Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 76: Magic Hands
Title: Magic Hands
Characters: Peter, Sylar
Words: 600
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Peter and Sylar discuss the labels people apply to one another.
"You're a monster just like I am."
Peter had heard that sort of thing often enough from Sylar that it didn't get under his skin. He knew it was a statement about Sylar anyway, not about Peter at all. Maybe an education was in order. "I'm Peter Petrelli - paramedic, nurse, that skinny, shrimpy little kid from New York. Son of Arthur and Angela Petrelli." He hesitated. "As far as I know."
"What?" Sylar tensed under his hands. Peter was massaging him on an actual massage table. It was a weird thing to do, but everything in this place was weird. They'd been exploring little shops inside one of the larger office buildings. Finding the massage parlor, Sylar had stretched himself out and mockingly requested service. Peter had laughed, but went ahead and provided it. The shock on Sylar's face was worth it all by itself - and he wasn't going to discount the opportunity to get his hands all over a very handsome man (and the only human being he'd seen for months) without repercussion or retaliation.
"Well, it wouldn't be the first time a Petrelli found out they didn't have the family they thought they did. Not even the second or third. Who I'm related to changes a lot."
"Mrm," Sylar said, relaxing again as Peter moved up to his shoulders. Sylar was still wearing his shirt, but they'd taken off coats shortly after coming in the building.
"I don't have any reason to think I'm not their son. Nathan … I would assume he'd know if I wasn't."
Sylar shifted his head and made a flimsy, noncommittal wave of one hand. Peter took it as agreement that Nathan had no reason to suspect different.
Peter moved back down the man's spine, eliciting a faint groan of pleasure from Sylar. "I've never been called a monster. I've been called a lot of other things - a cheat, a fraud, drama queen, late … late-blooming, an accident, an extra, a dreamer …" He paused as he reached the top of Sylar's jeans. It was tempting to pull the shirt out of his way and do this skin-to-skin. He could see a little swirl of fine, dark hair against smooth, pale skin in the gap where the shirt had ridden up. "Sexy," he murmured, before dragging his mind back onto the subject of discussion, and pretending that was one of the labels he'd had. It was, but that wasn't why he'd said it. Leaving the shirt between them, he started working his way back up, using the heels of his hands for more pressure. Sylar's groan was not faint this time. "I've been called an underdog and a glory hound, a poodle and a pet - hell, I've been called a dog outright, but it wasn't true. I wanted more than that with her," he said wistfully of one of his college girlfriends. He expanded his range out to Sylar's deltoids. "I want you to think that I'm more than a monster."
Voice slurred with relaxation and pleasure, Sylar got out, "Right now, I think you're an angel."
Peter chuckled and stepped back, finished. "So is that all it takes to change your mind - a few minutes on a table with magic hands?"
Sylar lifted himself up on his elbows to regard Peter. Voice clearer, he said, "That's all it took for me to become a monster." He dipped his head to one side. "But it was a wall, not a table."