What's in a name? (Slave Verse 1, Chapter 6)
Some time later, Sylar was watching as Peter very slowly peeked out of the bedroom, just one eye visible. It made him grin. “Come here.”
Peter did, padding across the hall and into the kitchen, still naked. He walked a little stiffly. Sylar assumed the stitches were bothering him. “Closer,” he said when Peter stopped about five feet away.
Peter walked up to him slowly, trying to read his face. Sylar was smiling, but Peter was still wary. He pulled Peter to him the last few steps and put his mouth on his, forcing his tongue into him and drawing him against him. He ravaged his mouth for as long as it pleased him, which was quite a while, and then released him. He could feel (and see) that Peter had responded to it. He smiled and turned to get down a glass.
He glanced back to see Peter smirking at him. The expression disappeared, but not so fast that he didn’t catch it. Sylar filled the glass with water. “You think you own me, pet?” His voice was low and dangerous.
“No, sir,” Peter answered immediately. “You own me.”
Sylar laughed once and handed him the glass and his pill. “You’re a smart man, Peter Petre-“ He caught himself and cleared his throat. Peter peered at him intently. “You’re a smart man, Peter pet.” He reached out and tousled his hair affectionately. Peter took his medicine and stood there looking at the half full glass, mouthing ‘peter pet.’ Or at least that was what Sylar hoped he was mouthing.
“Are you hungry?” he interrupted the introspection.
Peter’s head jerked up immediately. “Yes, sir,” he said readily.
“Well, we’ll start with some orange juice and then maybe for the main course we can do some of this French onion soup. I think it’s almost all broth.” Sylar had the can out on the counter. He’d been looking at what he had. He really hadn’t stocked the larder enough for a second mouth to feed, much less for one on a specialized diet. But he had enough to keep them for a while.
The day went well. He spent the morning getting Peter shaved and letting his pet groom him in turn. It was profoundly sensual without being sexual at all. Or… well… it wasn’t sexual until he demanded fellatio in the middle of it, but Peter continued to seem eager and pleased to perform for him.
He rummaged through Peter’s mind (not that there was much to find) and Peter spent the afternoon rummaging through Sylar’s apartment after he’d left (Sylar certainly hoped he hadn’t found anything useful). Sylar hadn’t bothered to lock him up when he went out for the afternoon, which he reflected was almost certainly a mistake. But he couldn’t find the damn remote and without it, he wouldn’t be able to unlock the leash when he got back. He couldn’t easily get a replacement because all implants were unique and he’d have to take Peter in for it to be programmed to him.
He was certain now that he’d misplaced the remote, probably having left it on the bed and Peter had snatched it later. He could have forced the location of the device out of Peter’s head, now that he knew, but he didn’t bother. Peter was being unusually cooperative, his tone light, his expression friendly. Sylar assumed incorrectly that these two elements went hand-in-hand, for if Peter had swiped the remote, then he would want to avoid having this fact discovered, as it would be as soon as he warranted punishment.
The berserk fury of Nathan’s goons had quieted as they had, by now, exhausted all reasonable leads to finding Peter. Soon they would start with the unreasonable ones, like Molly Walker. Sylar hoped it would take a while to find her. Nathan’s operations had driven those with even the most innocuous abilities underground. It had been over a year since Sylar had gained a new ability because it was just that difficult to find specials these days. Those that showed up on the slave market were altered so as to quell their abilities permanently, an alteration that also made them useless to Sylar.
Unless, of course, they’d had regeneration before. In that rare case, Sylar could just remove the inhibitor and wait for nature to take its course. That was his intention with Peter. That and thoroughly owning him first in every way he could think of. He’d given up on the idea of breaking him. He supposed it was possible, but it just seemed unnecessary and Sylar simply did not have the patience to work at it. He stroked Peter’s hair as they lay in bed that night, satisfied and pleased with himself, Peter curled at his side, his head resting on Sylar’s chest. Tomorrow he’d look at the implant.
xxx---xxx
“Petrelli,” Peter said, looking off into the distance. Sylar was held against the bedroom wall with telekinesis, flattened and unable to move. “That’s what you almost said yesterday.” Peter looked down at the floor mat below Sylar, then walked over and picked up the leash. Sweat broke out on Sylar’s brow. He had no idea which of the dozen terrifying things going on at the moment caused it. He wasn’t generally a fearful person, but things had happened so fast.
Peter stood next to the bed. He was still naked and seemed content that way, though his state of undress was disconcerting to Sylar at least now that Peter had the upper hand. “You know, they say it takes four weeks for people to develop a new habit or get invested in a new way of life. You only waited a couple of days…” He shrugged and tossed the leash back on the nightstand. Sylar said nothing, because he couldn’t. Peter wasn’t letting him move a muscle, not even to speak. There were a few things he could do, for he had a wide range of powers, but there was nothing he had that Peter didn’t.
“You’re so impatient.” Peter’s voice was soft. He had wanted that one piece of information and he’d gotten it, tugged it out of Sylar’s mind like pulling a piece of gum off of a desk. Then he’d simply stood there for a few moments, introspective. “Do you think… maybe… you could work on being a little more patient?”
Sylar felt the force holding them lighten except for his legs and hands. He could speak now. He swallowed. He could command Peter with his voice. That didn’t really seem wise though, under the circumstances. “Yes. I could. I-I will. I will, Peter.”
“Really?” He looked at Sylar hopefully, earnestly, like he wanted that to be true.
And it was, as far as Sylar was able. After Peter stuck him to the wall like hanging a painting, Sylar had immediately resolved never to let his enthusiasm for an idea push him into rushing things like it had here. Assuming he survived. Yes, he was hard to kill, but Peter… he was sure Peter had a way to kill him. Several of his own powers would do - it was why he’d gained them: to get rid of people who could kill someone like him. Sylar nodded. “Yes. I’m working on it right now.” He wanted down, and out of here, but he was trying to be patient and wait it out. Not that he had much choice in the matter.
“I think you’re telling the truth.” Peter looked down for a moment, then back up. “Were you telling the truth about that ‘ruling the world’ stuff?”
Sylar had no idea what the right answer was for that. Did Peter find the idea abhorrent or attractive? He didn’t know. Was there even a point to lying? Sylar was not a man to live on his knees. He’d been a bit thrown by what had happened, but now he was getting his thoughts back in order.
It had seemed like such a simple, straight-forward operation. Removing the implant would restart Peter’s basic ability, but that ability would start empty, since he needed an empathic connection with his target to make it work instantly, and he couldn’t remember any of his “donors.” The regeneration would be the first to upload automatically and it would a while for each new ability to replicate after that. It had seemed like Sylar would have plenty of time. His plan had been to let Peter heal himself and then reinsert the implant before things got out of hand. What he’d failed to consider was that Peter had an empathic connection to him.
And since he hadn’t been able to put the implant back in (being chased around his apartment had never been part of the plan), Peter was still uploading his old powers, even as they spoke.
“Yes,” Sylar said. “That was the truth. That was my plan: you and me, ruling this sorry excuse for a world.” He laughed a little. It sounded kind of ridiculous now that he wasn’t dictating it to an inferior. The power dynamics between them changed many things.
“Is that really the plan?” Peter’s eyes were intent. His expression was rapidly fading from curious and earnest to determined and incisive.
Sylar knew why that would be. “Yes.” He gritted his teeth. If Peter had his abilities, then this was going to hurt. The only consolation was that he’d survive unless Peter went out of his way to prevent it.
Peter walked over to him, still naked and beautiful and utterly comfortable with it. His attention seemed entirely focused on Sylar’s head. Sylar fidgeted. He’d never had this experience and he was sure it was ironic and fitting and karmic somehow, but he wasn’t looking forward to it. The taller man hissed a sharp intake of breath and pulled back against the wall even further as Peter reached him.
Peter reached up and stroked Sylar’s forehead, staring at it in fascination like it was the most beautiful thing in the world.
Sylar looked uneasily around the room. “Look, Peter, just get it over with, okay? I know what’s going on here. I know you can’t stop it.”
Peter’s eyes dropped to his. “No.” After a long pause, his eyes dropped to Sylar’s lips. “No. It doesn’t have to be that way for me. I have… options.” Sylar slid down so his feet were against the floor.
Peter propped his arm against the wall next to Sylar’s head and leaned in as if to kiss him. Sylar’s expression contorted in confusion. He’d considered himself something of a sick puppy, but sex and the Hunger never mixed. “I need to know,” Peter crooned, seeing his reticence. “I need to understand. You get that, don’t you? The need to understand?”
Sylar swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I do. But…” Peter had had enough of talking. Instead, he brushed Sylar’s lips with his own, his eyes distant, almost glazed over. It tingled. Random flashes of the last few days passed through Sylar’s brain, along with glimpses of the further past. The emotions rose to the surface and he jerked his head to the side, denying Peter. “What are you doing?” he whispered hoarsely.
Peter went on kissing him, only on the neck where Sylar couldn’t as easily avoid his questing lips. At least these touches didn’t seem to arouse memories of moments past. Between kisses, he said, “I’m using an ability. … I got this one from a nice lady named Lydia. … It won’t hurt you. … I need to see this. I need to understand where things really are between us.” He brought his other hand up to Sylar’s face and rubbed it slowly down his jaw, caressing him. “I need to understand and if you won’t let me learn what I need this way, then I’ll have to use another.”
Peter pressed his body against Sylar’s, evoking a reaction. Sylar panted and looked at the ceiling. Okay, make out with freaky-psycho-Peter, or get head cut open by freaky-psycho-Peter. Put that way…
Sylar exhaled a deep breath and turned his head back. It occurred to him Peter could have just forced his compliance, but instead he’d asked. Peter’s lips progressed along his jaw, nibbling and lipping and it felt so good. When Peter moved up to the corner of his mouth, it was all Sylar could do not to hurry things along by turning his head further so Peter was directly over his lips. But he waited and let Peter make that final move. The darker-haired young man’s eyes flitted between Sylar’s and a ghost of a smirk crossed his features. Then he kissed him again, open-mouthed and tantalizingly slow. Sylar felt his body rise in response and it was oh, oh so good.
After too short an eternity, Peter pulled back. He sighed and switched to propping himself against the wall with his elbow. He licked his lips and looked speculative, like Sylar’s life was a new flavor of candy and he was deciding if he liked it.
Sylar felt like his whole life had flashed behind his eyes. He suspected he should be bothered that Peter probably now knew his deepest and darkest secrets, but he didn’t give a fuck at the moment. There was only one thing that mattered, one thing that all the dominance games and the acquisition of abilities and the flaunting of power all boiled down to and that thing was a very human need to be respected and loved. For just a few short hours with Peter, he’d thought maybe he had that, or at least the illusion of it, which was enough. It was all he’d ever been chasing after anyway.
Peter reached up and rubbed his lips with his fingers, then over to Sylar’s to do the same, smearing the saliva from their kiss. Sylar shut his eyes and quivered under that touch, clinging to the fantasy that there was still a chance that it wasn’t over. “Funny,” Peter said. “I’ve changed you more than you’ve changed me.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Sylar said huskily, wanting nothing more than to be free of the telekinesis and throw Peter on the bed. He didn’t want to leave anymore. He didn’t care about getting away. There was nothing out there for him now and he was sure of it.
“It means you can change. You have the capacity for it. I needed to know that. I needed to understand it and by learning that, I see how you overcame the Hunger.” Peter leaned in and nuzzled him under the ear. “So I can control it too.” Peter kissed him again, a simple smack of the lips, but Sylar tried to make it more, tried to lean away from the wall to follow him. It wasn’t allowed. He growled in frustration. Peter smiled and mocked him, “Ah ah. You’re going to have to learn to be patient.”
“I’m not feeling very patient right now,” Sylar snapped. He jerked at the telekinetic restraints. Surely Peter’s concentration would waver soon... he supposed his best time to break free had been during that kiss, but Sylar’s mind had been elsewhere. He hadn’t wanted loose until Peter stepped away from him. Now he was wild to be free. He pulled futilely against the power holding his hands and feet.
Peter gave a dry laugh. “I know.” Sylar growled at him and pointedly looked away. Peter sighed and took a step back. Sylar felt the telekinesis release entirely. He flexed his hands uncertainly and looked at Peter, who asked, “Can you play nice?”
Sylar looked him up and down. “Yes.” Sylar’s eyes narrowed at him. “Can you?” He wasn’t sure where this was going. Had their positions been reversed, he certainly wouldn’t be letting himself go.
Peter took the step closer that put them against each other again. Sylar felt himself burn with need and fear and anger and uncertainty at the change in their relationship. Was he the slave now? Was Peter toying with him? He stood his ground and drew himself up. Peter hooked his hand around Sylar’s neck and tugged, encouraging him to dip his head to him without requiring it. After a moment, Sylar complied and they shared a brief and cautious kiss. When they parted, Peter said, “Yes. I can play nice. I like playing nice.” He ran his hand down Sylar’s arm and let his fingers brush those of the other man before walking back to the bed and sitting on it.
Sylar stood there and processed that Peter, even with his freedom and his powers, was still interested in him. “You… What did you have in mind?”
Peter gave a sad smile and said, “I’ve played king-maker before...”
Sylar’s eyes widened. “You have your memories back.”
Peter smirked at him. “Little trick Adam Monroe taught me. All I needed was my full name. Don’t worry though. It doesn’t really change anything. At least, not to your detriment.” Sylar blinked. How could having his memories back possibly be to Sylar’s benefit? Peter looked up at him. “Nathan’s made a mess of everything. He has to be stopped. Things like this,” he picked up the slave leash, “Can’t be allowed to happen. Everything you did to me, Nathan facilitated. You only did it to me. He’s set things up so it happens to hundreds of thousands of people. Who’s the bigger villain: you or him?”
Sylar stared. Could Peter seriously be saying that Sylar was morally superior to Nathan Petrelli, his brother? His brother who molested him, Sylar pointed out to himself. His brother who used him. His brother who had him drugged and reprogrammed. His brother who was hunting for him even now and probably not to save him. Sylar hadn’t really put much thought into why Nathan wanted Peter. He’d assumed brotherly love and all that crap, but now that he thought about it…
He walked over to Peter, who looked up at him placidly. Sylar put his hand on his shoulder first, testing the waters. When that was allowed, he ran it behind Peter’s head, tilted it and kissed him more passionately, less cautiously. When they parted, Sylar asked, “You and me… ruling the world?”
Peter smiled and said with mock-seriousness, “Anything you say, master.”
Chapter 6.1 (The shaving scene alluded to within chapter 6): game-byrd.livejournal.com/2372.html
Chapter 6.2 (A snuggly evening scene contained within chapter 6): game-byrd.livejournal.com/2767.html
Chapter 7 (Chapter 6 was supposed to be the end, but I continued it a bit): game-byrd.livejournal.com/2925.html