Fic: Aloha
Title: Aloha!
Author: brighteyed_jill
Pairing: Petlabriel
Rating: PG-13 for boy kissing
Word Count: 600
Summary: Sylar and Gabriel help Peter shake the winter blues.
Author’s Note: For capn_mactastic's advent calendar of doom, and the mission_insane prompt: beach.
A warm breeze blew across Peter’s face. He turned over sleepily. “Wake up Peter,” a familiar voice whispered in his ear.
“Hughn?” Peter cracked one eye open. It was much brighter than it should have been in the apartment, and his ears were filled with a lilting, rhythmic sound he couldn’t identify. He opened his eyes and sat up. The hammock he was in swayed precariously, and Sylar, kneeling on the ground next to him, steadied it.
“Aloha,” said Sylar.
The sun was shining down on them from a perfectly cloudless sky. Beyond where Sylar sat, sand stretched from a line of verdant jungle down to the ocean, where rolling waves pounded out the rhythm Peter had been hearing. They were definitely not in New York anymore.
“Huh?” Peter said intelligently.
Maybe he’s still asleep. If so, we could do what we did last time. I mean, except with remembering to actually wake him up.
No. I’m playing now.
Before that exchange could go any further, Peter asked, “Where are we?”
“On the beach,” Sylar said. He squinted up at the sun, managing to look annoyed. “I hope illusions can’t cause sunburn,” he muttered.
“This is an illusion?” Peter looked around, impressed. “Neat.”
We know you get depressed when the city is so dreary for weeks on end.
Peter smiled, genuinely touched. New York had been particularly bleak this year, day after day of slate-grey skies that made him want to curl up in bed and ignore the world. He didn’t think either of his lovers had realized the reason. “Thank you. That’s-.”
“Don’t say sweet,” Sylar interrupted. “I just wanted to see if I could do it.”
“Come on, Sylar.” Peter grinned. “You can’t say this isn’t nice.” He leaned down from the hammock to give his lover a lazy, sloppy kiss. When they broke apart, Sylar looked considerably mollified. “Besides, this gives you a reason to show off your hot body.”
Nuh. Sylar plucked at his Hawaiian shirt self-consciously before turning his gaze back to Peter, raking his eyes up and down the nurse’s body appreciatively. “Or at least to admire yours.”
Peter looked down to see that he was clad only in a pair of Speedos. “Hey!” he complained, taking in Sylar’s shirt, swim trucks, and sandals.
Told you he’d notice.
“It’s my illusion,” Sylar said haughtily. “So you have to wear what I want.”
“Is that so?” Peter attempted to launch himself at Sylar, but ended up underneath the hammock with a face full of sand.
Sylar sat back on his heels, laughing delightedly.
“Just wait,” Peter threatened as he shook sand out of his hair. It was hard to hold on to indignation when it was so damn sunny out. “We’ll see if Speedos are so funny!” he grumbled.
Sylar tackled him, catching Peter’s wrists and pressing them into the sand above his head. “It’s my illusion,” Sylar repeated. “So anything in it belongs to me. Including the damn Speedo.” He attacked Peter’s mouth, sucking on lips and tongue for a moment before pulling back. His eyes traveled the length of Peter’s body again, settling on the tight fabric stretched across Peter’s groin. “And anything inside them belongs to me, too,” he added.
“Oh,” said Peter. He thrust his hips up against Sylar. “You gonna take what’s yours, then?”
“Might do,” growled Sylar, and darted down to claim Peter’s mouth again.
Oh good. Glad I remembered to pack some suntan oil.
Author: brighteyed_jill
Pairing: Petlabriel
Rating: PG-13 for boy kissing
Word Count: 600
Summary: Sylar and Gabriel help Peter shake the winter blues.
Author’s Note: For capn_mactastic's advent calendar of doom, and the mission_insane prompt: beach.
A warm breeze blew across Peter’s face. He turned over sleepily. “Wake up Peter,” a familiar voice whispered in his ear.
“Hughn?” Peter cracked one eye open. It was much brighter than it should have been in the apartment, and his ears were filled with a lilting, rhythmic sound he couldn’t identify. He opened his eyes and sat up. The hammock he was in swayed precariously, and Sylar, kneeling on the ground next to him, steadied it.
“Aloha,” said Sylar.
The sun was shining down on them from a perfectly cloudless sky. Beyond where Sylar sat, sand stretched from a line of verdant jungle down to the ocean, where rolling waves pounded out the rhythm Peter had been hearing. They were definitely not in New York anymore.
“Huh?” Peter said intelligently.
Maybe he’s still asleep. If so, we could do what we did last time. I mean, except with remembering to actually wake him up.
No. I’m playing now.
Before that exchange could go any further, Peter asked, “Where are we?”
“On the beach,” Sylar said. He squinted up at the sun, managing to look annoyed. “I hope illusions can’t cause sunburn,” he muttered.
“This is an illusion?” Peter looked around, impressed. “Neat.”
We know you get depressed when the city is so dreary for weeks on end.
Peter smiled, genuinely touched. New York had been particularly bleak this year, day after day of slate-grey skies that made him want to curl up in bed and ignore the world. He didn’t think either of his lovers had realized the reason. “Thank you. That’s-.”
“Don’t say sweet,” Sylar interrupted. “I just wanted to see if I could do it.”
“Come on, Sylar.” Peter grinned. “You can’t say this isn’t nice.” He leaned down from the hammock to give his lover a lazy, sloppy kiss. When they broke apart, Sylar looked considerably mollified. “Besides, this gives you a reason to show off your hot body.”
Nuh. Sylar plucked at his Hawaiian shirt self-consciously before turning his gaze back to Peter, raking his eyes up and down the nurse’s body appreciatively. “Or at least to admire yours.”
Peter looked down to see that he was clad only in a pair of Speedos. “Hey!” he complained, taking in Sylar’s shirt, swim trucks, and sandals.
Told you he’d notice.
“It’s my illusion,” Sylar said haughtily. “So you have to wear what I want.”
“Is that so?” Peter attempted to launch himself at Sylar, but ended up underneath the hammock with a face full of sand.
Sylar sat back on his heels, laughing delightedly.
“Just wait,” Peter threatened as he shook sand out of his hair. It was hard to hold on to indignation when it was so damn sunny out. “We’ll see if Speedos are so funny!” he grumbled.
Sylar tackled him, catching Peter’s wrists and pressing them into the sand above his head. “It’s my illusion,” Sylar repeated. “So anything in it belongs to me. Including the damn Speedo.” He attacked Peter’s mouth, sucking on lips and tongue for a moment before pulling back. His eyes traveled the length of Peter’s body again, settling on the tight fabric stretched across Peter’s groin. “And anything inside them belongs to me, too,” he added.
“Oh,” said Peter. He thrust his hips up against Sylar. “You gonna take what’s yours, then?”
“Might do,” growled Sylar, and darted down to claim Peter’s mouth again.
Oh good. Glad I remembered to pack some suntan oil.