Sticky Fumblings (Fiction)
Title: Sticky Fumblings
Author: chasepoke
Characters: Sylar, Peter, ???
Spoilers: Homecoming spoilers
Rating: PG-13 - R
Warnings: Non-graphic sex and graphic violence
Summary: In which Peter discovers that death is just as good as sex... or something. This one is hard to summarize.
Author's Notes: Yeah, I don't know. I actually really like this and hope to write a sequel. Hopefully the sequel will have less random quotes from horror movies...
Peter sighed as he stared at Mendez’s painting. Seeing a painting of his own body lying broken and bloody on the ground sent a shiver down his back, especially since he knew it was going to become a reality within twenty-four hours. He lay back on the hotel bed, arms behind his head, and closed his eyes. For someone who was about to die, he felt oddly content. He let his mind wander. Had he led a good life? A full life? How many people had been affected due to his existence? Peter remembered all of his lovers. There weren’t many. He had been too busy. Between his work and trying to hide from the cameras that his namesake brought to his door, he hardly had any time for romance. Peter thought back to when he lost his virginity. He recalled a line from a movie he saw once: …sticky fumblings in the back seats of cars…” That summed his first time up well.
Young Peter Petrelli had been driving home when his headlights lit up a small form sitting on the sidewalk, head resting on his knees. Peter knew he shouldn’t stop, especially in New York, but curiosity and worry forced him to press down on the break. Peter rolled down the window and stuck his head out, “Hey, are you alright?” he asked. The boy looked up, tears staining his cheeks. Peter blinked in surprise, recognizing the teenager from school. He was lanky and tall and dorky. Always being teased and beat up by the other children.
“I’m fine,” the other said, sniffing. Yet, he had a certain allure to him. Peter couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was the voice. Maybe it was the eyes. Whatever it was, it compelled Peter to open his car door and offer the other a ride.
They made it to the other boy’s house without incident. There was a little conversation on the way over; mostly it was just softly spoken directions. Turn here, right up next. Peter decided the other’s attraction came from a combination of his eyes and his voice. His voice was velvet and Peter quite enjoyed letting it slide over him. His eyes were deep and sad. It made Peter want to reach out and hug him. So, as soon as they stopped in front of the other’s house, he did.
Peter wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but the next thing he knew, they were all over each other. Chalk it up to teenage hormones. Inexperienced hands stumbled over his body as he explored the other’s form just as clumsily. When they kissed each other, Peter sensed desperation from the other teenager and in the back of Peter’s mind he wondered why. But then those awkward hands were slipping below Peter’s waistband and any thoughts that didn’t consist of the words “Oh God” and “Yes” were wiped from his mind.
He took the other and all of the salacious, little noises the other teenager uttered made up for the inexperience. They cried their orgasms into each other’s mouths and collapsed into an ungainly heap, panting and slightly shell-shocked. Peter shifted a bit, in an attempt to get a little more comfortable. The other smiled at him and entwined his fingers in Peter’s hair. Peter smiled happily and was just deciding to add the other’s scent to his mental list of what attracted him to the other teen when a light flicked on inside the house and the other’s breath hitched. He quickly disentangled himself from Peter’s limbs and dressed in record speed before half climbing, half-tumbling out of the car. “I’mreallyreallysorrybutIhavetogo,” he blurted before darting up the driveway.
“Wait!” Peter called, but it was already too late. His first-ever lover was already slipping through his front door and Peter didn’t even know his name.
Peter heaved another sigh. He had never seen that kid again. He wondered what happened to him. Why he hadn’t shown up in school again and whether it was somehow Peter’s fault. He lamented the fact that he’d never experience the feel of hands and lips on his skin again. He wondered how much his death would hurt…
The adrenaline rush was unexpected and not entirely welcome. Peter didn’t think it was right to feel such excitement at the death around him, with the knowledge that not only would he be joining the fallen soon, but he would most likely be adding to it. He felt ashamed when his first concern wasn’t keeping the cheerleader safe from that monster of a man standing before him, but instead it was tearing that monster down. Meeting his body with the intent to take his life. It sent a sick thrill through Peter that he failed to understand. He had never been a violent person, preferring instead to nurture the victims than to destroy the perpetrator. Peter placed the blame for his passion on the black-clad man. Maybe it was the fact that he was to be Peter’s killer. Maybe it was the way he was standing, menacing and calm at the same time. Whatever it was, it compelled Peter to want to beat the other, to watch the light (if there was any) go out of his eyes. He never got the chance to though, because now locker doors were ripping from their hinges and flinging themselves at Peter. His fight or flight instincts kicked in and his body chose flight. Peter chased after the cheerleader, letting her screams fuel his fear. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the man was following them at a slightly fast walk, yet was still managing to keep up with them. Chalk it up to the other being a killer. Peter and the girl ran outside, into an amphitheater, and scrambled up the stadium seats. He told the cheerleader to run away, and was surprised when he had to tell her twice. But she eventually listened and ran off. Peter turned to face his destiny. The man was still standing in the entranceway of the amphitheater, looking up at Peter. Peter had never been patient, “Come closer.” His voice was hoarse. Peter’s breath stuttered when the man approached so fast that he seemed to blink into appearance in front of him. He shivered, but he didn’t know if it was from fear or enthusiasm. Peter wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but the next thing he knew, they were all over each other. Fists rained down on both of them, splitting lips and bruising skin. Their limbs tangled as they fought. Sticky fumblings in the back seats of cars… Only they weren’t in a car. And the stickiness wasn’t from sweat, but from blood, and it thrilled Peter to the core, spurring him to hit faster, harder. Suddenly, Peter was aware of the fact that his head was hanging in mid-air. The amphitheater seats didn’t even out to solid ground at the top, they simply dropped a good twenty feet down. So, this was how he died: falling off stadium seats. The murderer had him pinned now and Peter shuddered when the other man leaned down, putting his mouth next to Peter’s ear,
“My name’s Sylar. What’s yours?”
“Peter,” he answered. Sylar smirked down at him. Peter was just deciding to add Sylar’s voice to his mental list of things that made him want to kill the other when suddenly both he and Sylar were tumbling through the air. The psycho had actually jumped off the edge of the seats, pulling Peter with him, instead of just pushing Peter off. In the back of Peter’s mind he wondered why but then he was hitting the ground and all thoughts were wiped from his mind.
Peter’s eyes flew open, his breath coming back to him in huge gasps. He was just dead. How was he breathing again? And, oh, the pain. He looked up to see the cheerleader staring down at him in shock and then he looked at his legs. They were completely twisted. Peter felt his body healing at a great speed and, instead of questioning it, he just grabbed his legs and snapped them back into place with a sickening crunch.
“How did you…?” the cheerleader started. But Peter had other things on his mind. He looked around for Sylar,
“Where is he?” he asked. He tried to hide his utter frustration when she informed him that she didn’t know. He sent her to call the cops. He forced himself to get up after she left. He wandered off in the direction he thought Sylar would most likely take, eyes darting around, looking for signs that the other man was near. He eventually found himself in a patch of trees just outside of the school’s campus. He darted behind a tree when he heard voices. Peering around the trunk, he saw two people he didn’t recognize, one female and one male, as well as the man he had been searching for. He watched in shock as the girl told Sylar to sleep and he immediately slumped to the ground. The two strangers picked up the killer and walked off with him. Peter was surprised to feel a rush of anger at the sight. He felt that not only should it not be that easy to catch Sylar, but also that Sylar was his to catch. Peter growled, and followed after them, intent on rescuing Sylar, so that he could kill him himself.
Author: chasepoke
Characters: Sylar, Peter, ???
Spoilers: Homecoming spoilers
Rating: PG-13 - R
Warnings: Non-graphic sex and graphic violence
Summary: In which Peter discovers that death is just as good as sex... or something. This one is hard to summarize.
Author's Notes: Yeah, I don't know. I actually really like this and hope to write a sequel. Hopefully the sequel will have less random quotes from horror movies...
Peter sighed as he stared at Mendez’s painting. Seeing a painting of his own body lying broken and bloody on the ground sent a shiver down his back, especially since he knew it was going to become a reality within twenty-four hours. He lay back on the hotel bed, arms behind his head, and closed his eyes. For someone who was about to die, he felt oddly content. He let his mind wander. Had he led a good life? A full life? How many people had been affected due to his existence? Peter remembered all of his lovers. There weren’t many. He had been too busy. Between his work and trying to hide from the cameras that his namesake brought to his door, he hardly had any time for romance. Peter thought back to when he lost his virginity. He recalled a line from a movie he saw once: …sticky fumblings in the back seats of cars…” That summed his first time up well.
Young Peter Petrelli had been driving home when his headlights lit up a small form sitting on the sidewalk, head resting on his knees. Peter knew he shouldn’t stop, especially in New York, but curiosity and worry forced him to press down on the break. Peter rolled down the window and stuck his head out, “Hey, are you alright?” he asked. The boy looked up, tears staining his cheeks. Peter blinked in surprise, recognizing the teenager from school. He was lanky and tall and dorky. Always being teased and beat up by the other children.
“I’m fine,” the other said, sniffing. Yet, he had a certain allure to him. Peter couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was the voice. Maybe it was the eyes. Whatever it was, it compelled Peter to open his car door and offer the other a ride.
They made it to the other boy’s house without incident. There was a little conversation on the way over; mostly it was just softly spoken directions. Turn here, right up next. Peter decided the other’s attraction came from a combination of his eyes and his voice. His voice was velvet and Peter quite enjoyed letting it slide over him. His eyes were deep and sad. It made Peter want to reach out and hug him. So, as soon as they stopped in front of the other’s house, he did.
Peter wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but the next thing he knew, they were all over each other. Chalk it up to teenage hormones. Inexperienced hands stumbled over his body as he explored the other’s form just as clumsily. When they kissed each other, Peter sensed desperation from the other teenager and in the back of Peter’s mind he wondered why. But then those awkward hands were slipping below Peter’s waistband and any thoughts that didn’t consist of the words “Oh God” and “Yes” were wiped from his mind.
He took the other and all of the salacious, little noises the other teenager uttered made up for the inexperience. They cried their orgasms into each other’s mouths and collapsed into an ungainly heap, panting and slightly shell-shocked. Peter shifted a bit, in an attempt to get a little more comfortable. The other smiled at him and entwined his fingers in Peter’s hair. Peter smiled happily and was just deciding to add the other’s scent to his mental list of what attracted him to the other teen when a light flicked on inside the house and the other’s breath hitched. He quickly disentangled himself from Peter’s limbs and dressed in record speed before half climbing, half-tumbling out of the car. “I’mreallyreallysorrybutIhavetogo,” he blurted before darting up the driveway.
“Wait!” Peter called, but it was already too late. His first-ever lover was already slipping through his front door and Peter didn’t even know his name.
Peter heaved another sigh. He had never seen that kid again. He wondered what happened to him. Why he hadn’t shown up in school again and whether it was somehow Peter’s fault. He lamented the fact that he’d never experience the feel of hands and lips on his skin again. He wondered how much his death would hurt…
The adrenaline rush was unexpected and not entirely welcome. Peter didn’t think it was right to feel such excitement at the death around him, with the knowledge that not only would he be joining the fallen soon, but he would most likely be adding to it. He felt ashamed when his first concern wasn’t keeping the cheerleader safe from that monster of a man standing before him, but instead it was tearing that monster down. Meeting his body with the intent to take his life. It sent a sick thrill through Peter that he failed to understand. He had never been a violent person, preferring instead to nurture the victims than to destroy the perpetrator. Peter placed the blame for his passion on the black-clad man. Maybe it was the fact that he was to be Peter’s killer. Maybe it was the way he was standing, menacing and calm at the same time. Whatever it was, it compelled Peter to want to beat the other, to watch the light (if there was any) go out of his eyes. He never got the chance to though, because now locker doors were ripping from their hinges and flinging themselves at Peter. His fight or flight instincts kicked in and his body chose flight. Peter chased after the cheerleader, letting her screams fuel his fear. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the man was following them at a slightly fast walk, yet was still managing to keep up with them. Chalk it up to the other being a killer. Peter and the girl ran outside, into an amphitheater, and scrambled up the stadium seats. He told the cheerleader to run away, and was surprised when he had to tell her twice. But she eventually listened and ran off. Peter turned to face his destiny. The man was still standing in the entranceway of the amphitheater, looking up at Peter. Peter had never been patient, “Come closer.” His voice was hoarse. Peter’s breath stuttered when the man approached so fast that he seemed to blink into appearance in front of him. He shivered, but he didn’t know if it was from fear or enthusiasm. Peter wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but the next thing he knew, they were all over each other. Fists rained down on both of them, splitting lips and bruising skin. Their limbs tangled as they fought. Sticky fumblings in the back seats of cars… Only they weren’t in a car. And the stickiness wasn’t from sweat, but from blood, and it thrilled Peter to the core, spurring him to hit faster, harder. Suddenly, Peter was aware of the fact that his head was hanging in mid-air. The amphitheater seats didn’t even out to solid ground at the top, they simply dropped a good twenty feet down. So, this was how he died: falling off stadium seats. The murderer had him pinned now and Peter shuddered when the other man leaned down, putting his mouth next to Peter’s ear,
“My name’s Sylar. What’s yours?”
“Peter,” he answered. Sylar smirked down at him. Peter was just deciding to add Sylar’s voice to his mental list of things that made him want to kill the other when suddenly both he and Sylar were tumbling through the air. The psycho had actually jumped off the edge of the seats, pulling Peter with him, instead of just pushing Peter off. In the back of Peter’s mind he wondered why but then he was hitting the ground and all thoughts were wiped from his mind.
Peter’s eyes flew open, his breath coming back to him in huge gasps. He was just dead. How was he breathing again? And, oh, the pain. He looked up to see the cheerleader staring down at him in shock and then he looked at his legs. They were completely twisted. Peter felt his body healing at a great speed and, instead of questioning it, he just grabbed his legs and snapped them back into place with a sickening crunch.
“How did you…?” the cheerleader started. But Peter had other things on his mind. He looked around for Sylar,
“Where is he?” he asked. He tried to hide his utter frustration when she informed him that she didn’t know. He sent her to call the cops. He forced himself to get up after she left. He wandered off in the direction he thought Sylar would most likely take, eyes darting around, looking for signs that the other man was near. He eventually found himself in a patch of trees just outside of the school’s campus. He darted behind a tree when he heard voices. Peering around the trunk, he saw two people he didn’t recognize, one female and one male, as well as the man he had been searching for. He watched in shock as the girl told Sylar to sleep and he immediately slumped to the ground. The two strangers picked up the killer and walked off with him. Peter was surprised to feel a rush of anger at the sight. He felt that not only should it not be that easy to catch Sylar, but also that Sylar was his to catch. Peter growled, and followed after them, intent on rescuing Sylar, so that he could kill him himself.