FIC: DON'T LEAVE ME
Title: Don't Leave Me
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sylar/Luke
Word Count: 1400+
Summary: Luke is hiding something.
Warnings: hurt/comfort, sex, fluff
Author's Note: my first time writing Sylar/Luke
Luke loves motel rooms.
Filthy carpets, peeling wallpaper, vintage black & white television sets. They're all the same, but Luke still explores each one -- opening drawers and closets, examining the stains on the carpet and the disintegrating tiles in the bathroom. Luke rambles on, imagining who may have stayed there, and speculating on exactly when the sheets were last changed.
Sylar rolls his eyes every time, but he doesn't stop it.
**
“Still, you could've just left me.”
Luke smirks as he says it, and laughs when 'Psycho Killer' blares from the car radio. But after catching Sylar's glare he regrets it immediately. He knows when it's okay to push Sylar; and an unseen force pressing his face against the car window or a motel lamp flying towards his head teaches him when to shut his mouth.
He's learning.
**
As they enter the motel room Luke heads immediately to the bathroom and closes the door. Sylar makes a silent note of this, before removing his shoes and reclining on his bed. He's pleased the room exploration routine is broken. He doesn't get it anyway, every motel room is the fucking same.
Sylar is asleep before Luke leaves the bathroom. He doesn't witness the removal of a blood-stained shirt or the way Luke carefully eases himself onto the adjacent bed.
When he wakes in the morning Luke is already up and fully dressed.
**
“We're not stopping for milkshakes or pie today.”
Figuring they need to avoid detection for as long as possible, Sylar decides they should cut down on their roadside stops. Luke's silent nod of agreement causes the older man to cast a sideways glance at him. The kid was always wanting to stop at greasy spoon cafes. Sylar makes the rules, of course, but he was still expecting some sort of protest from Luke.
“What's wrong?” Sylar asks, his eyes still focused on the road.
“Just tired,” Luke says simply. Sylar detects the lie, but says nothing.
Luke closes his eyes and turns his entire body towards the window, attempting to end the conversation by feigning sleep. Sylar glances at Luke's back, and notices a circular spot of fresh blood on the kid's jacket.
He keeps driving.
**
Their second motel room in 24 hours, and Luke once again makes a beeline for the bathroom.
Peeling off his shirt, he glances at himself in the mirror. Small cuts litter his torso, and he twists himself to examine the injuries on his back. Fresh blood flows from a cut he's unable to see. Reaching his arm over his head, he attempts to pull a shard of glass from the cut. His fingers slip in the warm blood, and he winces as the glass is pushed deeper.
He reaches to try again when he's interrupted by a soft knock at the bathroom door. Wiping his hand on his pant leg, he throws his shirt back on before slowly opening the door.
“What are you doing?” Sylar asks, with a glare.
Luke knows it's useless to lie, and he simply shakes his head at the older man.
“Take off your shirt,” Sylar demands, but there's an element of kindness in his voice.
As Luke removes the shirt, Sylar grasps the kid's shoulder and turns him so his back is facing the light.
“It's glass,” Luke says dumbly.
“I can see that, Luke,” Sylar snaps at him. “Why didn't you just tell me?”
Luke knows why he didn't tell Sylar, but he feels silly saying it out loud. Because he didn't want to remind Sylar that he was just a fucking helpless teenager. He didn't want to seem weak. He didn't want Sylar to leave him behind.
Unable to lie, Luke figures it's best to just change the subject.
“We don't have tweezers or anything to get it out,” he finally replies.
“Don't be an idiot,” Sylar says, raising his right hand up to the cut. Luke feels the shard slowly easing its way out of his back, and he feels like an ass. Powers. Of course.
Luke remains silent as Sylar's hands hover over his torso, drawing out any remaining glass. He sits absolutely still as the older man cleans his cuts with soap and water, and wipes him dry with a towel.
“You can borrow one of my shirts,” Sylar says quietly, before exiting the bathroom.
**
Luke smiles to himself when he finally leaves the bathroom and spots the neatly folded shirt at the foot of his bed. He puts it on. It smells like Sylar.
Lying on the bed, Luke watches the older man pace the room.
“You should've told me,” Sylar says again, pausing to glance at him.
Luke nods, but says nothing. Sylar moves across the room and sits on the edge of Luke's bed.
“You're not any good to either of us if you're hurt,” he states. Luke nods again.
“If this happens again, you must tell me immediately, Luke,” Sylar continues. “Otherwise I might as well just kill you now.” Sylar grunts the threat at him with a smirk. Luke smirks back at him.
Neither one is sure how it happened.
**
Lie.
They knew how it happened.
Luke had smirked, Sylar had glared with his usual look of annoyance, and then Luke sat up and placed a kiss directly on the older man's mouth. Sylar had resisted at first, brought his hand up to force Luke back against the pillow - frozen. With one eyebrow raised in suspicion, he had examined the kid for a moment before easing off and allowing Luke to approach him once again.
That was how they found themselves here, partially clothed, limbs entwined, fingers exploring.
“You've done this before, right?” Sylar asks as he forces Luke's pants and underwear off in one violent tug.
“Yeah, of course,” Luke replies, hands grasping at Sylar's waist, pulling him closer.
Sylar senses the familiar shudder of the lie. Shit, the kid's a virgin.
Luke panics for a second as he feels Sylar ease off, “okay, that's a lie. Never done this before.” Luke explains in a rushed voice. “But I want to, with you.”
Reaching his hand to the back of Sylar's head, he pulls the older man toward him.
“Sylar, please..”
**
Sylar kisses Luke gently, before reaching down to unzip his own pants. The kid's eyes don't leave the older man's zipper, and they widen as Sylar removes his cock from his jeans. Sylar slowly pumps his hand up and down the shaft, lubricating it with precum. He eases Luke's legs apart, and places the tip of his penis at the entrance to Luke's hole. The kid stares up at him, his mouth open, his eyes dark.
“This might hurt at first,” Sylar warns. Luke ignores the warning, and pulls at Sylar's hips, attempting to force their bodies together.
Sylar eases the tip of his cock into Luke. He pulls out and then eases back in again, a little deeper this time. Luke gasps and throws his head back against the pillow. He begins panting as Sylar increases the thrust, and then he reaches down to grab hold of his own erection. Sylar pushes his hand away.
“I'll do it,” Sylar growls at the kid, clasping his hand around Luke's erection.
He only gets a few good pumps in before Luke loses it. The combination of Sylar's hand on his dick, Sylar's cock in his ass, and just Sylar himself are too much. Luke shudders and moans the older man's name as he orgasms, his cum shooting across his stomach and chest. Sylar continues to thrust his cock inside Luke, his eyes focused on the kid beneath him - sweaty, sticky and exhausted. As Luke begins to regain his composure, he turns his head and locks eyes with the older man.
“Sylar..” Luke whispers, as his hands reach up to clasp Sylar's ass and force him deeper inside.
Sylar's body tenses as he releases his orgasm inside Luke.
**
They sleep in the same bed that night. Two bodies crammed together on a tiny twin bed.
Sylar falls asleep first, his hand splayed in Luke's hair, his thumb still stroking the kid's forehead.
Luke listens to Sylar's deep breathing. His hand on Sylar's chest, rising and falling with every breath.
“Don't leave me,” he says into the darkness.
The older man's breathing stutters for a moment.
“I won't,” Sylar whispers back.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sylar/Luke
Word Count: 1400+
Summary: Luke is hiding something.
Warnings: hurt/comfort, sex, fluff
Author's Note: my first time writing Sylar/Luke
Luke loves motel rooms.
Filthy carpets, peeling wallpaper, vintage black & white television sets. They're all the same, but Luke still explores each one -- opening drawers and closets, examining the stains on the carpet and the disintegrating tiles in the bathroom. Luke rambles on, imagining who may have stayed there, and speculating on exactly when the sheets were last changed.
Sylar rolls his eyes every time, but he doesn't stop it.
**
“Still, you could've just left me.”
Luke smirks as he says it, and laughs when 'Psycho Killer' blares from the car radio. But after catching Sylar's glare he regrets it immediately. He knows when it's okay to push Sylar; and an unseen force pressing his face against the car window or a motel lamp flying towards his head teaches him when to shut his mouth.
He's learning.
**
As they enter the motel room Luke heads immediately to the bathroom and closes the door. Sylar makes a silent note of this, before removing his shoes and reclining on his bed. He's pleased the room exploration routine is broken. He doesn't get it anyway, every motel room is the fucking same.
Sylar is asleep before Luke leaves the bathroom. He doesn't witness the removal of a blood-stained shirt or the way Luke carefully eases himself onto the adjacent bed.
When he wakes in the morning Luke is already up and fully dressed.
**
“We're not stopping for milkshakes or pie today.”
Figuring they need to avoid detection for as long as possible, Sylar decides they should cut down on their roadside stops. Luke's silent nod of agreement causes the older man to cast a sideways glance at him. The kid was always wanting to stop at greasy spoon cafes. Sylar makes the rules, of course, but he was still expecting some sort of protest from Luke.
“What's wrong?” Sylar asks, his eyes still focused on the road.
“Just tired,” Luke says simply. Sylar detects the lie, but says nothing.
Luke closes his eyes and turns his entire body towards the window, attempting to end the conversation by feigning sleep. Sylar glances at Luke's back, and notices a circular spot of fresh blood on the kid's jacket.
He keeps driving.
**
Their second motel room in 24 hours, and Luke once again makes a beeline for the bathroom.
Peeling off his shirt, he glances at himself in the mirror. Small cuts litter his torso, and he twists himself to examine the injuries on his back. Fresh blood flows from a cut he's unable to see. Reaching his arm over his head, he attempts to pull a shard of glass from the cut. His fingers slip in the warm blood, and he winces as the glass is pushed deeper.
He reaches to try again when he's interrupted by a soft knock at the bathroom door. Wiping his hand on his pant leg, he throws his shirt back on before slowly opening the door.
“What are you doing?” Sylar asks, with a glare.
Luke knows it's useless to lie, and he simply shakes his head at the older man.
“Take off your shirt,” Sylar demands, but there's an element of kindness in his voice.
As Luke removes the shirt, Sylar grasps the kid's shoulder and turns him so his back is facing the light.
“It's glass,” Luke says dumbly.
“I can see that, Luke,” Sylar snaps at him. “Why didn't you just tell me?”
Luke knows why he didn't tell Sylar, but he feels silly saying it out loud. Because he didn't want to remind Sylar that he was just a fucking helpless teenager. He didn't want to seem weak. He didn't want Sylar to leave him behind.
Unable to lie, Luke figures it's best to just change the subject.
“We don't have tweezers or anything to get it out,” he finally replies.
“Don't be an idiot,” Sylar says, raising his right hand up to the cut. Luke feels the shard slowly easing its way out of his back, and he feels like an ass. Powers. Of course.
Luke remains silent as Sylar's hands hover over his torso, drawing out any remaining glass. He sits absolutely still as the older man cleans his cuts with soap and water, and wipes him dry with a towel.
“You can borrow one of my shirts,” Sylar says quietly, before exiting the bathroom.
**
Luke smiles to himself when he finally leaves the bathroom and spots the neatly folded shirt at the foot of his bed. He puts it on. It smells like Sylar.
Lying on the bed, Luke watches the older man pace the room.
“You should've told me,” Sylar says again, pausing to glance at him.
Luke nods, but says nothing. Sylar moves across the room and sits on the edge of Luke's bed.
“You're not any good to either of us if you're hurt,” he states. Luke nods again.
“If this happens again, you must tell me immediately, Luke,” Sylar continues. “Otherwise I might as well just kill you now.” Sylar grunts the threat at him with a smirk. Luke smirks back at him.
Neither one is sure how it happened.
**
Lie.
They knew how it happened.
Luke had smirked, Sylar had glared with his usual look of annoyance, and then Luke sat up and placed a kiss directly on the older man's mouth. Sylar had resisted at first, brought his hand up to force Luke back against the pillow - frozen. With one eyebrow raised in suspicion, he had examined the kid for a moment before easing off and allowing Luke to approach him once again.
That was how they found themselves here, partially clothed, limbs entwined, fingers exploring.
“You've done this before, right?” Sylar asks as he forces Luke's pants and underwear off in one violent tug.
“Yeah, of course,” Luke replies, hands grasping at Sylar's waist, pulling him closer.
Sylar senses the familiar shudder of the lie. Shit, the kid's a virgin.
Luke panics for a second as he feels Sylar ease off, “okay, that's a lie. Never done this before.” Luke explains in a rushed voice. “But I want to, with you.”
Reaching his hand to the back of Sylar's head, he pulls the older man toward him.
“Sylar, please..”
**
Sylar kisses Luke gently, before reaching down to unzip his own pants. The kid's eyes don't leave the older man's zipper, and they widen as Sylar removes his cock from his jeans. Sylar slowly pumps his hand up and down the shaft, lubricating it with precum. He eases Luke's legs apart, and places the tip of his penis at the entrance to Luke's hole. The kid stares up at him, his mouth open, his eyes dark.
“This might hurt at first,” Sylar warns. Luke ignores the warning, and pulls at Sylar's hips, attempting to force their bodies together.
Sylar eases the tip of his cock into Luke. He pulls out and then eases back in again, a little deeper this time. Luke gasps and throws his head back against the pillow. He begins panting as Sylar increases the thrust, and then he reaches down to grab hold of his own erection. Sylar pushes his hand away.
“I'll do it,” Sylar growls at the kid, clasping his hand around Luke's erection.
He only gets a few good pumps in before Luke loses it. The combination of Sylar's hand on his dick, Sylar's cock in his ass, and just Sylar himself are too much. Luke shudders and moans the older man's name as he orgasms, his cum shooting across his stomach and chest. Sylar continues to thrust his cock inside Luke, his eyes focused on the kid beneath him - sweaty, sticky and exhausted. As Luke begins to regain his composure, he turns his head and locks eyes with the older man.
“Sylar..” Luke whispers, as his hands reach up to clasp Sylar's ass and force him deeper inside.
Sylar's body tenses as he releases his orgasm inside Luke.
**
They sleep in the same bed that night. Two bodies crammed together on a tiny twin bed.
Sylar falls asleep first, his hand splayed in Luke's hair, his thumb still stroking the kid's forehead.
Luke listens to Sylar's deep breathing. His hand on Sylar's chest, rising and falling with every breath.
“Don't leave me,” he says into the darkness.
The older man's breathing stutters for a moment.
“I won't,” Sylar whispers back.