Fic: Touch
Fic: Touch
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Sylar/Peter (in that order)
Summary: While in the middle of cleaning, Sylar accidentally touches something he shouldn't have.
Warnings: Gay sex, swearing, Fingering, masturbation, sort of voyeurism, all that great stuff.
Notes: Based on blishfan's drawing, stemming from our conversation about Sylar's Clairsentience power.
With a final flourish of the sponge he was holding, Sylar finishes cleaning Peter's shower. For the third time that day.
Sighing, he throws it back into the caddy of cleaning supplies and sits on the floor with his back against the wall. He's been living with Peter for weeks now but has spent increasingly more and more time with nothing to do whilst his roommmate was at work.
So, he cleans. Pretty much anything he can find. He wears rubber gloves because honestly, some of the stuff in this place was just nasty. Has Peter ever looked behind the toilet and seen all the dust there? Or under the bed? On the underside of the window sill?
Sylar had his work cut out for him. Or he did, until he cleaned it all. And then some. Now, he finds himself with nothing left to clean but himself. Standing up, Sylar pulls the rubber gloves off and throws them on top of the sponge. He tugs his shirt over his head and reaches over to turn the shower on. He's just about to pull his pants off, too, when he realizes that there's no soap in the shower.
He turns around and opens a cabinet that contains towels, extra shampoo, whatever. He digs around, trying to find a bar of soap he knows is in there, when his hand brushes across a small bottle.
Like a jolt, images and sensations come rushing into his head. Images of Peter, pouring the substance onto his fingers. Images of Peter teasing his fingers up into himself, head thrown back when he rubs across just the right spot.
Most of the memories follow that line, but there's one that stops the other man dead in his tracks.
Peter, spread out on the floor of his bathroom, on top of the rug, back arched as he fucks his fingers on one hand and uses the other to rub across his cock. His face is turned towards the locked door; he knows Sylar is sleeping on the couch just feet away. He groans as he imagines that his fingers are replaced by his roommate's, that the fingers around his cock is really Sylar's mouth. He bites his lip to prevent that sinful name from leaving his mouth as he comes. Slumping back, he groans and thinks, "You're really fucked up, Peter."
Sylar snaps back to reality and stares at his hand like he's just been burned. His mind is so full of images he doesn't really know what to do, but then, he flings an arm out, turning the water of the shower off. He leans against the sink and quickly undoes the fastenings of his pants. One hand dips underneath the fabric of his boxers while the other calls the small bottle of lube into his hand.
He holds the bottle and recalls the memories, using it to spurn him on as he fucks himself into his hand, eyes tightly closed so he can focus. He's getting pretty close when he hears a voice in front of him.
It's saying, "What...what are you doing?"
Sylar opens his eyes and sees Peter standing in front of him. He's still wearing his shoes and his uniform, so he must have just gotten home from work. Naturally, due to his current activities, Sylar hadn't heard come in.
He stills his movements, stares back, and tries to formulate a response. When nothing comes to mind, he just sort of looks down at the ground. Peter, thoroughly embarrassed, has turned to go into the other room, but Sylar will have none of that. He puts the lube down on the sink, tugs his pants back up a little, and marches after Peter, who had made his way into the bedroom.
When he hears the other man behind him, Peter whirls around, only to have Sylar push him down on the bed and crawl on top of him.
One of Peter's hands comes up to rest on Sylar's shoulder, as if to push him away, but not actually making the effort to do so.
"Peter," Sylar begins, hand making its way back to his waistband, "I'm sorry...I touched that bottle of lube in the cabinet and I saw...everything..."
Peter's eyes widen.
"So you....you saw...you saw me thinking about you while jerking off?"
Sylar nods and he groans and tries to resist the urge to cant his hips against the man underneath him.
"I can't help it, Peter. Please..." He pulls his cock out and holds it loosely. Peter's eyes are glued to his movements, wide and unsure.
There's silence for several seconds, before Peter reaches the hand not on Sylar's shoulder out to cover the other man's hand. Together, they slide featherlight touches up and down Sylar's cock.
Peter tilts his head up and presses his lips against Sylar's, moaning when the other man returns the kiss tenfold. He tries to pick up the pace, but suddenly, Sylar pushes his hand away.
"I don't want to come like this," Sylar breathes, looking down into Peter's eyes, and Peter nods slowly.
They begrudgingly separate long enough for Peter to kick off his shoes and pull his pants off until he's naked from the waist down. Sylar tugs his pants and boxers down to his knees.
Sylar's about to ask if he should go get the lube he left in the bathroom when Peter's hand slides under the mattress. He pulls out another bottle. Smiling slyly up at the other man, he offers it, and Sylar takes it.
This time, even more memories spill through, and all Sylar can do is breathe a shaky, "Jesus, Peter."
Uncapping the bottle, he pours the liquid onto himself and then onto his fingers. Reaching between them, he starts to circle Peter's entrance.
Peter spreads his legs open more and groans, "Just do it. I want to feel this, I want to know it's real."
Sylar hesitates, but pulls the other man's legs around his hips and lines himself up.
"Ready?"
Peter squeezes his fingers hard around the other man's arm, dark eyes staring up.
"Yeah."
Sylar pushes in slowly, trying to be careful. Peter actually whimpers, making Sylar stop and look up with concern, but Peter tangles his fingers in the other man's hair and tugs lightly.
"Don't stop," he breathes, and Sylar presses his lips hard against Peter's, trying to distract him as he pushes all the way in. Once he's fully surrounded, he tries to wait and let Peter settle, but the man in question will have none of that.
Come on, Peter thinks, shifting his hips and digging his fingers into hard muscle. Fuck me.
Sylar does, hard and fast, making the bed shift loudly underneath them. He knows he won't be able to last much longer, so he takes Peter's cock in hand and starts jerking it roughly, thumb rubbing across the tip.
Peter inhales suddenly, back arching as he comes in white ribbons between them. Sylar follows after, pushed completely inside, Peter's name on his lips.
Then it's all over all too soon, and Sylar buries his face into the side of Peter's neck, trying to regain his breath. Several minutes of silence later, Peter's fingers stop rubbing gentle circles onto Sylar's scalp and he slides his legs down from where they were resting around the other man's legs.
"Gabe?" he says, and Sylar smiles into the skin under him.
"Yeah, Pete?"
"If I had known you were going to react like this I would have fucked myself on every surface in this house for you to see."
Sylar groans.
"Give me ten minutes and I'll fuck you myself."
Peter, already growing hard again, laughs.
"Deal."
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Sylar/Peter (in that order)
Summary: While in the middle of cleaning, Sylar accidentally touches something he shouldn't have.
Warnings: Gay sex, swearing, Fingering, masturbation, sort of voyeurism, all that great stuff.
Notes: Based on blishfan's drawing, stemming from our conversation about Sylar's Clairsentience power.
With a final flourish of the sponge he was holding, Sylar finishes cleaning Peter's shower. For the third time that day.
Sighing, he throws it back into the caddy of cleaning supplies and sits on the floor with his back against the wall. He's been living with Peter for weeks now but has spent increasingly more and more time with nothing to do whilst his roommmate was at work.
So, he cleans. Pretty much anything he can find. He wears rubber gloves because honestly, some of the stuff in this place was just nasty. Has Peter ever looked behind the toilet and seen all the dust there? Or under the bed? On the underside of the window sill?
Sylar had his work cut out for him. Or he did, until he cleaned it all. And then some. Now, he finds himself with nothing left to clean but himself. Standing up, Sylar pulls the rubber gloves off and throws them on top of the sponge. He tugs his shirt over his head and reaches over to turn the shower on. He's just about to pull his pants off, too, when he realizes that there's no soap in the shower.
He turns around and opens a cabinet that contains towels, extra shampoo, whatever. He digs around, trying to find a bar of soap he knows is in there, when his hand brushes across a small bottle.
Like a jolt, images and sensations come rushing into his head. Images of Peter, pouring the substance onto his fingers. Images of Peter teasing his fingers up into himself, head thrown back when he rubs across just the right spot.
Most of the memories follow that line, but there's one that stops the other man dead in his tracks.
Peter, spread out on the floor of his bathroom, on top of the rug, back arched as he fucks his fingers on one hand and uses the other to rub across his cock. His face is turned towards the locked door; he knows Sylar is sleeping on the couch just feet away. He groans as he imagines that his fingers are replaced by his roommate's, that the fingers around his cock is really Sylar's mouth. He bites his lip to prevent that sinful name from leaving his mouth as he comes. Slumping back, he groans and thinks, "You're really fucked up, Peter."
Sylar snaps back to reality and stares at his hand like he's just been burned. His mind is so full of images he doesn't really know what to do, but then, he flings an arm out, turning the water of the shower off. He leans against the sink and quickly undoes the fastenings of his pants. One hand dips underneath the fabric of his boxers while the other calls the small bottle of lube into his hand.
He holds the bottle and recalls the memories, using it to spurn him on as he fucks himself into his hand, eyes tightly closed so he can focus. He's getting pretty close when he hears a voice in front of him.
It's saying, "What...what are you doing?"
Sylar opens his eyes and sees Peter standing in front of him. He's still wearing his shoes and his uniform, so he must have just gotten home from work. Naturally, due to his current activities, Sylar hadn't heard come in.
He stills his movements, stares back, and tries to formulate a response. When nothing comes to mind, he just sort of looks down at the ground. Peter, thoroughly embarrassed, has turned to go into the other room, but Sylar will have none of that. He puts the lube down on the sink, tugs his pants back up a little, and marches after Peter, who had made his way into the bedroom.
When he hears the other man behind him, Peter whirls around, only to have Sylar push him down on the bed and crawl on top of him.
One of Peter's hands comes up to rest on Sylar's shoulder, as if to push him away, but not actually making the effort to do so.
"Peter," Sylar begins, hand making its way back to his waistband, "I'm sorry...I touched that bottle of lube in the cabinet and I saw...everything..."
Peter's eyes widen.
"So you....you saw...you saw me thinking about you while jerking off?"
Sylar nods and he groans and tries to resist the urge to cant his hips against the man underneath him.
"I can't help it, Peter. Please..." He pulls his cock out and holds it loosely. Peter's eyes are glued to his movements, wide and unsure.
There's silence for several seconds, before Peter reaches the hand not on Sylar's shoulder out to cover the other man's hand. Together, they slide featherlight touches up and down Sylar's cock.
Peter tilts his head up and presses his lips against Sylar's, moaning when the other man returns the kiss tenfold. He tries to pick up the pace, but suddenly, Sylar pushes his hand away.
"I don't want to come like this," Sylar breathes, looking down into Peter's eyes, and Peter nods slowly.
They begrudgingly separate long enough for Peter to kick off his shoes and pull his pants off until he's naked from the waist down. Sylar tugs his pants and boxers down to his knees.
Sylar's about to ask if he should go get the lube he left in the bathroom when Peter's hand slides under the mattress. He pulls out another bottle. Smiling slyly up at the other man, he offers it, and Sylar takes it.
This time, even more memories spill through, and all Sylar can do is breathe a shaky, "Jesus, Peter."
Uncapping the bottle, he pours the liquid onto himself and then onto his fingers. Reaching between them, he starts to circle Peter's entrance.
Peter spreads his legs open more and groans, "Just do it. I want to feel this, I want to know it's real."
Sylar hesitates, but pulls the other man's legs around his hips and lines himself up.
"Ready?"
Peter squeezes his fingers hard around the other man's arm, dark eyes staring up.
"Yeah."
Sylar pushes in slowly, trying to be careful. Peter actually whimpers, making Sylar stop and look up with concern, but Peter tangles his fingers in the other man's hair and tugs lightly.
"Don't stop," he breathes, and Sylar presses his lips hard against Peter's, trying to distract him as he pushes all the way in. Once he's fully surrounded, he tries to wait and let Peter settle, but the man in question will have none of that.
Come on, Peter thinks, shifting his hips and digging his fingers into hard muscle. Fuck me.
Sylar does, hard and fast, making the bed shift loudly underneath them. He knows he won't be able to last much longer, so he takes Peter's cock in hand and starts jerking it roughly, thumb rubbing across the tip.
Peter inhales suddenly, back arching as he comes in white ribbons between them. Sylar follows after, pushed completely inside, Peter's name on his lips.
Then it's all over all too soon, and Sylar buries his face into the side of Peter's neck, trying to regain his breath. Several minutes of silence later, Peter's fingers stop rubbing gentle circles onto Sylar's scalp and he slides his legs down from where they were resting around the other man's legs.
"Gabe?" he says, and Sylar smiles into the skin under him.
"Yeah, Pete?"
"If I had known you were going to react like this I would have fucked myself on every surface in this house for you to see."
Sylar groans.
"Give me ten minutes and I'll fuck you myself."
Peter, already growing hard again, laughs.
"Deal."