Title: Pretty as a Picture
Summary: Isaac gets a visit from the famous cheerleader.
Spoilers: Through Unexpected.
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over these characters. I am merely borrowing them from Tim Kring et al.
Feedback: Yes please! It makes me happy and keeps me writing.
Thanks to KallieRose for the speedy beta.
Author's Note: This was written for apckrfan in exchange for her donation to fire_fic.
She requested Isaac/Claire, any rating, any length, but preferably NC-17.
Pretty as a Picture
After Simone's death, Isaac found himself spending more and more time in a trance, painting. Rather than lose himself in drugs, like he longed to do, he lost himself in his gift. When he gave in to the sight, everything else fell away – all of his pain and regrets disappeared, for a while at least.
Isaac was just coming out of a trance when he heard a soft, unsure voice from the doorway.
"Hello? Isaac Mendez? Is anyone here? The door was unlocked," the female voice called out.
Isaac had stopped locking his door. If Sylar wanted him, he could have him.
With a cursory glance at the unfinished painting, Isaac picked up a rag to wipe his hands and turned towards the door.
"I am Isaac Mendez," he told the petite young woman, girl actually. She looked vaguely familiar. "Can I help you?"
"Hi, Peter gave me your address. Peter Petrelli," she clarified.
Isaac scowled. Why was that... Why would he be sending pretty young girls to him?
"Why did he do that?" Isaac gruffly asked.
"I wanted to meet you," she said. "I'm Claire." When Isaac didn't show any recognition, she added, "The cheerleader, from Texas."
"You're her," Isaac said, finally recognizing her from his paintings. Claire nodded.
Isaac moved to the wall where he and Peter had hung the series of paintings surrounding Claire's attack.
Claire crossed the studio to stand beside Isaac. She gasped as she recognized herself in the paintings, shivering as she recalled the horror of that night.
"It's true," she whispered, raising her hand as if to touch the image of her lying dead by Sylar's hand, stopping before making contact. "He really was there to kill me."
Isaac heard Claire sniffle and looked down at her. He really looked at her this time. She was beautiful despite, or perhaps because of, her youth. Long, luxurious blonde hair, a beautifully shaped face, perfect curves and long legs, despite her short stature. He suddenly longed to have her model for him, to study her perfect beauty.
She sniffled again and he then noticed the tears sliding down her golden cheeks.
"What was I thinking," he said, stepping between Claire and the painting. "No one should have to see their own death." He resisted the urge to turn to the depictions of his own gruesome death.
Claire looked up at him, scrubbing away her tears. "No, I wanted to see. I had to know that the future isn't really written in stone. We're not just pawns to some pre-determined destiny. We can control our future."
"I would very much like to believe that," Isaac said, uplifted by her determination. "I can only see parts of the future, but I suppose that it is only one possible outcome. You are living proof that what I paint may not come true."
"It almost did. That man, Sylar, he killed my friend because he thought she was me. If Peter hadn't been there, I'd be dead."
"Yes, we mustn't forget Saint Peter," Isaac snidely commented, turning away from Claire.
"You don't like him much, do you?" she asked, looking at the other paintings standing around the studio.
Isaac huffed out a laugh. "You could say that."
"It's because of that woman, Simone," Claire said.
"H-he told you about her?" Isaac asked, choking back tears that her name inevitably brought.
Claire shrugged. "He didn't want me to come over here, but I insisted. I can be very convincing when I want to be. He reluctantly told me about Simone and how she left you to be with him."
"And now you can see why, right?" Isaac challenged her. "Who would want the heroin-addicted starving artist who sees the future when they could have a rich white boy like Peter Petrelli?"
"Being rich doesn't make him better than you," Claire said.
"But a million other things do," Isaac countered.
"You're being awfully hard on yourself. Besides, I thought you quit the drugs."
"I did. I'm clean now, but it doesn't make any of the other stuff less true," Isaac said.
"Maybe not, but don't knock the sexy starving artist appeal. Women are attracted to creativity," Claire said, flirting just a bit.
Isaac blinked. This girl was flirting with him, he realized. Someone was choosing him over Peter Petrelli?
He frowned. "Can't your precious Peter paint the future now too?"
Claire shrugged. "I guess. But he's not a real artist. He's also not mine. Well, he's my uncle, but that's about it."
"Peter is your uncle? How is that possible?" Isaac asked.
"His brother's my biological father. It's a long story," Claire said, continuing to look around. "Your work is incredible. Are they all about people like us?"
It took Isaac a minute to absorb the fact that this young woman was a Petrelli before he could adjust to the topic change.
He glanced around the studio to see what Claire was looking at. "Yes, I believe that most of these are about people like us." That last word caused a warm feeling to grow in his belly, the thought that he was somehow linked to this young beauty. "I haven't met that many people like us, so it can be hard to tell sometimes if they're special or not."
"How many have you met?" Claire asked, seemingly as eager for that link, that sense of community, as he was.
Isaac paused to count. "Six, including you."
Claire nodded as she took that in. "That's cool."
She looked around some more, as if trying to stall for time. "I better go," she finally said. "Peter threatened to follow me invisibly unless I promised to be back in an hour and a half, and I'll just make it back if I leave now."
"Thank you for coming by," Isaac said, cringing at how lame that sounded.
Claire's smile lit up the room. "I told you, I wanted to meet you."
"I hope that I lived up to your expectations," Isaac said.
"You did," Claire said.
When she was almost at the door, Isaac called out to her, "Claire, wait. Will you come back to visit again?" he asked. "I'd love to have you sit for me sometime. It's been so long since I painted the present, rather than just the future."
Claire blushed. "I'd like that. I can come by tomorrow."
"That would be wonderful," Isaac said.
"I'll see you then." Claire smiled brightly one more time before turning to leave.
For the first time in a long time, Isaac couldn't wait for the next day to come.
"How long have you been painting?" Claire asked. She was reclining, posed, on his freshly made bed, wearing just her underwear beneath a short, silk robe. He'd apologized for not having a sofa for her to sit on, but he'd gotten rid of it to create more space in his loft. She'd blushed, but said it was fine.
"For as long as I can remember," Isaac told her. "I always found some way to draw or paint. It's all that I've ever wanted to do."
"And how long have you been painting the future?" she asked, shifting a bit to try to subtly stretch.
"I only realized that I was doing it a few weeks ago. Scared the shit out of me," Isaac said.
Claire giggled. "Yeah, I was pretty shocked the first time I healed from an injury, too."
She waited for a minute, expecting Isaac to comment, but he was silent. He was obviously still painting. Furiously painting, in fact.
"Isaac?" she nervously asked. "Isaac?"
When she was met with no answer, Claire slowly stood and moved around the canvas to see what had happened to him. She gasped when she saw that his eyes had gone completely white. She realized that he must have gone into one of his future painting trances. He'd told her a little bit about what happened when he painted the future.
Unable to help herself, she turned her focus to the painting before him. Her eyes widened as she saw what he was painting. It was her, laid out on the bed, but not anything like how she had been posing. She was naked…and she wasn't alone.
In the painting, her eyes were closed, her face lit up by an ecstasy she had never felt in real life. A naked man with long dark hair was lying half on top of her, his mouth covering one nipple, his hand on her bare hip. As she studied his face, she saw that it was Isaac.
What did this mean? Was she going to have sex with Isaac? Was he painting the future or his fantasies? Just because he painted it didn't mean that it had to come true. But what if she wanted it to?
Claire felt her heart race as she stared at the wanton image before her. She was shocked to realize that she wanted that. She wanted the look of bliss that was on the painted-Claire's face. She wanted Isaac's large, rough hands on her bare skin.
She shivered as a spike of lust made its way down her spine and settled low in her belly.
Claire didn't know how long she stood there watching Isaac paint, but she jumped when he blinked and sat back, having come out of his trance.
Isaac looked at the painting, preparing to apologize to Claire for zoning out like that. He gasped at what he saw before him. He was making love to Claire.
"Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction too," Claire said from beside him.
Isaac nearly jumped, not having realized that Claire was standing so close to him.
"You're still here," he commented, his surprise evident in his voice.
"You had me a little worried when you suddenly stopped talking," Claire said.
"Sorry about that. I can't always control when I'm going to go into a trance," Isaac apologized. "And I'm sorry about this," he said, gesturing towards the painting. "I don't know where that came from."
"Don't be," Claire said, her voice slightly husky. "It's incredible. I've never felt the way that girl feels."
"Y-you're not upset?" Isaac asked.
"I was at first," Claire admitted. "A little outraged too that you'd draw me like that, with you. But the more that I looked at it, the more detail you added…" she trailed off.
"What?" Isaac pressed.
Claire blushed, unable to look at him. "The more I wanted what was happening to her to happen to me," she whispered.
Isaac sat gaping at her, completely unsure of what to do. Admittedly, the thought of making love to this beautiful girl was tempting. More than tempting.
"You do?" he croaked, then cleared his throat. "Remember what I said yesterday, what I paint doesn't have to come true. And just because I painted this now doesn't mean that it has to happen any time soon, if ever."
Claire took a tentative step closer to Isaac. She slowly lifted a hand to rest on his shoulder. Heat rushed through both of them at the contact.
"What if I want this now?" she asked, her breath caressing his cheek.
Isaac swallowed hard. He was never any good at resisting temptation. He knew that she was too good for him, never mind too young, yet in that moment, he couldn't seem to care.
Heated brown eyes locked on soft green for a moment before his arm reached out to pull Claire flush against him and into a fiery kiss.
Claire moaned, the hand on Isaac's shoulder sliding around to his neck and into his paint-streaked hair. She kissed him back eagerly, making up for lack of experience with enthusiasm.
Isaac stood, the stool he'd been sitting on falling to the floor with the sudden movement. Completely aware of the painting's position, he walked Claire around it, to his bed on the floor behind it.
His hands slid from her hips to open the belt holding the thin robe closed. It was quick work, and then his hands were on her bare flesh.
Claire shivered at his touch and pressed closer to him. Her hands skimmed down his back to briefly caress his ass, then slid back up to pull his wifebeater over his head, forcing them to break their frantic kisses to do so.
Isaac swiftly disposed of Claire's bra and took a step back. Holding her at arm's length, he tried to get his breathing back under control as he admired the beauty before him.
Claire blushed under his intense gaze. She couldn't meet his eyes, so she longingly took in his bare chest, surprised by the dark hair that covered his torso. Most of the boys that she'd seen shirtless didn't have hair, because they were boys, but Isaac was clearly all man. Her eyes followed the thinning trail of hair to his jeans, and she couldn't help blushing deeper at the clearly defined bulge she saw there.
She reached out a hand and ran it over his skin, fingers circling his flat brown nipples, tracing the light definition of muscles, and down to trace the edge of his jeans. Isaac sucked in a breath at her light, teasing caress.
He pulled her close again, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. "You are so beautiful," he told her, recapturing her lips.
Isaac lowered Claire to the bed, kicking off his shoes before crawling over her. He lay against her side, moving his kisses down her neck, tasting her as he inched his way towards her breasts. His tongue flicked her taut nipple before gently taking it between his teeth, then soothing it with his tongue.
Claire arched into his mouth, her head falling back against the pillows. She writhed as Isaac made her body come alive. She ran her hands through his hair and over his back. She even dared to run her hand over his denim-covered cock.
Isaac pressed into her touch, silently encouraging her to touch him more. He groaned against her skin, switching his attention to her other breast when he felt her fingers timidly begin to open his pants.
"Do you want me to do that?" he quietly asked, sensing her nervousness.
"N-no, I think I've got it," Claire said. Blindly feeling her way, Claire managed to open his jeans and push them, and his briefs, down his hips.
Isaac rolled onto his back to push his remaining clothing off his body before turning back to Claire and divesting her of her panties.
Isaac ran his eyes over Claire's naked form. She truly was an angel. The look was somewhat ruined though by the wide-eyed shock on her face as she stared at his fully erect cock.
Thinking it unwise to laugh at her, Isaac forced himself to ask, "Claire, is this your first time?"
She blinked and met his curious eyes, flushing with embarrassment. She nodded, hiding behind her hair.
"Do you want to stop?" he asked. He was just this side of being able to honor such a request.
"No," Claire quickly said. "I-I want this. I want to do this…with you."
Isaac ran a hand from between Claire's breasts, down her soft belly, to the juncture of her thighs. He nudged them apart with his fingers and ran them over her lightly furred mound. His fingertips teased her labia as his eyes soaked in her appearance.
Claire's breathing sped up the longer Isaac teased her. She unwittingly raised her hips, urging him to do more. Isaac chuckled at her eagerness and slipped a finger inside her.
Claire sighed, welcoming the intimate touch. She pulled his mouth back to hers, needing to touch him, to feel more of him. Needing to keep from screaming out with pleasure.
Isaac allowed a second finger to join the first, stretching her, getting her ready. His thumb found her clit and began to circle it in time with his hand's movements. Claire bucked and writhed, feeling an orgasm building.
She released his mouth to pull in great gulps of air as her body headed into sensory overload. Isaac lowered his mouth to her breasts again and with the first suckle, Claire cried out her release.
"My God, you're gorgeous when you come," Isaac said, enjoying the sated look on Claire's face.
"Like the painting?" Claire asked.
"Better," Isaac said.
He fumbled to find a condom in the table next to his bed and get it on before he moved over her, sliding between her splayed thighs. As he positioned himself, he asked, "Ready for more?"
"Please," Claire begged. "I want you."
Isaac groaned and pressed into her. He paused, barely inside her, then pushed all the way in with one long, powerful stroke. He was prepared for the bite of her nails on his shoulders and her cry of surprise (and a bit of pain).
"Okay?" he breathed next to her neck.
He felt her nod. "Yeah, I'm good." She stroked the hair away from his face and kissed his neck, then his jaw, until she could reach his mouth.
As her tongue thrust into his mouth, Isaac began to move. Long, slow strokes at first, so that he could simply enjoy the tightness of her around him.
"More," she mumbled against his lips.
Isaac answered her with a kiss as he sped up his thrusts. Claire was helping now, raising her hips to meet his, learning the rhythm he'd set.
Her hands couldn't keep still, exploring every inch of his skin that she could reach. Down his back, over his ass and hips, back up his chest, into his hair and down again. Touching, caressing, scratching, clutching.
Isaac bent his head to her shoulder, needing to concentrate as he felt the end nearing. "I'm close," he warned her, "so close, Claire."
"Me too," she said, the fluttering of her inner walls confirming her statement.
Isaac wedged a hand between them and teased her clit again, encouraging her to join him as he hovered on the edge of bliss.
"Isaac," she cried out, her second orgasm catching her by surprise as her entire body tightened around him.
Isaac roughly thrust into her a few more times before he gave into destiny and came, hard, collapsing on top of Claire.
It took him a minute or two to catch his breath enough to push off of Claire; only to roll beside her. He had barely enough energy to dispose of the condom, but he did, then pulled Claire into his arms.
"That was incredible," Claire said, placing a kiss on his chest.
"Agreed." He ran his hand lightly over her back.
"Is it always gonna be like that?" Claire asked.
"I hope so," Isaac said.
Claire's forehead scrunched up in confusion. "But you've done that before. Don't you know…?"
"It's different with every new person," Isaac told her. "It's not always great with some people. With you, I have a feeling that it will only get better."
"Better than that?" Claire asked, finding it hard to believe that it could get any better than what she'd just experienced.
Isaac laughed, for the first time in weeks. "Yes, even better than that. The first time isn't usually all that good."
"Guess I had the right partner," Claire said, leaning up to kiss him.
"I'm just lucky," Isaac said.
"Not lucky," Claire countered. "Destined."
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