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quixotism2009-12-10 09:33 pm
bromantic.livejournal.com) wrote in quixotism2009-12-10 09:33 pm
Entry tags:
[fanfic] [cfud] bloodsport
[somewhat based on this thread]
He hated Jim Kirk.
It wasn't a poisonous sense of hatred, he certainly didn't want to leave the man bleeding on the floor. Somehow that seemed... too easy, too convenient. And the satisfaction of it would bleed away, just as quickly. And Jim Kirk was many things, annoying mostly but not a waste. When he tried to strike, words bounced off the man like bullets would bounce off a superman. And he never stopped smiling. Even now, he was here, vulnerable, weak, and the man had the audacity to think he was in control.
So Sylar carefully wrested that control away. He slammed him to the bed, watching Jim wince as his head made contact with the headboard, he forced him down, the pressure of the air heavy and inescapable. Think your way out of that, try, do something. His hands scraped over Jim's wrists, claw-like and Jim grinned.
"Is this how you get people in bed?"
Sylar frowned, and some vestiges of his need to beat the man down left him, "There are better ways."
Could eyes smile? His seem too, "I'm sure. Is this how you win arguments too?"
Sylar shrugged, "You're wrong. You've always been wrong."
"If I was wrong, I'd be dead."
Another scratch, deeper now, and Sylar found Jim's little winces of pain endearing, "Oh? And why would I kill you?'What reason would I have?"
"There's one simple one," Jim smirked, his lips thick, "You'd kill me if I made a mistake. That would be reason enough. There'd be no more cat and mouse. You'd get bored."
"It sounds like you're bored too. When you give the wrong answer, you will die."
Jim laughed. It's guttural and it rang in Sylar's ears like foreshadowing would, "I'm going to win this game."
And his hands were around Jim's throat before he knew, the fear, the idea, how could he possibly understand, how could he even conceive---and he's leaning down and shutting him up, pain, bites, blood and anger and Jim responded with fierceness, rebellion, certainty, and Sylar felt himself slip.
Then the game righted itself and the pain was back.
He hated Jim Kirk.
It wasn't a poisonous sense of hatred, he certainly didn't want to leave the man bleeding on the floor. Somehow that seemed... too easy, too convenient. And the satisfaction of it would bleed away, just as quickly. And Jim Kirk was many things, annoying mostly but not a waste. When he tried to strike, words bounced off the man like bullets would bounce off a superman. And he never stopped smiling. Even now, he was here, vulnerable, weak, and the man had the audacity to think he was in control.
So Sylar carefully wrested that control away. He slammed him to the bed, watching Jim wince as his head made contact with the headboard, he forced him down, the pressure of the air heavy and inescapable. Think your way out of that, try, do something. His hands scraped over Jim's wrists, claw-like and Jim grinned.
"Is this how you get people in bed?"
Sylar frowned, and some vestiges of his need to beat the man down left him, "There are better ways."
Could eyes smile? His seem too, "I'm sure. Is this how you win arguments too?"
Sylar shrugged, "You're wrong. You've always been wrong."
"If I was wrong, I'd be dead."
Another scratch, deeper now, and Sylar found Jim's little winces of pain endearing, "Oh? And why would I kill you?'What reason would I have?"
"There's one simple one," Jim smirked, his lips thick, "You'd kill me if I made a mistake. That would be reason enough. There'd be no more cat and mouse. You'd get bored."
"It sounds like you're bored too. When you give the wrong answer, you will die."
Jim laughed. It's guttural and it rang in Sylar's ears like foreshadowing would, "I'm going to win this game."
And his hands were around Jim's throat before he knew, the fear, the idea, how could he possibly understand, how could he even conceive---and he's leaning down and shutting him up, pain, bites, blood and anger and Jim responded with fierceness, rebellion, certainty, and Sylar felt himself slip.
Then the game righted itself and the pain was back.