Title: Thirty Days

Rating: NC-17

Summary: After forgetting to show up for their meeting with the wedding pastor, Peter is forced by Claire to remain celibate for thirty days….and he’ll do everything in his power to get around her punishment. 

Warnings: Sex, some language. But mostly the smutiness (It takes a while to get to it, but it’s in there, I promise). I think it earned it’s NC-17 rating pretty well, so hopefully you smutty minded Paire shippers will enjoy!

Word Count: ~7500

This is also my first attempt at real smut, so if it totally sucks…well…I hope you enjoy the other gazillion pages of humor and banter to make up for it. Thanks for reading!

Written for frelling_blonde and her evil muse.

xxx

“Claire, I’m sorry!” Peter called desperatly, nearly slumping against the wall in failure. She had every right to stay away from him, but locking him out of his own apartment was ridiculous.

Taking a deep breath, he channeled DL and reluctantly phased through the door to 1407. His petite, blonde, fiancé sat fuming on the couch, arms and legs crossed, glaring at an episode of Judge Judy.

“The door was locked,” she seethed, not bothering to look at him. Peter’s shoulders slumped, defeated.

“Like I said, I’m really sorry, I just…I got distracted…”

Claire finally whipped her head around at him, eyes blazing with fury. “Distracted?”

Peter shrugged helplessly, knowing his excuse was lame. He’d missed one of the most important events in their relationship: getting interviewed by the priest for their upcoming nuptials. 

“I sat there for an hour, hoping you got stuck in traffic or something, until Father Whittaker practically kicked me out of the church!” Claire cried, waving her arms around indignantly while she ranted at him.

“I know,” he muttered, collapsing in his leather recliner, burying his face in his hands. “But Nathan told me to run an errand for him, and I lost track of time…”

“You can BEND time, Peter!” Claire screeched. “If anyone can be on time, it’s you!”

He looked up at her, pouring every ounce of charisma through his puppy dog eyes. Yet Claire was immune to his pouty charm by now. A tilt of her hip and cut of her eyes and that hopeful expression melted off his handsome face.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised softly, pursing his lips adorably. Claire didn’t lighten up, but her high-heeled foot started pattering thoughtfully.

“On my conditions?” she asked, her previously screaming tones more civil.

“Whatever you want,” he solemnly swore, standing up and rubbing her shoulders lovingly.

Claire’s finger went to her lips and considered it, looking her lover up and down as though he was a nice outfit she was window shopping. A few seconds later, a sly smirk that made Peter slightly nauseous crossed her lips.

“No sex for a month,” she decided matter-of-factly. Peter’s eyes widened and his lower lip drooped even more noticeably then usual.

“WHAT?!”

“You heard me,” Claire replied sternly. “You deserve severe punishment after today.”

“I missed a meeting and you’re gonna-!” he exploded, pulling away from her as though she burned him with her evil methods.

Claire nodded her head slowly. “Yep. What, you think you can’t handle it?”

She knew a good ego baiting always perked up Peter’s resolve. “You know what? Of course I can,” he replied coolly. “I don’t need it. Just wait and see.”

Claire arched an eyebrow. “Hmm? Well how about this? No self-love either.”

Fear flashed in Peter’s eyes. “What, do you want me to become a monk next?” he retorted.

Claire sighed. “I guess you’re right. But I’m marking the calendar. Thirty days, Peter!”

She walked over to their wall calendar, the one with the pictures of little furry kittens that Peter secretly thought were the cutest thing imaginable, and counted off four weeks and two days. June 17, about a week before the wedding. Claire wished she’d looked at the calendar before the deal was made, so she could have dragged this out through their honeymoon, but oh well…you get what you get. 

Peter watched, dying a little bit inside when Claire skipped a whole page ahead in the calendar and circled the seventeenth with an orange Sharpie. Thirty days hadn’t seemed like a long time at first, but now he was really considering putting Hiro’s power to a greater use. Or, greater use for him that was.

But no, that would be cheating. And though being celibate for that long with a gorgeous, curvaceous blonde sauntering around and sleeping in his bed every night would be hell on Earth (especially since Peter and Claire had gotten into the habit of copulating at least every other day), he deserved this. Missing out on that meeting was careless, and it probably a quality that scared Claire about stepping into marriage. If he forgot about this, who’s to say he wouldn’t forget to pick up her wedding ring, or to check on her in labor, or to always use protection? Plus, he did promise her anything.

It’s not that bad, he thought to himself, shoving his hands in his pockets. I’ve gone months without sex before.  I can go thirty days.

Yeah, but you were single then, he recalled painfully. There was no temptation walking around in her lingerie every morning.

So what? If this is how Claire wants me to prove my love, I’ll do it.

 Only then did it occur to Peter that Claire’s intended payback may have actually been a twisted test in disguise. Perhaps, before their wedding, she wanted to make sure she could completely trust him. Maybe to guarantee that if he couldn’t get it from her, he wouldn’t go elsewhere… 

Peter felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of some anorexic, nameless, redhead moving over him. Just considering cheating on Claire nearly made him sick (which was a lot to say of an indestructible man). He really did love her with all his heart, even if the simple, small rock on her ring finger was the only material thing to prove it. Peter’d felt rather sheepish kneeling down a few months ago and pulling the diamond you had to squint to see out of his pocket, but Claire hadn’t cared at all. With his hospice worker’s minimum wage, Claire would be a bit appalled and fearful for their budget if he whipped out a chunk of ice with a band of gold attached. The Texan girl liked the basic joys of life, and the shy query of matrimony from his mouth that followed the ring was ten times more important to her then the jewel itself.

Claire caught notice of her fiancé’s cloudy frown and she rolled her eyes good naturedly. Peter jumped a little when he suddenly felt Claire’s warm arms slip around his neck.

“You’re so cute when you sulk,” she smiled. Peter huffed defensively.

“I’m not sulking, I’m thinking.”

Claire tutted and cocked her head, before bringing his face to hers and kissing him fully. Peter groaned a little in spite of the forbidden fruit just within his reach. Claire pulled away, a crafty look on her face.

“You play dirty,” Peter told her, provoking a snicker from the young woman. “Is this a part of your bridezilla phase, or what?”

Claire shrugged. “Noooo. You’re just easy to tease.”

Wonderful. As if he didn’t need her torturing him on top of everything else. He could already feel his slacks tightening below the waist just off the presence of her body heat.

Claire glanced down and looked back up to him, smirking deviously before pulling back. He glared in her general direction as she moseyed off, throwing a sexy smile over her shoulder before entering the bedroom.

Peter stifled a moan and headed towards the bathroom. Time for the first of many cold showers, because it was gonna be a helluva long thirty days.  

xxx

He was thawed, cooked, and done in five days.

Five freaking days.

As a self-respecting man, he figured he’d last at least a week before practically begging at Claire’s feet. But no, he woke up on the fifth morning, felt Claire’s warm body spooned against his, and had to use every fiber of his being not to flip them over and start necking her.

“Hey handsome,” she purred, stirring awake and turning to face him. Peter couldn’t help but smile at her bedhead and sleep-lined eyes, and he gently stroked the back of his hand down her cheek. The sheer contact was entering the red zone, and he hastily pulled away after feeling the blood leave his brain and rush downward.

“Gotta go to school,” Claire rasped miserably, looking over at the alarm clock. Peter slumped back against the pillows while watching his better half, a senior at NYU, drag herself out of bed.

As much as he loved her, it would be a relief to keep his distance today. Peter didn’t need any more temptation.

Plus, it gave him an opportunity to concoct some sort of forgiveness plan.

So once Claire was dressed, kissed goodbye, and long gone, Peter threw on some clothes and headed downstairs for a chore of his own. It was sure to be clichéd, but there was a reason these sorts of things were traditional: they worked.

Peter planned on executing everything in the book, though with his own spin that made Claire swoon every time. Giant bouquets of flowers were too much; a simple white rose would be perfect. Tied to it, a Godiva chocolate bar and a note.

Just a small little token of love.

The florist at LuAnn’s Flowers gave him a knowing look after he handed her his credit card.

“So, son, what did you do?” she winked, drawing out a light blush in him.

“Accidentally stood my fiancé up,” he mumbled.

“Good luck,” the florist said, chuckling and handing over the bag with his gifts in it. Peter, still pink, bided her good day, and left.

Later that night, he finished up the letter tied to the stem of the rose, signing it with Love always, Peter.

 Claire, with the usual bags under her eyes and tired aura after a long day at college, stumbled through the front door. Peter looked at her sympathetically. It sucked having to go to school on a Saturday, and he sensed that she held a mock resentment against him for only having to work weekdays.

“What’s wrong?” he asked compassionately, kissing her cheek and drawing her into an embrace.

“Mmmblaaararrg,” she replied into his shoulder. “Worked my ass off while you laid around here all day.”

“I did not,” he moped. “I was out shopping for you.”

A new light sparked over Claire’s face, and she was suddenly self-conscious. “Really?”

Peter opened up the desk drawer and pulled out the surprise. Claire’s face melted in adoration.

“Aw,” she cooed, gently taking the rose from his fingertips. “Thanks Peter.”

She rewarded him with a more passionate then usual kiss, and then held up the chocolate bar wryly.

“Take a good look, cause this is gonna be gone real quick.”

He laughed and kissed her again, framing her face in his hands. Claire moaned against his mouth, losing herself for a moment before coming back to reality.

She gently pushed him away, arching an eyebrow. “Are you sure you didn’t do this to get laid?”

He’d been caught. Of course he loved her and all, but he was hoping…

After no reply met her question, Claire’s jaw dropped triumphantly and she smacked him on the shoulder. “Aha! Peter, you dog; I knew it!”

“Why can’t I just make it up to you with this?” he sighed, the long eyelashes that Claire envied batted innocently. She rolled her eyes.

“Because this was…” She looked around, trying to find a better word, a nicer word, then ‘easy.’ “This was painless. It’s sweet, but you didn’t have to feel anything bad while doing it.”

Peter gaped. Women were so odd. “You’re trying to make me feel bad?”

“You did the same to me,” Claire replied quietly, crystalline eyes downcast.

Here it came again. That nasty, creepy streak of guilt that wormed its way up from Peter’s abdomen to his throat, suffocating him.

“How many times can I say that I’m sorry?” he whispered weakly, not knowing anything else to say.

Claire blinked at him. “You’ve still got twenty-five days to find out.”

She pressed the chocolate and the rose back into his palm, but tucked the note in her pocket before she walked to the kitchen.

xxx

Twenty one more days. Three weeks.

Are you there, God? It’s me, Peter.

In the past couple of years, Peter had been through enough with Claire to learn that if at first you don’t succeed, try again. It worked with Sylar, after all, though luckily he didn’t have to take such precautions with proposing to Claire.

His first attempt was quite feeble, looking back on it. Thoughtful, but a little too simple. It was sort of an on the whim thing off a spare thought of her, rather then a long, drawn out plan to show that he was totally into gaining forgiveness.

So Plan B started with dinner. Not just any dinner, either (and he wasn’t going to cop out like Matt and order the steaks). All of Claire’s favorite foods hand cooked by him. It was a long time since they’d sat down together like this, at the apartment with a nice meal. Yet, Peter felt the need to go the extra mile just a little bit. While the asparagus was steaming, he rifled through their combined DVD collection and selected A Walk To Remember. Claire said she adored the storyline, but Peter knew she actually had a crush on Shane West.

Whatever the reason, it was sure to get him some action. And forgiveness. With action.

It was like a battle between his heart and his manhood, this. Half of him wanted to sweep Claire off her feet and live happily ever after, while the other part really needed to get some. Like, right the hell now.

Unfortunately, the more time passed by, the more his animalistic side started tipping the scales.

For Claire, it was starting to be the same way. As much as she wanted to punish him for his mistake, there was a longing in the base of her gut that was starting to get out of control. Jumping the man would be hypocritical, and Claire Bennet was no hypocrite.

Since Claire was attempting to get college finished as fast as she possibly could, she ended up with ten hours of school a day, giving Peter plenty of time to start cooking after work. Looking back on it, his menu ended up being the oddest smorgasbord of random foods probably ever thrown together. Mac N’ Cheese, cupcakes, mashed potatoes and gravy, pork chops, and asparagus were all stretched out across the small dining table. If they weren’t indestructible, Peter was sure they’d die of heart attacks from this carb laced meal.

This time, Claire looked genuinely impressed when she walked through the front door at seven o’ clock. Though the dishes were homely favorites, Peter still added that romantic touch with dim lights, candlesticks, and Sinatra crooning in the background.

“You’re trying harder, I see,” Claire smirked, putting down her purse and waltzing over to the table. Peter chuckled.

“Nothing gets past you,” he replied, trying to hide his slight disappointment that she caught on so quickly.

“Teach you to mess with me,” Claire nodded fearlessly, before relaxing, sliding into his arms, and greeting him with a soft kiss. She pulled back and gave him a sheepish smile. “But nice try.”

xxx

Needless to say, the dinner went well enough, but Peter still ended up at the two week mark for this stupid time-out. He was almost halfway through with the abstinence period; the days started moving more sluggish as they went on. With sixteen days remaining, Peter knew it was time for a better creation.

They lived in an apartment, on the fourteenth story nonetheless, so throwing rocks at a window and holding up a boom box was out of the question. But Peter was starting to get rather creative in this long process (perhaps more blood flow to his brain instead of his member?) and thought of a faultless plan to execute the same effect.

During the first stages of wedding planning, Claire and Peter both decided that ‘their song’ was At Last. Luckily, they owned a CD with the track, and a karaoke machine. Perfect.

This scheme didn’t take nearly as long to set up as the other two, but if it didn’t get Claire to take him to bed, at least Peter could get her to laugh. Ten minutes before he expected her to arrive, he threw on his tailor-fitted Ralph Lauren tux that was as black as money could buy. James Bond black. Space black. Satan black. That thing seriously absorbed more light and color from the room than Peter absorbed superpowers.

The track was set, the microphone on, his hair coolly slicked back. Claire came in, saw him leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, and groaned loudly.

“Do I want to know?” She covered her eyes, knowing Peter was about to pull out even more stops to seduce her. Which was becoming quite problematic, for Claire’s resolve got thinner and thinner the closer the days slipped towards June 17.

Peter telekinetically turned on the track, and held the microphone to his mouth. “At laaaaaast…”

“Holy Lord,” Claire moaned, fighting back fits of laughter.

“My love has come along…”

“Peter, just, no. NO.”

She had her face buried in her hands, in half-embarrassment, half-hysteria. Peter grinned and sauntered over, abandoning the microphone to husk the lyrics in her ear.

“My lonely days are…over…”

Claire would have been laughing along if Peter was a dreadful singer, but his voice was actually quite sultry and well-toned. He brushed the hair off of the back of her neck and pressed a kiss there, drawing a shiver out of his fiancé. Peter showed his teeth like a Cheshire Cat and seductively slipped his arms around her waist from behind. Claire sighed and leaned back against his chest, head lolling lazily on his shoulder. Peter continued to press hot, wet, kisses against the crook of her neck until she moaned with pining ache.

Peter continued to mumble the lyrics of At Last even with his other explorations in the way, making the moment even hotter. The motherly voice in Claire’s head was scolding her dearly for this, but the Claire in her now languidly blew it off. This isn’t sex, so technically…

She reached her hands up behind her, burying slender fingers into Peter’s gelled hair. Too stiff, she thought gruffly, digging her hands into his scalp and ruffling those locks until Peter was shock-haired. The sight was a major turn on. Fancy, hot, clothing, with rocker hair and aroused gazes. Men imagined French maids and naughty nurses. Women imagined the current state of Peter.

Claire couldn’t take his warm tongue sliding across her collar anymore. She abruptly turned around and shoved him against a wall, ramming her stomach into something rigid when she threw her body against his. Lips went out of control, tugging, suckling, heaving as fourteen days of pent up lust spilled out into each other.

Peter smiled against her lips, sing-songning Nelson’s “Ha ha!” in his head. In his heart, he really felt like this idea was lame in the beginning, but one thing led to another, and it ended up being the golden ticket to the chocolate factory.

Until Claire, totally out of the blue, just pulled on back.

While expletives in about ten different languages marqueed through Peter’s brain, mostly along the lines of “…the hell?”, Claire pulled down her shirt, brushed off her sleeves, flattened her hair, and looked at him as though none of it had ever happened.

“I’m good now,” she said cheerfully through heavy breaths. “Just needed to get that out of my system.”

She smiled and briskly walked away, while Peter still remained slumped, slack jawed and dumbfounded against the wall.

Oh, hell no did she just do that to him. All that fire and passion and he just ended up stuck with panting and a needy hard-on? He felt so dirty and used, like she pinned him down, took what she wanted, and left him hanging. Or…the opposite of flaccid. Whatever. Still.

………

……GUH! This is so unfair!

xxx

Nine days left to go, and Peter was getting laid tonight, dammit. It was time to stop being clichéd, and pull out the Raw Sex God card. He needed to peak into her deepest fantasies, everything that went through her head when she touched herself late at night. Then, Peter would embody all of that into one act, and hook…line…and sinker. She’d be putty in his hands.

All in good fun, of course. Manipulating Claire on a real life basis horrified him to bits, and if he honestly thought she wouldn’t have sex with him, he would totally back off. He’d do it with his bottom lip sticking out in a pout, but he’d still never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.

Which is why the last plan pissed him off so much. SHE mauled HIM. It wasn’t his fault in the least bit. Could he help being sexy, and adorable, and smelling like nutmeg? No.

That morning, Peter made sure to turn it to the sexiest thing on TV. This happened to be VH1’s Jumpstart, a running playlist of some popular music videos. Ah, well. Close enough. Shirtless Justin Timberlake ought to have drawn something out of her.

“Claire!” he called devilishly from the living room. Claire poked her head out of the bathroom with a tube of lipstick in her fingers.

“What?”

“Come look at this!”

Looking confused, Claire came to see what he was talking about, only to find JT prancing around on the TV in short shorts.

“Thought you’d like that,” Peter shrugged nonchalantly. “You fangirl him like crazy.”

Claire put her hands on her hips. “I do not! He’s ugly! Billy Armstrong is much hotter.”

“He’s old enough to be your dad and he’s living his third childhood!” Peter cringed, revolted. “You have the weirdest taste.”

“I like older men,” Claire pouted, leaning down to kiss his cheek, leaving a red imprint from her lipstick. Peter rolled his eyes, but didn’t wipe it off. It wasn’t until she was in the other room again that he realized he forgot to read her mind.

Time to go balls out on this one, it looked like.

“Claire?”

“I’m gonna be late if you keep this up.”

Peter leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, giving her a cynical look. “C’mon, will the world explode if you’re a little late?”

“Well, no, but-“

“So it’s not important,” Peter replied airily, before moving on. “I want to play a word association game.”

“You have work too. You should be getting ready.”

“I’m already dressed.”

“Those are pajamas, not scrubs.”

“Same thing.”

Claire turned back to the mirror to fix her mascara, not bothering to reply.

“Sex toy,” Peter announced suddenly, peeking into her thoughts. He nearly guffawed at the words he heard in her head, but her mouth moved a mile a minute in shock.

“WHAT?!”

“I told you,” he explained, exasperated. “Say the first word that comes to mind.” 

“Alright…” Claire replied suspiciously.

“Wet.”

“Otter.”

“Wha…otter?”

Claire shot an offended glare at him. “Otters live in water!”

“That’s not what I-oh, forget it,” Peter grumbled, leaving her alone to get ready.

Pervert, she pointedly thought at him, and he took two steps back, staring at her through the doorframe. She wore a knowing smirk.

We are getting married and all. I know you inside and out, Peter.

He stalked off, muttering words of defeat, but feeling slightly giddy that she knew him so completely. They really were soulmates, bonded by fate, and even when they bickered like an old married couple, they always kissed and made up at the end of the day. Usually, it went way far beyond kissing, and he briefly thought of turning back and bringing this up to her, before banishing the idea away.

Just like the secret sex god plan.

Sigh.

xxx

Three more days. Just THREE. MORE. DAYS.

The mother frelling time space continuim had lag; Peter would swear by it. He almost expected Hiro to pop up at any moment with the Blue Screen of Death. “Sorry! Time is officially frozen forever! Whoopsies!”

Which gave Peter his next brilliant idea.

It wasn’t about seducing Claire. He learned by now that the woman had the resolve of a nun, and getting her to give wasn’t exactly taking candy from a baby. But this plan just allowed him to bypass the rules, find a loophole. It was genius!

So when Claire was still sleeping in on that quiet Sunday morning, Peter crept out of bed as silently as possible, threw on some casual clothes, thought of Hiro, and teleported a few days into the future.

NotSoDistantFuture!Claire laid sleepily on the couch, finishing off a bag of popcorn and watching soap opera re-runs. Peter took a peek at her from the kitchen, saw the bathrobe wrapped around her, and heard the shower running. She was obviously about to step in, meaning he picked the perfect time to teleport to.

As naturally as he could, he stepped out of the kitchen and took a peek at what she was watching.

“Sammy and Lucas just made out, even though she’s pregnant with the British guy’s baby,” Claire recited automatically. He had no clue who Sammy or Lucas were, and apparently, even Claire didn’t know the name of the baby daddy. But the prompt almost invited him in.

“They made out? That gives me ideas,” he winked, leaning down and wrapping his arms around her neck from behind the couch. As he started brushing his lips behind her ear and creeping his hands lower. Claire simply shook her head, giggling to herself, before standing out of his reach.

“Horny bastard. Couldn’t wait just a couple more days?”

His eyes widened. “How did you-?”

Claire beamed at his expense. “Last time I checked, you were in the shower.” She pointed towards the bathroom, and Peter blushed the color of his figuratively red hands.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” he weakly attempted and Claire still giggled.

“PETER!” she sing-songed down the hall.

“WHAT?” came the answering call from the shower. Claire crossed her arms over her chest, spinning back to Past!Peter smugly.

Peter rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Right…”

“Remind me to tell you I love you,” Claire said chipperly, leaning up to press a peck on his lips before he teleported back to his own time. 

xxx

“Where are you!!”

“At Starbucks. Why?”

“You-you,” Peter stuttered over the phone. “You couldn’t have left a note or something!? I’ve been going out of my mind here!”

“Yeah, sure you have.”

“I HAVE!”

“Mmm-hmm. I know what day it is, sweetie.”

Peter dropped onto the couch, slithering into anouther poutfest. “So that’s why you decided to leave before I woke up. Of ALL the days.”

Claire sipped her Frappachino breezily. “You’ve waited thirty days. You can survive a few more hours.”

“Claire…” he wanted to whine, but restrained himself. Instead, he confidently replied, “Alright, have it your way. But I’m avenging myself for this crap when you get home.”

Stupid time. Stupid conscience.

xxx

Claire took a deep breath before sticking her key into the door and turning it. Once this door closed, there was no turning back. A knot of arousal, excitement, and anxiety all pulsed in her lower belly. She took the day off school to plan out more wedding stuff, go to another dress fitting, etc. It reminded her how close the date actually was. In one week, Peter would be her husband for life.

Thirty days. She tested him for thirty days, and he proved his determination and deep love for her in more ways then she could count. It was never about punishment, or making sure he stayed on his best behavior. All along, Claire wanted him to break the rules. Wanted him to fight like a madman for her, since he never had to do that before. It wasn’t that she was insecure; Claire knew with all her heart that Peter loved her more then anything in the world.

Marriage was a huge commitment though. Could Peter love her like that for the rest of their lives, which, due to their powers, could literally be ‘together forever?’

As far as she could tell, he was one hundred and ten percent ready for this. He never even thought of cheating on her, which would have been most mens’ first instinct if their wife went on a sex strike. No, instead, he romanced her, tried sweeping her off her feet. Peter was a man that loved a good challenge, and if he proved that if he couldn’t have Claire, he’d try till his dying day. Either that, or become a monk.

All he wanted was her, and knowing this with full confidence, Claire mustered up a smile easily and opened the front door.

The apartment was empty and dark.

“P-Peter?” Claire asked timidly, putting down her wedding dress and bags. “You home?”

He had to be home. He’d probably been pacing this place all day.

“Peter?” she called again, looking around, a slow fear creeping up.

“Right here,” husked a voice in her ear, and she felt fingertips graze her arms. However, when she whipped around, nothing was there.

“Shh,” Peter whispered, facing her front now and cupping her face in his hands. “I’m still here.”

“You’re invisible?” Claire asked dumbly. “That’s sort of creepy. Like I’m being groped by a ghost or something.”

Peter chuckled and shimmered into visibility to reassure her. “Not a ghost. Just me,” he rasped again, making her heart melt.

“Make love to me,” she moaned, leaning in to take his mouth with a hungry fervor not unlike the one she used two weeks ago.

Peter pulled away, though, still able to taste her lust on his lips. He leered playfully.

“If you can find me,” he told her, turning invisible again. Claire nearly stomped her foot in angish. Revenge loving son of a…

And oh no. Not now. Oh. Em. Gee.

Claire blinked a couple times, as if making sure this crap was actually hitting the fan in the way she thought it just did.

“Um…hold on a second,” she announced uncomfortably, heading to the bathroom and closing the door. Peter took that as a sign that he wasn’t permitted to enter, a rarity with the openness of their relationship.

Frowning, he turned visible again and walked to the door. “Claire? You okay?”

“DAMMIT!”

Peter jumped and lept back from the door. A few seconds later, it swung open, a very pissed off looking Claire holding the doorknob.

“This is gonna have to wait a few days,” she affirmed bluntly, walking to the kitchen to grab some Tylenol.

“What for?” Peter shot out, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. It wasn’t the waiting he was mad about; it was that something was obviously wrong, and Claire wasn’t telling him. She knew she could tell him anything; he was practically her husband.

“Claire, what’s going on?” he asked again, softneing his voice and rubbing her shoulders tenderly. Claire threw her head back tiredly and sighed.

“It just became the wrong time of the month.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Dammit indeed,” Peter rubbed his cheek, quoting her.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, fisting her hands in his T-shirt. “I know how much this meant to you, and I was looking forward to it too, and-”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Peter assured her, taking her into his arms. “I know it’s not something you can control.”

“I should never have gone on this stupid ban,” Claire scolded herself into his chest. “This is totally the lame universe, karma, and every male God punishing me.”

Peter laughed, surprising himself with how easy he was taking the news. “Nah, I deserved it. It sucked, but I did deserve it.”

Claire drew back, sniffling a bit. “So we’re okay?”

Her fiance grasped her hand and intwined his fingers with it, bending down to kiss her engagement ring.

“Better then okay. I love you.”

Claire buried herself in his embrace again. “I love you, too.”

xxx

“So what do you think?” Claire cocked an eyebrow suggestively, posing in the bathroom doorway.

Peter, feet resting on the hotel canopy bed’s footboard, glanced up from the room service menu. His brown eyes started from her wedding style high heels, all the way up her tanned, gorgeous legs, to the frilly garter on one of them, then up more to the corsetted silk nightie. The pile of curls that she had on top of her head all day were loose now, giving her a wild head full of volumous blonde ringlets.

Peter whistled low and clasped his hand to his chest. “I think I just lost a couple years off my life expectancy. Where’d you get that?”

Claire sauntered like a minx and plucked the menu from his gripless hands.

“It was a gift. Something old, something new,” she expounded, pointing to the shoes, and then tracing her curves in the nightie.

“What about something borrowed and blue?” Peter cocked his head.

Claire shrugged. “I borrowed your mother’s veil. She offered to let me borrow her perfume, but I figured you probably wouldn’t like to have sex when I smelled like your mom.”

Her husband shuddered, fighting now to gag. “Yeah, good idea.”

“As for something blue,” she added with a suggestive glint in her eyes. She got on the bed gracefully and in one swift movement, straddled him. “You’ll just have to find that one for yourself.”

“Can’t wait,” Peter grinned, flipping them over. He’d been hard since they got to the Honeymoon Suite (Nathan’s wedding present that he slipped Peter when Angela wasn’t looking. “Brother to brother,” he smiled.), but that didn’t mean he wanted to rush things. After nearly fourty days of waiting, Peter was hell bent on making this the most romantic, phenomenal sex of her life. You only got one wedding night after all.

He immediately bent his face down to hers, teasing her with slow, languid kisses. Claire responded fervently, playing with his tounge and reaching up to his neck to undo his tie.

Peter took the liberty, sitting back on his knees and undoing the complicated thing himself. Claire watched him, propped up on her elbows, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“I’m not gonna be able to see any of our friends or family after this, you know.”

Mild concern slowed his movements. “Why not?”

“They’ll all, like…know I’m not a virgin anymore.”

“You haven’t been a virgin for years,” Peter pointed out, finally having the annoying tie undone and starting on his shirt buttons. 

“Yeah, but now they’ll all know for sure. And oh God…what are you gonna do around my dad?”

She thought she saw Peter gulp a little. Mr. Bennet pulling the young groom over at a Christmas party, asking Peter about his daughter’s sex life was not a fun daydream.

“Maybe we should rethink the whole abstinance thing,” Peter suggested psudo-seriously. Claire started helping him with the buttons he stopped undoing.

“Oh, please. It’s worth the awkward looks.”

She lowered her hands to the zipper on his slacks, sliding the fastener down at a tantalizingly slow pace. Peter thought he’d explode when she finally reached in and pulled him out, all those years of experience with him making it effortless to stroke him exactly how he liked it.

“Claire,” he breathed, whole body relaxing and his eyes fluttering shut. A few moments later, when he was about to pull back as not to finish quite yet, something horrible struck him and nearly wilted all of that restricted excitement right off of him.

“Oh, shit,” he groaned, falling forward onto the bed, beside Claire. She instantly turned him over, and saw that his face was more aggravated then hurt.

He looked to the ceiling unenthusiastically. “We forgot.”

“Forgot?”

“Condoms,” he replied dryly. Claire surprised the hell out of him by smiling and reaching over to the bedside table and opening the drawer.

“What are you-,”

She turned back to him and held up a circular shaped case with lots of little pills in a circle. About half were missing.

“I started on these a few weeks ago,” she confessed. “I figured that since I was getting married, it would be smart to get into the habit of taking them every day since…if we every wanted to start a family or something it would be easier this way…”

Peter couldn’t help but beam at her and run the side of his hand down her cheek affectionatly. “I love you,” was all he knew how to say back to that.

She smiled back, every inch the blushing bride, and set the pills back on the table. “I know,” she whispered, putting her palm on his chest as leverage to kiss him.

Peter flipped them over once again, and kneeled between her barely parted legs. He placed a hand on both sides of her, hovering over her red-lipped, heaving, and beautifully petite form.

Now how to get this bloody thing off of her.

Looking at all of the intricate strings criss-crossing the front, Peter wondered how she even got IN the thing let alone how to get it off. She stared up at him a little impatiently, propped up on her elbows and waited for him to make a move.

I’ll buy her a new one, he promised himself, starting at the top and making a clean telekentic slice down the middle. The nightie was totally split in half, reavealing a sudden eyeful of sweaty flesh and swollen breasts.

Peter gladly felt himself go hard again about half a second later.

Claire fought to keep up as he pulled the remaining fabric off of her and tossed it onto the floor unceremoniously. His smoldering gaze turned back to her body, everything out to see except for the damp spot that he longed for. A tiny, baby blue thong covered that area. Peter smirked.

“Something blue.”

Claire responded angellically, “Told ya you’d find it.”

To even the playing field, she reached up and started removing his clothes, and would have ripped them clean off had she not known that it was an incredibly expensive tux that Peter would most likely put a thirty day restriction on her for ruining. So she did the best she could, getting him down to his underwear in just a few seconds without ripping a single piece of fabric.

Peter gently pushed her back against the marshmellow bed, craning to drag his full lips across her perky nipples. Claire squeaked, sliding her fingers into his sleek hair and messing it up all over again. Like he cared, though. Peter was too busy devoting all his attention to her breasts. While one subjected to the erotic torture of his tounge circling the tip, the other grew firmer and firmer as he flicked his thumb across it. Claire arched her back in need, already aware that he could make her go screaming over the edge just by touching her.

Peter granted some mercy, moving up from her curves and into his favorite spot: her neck. Well, second favorite spot, that is.

“Do you know…how long…I’ve been waiting for this…?” Peter panted against her throat. His strong hands covered every bare inch of skin imaginable, prompting Claire to grip his shoulders and dig her nails in.

“Oh! Mmm, Peter…” she moaned, letting herself surrender to the heat of his body and wetness between her legs.  “Now,” she heaved. “I need you.”

Peter felt himself swell even more at her words. Being needed, wanted, desired…it was the most arousing thing in the world for its rarity and value.

Her made no verbal reply, but answered her plea by leisurely dragging ‘something blue’ down her legs, but leaving the garter on her upper thigh. No one ever said Peter Petrelli didn’t have his kinks. Claire’s voice spiked an octive higher at the feel of the cool night air rushing into her core. Peter gave her a couple seconds to recover before lowering a finger and circling her entrance.

He looked up at her blissful expression, the lovely ‘O’ her mouth formed, and her arms spread eagle out on the bed. This was his stunning wife. His wife.

Peter still wasn’t quite used to the term, but not unpleasantly so by any means.

“Please,” she begged him, bucking against the finger that was barely touching her. Peter couldn’t bear to make her wait any longer, and his own needs started nagging for him to hurry up as well. So, removing his now soaked finger from her readiness, he shimmied out of his boxers and returned to his previous position.

As soon as he was within proximity, Claire wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling herself up to press their throbbing heats together. In perfect sync, but not yet one.

It had been a long time since the first thrust hurt, and he slid in with effortlessness. Claire’s eyes snapped open, and the most feminine sounds imaginable came out of her throat, spurring Peter on before he’d even started. He sat still for a long twenty seconds, simply letting all other thoughts go except the feeling of her hot, tight flesh clenching around him steadily. How had he survived for so long without this? If only she knew how titillatingly beyond belief it felt to be inside of her…

He grasped her hips to help her move in rhythm with his fast but placid thrusts. Claire went with the flow, arching her hips up even higher, rocking back and forth. She felt his cracked palms on her pelvis and a pleasant shiver went down her spine at the cool metal of his gold wedding band pressing against her skin.

“Yes, oh, God, please,” she gasped, throwing her arms around his neck, longing to be as close to him as physically possible. Peter heard himself groaning in ecstasy off in the distance, eyes rolling back in his head as Claire drew her index finger up the length of his backbone.

They were both pushing the edge before they even started, and now it was out of control. Claire slammed fiercly up against her husband, wanting to get him in as deep as possible. Peter knew her yearning and obliged, forcing himself to press every centimeter of his cock into her spasming wetness.

He could feel her starting to come and slowed his pace a little, tortured her with his slow, tempting thrusts until he rammed back in and heard her cry out in breathless satisfaction. One more pump forward and he was coming just as hard as her, gritting his teeth and spilling his ownership into her heat for the first time without a pesky condom in the way. Claire quivered in pleasure at the foreign feeling of him emptying himself out, a low growl from her diaphram in response.

Peter managed to pull out and roll over before utterly collapsing onto the mattress beside his wife. Claire, breasts still bobbing in and out with her rapid breaths, turned to face him with a broad smile on her sweaty face.

“I think that was worth the wait,” she chuckled, cuddling up against his side.

It took Peter some time to regain his motor skills and actually form a coherant reply. “You’ve got my vote,” he wheezed back, barely able to keep his eyes open. “If we have sex like that from now on, I would seriously blow my brains out if I ever had to go thirty days without it.”

Claire giggled. “Me too,” she concurred, stroking his toned chest lovingly. “I love you.”

He wrapped an arm around his wife, his Claire, the love of his life. “I’m never gonna get sick of hearing that.”

“I love you,” Claire repeated indolently. She started to go to sleep at his side. Peter kissed her forehead and stroked that mane of blonde hair.

“I know,” he winked. “I love you too.”

He looked at his wedding ring for the umpteenth time before closing his eyes. It was the last thing he saw before fatigue and pleasure claimed him for the night, with Claire by his side for eternity.

 xxx