Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 98: First Blowjob
Title: First Blowjob
Characters: Sylar, Peter Petrelli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Word count: 1,500
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Sylar and Peter have been sexual for a few days. Prior to that, Peter had disclosed that one of his fantasies was looking down at Sylar while the other man gave him head. Sylar helps that fantasy come true.
"May I?"
So fucking polite. It was ridiculously unnecessary. Sylar gave Peter an exaggerated glare, followed by a roll of his eyes. How was he supposed to answer the stupid question anyway, with Peter's dick in his mouth?
Peter seemed to get the message. He continued with where he'd touched Sylar's hair, now running his hand into it and making a fist. Peter groaned, eyes glazing over. Sylar sucked at him, inexpertly he was sure, but they'd talked about this enough that Peter knew he wasn't dealing with a professional cocksucker. Sylar's talents lay elsewhere, but this was one he'd readily develop if it kept Peter happy with him.
"Oh yeah," Peter whispered, pistoning slowly in and out of Sylar's mouth. They were shallow thrusts, easy to adjust to without triggering the gag reflex. It made suction impossible, though. Sylar had a new and previously uncontemplated appreciation for the skills of porn stars. How they managed to make something so messy and … intrusive (he wouldn't call it a violation, it was the wrong nuance and Peter had been oh-so-careful with him so far) look good, even enjoyable for the person doing it, was a mystery to him. If Peter minded the suck-broken suction-slobber-suck-slurp-drool-broken suction routine, he didn't let on.
"Oh!" More moans of pleasure came from Petrelli's throat. Sylar liked those noises - loved them - maybe even adored them. They were so rare, so special. This was something Peter didn't give anyone else. If they ever got out of this hell of Parkman's making, then Sylar would do his damnedest to make sure Peter never wanted to give these precious responses to anyone else. He would pleasure Peter for hours a day if necessary to keep him satisfied. He knew he was capable of it. It would be a small enough price.
He looked up, having been distracted by dealing with Peter's moving penis. Part of Peter's stated fantasy was Sylar looking up at him, so he'd been trying to do that before Peter got his hips in on the action. It was a lot more difficult than he'd thought to keep his eyes rolled upwards at that strained angle for any length of time. (Again, porn stars deserved their salaries.) Peter was looking at him now, lust writ on every feature of his face. Sylar drank it in - all this passion for him and him alone. He was valued. Peter wanted him. And he was fairly certain Peter really wanted him, and not someone else, not him as a stand-in or substitute. The way Peter talked about sex, about being with him, about him was very focused on the person he was with. Peter was a very 'in the moment' kind of guy. Despite being a rose-colored glasses-wearing daydreamer, he was also very present at all moments, very reactive and responsive to what was going on around him and what he could sense. It made for bad planning and poor strategy, but it also meant when he fucked Sylar, he was totally there for it. Sex with Peter Petrelli was a full contact sport. For someone like Sylar who needed connection, it was a perfect match.
Peter turned Sylar's head back, lifting his face. The hand not buried in his hair stroked fingertips across his temple and cheek, tickling across the skin. Unable to suck at this angle, Sylar swirled his tongue around the rigid member, tensing his lips so he could hold it in his mouth such that it wasn't touching his teeth. Peter's fingers skimmed his jawline, then his chin. Peter ran the pad of his thumb along the side of his own shaft before tracing it over Sylar's top lip. Sylar paused in his work to dart the tip of his tongue out to brush that thumb, tasting the different texture and flavor of skin.
"Ah!" Peter said, pulling free. He went to his knees in front of Sylar, cupping his chin with one hand and the back of his head with the other. He planted lips where his cock had been only seconds before, kissing Sylar deep and hungrily. Sylar made his own groan of pleasure. He liked kissing a lot more than giving head (not that he had any more than this one episode of head-giving to compare it to). It was more comforting, more familiar, less straining to his jaw and eyes and tongue and sense of self. He lost himself in the kiss, drowning in it and pulling Peter down with him until they lay side-by-side on the bed, entwined. Maybe that was all the blow job Peter wanted.
"God," Peter panted when they finally broke from one another. Sylar planted smaller kisses along Peter's cheek, hoping he wouldn't move away, or up the bed to bring his hips back to Sylar's face. "If I could only have both at the same time," Peter murmured. "You're so good."
Sylar kissed him again, appreciating the compliment and not sure what to make of the rest. He assumed Peter meant he wanted to receive both kisses and fellatio. Sylar put his hand between them, gripping Peter's still-wet dick and pumping at it. Perhaps if he gave Peter enough attention there, he'd continue the kissing. The excited moan from Peter confirmed he was on the right trail. Sylar slid over him, pressing Peter flat to the bed and sliding his leg between Peter's. They'd done this before - made out, hand jobs, assisted masturbation. Peter's hand found Sylar's dick, but Sylar paused to firmly push it away. It was a distraction he didn't want. It was bad enough to feel how heavy and full it was, bumping against Peter's body, rubbing with every shift and wriggle Peter made (and he made plenty).
Sylar bore down, plunging his tongue inside of Peter like he wanted and couldn't wait to plunge his dick in him. He was pretty sure that was available, too. Just not yet. They were only getting started at this sex thing, taking it a bit at a time between them. He worked Peter's cock faster, curling his other hand under Peter's back, carrying his weight on his elbow and Peter's muscular chest. Peter was kissing back with all his being, arms wrapped around him, hips shifting under him, legs twined around his thigh. Sylar had him. Peter was his. Totally. Possessed. Belonging. Open. Vulnerable. Available. Peter's breath began to stutter and Sylar knew he was on the cusp. He turned Peter's head to the side and bit him lightly, teasingly on the cheek. Peter arched under him, flexing. Another bite - this time to his neck and harder. Another arch and an open-mouthed moan. Peter's dick felt like it went up a size in Sylar's fist. He sank his teeth into the man's shoulder, biting hard enough to leave a bruise to match the handful of others he'd already decorated Peter's skin with over the previous few days. Peter made a noise even rarer and more unique than the others. Sylar collected it, burned it into his brain. It was a choked, impassioned cry, inarticulate but completely understandable nonetheless - it translated to ecstasy in any language. Hot fluid erupted in Sylar's hand. Completion. He was the one who had gotten Peter there, delivered him to this sublime moment. He, Sylar, had done this thing and brought forth semen instead of blood, cries of pleasure instead of pain.
He stopped biting the man and sat up, taking himself in hand at long last. He stroked himself almost nonchalantly as he looked down at his spent partner. He only jerked himself off, he told himself, because otherwise Peter would do it. Peter had this weird idea that their couplings should be mutual or egalitarian. That was as ridiculous as the politeness and just as unnecessary. But Sylar didn't mind. He certainly wasn't going to pass up the chance- And there it was! He came so easily with Peter. It was almost premature, but Sylar was glad of it. It was that much less work for his companion. He gave a grinning snarl as his come shot out, spattering over Peter's abdomen and chest, marking him in the most debased, licentious way Sylar knew. A particular wad of come landed on a bite mark from the day before, over Peter's right pectoral.
Sylar bent down, being a total pervert, and licked that spot, smearing the jism over the bruise. He scraped his teeth over it and probed at the tender spot with his tongue. Peter shifted and made a slight noise of protest. "Come here," Peter said quietly, pulling Sylar down to lie next to him. Sylar's head ended up on Peter's shoulder. It seemed clichéd, but Peter had done this, too, to him before after they'd made out. It was nice (at least until sweat formed between Sylar's face and Peter's skin, but when that happened, he'd move to the pillow). For now, he lay quietly where he'd been put, listening to the pounding of Peter's heart and considering their combined tastes upon his palate.
"So," Sylar asked, "was that as good as the blowjob you fantasized about?"
"Better," Peter said warmly, giving him a firm, one-armed hug. "This one was real."