Insatiable
Title: Insatiable
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairing: Sylar/Bennet
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,172
Spoilers: Vague S3, V4
Warnings: Slash, dubcon, breathplay, power switch
Disclaimer: Heroes is owned by Tim Kring, NBC, et al.
Notes: Written for the Heroes Kink Meme Rides Again for the prompt: “Sylar gains a new power that pretty much makes him a nympho.”
Summary: Sylar takes a new power that has very unexpected consequences for him, and everyone around him.
Sylar was generally not a man to rush things unless he had to. Always before when he’d take a power, he’d spend some time watching his chosen victim, learning about their ability, what made them tick. He was always careful to catch them alone, so he’d have plenty of time to examine what was necessary. As he’d gotten better at it, he’d started getting perhaps a bit less cautious.
It was that impatience that had gotten him into his current predicament.
He’d been watching the girl for only a couple of hours, watched her confidently walk into the club, patting the bouncer on the cheek and whispering something into his ear. He’d waved her in without even asking for an ID, never mind that she could have been underage. The girl had most of the club under her thumb in minutes, bestowing kisses and caresses on every man and woman within reach.
And every time she got close to someone, she seemed to know exactly what words to whisper into their ears to get them to do whatever she wanted. A drink, a dance, company, money, a trip to the private lounge, anything she wanted was given to her. And when jealous patrons who hadn’t fallen under her spell called a different bouncer to eject her from the club, she only laughed, put her hands on the bouncer’s arms, and had him show her enemies the door.
Hyper-sensitive ability to read body language, to pick up minute cues so subtle she might as well have had telepathy, and then using that knowledge to manipulate the people around her, Sylar decided. He’d always wanted telepathy, but Matt Parkman had remained stubbornly elusive. With this ability, he’d be able to find whoever he wanted with so much more ease, and be able to smooth his way to uncover whatever knowledge he desired. She was perfect for what he wanted, and Sylar didn’t want to wait another moment to take what was rightfully his. She’d wasted her ability on petty personal pleasures; Sylar would use it for much loftier and more important goals.
Getting her alone had been easier than he’d suspected, given how popular she was. Sylar had just stepped in her path, hoping to subtly guide her to a dim corner, when she’d grabbed onto him, throwing herself into his arms like he was a long-lost lover, and kissed him hard enough to distract him.
“I know you want me,” she’d whispered. “You want me so bad, I can tell. Get me alone someplace, and do freaky things to me. Come on, let’s go.”
It was nice to know he’d nailed her power by observation alone, but still very disconcerting to hear those kinds of words coming out of one of his victims. That wasn’t going to stop him though. It didn’t take long after that, just ten minutes in a very private lounge, and five in the bathroom next door to wash the blood off his hands. He’d been quite correct in his observation of what her power did, but a bit off on the execution. He could only use it if he was touching people; that was a requirement of the power, not just the girl’s choice. It was essentially touch-telepathy, conducted through the skin. If he wanted to know people’s minds, he was going to have to get close. It made the ability less than ideal, but still very useful.
As Sylar washed his hands, he looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. He felt great, better than he usually did after obtaining a new power. It always made his day, but this time it felt better than usual. Actually, much better. Far, far better…
Sylar leaned on the sink as a wave of heat washed over him, making his skin tingle. He could feel every thread of his clothes on his body, was suddenly maddeningly aware that they barred his skin from the open air. He could feel every subtle current of air along his face and hands and throat, seeming to caress every patch of exposed skin. Trying to repress a groan, Sylar gripped the sink and tried to control himself. This ability was a skin-based power, very new, and he just had to get used to it. The girl must have had time to adapt, but surely he could figure this out much sooner than she ever had.
Whimpering, Sylar realized the waves of heat weren’t getting easier to bear. Sweat had broken out on his skin, adding another layer of sensation. His hands seemed to throb on the cool porcelain, and Sylar finally looked up at himself. His face was flushed, his lips swollen, and his eyes were dilated and a little glassy. He looked like he was in the throes of passion… Shifting his legs, Sylar could feel his sudden and insistent erection tight against his thigh.
Biting his lip and groaning at how that felt, Sylar tried to analyze what was going on. When he ran one hand through his hair nervously, everything suddenly clicked. Just touching his hair set off fireworks all over his body. He needed to touch, to be touched. He needed hands on his skin, to feel every inch of someone else’s body… Every cell of his skin was primed and receptive to discovering someone else’s secrets. It was, Sylar realized belatedly, the worst possible power to have combined with his own intuitive aptitude. Because his hunger for knowledge was insatiable.
Stumbling from the bathroom, Sylar pushed out onto the dance floor, looking for somebody to touch.
Anybody.
He didn’t even care that the first person he stumbled into was wearing far too many clothes for a dance club, a suit and tie, just that he was there, with his hands exposed, and his bespectacled face at just the right height to kiss.
Sylar knew it was Noah Bennet the second he touched him, disorientation and the colored lights of the club notwithstanding, but that didn’t matter. Just touching his hands was sheer bliss, the feel of skin-on-skin, the roughness of calluses and the faint grit of unburned gunpowder. Sylar knew Bennet had killed over two dozen men with those hands, either with the gun, the knife, or their strength alone. With those hands he’d helped his son learn to ride a bicycle, hugged his daughter, made love to his wife, and dragged a knife across Sylar’s throat.
Gasping, Sylar pressed his lips to Bennet’s, using the man’s shock to lick into his mouth, to feel everything he could about him. This was the mouth that had told a million lies to protect his loved ones, lips that’d snarled at Sylar when he’d gotten the upper hand, the tongue that had kissed other people, other men, out of desperation for release. Sylar quickly brought his hands up to clutch at Bennet’s face and neck, needing the flood of information that came every time he touched newly explored skin. This was so much better, so much clearer and deeper and immediate than clairsentience…
That’s how he knew Bennet was about five seconds away from shoving him on the floor and shooting him here and now, and never mind that it wasn’t permanent. Not that Sylar would have blamed him for doing it; Sylar had “killed” Claire once after all, but he just couldn’t stand the thought of having to let go of Bennet’s skin.
“I know you were looking for me.” Sylar pulled away so he could slide his cheek along Bennet’s to talk into his ear. The thrill of sensation of stubble-against-stubble made Sylar’s eyes roll back into his head. “You wanted to take me in, kill me once or twice, and then kill me for good. But you know you can’t. The government wants me alive, to study me. You don’t think it’ll work, you think I’ll kill my way out if you’re not there to watch me.”
Bennet had gone stiff in shock, clearly not expecting Sylar to have known so much… or so be so grabby. Sylar couldn’t care about that, and took advantage of Bennet’s immobility to hold them flush together. The agony of sensation that caused made Sylar groan into Bennet’s ear, rub his body up against him. More information flooded him as Sylar rubbed a hand over the back of Bennet’s neck. Faint ghosts of sensation told him exactly how another lover had touched Bennet, what had aroused him, what he needed to satisfy him. What he needed to do to get Bennet to touch him.
Using that knowledge, Sylar ruthlessly and recklessly dove his hands under Bennet’s suit jacket, hooking his fingers into Bennet’s flesh, pulling at the hidden scars, reaching down to dig into his hip, sliding a hand around to cup his hardening cock, pressing in just the right way to drive him past reason.
And he knew the words to say to push him over the edge.
“God damn it, Noah, I know you want to hurt me. Do it,” he whispered.
Bennet snarled in Sylar’s ear and grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him out the back door and down the alley. The agonizing bliss of touch kept Sylar silent as Bennet opened the door to a parked van and all but hurled him inside. Almost screaming at the loss of feeling when Bennet let him go, Sylar dragged him inside with his mind, shutting the door behind him.
“Don’t you dare, you bastard,” Bennet said, his voice soft and dangerous as Sylar halted himself an inch from contact. “What did you do tonight? What did you do to yourself? What the hell have you been up to?”
Sylar heard the questions, but couldn’t bother himself to answer. Bennet was nowhere near as calm as he appeared; Sylar’s intimate knowledge of his body and its needs had shaken him. The waves of heat and tingling washing through Sylar’s body were shaking his control too; he felt like he was going to descend into some kind of madness if he couldn’t feel someone else’s skin against his own.
“Touch me,” Sylar hissed, throbbing hands undoing the buttons on his shirt. Subtly, his telekinesis was hard at work on Bennet’s clothes, something the company man was a little too distracted to notice. “I’ll do anything you want, go anywhere you want, just touch-!”
He stopped talking when Bennet unexpectedly lunged for him, calloused and gritty hands forcing Sylar back on the floor of the van, his body a heavy, restraining weight on top of him. His breath rushed out of him at the contact, and his need for more kicked into overdrive. Bennet seemed only slightly bemused when Sylar forced all of their clothes off in a swift but deft display of telekinetic power, but was decidedly shocked when Sylar arced underneath him at the touch alone, voice strangled and eyes glassy.
The feel of the whole length of Bennet’s body, long and lean and scarred, pressed so tightly against Sylar’s own, was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Every slight brush of another’s skin and hair against his own sent waves of intimate knowledge into Sylar’s core. Every touch flooded him with an agony of pleasure and information that was incredibly addicting. Sylar’s hands scrabbled for purchase on Bennet’s flesh, running in a light caress over everything he could reach, unable to stop to savor any one thing when there was more to be discovered.
Sylar didn’t even realize he was talking until he heard Bennet gasp in shock, and opened his eyes to find pale eyes drilling into his own, and could hear his own voice babbling out a litany of Noah Bennet’s entire life history. “…you never wanted her to find out, like the rest of the things you did for the Company. It was so easy the first time, with Claude. Liked to talk through everything, wouldn’t shut up the entire time unless you gave him something to fill his mouth, not that he’d do it that often, because he knew you wanted to hear his voice. Not like later, the Haitian. Silent but perfect, always knew what you wanted without having to say a word, but God, the noises he’d make in the back of his throat… you’d give a lot to hear that again. I can do that for you, be that for you, just don’t stop, don’t let go, don’t stop touching me…”
A small part of Sylar was utterly horrified at exposing himself like this, offering himself up on a silver platter, but that part wasn’t in charge. A million greedy nerves were starving for more stimulation, and Sylar was never a man to deny himself what he wanted.
Bennet forced Sylar up and back, rolling him on his shoulders, pale eyes rapidly going from shock to cold fury. The breach, when it came, was with only minimal slickness, the prep next-to-none, and the penetration almost immediate. The pain and burn couldn’t compete with the glory of being filled, of being touched inside, of the waves of pleasure and knowledge mixed so thoroughly that Sylar’s cock was throbbing with a million little details of Noah Bennet’s life.
Head arched back, Sylar moved his hands over Bennet’s side, scratching over his side in a way he knew would send a hard shiver of helpless arousal down Bennet’s spine, hooking his fingers into a bullet scar in a way he knew would make Bennet feel helpless and weak. Every move was punctuated by a running commentary, “Claude used to use the gun to scratch you; the danger was what did it for both of you. You know I’m more dangerous than any gun. And here, you let yourself get shot for Claire, let her run away and knew you might never see her again. So sad that by running away she might never be safe again. You know it’s true, Noah.”
The fear the flooded Bennet at those words was a reward as great as the tingling waves of sensation, and Sylar growled, flipping them so he was the one on top, riding slow and hard, controlling the situation even if he couldn’t control his need.
“Put your goddamn hands on me,” Sylar snarled, and sighed when he felt Bennet digging his fingernails into his hip, trying to anchor himself.
“Who’s power did you take?” Bennet asked in a gasp.
“Don’t worry, your precious telepathic cop is still alive,” Sylar said, and forced Bennet’s hands to move up. Letting up his mental pressure, Bennet dug in his fingers again, as if by sheer force of will he could force Sylar’s secrets from him. As Sylar clenched around Bennet, the older man growled and reached up to take Sylar by the throat. That feeling nearly undid him, and Sylar could feel the rest of his neglected skin cry out for attention. Sylar slid his hands down Bennet’s arms, not even caring if Bennet squeezed, as long as he didn’t let go.
“You took something you couldn’t handle, you stupid fuck,” Bennet said positively. Keeping a solid hold on Sylar’s throat, Bennet bucked his hips, and Sylar started to lose his rhythm.
“I can-,” he protested. “I can handle anything.”
“You fucking threw yourself at me. You have no idea what you got yourself into,” Bennet growled, and began to buck his hips in a more insistent pace, squeezing slightly with his hand on Sylar’s throat at the same time. Sylar gurgled deep in his throat, but leaned into Bennet’s hand all the same. He needed more…
“More…”
“I wonder what would happen to you if I let you loose on the streets?” Bennet commented, voice going icy as Sylar felt himself starting to go slack from lack of air. Apparently hearing his entire life history being related by Sylar had really pissed him off.
“Don’t,” Sylar wheezed.
“I bet you’d throw yourself right back into that club and latch on to the first warm body that’d touch you-.”
“Yes!” Sylar felt himself being moved, Bennet leaning up, bending his knees to box Sylar in. The touch of more skin on his back distracted him, and talking was getting difficult as his vision began to dim.
“Get as many people as you could to put their hands on you…”
“God, yes,” he moaned, and pressed into Bennet’s grip with a relieved sigh as he took Sylar’s cock in his other hand. Information was lost in the pleasurable bliss of touch, the slide of skin along his shaft, and the fantasy of dozens of hands on his flesh.
“I’m not going to let you loose.”
Sylar could feel himself meeting Noah’s thrusts now, moving in perfect synch with him to give them what they both wanted, heedless of the darkness pulling at the edges of his vision. He wanted to bear down harder, to take only what he wanted, to win back the control he’d had just moments before, but couldn’t. If he tried to take what he wanted, Bennet would stop touching him. He’d pull away and leave Sylar begging on the floor and not even look back. The thought of that was intolerable.
“I’m going to give you what you want, Sylar. I’m going to take you in.”
Bennet’s hand sped up its stroking, and Sylar could hear his voice coming as if from a long distance away.
“Mohinder is there. So is Peter. We need to know everything they’ve been up to. Everything,” he hissed.
Sylar could just imagine what he’d learn in touching Mohinder’s body, being finally able to put his hands all over him, to mark him and claim him, touch him from the inside out… or be touched. Sylar didn’t care which way it went, as long as it happened. And Peter, righteous, noble Peter… What would he do to Sylar, or let Sylar do to him, if he could find room in that heart of his to forgive?
What would they feel like against him? Mohinder, lean, strong, harsh… unforgiving, his touch hard and unflinching. Peter, softer, more insistent, wanting to know why Sylar was this way. And both of them, maybe together, creating a crescendo of knowledge, a flood of new facts, as potent as the ecstasy boiling through Sylar’s veins. He couldn’t pass that up, wouldn’t, no matter if it cost him his freedom. Bennet could put him with whoever he wanted, just as long as he could touch.
“Yes,” Sylar croaked, eyes wide as he tried to take in the shadows all around him.
Bennet squeezed hard with both hands, and Sylar could feel deeper knowledge sinking into him even as he came hard, spurting against Bennet’s chest, his vision blackening into unconsciousness. Heat blossomed inside him as Bennet let go, and Sylar reached for the depths of Noah Bennet’s soul as it spilled into him. Holding that inside him as the blackness took him away, Sylar tried to make his fingers reach out one last time, desperate to take another touch with him into his new life.
-------
Here's the sequel: Interrogation Session
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairing: Sylar/Bennet
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,172
Spoilers: Vague S3, V4
Warnings: Slash, dubcon, breathplay, power switch
Disclaimer: Heroes is owned by Tim Kring, NBC, et al.
Notes: Written for the Heroes Kink Meme Rides Again for the prompt: “Sylar gains a new power that pretty much makes him a nympho.”
Summary: Sylar takes a new power that has very unexpected consequences for him, and everyone around him.
Sylar was generally not a man to rush things unless he had to. Always before when he’d take a power, he’d spend some time watching his chosen victim, learning about their ability, what made them tick. He was always careful to catch them alone, so he’d have plenty of time to examine what was necessary. As he’d gotten better at it, he’d started getting perhaps a bit less cautious.
It was that impatience that had gotten him into his current predicament.
He’d been watching the girl for only a couple of hours, watched her confidently walk into the club, patting the bouncer on the cheek and whispering something into his ear. He’d waved her in without even asking for an ID, never mind that she could have been underage. The girl had most of the club under her thumb in minutes, bestowing kisses and caresses on every man and woman within reach.
And every time she got close to someone, she seemed to know exactly what words to whisper into their ears to get them to do whatever she wanted. A drink, a dance, company, money, a trip to the private lounge, anything she wanted was given to her. And when jealous patrons who hadn’t fallen under her spell called a different bouncer to eject her from the club, she only laughed, put her hands on the bouncer’s arms, and had him show her enemies the door.
Hyper-sensitive ability to read body language, to pick up minute cues so subtle she might as well have had telepathy, and then using that knowledge to manipulate the people around her, Sylar decided. He’d always wanted telepathy, but Matt Parkman had remained stubbornly elusive. With this ability, he’d be able to find whoever he wanted with so much more ease, and be able to smooth his way to uncover whatever knowledge he desired. She was perfect for what he wanted, and Sylar didn’t want to wait another moment to take what was rightfully his. She’d wasted her ability on petty personal pleasures; Sylar would use it for much loftier and more important goals.
Getting her alone had been easier than he’d suspected, given how popular she was. Sylar had just stepped in her path, hoping to subtly guide her to a dim corner, when she’d grabbed onto him, throwing herself into his arms like he was a long-lost lover, and kissed him hard enough to distract him.
“I know you want me,” she’d whispered. “You want me so bad, I can tell. Get me alone someplace, and do freaky things to me. Come on, let’s go.”
It was nice to know he’d nailed her power by observation alone, but still very disconcerting to hear those kinds of words coming out of one of his victims. That wasn’t going to stop him though. It didn’t take long after that, just ten minutes in a very private lounge, and five in the bathroom next door to wash the blood off his hands. He’d been quite correct in his observation of what her power did, but a bit off on the execution. He could only use it if he was touching people; that was a requirement of the power, not just the girl’s choice. It was essentially touch-telepathy, conducted through the skin. If he wanted to know people’s minds, he was going to have to get close. It made the ability less than ideal, but still very useful.
As Sylar washed his hands, he looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. He felt great, better than he usually did after obtaining a new power. It always made his day, but this time it felt better than usual. Actually, much better. Far, far better…
Sylar leaned on the sink as a wave of heat washed over him, making his skin tingle. He could feel every thread of his clothes on his body, was suddenly maddeningly aware that they barred his skin from the open air. He could feel every subtle current of air along his face and hands and throat, seeming to caress every patch of exposed skin. Trying to repress a groan, Sylar gripped the sink and tried to control himself. This ability was a skin-based power, very new, and he just had to get used to it. The girl must have had time to adapt, but surely he could figure this out much sooner than she ever had.
Whimpering, Sylar realized the waves of heat weren’t getting easier to bear. Sweat had broken out on his skin, adding another layer of sensation. His hands seemed to throb on the cool porcelain, and Sylar finally looked up at himself. His face was flushed, his lips swollen, and his eyes were dilated and a little glassy. He looked like he was in the throes of passion… Shifting his legs, Sylar could feel his sudden and insistent erection tight against his thigh.
Biting his lip and groaning at how that felt, Sylar tried to analyze what was going on. When he ran one hand through his hair nervously, everything suddenly clicked. Just touching his hair set off fireworks all over his body. He needed to touch, to be touched. He needed hands on his skin, to feel every inch of someone else’s body… Every cell of his skin was primed and receptive to discovering someone else’s secrets. It was, Sylar realized belatedly, the worst possible power to have combined with his own intuitive aptitude. Because his hunger for knowledge was insatiable.
Stumbling from the bathroom, Sylar pushed out onto the dance floor, looking for somebody to touch.
Anybody.
He didn’t even care that the first person he stumbled into was wearing far too many clothes for a dance club, a suit and tie, just that he was there, with his hands exposed, and his bespectacled face at just the right height to kiss.
Sylar knew it was Noah Bennet the second he touched him, disorientation and the colored lights of the club notwithstanding, but that didn’t matter. Just touching his hands was sheer bliss, the feel of skin-on-skin, the roughness of calluses and the faint grit of unburned gunpowder. Sylar knew Bennet had killed over two dozen men with those hands, either with the gun, the knife, or their strength alone. With those hands he’d helped his son learn to ride a bicycle, hugged his daughter, made love to his wife, and dragged a knife across Sylar’s throat.
Gasping, Sylar pressed his lips to Bennet’s, using the man’s shock to lick into his mouth, to feel everything he could about him. This was the mouth that had told a million lies to protect his loved ones, lips that’d snarled at Sylar when he’d gotten the upper hand, the tongue that had kissed other people, other men, out of desperation for release. Sylar quickly brought his hands up to clutch at Bennet’s face and neck, needing the flood of information that came every time he touched newly explored skin. This was so much better, so much clearer and deeper and immediate than clairsentience…
That’s how he knew Bennet was about five seconds away from shoving him on the floor and shooting him here and now, and never mind that it wasn’t permanent. Not that Sylar would have blamed him for doing it; Sylar had “killed” Claire once after all, but he just couldn’t stand the thought of having to let go of Bennet’s skin.
“I know you were looking for me.” Sylar pulled away so he could slide his cheek along Bennet’s to talk into his ear. The thrill of sensation of stubble-against-stubble made Sylar’s eyes roll back into his head. “You wanted to take me in, kill me once or twice, and then kill me for good. But you know you can’t. The government wants me alive, to study me. You don’t think it’ll work, you think I’ll kill my way out if you’re not there to watch me.”
Bennet had gone stiff in shock, clearly not expecting Sylar to have known so much… or so be so grabby. Sylar couldn’t care about that, and took advantage of Bennet’s immobility to hold them flush together. The agony of sensation that caused made Sylar groan into Bennet’s ear, rub his body up against him. More information flooded him as Sylar rubbed a hand over the back of Bennet’s neck. Faint ghosts of sensation told him exactly how another lover had touched Bennet, what had aroused him, what he needed to satisfy him. What he needed to do to get Bennet to touch him.
Using that knowledge, Sylar ruthlessly and recklessly dove his hands under Bennet’s suit jacket, hooking his fingers into Bennet’s flesh, pulling at the hidden scars, reaching down to dig into his hip, sliding a hand around to cup his hardening cock, pressing in just the right way to drive him past reason.
And he knew the words to say to push him over the edge.
“God damn it, Noah, I know you want to hurt me. Do it,” he whispered.
Bennet snarled in Sylar’s ear and grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him out the back door and down the alley. The agonizing bliss of touch kept Sylar silent as Bennet opened the door to a parked van and all but hurled him inside. Almost screaming at the loss of feeling when Bennet let him go, Sylar dragged him inside with his mind, shutting the door behind him.
“Don’t you dare, you bastard,” Bennet said, his voice soft and dangerous as Sylar halted himself an inch from contact. “What did you do tonight? What did you do to yourself? What the hell have you been up to?”
Sylar heard the questions, but couldn’t bother himself to answer. Bennet was nowhere near as calm as he appeared; Sylar’s intimate knowledge of his body and its needs had shaken him. The waves of heat and tingling washing through Sylar’s body were shaking his control too; he felt like he was going to descend into some kind of madness if he couldn’t feel someone else’s skin against his own.
“Touch me,” Sylar hissed, throbbing hands undoing the buttons on his shirt. Subtly, his telekinesis was hard at work on Bennet’s clothes, something the company man was a little too distracted to notice. “I’ll do anything you want, go anywhere you want, just touch-!”
He stopped talking when Bennet unexpectedly lunged for him, calloused and gritty hands forcing Sylar back on the floor of the van, his body a heavy, restraining weight on top of him. His breath rushed out of him at the contact, and his need for more kicked into overdrive. Bennet seemed only slightly bemused when Sylar forced all of their clothes off in a swift but deft display of telekinetic power, but was decidedly shocked when Sylar arced underneath him at the touch alone, voice strangled and eyes glassy.
The feel of the whole length of Bennet’s body, long and lean and scarred, pressed so tightly against Sylar’s own, was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Every slight brush of another’s skin and hair against his own sent waves of intimate knowledge into Sylar’s core. Every touch flooded him with an agony of pleasure and information that was incredibly addicting. Sylar’s hands scrabbled for purchase on Bennet’s flesh, running in a light caress over everything he could reach, unable to stop to savor any one thing when there was more to be discovered.
Sylar didn’t even realize he was talking until he heard Bennet gasp in shock, and opened his eyes to find pale eyes drilling into his own, and could hear his own voice babbling out a litany of Noah Bennet’s entire life history. “…you never wanted her to find out, like the rest of the things you did for the Company. It was so easy the first time, with Claude. Liked to talk through everything, wouldn’t shut up the entire time unless you gave him something to fill his mouth, not that he’d do it that often, because he knew you wanted to hear his voice. Not like later, the Haitian. Silent but perfect, always knew what you wanted without having to say a word, but God, the noises he’d make in the back of his throat… you’d give a lot to hear that again. I can do that for you, be that for you, just don’t stop, don’t let go, don’t stop touching me…”
A small part of Sylar was utterly horrified at exposing himself like this, offering himself up on a silver platter, but that part wasn’t in charge. A million greedy nerves were starving for more stimulation, and Sylar was never a man to deny himself what he wanted.
Bennet forced Sylar up and back, rolling him on his shoulders, pale eyes rapidly going from shock to cold fury. The breach, when it came, was with only minimal slickness, the prep next-to-none, and the penetration almost immediate. The pain and burn couldn’t compete with the glory of being filled, of being touched inside, of the waves of pleasure and knowledge mixed so thoroughly that Sylar’s cock was throbbing with a million little details of Noah Bennet’s life.
Head arched back, Sylar moved his hands over Bennet’s side, scratching over his side in a way he knew would send a hard shiver of helpless arousal down Bennet’s spine, hooking his fingers into a bullet scar in a way he knew would make Bennet feel helpless and weak. Every move was punctuated by a running commentary, “Claude used to use the gun to scratch you; the danger was what did it for both of you. You know I’m more dangerous than any gun. And here, you let yourself get shot for Claire, let her run away and knew you might never see her again. So sad that by running away she might never be safe again. You know it’s true, Noah.”
The fear the flooded Bennet at those words was a reward as great as the tingling waves of sensation, and Sylar growled, flipping them so he was the one on top, riding slow and hard, controlling the situation even if he couldn’t control his need.
“Put your goddamn hands on me,” Sylar snarled, and sighed when he felt Bennet digging his fingernails into his hip, trying to anchor himself.
“Who’s power did you take?” Bennet asked in a gasp.
“Don’t worry, your precious telepathic cop is still alive,” Sylar said, and forced Bennet’s hands to move up. Letting up his mental pressure, Bennet dug in his fingers again, as if by sheer force of will he could force Sylar’s secrets from him. As Sylar clenched around Bennet, the older man growled and reached up to take Sylar by the throat. That feeling nearly undid him, and Sylar could feel the rest of his neglected skin cry out for attention. Sylar slid his hands down Bennet’s arms, not even caring if Bennet squeezed, as long as he didn’t let go.
“You took something you couldn’t handle, you stupid fuck,” Bennet said positively. Keeping a solid hold on Sylar’s throat, Bennet bucked his hips, and Sylar started to lose his rhythm.
“I can-,” he protested. “I can handle anything.”
“You fucking threw yourself at me. You have no idea what you got yourself into,” Bennet growled, and began to buck his hips in a more insistent pace, squeezing slightly with his hand on Sylar’s throat at the same time. Sylar gurgled deep in his throat, but leaned into Bennet’s hand all the same. He needed more…
“More…”
“I wonder what would happen to you if I let you loose on the streets?” Bennet commented, voice going icy as Sylar felt himself starting to go slack from lack of air. Apparently hearing his entire life history being related by Sylar had really pissed him off.
“Don’t,” Sylar wheezed.
“I bet you’d throw yourself right back into that club and latch on to the first warm body that’d touch you-.”
“Yes!” Sylar felt himself being moved, Bennet leaning up, bending his knees to box Sylar in. The touch of more skin on his back distracted him, and talking was getting difficult as his vision began to dim.
“Get as many people as you could to put their hands on you…”
“God, yes,” he moaned, and pressed into Bennet’s grip with a relieved sigh as he took Sylar’s cock in his other hand. Information was lost in the pleasurable bliss of touch, the slide of skin along his shaft, and the fantasy of dozens of hands on his flesh.
“I’m not going to let you loose.”
Sylar could feel himself meeting Noah’s thrusts now, moving in perfect synch with him to give them what they both wanted, heedless of the darkness pulling at the edges of his vision. He wanted to bear down harder, to take only what he wanted, to win back the control he’d had just moments before, but couldn’t. If he tried to take what he wanted, Bennet would stop touching him. He’d pull away and leave Sylar begging on the floor and not even look back. The thought of that was intolerable.
“I’m going to give you what you want, Sylar. I’m going to take you in.”
Bennet’s hand sped up its stroking, and Sylar could hear his voice coming as if from a long distance away.
“Mohinder is there. So is Peter. We need to know everything they’ve been up to. Everything,” he hissed.
Sylar could just imagine what he’d learn in touching Mohinder’s body, being finally able to put his hands all over him, to mark him and claim him, touch him from the inside out… or be touched. Sylar didn’t care which way it went, as long as it happened. And Peter, righteous, noble Peter… What would he do to Sylar, or let Sylar do to him, if he could find room in that heart of his to forgive?
What would they feel like against him? Mohinder, lean, strong, harsh… unforgiving, his touch hard and unflinching. Peter, softer, more insistent, wanting to know why Sylar was this way. And both of them, maybe together, creating a crescendo of knowledge, a flood of new facts, as potent as the ecstasy boiling through Sylar’s veins. He couldn’t pass that up, wouldn’t, no matter if it cost him his freedom. Bennet could put him with whoever he wanted, just as long as he could touch.
“Yes,” Sylar croaked, eyes wide as he tried to take in the shadows all around him.
Bennet squeezed hard with both hands, and Sylar could feel deeper knowledge sinking into him even as he came hard, spurting against Bennet’s chest, his vision blackening into unconsciousness. Heat blossomed inside him as Bennet let go, and Sylar reached for the depths of Noah Bennet’s soul as it spilled into him. Holding that inside him as the blackness took him away, Sylar tried to make his fingers reach out one last time, desperate to take another touch with him into his new life.
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Here's the sequel: Interrogation Session