Slave Verse 2, Chapter 4: Getting over the Fear
Peter looked at Sylar and his face was graced by a small smile, making Sylar realize he hadn’t seen a smile on him since he’d come back to life. Peter had become so serious. Was this what he was like underneath? Sylar reached up on impulse and took Peter’s chin, moving his head one way and then the other, studying him. Intuitive aptitude spurred along the metaphorical clockwork gears in his head. Sylar’s eyes narrowed.
Peter tugged his chin out of Sylar’s hand and then kissed a folded knuckle. “You’re so innocent. It isn’t something we can just go do.” His voice was serious and low.
Sylar looked between his eyes, realizing this was a very different creature than he’d thought he’d been working with for the last few days. He was so absorbed by this revelation that he almost missed that he’d been insulted. But only almost. “Innocent?” He laughed uncertainly, still wary that he might do something unintentional and get killed again - or worse, Peter might leave.
“Yeah. Innocent. I like that.” Peter leaned forward and kissed him softly. After a moment of trying to make sense of him and failing, Sylar returned it. He brought his hands up and stroked lightly along Peter’s sides, making him shiver. When they parted, Peter stroked his cheek gently, looking thoughtful. “You’re not going to have any more luck ruling the world than you did ruling me. You should know that.”
Sylar snorted and joked, “I haven’t had any trouble ruling you. I own you, pet.”
Peter chuckled. “No, you don’t. You never even bought me!” He grinned. He poked Sylar in the shoulder. “You stole me. Thief!”
Sylar pulled Peter to him and hugged him warmly. Peter apparently wasn’t quite in the mood for cuddling, because he seized Sylar’s shirt and pulled them to the side, wrestling. Apparently he also wasn’t in the mood to wrestle in the hallway because suddenly they were on the bed. It killed the moment as Sylar tensed and jerked, looking around to see where they were now. He relaxed after getting oriented and turned back to nuzzle Peter’s shoulder. “Please don’t do that without warning me, pet.”
“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. The tile was cold.”
“Maybe if you wore some clothes you wouldn’t have that problem,” Sylar observed. It still seemed weird to him that Peter was nude. Previously Sylar had kept him that way as an expression of his control over him. For Peter not to have rectified the situation stuck in his brain as a logic error.
“Do you want me to wear clothes?” Peter gave his body an undulation that allowed him to rub himself against Sylar without moving much.
Sylar looked down him and ran a hand along Peter’s side. He didn’t say anything, mostly because he didn’t know what he wanted. Peter reestablished his grip on Sylar’s shirt and rolled them from their sides and over onto his back, putting Sylar on top. Peter’s legs parted and then wrapped around him, trapping him.
Sylar pushed himself up on his arms, looking around at the situation. He looked unsure. Peter lay still and let him get comfortable with the idea. Sylar made a small roll of his hips, a pelvic thrust. Peter nodded and made an answering motion, wordlessly expressing what he wanted. Sylar nodded too and reached down to unfasten his pants. He smiled for a moment as he did it.
“What?” Peter asked, plucking at his shirttail.
“I seem to be dropping my trousers an awful lot today.”
Peter grinned. “Maybe if you didn’t wear so many clothes you wouldn’t have that problem.”
Sylar looked up at him and started to say something sharp, then paused. Instead he echoed Peter’s question from earlier, asking, “Do you want me to go without clothes?”
Peter stretched under him, putting his arms up and unlocking his legs from around Sylar. It helped him get his pants all the way off. “Yeah, for right now. It’s a status symbol for you, isn’t it?”
Sylar hesitated, then tossed the pants off the bed and started working on his shirt. “You sure do have a way of cutting right to the heart of things.”
“Hm,” was all Peter said in reply.
Sylar let his shirt follow his pants and was naked except for his socks. He didn’t bother to take them off, leaning back down over Peter and rocking together with him for a moment. He wasn’t hard. Peter was getting there, but that was it. Sylar asked, “Are we really going to do this?”
Peter reached up and pulled him the rest of the way down, so they were touching at the torso and not only at the groin. “Yes, we are,” he whispered, running his hands up and down Sylar’s back, fingernails curled so they bit slightly.
“Mm,” Sylar said appreciatively. More articulately he said, “Then I think I should be the bottom, because I’m not really… up for this.”
“Why?”
Sylar shrugged one shoulder. If pressed, he would have said he’d already come twice in the last hour so obviously his body was running a little behind, but regeneration should have made that a moot point. If pressed harder, he might have admitted that he was still put off by being killed for poor word choice and not just killed briefly, but kept dead for over half an hour. Peter didn’t bother pressing. He cut right to the chase with, “You’re afraid of me.” It wasn’t even a question.
Sylar started to pull back so he could look at him, but Peter didn’t let him and he didn’t force it. After a long, pregnant pause he relaxed into Peter’s arms, but made no reply. What reply could he make? He’d sought Peter out because he was dangerous. He just hadn’t expected things to go as they had. Or for Peter to be as dangerous to him as he clearly was. Peter hadn’t responded to the whole situation like a normal person should. He hadn’t broken - he’d just changed tactics, as if these sorts of battles of his free will and body were normal for him. ‘Normal’ - there was that word again. Sylar pondered it.
Peter said quietly, “Sylar, you need to know: you have something I want.”
He was beginning to feel a bit trapped by Peter’s arms. It wasn’t like he couldn’t make a stronger attempt to get away, but Sylar was reluctant to bring powers into this. Over the years, he’d figured out they dehumanized things. Considering that, he wondered what having so many of them had done to Peter and if that was what was wrong with him. Because there was definitely something wrong there… or at least something very different. He’d seen it. “What would that be?”
“You want me to want you. The others… they don’t give a fuck if I want them. They’re just… there. Maybe they want me, but more often they just want me to do something for them. And I know you have your plans for me and you’ve had them all along, but there’s something else there now. I tasted it. I want that. That’s why I’m still here. You want me. You want me.”
Peter let him go, even putting his legs down and Sylar raised himself over him. He looked at Peter for a very long time. One of the many things he’d wanted was power and influence over Peter. Apparently… he had them. He really didn’t understand why. He leaned down and tilted his head. Peter lifted to meet him and they shared a short, sweet kiss. The corner of Sylar’s mouth quirked up. “You ‘kind of like me’?”
Peter smiled warmly and somehow ‘kind of like’ seemed like a lot. “Yeah. I do.”
“Hm.” Sylar felt his cock twitch at that. It was a reaction at least and the first stirring he’d felt. “So… how far does this go?” At Peter’s look he added, “How much… do you want this?”
Peter’s expression changed again, not as fast or as dramatically as before, but it became more wanton and submissive and pleading. His words matched it. “Oh, master. Master. Please, master. You don’t know how much I want to make up for the other day when I wouldn’t let you fuck me. I’ve been a bad slave and you’ve been such a good, good master. You haven’t punished me for that. You got me a doctor and you let me sleep in your bed and you’ve gotten me food and you’ve even held me.” Peter reached up and stroked Sylar’s face. “You do so much for me. Let me do this for you?”
Sylar, for his part, was trying to decide if the role play was creepy or appealing. Peter looked so sincere… and it occurred to him that if Peter didn’t want this, then he had dozens of ways to avoid it. Clearly he wanted it. But since when had consent really mattered to Sylar? Well… probably since he started fucking someone who could kill him with a thought. Yeah, that was probably it. But it did sort of seem like he’d started caring about that a little before Peter had his abilities back.
Peter twisted his body and leaned up to lick at Sylar’s nipple, making his cock twitch again. Sylar moved up to make the position a little better and Peter used one hand to molest the nipple his mouth was neglecting.
“Ohhh,” Sylar said, taking deep breaths and letting his eyes slide half closed. He suspected he was thinking about things too much. Peter’s hand drifted lower, stirring the hairs under his belly button and following them down. He ran his fingers through them, annoyingly avoiding his penis, tugging at a few fingerfuls of pubic hair. Sylar was about to object, but Peter sucked harder at his chest, alternately pulling his teeth across it and licking rapidly. He groaned instead.
Peter switched sides and a different hand went down to Sylar’s crotch, again bypassing his member, which was swollen and heavy between them now. Instead he reached past for his balls. Sylar tensed as Peter’s fingers closed around them. Peter let go of them and just brushed the scrotum with his fingertips, feeling how the testicles hung and dangled and yet were still drawn close to the man’s body. The delicate skin wrinkled in an involuntary retraction.
Peter grunted and gave each of Sylar’s thighs a single slow stroke before finally moving his hand to his cock. It was getting harder. Peter wrapped his finger and thumb around it as if assessing the size. He leaned away from Sylar’s chest, propped up on one elbow and looked down his body at him. Sylar panted a little and let his hips move with the slow, sure pulls Peter gave him. Peter whispered, “You are the most important thing in my world.”
Sylar grinned. How was it that Peter could take comments made in arrogance or anger and make them into endearments? His cock surged against Peter’s hand and one side of Peter’s mouth turned up in a crooked smile. “I’m your little Peter pet. Shall I suck you and make you hard, master?”
Sylar didn’t argue that he was already hard enough. He rocked back on his knees and Peter went to his hands and knees before him, head turned. He licked the outside of the shaft first and Sylar put his hand on his back for balance. His other hand he fisted into Peter’s hair. At a sudden urge, he jerked that head up and pulled Peter up to him. Peter made a small cry and whimpered in pain, but his mouth opened slackly and accepted Sylar’s probing tongue. Sylar pressed his face to him firmly, pushing Peter down a little and Peter yielded before him. One of Peter’s hands snuck up to tweak a nipple. Having demonstrated his dominance, Sylar shoved him back down.
“Now suck me.”
“Yes, master.” Peter set to the task with his usual skill, a hot, wet sleeve of mouth consuming Sylar’s organ, teasing it with strokes of his tongue, pressure and suction of his lips. Sylar turned Peter’s head and thrust all the way into him, intentionally making him gag and holding him there, watching as Peter’s back tensed and the muscles bunched as he tried to obey and stay. Sylar felt his throat spasming around the head of his cock and he finally fell back, laughing.
Peter hung his head, breathing rapidly and getting control again. Sylar didn’t wait. He shoved Peter over and grabbed his shoulder to jerk him around to the position it wanted. It was basically missionary. He spat on one hand and used the other to catch Peter’s leg under the knee and push it back, exposing him. He slathered the saliva onto his anus and shifted. He slid two fingers into Peter slowly, watching his face.
Peter’s eyelids fluttered, his cock twitched at full hardness and he shuddered. Sylar wondered if he should be insulted that Peter was probably thinking of Nathan right now. Of course, he didn’t have to copy Peter’s brother, but he did, slowly, rhythmically, pumping his fingers in and out, watching as Peter’s mouth fell open and his eyes rolled back and his fingers twitched.
He kept at it, wondering if he would come from this alone, from two fingers moving in and out of him so steadily, a simple thing. He wondered what it would have felt like to have no memories, but to still feel that aroused at this motion, when he’d had Peter bend over in that grimy little cubicle and show his ass. It had been his first submission to him and it had been total. He breathed harder, wanting in Peter, but he wasn’t done here yet. He kept his pace slow and easy, remembering how Peter’s voice had cracked just a little - unsure of himself for the first time in their interaction.
“Ah,” Peter said in a small voice, his eyes tightening in a grimace. His cock throbbed and semen spurted up his chest. His body shook, his ass spasming around Sylar’s fingers. He pulled them out and immediately replaced them with himself, pushing in hard. This time he didn’t let Peter do whatever it was he’d done in the bathroom, so at least there was resistance to press past. He liked that. He also liked the startled, helpless expression on Peter’s face as he tried to get his bearings after the orgasm, feeling himself filled so soon.
Peter looked up at Sylar and mewled, pulling his knees back cooperatively, but kind of weakly, to allow him to ram into him deeper. He made small helpless noises that made Sylar rock hard, made him snap his hips into his thrusts and go as deep as he could into Peter’s still clenching hole. Sylar pounded into him. This was what he’d wanted to do - he’d wanted to have Peter where he could see him, where he could see every twitch and flinch and jerk Peter made as he fucked him and Sylar thrust into him harder and faster, trying to provoke those reactions with every stroke. Peter was incredibly responsive, quivering like his body was a cluster of raw nerves, letting himself be taken.
Sylar obliged. He could tell when Peter had finally regained his bearings because he began working the muscles of his ass in concert with Sylar’s thrusts, his rear end almost sucking at him as he tried to draw back each time, opening before him as he came forward. He was going to come soon and this delicious tension to push and pull against was doing it. He held the undersides of Peter’s knees in his hands, pressing himself forward on them while his butt flexed to drive himself into Peter’s body repeatedly. He felt it coming and began to make choked noises.
“Come on, baby. Come on,” Peter urged, crooning to him. It seemed odd that he would abandon the master/slave role and urge him on like that, but Sylar felt a sudden wash of ‘safe’ at the realization Peter wasn’t playing a role. He was just there, just with him in this moment of ecstasy, like a partner.
“Come on,” Peter called to him, “Come for me, baby, sweetie, please, for me. Come in me. I want you. Oh… Oh… Oh, you are! I got you!” Peter’s ass tightened almost painfully around Sylar’s cock as he jerked roughly against him and finally slumped forward, slowly disentangling himself from Peter’s legs and body so he could lie over him.
Peter petted his hair and crooned, “Oh, was that so hard? I’m not so big, bad and scary now, am I? You’ve fucked me. You still like me? Am I a good slave? Because you’re a good master. Oh boy, are you ever. You’re the best I’ve ever had.” He kissed Sylar on the forehead, who for now had no response other than to lie there limply and enjoy the afterglow. Peter said a number of other silly things, not waiting for answers to his questions, just rambling on to the next.
Eventually Sylar rolled off of him. He started to get up, but Peter pulled him back. “Nope. Cuddle time’s not over yet. Come here, you.” He pulled Sylar back and they lay side to side, facing one another. After a moment of being regarded by those too intent eyes, Sylar let his gaze drop. His lids were heavy anyway. Peter kept petting his hair and saying soothing sweet nothings. He relaxed. He drifted off to sleep.
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