Double Duty
Title: Double Duty
Characters: Gabriel (starring as Gabe and Sylar) / Peter Petrelli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Mild food sex, explicit sexual content
Word count: ~4,600
Setting: Shattered Salvation, well beyond where I’ve published to date. All you really need to know though is that Gabriel and Peter are married and in the context of a long-term relationship. That, and they’ve been helping each other work out their problems, which includes novel approaches to sating the Hunger.
Summary: Threesome porn with chocolate syrup. Mmm!
Notes: This is a gift to Vivihanna, written to her prompt, “Sylar/Peter/Gabriel three-way story. Something naughty but sweet and perhaps some doubt in the beginning from Gabriel because he's so shy. Oh, maybe Gabriel watches the other two first. … doppelgangers … and something to do with food! Whip cream, chocolate syrup, and perhaps other assorted toppings!”
Gabe didn’t know how he was going to manage this or if it was even going to work. Uncertainty was rife. It was usually so much easier to hold down his fears, dismiss them, be rational and distant and removed. But this new way of being threw everything to the forefront of his mind and broke down his ability to ignore and partition. He squirted twice as much chocolate syrup as he needed to into his milk, trying ignore the prying eyes of the man leaning on the doorframe of the kitchen. Do I really look like that when I glare at people? That’s really rude.
“You just need to relax,” Sylar told him.
“That’s easy for you to say!” Gabe snapped back irritably. He stirred his drink faster than necessary, but was still careful enough not to slosh any out. Chocolate milk had always been a soothing treat after he’d moved out into his own apartment and was at liberty to buy such an indulgence. At the moment, he needed it. His nerves felt like a bag of nails, sharp ends poking him at every turn. “He’ll be here any minute.”
“So?”
“So we shouldn’t be doing this! He’s already sensitive about shape-shifting. What if this freaks him out?” Sylar had flatly refused to reverse the process, which was problematic because apparently it was going to take the cooperation of both.
Sylar shrugged, walking into the kitchen to snag the bottle of syrup before Gabe put it away. “He’ll deal with it. He’s not nearly as fragile as you think he is.”
“He’s not nearly as tough as you think he is, either!”
They both heard the dull pop that signaled Peter’s arrival via teleportation. Gabe stared at the kitchen doorway, terrified at what this might mean. What do I do if he freaks out? Acting overly casual, Sylar used his thumb to flip open the squeeze bottle and poured a shot of courage directly in his mouth - fuck the milk.
“You are so gross,” Gabe complained.
Peter came to the entry to the kitchen and arrested, eyes flicking between the two of them. He’d known the plan for the day and even, after it was explained to him, helped set it up. More than that, when he got a call from work that morning to fill in on his day off for a sick coworker, he’d asked Gabriel if he could handle the procedure on his own. Floored by the degree of trust that showed, Gabriel had said yes and Peter had gone to work, leaving Gabriel to deal with Eli by himself. Obviously the result had not been quite what any of them had expected.
“So … uh …” Peter started, paused and then resumed with the obvious question, “how’s Eli?”
There was a long moment of silence as Gabe waited for Sylar to tell him and Sylar waited for Gabe to do it. In the meantime, Peter got tense. Gabe broke first, but he was vague. “He’s fine,” he said sulkily. He wanted to be bitchy that Peter obviously cared about Eli, a relative stranger, more than himself, but it was an obvious question. And besides, Peter probably didn’t realize the differences between the current manifestation of the cloning power and what Eli did.
“’Fine’ fine?” Peter asked, unsure of how to be delicate about asking ‘You didn’t kill him, did you?’
Sylar answered, “Yes, he’s perfectly fine. Nothing to worry about.”
Peter looked between the two of them several times as he began to put two and two together. They looked very different. Sylar was in faded, worn jeans with a short-sleeved, loudly colored plaid shirt that had the top three buttons undone. His thick, curly chest hair was peaking out in a display of unabashedly masculine virility. He was wearing sneakers. His hair was short and spiked. Gabe also displayed his love of hair gel, but his hair was longer and ruthlessly slicked back, not a strand out of place. He was wearing a sedate, long-sleeved, light green dress shirt with a darker green, patterned sweater vest over it, black slacks and dress shoes. He also had on those nerdy glasses that Peter so loved. Sylar looked taller, because he naturally stood straighter. Gabe was slouching uneasily next to the counter.
“So, which one of you is the … primary?” Peter asked. When Eli used his power, all his clones were identical. Peter knew that. He’d been there for the initial interview with Eli where they’d worked out all the logistics and remuneration for his permission. Sylar and Gabe were different, not only in appearance, but in how they moved and acted.
“He is,” they both answered in unison, each indicating the other.
Peter’s face screwed up in confusion. “How is it that neither one of you is lying?” he asked, mostly of himself.
Sylar snorted and upended the syrup bottle for another squirt. He wasn’t going to admit to his own uneasiness, but his actions gave it away as far as Gabe was concerned.
“Stop that!” Gabe chided him a second time. “Other people in this household have to use that! I don’t want anything your mouth has been on. It’s disgusting.” He knew he sounded just like his mother, Virginia, but … well, on this she had a point. Sylar was being very rude. People shouldn’t slurp out of bottles.
Sylar smirked. “You don’t want anything my mouth has been on, do you? Well, that’s good for me.” Bottle still in hand, he sauntered over to Peter, who pulled back against the doorframe and looked up at the other man. It wasn’t an unwelcoming expression, but Peter was clearly still trying to work out what was up. Sylar tipped the bottle to ooze out just a little dark syrup on his index finger and then raised it to Peter’s lips. Peter looked from it to Sylar’s face, letting Sylar finger-paint it onto his mouth. Sylar leered briefly at Gabe and then leaned in to slowly lick the sweet stuff from Peter’s lips. Peter looked nervously between the two of them, bringing up a hand to touch Sylar on the side uncertainly. But he definitely wasn’t turning him away.
Gabe steamed, but behind the anger was fear. Can Peter handle this? Can I handle it? We need to talk about this, not … whatever he’s doing. As he stood there and did nothing, he saw Peter relax and run his hand lightly up and down Sylar’s side as Sylar deepened the kiss. He’s responding. Peter’s responding to him. What if he likes him more than me? Well … why wouldn’t he like him more than me? I’m nobody. I’m just an extra, a byproduct. I’m not sexy like he is.
Sylar groaned slightly and leaned forward to press his body against Peter’s in a slow grind. Gabe caught a shadow of the feeling of that motion, because there was no way he could ignore what his duplicate was doing. There would be no cutting himself off from this and pretending it wasn’t happening. He’d feel whatever they did as a phantom sensation. His penis felt itchy and uncomfortable in his slacks as it tried to rise in sympathy with the hardness he knew was growing in Sylar’s jeans. Jealousy and possessiveness and worthlessness shot through him. He wanted to peel Sylar off of Peter and pummel him into the wall.
Snarling, he walked over and jerked Sylar back by his shoulder. “Get away from him! He doesn’t want this. You’re forcing yourself on him!”
Peter’s voice was husky with arousal as he said, “It’s okay.” He still looked uncertain. Another thing about Eli’s clones - they didn’t argue with the primary or fight with each other any more than one’s hands disagreed with what the mind told them to do. Such automatic obedience wasn’t a trait that either Gabe or Sylar had at the moment.
Sylar gave him another of those oh-so-annoying smirks. He wrapped his fist into Peter’s shirt and grinned. “Bedroom,” he said, dragging Peter with him. Not that Peter was objecting, but he did at least look a little thrown by the situation. He looked over his shoulder twice at Gabe as he was pulled through the living room and into the bedroom. Gabe followed at a distance, wondering if he should save Peter and make Sylar cut it out, or what. Sylar shoved Peter on the bed roughly. “Clothes off.” He set down the bottle of syrup on the nightstand and began his own undressing.
Peter started unbuttoning his shirt. “Ah … Gabriel?” Neither of them responded.
Gabe hovered uncertainly at the door. “You don’t have to do this, Peter.”
Sylar laughed. “Go drink your chocolate milk, Gabe. Grown-ups are going to do grown-up things. Jerk yourself off in a corner somewhere if you have to.”
“Hey,” Peter said, “that’s uncalled for.” He’d peeled off his shirt, but hesitated on his pants.
“Fuck him,” Sylar snapped. “You want me, not him. He’s a temperamental little mommy’s boy who can’t get past his own inhibitions and actually enjoy himself. You like me better in bed, Peter. All of us know it.” Sylar shoved his jeans down.
Brows pulling together, Peter got off the bed and started to go to Gabe, who had backed off a few steps at Sylar’s harsh, but probably true, words.
His feet still tangled in his jeans, Sylar couldn’t stop Peter physically, so he resorted to telekinesis, jerking him back onto the bed. Peter yelped and flailed, a disturbed sound that brought Gabe fully into the scene to protect him.
“Stop it!” Gabe yelled, shoving Sylar over. It would have been much more satisfying to see Sylar sprawl on his ass, but he caught himself with flight instead and hovered, finally managing to kick his jeans off while Gabe went to Peter. “Are you okay? You don’t have to do this,” Gabe said, repeating his comment from earlier.
Peter said, “Hey, are you okay with it? What’s going on here?” He reached up and touched Gabe’s forearm, letting his hand slide down the limb to take Gabe’s hand at the end and give it a squeeze.
Gabe explained a little. “Things didn’t work out right. Eli’s okay, but we can only make one duplicate and it’s not really … a duplicate, exactly. I don’t think it worked right.”
Sylar came up behind him. “It worked fine for what it was. If we’d done Eli himself rather than one of his clones, then we’d have gotten the full power. Instead …” He grinned. “Well, this certainly has potential.” He shoved Gabe onto the bed. Gabe fell, turned and scrambled backwards, still fully clothed. Sylar was fully naked. Peter was caught in the middle.
Peter said firmly, “I’m not doing this unless everyone is in agreement.” He looked between the pair. “That’s final.”
Sylar scoffed. “All you want is deniability, Peter. Don’t worry about it. No matter how much you kick him, he’ll still follow you around like a puppy.” He reached down and grabbed Peter’s hair like he was deliberately trying to provoke him.
It was working. Peter jerked back, forcing Sylar to decide between yanking his hair out or letting go. He opted for letting go. Gabe jumped forward, awkwardly inserting himself between them. “Leave him alone! You’re the asshole who keeps hurting him! You’re obsessed!”
“We’re both obsessed,” Sylar observed.
Gabe opened his mouth to argue, but stumbled on the words because Sylar had agreed with him. Maybe we both need to stay away from Peter. For his own good. He doesn’t really want either of us. We’re too clingy, too aggressive, never right ... Then Peter’s hands were on Gabe’s back and shoulders, the first time he’d willingly touched him. Gabe pulled in air, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
“It’s okay,” Peter said softly. “It’s okay. I get it now. I love you both. Both of you. I’m not picking one over the other.” He rubbed gently, looking up over Gabe’s shoulder at Sylar, who was standing at the edge of the bed, watching silently for the moment.
“You … but,” Gabe tried, “you don’t want me.”
“Yes, I do,” Peter argued gently, scooting to put himself behind Gabe where he could kiss him on the ear and then the cheek, still looking up at Sylar. “I’ve always wanted you.” He kissed him again, delicately removing the nerdy glasses to press his lips again Gabe’s temple. Peter shot Sylar a look and a quick dart of his eyes at Gabe. Sylar pouted his lips in thought and then arched his brows briefly in a ‘sure, why not?’ expression.
Sylar reached out and touched Gabe on the opposite cheek. Gabe tried to pull away, but found it awkward with Peter holding him from behind. “What are you doing?” he asked Sylar.
“Learning to love myself, apparently,” Sylar quipped. “Now hold still.” He took away the glasses and set them on the nightstand before returning to run his fingers gently across Gabe’s face.
Gabe looked up at his alter in surprise, not sure how to take the caresses he was getting. Peter kept lipping and kissing along the other side of his face, the empath’s hands starting to stray from Gabe’s shoulders to wrap around his chest. They drifted lower, pulling his shirt from his slacks and exploring the warm, bare skin underneath. Gabe whimpered, staring up into the dark, smoldering eyes of … himself. Sort of. He’d done something like this a long time ago, and well before that was Candace’s offer. His eyes dropped to Sylar’s swollen cock, wondering what it tasted like and if he would be forced to find out. He hadn’t done that before.
Boldly, Sylar ran his hand into Gabe’s hair and gripped, tugging his head back and provoking another whimper, this time accompanied by a surge of arousal. Peter made a sound as well, feeling the lust. He pushed up Gabe’s shirt and sweater to his armpits, baring skin to run his greedy, searching hands across. Sylar pulled Gabe forward and down to where his face was even with Sylar’s groin, doubling him over.
Gabe struggled weakly, overwhelmed by the sensations and memories he was usually able to deny the existence of so well that he hardly realized they’d happened. He’d begun to realize that just as his ‘father’ Martin had few memories of Gabriel’s childhood, that attempts had been made to suppress and alter Gabriel’s as well. They were still there, though, gradually recovered through regeneration. Peter chewing along his spine wasn’t helping his thought process any. Gabe could smell the musky, masculine scent of Sylar’s body, pubic hair scratching and tickling against his cheek. “That’s sick … no …”
“Get me hard, boy,” Sylar commanded, playing out roles from long ago. Peter glanced up in worry, not sure what he was seeing here and probably feeling a lot of deeply buried things being trotted out for examination. Sylar shoved his hips forward, tugging Gabe’s mouth onto him. Clumsily, Gabe began to fellate him. Sylar, knowing what was expected, wrapped his free hand around the back of Gabe’s neck, squeezing with each bob and motion of Gabe’s head. He locked eyes with Peter, who looked apprehensive. “Only I can do this to him. You ever try it and I will bite your dick off.”
“Got it,” Peter said immediately. He was still holding still, hands frozen on Gabe’s back.
“Don’t you dare back away from this, Peter,” Sylar told him. Peter gave him a single nod, looked down at Gabe, and lowered his head to kiss his back again.
Gabe whimpered, sucking inexpertly at flesh that tasted so familiar, feeling it harden and stiffen in his mouth and start to choke him. He wrapped his hands around Sylar’s legs timidly. He’d never been allowed to touch as a boy - not that he’d ever wanted to. But this wasn’t the same. This wasn’t the storage room in the back of the watch shop. This wasn’t his ‘uncle’ or what he’d thought was his father. This was … Sylar. In a way, it was his own twisted desire to expunge the darkness by mastering it. He let his hands slowly slide up to Sylar’s ass and dug his fingers in as he gagged himself on his doppelganger’s dick, feeling his own arousal surge and burn within him. He groaned as Peter’s nails raked down his chest.
“Oh, yeah,” Sylar breathed, pulling him off roughly. “Fucking greedy for it, aren’t you, boy?” He pushed him back. “Get your pants down.”
Gabe started to obey, but Peter was taking the opportunity to pull his sweater and shirt off over his head, or at least trying to. The buttons caught around his neck and it wouldn’t come off. Peter started giggling, which really wasn’t the reaction you wanted from your partner in bed. Peter tugged, Gabe struggled to figure out how to unbutton it with telekinesis, and Sylar reached in to neatly slice the fabric from collar to hem. “We’ll fix it later,” Sylar said, yanking the troublesome cloth out of the way.
As Gabe turned to shuck off his pants, Peter did the same with his own. When he turned back, Peter was on his back on the bed. Gabe went to him, crouching between Peter’s legs and for the moment ignoring Sylar. He wasn’t quite ready for what Sylar was probably going to do to him, despite the hardness of his erection and the tingling of his skin. He wanted to be genuinely loved, not just used. He’d liked touching Sylar. More than that, though, he wanted to touch Peter. He stroked Peter’s knee tentatively. “You want me?”
“Oh yeah,” Peter asserted. He looked over at the nightstand and summoned the syrup to his hand. He popped open the cap. “Help me out here, baby.” He upended it to let the dark liquid dribble out across his fairly hairless chest and abdomen.
“You’re making a mess!” Gabe exclaimed, equally fascinated and disturbed.
“Then clean it up,” Sylar said, now taking Gabe’s head and forcing him down on Peter’s belly, climbing up behind him. Worry crossed Peter’s face, but Gabe began lapping at it, submitting to the handling. Sylar cupped his body behind Gabe’s, a warm line of skin that made him shiver. He licked at the chocolate, sucking and chewing, his anticipation of being fucked driving him crazy. He knew what Sylar intended to do, but Sylar apparently had caught that Gabe wasn’t there yet. He released Gabe’s hair in favor of stroking his back and fondling his ass. Peter took over in front, caressing Gabe’s face and combing his now haphazardly tousled hair back out of the syrup.
Gabe licked his way upwards, following the trail of rich chocolate while Peter squirmed and made appreciative noises. He could feel the heat from Peter’s erection between them, too, and he paused to suck at a nipple, swirling his tongue around it and nibbling. “Ah!” he said abruptly as Sylar spread his cheeks and pressed a finger wet with saliva against him. Gabe shuddered, falling forward a little as he was breached none-too-gently. Chocolate smeared on his cheek and brow, but the feeling of a finger probing inside him while Peter’s nails dug into his scalp distracted him from the mess. Sylar’s dick was dripping precome onto the back of his thigh, which was so fucking dirty that he whined at that alone.
Peter pulled him up and Sylar’s intrusive, questing finger followed, making Gabe wriggle and mewl. Peter glanced at his countenance and grinned, then licked the side of his face, cleaning him like a cat with a kitten. Sylar added a second finger and Gabe gasped, barely holding himself up while Peter worked his face. He had no idea how he was going to manage getting fucked like this. He was about to pop as it was. Peter paused from sucking on his eyebrow of all things to tell him, “I want you to fuck me.”
“What?” he said dumbly. Sylar turned his fingers and stroked downward across his prostate. As if on cue, Gabe said, “Oh yes! Oh!” and quivered.
Peter grinned and raised a foot to nudge Sylar. “Lube!”
“Use the syrup,” Sylar told him.
“It’s too sticky. Get lube,” Peter reiterated.
There was a moment of silence before Sylar asked, “How do you know it’s too sticky for sex?”
“Because I know, asshole. Lube,” Peter demanded, poking him again with his foot. Sylar grumbled and procured it from the nightstand via telekinesis without having to leave his position. Peter took advantage of the pause to heft the aforementioned syrup and squirt it crazily across Gabe’s back.
“What? What are you doing?” Gabe said in response to the coolness across his skin and the burbling noise from the squirt bottle.
“Giving Sylar a treat.” Peter capped the bottle and threw it out of the way, taking the open lube container Sylar offered.
“You have such wonderful taste, Peter,” Sylar murmured, leaning over Gabe while his fingers still worked his ass. “Thank you.” He licked a long, hot line along Gabe’s back. Peter’s hand slipped between them to slick up Gabe’s penis and then himself. Coming back, he pumped slowly at Gabe’s member.
“Oh God,” Gabe whimpered, putting his forehead down on Peter’s shoulder. “I can’t … I can’t … I won’t be able to …”
“I don’t care what you want,” Sylar growled. “You won’t come from this. That would show you were enjoying it, and we can’t have that, can we? That would be perverted …” He backed up a little, pulling his fingers out suddenly. Gabe yelped. Peter lined him up for entry, with the empath shifting his own hips up. Sylar continued, “Disgusting …” Gabe shivered. He could feel Peter pressing his tip against the opening just as Sylar was doing the same to Gabe’s asshole. “Sick!” Sylar said, shoving inside in one long, painful, barely-lubricated stroke, driving Gabe forward and into Peter, feeling Peter’s heat envelope his penis, his tightness snug and slippery at the same time.
“OH!” Gabe cried out, shuddering right on the brink of release.
Clearly knowing that, Sylar grabbed his hair, twisted it and yanked so hard he saw stars. “Not yet!” he hissed.
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” Gabe whined, clinging to the pain as the only way to hold off coming right this instant.
“You can,” Sylar asserted. He shoved into Gabe, pressing him even more tightly against Peter, who moaned as he held Gabe’s shoulders. “You will! I am going to fuck you as long as I need to, boy! Whenever I want, as long as I want, and you will never say anything to anyone about it. You won’t even think about this. Ever. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Gabe whimpered. He was rock hard. He was fully inserted. His scalp hurt from where Sylar was still pulling his hair, arcing him backwards while he forced himself inside of Gabe’s tight hole over and over again. His whole body was on fire. Peter’s hands dropped from Gabe’s shoulders to caress his chest and then Peter began to work his own aching cock with one hand. Gabe was too far gone to adequately service his partner, which made him feel guilty. Oh yes, so guilty. Guilty for enjoying it. Guilty for his body responding to Sylar’s relentless, powerful thrusts and tugs at his hair, bruising fingers burying themselves in his shoulder or hip, yanking him back into the vigor of the motions. Sylar knew exactly what he wanted and needed and was giving it to him ruthlessly. Fucking Peter was just an afterthought.
Peter got that and to his credit, didn’t seem to mind in the least. He wrapped his legs around both of them as much as he could and rocked himself up into Gabe’s dick in time with Sylar’s thrusts. Peter’s asshole clenching around Gabe’s shaft was better than any reach-around ever would be. Gabe was so grateful to have Peter. He put his hands on either side of Peter on the bed as Sylar let go of his hair to better manhandle his hips, and let himself be fucked on both sides; his consciousness a wash of endorphins and arousal, needy, desperate hands on his flesh; a foreign, violating presence opening him from behind, inside of him, plowing him, degrading him. He breathed hard, barely hanging on.
Peter was moaning wantonly, expressing everything Gabe wanted to about the situation. Little slut, he managed to think, watching as Peter’s mouth gaped open and pulled to the side, nearly there with his orgasm. Sylar was close, too, ramming into him even harder with short, powerful bucks that jogged Gabe and Peter both. Peter’s hand shuffled in a quick tempo against his stomach, stopping only when he cried out, filled and fulfilled, spurting onto himself.
Sylar didn’t have to tell Gabe he had permission to let go, assuming that was even part of the game (assuming this was a game). Gabe lowered himself down against Peter, letting himself have full body contact. He felt the ejaculate smear against his own stomach and reveled in it. He had done to that to Peter. Fucking him had made Peter come. Peter hugged him, whimpering at the continuing thrusts, accepting them into himself. Peter kissed Gabe’s neck and murmured, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” over and over as he got the breath to say it.
Gabe took over the pattern of fucking briefly from Sylar to push inside of Peter as deeply as possible, provoking more and louder sensuous moans. Peter clutched him, riding through his aftershocks, eyes rolling up in his head. Gabe released within him, gasping and shaking. Sylar came simultaneous with him, a strange side effect of the duality that Gabe dimly recognized. Barely able to sense anything other than his own blinding culmination, he collapsed on Peter, who was more than willing to bear him.
A moment later, there was just one of him. Gabriel pushed himself up a little, looking down at Peter uncertainly. Peter glanced around the room and then asked, “Gabriel?”
“Yeah,” he chuffed out, flopping over to the side. He hoped he was being considerate by not lying on top of Peter too much. He felt boneless, dirty and deeply, deeply perverted. Oh my God, I just fucked myself. Again. With Peter … like … watching. Participating. Whatever. He looked over at Peter, trying to gage how his husband had been affected by the whole thing.
“Next time, I get to be in the middle,” Peter said, which certainly answered that.
Characters: Gabriel (starring as Gabe and Sylar) / Peter Petrelli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Mild food sex, explicit sexual content
Word count: ~4,600
Setting: Shattered Salvation, well beyond where I’ve published to date. All you really need to know though is that Gabriel and Peter are married and in the context of a long-term relationship. That, and they’ve been helping each other work out their problems, which includes novel approaches to sating the Hunger.
Summary: Threesome porn with chocolate syrup. Mmm!
Notes: This is a gift to Vivihanna, written to her prompt, “Sylar/Peter/Gabriel three-way story. Something naughty but sweet and perhaps some doubt in the beginning from Gabriel because he's so shy. Oh, maybe Gabriel watches the other two first. … doppelgangers … and something to do with food! Whip cream, chocolate syrup, and perhaps other assorted toppings!”
Gabe didn’t know how he was going to manage this or if it was even going to work. Uncertainty was rife. It was usually so much easier to hold down his fears, dismiss them, be rational and distant and removed. But this new way of being threw everything to the forefront of his mind and broke down his ability to ignore and partition. He squirted twice as much chocolate syrup as he needed to into his milk, trying ignore the prying eyes of the man leaning on the doorframe of the kitchen. Do I really look like that when I glare at people? That’s really rude.
“You just need to relax,” Sylar told him.
“That’s easy for you to say!” Gabe snapped back irritably. He stirred his drink faster than necessary, but was still careful enough not to slosh any out. Chocolate milk had always been a soothing treat after he’d moved out into his own apartment and was at liberty to buy such an indulgence. At the moment, he needed it. His nerves felt like a bag of nails, sharp ends poking him at every turn. “He’ll be here any minute.”
“So?”
“So we shouldn’t be doing this! He’s already sensitive about shape-shifting. What if this freaks him out?” Sylar had flatly refused to reverse the process, which was problematic because apparently it was going to take the cooperation of both.
Sylar shrugged, walking into the kitchen to snag the bottle of syrup before Gabe put it away. “He’ll deal with it. He’s not nearly as fragile as you think he is.”
“He’s not nearly as tough as you think he is, either!”
They both heard the dull pop that signaled Peter’s arrival via teleportation. Gabe stared at the kitchen doorway, terrified at what this might mean. What do I do if he freaks out? Acting overly casual, Sylar used his thumb to flip open the squeeze bottle and poured a shot of courage directly in his mouth - fuck the milk.
“You are so gross,” Gabe complained.
Peter came to the entry to the kitchen and arrested, eyes flicking between the two of them. He’d known the plan for the day and even, after it was explained to him, helped set it up. More than that, when he got a call from work that morning to fill in on his day off for a sick coworker, he’d asked Gabriel if he could handle the procedure on his own. Floored by the degree of trust that showed, Gabriel had said yes and Peter had gone to work, leaving Gabriel to deal with Eli by himself. Obviously the result had not been quite what any of them had expected.
“So … uh …” Peter started, paused and then resumed with the obvious question, “how’s Eli?”
There was a long moment of silence as Gabe waited for Sylar to tell him and Sylar waited for Gabe to do it. In the meantime, Peter got tense. Gabe broke first, but he was vague. “He’s fine,” he said sulkily. He wanted to be bitchy that Peter obviously cared about Eli, a relative stranger, more than himself, but it was an obvious question. And besides, Peter probably didn’t realize the differences between the current manifestation of the cloning power and what Eli did.
“’Fine’ fine?” Peter asked, unsure of how to be delicate about asking ‘You didn’t kill him, did you?’
Sylar answered, “Yes, he’s perfectly fine. Nothing to worry about.”
Peter looked between the two of them several times as he began to put two and two together. They looked very different. Sylar was in faded, worn jeans with a short-sleeved, loudly colored plaid shirt that had the top three buttons undone. His thick, curly chest hair was peaking out in a display of unabashedly masculine virility. He was wearing sneakers. His hair was short and spiked. Gabe also displayed his love of hair gel, but his hair was longer and ruthlessly slicked back, not a strand out of place. He was wearing a sedate, long-sleeved, light green dress shirt with a darker green, patterned sweater vest over it, black slacks and dress shoes. He also had on those nerdy glasses that Peter so loved. Sylar looked taller, because he naturally stood straighter. Gabe was slouching uneasily next to the counter.
“So, which one of you is the … primary?” Peter asked. When Eli used his power, all his clones were identical. Peter knew that. He’d been there for the initial interview with Eli where they’d worked out all the logistics and remuneration for his permission. Sylar and Gabe were different, not only in appearance, but in how they moved and acted.
“He is,” they both answered in unison, each indicating the other.
Peter’s face screwed up in confusion. “How is it that neither one of you is lying?” he asked, mostly of himself.
Sylar snorted and upended the syrup bottle for another squirt. He wasn’t going to admit to his own uneasiness, but his actions gave it away as far as Gabe was concerned.
“Stop that!” Gabe chided him a second time. “Other people in this household have to use that! I don’t want anything your mouth has been on. It’s disgusting.” He knew he sounded just like his mother, Virginia, but … well, on this she had a point. Sylar was being very rude. People shouldn’t slurp out of bottles.
Sylar smirked. “You don’t want anything my mouth has been on, do you? Well, that’s good for me.” Bottle still in hand, he sauntered over to Peter, who pulled back against the doorframe and looked up at the other man. It wasn’t an unwelcoming expression, but Peter was clearly still trying to work out what was up. Sylar tipped the bottle to ooze out just a little dark syrup on his index finger and then raised it to Peter’s lips. Peter looked from it to Sylar’s face, letting Sylar finger-paint it onto his mouth. Sylar leered briefly at Gabe and then leaned in to slowly lick the sweet stuff from Peter’s lips. Peter looked nervously between the two of them, bringing up a hand to touch Sylar on the side uncertainly. But he definitely wasn’t turning him away.
Gabe steamed, but behind the anger was fear. Can Peter handle this? Can I handle it? We need to talk about this, not … whatever he’s doing. As he stood there and did nothing, he saw Peter relax and run his hand lightly up and down Sylar’s side as Sylar deepened the kiss. He’s responding. Peter’s responding to him. What if he likes him more than me? Well … why wouldn’t he like him more than me? I’m nobody. I’m just an extra, a byproduct. I’m not sexy like he is.
Sylar groaned slightly and leaned forward to press his body against Peter’s in a slow grind. Gabe caught a shadow of the feeling of that motion, because there was no way he could ignore what his duplicate was doing. There would be no cutting himself off from this and pretending it wasn’t happening. He’d feel whatever they did as a phantom sensation. His penis felt itchy and uncomfortable in his slacks as it tried to rise in sympathy with the hardness he knew was growing in Sylar’s jeans. Jealousy and possessiveness and worthlessness shot through him. He wanted to peel Sylar off of Peter and pummel him into the wall.
Snarling, he walked over and jerked Sylar back by his shoulder. “Get away from him! He doesn’t want this. You’re forcing yourself on him!”
Peter’s voice was husky with arousal as he said, “It’s okay.” He still looked uncertain. Another thing about Eli’s clones - they didn’t argue with the primary or fight with each other any more than one’s hands disagreed with what the mind told them to do. Such automatic obedience wasn’t a trait that either Gabe or Sylar had at the moment.
Sylar gave him another of those oh-so-annoying smirks. He wrapped his fist into Peter’s shirt and grinned. “Bedroom,” he said, dragging Peter with him. Not that Peter was objecting, but he did at least look a little thrown by the situation. He looked over his shoulder twice at Gabe as he was pulled through the living room and into the bedroom. Gabe followed at a distance, wondering if he should save Peter and make Sylar cut it out, or what. Sylar shoved Peter on the bed roughly. “Clothes off.” He set down the bottle of syrup on the nightstand and began his own undressing.
Peter started unbuttoning his shirt. “Ah … Gabriel?” Neither of them responded.
Gabe hovered uncertainly at the door. “You don’t have to do this, Peter.”
Sylar laughed. “Go drink your chocolate milk, Gabe. Grown-ups are going to do grown-up things. Jerk yourself off in a corner somewhere if you have to.”
“Hey,” Peter said, “that’s uncalled for.” He’d peeled off his shirt, but hesitated on his pants.
“Fuck him,” Sylar snapped. “You want me, not him. He’s a temperamental little mommy’s boy who can’t get past his own inhibitions and actually enjoy himself. You like me better in bed, Peter. All of us know it.” Sylar shoved his jeans down.
Brows pulling together, Peter got off the bed and started to go to Gabe, who had backed off a few steps at Sylar’s harsh, but probably true, words.
His feet still tangled in his jeans, Sylar couldn’t stop Peter physically, so he resorted to telekinesis, jerking him back onto the bed. Peter yelped and flailed, a disturbed sound that brought Gabe fully into the scene to protect him.
“Stop it!” Gabe yelled, shoving Sylar over. It would have been much more satisfying to see Sylar sprawl on his ass, but he caught himself with flight instead and hovered, finally managing to kick his jeans off while Gabe went to Peter. “Are you okay? You don’t have to do this,” Gabe said, repeating his comment from earlier.
Peter said, “Hey, are you okay with it? What’s going on here?” He reached up and touched Gabe’s forearm, letting his hand slide down the limb to take Gabe’s hand at the end and give it a squeeze.
Gabe explained a little. “Things didn’t work out right. Eli’s okay, but we can only make one duplicate and it’s not really … a duplicate, exactly. I don’t think it worked right.”
Sylar came up behind him. “It worked fine for what it was. If we’d done Eli himself rather than one of his clones, then we’d have gotten the full power. Instead …” He grinned. “Well, this certainly has potential.” He shoved Gabe onto the bed. Gabe fell, turned and scrambled backwards, still fully clothed. Sylar was fully naked. Peter was caught in the middle.
Peter said firmly, “I’m not doing this unless everyone is in agreement.” He looked between the pair. “That’s final.”
Sylar scoffed. “All you want is deniability, Peter. Don’t worry about it. No matter how much you kick him, he’ll still follow you around like a puppy.” He reached down and grabbed Peter’s hair like he was deliberately trying to provoke him.
It was working. Peter jerked back, forcing Sylar to decide between yanking his hair out or letting go. He opted for letting go. Gabe jumped forward, awkwardly inserting himself between them. “Leave him alone! You’re the asshole who keeps hurting him! You’re obsessed!”
“We’re both obsessed,” Sylar observed.
Gabe opened his mouth to argue, but stumbled on the words because Sylar had agreed with him. Maybe we both need to stay away from Peter. For his own good. He doesn’t really want either of us. We’re too clingy, too aggressive, never right ... Then Peter’s hands were on Gabe’s back and shoulders, the first time he’d willingly touched him. Gabe pulled in air, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
“It’s okay,” Peter said softly. “It’s okay. I get it now. I love you both. Both of you. I’m not picking one over the other.” He rubbed gently, looking up over Gabe’s shoulder at Sylar, who was standing at the edge of the bed, watching silently for the moment.
“You … but,” Gabe tried, “you don’t want me.”
“Yes, I do,” Peter argued gently, scooting to put himself behind Gabe where he could kiss him on the ear and then the cheek, still looking up at Sylar. “I’ve always wanted you.” He kissed him again, delicately removing the nerdy glasses to press his lips again Gabe’s temple. Peter shot Sylar a look and a quick dart of his eyes at Gabe. Sylar pouted his lips in thought and then arched his brows briefly in a ‘sure, why not?’ expression.
Sylar reached out and touched Gabe on the opposite cheek. Gabe tried to pull away, but found it awkward with Peter holding him from behind. “What are you doing?” he asked Sylar.
“Learning to love myself, apparently,” Sylar quipped. “Now hold still.” He took away the glasses and set them on the nightstand before returning to run his fingers gently across Gabe’s face.
Gabe looked up at his alter in surprise, not sure how to take the caresses he was getting. Peter kept lipping and kissing along the other side of his face, the empath’s hands starting to stray from Gabe’s shoulders to wrap around his chest. They drifted lower, pulling his shirt from his slacks and exploring the warm, bare skin underneath. Gabe whimpered, staring up into the dark, smoldering eyes of … himself. Sort of. He’d done something like this a long time ago, and well before that was Candace’s offer. His eyes dropped to Sylar’s swollen cock, wondering what it tasted like and if he would be forced to find out. He hadn’t done that before.
Boldly, Sylar ran his hand into Gabe’s hair and gripped, tugging his head back and provoking another whimper, this time accompanied by a surge of arousal. Peter made a sound as well, feeling the lust. He pushed up Gabe’s shirt and sweater to his armpits, baring skin to run his greedy, searching hands across. Sylar pulled Gabe forward and down to where his face was even with Sylar’s groin, doubling him over.
Gabe struggled weakly, overwhelmed by the sensations and memories he was usually able to deny the existence of so well that he hardly realized they’d happened. He’d begun to realize that just as his ‘father’ Martin had few memories of Gabriel’s childhood, that attempts had been made to suppress and alter Gabriel’s as well. They were still there, though, gradually recovered through regeneration. Peter chewing along his spine wasn’t helping his thought process any. Gabe could smell the musky, masculine scent of Sylar’s body, pubic hair scratching and tickling against his cheek. “That’s sick … no …”
“Get me hard, boy,” Sylar commanded, playing out roles from long ago. Peter glanced up in worry, not sure what he was seeing here and probably feeling a lot of deeply buried things being trotted out for examination. Sylar shoved his hips forward, tugging Gabe’s mouth onto him. Clumsily, Gabe began to fellate him. Sylar, knowing what was expected, wrapped his free hand around the back of Gabe’s neck, squeezing with each bob and motion of Gabe’s head. He locked eyes with Peter, who looked apprehensive. “Only I can do this to him. You ever try it and I will bite your dick off.”
“Got it,” Peter said immediately. He was still holding still, hands frozen on Gabe’s back.
“Don’t you dare back away from this, Peter,” Sylar told him. Peter gave him a single nod, looked down at Gabe, and lowered his head to kiss his back again.
Gabe whimpered, sucking inexpertly at flesh that tasted so familiar, feeling it harden and stiffen in his mouth and start to choke him. He wrapped his hands around Sylar’s legs timidly. He’d never been allowed to touch as a boy - not that he’d ever wanted to. But this wasn’t the same. This wasn’t the storage room in the back of the watch shop. This wasn’t his ‘uncle’ or what he’d thought was his father. This was … Sylar. In a way, it was his own twisted desire to expunge the darkness by mastering it. He let his hands slowly slide up to Sylar’s ass and dug his fingers in as he gagged himself on his doppelganger’s dick, feeling his own arousal surge and burn within him. He groaned as Peter’s nails raked down his chest.
“Oh, yeah,” Sylar breathed, pulling him off roughly. “Fucking greedy for it, aren’t you, boy?” He pushed him back. “Get your pants down.”
Gabe started to obey, but Peter was taking the opportunity to pull his sweater and shirt off over his head, or at least trying to. The buttons caught around his neck and it wouldn’t come off. Peter started giggling, which really wasn’t the reaction you wanted from your partner in bed. Peter tugged, Gabe struggled to figure out how to unbutton it with telekinesis, and Sylar reached in to neatly slice the fabric from collar to hem. “We’ll fix it later,” Sylar said, yanking the troublesome cloth out of the way.
As Gabe turned to shuck off his pants, Peter did the same with his own. When he turned back, Peter was on his back on the bed. Gabe went to him, crouching between Peter’s legs and for the moment ignoring Sylar. He wasn’t quite ready for what Sylar was probably going to do to him, despite the hardness of his erection and the tingling of his skin. He wanted to be genuinely loved, not just used. He’d liked touching Sylar. More than that, though, he wanted to touch Peter. He stroked Peter’s knee tentatively. “You want me?”
“Oh yeah,” Peter asserted. He looked over at the nightstand and summoned the syrup to his hand. He popped open the cap. “Help me out here, baby.” He upended it to let the dark liquid dribble out across his fairly hairless chest and abdomen.
“You’re making a mess!” Gabe exclaimed, equally fascinated and disturbed.
“Then clean it up,” Sylar said, now taking Gabe’s head and forcing him down on Peter’s belly, climbing up behind him. Worry crossed Peter’s face, but Gabe began lapping at it, submitting to the handling. Sylar cupped his body behind Gabe’s, a warm line of skin that made him shiver. He licked at the chocolate, sucking and chewing, his anticipation of being fucked driving him crazy. He knew what Sylar intended to do, but Sylar apparently had caught that Gabe wasn’t there yet. He released Gabe’s hair in favor of stroking his back and fondling his ass. Peter took over in front, caressing Gabe’s face and combing his now haphazardly tousled hair back out of the syrup.
Gabe licked his way upwards, following the trail of rich chocolate while Peter squirmed and made appreciative noises. He could feel the heat from Peter’s erection between them, too, and he paused to suck at a nipple, swirling his tongue around it and nibbling. “Ah!” he said abruptly as Sylar spread his cheeks and pressed a finger wet with saliva against him. Gabe shuddered, falling forward a little as he was breached none-too-gently. Chocolate smeared on his cheek and brow, but the feeling of a finger probing inside him while Peter’s nails dug into his scalp distracted him from the mess. Sylar’s dick was dripping precome onto the back of his thigh, which was so fucking dirty that he whined at that alone.
Peter pulled him up and Sylar’s intrusive, questing finger followed, making Gabe wriggle and mewl. Peter glanced at his countenance and grinned, then licked the side of his face, cleaning him like a cat with a kitten. Sylar added a second finger and Gabe gasped, barely holding himself up while Peter worked his face. He had no idea how he was going to manage getting fucked like this. He was about to pop as it was. Peter paused from sucking on his eyebrow of all things to tell him, “I want you to fuck me.”
“What?” he said dumbly. Sylar turned his fingers and stroked downward across his prostate. As if on cue, Gabe said, “Oh yes! Oh!” and quivered.
Peter grinned and raised a foot to nudge Sylar. “Lube!”
“Use the syrup,” Sylar told him.
“It’s too sticky. Get lube,” Peter reiterated.
There was a moment of silence before Sylar asked, “How do you know it’s too sticky for sex?”
“Because I know, asshole. Lube,” Peter demanded, poking him again with his foot. Sylar grumbled and procured it from the nightstand via telekinesis without having to leave his position. Peter took advantage of the pause to heft the aforementioned syrup and squirt it crazily across Gabe’s back.
“What? What are you doing?” Gabe said in response to the coolness across his skin and the burbling noise from the squirt bottle.
“Giving Sylar a treat.” Peter capped the bottle and threw it out of the way, taking the open lube container Sylar offered.
“You have such wonderful taste, Peter,” Sylar murmured, leaning over Gabe while his fingers still worked his ass. “Thank you.” He licked a long, hot line along Gabe’s back. Peter’s hand slipped between them to slick up Gabe’s penis and then himself. Coming back, he pumped slowly at Gabe’s member.
“Oh God,” Gabe whimpered, putting his forehead down on Peter’s shoulder. “I can’t … I can’t … I won’t be able to …”
“I don’t care what you want,” Sylar growled. “You won’t come from this. That would show you were enjoying it, and we can’t have that, can we? That would be perverted …” He backed up a little, pulling his fingers out suddenly. Gabe yelped. Peter lined him up for entry, with the empath shifting his own hips up. Sylar continued, “Disgusting …” Gabe shivered. He could feel Peter pressing his tip against the opening just as Sylar was doing the same to Gabe’s asshole. “Sick!” Sylar said, shoving inside in one long, painful, barely-lubricated stroke, driving Gabe forward and into Peter, feeling Peter’s heat envelope his penis, his tightness snug and slippery at the same time.
“OH!” Gabe cried out, shuddering right on the brink of release.
Clearly knowing that, Sylar grabbed his hair, twisted it and yanked so hard he saw stars. “Not yet!” he hissed.
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” Gabe whined, clinging to the pain as the only way to hold off coming right this instant.
“You can,” Sylar asserted. He shoved into Gabe, pressing him even more tightly against Peter, who moaned as he held Gabe’s shoulders. “You will! I am going to fuck you as long as I need to, boy! Whenever I want, as long as I want, and you will never say anything to anyone about it. You won’t even think about this. Ever. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Gabe whimpered. He was rock hard. He was fully inserted. His scalp hurt from where Sylar was still pulling his hair, arcing him backwards while he forced himself inside of Gabe’s tight hole over and over again. His whole body was on fire. Peter’s hands dropped from Gabe’s shoulders to caress his chest and then Peter began to work his own aching cock with one hand. Gabe was too far gone to adequately service his partner, which made him feel guilty. Oh yes, so guilty. Guilty for enjoying it. Guilty for his body responding to Sylar’s relentless, powerful thrusts and tugs at his hair, bruising fingers burying themselves in his shoulder or hip, yanking him back into the vigor of the motions. Sylar knew exactly what he wanted and needed and was giving it to him ruthlessly. Fucking Peter was just an afterthought.
Peter got that and to his credit, didn’t seem to mind in the least. He wrapped his legs around both of them as much as he could and rocked himself up into Gabe’s dick in time with Sylar’s thrusts. Peter’s asshole clenching around Gabe’s shaft was better than any reach-around ever would be. Gabe was so grateful to have Peter. He put his hands on either side of Peter on the bed as Sylar let go of his hair to better manhandle his hips, and let himself be fucked on both sides; his consciousness a wash of endorphins and arousal, needy, desperate hands on his flesh; a foreign, violating presence opening him from behind, inside of him, plowing him, degrading him. He breathed hard, barely hanging on.
Peter was moaning wantonly, expressing everything Gabe wanted to about the situation. Little slut, he managed to think, watching as Peter’s mouth gaped open and pulled to the side, nearly there with his orgasm. Sylar was close, too, ramming into him even harder with short, powerful bucks that jogged Gabe and Peter both. Peter’s hand shuffled in a quick tempo against his stomach, stopping only when he cried out, filled and fulfilled, spurting onto himself.
Sylar didn’t have to tell Gabe he had permission to let go, assuming that was even part of the game (assuming this was a game). Gabe lowered himself down against Peter, letting himself have full body contact. He felt the ejaculate smear against his own stomach and reveled in it. He had done to that to Peter. Fucking him had made Peter come. Peter hugged him, whimpering at the continuing thrusts, accepting them into himself. Peter kissed Gabe’s neck and murmured, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” over and over as he got the breath to say it.
Gabe took over the pattern of fucking briefly from Sylar to push inside of Peter as deeply as possible, provoking more and louder sensuous moans. Peter clutched him, riding through his aftershocks, eyes rolling up in his head. Gabe released within him, gasping and shaking. Sylar came simultaneous with him, a strange side effect of the duality that Gabe dimly recognized. Barely able to sense anything other than his own blinding culmination, he collapsed on Peter, who was more than willing to bear him.
A moment later, there was just one of him. Gabriel pushed himself up a little, looking down at Peter uncertainly. Peter glanced around the room and then asked, “Gabriel?”
“Yeah,” he chuffed out, flopping over to the side. He hoped he was being considerate by not lying on top of Peter too much. He felt boneless, dirty and deeply, deeply perverted. Oh my God, I just fucked myself. Again. With Peter … like … watching. Participating. Whatever. He looked over at Peter, trying to gage how his husband had been affected by the whole thing.
“Next time, I get to be in the middle,” Peter said, which certainly answered that.