Wall Verse, Chapter 23, Aftercare and Afterward
Immediately following Let Me Hear Your Body Talk …
Sylar watched as Peter just stared down at him, looking at his eyes, probably taking in his expression, so close that Sylar could scent him and feel Peter's breaths against his face. Such a strange, strange man - so much more complicated and simple than I'd imagined. How is it that I overlooked for so long what was really special about people? Peter was crouched over him, supporting himself with one hand on the mattress and the other behind Sylar's neck, fingers idly playing with his hair. Sylar sighed with the contentment that came with having utterly spent yourself in energetic sex and with being with someone you knew didn't find you lacking. It was hard to imagine that he could lie here under such close scrutiny and be so relaxed, but something had broken inside of him in a good way, cracked like a shell, tumbled down like a unneeded wall. Maybe … if Peter liked him … maybe he was actually likeable.
As if to confirm that thought, Peter leaned in with a teasingly gentle brush of lips. Sylar met him, wanting more, but only smiled when Peter drew back to continue ogling him. Sylar's hands stroked slowly up and down Peter's glorious skin, warm from exertion and damp from sweat, feeling out every square inch that he could reach. The part of his mind that would have once urged him to desperately commit everything to memory was quiet, letting him savor the moment for exactly what it was.
"What made you change your mind?" Sylar asked, wondering if he dared hope this sort of time together could be permanent, or at least repeat. That seemed to be what Peter was angling for.
"About what?"
"Being with me," Sylar said, dropping his eyes to Peter's chest, where his fingers were exploring down the mostly bare sternum - such a different part than his own hairy one. He was taking quite a risk by asking, but it was something he had to know. He had decided Peter had no ulterior motive, but that still left the question of why. "You didn't want to, at first. You said no. I think you thought I was … going to use you." He looked off to the side, not at Peter at all, because Peter may well have been right, at that point in time, before they'd shared their first kiss. "And then after I hit you ..." Why did you come back?
"I decided you were lying."
Sylar's eyes came up to Peter's face, studying it with that blank look he was so good at using when he didn't want to reveal his feelings.
Peter went on, his left hand shifting so his fingers could card through the hair over Sylar's right ear, "This wasn't just a way to spend your time. You weren't bored. And … like you said, yeah, you're lonely, but it's more than that. I think I mean something to you. And if that's true, then maybe this is worth enough for you to stop hurting me." Peter didn't go so far as to say what would happen if Sylar did not stop hurting him, but the conclusion was obvious and Sylar had figured it out days before while worrying that he'd ruined things irrevocably. He was so glad he hadn't. Peter was unbelievably forgiving - but Sylar had decided to take a leap of faith anyway.
He pulled Peter in for a kiss immediately, eyes squeezed shut and arms snaking around the man. When Sylar let go, he said haltingly, "You mean a lot. I'm … I mean I … I shouldn't have …" Sylar's face turned distressed. He didn't want to confess his sins, but he wanted the pardon anyway. Always with the shortcuts. Weak.
Peter smirked a little. "No, you shouldn't have."
Sylar's eyes snapped up to him, because that could mean so many things - shouldn't have taken abilities, shouldn't have killed Nathan, shouldn't have hit Peter, shouldn't have been who he was. Maybe I was wrong about how he feels about me. Maybe he still thinks I'm fucked up, no good, not worth it … I'm just the best he can do here, the only thing he's got and that's all. Nothing special about me.
Peter said, "But here I am, being with you, because I believe in you."
That hadn't been what Sylar had expected. Relief washed through him, wiping away the depression and melancholy, leaving behind hope and then a smile. "Peter, that's … really corny."
Peter leaned in and nuzzled at Sylar's face, lipping along his stubbly cheek. "Yeah," he agreed without apology. "We need to get cleaned up."
Sylar stretched, wriggling a little underneath Peter. It was a surprisingly pleasant place to be. Peter kept most of his weight up, but stayed close enough for contact. It had to be tiring for his arms, Sylar realized. "If you insist," he sighed happily, still having trouble believing his luck, but deciding not to question it. Just like getting my ability. Hang onto him. Do what I have to do to keep him, to satisfy him. Figure him out. Figure out this relationship thing. I killed for my ability. He's not asking for that much. I can do this. This can work for me. I'll be special, for someone, and it will finally matter!
Fuck this shit, Peter thought as he looked at Sylar's cramped bathtub with a showerhead set into the wall above it. Bed too small; shower too small. Sylar really needs to expand his horizons a bit here. I know how to fix this. "Come on. We're going down to the YMCA."
"What?"
"The YMCA. Throw on some clothes." He tossed Sylar's pants at him, brooking no dissent. It was only a couple blocks away.
Sylar caught the garment. He looked lost, but began to comply slowly. It occurred to Peter that Sylar might think they were going to work out before showering, some sort of 'as long as we're already dirty' thing. So he explained, "They have huge showers. And soft soap."
Sylar's face took on an 'ah-hah!' expression and he started getting dressed faster.
Peter smiled to himself at that. Oh yeah. I have a lot to teach him! "And after the shower, there's a hot tub." Peter pulled on his pants. "And a pool." He picked up his t-shirt and started shrugging into it. "And a water play park." He snagged his socks and shoved his feet into them, not paying attention whether he had them oriented right. He wouldn't be wearing them long anyway if he had his way. "With a slide." He waggled his eyebrows at Sylar. Sylar knew all of these things, but Peter thought they bore repeating, given that if they were going to be intimate with one another, a whole new area of play was being opened up.
Sylar was smiling softly. "You certainly seem to be in a good mood."
"Why wouldn't I be? I just got laid!" He took a seat on the couch while pulling on his shoes. And Sylar calls me dense!
Sylar chuckled and shrugged, coming over to sit at the other end of the couch while he put on his shirt.
"Laid by you!" Peter looked at Sylar's bashful expression and decided to rub it in. "And hey, you're really good in the sack." He reached over and nudged Sylar's shoulder, adoring how the man looked shocked and then colored profusely. "What, aren't you usually in a good mood after getting laid?" Fully dressed now, Peter leaned back against the corner of the couch, canting his body to face Sylar. It wasn't like abuse was the only sex Sylar had ever had, but they hadn't really discussed it in detail.
"When I'm not dodging bullets, I suppose." Sylar buttoned his shirt up, seemingly lost in memory.
"Dodging bu… Okay." Peter faltered for a moment, suddenly having a bit of realization about why Sylar didn't like or want to talk about his experiences. Then he rallied, trying to cheer Sylar up with, "Well, there's no one here to shoot at you, so you're safe!"
Sylar nodded soberly, finishing his shirt and crossing the room to get his shoes, not bothering with socks.
He didn't say anything, so Peter said, "Listen, you just scored and no one's going to take a shot at you. I volunteer to fuck you, or get fucked by you, as many times as necessary until getting shot at isn't what's on your mind after sex." He stood up, as they seemed ready to leave.
One brow went up on Sylar's otherwise straight face. Peter held the door open. It took Sylar several seconds to get himself moving towards the door - Peter's offer was hanging in the air like it was something Sylar simply couldn't believe. In retrospect, even Peter thought it was a weird thing to say, but he'd said it and he wasn't about to back down from it. "How many times do you think it will take?" Peter said challengingly as they walked out, not willing to drop it.
"Oh, at least a hundred," Sylar deadpanned immediately with a deep, husky tone, heading for the top of the stairs down.
"A hundred?" Peter was aghast. It was that deeply embedded a trauma? And what did that tone of voice mean?
"Maybe five hundred," Sylar elaborated. "A year of once or twice a day … that would be a good start, assuming you were serious. Then we could reassess."
"Oh." Peter figured out the joke and laughed out loud. "Oh! Well … actually, we'd need to be absolutely sure. I'd be willing to go up to a thousand, you know, because it's for a good cause." It's not like I haven't wanted to get in your pants for a while now.
Sylar snickered at him, joining in the banter. "We both know what a sucker you are for a good cause."
"Yeah," Peter quipped back. "I've been told I'm a pretty good sucker, too."
And that shut Sylar up for the rest of the walk.
Later that day …
Sylar stripped his bed quietly, alone, lost in thought. He brought the sheets close to his face, breathing in their combined musk. It was almost a shame to wash them, but like hell he was going to sleep on them again. Maybe with them, but not on them. He carried them down to the basement laundry, reveling in the scent one last time before reluctantly consigning them to the hot water and suds of the washer. If Peter were telling the truth - and he rarely lied - then he'd have plenty of other opportunities to indulge his fascination with that particular aroma.
He slouched in the plastic chair, watching his sheets and a couple changes of clothes go round and round. He was worn out from the day and it wasn't even evening yet. He smiled and mentally tallied his score - he'd fucked Peter in bed; he'd fucked him in the YMCA shower (mental note: hand lotion near the sinks makes a good lube); he'd fucked him on one of the lounge chairs by the pool (mental note: never try that again, chairs not designed for vigorous activity); and Peter had blown him in the kitchen (mental note: next time, turn off the stove before activities begin). He hadn't even had to reciprocate for the last one, not that he had 'reciprocated' for the others. Peter seemed perfectly happy with Sylar's role in things, though there at the end, Peter going to his knees was the empath's idea, even if it wasn't one Sylar had argued.
I wonder if Peter gave me a blow job because his ass was sore? 'Unlimited supply of ass' - Ha! He grinned at the idea that he might have worn poor Peter out. Of course, he was getting a bit overdone himself, which was why the fellatio had managed to stretch on long enough that the soup scorched to the bottom of the pan. I should ask him, rub it in, the little … He frowned at his own turn of thoughts. If I want him to keep doing this, then I have to play nice. Making fun of him - not a good idea. I liked it - all of it - what we did. For once in my life, I've got to keep myself from fucking this up.
They'd cuddled on the couch for over an hour before it seemed that even Peter's neediness was finally satiated from the close company they'd been keeping. He parted ways with a few nuzzles and kisses, promising to see him tomorrow. Not that Peter had much of anywhere else to be, but Sylar appreciated the vote of confidence - and that was what he wanted so badly, for someone to want to be with him. He sighed and rubbed at a pulled muscle in his calf (so lovely to have that feeling due to sex rather than chasing after someone, trying to kill them, or running away from someone trying to kill him), directing his thoughts onward to what he needed to do to make sure Peter came back to him every morning.