The Night Sylar Took What He Wanted, Or The Night Peter Ruined Everything (Fic), 2/2
Title: The Night Sylar Took What He Wanted, Or The Night Peter Ruined Everything
Pairing: Nathan/Peter, Sylar/Nathan, Sylar/Peter, all separately
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, Slash, Sexual Contact, Angst, Non-Graphic Non-Con, Violence, Language.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or its characters; I make no money from the writing of this story.
Spoilers: Anything up to mid-season 3, where this fic takes place, right before the events of “Dying of the Light”
Summary: Sylar grows tired of just watching Nathan and Peter Petrelli, and he finally decides to do something about it.
A/N: I took some liberties with Sylar’s abilities here. He has invisibility from somewhere, and he’s significantly stronger than Peter.
This is Part 2.
Sylar had had enough, and wanted to save some of it for Peter. He wasn’t getting anything out of the elder Petrelli brother anyway, no crying, no pleading, no begging for him to stop, and Sylar knew that either Nathan had lost control of his senses, perhaps dying slowly of a brain injury, or Peter had had something to do with it.
Sylar figured it had been the latter, by the look of relief on Peter’s face.
Sylar got to his feet and released Peter from his invisible restraint. He said, “Peter, you’re really trying my patience with your insolence.” He approached the bed. Peter lay curled up on his side, still unclothed. He had managed to pull the blanket over himself. Peter’s face was tearstained, and his body was shaking from the effort he had expended blocking out Nathan’s pain.
Sylar had a horrifying thought then: he wanted to comfort Peter. He looked so hurt, so betrayed it was as if he’d done it to him.
Sylar lay down next to him and whispered, “Why are you crying? Your brother won’t remember a thing, thanks to you. You’re really extraordinary, Peter. Maybe you really are the most special.”
He locked eyes with Peter, and he could tell now that because of what he’d done to Nathan, he had broken through the last thread of Peter’s resistance. He wouldn’t have to take what he wanted, because he was sure that Peter would give it unconditionally. Sylar knew Peter would do anything for his brother. Peter would cast himself into eternal darkness to ensure that Nathan Petrelli would live to see another sunrise.
Sylar leaned in closer, until he could feel Peter’s breath on his cheek, and he kissed Peter’s neck, pulled the blanket away, and placed his hand on Peter’s hip, caressing his side, his back, savoring the contour of muscle that lay beneath that soft, cream-white skin. He trailed his lips across Peter’s chin, up to his lips, and grazed them gently with his own. He held Peter in his arms until he stopped shaking.
Peter looked up at him again, and took Sylar’s face in his hands. He traced his thumb tentatively across Sylar’s cheek and said, his voice trembling with emotion, “How could you hurt my brother like that, and then kiss me that way, touch me that way? What made you so evil, Gabriel?”
Sylar’s heart seized momentarily. Peter had called him by his first name and it hadn’t sounded anything like the way he had imagined it would. So much softer, as if Peter actually cared about him. He supposed this was part of Peter’s primary ability, his empathy. Peter didn’t exactly know what had happened to him, but he knew that it had been something, and he wanted to help him. It was in Peter’s nature to do this. But Sylar couldn’t have Peter poking around in his heart right now. He had no business there, not now, not ever.
So why did he suddenly feel like the next words out of his mouth might be ones that once spoken could never be taken back?
Sylar closed his eyes and willed these feelings to leave him, but it proved quite difficult. After a moment, he opened them to find that Peter still gazed at him with those soft large eyes, a deep brown now. His face was an exquisite study in sympathy.
Sylar sighed, “Oh, pretty boy, you don’t want to know. What made you so beautiful?”
Peter swallowed hard, and replied, “Nathan tells me that too.”
Peter paused for a moment, and then said, “Forcing me to have sex with you won’t fix what’s wrong with you. Even if I do it willingly, I still don’t know if that would be enough to fix it. But…I’ll try. If you want me to.”
Peter closed his eyes briefly, tears escaping from beneath his lashes. Sylar didn’t touch him right away.
This was what Nathan loved about Peter.
Amazingly enough, even with his intuitive ability, he might have been wrong about Peter.
It was possible Peter was the strongest of them all because of his supposed weakness, not despite it. Peter loved everything, everyone. Peter was indeed emotional, sensitive, naïve, and idealistic, but maybe he was not weak. Peter believed in the goodness of all people, even him. Sylar now knew there was always room in Peter’s heart for one more.
“Let me in, Gabriel. I can fix it if you let me.”
Sylar pulled Peter in closer, so close his erection pressed into Peter’s belly, and he gasped when he felt Peter grow hard in return. Sylar’s walls crumbled under Peter’s kisses, and Peter’s touch seemed to flow through his skin, his nerves, into his blood, circling within him, filling him with a warmth that he had never thought he could feel. This was happiness, and not the sick, deranged kind that he derived from hurting and killing people; it was the genuine kind, the real thing. Peter was giving it to him in generous measures, so much that Sylar wondered if he could possibly overdose on this unfamiliar emotion.
While he ran his hands over Peter’s shoulders, his back, his buttocks, his thighs, he realized he was feeling something else as well, an even more unfamiliar emotion: remorse. Sylar had made Peter watch him hurt his brother, and it seemed he had forgiven him without a second thought.
Sylar choked against the hard lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, Peter.”
Peter’s voice lowered to a seductive growl. “Show me how sorry you are, Gabriel.”
There it was. As if he had simply snapped his fingers, Peter had taken control of the situation. Sylar found himself wanting to pleasure Peter’s body in ways he had never imagined. Peter kissed him harder now, grasping at his cock, manipulating him expertly, and Sylar breathed heavily in Peter’s ear, ran his fingers through Peter’s dark fringe of hair.
Peter sighed softly as he found the bottle that was under the blanket. He opened the bottle and poured lubricant into his hand, spread it between his fingers, rubbed it all over his own length.
He unashamedly stroked himself from the base up to the head and back, and he threw his head back and moaned when Sylar replaced Peter’s hand with his own. Sylar was completely stunned by how much Peter seemed to want this. How much Peter wanted him.
Peter’s fingers closed on Sylar again, fully coating him with the crystal clear fluid as well.
Sylar sucked in a deep breath as he realized Peter was giving him a choice. He could have Peter, or he could let Peter have him. Either option was now equally tantalizing, and Sylar was torn.
“Don’t make me choose for you,” Peter said in a singsong voice, waving a glistening finger, giving him his slightly crooked smile.
“Whatever you want, Peter,” Sylar said, then immediately wished he could take that back. Peter was changing him too much, too quickly, and it scared him.
Peter laughed, and he groaned, “I always get what I want…fuck me, Gabriel.”
He pulled Sylar atop him, lying back on the pillows, and Sylar slid himself deeply into the beautiful, sacred temple of healing that was Peter Petrelli.
Peter clasped his arms around Sylar’s neck, holding on to him tightly while Sylar moved inside him, slow, long thrusts that made Peter cry out in pleasure.
“Gabriel, have you ever actually made love with a man before?” he asked, his face open and innocent and honest.
“Never one like you, Peter…” Sylar whispered. Never one that made me feel the way you do, he wanted to add so badly, but he held that back.
Sylar couldn’t possibly be falling in love with Peter, could he? Sylar struck that paralyzing thought from his mind as he realized something even more alarming: he wouldn’t last very much longer; Peter was so unbelievably tight. Oh, fuck, that’s right. His healing ability.
Peter bore down on him, his muscles fitting themselves snugly around Sylar’s shaft, rocking his body up to meet him. Every movement Peter made seemed to draw his impending orgasm out of him way before it was even fair. Peter seemed to know it was about to happen, and he demanded, “Come for me, Gabriel. Come inside me.”
Sylar couldn’t help it when his hips bucked forward, and he came harder than he ever had in his entire life, his hot fluid pulsing out from him and spilling deep into Peter.
Peter held him while he recovered, kissing his temple and his cheek tenderly. After a few moments, Sylar rolled off of Peter and lay next to him.
Sylar felt quite ridiculous. He’d finally gotten what he had wanted for months, a roll in the hay with Peter, and he had handled it as proficiently as a teenage boy might have.
“Oh, God. I can’t believe that just happened,” Sylar agonized.
“That’s all right,” Peter said very softly, as he pushed his cock in between Sylar’s buttocks and eased himself in. “Like my brother says, you’re young, you’ll be hard again in no time, especially when you feel this.”
Sylar had only once before been on the receiving end of anal sex, and it had been a terrible experience that he never liked to think about. And Peter had taken that thought right out of his head.
Sylar’s body tensed as Peter filled him as completely as he could. Peter went so gently, so easily inside him that Sylar let the painful memory slip away, let Peter write a whole new one for him.
Peter wasn’t much bigger than average, but he felt as though Peter touched every place within him with each slow deliberate stroke. Soon Sylar found himself wanting Peter to fuck him harder, as hard as he could. He didn’t have to say a word; not only was Peter an empath, a healer, but he was always a mind-reader, and Sylar wanted to hide nothing from him now. Peter was the only person in the world who understood things about him now.
Peter took him with a fast, unrelenting, but graceful rhythm, and Sylar could feel himself swelling to attention again while Peter did this. This was not how Sylar had expected this evening to go. He hadn’t ever dreamed he’d be letting Peter do to him anything remotely close to this.
“Oh…Nathan hardly ever lets me do it to him…but you already knew that, didn’t you, Gabriel?” Peter mumbled, his face pressed into Sylar’s shoulder. “How many times did you watch me and my brother?”
Sylar wondered how Peter could talk about Nathan while he was having sex with another man. He answered, “More times than I can count, Peter.”
“Did you like to watch my brother fuck me? Did you like to see Nathan make me come? Or did you wish you were in his place?”
Sylar realized Peter was trying to make him jealous, trying to turn him on again. Peter might have pretended he enjoyed giving more than receiving, but that was not the truth; he actually preferred taking it, preferred assuming the submissive role he had played ever since he was eighteen years old, the age he had been when he had begged Nathan to take his second virginity, a plea Nathan had obliged without question, without guilt, with only one demand: that Nathan be the only one ever.
Sylar wondered how he suddenly knew this. He’d never picked up the unauthorized biography of Peter Petrelli’s life. The mind-reading. He can put thoughts in just as well as he can take them out.
Inexplicably, Sylar became angry and jealous of Nathan, falling back into the same mindset where he had started out tonight.
A furious scream tore from Sylar’s throat, and he stopped Peter with his telekinesis and flung him away, slamming him against the headboard. He took Peter roughly by one slender wrist and pulled him closer, and he could see excitement blossom on Peter’s perfect porcelain features.
Sylar came to an infuriating conclusion--Peter mustn’t have had any real intention of fixing what was wrong with him. Peter had just wanted to see both sides of him. Peter had broken him down and then built him back up.
Sylar sunk his teeth deep into Peter’s neck, his shoulder, drawing blood, bruising his skin. Unbelievably, Peter started to jerk himself off again, keenly enjoying the abuse Sylar was now administering to him.
“Yes, Peter. I wished I were the one fucking you. I wished you were screaming my name. I wished you were polishing my cock with that pretty little mouth.”
Peter’s eyes widened, his pupils so dilated his irises were almost completely obscured, and he ran his tongue over his lower lip, the lip that always looked a little funny when he opened his mouth.
“You want me to do that to you?”
Sylar chuckled, grabbing a handful of Peter’s thick dark hair and pulling his head down into his lap. “I’d prefer to make you do that to me…” he groaned as Peter’s mouth enveloped him fully. He thrust himself into Peter’s throat repeatedly, and he groaned and panted as Peter’s tongue slid and flicked against his head, all around his shaft.
If only Nathan Petrelli could see this, Sylar mused, reluctantly withdrawing himself from Peter’s irresistible wet heat. Your sweet perfect fucked-up little brother is all mine…
For now, Peter’s voice resounded in his head, teasing him again, daring him, enticing from Sylar a need to hurt Peter, punish Peter.
Sylar grabbed Peter by his hair and forced him onto his hands and knees, just like he had done to Nathan before, and Peter said, “Fuck me hard this time.”
Sylar pushed his cock in one swift motion into Peter again and said, “You’re lucky you can heal, pretty boy. How much do you like it to hurt?” He fucked Peter hard, as hard as he’d wanted to all the times he’d watched Nathan do it. Sylar dragged his fingernails across Peter’s back, watching the skin tear, blood well up, wounds close, over and over again. Peter absolutely loved the rough treatment.
“You can do better than that, Gabriel…” Peter said breathlessly. Sylar wondered what Peter wanted from him. For some reason, Sylar had a feeling Peter didn’t exactly want to be hit, so he decided he would not strike him. He had an idea.
“You’re a dirty boy, Peter,” he hissed. With his telekinetic ability, he repeatedly cut razor thin lines into Peter’s skin, and Peter gasped in pain and pleasure all at once. He cut him again and again, and Peter cried out in real pain only when the cuts went deep enough to scrape against bone.
Peter deserved a little discomfort after the soul-searching bullshit he’d put him through before. He would live.
Sylar commanded, “I want you to make yourself come, but you better time it just right. I want to feel it at the split second I do. And I want to see your pretty face while you come all over yourself.” He turned Peter onto his back, blood from his healed wounds smearing all over the sheets, and he drove himself as far as he could into Peter.
Sylar lifted Peter’s legs up and pulled them around his waist while he pounded Peter’s insides, punishing him for playing games with him. Sylar concentrated on Peter’s face while he fucked him, waiting to see him bite down hard into his lip the way he always did when he was about to orgasm.
“You’re mine now, Petrelli,” Sylar said, feeling Peter’s thighs trembling and tightening, his insides contracting as the first swell of semen erupted from beneath Peter’s fingers. Sylar came once again, pulling back to brush against that sensitive spot inside Peter. Peter emitted a soft cry as the rest of his come ran over his fingers, down his wrist, some pooling on his belly. Sylar pulled out fully and made Peter lie there until his come ran out of the younger man’s body, and he finger-painted it on the insides of Peter’s thighs, over his testicles and his deflating half-erection. Peter just watched silently as Sylar marked his newly claimed territory.
Sylar wiped the last of his semen on Peter’s flushed cheek, then pushed himself away from Peter and went to get his clothes. Peter wore a slightly confused look.
Sylar dressed and spat, “Clean yourself up and go back to your brother like the little whore you are. I’m finished with you for now. Next time I come looking for a piece from you, you better be alone.”
Sylar was extremely pleased with himself. He turned invisible once more and went to the door, opened it and then shut it, to make Peter think that he had gone.
His sick voyeurism had returned, and he just had to watch what Peter would do now. He was sure that the younger Petrelli had not expected it all to end that way. Sylar waited for the shock to leave Peter’s face. And when it did, it was replaced with an expression of utter despair.
Oh, yes, pretty boy. Cry for me.
***
Peter looked over at the still form of his brother, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and tears came down in a hot current, blurring his vision. He felt dirty and ashamed of himself. He had just given himself to another man--to Sylar--while his brother lay cold and shivering and injured on the floor. Because he thought he could help Sylar. Sylar had fucked his mind just as hard as he had fucked his body.
“Oh, God,” Peter choked. He stood up and tore the bloodstained sheet from the bed and cleaned every last trace of Sylar’s and his own come off himself, rubbing at his skin so brutally it turned red and raw before it healed. He grasped the tainted sheet so tightly his knuckles turned white, and hard gasping sobs tore from his lungs.
Peter felt panic shoot into his blood; he had to get out of here. The scent of sex that had not been had with Nathan lingered on his skin, heavy in the air; like sin it bore down upon him, suffocated him, and Peter wished for once he could die, his heart hurt so badly.
Nathan wake up wake up now I want to go home--
Nathan stirred and groaned aloud. “Pete, could you tell me what the fuck just happened?”
Nathan got to his feet quickly, grimacing. Peter knew Nathan had to be in serious pain, but ignoring it because Peter was a crying, shaking wreck.
“I--I don’t know…” Peter moaned abysmally. That was as close to a true answer as he could give Nathan right now without telling him what really had occurred.
Nathan limped over to him and put his arms around him, and whispered, “Peter? Christ, Pete, what the fuck is all this blood?” Nathan did not ask what else covered the sheet--Peter had an idea he knew.
Peter looked into his brother’s eyes, which were filled with only love and concern for him, and he cried harder. “I did a really bad thing, Nathan.”
“Oh, no you didn’t. Don’t you dare blame yourself, Peter. He forced himself on both of us. That motherfucker hurt you, didn’t he?” Nathan pulled Peter in so he could rest his head on Nathan’s chest.
“I’m sorry…” Peter cried. “He would have killed you if I didn’t…” Peter lied. He could not tell him. He couldn’t break Nathan’s heart.
“Shh…calm down. We’re both okay. Come on, let’s go take a shower. It’ll make you feel better.”
“And then can we go home?” Peter asked miserably, wiping his tearstained cheeks and his running nose.
“Yeah. We can go home and you can go to sleep.”
“I--I love you,” Peter said, feeling like that was an even worse lie than the one he had told him before.
“I know you do. I love you too. I know what you did for me. Oh, Pete. It won’t hurt forever, I promise.”
That was perhaps the biggest lie Peter had heard tonight. It would hurt forever. Knowing he had willfully cheated on Nathan, knowing he had broken his promise to Nathan, it tore at his soul, a wound that would never heal.
***
Sylar watched and waited as Nathan took Peter into the bathroom. The sound of running water somewhat obscured the conversation that ensued, but Sylar listened with his power, and he heard it, smiling to himself. He heard the sound of a fist slamming the wall. An infuriated, unintelligible shout that tore from Nathan’s throat. Peter crying still. Nathan screaming multiple profanities. Nathan’s voice lowering. Sylar was sure those last words out of Nathan’s mouth had broken Peter’s heart.
Nathan Petrelli stormed out of the bathroom and threw something hard at the mirror, smashing it into thousands of tiny pieces, to match his own shattered heart.
Oh, no. Oh, Peter, Sylar thought. You confessed. Shouldn’t have fucked with me. You’re mine now. Nathan will never touch you again.
Sylar hadn’t been entirely wrong about Peter Petrelli. Peter was weak, but only when it came to his brother. He had believed Nathan would understand. He was still emotional, sensitive, naïve, idealistic, but no longer innocent. He had expected and needed Nathan’s forgiveness, and as Peter was wont to do, he had asked for it.
But Nathan, the power-driven man he was, wouldn’t share his possession with any other, and he was now forced to discard it, as if Peter were a tarnished jewel, still beautiful under the surface, but unclean, no longer desirable.
Sylar left the hotel and walked out into the night, under the bright, gaudy neon lights and large colorful screens that adorned this particular block of New York City, blending himself in easily with the passersby as they hurried to their destinations, still ignoring their collective journeys.
Sylar thought, Oh, Peter…you ruined everything. Next time I come for you, you’ll be alone. And you’ll be mine. You were wrong. I always get what I want.
***
A/N: I had no idea when I started this fic how bad it was going to turn out for the Petrelli boys. I almost cried writing the ending. Jeez. Look what writing Sylar did to me. Comment please! Thanks for reading!