Fic: Hate
Title: Hate
Pairings: Peter x Sylar, Sylar x Peter (Yes, both!)
Rating: NC-17
Summery: At Nathan's grave, Peter runs into Sylar... and Peter is determined to make Sylar pay for Nathan's death...
Warnings: Non-con, dub-con, blood-play, that the fic was written by me...
Prompt: #6 @ 50kinkyways, Restraints
A/N: This was my dream, people! Yes, I drempt this... and this is the result... Please don't flame me! I didn't mean to dream it!
Hate
Number 146... this is it.
Peter Petrelli got out his shovel, and prepared to dig.
Fuck, this was just like digging up those skeletons down south that his ma had had him and the family dig up.
But Peter didn't want to think about his mother now. Not now, not ever. Not after she had willingly lied to him about Nathan Petrelli's horrid death, not to mention what she had done with Sylar, faking his death and then turning Sylar into her son... again. Peter was so glad that he and Sylar weren't brothers after all.
For many reasons.
Yet another reason for him to be mad at his mother.
Another lie.
Yet another goddamned, fucking lie.
But Peter was the one who was damned by God, now. Not Angela, not Sylar, and not Nathan, but Peter.
Peter continued to dig away for what felt like hours on end, until finally, the shovel's tip hit the coffin's surface. Peter dug the rest of the dirt off of the coffin, and then, put the shovel down, kneeling down as he swept off the coffin's surface with the palm of his left-hand.
Peter opened the coffin.
And inside...
Peter saw Nathan's still-beautiful body, only, something was different. His sliced throat had been stitched. Sylar's doing.
Fuck Sylar.
Peter would get him.
Everyone wait and see.
What Peter couldn't understand was why his mother would have Nathan buried in an unmarked grave of all places. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Nathan had deserved a proper burial, a proper funeral.
But he hadn't got it.
"I'm so sorry, Nathan..." Peter wept, a fresh tear streaming down the side of his face, "I'm so.. fucking.. sorry.. I should've been able to save you, but I didn't. I let Sylar get to you first."
Peter took a hold of Nathan's corpse, and raised him up, clutching onto him in a tight hug of sheer desperation. He planted a gentle kiss in Nathan's hair, much in the same way that Nathan always used to do to Peter.
When he was still alive.
Then, from his trenchcoat pocket, Peter removed a small revolver... He loaded it with one round, more than enough to finish him off, and then, he put the gun to his head...
"I love you Nathan. Soon, we will be together again. Forever..."
The barrel was cold against Peter's temple, and Peter fired.
Only...
"W-What...?" Peter murmured. It was as if the gun and Peter's hand had been shoved forwards by an invisible force...
...That was Sylar's mind.
Peter turned around.
"I'm not going to let you do it, Peter."
Peter formed an angry expression. "What the hell are you doing here? And you can't stop me. If-if I want to kill myself, then I'm going to do it!"
"Not as long as I'm around you won't," Sylar spoke. He was dressed all in black, just like Peter was. They almost seemed like two halves of the same coin at that moment... Yin and Yang, though neither one of the two men knew who was who. Normally Peter would've been the easier one to pin, but he wasn't exactly... he wasn't exactly Peter anymore. No, Nathan's death at the hands of Sylar had changed all that... Now, Peter felt like he was someone, no, something else. Something much darker and more evil than even his previous future self had been.
More evil than Sylar was now.
And Peter was about to prove it, too.
Hell, Sylar was the empath now, after all. He was the one with empathic mimicry now, Peter's former gift, and the only fucking thing Peter could now do was see the colourful sound waves that were emitting from Sylar's body.
Peter wished desperately that he had never lost his powers to his father.
He needed them now more than ever.
You never appreciate something so much until it's gone.
Peter stood, and got out a pocket knife. He tripped the blade, bringing it to his right-wrist.
But Sylar only pushed Peter's arm back.
"Stop it!" Peter yelled, "Why won't you just let me DIE?!"
"Because we're not finished yet," Sylar spoke in his lower voice, "Because you and I have unfinished business."
"Oh? What kind of 'unfinished' business?"
And Sylar said nothing.
Fucking coward.
That's just what Peter thought he would have to say.
Peter approached Sylar, until he was only a foot in front of him. Then, Peter punched Sylar in the chest.
Again and again and again.
But without the use of his former superstrength, it was a lost cause.
"It should've been YOU!" Peter yelled, punching Sylar in the face, breaking his lip, "It... it should've been you..."
Sylar wrapped his arms around Peter, as Peter's head fell to his shoulder and as Peter began to cry.
"Ssshh," Sylar whispered, hugging Peter tightly, "I never knew he meant so much to you. Had I have but known, I just might have spared his life for a while longer..."
Then, Peter got an idea...
A derisive idea.
"I need you..." Peter whispered adoringly, hugging onto Sylar back. "I-I need you. Now."
"What do you mean?"
"You heard me..." Peter muttered, ceasing his crying before his sniffed again, "Kiss me."
"What...?"
"You heard me," Peter repeated, sounding more than just a little authentic.
And Sylar did. He leaned down, and captured Peter's lips in a heated kiss as if there was nothing more in the world that he wanted to do.
Peter opened his mouth, tasting Sylar's delicious blood as their tongues tangled ardently.
And then, Peter stabbed Sylar in the back of the head.
Sylar fell to the ground, dead.
Huh.
That had been easy enough.
*****
Peter sat in his apartment, drinking what had to be his tenth of fifteenth or even his fucking twentieth scotch on the rocks of the night.
Either way, Peter had lost count.
And he was drunk.
So very drunk.
Peter stood, and walked over to his bed, where Sylar's deceased body lay, the knife still in the back of his head.
Peter leaned down over Sylar, and roughly, pulled the knife out of the back of his head.
And then suddenly, Sylar's dead eyes came back to life, and he gasped for breath.
Much in the same way that Peter had done after Sylar had murdered him.
"Wakie wakie, eggs and bakie," Peter murmured, stroking the side of Sylar's face with the back of his hand.
Sylar jumped up, only...
His arms were wired to the bedframe.
With barbed wire.
Sylar pulled at the restraints, the wire tearing into his flesh. Blood began to seep down Sylar's arms, and then, another horrid realization kicked-in.
Sylar was naked.
Stark naked.
"What the hell...?" Sylar whispered, tugging still more against the barbed wire, "Peter! What in the FUCK is this?!"
"Ssshh," Peter whispered in that same, adoring voice, stroking the side of Sylar's face once again. His pupils were heavily dilated, and Sylar could tell from the smell and the way Peter was acting that he was dead drunk.
"I am going to kill you, Peter," Sylar snapped, sounding completely honest, "And I am going to take my time when I do it."
Peter smiled. "Fuck you."
And then, Sylar flung Peter from the bed, sending him backwards sprawling onto his back.
Peter simply stood, and said, "Naughty, naughty. I had a hell of a time bringing your dead body back to my place. After all I've done for you... Sylar, do you really love me that much?"
And again, Sylar said nothing.
"Thought so," Peter laughed, "You are so fucking pathetic. I can't wait to kill you. To cut your beautiful fucking head from your body."
"You're wrong," Sylar heatedly argued, "I'll be the one to kill you."
Sylar was about to telekinetically cut the wire that bound his wrists into place, when...
Stay.
Sylar found himself unable to move.
"What the...?" Sylar whispered.
"Oh? Didn't I tell you?" Peter asked, walking closer and closer to the bed, "I paid a little visit to our old friend Matt Parkman today after I picked up your dead and rotting body. You really should've killed him sooner. Then we wouldn't be having this crisis."
Fuck.
Sylar was in BIG trouble...!
"What are you doing...?" Sylar asked as Peter got on the bed and unzipped his black slacks, removing his obvious hardness.
Peter chuckled. "Why, I am going to fuck the living Hell out of you. And there's a lot of Hell in you, so, this may take a while."
"I'm going to kill you," Sylar seethed between teeth, trying desperately to think of something -- anything -- to say to Peter Petrelli.
"You couldn't kill me even if you wanted to," Peter cooed, running his hands down Sylar's bare chest, "Because you love me, that's why. Now, hold still..."
Sylar didn't know what the fuck Peter was doing as he knelt his head down between Sylar's legs, lifting him up by the hips. Peter then licked Sylar, eagerly, his hot tongue probing Sylar's most intimate crevice.
"Oh God..." Sylar moaned, wishing desperately that he could stroke himself off.
Peter only chuckled again. "That's it..." Peter cooed, "Just let go..." he said, licking Sylar some more.
Sylar was completely and utterly dumbfounded. He found himself arching into Peter's tongue all too soon, and, fuck, he was getting hard. Goddamnit, he didn't want to allow Peter to pleasure of that!
Tell me you want more.
"More!" Sylar entreated, as Peter began to perform teasingly hot tricks with his tongue, swirling it around Sylar's entrance with no restraint. Peter dug his tongue in deep, stretching Sylar the best he could.
"Oh fuck," Sylar moaned, thrashing back against the bed sheets. Then, Peter lifted his head up, licking his parched lips.
"You're ready," he said, grasping onto Sylar's hips as he removed his hardness from the confines of his black pants.
Sylar's eyes widened. "No! Please don't...! I've never... I've never..."
Fuck, Sylar didn't know what to say. All he knew was that Peter was in control for the moment, and that this angered him to such measures that he couldn't describe...
Hold still.
And Sylar did. Fuck, he did it, for Peter. His legs were still as Peter wrapped them around his waist, before Peter took his hardness into hand and aligned it with Sylar's slick opening. Peter pushed his way in, moaning the whole while.
"Oh... oh Peter!" Sylar gasped, "Please, please stop... fuck, it hurts!"
"No," Peter replied, soundly enough, "It'll feel better the more that we do this. Trust me, I know, since I used to be with the man that you took away from me."
And then, Peter began to thrust into Sylar.
Sylar moaned deep in the back of his throat, as Peter continued to take him. The pain was overwhelming, yet there was something else at the same time...
Peter grinned with dark delight. Sylar was already bleeding. Sylar was definitely a virgin in that respect, and it made Peter all the more hard to know that since Sylar was able to heal, he could take Sylar as many times as possible and still get the same result.
"Oh God, you're so tight..." Peter moaned, thrusting into Sylar all the more fervently.
"Peter..." Sylar gasped, the feeling of pain beginning to transpire into... into something else. "Peter, please..."
"Please what?"
"Kiss me."
No. Now lie down and shut-up.
Sylar heard the voice in his head, and did as he had been instructed to.
"Peter, please!" Sylar gasped, his voice peaking high.
"You want me, don't you?" Peter asked. "DON'T YOU?!"
Say yes.
"Yes!" Sylar exclaimed, "Oh God yes!"
Sylar bucked against Peter, trying to match Peter's every thrust into him.
Wildly.
"Please, more!" Sylar entreated, becoming completely hysterical.
Peter thrusted into Sylar, the blood seeping down Sylar's arms more than ever, and Peter whispered...
"That's it. Just let go..." again.
Fucking again.
"Oh fuck you feel so good," Peter said with no restraint. So fuck it. He was fucking Sylar, and Sylar was fucking him back. It felt good. It felt right. At least for Peter.
"Fuck, I'm coming," Peter said, his hands grasping tightly into Sylar's hips as he gave Sylar everything that he had to give.
Peter filled Sylar's insides, his hot cum ejecting into Sylar as he filled the older man with his hot release.
"Oh God Gabriel!" Peter moaned, his release coating Sylar's insides.
And then, Sylar was left doing nothing.
Fucking nothing.
Stay back. Peter's voice cooed in a soft murmur.
"No," Sylar instructed.
"What?"
"No," he repeated.
And then like lightening, Sylar broke the fucking wire that was restraining his wrists, telekinetically cutting it as he flipped Peter over, down to the bed.
"No!" Peter gasped.
"Yes," Sylar said, sounding as if he were filled with delight.
Sylar grasped onto to either of Peter's hips, tearing his black slacks off, and then, placed the tip of his erection against Peter's entrance.
Fuck it.
This is the way it should've been.
Right...?
It looks like Peter had just fed Sylar another power. The power of telepathy, and, fuck, Peter was doing everything he could to escape, but it just wasn't working...
Sylar aligned his hardness, and thrusted forth into Peter.
And it hurt like Hell.
"Sylar! Gabriel, please!" Peter said, his teeth clenching,
But Sylar paid Peter no respect, thrusting into him in earnest.
"Oh God, oh fuck... you... you feel so good, Peter!" Sylar moaned, thrusting into Peter with no restraint.
Sylar kept thrusting into Peter, until Peter was bleeding. Fuck, Sylar had always drempt about this moment.. About the moment when Peter would be below him, moaning like a bitch in heat.
"Oh God Peter!" Sylar exclaimed as he came, his hot release coating Peter's insides.
And then it was over.
Fucking over.
"Sylar..." Peter whispered, his eyes teared and his body repressed.
"Fuck," Sylar repeated, "Fuck, so good..."
"Sylar..." Peter murmured, "Kill me..."
"What?"
"You heard me. Kill me... so I can be with Nathan once again..."
"No," was Sylar's sound reply, "No," he said, "I won't let you be with Nathan."
"Why?"
"Because I love you," Sylar said, the words spilling their way out. "I love you..."
Sylar then removed himself from Peter's body, causing Peter to emit the slightest gasp at the loss.
"I love you," Peter then repeated, still drunk out of his mind.
"I love you too," Sylar whispered, enclosing the space between his mouth and Peter's once again.
But did he...?
Yes, he did.
Sylar kissed Peter feverishly, tasting his blood.
And it was delicious.
Sylar then crashed down upon the bed, next to Peter, as he whispered...
"Kiss me."
And Peter turned over, kissing Sylar fervently, hungrily. His tongue sneaking into Sylar's mouth like an exploratory lesson.
"You still killed Nathan..." Peter murmured, his lips touching Sylar's.
"I know..." he whispered, "But I am still going to kill you, too..."
--End! Yes, I know, again, wtf was that? It was shit, I know... I shouldn't have drempth this! But I did. This was my dream... and I wrote it anyways.
Please review, unless, that is, you want to flame me.
Otherwise please don't! xD I know this was bad and sadistic, yes I do.
But good reviews are still welcome! Mwhahaha...
Pairings: Peter x Sylar, Sylar x Peter (Yes, both!)
Rating: NC-17
Summery: At Nathan's grave, Peter runs into Sylar... and Peter is determined to make Sylar pay for Nathan's death...
Warnings: Non-con, dub-con, blood-play, that the fic was written by me...
Prompt: #6 @ 50kinkyways, Restraints
A/N: This was my dream, people! Yes, I drempt this... and this is the result... Please don't flame me! I didn't mean to dream it!
Hate
Number 146... this is it.
Peter Petrelli got out his shovel, and prepared to dig.
Fuck, this was just like digging up those skeletons down south that his ma had had him and the family dig up.
But Peter didn't want to think about his mother now. Not now, not ever. Not after she had willingly lied to him about Nathan Petrelli's horrid death, not to mention what she had done with Sylar, faking his death and then turning Sylar into her son... again. Peter was so glad that he and Sylar weren't brothers after all.
For many reasons.
Yet another reason for him to be mad at his mother.
Another lie.
Yet another goddamned, fucking lie.
But Peter was the one who was damned by God, now. Not Angela, not Sylar, and not Nathan, but Peter.
Peter continued to dig away for what felt like hours on end, until finally, the shovel's tip hit the coffin's surface. Peter dug the rest of the dirt off of the coffin, and then, put the shovel down, kneeling down as he swept off the coffin's surface with the palm of his left-hand.
Peter opened the coffin.
And inside...
Peter saw Nathan's still-beautiful body, only, something was different. His sliced throat had been stitched. Sylar's doing.
Fuck Sylar.
Peter would get him.
Everyone wait and see.
What Peter couldn't understand was why his mother would have Nathan buried in an unmarked grave of all places. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Nathan had deserved a proper burial, a proper funeral.
But he hadn't got it.
"I'm so sorry, Nathan..." Peter wept, a fresh tear streaming down the side of his face, "I'm so.. fucking.. sorry.. I should've been able to save you, but I didn't. I let Sylar get to you first."
Peter took a hold of Nathan's corpse, and raised him up, clutching onto him in a tight hug of sheer desperation. He planted a gentle kiss in Nathan's hair, much in the same way that Nathan always used to do to Peter.
When he was still alive.
Then, from his trenchcoat pocket, Peter removed a small revolver... He loaded it with one round, more than enough to finish him off, and then, he put the gun to his head...
"I love you Nathan. Soon, we will be together again. Forever..."
The barrel was cold against Peter's temple, and Peter fired.
Only...
"W-What...?" Peter murmured. It was as if the gun and Peter's hand had been shoved forwards by an invisible force...
...That was Sylar's mind.
Peter turned around.
"I'm not going to let you do it, Peter."
Peter formed an angry expression. "What the hell are you doing here? And you can't stop me. If-if I want to kill myself, then I'm going to do it!"
"Not as long as I'm around you won't," Sylar spoke. He was dressed all in black, just like Peter was. They almost seemed like two halves of the same coin at that moment... Yin and Yang, though neither one of the two men knew who was who. Normally Peter would've been the easier one to pin, but he wasn't exactly... he wasn't exactly Peter anymore. No, Nathan's death at the hands of Sylar had changed all that... Now, Peter felt like he was someone, no, something else. Something much darker and more evil than even his previous future self had been.
More evil than Sylar was now.
And Peter was about to prove it, too.
Hell, Sylar was the empath now, after all. He was the one with empathic mimicry now, Peter's former gift, and the only fucking thing Peter could now do was see the colourful sound waves that were emitting from Sylar's body.
Peter wished desperately that he had never lost his powers to his father.
He needed them now more than ever.
You never appreciate something so much until it's gone.
Peter stood, and got out a pocket knife. He tripped the blade, bringing it to his right-wrist.
But Sylar only pushed Peter's arm back.
"Stop it!" Peter yelled, "Why won't you just let me DIE?!"
"Because we're not finished yet," Sylar spoke in his lower voice, "Because you and I have unfinished business."
"Oh? What kind of 'unfinished' business?"
And Sylar said nothing.
Fucking coward.
That's just what Peter thought he would have to say.
Peter approached Sylar, until he was only a foot in front of him. Then, Peter punched Sylar in the chest.
Again and again and again.
But without the use of his former superstrength, it was a lost cause.
"It should've been YOU!" Peter yelled, punching Sylar in the face, breaking his lip, "It... it should've been you..."
Sylar wrapped his arms around Peter, as Peter's head fell to his shoulder and as Peter began to cry.
"Ssshh," Sylar whispered, hugging Peter tightly, "I never knew he meant so much to you. Had I have but known, I just might have spared his life for a while longer..."
Then, Peter got an idea...
A derisive idea.
"I need you..." Peter whispered adoringly, hugging onto Sylar back. "I-I need you. Now."
"What do you mean?"
"You heard me..." Peter muttered, ceasing his crying before his sniffed again, "Kiss me."
"What...?"
"You heard me," Peter repeated, sounding more than just a little authentic.
And Sylar did. He leaned down, and captured Peter's lips in a heated kiss as if there was nothing more in the world that he wanted to do.
Peter opened his mouth, tasting Sylar's delicious blood as their tongues tangled ardently.
And then, Peter stabbed Sylar in the back of the head.
Sylar fell to the ground, dead.
Huh.
That had been easy enough.
*****
Peter sat in his apartment, drinking what had to be his tenth of fifteenth or even his fucking twentieth scotch on the rocks of the night.
Either way, Peter had lost count.
And he was drunk.
So very drunk.
Peter stood, and walked over to his bed, where Sylar's deceased body lay, the knife still in the back of his head.
Peter leaned down over Sylar, and roughly, pulled the knife out of the back of his head.
And then suddenly, Sylar's dead eyes came back to life, and he gasped for breath.
Much in the same way that Peter had done after Sylar had murdered him.
"Wakie wakie, eggs and bakie," Peter murmured, stroking the side of Sylar's face with the back of his hand.
Sylar jumped up, only...
His arms were wired to the bedframe.
With barbed wire.
Sylar pulled at the restraints, the wire tearing into his flesh. Blood began to seep down Sylar's arms, and then, another horrid realization kicked-in.
Sylar was naked.
Stark naked.
"What the hell...?" Sylar whispered, tugging still more against the barbed wire, "Peter! What in the FUCK is this?!"
"Ssshh," Peter whispered in that same, adoring voice, stroking the side of Sylar's face once again. His pupils were heavily dilated, and Sylar could tell from the smell and the way Peter was acting that he was dead drunk.
"I am going to kill you, Peter," Sylar snapped, sounding completely honest, "And I am going to take my time when I do it."
Peter smiled. "Fuck you."
And then, Sylar flung Peter from the bed, sending him backwards sprawling onto his back.
Peter simply stood, and said, "Naughty, naughty. I had a hell of a time bringing your dead body back to my place. After all I've done for you... Sylar, do you really love me that much?"
And again, Sylar said nothing.
"Thought so," Peter laughed, "You are so fucking pathetic. I can't wait to kill you. To cut your beautiful fucking head from your body."
"You're wrong," Sylar heatedly argued, "I'll be the one to kill you."
Sylar was about to telekinetically cut the wire that bound his wrists into place, when...
Stay.
Sylar found himself unable to move.
"What the...?" Sylar whispered.
"Oh? Didn't I tell you?" Peter asked, walking closer and closer to the bed, "I paid a little visit to our old friend Matt Parkman today after I picked up your dead and rotting body. You really should've killed him sooner. Then we wouldn't be having this crisis."
Fuck.
Sylar was in BIG trouble...!
"What are you doing...?" Sylar asked as Peter got on the bed and unzipped his black slacks, removing his obvious hardness.
Peter chuckled. "Why, I am going to fuck the living Hell out of you. And there's a lot of Hell in you, so, this may take a while."
"I'm going to kill you," Sylar seethed between teeth, trying desperately to think of something -- anything -- to say to Peter Petrelli.
"You couldn't kill me even if you wanted to," Peter cooed, running his hands down Sylar's bare chest, "Because you love me, that's why. Now, hold still..."
Sylar didn't know what the fuck Peter was doing as he knelt his head down between Sylar's legs, lifting him up by the hips. Peter then licked Sylar, eagerly, his hot tongue probing Sylar's most intimate crevice.
"Oh God..." Sylar moaned, wishing desperately that he could stroke himself off.
Peter only chuckled again. "That's it..." Peter cooed, "Just let go..." he said, licking Sylar some more.
Sylar was completely and utterly dumbfounded. He found himself arching into Peter's tongue all too soon, and, fuck, he was getting hard. Goddamnit, he didn't want to allow Peter to pleasure of that!
Tell me you want more.
"More!" Sylar entreated, as Peter began to perform teasingly hot tricks with his tongue, swirling it around Sylar's entrance with no restraint. Peter dug his tongue in deep, stretching Sylar the best he could.
"Oh fuck," Sylar moaned, thrashing back against the bed sheets. Then, Peter lifted his head up, licking his parched lips.
"You're ready," he said, grasping onto Sylar's hips as he removed his hardness from the confines of his black pants.
Sylar's eyes widened. "No! Please don't...! I've never... I've never..."
Fuck, Sylar didn't know what to say. All he knew was that Peter was in control for the moment, and that this angered him to such measures that he couldn't describe...
Hold still.
And Sylar did. Fuck, he did it, for Peter. His legs were still as Peter wrapped them around his waist, before Peter took his hardness into hand and aligned it with Sylar's slick opening. Peter pushed his way in, moaning the whole while.
"Oh... oh Peter!" Sylar gasped, "Please, please stop... fuck, it hurts!"
"No," Peter replied, soundly enough, "It'll feel better the more that we do this. Trust me, I know, since I used to be with the man that you took away from me."
And then, Peter began to thrust into Sylar.
Sylar moaned deep in the back of his throat, as Peter continued to take him. The pain was overwhelming, yet there was something else at the same time...
Peter grinned with dark delight. Sylar was already bleeding. Sylar was definitely a virgin in that respect, and it made Peter all the more hard to know that since Sylar was able to heal, he could take Sylar as many times as possible and still get the same result.
"Oh God, you're so tight..." Peter moaned, thrusting into Sylar all the more fervently.
"Peter..." Sylar gasped, the feeling of pain beginning to transpire into... into something else. "Peter, please..."
"Please what?"
"Kiss me."
No. Now lie down and shut-up.
Sylar heard the voice in his head, and did as he had been instructed to.
"Peter, please!" Sylar gasped, his voice peaking high.
"You want me, don't you?" Peter asked. "DON'T YOU?!"
Say yes.
"Yes!" Sylar exclaimed, "Oh God yes!"
Sylar bucked against Peter, trying to match Peter's every thrust into him.
Wildly.
"Please, more!" Sylar entreated, becoming completely hysterical.
Peter thrusted into Sylar, the blood seeping down Sylar's arms more than ever, and Peter whispered...
"That's it. Just let go..." again.
Fucking again.
"Oh fuck you feel so good," Peter said with no restraint. So fuck it. He was fucking Sylar, and Sylar was fucking him back. It felt good. It felt right. At least for Peter.
"Fuck, I'm coming," Peter said, his hands grasping tightly into Sylar's hips as he gave Sylar everything that he had to give.
Peter filled Sylar's insides, his hot cum ejecting into Sylar as he filled the older man with his hot release.
"Oh God Gabriel!" Peter moaned, his release coating Sylar's insides.
And then, Sylar was left doing nothing.
Fucking nothing.
Stay back. Peter's voice cooed in a soft murmur.
"No," Sylar instructed.
"What?"
"No," he repeated.
And then like lightening, Sylar broke the fucking wire that was restraining his wrists, telekinetically cutting it as he flipped Peter over, down to the bed.
"No!" Peter gasped.
"Yes," Sylar said, sounding as if he were filled with delight.
Sylar grasped onto to either of Peter's hips, tearing his black slacks off, and then, placed the tip of his erection against Peter's entrance.
Fuck it.
This is the way it should've been.
Right...?
It looks like Peter had just fed Sylar another power. The power of telepathy, and, fuck, Peter was doing everything he could to escape, but it just wasn't working...
Sylar aligned his hardness, and thrusted forth into Peter.
And it hurt like Hell.
"Sylar! Gabriel, please!" Peter said, his teeth clenching,
But Sylar paid Peter no respect, thrusting into him in earnest.
"Oh God, oh fuck... you... you feel so good, Peter!" Sylar moaned, thrusting into Peter with no restraint.
Sylar kept thrusting into Peter, until Peter was bleeding. Fuck, Sylar had always drempt about this moment.. About the moment when Peter would be below him, moaning like a bitch in heat.
"Oh God Peter!" Sylar exclaimed as he came, his hot release coating Peter's insides.
And then it was over.
Fucking over.
"Sylar..." Peter whispered, his eyes teared and his body repressed.
"Fuck," Sylar repeated, "Fuck, so good..."
"Sylar..." Peter murmured, "Kill me..."
"What?"
"You heard me. Kill me... so I can be with Nathan once again..."
"No," was Sylar's sound reply, "No," he said, "I won't let you be with Nathan."
"Why?"
"Because I love you," Sylar said, the words spilling their way out. "I love you..."
Sylar then removed himself from Peter's body, causing Peter to emit the slightest gasp at the loss.
"I love you," Peter then repeated, still drunk out of his mind.
"I love you too," Sylar whispered, enclosing the space between his mouth and Peter's once again.
But did he...?
Yes, he did.
Sylar kissed Peter feverishly, tasting his blood.
And it was delicious.
Sylar then crashed down upon the bed, next to Peter, as he whispered...
"Kiss me."
And Peter turned over, kissing Sylar fervently, hungrily. His tongue sneaking into Sylar's mouth like an exploratory lesson.
"You still killed Nathan..." Peter murmured, his lips touching Sylar's.
"I know..." he whispered, "But I am still going to kill you, too..."
--End! Yes, I know, again, wtf was that? It was shit, I know... I shouldn't have drempth this! But I did. This was my dream... and I wrote it anyways.
Please review, unless, that is, you want to flame me.
Otherwise please don't! xD I know this was bad and sadistic, yes I do.
But good reviews are still welcome! Mwhahaha...