Heroes Fan Fiction ❯ Terragaze 1: The Killing Moon ❯ So soon you'll take me up in your arms ( Chapter 3 )

TITLE: Terragaze: The Killing Moon

AUTHOR: TaleWeaver

DISCLAIMER: Any characters you recognise are not mine; they belong to their respective creators and owners. These words, however, are my own

FANDOM / PAIRING: Heroes, Claire/Peter

RATING / CONTENT: NC-17. Sex and death.

SPOILERS: None - this is so AU that Claire and Peter wouldn't recognise themselves. Not so much Alternate Universe as Alternate Reality. Needless to say, they're not related.

PROMPT: Written for 50_alternates, Other worlds. Prompt: Assassin, substituting for #8, Brigadoon.

SUMMARY: Isaac Mendez receives a hefty purse and some valuable insight, and Claire has important news for Peter.

AUTHOUR'S NOTES: while I don't pretend to any sort of historical accuracy (that's the other table of prompts!), this is set in an alternate version of Renaissance Italy, which also affects Peter and Claire's speech patterns - no slang here.

TRANSLATION NOTES: Maestro - Master (used here as a term of both respect and professional superiority, similar to the Japanese `sensei'), fidanzata - sweetheart, il mio amore (my love)

SOUNDTRACK: Isaac is sulking to the tune of `Bouncing off the walls' by Sugarcult, and he and Peter talk over `Gone away' by Cold (simply for the contemplative mood). Peter and Claire's scene is backed by Slipknot's Vermilion part 2 (acoustic version).

 

 

Part three - So soon you'll take me up in your arms

 

 

Two weeks later

 

Isaac was in an absolutely foul mood. Simone was in the depths of chaos, organising her newest idea - a public exhibit of the works of the several artists she arranged sales for in a group - so Isaac had not seen her for longer than five minutes during the past two days, and would not for several more. Not only was Simone a superb cook, and Isaac a very bad one, he missed the sight of her. Not to mention more intimate things.

 

Claire had had to postpone her latest sitting, due to a last-minute assignment in the mountains - Sweet Jesu, but how could anyone living in the mountains build up the coin or enough of a grudge to hire a Dagger? Isaac knew that Claire was only of mid-level rank, due to her youth and countered by her very high level of skill, but even the mid-level were expensive. Isaac had always thought that the mountain-dwellers were too busy keeping themselves fed to bother with things like assassinations. Not to mention, most of them were hunters of some description. Nearly all of them had the skills to perform their own killing.

 

He could go down to his favourite coffee shop or wine-shop and learn the latest gossip, but the thought seemed stale to him. Everything seemed stale, in fact, which was reflecting in his work.

 

Regarding the scraped and re-used piece of canvas in disgust - he knew better than to use his expensive, brand-new canvas when he was in a mood like this, as it was always a waste - Isaac slashed a long, slightly curving vertical line down the canvas, then swept several short horizontal bars out from random points along the curves. It was an interesting symbol, but one without meaning to him.

 

Flinging himself into an armchair dramatically, Isaac contemplated getting disgustingly drunk, just for something to do, but the thought of Simone's reaction stopped him. Perhaps he should have taken Simone - and later Claire - up on the offer to teach him to read? But he knew Simone liked having that skill when he didn't, to counterbalance the inequality of their legal status, though she would never admit to such a shallow thought, not even to herself.

 

When the firmly polite knock came at the door, Isaac raced to the door with glee. Finally, a distraction!

 

Isaac smoothed down his hair, in case it was a prospective client, and opened the door.

 

What in the world was going on? Of the two men at the door, one was obviously a noble - a rich and highly ranked one at that. The other wore the clothing of a servant, but it was beautifully tailored and made of fabric almost as fine as his masters'.

 

“You are the painter Isaac Mendez?” the nobleman asked.

 

Isaac nodded dumbly.

 

“Do you have any pieces ready for sale? I was told that your style of painting might be to my taste.”

 

Isaac hurriedly opened the door wide, and stepped to the side to allow the men through. “Please come in, good sir.”

 

Now he really wished he'd paid closer attention to Claire's ramblings on rank in the court. He had no idea how to address this man, and Isaac could tell he was highly placed. His clothing was rich, though without much in the way of ornamentation - this man either disdained ostentation, or had deliberately dressed down for the sake of discretion. While his speech was perfectly polite, with no hint of condescension, it was obvious that this was a man of power - not the kind of petty nobility who was most important in their own mind, this man's very bearing spoke of someone with real authority, who wielded it regularly. This man was used to having people rearrange their schedules for him - `I have done you the courtesy of showing up at the agreed time; therefore you should be ready for everything and anything. You may have time to waste, but I do not.'

 

While the servant was close to his master's side, in an effort to be discreet, Isaac could hear the man's words. “I still think we should have brought some guards.”

 

The nobleman sighed, his voice verging on exasperation. “I have no need of them, Podesta.”

 

“But, Master, we know there is a recent contract on your life!” the servant urged, his curly auburn hair bristling, despite the neat queue he'd tied it into.

 

“Countermeasures have been taken against the originator, Podesta, and the Guild have accepted the cessation of the contract for their own reasons.”

 

“But, Master-“

 

“Enough!” the nobleman turned to Isaac, and asked, “Are you intending any sort of harm to my person, Master Mendez?”

 

Isaac blinked. “I was hoping you'd give me money for my work, actually. It would be most difficult for that to happen if you were injured or dead.”

 

The nobleman sighed. “See? I appreciate the concern, Podesta, but it is unnecessary. I took care of myself for quite some time before you entered my employ, and I do not believe I have lost the knack for it. The patrol station for the quarter is only a few streets from here, I think. The changing of the patrol should be happening soon - why don't you wander down there and enjoy the view for a while? I only have an hour or so to spare before I am due back at the City Guard offices, so you can meet me back here.”

 

The servant's hazel eyes brightened, and Isaac gathered that this would be a great treat indeed. “If you're sure?”

 

“I will be fine,” his master reassured. “Go.”

 

Isaac decided that getting this servant out of his studio would probably be very helpful in selling a painting - or even two - and directed, “If you turn left with your back to the door, follow the street towards the border wall, until you reach the fifth street on your right. Follow that down for two more streets, and then turn left. That should bring you right to the Patrol station.” Isaac squinted through his precious skylight to judge the position of the sun, and remarked, “The change of patrol should be happening very soon - if you hurry, you should get there just in time.”

 

Isaac blinked away the sun-dazzle to find that the servant had already gone, leaving the front door still swinging.

 

“Well, that's that,” the nobleman said with a smile. “Shall we get down to business?”

 

Isaac smiled back and walked swiftly - but not hurriedly, that implied desperation, which could affect the price - to the racks on the wall that held completed works. This client had no preconceptions about what he wanted, so Isaac showed almost everything - this man was obviously rich enough to make the effort worth it. Though Simone was the one who really understood how to sell his work, Isaac was still aware of the principles of reading a customer. While the reactions to several paintings were encouraging, and the affect one had on the nobleman was very promising, Isaac had the distinct impression that the man was looking for something specific.

 

Moving to the kitchen to bring out wine - the best he and Simone had at the moment, a gift from Claire - Isaac passed the cloak rack, and caught a glimpse of gold at the throat of the pale taupe cloak the nobleman had doffed. A quick glance back showed the nobleman fully occupied with a work that showed the Doge's palace in the shadow of the recent eclipse; everyone in the street of the Soothsayers had predicted a huge disaster, so Isaac and Claire had laughed until they rolled on the floor when the eclipse came and went... and absolutely nothing happened. Isaac took a good look at the engraved coat-clasp, and nearly dropped the wine bottle.

 

The clasp bore the emblem of the house of Petrelli.

 

Not the coat of arms, which would indicate a direct employee, but the emblem, only worn by members of the house itself.

 

Isaac took another look at the man before the canvas, his mind working rapidly. His customer looked to be in his mid-twenties. The Doge was nearing forty, and never, ever, left the palace without a full compliment of both Guards and Patrol. His sons were still children, and the Petrelli line had never been a very fruitful one. This meant that his visitor was none other than Prince Peter, younger brother of the Doge and fourth in line to the throne.

 

The Prince was now looking intently - searchingly - at one of Isaac's oldest unsold works. It featured the blurred figure of a girl in a simple dress with a tight bodice and a single layer of full skirts, outlined only in shadows, gracefully dancing in a deep forest, the ground dappled in sunlight. Until recently, it had been his best attempt at capturing Claire's deadly yet innocent grace, and it was the very first painting she'd ever posed for. The Prince was looking at the figure... as if it was somehow familiar to him.

 

With one of the dazzling strokes of inspiration that only struck him before his best works, Isaac remembered that the Prince had said he had been told about Isaac and his art. Who had told him? He was a noble-

 

-and Claire had said her lover was a highly placed noble. Claire had borrowed the outfit from her latest portrait to show her lover, and the Prince was looking for a specific painting, one that he had not yet found, yet seemed quite certain was here.

 

Could his young friend truly have reached such heights? But if anyone had the courage, wits, and sheer nerve to dance along the high-wire of loving royalty, it was Claire.

 

“Wine, my Prince?”

 

The other man nodded in thanks, reaching for the goblet, before staring at Isaac. “How did you know?”

 

Isaac nodded towards the cloak that hung near the entry, and decided to gamble on his speculation. “If you have not found anything you truly wish to purchase among my finished works, I have several pieces that are still being worked upon. One of them in particular might interest you - I do not boast when I say it is probably the best I have ever done.”

 

Isaac took the current mishmash off his easel, and gently carried over the almost-finished portrait of Claire. The Prince took one look at the portrait, and froze. Isaac only had to look at the man's face to know that his wild hunch was correct. This was Claire's lover - not only in body, but heart.

 

Still enraptured by the painting, the Prince reached inside the front opening of his tunic and rummaged around briefly, before withdrawing a medium-sized purse, and tossed it to Isaac. Despite not looking, the toss landed perfectly in Isaac's hands.

 

“I hope this is sufficient.”

 

Isaac looked in the pouch and his eyes widened - it was at least four times what he'd been paid for any other painting.

 

“Quite sufficient,” Isaac replied. “The work won't be finished for another week yet, my model is unavailable for a few days.”

 

“Yes,” the Prince remarked absently. He sipped the wine as he continued to study the painting, his eyes tracing along the lines of Claire's figure, then holding fast on her face for long moments. “You are very gifted, Master Mendez; you have managed to capture her heart on the canvas.”

 

“Claire was thinking of her lover when I painted this.” Eyeing the man beside him, Isaac added softly, “She will not name him directly, but she holds him in highest regard, so I cannot think any less of him. She also holds him in deepest affection, though it is strange to her. I can only hope that he realizes just how blessed he is.”

 

Peter's voice was hoarse. “A man who entrusts his heart to a Dagger - could only find the courage to do so if he held her so dear there was no other choice.”

 

“Indeed,” Isaac murmured, and withdrew to the other side of the studio to give the Prince some privacy. He'd never dared to paint such raw emotion on a man's face.

 

After a few minutes, the Prince cleared his throat. “I'll take two others, as well. The Palace in the eclipse, and the shadow-dancer.” He fished out another purse, and asked, “Two gold pieces?”

 

“More than enough,” Isaac assured him. He would have sold them for eight silvers apiece - he would have included them in the original purse, actually, but if the Prince wanted to give him more money, who was he to object? Especially since he had the distinct impression that his best model was going to be extremely limited in her poses from now on.

 

 

Two nights later

 

It was very late at night, but Peter still couldn't sleep. He hadn't seen Claire for a full week, and he was worried. Claire was her own person, and Peter would never dream of asking her to account for her time, but... Claire was in a dangerous profession. She was highly trained in that profession, but accidents happened all the time. Claire had last visited him the night before she left for her assignment in the mountains - she hadn't said how she was reaching the target. Could her city-bred horse have been spooked by a wood-noise and thrown her? Could her cart have been tossed by some kind of landslide? Hell, could she have eaten the wrong kind of berry in the forest and accidentally poisoned herself?

 

Peter shook his head and sighed. The first two were not out of the realm of possibility, given just how steep the mountain passes tended to be, but the last was ridiculous. He had no training in woodcraft, but anyone growing up in the court of Terragaze and aware of its history had a fair acquaintance with poisons. If Peter had a decent idea of how many edible items in the woods were poisonous in total or in part, then Claire would know ten times more. If she lost her provisions for some reason, she would simply kill and eat a wild rabbit, or catch a fish in a stream - she'd given him an account once of how to catch a fish bare-handed. Peter still had doubts about trout being ticklish, but Claire had no reason to lie to him.

 

Sitting up in bed, Peter propped himself up on the pillows and looked to the wall opposite his bed, where he'd hung his new painting. He couldn't see it's details in the near dark, but he already knew them by heart. He hadn't had to ask Mendez who had posed for the dancing figure, he'd recognised it immediately. And when he saw the unfinished portrait of Claire, in that outfit that had set his very flesh on fire... well, he'd ached very badly for Claire that night.

 

“Is the moon too bright for your comfort?”

 

Peter was barely startled - had he somehow sensed Claire's approach through the halls? The full moon was too dangerous for her to climb up to his window, as she normally would.

 

Claire was wearing her cloak with the dull silvery-grey lining on the outside, to better fit in with the moonlight. The hood was still up, throwing her face into deep shadow. Peter couldn't discern her expression, try as he might, and an uneasy feeling started to creep along his skin.

 

“I haven't seen you for a week. I was starting to think something had happened to you.”

 

“It did. My courses started almost a week ago.”

 

“And now?”

 

“It is of no consequence.”

 

The uneasy feeling morphed into full-blown alarm, as Claire walked halfway to the bed, and informed him, “Sylar is dead, my prince. Mohinder, the new Duke of Suresh, somehow obtained the details of who killed his father - and that his father's long and painful passing was solely by Sylar's choosing. He hired another Dagger to kill Sylar in a retaliatory strike.”

 

“How could even another Dagger get so close?” Peter asked absently. Claire feared - had feared - Sylar greatly; he very much doubted she had feared without reason.

 

“Actually, I know who the Dagger was - Eden was one of my Maestro's pupils before me. One of Sylar's main traits was his arrogance - he never would have believed that a strike against him would be contracted, let alone sanctioned. Eden's main skill is persuasion and disguise - she is usually assigned spying or intelligence work. If anyone could get Sylar to see her as harmless, even up to the very strike point, it is she. Her ranking has taken a huge leap, now, as well as her income - the new Duke of Suresh was very generous.”

 

Peter took a deep breath. “And who will your husband be now?”

 

Claire shook her head slowly. “It was one particular member of the Council who insisted upon my breeding now. He was found dead when another member of the Council went to inform him of Sylar's death. My Maestro is also a member of the Council, and he persuaded the others that there was no need to rush me into childbed - even with modern medicines, it can still be as hazardous an undertaking as any assignment. I show all the skills necessary to live for some time yet. The situation will be reassessed on my twenty-first birthday.”

 

Claire paused a moment, then added quietly, “I've already started to take the contraceptive potion again.”

 

Peter sighed, with only a twinge of regret. While he wanted children - and he wanted this woman to be their mother, her strength and beauty and passion joined with his in a separate housing of flesh and blood - he also wanted to be their father.

 

“It's probably just as well. I agreed to give away a child when it was the only way, but now it is not necessary... I wish to have a hand in raising all my children.”

 

Taking a deep breath as pleasurable anticipation warmed his blood, Peter held out a hand to his cloaked lover, and asked, “Come to bed, Claire. I haven't tasted you for a week, and I crave you.”

 

Claire pushed the hood of her cloak back, finally baring her face, and something about its resolution frightened him. “I told you, Peter, I no longer need a child.”

 

Biting his lip nervously, Peter kept his voice light, so as not to alarm her. “Then come to my bed for pleasure - it's why most people do so, after all.”

 

“It's not appropriate, to indulge in what's unneeded.” Even though her face was unwavering, her eyes screamed.

 

Peter threw his remaining shreds of pride to the wind and rolled out of bed to stand before her, reaching out to swiftly grab her hands in his, as he desperately pleaded, “Please, Claire, don't take this from me. I don't know what exactly is between us... but I need it.”

 

Claire gave a tortured sigh and asked in near-despair, “What is it about you that makes my mind so fuddled and yet so clear at the same time? That makes my senses reel and my body ache for you?”

 

She moved closer to him, as close as she could without their bodies actually touching, even as the words poured from her lips fervently. “Every time I leave you, I wish to come back, and every moment I spend with you I wish to last longer. When one of the apprentices does something silly, or when Isaac tells me a funny story about one of his clients, I do my best to remember the details so that I can share it with you and make you laugh. When a problem besets me, I wish your counsel. When I smile, I want to see you smile in return. When I rage, I want to scream at you until we resolve things by fucking so fiercely we scream together in pleasure. When I want to weep, I wish that you could hold me.”

 

Peter's eyes lit up, and his wide smile glowed more brightly than the sun, before he snatched her into his arms, hugging so tightly she could barely breathe, before capturing her lips with his, kissing her so tenderly she almost melted. “I love you too, Claire.”

 

“Oh!” Claire exclaimed. “Is that what it is?”

 

Peter nodded, his smile even brighter, if that was possible.

 

Claire smiled and placed her hands on his shoulders, then sprang, wrapping her legs around his waist, and Peter's hands instinctively went underneath her backside to support her. “Then make love with me, Peter. Make love with me now.”

 

“Il mio amore,” Peter sighed as he carried her to the bed, his shaft already eager and ready for her, “You have only to ask.”

 

Peter laid her down on the bed tenderly, laying his torso over hers with the most gentle pressure, supporting himself on his elbows so that he wouldn't crush her with his chest - her presence was so much bigger than her tiny body, it still astonished him sometimes.

 

With a wicked grin, Claire bucked and rolled, leaving him flat on his back with her straddling his loins, her hands pinning his wrists to the bed. “I want to be on top this time,” she told him.

 

Delighted that Claire was finally taking the dominant position, Peter sighed in mock-resignation. “Very well. I suppose I'll just have to settle for the magnificent view from down here.”

 

Claire straightened and hopped off the bed. Frightened again, Peter sat up in alarm. “Claire - “

 

He stopped and gave a sigh of relief at Claire's loving, sexy smile. Whatever her plans for the immediate future, she obviously wasn't going anywhere. His own smile of relief turned into one of sensual appreciation and anticipation, as Claire undid her cloak and let it slide from her shoulders to puddle in a shaft of moonlight.

 

Just as she had on their first night together, Claire stripped for him. She twisted and turned to keep her eyes locked on his face as she gradually pulled back the layers of clothing with a seductive grace that was entirely natural, with nothing of her courtesan's training about it. This was Claire's sensuality coming forth, and nothing else. Even the assorted weapons she pulled from her clothing to make a separate pile became part of her performance, making her self-induced disarmament an act of sensual surrender in itself.

 

When his beloved was clothed in nothing but moonlight, she moved forward with the grace of a huge wild feline Peter had once seen in the zoo - a languorous predator, intent upon her mate and resolute in her intention. In response, Peter scooted backwards, so that their whole bodies could rest on the bed. Claire took his movement as the invitation it was, and crawled up his body, her breasts and backside swaying back and forth in a rhythm that had him hypnotised.

 

Peter sighed in contentment at the feeling of her skin on top of his, as Claire laid full length on top of him. She had made sure that their faces were close enough to kiss, meaning that his straining member was left to quiver in the air beneath her opening, the distance between their sex organs too great to bridge - for now. Claire lowered her face to his, her golden blonde hair falling around his head to puddle on the bed sheets in a curtain that blocked off everything but the sight of her face, and gently rubbed her lips over his. His breath shuddered out when she touched his lips to his, and Peter's mouth opened for her eagerly. Claire slid her tongue inside, stroking over his, the tip flicking over his palate in a way that made him moan. But she kept playing his lips delicately, letting the moment spin out. Trailing her mouth down his jaw line, sliding her tongue over warm, smooth skin, savouring the flavour of his flesh. She brought her lips back to his, deepening the kiss until the pleasure sent her mind swimming

 

Peter's hands roamed over Claire's slim, hard-muscled back, delighting in the feel of her skin underneath his palms. They slid down to cup her small, tight buttocks, rubbing until Claire's body writhed against his, before sliding further down to caress the backs of her thighs, making them part to invite his touch on the sensitive skin. Her eyes flew open, glazed and huge, to lock on his own. Her lips trembled but all that emerged was a trembling moan.

 

Claire realised that she was straddling his abdomen now, and braced herself on her elbows to lift her body off of his. Holding back a whine at the loss of skin on skin contact, she dragged herself up far enough to dangle her breasts temptingly in his face. Peter instantly took the hint, mouthing the firm globe then licking at her hard nipple before drawing it between his lips. Claire moaned and her hips rocked back and forth, trying to get such much-needed pressure on her tingling clit by grinding her nether lips against his hard abdominal muscles.

 

But it wasn't working, and in response to her moan of frustration, Peter simply switched to her other breast, and one of his hands left the upper inside of her thigh to snake between their bodies, skilfully rubbing where she needed it. Claire sighed partly in pleasure and partly in relief, wetness leaking from her core to paint a glistening trail across his flat stomach as her hips swished back and forth in response to his intimate touch.

 

She was so very close, and then... Peter stopped!

 

“Claire,” Peter gasped, “I need to be sheathed between your legs, or your mouth sucking on me. Now.”

 

Claire gave him a feline smirk that somehow actually managed to make him harder. “Are you ready to come for me, Peter?”

 

Peter clenched his teeth in order to hold back his climax. Even his Christian name on this woman's lips aroused him!

 

“I think I'd like to try that,” Claire purred. “Touching and caressing you until you spill into the air.”

 

Peter looked at his lover in near-desperation. “Dagger or no, you couldn't be so cruel.”

 

Claire giggled throatily. “Not now, Peter. I'll try that another night, and a time when we've already made love at least once already. But then,” she rose on her knees, above his body, “I'm impatient to have you inside me, too.”

 

Giving him a loving smile, she eased her soaking core down his aching cock, so slowly he almost screamed. But then he was deep inside her, as far as he could be, and Peter could breathe again. He never wanted to forget how she looked at this moment, with her eyes smoky and her skin warmed with passion.

 

Claire didn't rise and lower herself on his staff, not wanting to lose a single inch of him from her body. Instead, she rocked back and forth, occasionally leaning forward and bracing herself on her arms so that she could angle her hips to rub her clit against his groin. Peter reached up to cup her breasts, gently rubbing them and Claire bit her lip until it bled, to keep from screaming her pleasure. Instead, she gave a smothered cry and let her climax sweep her away. Her inner muscles convulsed around Peter's phallus, once, twice, and then he joined her in orgasm with a strangled groan.

 

Claire collapsed panting onto her lover's chest, before pressing a gentle kiss over his tender, strong heart. Peter was a Prince, she was a Dagger. They were so far apart, they could spend the rest of their lives without breathing the same air while the sun was high. But when darkness fell, he was her man as she was his woman. She would take all that he could give, and ask for nothing more.

 

FINI

 

*sigh * Well, that's it for story number one. How'd I do?