Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 57: 'Like' Like Me
Title: Like Like Me
Characters: Peter, Sylar
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Words: 750
Setting: Any of my various Wall settings
Summary: Peter and Sylar, sitting on a rooftop talking, when Peter's loneliness gets the better of him.
It started as no more than a pat on the forearm as they reclined on the rooftop, watching the sunset. Romantic in other situations, but for the most part, they were simply bored and indulging Peter's interest (or in Sylar's opinion, obsession) with high places.
"Yeah, it certainly did," Peter stated, wrapping up his opinion on the lousy moral conduct shown by the Company and how it had screwed both of them up.
Pat, pat, pat - Peter reached out and administered the usual consoling gesture, which was just as usually followed by lifting away one's hand because that was the entire gesture. At the close of the third pat, however, Peter's hand didn't lift away. It just rested there like Sylar's forearm was his new arm rest. Even Peter glanced over, like his hand had done something surprising and on its own. He looked at it. Sylar looked at it. Peter settled a little in his chair and shut his eyes, hand still in place. Sylar looked from Peter's face to his hand, very much appreciating the contact, but full of questions nonetheless. It was nice to be touched, even if he wondered if the shut eyes meant Peter was thinking of someone else. Peter wasn't - he wasn't thinking of anyone or anything but the feel of warm, human skin under his own, ignoring entirely who it belonged to. There was nothing sexual in this - he was just lonely and tempted.
Peter sighed. Eventually, there was no way to justify what he was doing. Reluctantly, he lifted his hand away. A moment later, Sylar sat up, reached across with his other hand, and wrapped thumb and forefinger around Peter's wrist, drawing him back. Peter stiffened, eyes flying between Sylar's hand and face, 'What's the meaning of this?' writ on his features. He jerked his hand back an inch. Sylar's grip was loose. Instead of tightening, he let Peter pull free, then followed and gently, persistently, led Peter back. Not being forced to it, Peter let him, though he stayed at alert.
Hardly much to be alert about. Sylar replaced Peter's hand on his arm and shot Peter a hopeful, questioning glance before putting his hand over Peter's and squeezing lightly. Then he let go and leaned back, waiting to see what would happen. Peter looked at where his hand had been put. A moment later, he flexed his fingers around the lean limb, fingertips pressing in and releasing. He sighed again, settling back down and accepting the positioning.
Most of a minute passed just like that without further movement, but then Peter began to pet Sylar just a little, then more. He slid his hand from Sylar's elbow to wrist, palm down at first and then with the backs of his knuckles. Sylar watched him, eyes large with a faint expression of either supplication or gratitude. In either case, he liked it … a lot. Peter's fingers played briefly across the back of Sylar's hand before returning to give a few more slow strokes to his forearm, ordering the sometimes unruly dark hairs.
"You like this?" Peter asked.
"Yes."
Peter drew in a deep breath and let it out. "I don't know what I'm doing."
Sylar had nothing to say to that. He didn't know either, but he liked that Peter was doing it.
Peter's forefinger teased along the top edge of Sylar's thumb, making Sylar wonder if he should rotate his arm to expose the softer, more sensitive skin underneath. "Will you ever like me?" Peter blurted, looking up at Sylar with a brief expression that was both raw and desperate.
Sylar felt a twist in his chest, remembering Peter's words linking intimacy to … liking. Or affection. And the question itself: did he like Peter? Could he? Not just Peter's touch or what Peter could do for or to him, but Peter as a person?
Before he could answer such a deceptively simple-seeming question, Peter was pulling away, muttering brusquely as he rose, "I shouldn't have said that." Sylar's mouth opened to call after him, but he couldn't even get Peter's name out, mind still locked up with the conundrum that he wanted to like Peter, wasn't sure he did, sure as hell couldn't admit it if it were true, and so what to say? Sylar wanted to be touched, yearned for it, but he wasn't going to ruin it with a facile lie. The door to the roof swung shut behind Peter and Sylar slumped back in his chair, looking out into the gathering darkness.