Sleeping Beauty, Chapter 5: Fifth Element
It took Sylar a very long time to actually go to sleep. He was ecstatic at being in bed with someone. It was still so novel and unexpected that he found himself daydreaming instead of dozing. He never thought he could be so happy for so long - so many hours of bliss just lying here next to his … lover. He had a lover! He had someone companionable enough to sleep with him, to … Jesus Christ, to take his cock into his mouth and swallow his come. His dick and mind both had been blown by that. He didn't know what had changed Peter's mind about him and he didn't care. It was enough that thingshad changed. It was a change that would stick, wouldn't it? When they woke up, would it still be that way? He didn't want to be a 'drama queen' by doubting, but it was still so hard to believe.
He reached back and touched lightly along Peter's smooth flank. Hard to believe or not, here Peter was, spooning up behind him, knees against the back of Sylar's thighs and forehead resting against his back. His arms were folded up between them. Sylar felt over the bare skin. He could see why Peter had enjoyed putting him to bed so much, allowed to sit there and stroke and pet to his heart's content. Sylar smiled, imagining a future where they both did that and much, much more.
Peter twitched, some element of the touch finally waking him somewhat. He took Sylar's hand, held it and squeezed it, then gave him an adorable, sleepy kiss in the middle of the back. Peter scooted closer, letting go of Sylar's hand to wrap his arm possessively around Sylar's waist, pulling them together. He nosed groggily at Sylar's spine before falling back asleep. It was all so natural and unreserved, like all of the walls between them had come crashing down. He laid his hand over Peter's, twined their fingers loosely together, and finally joined him in sleep. No nightmares would ever trouble him so long as Peter had his back.
XXX
Sylar leaned against the ticket booth and patiently watched Peter under lowered brows. Peter was a little wound up, to put it mildly. Sylar, too, if he'd been forced to admit it. He'd sorted the events of the day - went to Matt Parkman's; got bamboozled and bricked into the basement; visited by Peter in some kind of prolonged dream sequence that had concluded with getting a blow job from him, jerking Peter off, then falling asleep with him; awakened, escaped, and flew to the carnival; stopped Doyle, saved Emma, and witnessed Claire flinging herself pointlessly from a Ferris wheel. Peter had been rather distant and unemotive during the post-basement scenes, but on the other hand, Sylar thought, he had even more to process about the day than Sylar did. The important question was what he was going to do about it. It would be very easy for Peter to walk away.
Sylar had considered his own options and decided the best way to get what he wanted was to see which way Peter jumped. What Sylar wanted was the same thing he'd wanted this morning - a connection. He hadn't thought that would take the form of a sexual partner, but Sylar was never one to turn down a perk. What Peter had wanted this morning was to save Emma. That was done. He had no obligations. No promises had been made between them. He hadn't even answered Sylar's question about the reality of the dream. It would be incredibly inconvenient for him to continue a relationship with Sylar, whom everyone knew as the murderer of his so-recently buried brother. If the old Sylar were in Peter's position, he'd have him eliminated more permanently, all the sooner after an embarrassing telepathic intimacy that could be blamed off on brainwashing and desperation brought on by the perception of going so long without. Who could blame him? Assuming they even found out, which was unlikely. Sylar sighed at how easy that would be for Peter to arrange.
He was not the old Sylar. And neither was Peter. Those two reasons were why Sylar waited, watching as Peter scurried around, dutifully offering medical help to the various shaken patrons. None of them were seriously hurt, so Sylar didn't think this was strictly necessary. He initially believed Peter was avoiding him until he realized Peter never left his sight for more than a few seconds. When the people he was escorting would take him beyond Sylar's vision, Peter gave them directions and returned to the main area. That had Sylar frowning - was Peter keeping an eye on him? Or was he staying close out of some sense of loyalty? His cynical soul wanted to crush the tiny hope he harbored, but it didn't quite dare. He would be patient, because soon enough, Peter would be out of patients.
Peter stood in the middle of the open area, turning in place, slowly taking in everything and listening for cries. There was nothing. Other EMTs and even the police had done a sweep. Everyone had been encouraged or in some cases ordered to leave. Peter, recognized by other emergency workers, had been exempted. Sylar had been careful about who he let see him. But now he was back next to the ticket booth. The cops would be sending another sweep through soon, looking for stragglers. Peter's eyes settled on him.
Would he walk away? He still could. Sylar wouldn't follow him and Peter probably knew that. Would he try to attack? It was impossible to tell for sure what ability Peter had. While terrakinesis was an obvious possibility, he could have transferred with someone else among the EMTs, leftover carnies, spectators, or even the few Company people who had come skulking around. Even though Peter had been visible to Sylar the whole time, he could have whispered warnings to people and set something up. The bitter, cynical voice inside of Sylar told that maybe that was why Peter had worked so ceaselessly to get rid of witnesses and uninvolved parties.
Sylar tried to trust. He tried to have faith. He knew Peter's character better than anyone and that gave him hope. This was possibly the only person in the world willing to give him a sincere second chance after all he'd done. He knew Peter was not inconstant in matters of the heart. His faithfulness and devotion were the stuff of legends. 'Stubborn' had its good side and Peter had plenty of that. Maybe - maybe it would work, maybe there was a point to being good. Peter was walking towards him, alone and unthreatening. He stopped an arm's length away, regarding Sylar's blank, shadowed face. Sylar stepped a little closer and Peter didn't retreat as Sylar reached up and ran one finger down the side of his neck. There were no bite marks or hickeys from their night of passion and he knew his teeth had dug in enough to leave them. "There's not a trace we were ever together," Sylar said quietly.
"I remember."
"You don't owe me anything, Peter."
Peter snorted softly. "Good. I wouldn't want us to start off 'owing' each other."
'Start off'? Sylar wondered, that tiny hope flaring to life again.
Peter lowered his voice, dipping his head forward as he said, "I have an empty bed I'd like to see you in." He straightened again, biting his lip and watching tense and uncertain for Sylar's reaction.
Sylar realized how much power Peter must think Sylar had now - all the abilities and even less reason than Peter to stick around with a Petrelli whom he'd had a death wish for only weeks before. Just as Peter had made him no promises, Sylar had made none in return. But here Peter was, inviting him to share his bed, his body, and perhaps more. It was so hard to believe that what Peter was offering him was real. "You're going to let people into your life again?"
"Some of them," Peter allowed. He swallowed nervously, reaching out to touch his fingertips to the back of Sylar's hand. Just that little contact seemed to calm him.
Sylar smiled, warmed and won over by Peter's nervousness. This meant a lot to the Italian, that was clear - Sylar meant a lot to him. He turned his hand to take Peter's, holding it gently in an open, public display of affection that Peter returned without hesitation. It was a nice walk to their apartment - slow, real, and through a city teeming with people. There was only one he wanted to be with, though, and his heart sung because that one wanted to be with him.