Awakening - Fic - The Wall 'Verse
Characters: Peter and Sylar
Fandom: Heroes
Word count: 1,162
Rating: NC-17 for language and some self love.
Notes: Missing scene from 'The Wall'. SPOILERS FOR THE WALL.
This is part of The Wall 'verse with thewatchmaker
Prompt: scifi_muses Garbage-I'm Only Happy When It Rains vol2.week31
Response fic to The Beat Goes On
Summary: Peter's life becomes even more complicated when it rains.
It’s been three days since Sylar caught me outside the porn shop with my pants around my ankles and he hasn’t been able to look at me in the eyes ever since.
He’s an enigma to me. He has killed with out remorse, sliced into skulls with ease but a man doing something utterly natural and instinctual has turned him into a freaking choir boy. Fearing for the eternal damnation of my soul or worse, branding me with a scarlet letter. I don’t get it. His mother must have done a real number on him growing up with all her fire and brimstone.
The sky is overcast today as I work fruitlessly, swinging my sledgehammer, and pounding away at the bricks to no avail. Just like yesterday and the day before and the day before that. It’s almost out of habit now, a necessity to keep me sane. Clinging to patterns and banality because it’s better than the alternative. Better than focusing on the fact that I’m trapped here alone with Sylar and it’s been over three years.
I don’t notice the first few rain drops as they fall on the ground, pouring like tears from the eyes of the gods themselves. Not until the Heavens open up with a torrent usually reserved for the tropics during hurricane season.
At first I don’t care, telling myself that this universe isn’t real anyway. The rain won’t affect me in the least. But as the wetness seeps through my clothing, I drop my hammer, mud splashing up and staining my jeans.
My teeth are chattering. I’m chilled all the way down to my bones. Pride be damned. This is ridiculous. Not worth getting pneumonia over. Especially not when he’ll hover over me like some nightmarish mother hen.
I race back to his apartment. Funny how even now, I still don’t consider it mine or ours, it’s always his place and I’m just an invader, taking up some of his space. I try not to wonder why I don’t just head over to my place. I’ve walked past the building enough. I know it’s there. It’d be so easy to curl up into my own bed. Even in this crazy mind fuck of a world, things that are familiar are still here.
But I never do. I always return here. To him.
Leaning with my back against the door, I struggle to catch my breath. Can’t remember the last time I sprinted so fast. I finally decide to move, wincing as I see that the water drops from my hair have mingled with the bloody handprint on the door. The one I’ve tried countless time to wash away but he forces me not to. Never giving an explanation; just a stern shout of No! Leave it! until I finally acquiesce and don’t bring it up again.
“Great” I whine. Something for him to bitch at me about. Don’t know why I’m smiling at the thought or why next I’m dropping my rain soaked jacket on the linoleum floor. Maybe I’m finally as crazy as he is. Or I’m itching for a fight. Some spark of emotion, reaction, anything from him besides the silent, mopey routine. Something to remind me of the devil that he is so he’ll no longer be the companion that I’m beginning to rely on.
I peel my black shirt off; the one which has since become like a second skin and ball it in my hands. It’s eerily quiet in here. I imagine Sylar has taken refuge in the library. It’s the one place he usually is when he’s not sitting on the ground watching me work. That’s just as well. I want nothing more than to feel the hot water of the shower beating the cold from my bones.
There’s a gasp that dies on my lips when I open the bathroom door. My shirt falling unceremoniously from my hand and hitting the ground with a decidedly wet smack. I don’t know how I missed the sound of the shower running already. The pipes in this place are rather noisy. Were the thoughts racing through my mind this whole time really that loud?
His silhouette cuts a striking figure through the steam and glass. The frosted door making him look like some modern artist’s perfect wet dream. My mouth has gone dry despite the humidity in here. My feet have taken root. There’s a lump in my throat that I’m unwilling to swallow. I’m that hopelessly mesmerized at the sight before me.
I can’t make out every detail and that’s just as well. Somehow it makes it that less real. I’ve never seen him like this. So naked. So exposed. His is head thrown back as his fingers work lather into his hair. The water is cascading down, rinsing every last bit of suds away.
God damn it Peter. Get out of here. You don’t need to watch this, no matter if it’s been three years without real sex. It’s Sylar. He’s killed innocent people. The ones you have strived your entire life to save. He murdered Nathan for fucks sake.
I can feel a familiar swell in my jeans, the wet fabric becoming even more taut. I hate myself at this moment. It’s sick. It’s despicable and if I ever doubted before, I’m positive now that I’m doomed to spend eternity in Hell. Christ, I’m probably there already. Stuck with Sylar until the end of time.
My eyes widen as he begins to wash himself. The blurry image of his hands scrubbing across his arms and chest. But then he moves lower and oh God. I don’t need to be able to see clearly to know exactly what he’s doing now. His head is bowed forward, one arm braced against the wall as the other works on his cock. His quickening gasps of breath and increasing in volume moans unmistakable despite the noise of the pounding water.
I can’t. I can’t stay for this. I need to leave. The vision alone has me more wound up than any movie or magazine I’ve ever read. He’s right. The bastard nailed it when he called me a pervert because at this moment I know that I am. Hell, I’m ready to explode.
At least I have the decency to feel shame. Nathan is looking down at me, hanging his head in disgust. I’m sorry big brother. I’m only human. Too bad that excuse sounds lame even to my own ears.
I rush back outside and into the rain. Desperate to cleanse my soul. Not caring that I’m dressed only in my jeans or that Sylar is going to know somehow that I was there. I had to leave. I’m a coward. Running from the inevitable, from him, from myself. Before I heard the name fall from his lips in a hoarse shout as he came. Terrified now that his face will be the one I see next time that I do.
Fandom: Heroes
Word count: 1,162
Rating: NC-17 for language and some self love.
Notes: Missing scene from 'The Wall'. SPOILERS FOR THE WALL.
This is part of The Wall 'verse with thewatchmaker
Prompt: scifi_muses Garbage-I'm Only Happy When It Rains vol2.week31
Response fic to The Beat Goes On
Summary: Peter's life becomes even more complicated when it rains.
It’s been three days since Sylar caught me outside the porn shop with my pants around my ankles and he hasn’t been able to look at me in the eyes ever since.
He’s an enigma to me. He has killed with out remorse, sliced into skulls with ease but a man doing something utterly natural and instinctual has turned him into a freaking choir boy. Fearing for the eternal damnation of my soul or worse, branding me with a scarlet letter. I don’t get it. His mother must have done a real number on him growing up with all her fire and brimstone.
The sky is overcast today as I work fruitlessly, swinging my sledgehammer, and pounding away at the bricks to no avail. Just like yesterday and the day before and the day before that. It’s almost out of habit now, a necessity to keep me sane. Clinging to patterns and banality because it’s better than the alternative. Better than focusing on the fact that I’m trapped here alone with Sylar and it’s been over three years.
I don’t notice the first few rain drops as they fall on the ground, pouring like tears from the eyes of the gods themselves. Not until the Heavens open up with a torrent usually reserved for the tropics during hurricane season.
At first I don’t care, telling myself that this universe isn’t real anyway. The rain won’t affect me in the least. But as the wetness seeps through my clothing, I drop my hammer, mud splashing up and staining my jeans.
My teeth are chattering. I’m chilled all the way down to my bones. Pride be damned. This is ridiculous. Not worth getting pneumonia over. Especially not when he’ll hover over me like some nightmarish mother hen.
I race back to his apartment. Funny how even now, I still don’t consider it mine or ours, it’s always his place and I’m just an invader, taking up some of his space. I try not to wonder why I don’t just head over to my place. I’ve walked past the building enough. I know it’s there. It’d be so easy to curl up into my own bed. Even in this crazy mind fuck of a world, things that are familiar are still here.
But I never do. I always return here. To him.
Leaning with my back against the door, I struggle to catch my breath. Can’t remember the last time I sprinted so fast. I finally decide to move, wincing as I see that the water drops from my hair have mingled with the bloody handprint on the door. The one I’ve tried countless time to wash away but he forces me not to. Never giving an explanation; just a stern shout of No! Leave it! until I finally acquiesce and don’t bring it up again.
“Great” I whine. Something for him to bitch at me about. Don’t know why I’m smiling at the thought or why next I’m dropping my rain soaked jacket on the linoleum floor. Maybe I’m finally as crazy as he is. Or I’m itching for a fight. Some spark of emotion, reaction, anything from him besides the silent, mopey routine. Something to remind me of the devil that he is so he’ll no longer be the companion that I’m beginning to rely on.
I peel my black shirt off; the one which has since become like a second skin and ball it in my hands. It’s eerily quiet in here. I imagine Sylar has taken refuge in the library. It’s the one place he usually is when he’s not sitting on the ground watching me work. That’s just as well. I want nothing more than to feel the hot water of the shower beating the cold from my bones.
There’s a gasp that dies on my lips when I open the bathroom door. My shirt falling unceremoniously from my hand and hitting the ground with a decidedly wet smack. I don’t know how I missed the sound of the shower running already. The pipes in this place are rather noisy. Were the thoughts racing through my mind this whole time really that loud?
His silhouette cuts a striking figure through the steam and glass. The frosted door making him look like some modern artist’s perfect wet dream. My mouth has gone dry despite the humidity in here. My feet have taken root. There’s a lump in my throat that I’m unwilling to swallow. I’m that hopelessly mesmerized at the sight before me.
I can’t make out every detail and that’s just as well. Somehow it makes it that less real. I’ve never seen him like this. So naked. So exposed. His is head thrown back as his fingers work lather into his hair. The water is cascading down, rinsing every last bit of suds away.
God damn it Peter. Get out of here. You don’t need to watch this, no matter if it’s been three years without real sex. It’s Sylar. He’s killed innocent people. The ones you have strived your entire life to save. He murdered Nathan for fucks sake.
I can feel a familiar swell in my jeans, the wet fabric becoming even more taut. I hate myself at this moment. It’s sick. It’s despicable and if I ever doubted before, I’m positive now that I’m doomed to spend eternity in Hell. Christ, I’m probably there already. Stuck with Sylar until the end of time.
My eyes widen as he begins to wash himself. The blurry image of his hands scrubbing across his arms and chest. But then he moves lower and oh God. I don’t need to be able to see clearly to know exactly what he’s doing now. His head is bowed forward, one arm braced against the wall as the other works on his cock. His quickening gasps of breath and increasing in volume moans unmistakable despite the noise of the pounding water.
I can’t. I can’t stay for this. I need to leave. The vision alone has me more wound up than any movie or magazine I’ve ever read. He’s right. The bastard nailed it when he called me a pervert because at this moment I know that I am. Hell, I’m ready to explode.
At least I have the decency to feel shame. Nathan is looking down at me, hanging his head in disgust. I’m sorry big brother. I’m only human. Too bad that excuse sounds lame even to my own ears.
I rush back outside and into the rain. Desperate to cleanse my soul. Not caring that I’m dressed only in my jeans or that Sylar is going to know somehow that I was there. I had to leave. I’m a coward. Running from the inevitable, from him, from myself. Before I heard the name fall from his lips in a hoarse shout as he came. Terrified now that his face will be the one I see next time that I do.