Slave Verse 2, Chapter 2: Thirty Minutes
“Mister Grey,” Peter said. “That’s clever. It’s like Mister Black or Mister Pink.”
“What?” Sylar said.
“You know, Reservoir Dogs. That movie?”
“I… I’ve heard of a movie called Reservoir Dogs.” Clearly he hadn’t seen it.
“Okay. Well, in it, there’s these guys and they all get names based on colors. So you’re Mr. Grey. Lemme guess… is your first name ‘Morally’?” He laughed.
Sylar was not laughing. “Peter, that’s my name. It’s no big secret. Client services has it. It’s Gabriel Grey.”
“Gabrielle? That’s a girl’s name. Why’d you pick that?” He was grinning, teasing, ribbing Sylar.
Sylar glared at him, not bothering to correct the pronunciation. Peter laughed harder. “Oh my God! That’s your real name? Oh wow. Girl’s name, totally. I called it. No wonder you’re such a dork.”
Sylar ground his teeth. “Well at least my mother didn’t name me Penis.”
Peter sobered a little. “Haha. Yeah, my mother. She would.” He shook his head, the humor gone entirely. “Whatever.” Peter moved abruptly back to the matter at hand and sashayed over to press himself against Sylar, looping his hands behind the taller man’s neck. “So what are you going to do to keep me occupied for the next thirty minutes?”
Sylar stiffened at the contact and drew back a little. The rapid mood changes were hard to deal with. “Peter, you just sucked me off. I’m not going to be ready for a while.” He gestured at the vid-phone. “You’re such a perv. Forever after now, they’re going to talk about me down there in client services as the guy who called them while getting head.”
Peter laughed and shifted his hips back and forth, rubbing himself on his partner. “Oh, you know you love me anyway,” he teased.
“Yeah, I do, but-“ Sylar cut off instantly. Peter went immediately from playful to loving. He put his head down sideways on the top of Sylar’s chest, shifting his hands so they cupped the back of Sylar’s head instead of having his fingers laced together. He relaxed against him quietly while Sylar took several deep breaths. “I…”
Peter said softly, but distinctly, “If you don’t say anything, I’ll pretend you didn’t say anything either. Fair?”
Sylar didn’t say a word. He was still trying to decide if that was A) a meaningless slip of the tongue, B) something Peter had manipulated him into saying, or C) something he actually meant.
After a beat, Peter straightened and said, “Hey! Do you have a dildo around here?”
“A what?” he said dumbly.
“A dildo.”
“A dildo? What the hell would I need with a dildo, Peter?”
Peter gave him a confused look and then laughed. “Well, if you’ve got something around here that might work, then I’ll show you exactly what you might do with a dildo!” He grinned. “So, I take it you don’t, huh? I didn’t find one yesterday, either.”
“Yesterday you were looking through my place for a dildo?”
“Sure. I didn’t think you’d let me put my dick in you, but maybe you’d let me do something else.” Peter went over and opened the fridge. “Don’t suppose you have any cucumbers, do you?” He pulled out a soy sauce bottle with a long, narrow neck and considered it.
Sylar pushed himself off and snatched the bottle from him. “You are not using any food products or containers for sexual gratification.”
“Oh really? You say that. Just wait until that chocolate syrup gets here.”
Sylar’s mouth hung open.
“And just what did you think the whipping cream was for?” Peter added. He smirked and walked off into the bathroom, where he contemplated various objects there. When Sylar followed him in, having refastened his clothes, Peter said, “At least you do actually own some personal lubricant, so you get points for that. No condoms though. That’s kind of arrogant and self-centered.” He looked around and shrugged. “Listen, I didn’t see anything around here yesterday that would really work, aside from the broom, the feather duster, your toothpaste here, this hairbrush-“
“Stop it,” Sylar interrupted. “That’s enough.” It was going to be hard enough to sweep the floor without thinking about… whatever. He eyed his hairbrush.
“Really?” Peter said, turning to him. “Because, you know, I want some ‘sexual gratification’ here. And you were saying you couldn’t help me. Or did I misunderstand?” He raised his brows and took a step towards Sylar, sexual aggression clear in his demeanor.
“Ah… There’s help and then there’s… help. I…” He looked down at Peter’s groin. “I’m not as good at it as you are, Peter.” In fact, he’d had very little experience giving oral sex, if that was what Peter was getting at. He had, just because he could shape shift and he wanted to know what it was like to be on the giving end, but that was it.
Peter walked over to him and hugged him, drawing Sylar’s arms around him. Then he turned in place and held Sylar’s hands. He put one on his chest and the other on his penis. “This is all the help I’ll need.” He started using Sylar’s hands to manipulate himself. “You might want to back up against a wall though. I like to push.”
Sylar started to just back up where he was, but Peter directed him over a couple feet so he went. He saw why when he looked up. Ahead of them was the bathroom mirror, showing Peter’s naked body lying back against him, one of Sylar’s arms wrapped possessively around his chest and another stroking his member. Sylar felt a surge of arousal despite his earlier protest. Peter had his head thrown back against Sylar’s shoulder, lips parted and lids heavy as he used one hand to help Sylar work his shaft and the other was bunching restlessly in the fabric of Sylar’s slacks, on the side of his hip.
“Ooh, Peter,” Sylar said, his voice low and suddenly husky. Peter grinned but said nothing, slowly increasing the tempo with his hand, beginning to rub his body up and down Sylar’s.
Sylar watched, devouring the scene in front of him with his eyes. It was like watching porn with himself in a starring role, holding the most sensitive, personal part of the most powerful person in the world in his hand, watching as that person’s mouth opened wider in a wordless expression of excitement, eyelids fluttering… knowing that he was the one controlling this person, bringing them pleasure or pain depending solely on his grip. Sylar pinched his nipples, getting little jerks and twitches from him every time, feeling Peter grind his body against his.
Sylar realized he was getting an erection again. Peter was panting now, rubbing his buttocks back and forth across his groin more than up and down now, wagging his tail into him. “Take me,” Peter pleaded, his voice high and needy, plaintive and begging.
“No,” Sylar said. “I want you to come first,” and for a second, Peter’s expression changed dramatically. It sobered. He blinked. He looked genuinely surprised… and then he was back exactly where he had been before panting and rubbing. If Sylar hadn’t been watching him in the mirror he wouldn’t have seen it - he would have just thought Peter’s breath had caught and there was nothing else to it. He tightened his grip and began to bite the side of Peter’s neck roughly, holding him firmly to him to prevent some of Peter’s gyrations.
Peter tensed against him, not really struggling, but making Sylar work to hang onto him. He jerked him hard and finally Peter’s hand left his and he wrapped both behind him, grabbing the sides of Sylar’s cheeks as he shoved rhythmically back into him. Sylar wished like hell he’d taken him up on the offer to fuck him because his dick was so hard it hurt and the smashing pressure was painful enough to be distracting. After wincing a fourth time at it, he moved his mouth to Peter’s ear and said, “Stop pushing into me or I’ll bite your fucking ear off, Petrelli.”
Peter shivered and laughed, but he stopped moving his hips. He stood straighter, threw his head back and stuck his chest out as his cock began to throb under Sylar’s hand. He flushed. So beautiful, Sylar thought, watching all of Peter’s myriad reactions in the mirror, feeling the man shudder in his arms as he came. Semen spurted across the tile floor. Peter made a tiny squeak of pleasure and then slowly relaxed, melting into him and letting Sylar support him.
After a minute or two to recover his breath, Peter turned and nuzzled Sylar under the chin. He wagged his ass across him. Sylar was still painfully hard. He jumped at the sensation. It was almost too much. “Master?” Peter asked.
“Yes, pet?”
Peter smiled at the role play. “I would like to please you, master. Would it please you to fuck my ass, sir?”
Sylar shifted his weight slightly, not entirely sure how serious Peter was with the master/slave thing and thinking uneasily about the last and first time he’d tried to take him. “Yes, it would please me.”
Peter rubbed himself against him again. “Let me please you, master. I want to be a good slave,” he crooned. “So good…”
Sylar still didn’t move towards opening his pants. He ran his hands up and down the body in front of him, watching in the mirror. “Earlier,” he turned his mouth to murmur in Peter’s ear. “When I turned you down… why did you have that reaction?”
“I just wanted to please you, master.” Peter’s voice betrayed nothing.
Sylar jerked him to the side and spanked him across the bottom with a single open-handed blow. “Tell me! Or I will discipline you as I have not before.” He leaned in close again. “You know… now that you can heal, I can get away with almost anything with you.”
“Fuck me,” Peter said, his voice low. He twisted his head and kissed Sylar hard for a moment. He bit his lip and pulled it back until it hurt, then let go. “Fuck me and don’t ask questions. Please.” And for once, there seemed like there was a tone of emotional honesty in that. Sylar’s eyes flickered. He gave a shallow nod, and reached down to get rid of his pants.
Sylar took his cock in his hand and rubbed it against the cleft of Peter’s ass. “Lube,” he said almost absently.
Peter spat copiously, reached back and smeared the top of his shaft, and then bent forward, expertly putting Sylar exactly where he needed to be. Sylar saw the muscles of his back flex, his butthole puckered and then he pressed backwards onto him, taking him in one easy stroke. “Oh, shit!” Sylar said, surprised.
Peter laughed, his body shaking, but he started pulling back and forth and working himself back, pinning Sylar between himself and the wall as he was partly bent over. When he was almost entirely in, Peter started to straighten, then said, “Bend your knees a little and put them out, part your legs around me.” Sylar obeyed and Peter leaned back against him.
“Oh God,” Sylar said, feeling Peter’s slick heat all around him. “Why the hell was it impossible the other day? I’ve been with virgins who were easier!”
“You scared the crap out of me, Sylar. All I could think was how I didn’t want you in me. I just got scared.” This too rang with the truth.
Sylar was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how to move and what he could do where he was at. “I can’t thrust in this position.”
“Just flex. In a little bit I’ll bend over and you can go after it.” Peter started moving up and down on him, only an inch or two, but his sphincter clutched and relaxed over him at all the right points. “Here. Let me.”
“Oh God.” Sylar put his head back against the wall, his hands only lightly resting on Peter’s hips as he moved. “I don’t know why I even bother. Just let you fuck yourself on me. That’s… Oh my God, Peter. That’s awesome. Oh. Oh… Ohhh! I’m going to…”
His fingers curled into Peter’s hips and he wanted nothing more than to stand up straight, bend him over and pound him, but he made himself stay where Peter had put him and let Peter bring him off. His legs shook and threatened to betray him when he came. A second later he used telekinesis to keep himself up, but his concentration was poor. Peter kept clenching on him until the last aftershock had passed and he finally pushed Peter away and off of him.
“Stop that,” Sylar said weakly, managing to get back on his feet instead of leaning against the wall.
Peter looked him over and seemed to divine that he had really had enough for the moment. Or maybe he was just aware of the time. He got a washcloth, wet it and brought it to him. Sylar took it and wiped himself, then recovered his pants from where he’d kicked them aside.
“How the hell did you learn all this stuff? Sylar asked, mystified.
“The hard way,” Peter said, an uncharacteristic edge to his voice. “Drop it.” The last was said curtly, in the tone of a command. Sylar obeyed.
Peter glanced over at the clock and pressed himself to Sylar, looping his arms around his neck. “Hey, we might have three or four minutes left. Whaddaya say I bend you over in front of the elevator so they can get a real show when they come to drop off our stuff?”