Frenemies Take A Day Off
Title: Frenemies Take A Day Off
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Sylar
Summary: Peter and Sylar enjoy one another's company in a thoroughly sensual, but non-sexual, manner. They discuss Intuitive Aptitude.
Warnings: There's not much to warn about here. It's slash, there's one kiss, and they mention that someone got shot.
Notes: I actually did have a beta reader for this. Thanks Lornrocks! Any mistakes are still my fault, of course.
Peter felt so good. He was sitting on the couch with Sylar next to him, curled up in a loose fetal ball under his arm, his cheek to Peter's chest, one hand on the small of his back and the other on his stomach. It was an unlikely position for a psycho-killer. He looked so content, clinging to Peter just enough to let him know he needed him, not so tightly that he seemed too dependent.
Noah's words were on Peter's mind, about how they'd cut Sylar off from any support, driven him and harassed him, intentionally made him be alone, even though they'd known what his ability was, how dangerous it was. He considered Sylar's worst nightmare. He thought about his own loneliness and how wonderful it felt right now to be with someone.
Maybe that's it, Peter thought. Maybe I just got so lonely I was willing to take anyone. His fingertips brushed Sylar's arm, exposed skin against skin, and the other man made a tiny sound. He burrowed his head more firmly against Peter's chest and his fingers clutched loosely at his back and abdomen. Peter shivered as a sensation started in his groin, tickled his stomach on the way up, made his breath catch and his eyes water. It ran all through him, leaving him with gooseflesh. He felt Sylar's cheek move against his chest and knew the man was smiling at the reaction. Peter brushed him again a moment later, because that feeling was like a drug and he wanted another hit. Sylar obliged.
He loved the simple warmth of Sylar's body against his. It was soft and warm, but firm under the surface, giving an impression of gentleness and strength. He could feel Sylar's heart beating when he really concentrated. He was sure Sylar could hear his clearly with his ear to Peter's chest. They were breathing together. Peter expected their hearts were beating in time as well.
It was like his body had needed a holiday, had been desperate for a vacation or a day off. His physical form was following Sylar's lead, letting the other man's body set the pace of his own, regulating him and letting Peter go on standby, letting him truly relax for the first time in years. He hadn't known how much stress that was - a negligible amount every day, but building over time until the burden was almost unendurable. The relief of having it gone was like sex itself. Peter hummed, or maybe even moaned, just at the sheer sybaritic pleasure of touching another person.
Sylar's fingers traced little circles on his gut and over his sacrum, under his t-shirt. Another line of gooseflesh marched across Peter's skin and he gasped, arching just a little into the contact. This time it was definitely a moan.
I need a bigger couch, Peter thought. They'd shifted, so Sylar was lying partly on him now. Peter was on his back against the back of the couch and the arm of it. One leg was up and next to the back of the couch, parallel to it and bent. The other leg was on the floor. He would have looked sprawled out and completely open to the world, except that Sylar was lying on him, head pillowed on Peter's stomach, arms wrapped loosely around him, legs curled and tucked behind him on the couch.
One of Peter's hands was on Sylar's head, alternately stroking his hair or his face or his neck or his shoulder of the line of his upper arm where he could reach it. Peter's other hand was on the arm of the couch. They were both dressed in t-shirts. In Peter's case, he was wearing sweat pants too. Sylar had latched onto a pair of old pajama bottoms.
They'd been lying together for most of the afternoon and Peter couldn't imagine a better way to spend his day off. He was doing absolutely nothing and it was fantastic. It was like he was waking up from a fever dream, like he was finally becoming sane. He wondered if Sylar felt the same way. He suspected he did, if the almost desperate way he sought contact and comfort was any indication.
Sylar had said he loved him. Peter wasn't sure what to make of that. He was idly tracing the line where Sylar's forehead met his hair, over and over again. After a while he dropped down to follow one of Sylar's brows. Peter liked him. He needed him. He wasn't entirely sure about love, though. Was it too early? What about what had happened to Caitlin and Simone? What would happen if he said the words? Would it matter? Was Sylar waiting for him to say it? That Peter hadn't said it certainly didn't seem to have abated Sylar's desire for him, which was nice.
He petted Sylar's hair and practicing saying it in his head, thinking about what would happen next if he actually took that leap of faith.
"There was a woman who had Intuitive Aptitude," Peter said, after hours of lying together quietly. "She was college aged, a freshman, I think. She went in to get tested, for the in-depth test, since she'd come up positive on the first one. And I suppose she wanted to. I mean, I really don't know why she went in for the second test, but they took her sample and the readings and told her they'd get in touch with her with the results."
Sylar shifted slightly and made a slight noise in the back of his throat, indicating that he was listening, without interrupting. He was next to Peter now, lying on his side wedged between Peter and the back of the couch. Peter was on his back, one hand tucked into the waistband of his sweat pants and the other sort of awkwardly piled on top of his lover. Sylar had an arm under himself and the other slung around Peter's waist, parallel to and touching Peter's arm. Their legs were tangled together.
"Noah… he asked me to go. Told me, more like. She had a little apartment. It was all cluttered up with toys - little mechanical toys. We told her who we were, made sure she was the right person, all that stuff. She got started right away telling us about her projects, how she was having trouble getting to her classes because she'd become obsessed with making more of these little toys, making everything fit together and make sense and work just right."
Peter sighed and fell silent for over a minute, remembering her last moments, what she'd been saying. "She was reaching up on a shelf to get one to show us when Noah shot her in the back twice."
Sylar jumped, then curled his head down and his arm tightened slightly across Peter's midsection. Peter stroked Sylar's ribs a little where his one arm was atop the other man.
He swallowed and went on, "She hadn't killed anyone that we know of. I was thinking… I don't know. There was something going on there. In the future, when I met you in the future, I had your ability, but I didn't know how to access it. You showed me, by showing me a watch or a clock or something like it and having me take it apart and put it back together again. Was that what she was doing? Trying to access her ability?"
"Yes," Sylar said, his voice muffled against Peter's shirt.
"What would have happened after she did?"
Sylar shrugged and curled his head down a little more. Minutes passed in silence. Peter stroked Sylar's ribs again, then pulled his hand from the waistband of his pants to caress Sylar's forearm where it lay across his stomach. Sylar lifted his head and said, "She would have killed. Noah… did right."
"Is there…" Peter huffed. "Is there any way to have that ability and not be driven to kill?"
"I'm not driven to kill anymore. I just do it because I want to and I like it. And I might as well, because they're after me anyway."
"But were you to start with?"
Sylar tucked his head down again and said something that was probably a 'yes.' Peter shifted and Sylar clutched him suddenly, but there was no danger of Peter going anywhere. He just got his arm free enough to pet Sylar's hair again and stroke the side of his face. That seemed to stir the man, because he wriggled around so he could rise on his elbow and then scooted forward to kiss Peter's lips.
"Mm," Peter said approvingly. Sylar sat up and Peter missed their contact immediately. He lifted his legs and swung them over Sylar's lap, making sure he couldn't get away entirely. Sylar rubbed his thigh absently, then with more care and attention.
"Why are you asking?"
Peter sighed. He wasn't entirely sure. His subconscious was churning something around, but it hadn't deigned to inform him yet of what it was getting at. "I… I'm not sure. The reason why they're after you, the reason they keep saying, is because you're a killer. They say you couldn't stop if you wanted to, but since you've gone months without doing it from time to time in the past, and I know you've had lots of chances… after getting to know you so much in that nightmare… I don't think that's true."
Sylar didn't say anything, so Peter asked, "How long does it take? How long does it take before you don't have to kill anymore?"
Sylar made a long exhalation and an abortive attempt to get up. Peter pressed down with his legs, resisting the effort and Sylar gave in immediately. The more they'd been together, the more submissive Sylar had become as he grew to trust Peter more. All that threat and bravado hid a frightened boy who just wanted someone to take care of him. It was sweet, and bizarre, and hit all the right buttons for Peter.
Sylar answered him, "I think… all it really takes is one, just like all it really takes is one watch or one machine. Once you know how it all works together, that's all you really need. Seeing all the other ones out there, all the variations and differences - it's nice, but you don't need it." He was silent for a long time as Peter pondered the scores of people Sylar had killed and how he'd said it felt good, each and every time like rediscovering his ability for the first time.
Sylar added, "Of course… if you're alone… then you don't know…" He swallowed. "You still feel the urge, and you know how much of a relief it was to finally understand, and so you… you think that maybe if you just did it again, the urge would go away. And so… maybe you do… and then you've done it twice… and…" He shrugged and looked away, unhappy and tense.
They weren't breathing together anymore and Peter could feel it as that tenuous link pulled between them, shredded and broke. He reached out and took Sylar's nearer hand, the one he could reach, and he felt the ties between them renew as Peter's quiet acceptance calmed Sylar's apprehensions.
Peter let long minutes pass before he asked his next question, not wanting to drive Sylar away by bringing up the uncomfortable past. "So, if someone had been there with her, and shown her what to do, told her what was going to happen… held her hand..." He squeezed Sylar's hand demonstratively and with that gesture Peter knew what his subconscious had been knocking around back there in the dark recesses of his mind. "Then maybe it would have only taken one?"
"Yeah, probably," Sylar answered. "Assuming of course she wasn't predisposed to it. I mean, anyone can kill. You don't need an ability to be a murderer. And if she already wanted to kill someone, then the Hunger might push her over the edge. It's… you're prone to obsession at first and it's hard to think straight without… without anyone being there for you." Sylar squeezed Peter's hand in return. "But it passes. It's like an addiction. It fades. Might not ever really go away, and there's things that make it worse, but you get more control."
"Is that why control is so important to you?"
Sylar only smiled at him and pulled his hand back and forth. He'd given up his control to Peter. He didn't realize Peter was going to return the favor.