A fill
Title: Won't Stop Until You're Shaking
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Sylar, mentions of others
Summary: Based on this prompt: Peter gets injured one way or another but insists that he doesn't want to take regeneration. Sylar accepts. Cue very careful, gentle sex.
And I'd really like this to be in some wacky universe where Sylar is still a bad guy, but he and Peter are secretly seeing each other. Pleaseandthankyou!
Warnings: Possible spoilers, slash, explicit mentions of sex, some swearing, and unbeta'd.
Notes: I'm not sure if I like this or not, but whatever. I think their relationship is complicated, for sure.
Peter decides one day that he really, really needs to start minding his own business. He decides this as he lays, sprawled on his back, in some alley. His wallet is missing and he's pretty sure he has several bruised, if not cracked, ribs. His knuckles are bloody; he face bruised; and above all, he thinks that someone dislocated his right knee.
It fucking hurts.
Thankfully, someone finds him and he gets taken to the very hospital he works at, and when he gets there, Hesam shakes his head in disbelief.
"What happened?" he asks, and Peter just laughs through his drug induced haze.
"I tried to stop a mugging," he mumbles, and Hesam just gently pats his non-injured knee and disappears down the corridor, probably looking for better pain meds.
Peter convinces them to let him go home later the next day, once they determine most of his injuries are superficial, and he limps home. He's barely back in his apartment for more than ten minutes when he hears a familiar thunking noise coming from his bedroom. He doesn't have to turn around to know that Sylar is now standing in his kitchen, watching him.
"Don't worry, no one saw me," Sylar is saying, but when Peter turns around, the other man stops mid thought.
"Jesus Peter, what happened?"
Peter's brow furrows and he winces at the sudden pain in his face, and in a second, Sylar is there, helping him limp over to the kitchen table so he can sit down in one of the mismatched chairs.
"I tried to stop a mugging," Peter sighs, and Sylar's eyes are roving all over his body, cataloging every single bruise, cut and scrape.
"How many were there?"
"There was only one at first. Then two more showed up."
Peter tries to shrug but his shoulder feels stiff, so he just sits there, wishing he had filled that prescription of pain killers when he had the chance. He looks up, briefly, and notices the dark, calculating look in his friend's eyes.
"Don't even think about going after them, Sylar."
Peter swears that Sylar is actually pouting, but he mumbles, "Yeah yeah, an eye for an eye..." before reaching over and sliding their palms together.
"Take my regeneration, at least. You look horrible."
Peter doesn't want to take the regen. While he is in horrible pain, he'd really rather that he feel this, so he can remember. It's a human thing, he thinks.
"No."
"Peter, for fuck's sake, you're in pain. Take my regen, please."
Again, the medic refuses, and Sylar raises his arms up in frustration before stomping over the cupboard to grab a cup, which he promptly fills with water. When he's satisfied with that, he holds it out to Peter.
"At least drink some water."
Peter takes the glass carefully and sips a bit, even though his mouth is sore, before setting the glass down.
"I understand," Peter begins, looking tiredly at his table, "If you don't want to stay tonight."
What he expects to happen is that Sylar will leave without a word. What really happens, though, is that Sylar rolls his eyes, makes a loud exasperated noise, and then scoops up Peter in a very undignified manner.
"I have to stay," he explains, as he carries the other man off to his bedroom, "Or else you'll never get some rest."
He reaches the bed and very gently places Peter on top of it, then methodically begins to remove any bulky clothing off of him, until Peter is in just his white undershirt and his boxer briefs.
Without the clothes covering them, Sylar can see all the bruises on Peter's body, and he squeezes the bed so hard in anger that Peter actually looks over with concern.
"It's really not that bad. I've had worse." When Sylar doesn't say anything, he continues, "Like some asshole who pushed me off a roof."
He's met with a glare and he just breathes out and lays back against his pillows, trying to get comfortable but can't. He watches as Sylar starts to remove his own clothing, until he's just in tight, black jeans and an undershirt. He crawls onto the bed and deposits himself next to Peter, clearly intent on staying awake and making sure Peter is okay, rather than sleeping.
Peter blinks several times.
"Are you seriously going to watch me sleep?"
Sylar quirks one eyebrow, just so, and very carefully reaches out to thread his fingers through Peter's hair. The gesture is so uncharacteristic and intimate that Peter actually has to close his eyes and try and remember how he got here to see that he wasn't dreaming. He's pretty sure that he took a taxi because some of his friends from work insisted, but then there was a traffic jam and he walked the rest of the way...
He reopens his eyes and focuses on the face above him, wondering what it is exactly that's changed between yesterday and today. (As far as Peter can tell, nothing has.) So why, then, was Sylar suddenly acting all nice?
Peter pushes up onto his elbows, and Sylar meets him halfway, and they kiss, slowly, more thorough, than they normally do, but when they start to heat things up, Peter can't help the gasp when the other man accidentally brushes his still sore knee.
"Sorry," Peter blurts, and Sylar shakes his head.
"Are you seriously apologizing for being in pain? Really?"
Peter's face flushes. It's a natural reaction of his to apologize for things that he can't necessarily help, and this was definitely one of those times. He tries to pull away, but the other man holds him fast, running a delicate touch across is cheek, tracing a bruise already blossoming there.
"I don't like when people hurt you," Sylar whispers, and Peter can't help but be confused. Since when...?
"That's funny," Peter replies, thoroughly ruining the moment. "I was under the impression you hated me."
Sylar's eyes search him for a moment before he sits up and runs his hand through his hair.
"Yeah, well. I guess things have changed recently."
"What kind of things?"
Gingerly, Peter sits back up and faces the other man, honestly wanting to know what he was dealing with. He had been under the impression - apparently, a false one- that he and Sylar were in some kind of weird "frenemies with benefits" situation, which he is definitely not proud of, but hey, Sylar does understand him, and not many others do. Besides, he misses being close to someone, and even if ninety percent of the time that touch is more hate fueled than affection, Peter takes it.
Now, it seems, something had changed right under Peter's very nose and he hadn't even realized it.
Sylar shifts so he's leaning forward so that Peter's full attention is on him.
"I don't know, Peter. I honestly haven't felt this way since...well..."
He wants to say Elle, but he knows that Elle was just using him to get what she wanted. Just like everyone else. Was there affection there? Sure, but mostly, Sylar figures, Elle Bishop was suffering from an acute sense of guilt. If Sylar knew about one thing, it was guilt.
Peter knows what he means, though, and he nods and tries to get his companion to continue.
"There was a time where even just thinking about you made me want to punch a wall, but now, I see you, and I don't want to kill you. That's a start, right?"
Peter's not at all sure what to say, so he just looks up at Sylar and waits to see if he'll continue.
The other man ends up shrugging, as casually as he can with his heartbeat hammering in his ears, and cocks his head to one side.
"Can we see how this turns out? Is that okay?"
Peter tries to believe, he does, but lately he doesn't even know who he can trust. His family, his friends, everyone seems to have a new lie to tell him or a new motive for talking to him. He's tired of it.
"I wish I could believe you, I really do, it's just...I don't know if I can. We've been hating each other for so long, and what we've been doing is weird enough-"
Sylar interrupts him, "-I don't think it's been weird."
Peter eyes him for a moment before sighing and shaking his head, wincing at the dull ache of pain emanating from his body.
"At least let me help you take your mind off of the pain?"
Peter honestly has no idea what to do or say, but he moves his head slowly up and down and decides he'll see where this goes.
Turns out, what Sylar had in mind to distract Peter was to kiss him until he forgot what they were talking about in the first place, gently urging the other man to lay back down. Peter expects that Sylar will straddle him like he normally does, but instead, he pushes Peter until he's on his side, then curls up behind him, sliding one hand up the front of his shirt and maneuvering the other so it's resting near Peter's head.
Kisses are laid against the medic's neck, and Sylar's hand slides down his stomach until it reaches the waistband of his briefs.
Peter lifts his hips and Sylar shimmies the offending garment down to Peter's knees, bringing his hand back up to take Peter's cock in his hand, quickly settling into a rhythm and giving him no time to adjust to the sudden motions against his body.
"Oh," Peter manages to exhale, before rational thought starts to leave his brain entirely. He reaches behind him blindly, trying to grab on to something, but ends up gripping Sylar's arm instead. He moves his other arm, trying to grab on to the pillow, but finds it intwining with the other man's hand, and he squeezes Sylar's fingers and lets himself be touched, groaning when Sylar starts to whisper into his ear.
"You're so gorgeous, Peter, do you know that? You're perfect and only I get to touch you like this." He speeds up his hand. "You're mine."
Peter groans, arching his back, trying to get more friction, because everything feels so good and he hardly notices the dull ache in his knee anymore, or the stinging in his ribs. All he wants is to come and he wants Sylar to make him do it.
He opens his eyes when he realizes exactly how dependent he's become on the other man, how much he really does like him more than hate him. His hips stutter in a desperate attempt for contact, and he pushes himself back so that his ass rubs against Sylar's cock, and earns a stifled moan in response.
"Want to touch you," Peter manages to say, and Sylar pulls Peter until he's on his back, and Peter rolls onto his other side and immediately presses his lips against Sylar's, not even caring that the way he's laying is putting pressure on his bruised ribs. He reaches down and undoes the fastenings on the other man's pants, pulling his cock out and starting to stroke it in one smooth motion.
Sylar retaliates by taking Peter back in his hand and picking up the same harsh rhythm as before, and they kiss and move together until Peter can't take it anymore and he pulls his mouth back enough to try and say something, but all he manages is a "Oh, God," before his hips stutter and he comes, Sylar jerking him through his orgasm until he stops shuddering.
Peter starts to work his hand, hard, mumbling encouragements like, "Come on baby, come for me," and Sylar's eyes flutter shut as he wraps his hand around Peter's and helps to jerk him off, breathing uneven.
"I'm going to," Sylar breathes, and Peter presses their mouths together, mumbling, "That's it baby, come on, that's it," and Sylar's whole body does stiff.
He manages to groan, "Oh fuck, Peter, I love you," and then he comes, fucking Peter's hand even through the aftershocks, and then they're both piled together on messed up sheets, clothes put right again and feeling immensely euphoric.
"You love me?" Peter asks, once they catch their breath back, and Sylar stares at the ceiling for a long time before responding.
"Huh. I guess I do."
Peter snorts.
"Aren't you a romantic?"
But he finds himself smiling stupidly anyway, and he ends up falling asleep in a haze before he even has a chance to tell the other man exactly how he feels.
Maybe he'll do it in the morning, but right now, his ribs are fucking killing him and the stress of the day is catching up with him. The last thing he remembers, before dropping off, is warm arms gently sprawled across his body and a soft pair of lips pressed to his shoulder, knowing that for now, at least, he's feeling much, much better.
Tomorrow, things will be even greater.
Next part...
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Sylar, mentions of others
Summary: Based on this prompt: Peter gets injured one way or another but insists that he doesn't want to take regeneration. Sylar accepts. Cue very careful, gentle sex.
And I'd really like this to be in some wacky universe where Sylar is still a bad guy, but he and Peter are secretly seeing each other. Pleaseandthankyou!
Warnings: Possible spoilers, slash, explicit mentions of sex, some swearing, and unbeta'd.
Notes: I'm not sure if I like this or not, but whatever. I think their relationship is complicated, for sure.
Peter decides one day that he really, really needs to start minding his own business. He decides this as he lays, sprawled on his back, in some alley. His wallet is missing and he's pretty sure he has several bruised, if not cracked, ribs. His knuckles are bloody; he face bruised; and above all, he thinks that someone dislocated his right knee.
It fucking hurts.
Thankfully, someone finds him and he gets taken to the very hospital he works at, and when he gets there, Hesam shakes his head in disbelief.
"What happened?" he asks, and Peter just laughs through his drug induced haze.
"I tried to stop a mugging," he mumbles, and Hesam just gently pats his non-injured knee and disappears down the corridor, probably looking for better pain meds.
Peter convinces them to let him go home later the next day, once they determine most of his injuries are superficial, and he limps home. He's barely back in his apartment for more than ten minutes when he hears a familiar thunking noise coming from his bedroom. He doesn't have to turn around to know that Sylar is now standing in his kitchen, watching him.
"Don't worry, no one saw me," Sylar is saying, but when Peter turns around, the other man stops mid thought.
"Jesus Peter, what happened?"
Peter's brow furrows and he winces at the sudden pain in his face, and in a second, Sylar is there, helping him limp over to the kitchen table so he can sit down in one of the mismatched chairs.
"I tried to stop a mugging," Peter sighs, and Sylar's eyes are roving all over his body, cataloging every single bruise, cut and scrape.
"How many were there?"
"There was only one at first. Then two more showed up."
Peter tries to shrug but his shoulder feels stiff, so he just sits there, wishing he had filled that prescription of pain killers when he had the chance. He looks up, briefly, and notices the dark, calculating look in his friend's eyes.
"Don't even think about going after them, Sylar."
Peter swears that Sylar is actually pouting, but he mumbles, "Yeah yeah, an eye for an eye..." before reaching over and sliding their palms together.
"Take my regeneration, at least. You look horrible."
Peter doesn't want to take the regen. While he is in horrible pain, he'd really rather that he feel this, so he can remember. It's a human thing, he thinks.
"No."
"Peter, for fuck's sake, you're in pain. Take my regen, please."
Again, the medic refuses, and Sylar raises his arms up in frustration before stomping over the cupboard to grab a cup, which he promptly fills with water. When he's satisfied with that, he holds it out to Peter.
"At least drink some water."
Peter takes the glass carefully and sips a bit, even though his mouth is sore, before setting the glass down.
"I understand," Peter begins, looking tiredly at his table, "If you don't want to stay tonight."
What he expects to happen is that Sylar will leave without a word. What really happens, though, is that Sylar rolls his eyes, makes a loud exasperated noise, and then scoops up Peter in a very undignified manner.
"I have to stay," he explains, as he carries the other man off to his bedroom, "Or else you'll never get some rest."
He reaches the bed and very gently places Peter on top of it, then methodically begins to remove any bulky clothing off of him, until Peter is in just his white undershirt and his boxer briefs.
Without the clothes covering them, Sylar can see all the bruises on Peter's body, and he squeezes the bed so hard in anger that Peter actually looks over with concern.
"It's really not that bad. I've had worse." When Sylar doesn't say anything, he continues, "Like some asshole who pushed me off a roof."
He's met with a glare and he just breathes out and lays back against his pillows, trying to get comfortable but can't. He watches as Sylar starts to remove his own clothing, until he's just in tight, black jeans and an undershirt. He crawls onto the bed and deposits himself next to Peter, clearly intent on staying awake and making sure Peter is okay, rather than sleeping.
Peter blinks several times.
"Are you seriously going to watch me sleep?"
Sylar quirks one eyebrow, just so, and very carefully reaches out to thread his fingers through Peter's hair. The gesture is so uncharacteristic and intimate that Peter actually has to close his eyes and try and remember how he got here to see that he wasn't dreaming. He's pretty sure that he took a taxi because some of his friends from work insisted, but then there was a traffic jam and he walked the rest of the way...
He reopens his eyes and focuses on the face above him, wondering what it is exactly that's changed between yesterday and today. (As far as Peter can tell, nothing has.) So why, then, was Sylar suddenly acting all nice?
Peter pushes up onto his elbows, and Sylar meets him halfway, and they kiss, slowly, more thorough, than they normally do, but when they start to heat things up, Peter can't help the gasp when the other man accidentally brushes his still sore knee.
"Sorry," Peter blurts, and Sylar shakes his head.
"Are you seriously apologizing for being in pain? Really?"
Peter's face flushes. It's a natural reaction of his to apologize for things that he can't necessarily help, and this was definitely one of those times. He tries to pull away, but the other man holds him fast, running a delicate touch across is cheek, tracing a bruise already blossoming there.
"I don't like when people hurt you," Sylar whispers, and Peter can't help but be confused. Since when...?
"That's funny," Peter replies, thoroughly ruining the moment. "I was under the impression you hated me."
Sylar's eyes search him for a moment before he sits up and runs his hand through his hair.
"Yeah, well. I guess things have changed recently."
"What kind of things?"
Gingerly, Peter sits back up and faces the other man, honestly wanting to know what he was dealing with. He had been under the impression - apparently, a false one- that he and Sylar were in some kind of weird "frenemies with benefits" situation, which he is definitely not proud of, but hey, Sylar does understand him, and not many others do. Besides, he misses being close to someone, and even if ninety percent of the time that touch is more hate fueled than affection, Peter takes it.
Now, it seems, something had changed right under Peter's very nose and he hadn't even realized it.
Sylar shifts so he's leaning forward so that Peter's full attention is on him.
"I don't know, Peter. I honestly haven't felt this way since...well..."
He wants to say Elle, but he knows that Elle was just using him to get what she wanted. Just like everyone else. Was there affection there? Sure, but mostly, Sylar figures, Elle Bishop was suffering from an acute sense of guilt. If Sylar knew about one thing, it was guilt.
Peter knows what he means, though, and he nods and tries to get his companion to continue.
"There was a time where even just thinking about you made me want to punch a wall, but now, I see you, and I don't want to kill you. That's a start, right?"
Peter's not at all sure what to say, so he just looks up at Sylar and waits to see if he'll continue.
The other man ends up shrugging, as casually as he can with his heartbeat hammering in his ears, and cocks his head to one side.
"Can we see how this turns out? Is that okay?"
Peter tries to believe, he does, but lately he doesn't even know who he can trust. His family, his friends, everyone seems to have a new lie to tell him or a new motive for talking to him. He's tired of it.
"I wish I could believe you, I really do, it's just...I don't know if I can. We've been hating each other for so long, and what we've been doing is weird enough-"
Sylar interrupts him, "-I don't think it's been weird."
Peter eyes him for a moment before sighing and shaking his head, wincing at the dull ache of pain emanating from his body.
"At least let me help you take your mind off of the pain?"
Peter honestly has no idea what to do or say, but he moves his head slowly up and down and decides he'll see where this goes.
Turns out, what Sylar had in mind to distract Peter was to kiss him until he forgot what they were talking about in the first place, gently urging the other man to lay back down. Peter expects that Sylar will straddle him like he normally does, but instead, he pushes Peter until he's on his side, then curls up behind him, sliding one hand up the front of his shirt and maneuvering the other so it's resting near Peter's head.
Kisses are laid against the medic's neck, and Sylar's hand slides down his stomach until it reaches the waistband of his briefs.
Peter lifts his hips and Sylar shimmies the offending garment down to Peter's knees, bringing his hand back up to take Peter's cock in his hand, quickly settling into a rhythm and giving him no time to adjust to the sudden motions against his body.
"Oh," Peter manages to exhale, before rational thought starts to leave his brain entirely. He reaches behind him blindly, trying to grab on to something, but ends up gripping Sylar's arm instead. He moves his other arm, trying to grab on to the pillow, but finds it intwining with the other man's hand, and he squeezes Sylar's fingers and lets himself be touched, groaning when Sylar starts to whisper into his ear.
"You're so gorgeous, Peter, do you know that? You're perfect and only I get to touch you like this." He speeds up his hand. "You're mine."
Peter groans, arching his back, trying to get more friction, because everything feels so good and he hardly notices the dull ache in his knee anymore, or the stinging in his ribs. All he wants is to come and he wants Sylar to make him do it.
He opens his eyes when he realizes exactly how dependent he's become on the other man, how much he really does like him more than hate him. His hips stutter in a desperate attempt for contact, and he pushes himself back so that his ass rubs against Sylar's cock, and earns a stifled moan in response.
"Want to touch you," Peter manages to say, and Sylar pulls Peter until he's on his back, and Peter rolls onto his other side and immediately presses his lips against Sylar's, not even caring that the way he's laying is putting pressure on his bruised ribs. He reaches down and undoes the fastenings on the other man's pants, pulling his cock out and starting to stroke it in one smooth motion.
Sylar retaliates by taking Peter back in his hand and picking up the same harsh rhythm as before, and they kiss and move together until Peter can't take it anymore and he pulls his mouth back enough to try and say something, but all he manages is a "Oh, God," before his hips stutter and he comes, Sylar jerking him through his orgasm until he stops shuddering.
Peter starts to work his hand, hard, mumbling encouragements like, "Come on baby, come for me," and Sylar's eyes flutter shut as he wraps his hand around Peter's and helps to jerk him off, breathing uneven.
"I'm going to," Sylar breathes, and Peter presses their mouths together, mumbling, "That's it baby, come on, that's it," and Sylar's whole body does stiff.
He manages to groan, "Oh fuck, Peter, I love you," and then he comes, fucking Peter's hand even through the aftershocks, and then they're both piled together on messed up sheets, clothes put right again and feeling immensely euphoric.
"You love me?" Peter asks, once they catch their breath back, and Sylar stares at the ceiling for a long time before responding.
"Huh. I guess I do."
Peter snorts.
"Aren't you a romantic?"
But he finds himself smiling stupidly anyway, and he ends up falling asleep in a haze before he even has a chance to tell the other man exactly how he feels.
Maybe he'll do it in the morning, but right now, his ribs are fucking killing him and the stress of the day is catching up with him. The last thing he remembers, before dropping off, is warm arms gently sprawled across his body and a soft pair of lips pressed to his shoulder, knowing that for now, at least, he's feeling much, much better.
Tomorrow, things will be even greater.
Next part...