio’ means ‘happy man.’)
http://aunt-zelda.livejournal.com/43977.html - go to the very end for the drabbles that started it all
http://aunt-zelda.livejournal.com/45809.html - ditto
Mr. Rolex stepped out onto the street, glanced back up at Naveen Atlas’ apartment, allowed himself a smug-smile, and set off into the rainy night, still snapping his fingers mechanically.
Just before he rounded the corner, a man stepped out from the shadows of a nearby doorway. He was a dark-skinned man who wore a cerulean-blue suit and a red tie. His hair was shaggy and black and the tips were yellow like daffodils.
There were many rumors about this man, whose name was ‘Martin Michelangelo.’ Most called him a saint. Some called him a murderer. Nearly everyone had seen or knew someone who had seen ‘the man with asphodel in his hair’ in the city.
Martin Michelangelo was behind the destruction of the Shrapnel Corporation, had pulled thirteen children out of a crashed and burning plane, slept with all the Chancellor of Essex’s wives (some said all at once), uncovered the Giovanni’s political scandal, robbed a train crossing the center of the city in broad daylight, and, whenever he was passing by, saved women and men from rape-gangs or muggers and thrown bags of money through the windows of poor families’ houses.
Martin Michelangelo was also ‘haunted by ghosts.’ Not that anyone really believed in ghosts, at least, not the ‘conventional’ kind, but Martin Michelangelo was usually seen speaking to things that weren’t there … shadows, really, that talked back.
Shadowmen were nothing new, and Martin Michelangelo wasn’t the only person in the city who could communicate them, but he was the most famous to do so. He could also drive them away from people they were badgering. Hence the ‘saint’ title.
Martin scowled as he gazed after Mr. Rolex. Then he glanced up at Naveen Atlas’ apartment with concern before turning on his heel and setting off in the opposite direction as Mr. Rolex.
“Just gonna let him run away? After what he did to what’s-his-name, the hot bloke with the daughter and the-weight-of-the-world on his shoulders?”
It wasn’t Martin who’d spoken.
Martin sighed and didn’t respond to the voice.
“Oh yeah, you won’t answer me: ’cause I’m just another one of yer ghosts, bumblebee-boy!” the voice snapped with a harsh accent. “Is that what you tell yerself every night when you snuggle up with yer latest trollop? I’m just another voice … I’m not wanking off in the corner and watching yer face when ya come? Oh, Antigone!” the voice moaned the last bit in a bad imitation of Martin.
“Shut up!” Martin yelled, whirling around. “Shut up! Shut up!” he roared at the air.
The voice only laughed: it was behind Martin now. “Oh, go on, bumblebee: exorcize me.” Martin was given a bit of a shove. “It’s the only way and you know it.”
Martin rolled his eyes. “You’re not dead: you’re just hiding in the shadows.”
“Ya can still exorcize me … or are ya saving that ghastly form of execution fer the Tick-Tock man?”
Martin sighed, scratching his head. “If you must know: yes, I am. He deserves that. You don’t.”
“Don’t I?” the voice asked menacingly.
Martin was suddenly seized by the shoulders and slammed into a wall. Hot breath was on his neck.
“What would the good citizens of Nightmare Land think if they saw their savoir, their saint, the great hero Martin Michelangelo, being shagged against the wall like a whore?” the voice demanded breathlessly.
Martin closed his eyes and let the tension out of his body. “I’m sure some would be wanking off in the corner like you … most would avert their eyes … a few would want to join in … hardly any would loose faith in me, though. One act of lust doesn’t erase a lifetime of good deeds.”
The voice laughed. “Oh, but it wouldn’t be one act of lust bumblebee-boy. We’ve done it, oh, how many times this week? And over the past six months … it’ll be a year we’ve been together this autumn … not so saintly now, are ya, dirty girl?”
Martin sighed: an invisible hand was groping him rather insistently. “Don’t suppose I could persuade you to conduct … this … somewhere more private?”
“Not a chance …” the voice hissed. There was a pause in which Martin began to breathe heavily. The voice said, “If yer so worried about the torch-bearing villagers seeing ya like this, why don’tcha join me?”
Martin paled. “You mean … no. No no no no no! I’m a paladin! I can’t just fade into the shadows for a shag with a Shadowman!”
The voice snarled. “Oh, but yer fine with being groped on empty streets and screwing shiny little girls into creaking mattresses while a Shadowman watches and touches himself without the girls’ consent of knowledge! Heaven and hell and purgatory forbid ya sink so low as to hide in shame of what yer doing!” suddenly Martin’s tie was pulled off and began to twirl in the air like a red snake. “Want me ta tie ya up, saint? Make it look like ya didn’t want it? Didn’t need it? Convince people the shadows don’t keep ya going, keep ya on yer feet … or yer knees?”
A pair of hands shoved Martin down onto the ground. Martin winced as his knees hit the wet pavement.
“Oh, I’ve got a better idea, bumblebee …” the tie was suddenly pressed over Martin’s eyes. “I’ll join ya in the real world …”
There was a crackling noise, like something popping in a campfire, and a pair of hotter, heavier hands secured the tie around Martin’s eyes and ran through Martin’s hair.
“Oh no …” Martin whispered, fists clenched at his sides. “Someone might see …”
“What they can’t see won’t hurt them, bumblebee …” suddenly scorching lips were pressing over Martin’s own, sending painful jolts through Martin’s entire body. Martin felt like a sudden monsoon had washed his outer shell away, leaving behind something dusty and gray and glittering that seemed to represent his soul.
“There now … ain’t that better?” the tie was tugged off of Martin’s eyes and he faced the owner of the voice: a vague shape that was as dusty and gray and glittering as Martin felt, as he knew he looked too.
Martin smiled, sending shafts of black-light towards the Shadowman. “Let’s do this …”
~*~
A Samurai stood in the window of his apartment, peering down onto the street below. A brawl was breaking out between two gangs. Nothing serious, just fists for the moment: kids blowing off steam.
The scantily-clad red-head came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Come back to bed, honey, it’s hours until morning …”
He turned to face her: she was pale and thin and beautiful, a waitress in the café next door. He loved her and she loved him. In the old days, that was enough.
“I have to do something first.” he gently detached her arms from his body and hurried over to the chair, strapping on his body-armor and katana stiffly.
“Don’t go out there, baby, it’s chaos!” the red-head pleaded half-heartedly, slipping on a woolen robe. “You might not even find him –”
“I always find him, Charlotte, I always find him, that’s the problem …” the Samurai finished dressing and gave the red-head a quick, sweet kiss. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Their eyes locked. They both knew that wasn’t a guarantee. He could stay with him until morning, be waylaid by some dilemma, or even die out there.
The Samurai sighed. “I love you, Charlotte.”
“I love you, too, Yuki …”
And he was gone. Literally. (All Samurai had minor teleportation abilities,
~*~
Yuki materialized next to a flickering streetlamp and was promptly tackled by another Samurai. This one was blond and taller than Yuki. His name was Cain and he smelled, as usual, of alcohol. He roughly pinned Yuki’s arms to the ground and smirked at Yuki’s katana, which lay on the ground a few feet from them.
“Trying to kill me again? You disappoint me, happy man …” Cain’s foul breath wafted down at Yuki, who resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose.
“I disappoint you? How many drinks have you had today, Cain?” Yuki threw back.
Cain’s brown furrowed in recollection. Yuki took advantage of his distraction and threw Cain off, snatching up his sword and leaping to his feet.
Cain – on his knees on the wet asphalt – looked up at the Samurai towering above him with the drawn katana and laughed. “Oh, go on, Yukio Matayashi! Remove my head. You know it’s the only way. Unless you want to stab me in the heart with a pencil?” he pulled his jacket open like a flasher.
Yuki stiffened, staring at Cain with eyes that radiated hatred and guilt.
Cain waited a few moments, then stood up, running a hand through his short blond hair. “Well, if you’re not going to kill me, care to have a few drinks at my place?”
~*~
The lights flickered three times in
It came three minutes later. A voice that wasn’t
“Evening, glitter-girl,” the other voice said, creeping up towards
“Evening, mystery-mistress …”
“How could you? I didn’t tell you when I’d be back …” the voice was lightly amused, not condescending like
“I hoped … I daydream about you a lot … especially when I’m with a guy.”
“Little slut …” the voice chuckles, straddling
“I’m only me when I’m with you,”
“Oh, I leave behind hairs, don’t I? However do you explain that to mommy and daddy?” the voice giggled, unexpectedly thrusting again.
“I … don’t …”
“I understand …” the voice said. “You wanna love me without the lights. I can snap my fingers and make the lights disappear.” she slid down and licked
~*~
“Do you care that I could kill you right now?” Cain asked, sipping from a blue bottle and idly glancing at Yuki, who was stone-cold sober.
“I have failed at the vow I took when I joined the Samurai. I don’t deserve to live anymore …” Yuki whispered, avoiding Cain’s eyes.
“What about your girlfriend? Spider-what’s-her-name?” Cain asked.
“
“Knew it was something to do with a spider …” Cain uncorked a new bottle and offered it to Yuki, who shook his head, disgusted. “It’s not blood, Yuki, what kind of a friend would I be if I gave you STDs that way?”
Yuki glared at him. “That’s not funny, Cain. Just because you’re immune to anything –”
“Yeah yeah yeah, Yuki. Be thankful I gave your girlfriend a syringe with what’s pumping through my veins, or you wouldn’t even have her now, would you? Not that you do much with her … a shag here, a shag there, swing by my place for some real sex, another fling with your girl …”
Yuki seized Cain by the shirtfront and slammed him into the wall. “Don’t you talk about her like that!” he hissed.
Cain swung Yuki around, pinning him to the wall instead. “You were just saying you don’t deserve to live anymore … does that mean I can bite you without being charged with murder?”
Yuki jerked his head to the side, baring his neck. “Go ahead! I want to know what your whores feel like! You’re already screwing me like one of them!”
Cain hesitated for ten long seconds, then leaned forward and sank his teeth into Yuki’s neck.
Yuki let out one deep sigh and slipped out of reality to the beat of his own heart …
Yuki glanced down the hallway. Cain stood at the far end, skulking in blue light and shadows. At the other end of the hallway stood
The symbolism wasn’t lost on him. Yuki rolled his eyes, then stared down in horror as he began to spit out his own teeth.
~*~
“I do not like green eggs and ham: I am a vegan Sam-I-Am!” chanted the schoolgirls. There were about twenty or so, all clad in rainbow skirts, white blouses, white kneesocks, and red shoes. Janny Dasher was in the back row, her long mahogany hair streaked with red-orange for the special occasion.
Naveen Atlas clapped along with the other parents. He was standing at the back – he’d arrived just in time for Janny’s class.
“Aren’t they just adorable?”
Naveen started: Mr. Rolex was suddenly standing beside him, wearing a bowler hat and aviator glasses. He was almost certain he could hear a steady tick-tock noise eminating from the terrifying man.
“What are you doing here?” Naveen whispered, breaking out into a cold sweat as he simultaneously feared for Janny’s life, her classmates’, the teachers’, the other parents’, and his own.
“I came to ask you out on a date. There’s a tea shop just round the corner I’m quite fond of.”
Naveen stared at him.
Mr. Rolex took off his sunglasses and slipped them into a pocket. “Alternatively, I can kill a few of these people, arrange for your daughter to be carried-off by some rather nasty creatures, and then take you to my place and fuck you senseless.” Mr. Rolex cocked his head to the side. “What do you say, Doctor?”
Naveen resisted the urge to shudder. “Lead on, Mr. Rolex …”
Mr. Rolex’s smile was a gradual procedure, slowly creeping up his face, eventually forming something rather terrifying.
Naveen thanked Shiva that Janny was having a sleepover that night.
Five minutes later they were seated in a café type place in which colorful balls floated in the air and a dark-skinned woman with banana-colored lips and a red bob was singing, making the lights flicker every time she snapped her castanets. A sign in front of the stage read ‘Maraschino Sherri: Singer, Electrolyte, Professional Girlfriend.’
Despite the expensive tea and the obvious classiness of the tea shop, Naveen got the feeling that something else was going on here. ‘Professional Girlfriend’ mean ‘prostitute’ and he didn’t like how Mr. Rolex leering at him wasn’t drawing any concerned glances.
“How long are you going to keep this up? I thought I … repaid you for saving Janny’s life.” Naveen eyed the cup of tea Mr. Rolex had ordered for him warily.
“Oh, come on, what’s a cup of tea between sworn enemies, Doctor?” Mr. Rolex sipped from his own cup in a meticulous fashion, rearranging the flowers in the middle of the table with a flicker of annoyance.
Naveen drank some of the tea, hoping it wasn’t drugged and he’d end up in some hell-hole, stark naked and tied to a bed with Mr. Rolex laughing in precise, half-measure beats.
“Regrettably for you, Doctor, I’ve developed a taste for you which can’t be satisfied by quickies against walls.” Mr. Rolex smiled quickly this time, so that the last thing Naveen Atlas saw before one of the colorful balls hit him on the head and knocked him unconscious was Mr. Rolex’s ghastly, triumphant smile.
