yes, special hell for me

[communi_kate]

Title: Still Alive
Fandom: Heroes
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit M/M sex, dubious consent, absolutely no warm and fuzzy feeling
Pairing: Sylar/Bennet
Summary: Mr. Bennet would do anyone for the Company..

Still Alive

 

A Heroes fan fiction by xahra99

 

Warning:  Contains scenes of graphic m/m sex between copyrighted characters, dubious consent, and absolutely no WAFF. You have been warned.

 

 

"Any change?"

Mr. Bennet glances up sharply at Bob's question. His gaze flicks to the Company head, to the video monitor on the table in front of him, and back to Bob again. He shakes his head minutely and reaches forwards to adjust the set. The picture sharpens, and Bennet allows himself a faint smile of satisfaction.

 Sylar hasn't moved.

"He's quite a challenge." Bob observes.

Bennet allows himself a slightly wider smile. "Oh, I don't know."

Bob regards Bennet quizzically, but says nothing. He reaches over Bennet's shoulder and changes channels on the set. The screen whites out for a moment before switching to a different camera. Bennet observes that Sylar in profile looks as impassive as Sylar in three-quarter view.

Both men watch the screen.

Bennet has observed Sylar since his arrival four days ago. He's established a definite pattern. The lights in Sylar's prison are set to a random photoperiod and cycle on and off arbitrarily throughout the day.  Sylar is rarely active in daylight hours. He moves only to eat or use the toilet. But the microphones in Sylar's cell record stealthy scuffling sounds as soon as the lights shut down. Sounds like the brush of fingers over concrete panels. Sounds like Sylar's searching for a way out.

Bob thinks that Sylar is coming to terms with his captivity.

Bennet thinks he's biding his time.

But today Sylar sits on the floor, hunched against the wall like he'd fall off the bed if he tried to perch on it. This is new. Given the events of the last few days, Bennet is not surprised.

He's encouraged.

They watch Sylar for a few minutes before Bob reaches out and lays a hand on Bennet's shoulder. "Switch it off."

Bennet flicks a switch. The image of Sylar dissolves into digital snow.

"I'm sorry about Eden," Bob says.

Bennet gazes mildly at his employer over the horn rims of his glasses. "She knew the risks."

Bob removes his hand.  "She was foolhardy."

"She was trying to help." Bennet snarls. The sentence is perfectly enunciated. It slides through the air like a razor.

"Indeed. I'm sorry."

Both men share a moment of mutual contemplation into the life of Sarah Ellis, known as Eden McCain.

Bennet's memories are too raw for comfort.  He smooths his face into a semblance of normalcy and picks up his coffee cup.

"So, Sylar." Bob says brightly.

"He's ...un co-operative."

"Have you commenced the testing?

"We've collected all the samples." Bennet tells him. "The lab's getting to work right now."

"Has he told you anything?"

Bennet shakes his head. "You know my opinion," he observes quietly.

"And you know that killing him is simply unacceptable."

Bennet's face is serene. His voice is even. His hand tightens on his mug, knucklebones gleaming white through taut skin. "Yes. I realize that."

"Start the next phase of the testing."

"Yes, sir."

"The Company needs to know how he works. I want him broken. I want to know everything."

"Yes, sir."

"Do anything. Anything you have to."

"Sir."

"Anything. You understand?" Bob snaps. He waits for a reaction, but Bennet says nothing. "Is that clear?" he asks eventually, slightly more sharply.

Bennet nods his head. "Crystal," he says, and pauses. His mouth tightens. "It won't work."

"How'd you know if you won't try?"

"I just do." Bennet mutters, nearly too quietly to be heard.

"Nevertheless."Bob says. His tone of voice doesn't change. He could be ordering Bennet to make sandwiches. They both know he isn't.

Bennet sighs.

He's off his seat and already moving towards the door before Bob has closed his mouth. He has the resolute expression of someone who has been given a job that he personally finds distasteful, but means to complete it as soon as possible to minimize unpleasantness. He doesn't slow down until he stands in the lift that leads to Primatech's lower levels.

Bennet stares at the mirrored glass as the lift descends. His reflection stares back at him impassively. The door opens and he heads down the corridor to the maximum security unit. He punches in the code to Sylar's cell without even looking at the keypad. The door hisses open, and Bennet turns up the lights.

Sylar still hasn't moved.

He doesn't stir as Bennet enters the combination in the second door, the one that leads into the cell proper.  The cell is as bleak as ever, more so where the faint ghost of Eden's blood stains the floor.

Bennet pushes open the door and steps into the room.

Sylar slides his back up the wall. He rises to his feet as the door hisses shut behind Bennet. The movement is smooth, with just a hint of unco-ordination. The unsteadiness is instantly obvious to Bennet; a man trained to sniff out weaknesses like the most exacting bloodhound.

"Gabriel?" Bennet makes the name a question.

Sylar trails one hand against the concrete wall. It is unclear if he is testing for weaknesses or holding himself up. He says nothing.

"Gabriel?" Bennet repeats patiently. "Sylar?"

Sylar's voice is unfriendly and ever so slightly slurred. "What do you want?"

"You know what we want."

Sylar just looks at him. Neither of them mentions Eden. Neither of them has to.

 "Imagine you're getting fed up of being in here." Bennet says after a while.

"Oh, I don't know." Sylar says softly. "After all, I've got a lot of things to look forward to. Like your daughter."

Bennet buries both hands in his pockets and leans against the wall of the cell. It's a deceptively casual stance. "You don't want to say that."

"I think I do."

Bennet shakes his head as if in pity at the sheer stupidity of the world. "You're never getting out of here, Gabriel."

Sylar grins. He raises an eyebrow, semaphoring that's what you think across the bare cell to Bennet.

"Claire's mine."

"I don't think so." A vein begins to pulse in Bennet's temple. It is his only outward sign of emotion.

Sylar grins. He wraps his arms around himself and leans closer to Bennet. His voice is soft and deep and threatening. "She's mine. She just doesn't know it yet."

Bennet crosses the cell in less than a second. Sylar doesn't even attempt to avoid the blow. Bennet strikes and Sylar goes down. Goes down hard, because there's no other way to fall in a concrete room. 

And Sylar laughs.

Bennet stands over Sylar, panting, his knuckles bloodied as Sylar laughs up at him. People don't often laugh at Bennet. He finds it a new and unpleasant sensation.

"You want to kill me?" Sylar spits out. "Go ahead. I'm right here."

Bennet grits his teeth. Anger makes him cruel. He lashes out with his foot, a solid blow that snaps Sylar's teeth together.

Sylar laughs again, but it's slightly less convincing. He cups his jaw in one hand and speaks through spread fingers. "They won't let you, will they?"

One of the things Bennet has no intention of telling Sylar is how right he often is.  He takes out a handkerchief and wipes off his knuckles, one by one.  When he has finished he leans down towards Sylar and tucks his handkerchief back into his pocket. "Don't worry, Gabriel. You're far too important to die...not yet, anyway."  He watches Sylar's eyes flicker and continues, "You always wanted to be ...important."

Sylar wipes his mouth with the back of one hand and glares up at Bennet.  Bennet wonders if Sylar has even considered that he will die in here, and how. He doesn't usually allow their...guests to bother him, but he has to admit that Sylar's eventual demise will be a positive pleasure. It's unhealthy, but addictive. Bennet allows himself ten minutes of gloating over Sylar's messy and impending doom each day.  But he's already exceeded a whole week's quota, and it's only Wednesday.

Bennet sighs.

He steps back from Sylar to allow the other man room to rise. Sylar scowls. He hooks one leg up, eyes never leaving Bennet's as he drags a hand along the floor, looking for purchase, looking to stand.

Bennet slides one foot back and prepares for the inevitable attack.

When it comes, it's rather disappointing.

Sylar lunges, his reflexes dulled by chemistry. Bennet dodges easily. When Sylar is off balance, he trips him so he falls against the concrete slab that serves as a bed. It isn't too difficult to manhandle him onto the slab. Bennet is not a big man, but he knows exactly how to apply pressure. Where, and how much.

Sylar's stopped laughing.

"I was telling the truth." Bennet hisses in Sylar's ear. "Might wish you did, though." He wrenches Sylar's wrists in front of him and cuffs them together with a plastic cable tie."

"Did they...tell you to do this...?" Sylar hisses.

Bennet doesn't answer.

He yanks Sylar's white sweats down with one hand and locks an arm around his throat. Sylar twists and turn, but he's got no purchase. Bennet unzips his fly with one hand, pinning his left hand between Sylar's shoulder blades to hold him down. He unbuckles his belt and yanks his shirt from his suddenly-loosened trousers. The scent of his wife's fabric softener and detergent is warm in the bare chilly room. Sylar makes a muffled noise into the mattress. It sounds like No.

Bennet ignores him.

He reaches inside his jacket pocket and pulls out the three things he considers essential for this kind of operation; a condom, a half-empty bottle of ultrasound gel that he's borrowed from the medics and a crumpled photograph. He strokes himself hard. One-handed, he squeezes get onto his hand, pushes his boxers down and wraps lubricated fingers around his cock. Changes hands. Slaps the photo of Sandra down between Sylar's shoulders.

Sylar doesn't say much of anything when all this is going on, but he twists and fights with all his energy.  It isn't enough. Four days of missed meals and medication are enough to give Bennet the advantage, and he exploits it just as the Company has taught him.

Sylar struggles against the cuffs, his own hands pinned beneath his body as Bennet rolls the slick condom onto his now-hard cock.  His breathing quickens, his hands unsteady as he pushes Sylar's pajama bottoms down an inch further and shoves.

Sylar makes an indistinct noise into the mattress. Bennet locks his arm around Sylar's neck and hauls his head back. The photo crumples in his other hand as he closes his eyes and thinks of Sandra.

Sylar gasps, teeth bares in a snarl.

Breath hisses between Bennet's teeth as he builds up a rhythm. Eyes shut; he tries desperately to imagine he is somewhere else. Doing someone else. He's concentrating so hard that it takes him a few moments to realize that Sylar has stopped struggling. 

Bennet is oddly disappointed. He wants revenge. Wants to hurt Sylar. Must be hurting him with every twitch and shift of his cock. He changes position slightly and shoves Sylar's white T-shirt up to grip flesh.  Sylar groans and tries to move away when Bennet presses deeper, but there really is nowhere left to move to. Bennet's fingers curl around Sylar's hip, trapped between the concrete and bone. They're both panting. Sylar's breath is a mirror of Bennet's as the older man thrusts. He grunts as Bennet jerks his head back again, and then he begins to laugh out loud.

Bennet pauses. This is not what he expected.

Sylar's laughter peters out into choking curses, and Bennet regains his rhythm. He leans all his weight on Sylar to pin him in place as he begins to approach climax.  Bennet's fingers curl and grip Sylar's hip once more, straying downwards. Sylar laughs into the mattress, and he shoves his hips back, and Bennet notices, all at once, that Sylar is hard.

He feels a twist of revulsion just before he shudders and comes. His sigh is barely louder than the hiss of air conditioning. The photo of Sandra flutters to the ground, and Bennet collapses over Sylar. It is a few seconds before Bennet is truly aware of his surroundings. They're a blur of unpleasant sensations.

The sticky slickness of sweat under crumpled cotton.

The bruises on his knees where he's smacked against the concrete bed.

 The pleasurable ache in his groin.   

Sylar groans and shifts his hips, starting to struggle again. Bennet grips his shoulders and holds him down.

"They did, didn't they? They told you to do that?" Sylar demands.

Bennet says nothing.

He pulls out, unrolls the condom from his cock and secretes it neatly in a wad of tissue paper. Done, he wipes off his cock, balls up the tissue and tosses it into a corner of Sylar's cell.

Sylar slides off the bed and onto the floor, smile white even against the paleness of his face.

Bennet ignores him.

He tucks his cock back into his pants and zips his fly. There's a small stain on the hip of his pants. Bennet brushes at it. The lubricant is water based. It should come out.

Sylar flops back onto the concrete floor and slides an arm over his face. Needle marks blaze vividly in the crook of his elbow. His neat haircut seems incongruous against the bruises. He says nothing.  

Bennet keeps one eye on Sylar's reflection in the glass as he straightens his tie, but Sylar doesn't move again. He's closed the door behind him, hand moving towards the lights, by the time Sylar speaks.

"I'm still alive, Mr. Bennet." His voice is hoarse.

Bennet's hand pauses for a moment on the switch. He shakes his head imperceptibly before he turns the out the lights and leaves the cell. He feels mussed and sweaty. Degraded. He's planning to go straight back to the lab, but halfway there he turns into the corridor that leads to the restrooms. Time to freshen up.

 Hank catches him just before the door.  "Any orders?"

"Start the next phase." Bennet tells him without slowing his stride. The doctor lumbers after him nervously. He always looks nervous when Bennet gives him an order that contravenes the spirit of the Hippocratic Oath. Bennet considers him weak.

 "You think he'll tell us?"

Bennet looks over the doctor's shoulder at his assistants. They're clustered in the junction of the corridors, white coated, earnest, and pushing a trolley of instruments. Bennet has no idea what most of them do, and no intention of finding out. "Show, not tell," he corrects.

"Show us, then." Hanks says, mildly irritated by Bennet's insistence on proper terminology.

Bennet tears his gaze away from the trolley. He has purged any squeamishness from his personality a long time ago, but he usually feels a slight sense of uneasiness when the testing reaches this stage. Not with Sylar, though. He's glad.

"Everyone does, Hank," he says. "Everybody does."

 

 

Comments

[iluvbsbkevin.livejournal.com]

*Memed*
He reaches inside his jacket pocket and pulls out the three things he considers essential for this kind of operation; a condom, a half-empty bottle of ultrasound gel that he's borrowed from the medics and a crumpled photograph
Oh I love how you put that he just pretends it's someone else, Sandra... Very nice. Great Job!

[xahra99.livejournal.com]

*flattered*
Thanks a lot!