Heroes Fan Fiction ❯ Terragaze : Death by Moonlight ❯ Chapter 1

Intro: I recently signed up for Peter/Claire at 50_alternates, picking the Fantasy prompts. This interlude isn't one of them. But it was the first finished, which is why Claire and Peter are a little harder-edged than in The Killing Moon.

 

Welcome to Terragaze, a citystate bordered by desert, mountains, and ocean, in an alternate-reality Renaissance Italy. The House of Petrelli have ruled here for four generations, in an atmosphere of elegance, intrigue and power. In this place, only the strong and lucky survive, and the ruthless and determined flourish. Prince Peter, younger brother of Doge Nathan, has spent his life in search of something he could never quite identify - until he fell in love with the teenage blonde assassin sent to kill him. Now, his dangerous love is spurring him into growing into his full potential, both as a lover, and a leader of men.

 

 

TITLE: Terragaze: Death by Moonlight

AUTHOR: TaleWeaver

DISCLAIMER: Claire and Peter aren't mine, they belong to Tim Kring and NBC. Original characters and these words are mine, though.

FANDOM / PAIRING: Heroes, Peter/Claire

RATING / CONTENT: NC-17. Language, m/f sex, voyeurism, OC threesome with implications of incest.

SPOILERS: Many of the characters will be familiar, but the setting isn't even in the same reality as canon Heroes! This is not just an AU, but an AR - alternate reality, which is why Claire and Peter have such different speech patterns. Hopefully, they're still in character. Spoilers for `The Killing Moon' and possible foreshadowing for the as-yet unnamed sequel.

SUMMARY: Peter Petrelli, prince of Terragaze, is at an extremely boring court function, when his assassin-lover, Claire of the Dagger, infiltrates the party on business - and their mutual pleasure.

DEDICATION: I started out writing this as an entry in frellingblonde's paire pornathon, while in the middle of `The Killing Moon', and I was astonished at how easily this flowed. Once I'd finished it, I discovered it was several days late and four and a half pages too long. So I extended it again, and decided to post it anyway. So, this is dedicated to frellingblonde instead, in hopes that she'll accept this in lieu of the original smutfic I promised her, and then forgot what I was going to write. Hope she likes it!

SOUNDTRACK: “Death by Moonlight”, Rhea's Obsession, and “Come to me (instrumental version), Brad Fiedel. Otherwise known as the love theme from Fright Night. I've got the mp3 if anyone wants it?

TRANSLATION NOTES: cara mia - my dear, bella - beautiful, fidanzata - sweetheart, il mio amore - my love

 

 

Light from the chandeliers danced through the ballroom. It's reflections made the metal goblets shine, and gleamed off the satin, silk and glass beads that made up the formal gowns, shirts, and tunics. Sparkles danced in the jewels worn by the courtiers who trod the stately measures of the latest dance on the black-and-white marble floor, sat in antechambers to gamble for high stakes, and gathered along the walls to conjecture or gossip - sometimes both at the same time - about the other guests.

 

This was bidding to be the social event of the summer, with all of the richest and most noble citizens of Terragaze in attendance. The air practically hummed with glamour and intrigue, between the powerful and the beautiful. This was the sort of setting that novels were written about, and young people of the middle and lower classes could only fantasise about.

 

Peter, Prince of the House of Petrelli, was so bored he was about to fall asleep on his feet.

 

To him, this was nothing more than one more night of fending off sycophants, eager to use him to secure the ear of the Doge, and avoiding gossips who had nothing better to do than speculate about things that were none of their business. The few friends he had in court were busy mingling with the crowed, intent upon their own purposes, and Peter couldn't blame them for that - after all, he did much the same on occasion in support of his family. The many friends he had outside of the court could not attend.

 

Catching sight of a voluminous ball gown in a distinctive shade of bright pink - unlike any seen in the court before - Peter's eyes widened and he checked for the nearest escape route. The Baroness Orsini, an immigrant from the citystate of Venezia, was determined to get him married to her eldest granddaughter, an incredibly plain girl so withdrawn that Peter had never heard her speak. Besides the fact that Sophia's piety could only be the result of a true vocation for the church, the Petrelli family was not one to be joined by the faint of heart - even with the best of intentions, one such as her would be eaten alive.

 

And the intentions were downright hostile. Nathan regarded the Orsinis as a waste of city resources, and Peter's mother was coldly furious that a `jumped-up tourist who didn't know when to go home' presumed to the ruling family. But Baroness Orsini, like most social climbers, was oblivious to contempt - and had proven to be the first person in living memory to be subjected to Angela's most freezing stare, and be completely unaffected.

 

In the usual mode for this type of person, the Baroness had a most penetrating voice and never took hints to end a conversation. If Peter let her catch him, he would be subjected to nearly an hour of insultingly personal remarks and unsubtle `hints', while thoroughly entertaining the crowd in all directions.

 

Spying a gap in the crowd, Peter ducked, twisted, and at one point nearly crawled in a most undignified manner, until he stood near the glass doors that opened to the terrace and the gardens.

 

Feeling invisible icicles run down his spine, Peter froze and turned his head to meet his mother's hard gaze. Grimacing in apology, Peter jerked his head to the Baroness' last position. As if on cue, the scratchy voice soared above the noise of the string musicians, and a look of understanding came over Angela's face. Nodding, she silently indicated that she would cover his retreat.

 

Sighing in relief - God knew that if anyone was capable of fending off the Baroness, his mother was - Peter ducked out to the terrace, to wait for an opportunity to sneak through the gardens and retreat to his own rooms, where he could quietly wait out the rest of the party with some good wine and a roaring fire.

 

It was just a pity, Peter mused wistfully, that his only company would be his newest novel. His beloved Claire, blessed with the courage of a lion, the beauty of a sunrise, and the hungry passion of a succubus, was occupied elsewhere tonight; and even if he had been the type to dictate to a woman, a person of intelligence did not presume to give orders to one of the finest assassins that the Guild of the Blade had ever produced.

 

When the flash of pale gold caught his eye, Peter thought it a mere product of his own longings. But when his eyes found the slender, graceful figure in the midnight blue ball gown, he realised with a start that it wasn't his imagination. Claire was really here. Though only seventeen summers, Claire moved through the crowded ballroom as if she'd been doing so for years, carrying herself with the bearing of one born and bred to the heights of society.

 

If Claire was here, that meant that one of the nobles' intrigues had turned deadly. Peter ducked into the shadows to hide his frown of sorrow, as he morbidly wondered who would die tonight, and by whose orders. Being born and raised at the highest level of power meant that he knew that death was a part of life in the court. He had even come to reluctantly accept that in some cases it was necessary, but he had never liked it. At least it would be quick; he knew for a fact that Claire refused any assignment involving torture, and the only one of her targets that had died slowly had been the child-rapist. Trying to turn his mind to a more constructive path, he mentally rearranged his schedule for the morrow, as he would probably be spending several hours closeted with Nathan and their mother trying to unravel the motives and consequences of the latest peak of the court's subtle, savage war for position.

 

Like a compass constantly drawn north, Peter's eyes found Claire again; this time, crossing the terrace at the far end and moving into the elaborate, formal gardens. An observer might have seen a young girl on her way to meet a forbidden lover; one of Claire's fellow Daggers or Swords would have seen a killer on the way to meet a victim. But Peter had learned how to see beneath all the masks Claire shielded herself with, to discern her true intentions. He would never disturb Claire in the course of her work, but the way she moved told him she did not have violence in mind. And once her professional obligations were satisfied, Claire would undoubtedly be free for the rest of the night...

 

Licking his lips as his cock stirred eagerly, Peter followed his deadly beauty into the darkened foliage, a hunter's grin on his face.

 

*****

 

Even in her satin ball gown, heavy with embroidery, Claire slid into the small gazebo like a ghost. Crouching below the level of the windows, she moved with practised ease to the far end, kneeling on the padded seat and raising her body. Just as she'd thought, the windowsill was high enough to conceal most of her face, even after she fully straightened her back.

 

The gazebo was at just the right position to look into a secluded alcove in the gardens of the Doge's palace, and to Claire's satisfaction, she had arrived at the perfect time to watch the unknowing players in her little drama.

 

Her starring actor was the imperious Eva, Countess of Miglioriti, known for ruling her family with an iron fist and a rapacious sexual appetite. She was joined by the two youngest sons of Duke Boronelli, red-haired Marco and blonde Lucas, born so close together that it was rumoured not even their parents knew which one was the elder.

 

They hadn't wasted any time; in the short time it had taken Claire to loop around the alcove to reach the gazebo, Lucas had stretched out full length on the grass, and Marco had discarded his coat, leaving him in shirtsleeves while he worked on his belt. Eva had dropped to the ground, straddling Lucas' knees while she helped him unlace his breeches, and work them down his thighs to bunch at the tops of his knee-high boots.

 

Claire watched Lucas' hard prick spring into view as it was released from its confinement, and blinked in astonishment. She knew they had been nicknamed the Stallion Twins - but she'd thought the phrase was metaphorical, not literal.

 

Even as Marco knelt behind her, Eva enthusiastically grasped his twin's member, pumping up and down with one hand, while she fondled and teased the heavy balls with the other. It was so thick that her fingers didn't quite touch around it, and the length was equally intimidating. Marco didn't bother to push down his breeches, just unfastened the lacings, and eased them down and under his genitals. Claire didn't have a very clear view around Eva's skirts, but she could tell that Marco and Lucas were equal in this aspect, too.

 

Much as she despised the bitch, Claire had to give her credit; most women would bleed from a penis that size, but by more than one account, Eva had fucked the twins several times in a single night, and gone riding the next day without showing a twinge of discomfort.

 

The light of the full moon gleamed on her black hair, as Eva bent to her hands and knees and lowered her mouth to Lucas' enormous rod. It was so big that she could only fit the head into her mouth. Meanwhile, Marco hastily lifted the heavy skirts of Eva's ball gown, folding them to rest on her back, baring narrow white buttocks to the night. Reaching around Eva's waist and under her body, he grabbed her inner thighs, and as he pulled them widely apart, Claire was reminded of children pulling the wishbone from the dinner fowl. Eva, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind the rough handling. She was occupied with Lucas's prick; the only way to suck the main shaft was to bend her head to the side and curl her tongue around the massive girth.

 

Despite his enormous size, Marco didn't bother to stretch Eva's opening with his fingers, or prepare her for entry in any way. He simply lined up the head of his rampant tool and shoved forward until his balls smacked against her thighs, then repeated the process, his groin pounding against her backside with a loud smacking noise.

 

It wasn't until her first night with Peter that Claire had discovered her enjoyment of watching sexual acts being performed; as Marco set a punishing rhythm, Claire found her hands dipping into the low neckline of her gown, tenderly stroking her painfully erect nipples.

 

As the redheaded Boronelli violently speared her again and again, Eva sucked enthusiastically on the head of the blonde's stiff penis, one hand roughly pumping it up and down while she used the other hand to keep her balance. Over her back, Marco and Lucas locked gazes and broke out into identical lewd smiles. Claire received the distinct impression that despite the woman literally bridging their bodies, as far as the twins were concerned, they were really fucking each other.

 

As wet heat pooled between her thighs, Claire's carefully trained nose caught the scent of sandalwood and spice, and she smiled. Still watching the bawdy performance in the garden, Claire felt gentle, sensitive fingers rest on her shoulders, bared by the wide square neckline. Claire knew this touch full well; these elegant fingers had traced every curve of her body, and explored every orifice of a size to admit them.

 

“I know how much you like to watch, fidanzata, but I had hoped you'd actually come to ease my boredom,” Peter's voice rumbled quietly, warm with amusement.

 

“This is business,” Claire told him.

 

“Ah?” She knew that Peter had recognised the woman in the garden when his voice hardened. “How long until she's done?”

 

Claire's eyes narrowed in appraisal. “Very soon, I think.”

 

They watched the trio in the gardens for a few moments more, before Peter bent his head to murmur teasingly in her ear. “Tell me, Claire... what would you give me to mount you right now?”

 

Claire smiled lustfully; Peter knew her so well. “A free death?”

 

“I will always pleasure you just for the asking, but how can I refuse an offer like that?” Peter chuckled. Claire heard his belt land on the bench beside her, and the rustle of his breeches being unfastened and sliding down his legs. Not seeing him only added to her excitement, and she couldn't hold back a breathless sigh as she felt Peter lift her skirt and the night air caress her bare thighs, already parted for ease of balance. She had to bite hard on her knuckles to stifle her moan, as she felt his hard phallus smoothly enter her body and slide deep. While nowhere near the monstrous proportions of the Boronelli twins, his manhood was sizeable and it stretched her channel to an extent just short of discomfort.

 

As soon as Peter was lodged inside her to the hilt, Claire murmured, “Stay still.”

 

“As you wish, cara mia, but I don't think I can wait very long.”

 

“Just until she's finished.”

 

In the garden, matters were approaching a climax. Eva slurped Lucas' cock with the enthusiasm of a street urchin with a giant stick of marzipan, as Marco violently ploughed her from behind, his buttocks gleaming with sweat. The twins maintained their constant eye-lock, and at the very same time that Lucas grunted, his seed gushing out in white spurts, Marco grunted and rammed his hips forward and up, with such force that Eva's knees were actually lifted off the ground for a moment.

 

Claire found herself panting, clutching hard at the stone windowsill for support, her core involuntarily rippling around the beautiful, bone-hard shaft inside her. Peter, on the other hand, was distracting himself from his body's demands by slipping his fingers into Claire's low neckline, stroking her breasts and fondling the hard tips in the same way she had earlier.

 

The Countess Miglioriti was slumped on the grass in the moonlight, not even attempting to right her clothing, oblivious to the fact that the Boronellis were busily fastening each other's breeches. By the time she pushed herself up to a seating position, the twins had vanished.

 

Even from the gazebo, Claire and Peter could see the discontented expression on her face at finding herself alone, only to see it go blank as shock as she clutched her chest. She toppled backwards limply, and lay motionless on the ground, the moonlight glinting off the gold beads on her skirt.

 

“When did you poison her, bella? Dinner?”

 

Claire shook her head. “Posed as a servant and put it in her morning coffee. The poison doesn't activate until the heartbeat increases to a certain speed for several minutes. From what I've been told about her habits, I was certain that she'd achieve it tonight.”

 

“Now that you have given me my free death, I must fulfil my end of the bargain, don't I?”

 

As Peter rained soft kisses up and down her throat, Claire's voice shook in reaction. “It wasn't free. I would have done this no matter what, but her husband was happy to pay. It seems he's finally tired of his wife's habit of - mmm, Peter - opening her legs for every man in the city with a cock bigger than eight inches. Finding her bent over the mounting block in the stables for one of the grooms was the last straw.”

 

“Well then, il mio amore, I will simply have to pleasure you for the joy of it,” Peter breathed.

 

Their bodies still joined, he gently but hastily turned them both sideways, until he was seated on the bench with his legs braced on either side, Claire sitting on his lap with her legs on top of his. Bending forward, she placed her hands between her spread thighs and braced herself with her arms, using the leverage to grind her hips back against her lover. Peter hurriedly reached under her skirt and around to her front as his hips bucked urgently, trying to drive deeper. Claire moaned as his fingers skated down her flat belly to expertly fondle her clitoris, and her inner muscles clamped down hard in her climax, even as Peter's seed erupted inside her.

 

Slumping forward onto her still-braced arms, Claire felt Peter's lips brush against her spine, over the equally low back neckline of her gown, and sighed in contentment. “I'm an assassin by trade, beloved, but you aren't usually so interested in death.”

 

Peter murmured, “She's the bitch who originally contracted you to kill me, wasn't she?” At Claire's quiet assent, he bent his head over her shoulder to plant a kiss on her collarbone. “Now that she is dead, the circle is finally closed, and we can start a new course of our own.”

 

FINI