For Perdi
This was a hope_in_sight fic that was supposed to get sent out to perdiccas A LONG TIME AGO, but here it is!
Title: Unbe-freakin-lievable
Author: evil15smiles
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bloodplay
Prompt: Luke in guyliner
A/N: Hope you like it, bb!
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Sylar’s mouth was dangerously close to hanging open at the sight before him. When he realized Luke had run off three hours ago, this was the last place he expected to find him. The club (charmingly christened La Mort Noire) was filled with dark purple light that cascaded over the black-clad patrons, most in heavy make up, regardless of gender. None of it seemed like Luke’s type of thing, but there he was; leaning against the bar, black finger nailed hand curled around a drink, talking to a girl who was obviously older than him. Sylar smirked, pressing forward, moving swiftly and quietly behind Luke to stand a few feet away from him.
“Yeah, you’re right, Marilyn Manson is so over,” he said, sounding more pretentious than Sylar thought him capable of. “I mean, Golden Age was okay, but seriously, Eat Me, Drink Me? Who cares, right?” The girl nodded, seemingly uninterested in smiling or displaying any signs of life.
“I respect him as an artist capable of embracing his darkness, but everything he made past Antichrist Superstar represented something way too commercial to be considered goth.” Her tone was flat and emotionless, even as she raised her voice above the music. Sylar tried desperately not to laugh, instead flagging down the bartender and ordering a beer. Luke seemed a little flustered by the fact that she seemed to know what she was talking about better than he did.
“Yeah, you’re right. Do you like Laibach?” The girl nodded noncommittally.
“I never knew you were such a connoisseur,” Sylar called over the deep thud of the music. Luke jumped about ten feet in the air, ice cubes rattling in his drink. The girl jumped too, looking over Luke’s shoulder before resuming her casual disinterest.
“Jesus,” he half-shouted. “What the fuck are you doing here, man!?”
“You shouldn’t have run off.” Sylar peered over Luke’s head, addressing the Morticia clone he was attempting to entertain. “He’s seventeen, by the way,” he said matter-of-factly, taking a sip of his beer. The girl looked momentarily disturbed by the news before rolling her eyes at Luke and walking away. Luke stared after her for a moment, making a loud noise of disbelief before turning back to Sylar, eyes wide and accusatory.
“What the hell, man!?”
Sylar leered at Luke’s face. “Are you wearing eyeliner?”
“Shut up, why the hell are you following me? I was gonna be back by morning! Do you know how hard it was to get in here in the first place?”
“Well, I’m guessing you had to pay an additional twenty bucks on top of the cover charge since you look about fourteen,” Sylar smirked.
“God, you’re unbe-freakin-lievable, you know that? Why do I even hang out with you!?”
Sylar was completely ignoring him as he ranted. The clothes Luke was wearing would have been completely normal (even if the t-shirt was a little tighter than he was used to) if not for the makeup. He’d never understood the concept of males wearing makeup, nor remotely understood why anyone would find it attractive, but now Luke was sitting in front of him, outraged, thick black lines smeared around his eyes. Sylar vaguely wondered where he’d gotten the nail polish and eyeliner, but Luke always did have a nasty shoplifting habit. He’d always come back to the car with what they needed in addition to packs of gum, batteries, key chains, and one memorable time, a full book-on-tape set.
“And did you really have to cock-block me?” he finished, throwing his hands in the air. Sylar stared at him quietly for a moment.
“You done yet, kid?”
“… Yeah. I’m done, jackass.”
“Good.” Sylar grabbed Luke by the wrist, pulling him along despite the boy’s loud protests. People were staring, but he ignored them as he nudged his way through.
“What the hell is your problem, dude?” Luke yelled into the relative quiet of the bathroom as Sylar shoved their way in. He slammed a palm against each of the stall doors, ensuring they were empty before ushering Luke into the handicapped stall and sliding the lock into place.
“How many times to I have to tell you not to call me ‘dude,’” Sylar growled as he turned around. His tone was terrifying, but he was smiling. The effect was even scarier, and Luke took a slight step back, ankle hitting the wall behind him. Sylar advanced on him, predatory and grinning like a wolf as he nudged a knee between Luke’s legs, clad in his usual baggy jeans. Luke’s demeanor changed slightly, sudden arousal infused with the terror.
“Seriously?” he exhaled with a shaky laugh, looking over Sylar’s shoulder at the bathroom door. “Here?”
Sylar narrowed his eyes slightly and smiled wider, leaning in ever so slowly.
“So,” he exhaled against Luke’s neck, “how long have you been doing this?”
“D-doing what?”
“Dressing like this.”
Luke swallowed hard as Sylar’s stubble scratched against the sensitive skin of his neck. “I did it for like a week in high school and got beat up.”
“That’s a shame,” Sylar murmured, fingers tracing firm lines up Luke’s thighs. “I’m sure you’d have been the proud owner of a corset and a pair of bondage pants by now.”
“Shut up,” Luke exhaled, all conviction gone from his voice as his head fell back, hitting against the tile of the wall with a dull thud. The bass of the music still pounded through the walls, pumping relentlessly against his shoulder blades and setting the pace of his heartbeat. “So this gets you all hot and bothered, huh?”
“Apparently,” Sylar grinned as he slid to his knees, slipping a hand under Luke’s t-shirt, biting gently at the area of skin he’d exposed. He pushed the thin fabric up further, running his hands up Luke’s sides, across the soft expanse of his stomach. In his exploration, he felt a strange set of ridges on the edge of the boy’s jeans. He heard a sharp intake of breath and became momentarily distracted, looking up at Luke. But the teen’s eyes were fixated on Sylar’s hand and the scars his fingertips touched. The older man’s eyebrows pulled in, consternation evident as he tugged down Luke’s pants just far enough to see the full expanse of the scars. They were thin, but concentrated, and there were far too many of them. Luke’s breathing had become shallow, cheeks lightly pink.
“What are y-you doing?”
Sylar ignored the question. He’d been with Luke on more than one occasion, but their trysts were frenzied, driven by long overdue need and fumbling desire, desperate hands in the back seats of stolen cars. It was easy to believe he could have missed this; a reminder of the pain Luke could only take out on himself.
“You did this,” Sylar breathed. It wasn’t a question. Luke said nothing. He seemed afraid that he’d wronged Sylar in some way, that he had earned punishment for this weakness.
“It was a… a really long time ago…” Indeed, the scars looked at least a year old. But Sylar wasn’t concerned about the past. He straightened, holding Luke’s gaze as he gripped the youth’s jaw, gentle and possessive.
“I want to give you one.” Sylar’s hand still lingered on Luke’s hip, tracing circles over the ridged area with his thumb. Luke’s eyes widened briefly, but after a short while he nodded slowly. Sylar tugged Luke’s t-shirt over his head, his arms awkwardly waving in the air as he finished pulling it off. The man stood back, admiring the pale, soft canvas at his disposal. Luke’s head was bowed, eyes shut tight, lips parted and shaking ever so slightly. His shoulders were flat against the wall, black nails barely scraping against the wall behind him in anticipation of the pain.
Suddenly, the door opened with a bang, music filling the room temporarily. Luke’s head snapped up, glancing fearfully at the stall door, but at the same moment Sylar surged forward, covering Luke’s mouth with his hand and slicing a long cut across his chest with a thought. Luke screamed in surprise and pain, the sound lost in his throat and slowly descending into quieter cries as gasps against the barrier.
“Shhhh,” Sylar hissed against his ear, pinning Luke’s writhing body against the wall as they waited for their guest to leave. The man’s weight against his chest only made it hurt more and he tried to cry out, to push away, but he was met with resistance at every attempt. A wet warmth spread across his chest and he started to feel a little dizzy from the lack of blood in his brain.
The bass flooded the room once more and vanished again with a dull thud.
Luke sucked in a greedy gasp of air as Sylar removed his hand, only to have the breath hitch in his chest as the man slid gracefully to his knees, lips ghosting over Luke’s body the whole way down. He was drawing in desperate, shuddering breaths, in slight panic at the size of the cut.
“Relax,” Sylar purred, nibbling and kissing the exposed flesh of his stomach. “It’s a surface wound.” Even so, the blood was trickling down over his skin, the copper scent of it hitting the air like fireworks. Sylar repressed a growl and moved his hand up into the slow stream, smearing red cross Luke’s abdomen.
“H-holy shit,” Luke gasped, voice an octave higher than usual. He wasn’t sure if he was terrified or insanely horny, but guessed it was probably both. He absently reached for Sylar, one fist bunching in the shoulder of his shirt as the killer tugged his belt-free pants down. Adrenaline and arousal mixed in his blood like a cocktail at the sensation of Sylar’s lips on his cock. “Didn’t… ah… really figure you for…”
“Shut up,” Sylar grinned, dragging the boy’s hips forward, causing him to slide down the wall considerably. He took Luke fully into his mouth at an agonizing pace, enjoying the long, drawn-out whimper that emanated from above. He knew that with the level of stimulation Luke had been exposed to that he wouldn’t last long, but still he continued steadily, relentlessly, driving him insane with every subtle flick of his tongue. The little noises that greeted his ears, like the scratch of fingernails against the wall and the poorly stifled moans.
“Shi-it, Sylar, nng--” Luke’s hips jerked forward as he came, Sylar pinning his waist firmly to the wall as he swallowed as quickly as possible. Letting the slender, soft length slide free and planting one final kiss on the criss-crossed patch of scars, Sylar stood, carefully pulling the teen’s pants back up. He cast around for a moment before spotting the black t-shirt caught on the stall door handle. He retrieved it and handed it back to Luke, who looked for all the world like a spent, sweaty, boneless and bleeding mess. Sylar smirked as he struggled to put the shirt back on.
“Ready to head back?”
Luke nodded tiredly. “You might have to carry me, my legs don’t wanna go.”
“You’d better find that energy again before we get back to the hotel,” Sylar growled happily, pulling Luke against his side and flinging the stall door open.
Title: Unbe-freakin-lievable
Author: evil15smiles
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bloodplay
Prompt: Luke in guyliner
A/N: Hope you like it, bb!
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Sylar’s mouth was dangerously close to hanging open at the sight before him. When he realized Luke had run off three hours ago, this was the last place he expected to find him. The club (charmingly christened La Mort Noire) was filled with dark purple light that cascaded over the black-clad patrons, most in heavy make up, regardless of gender. None of it seemed like Luke’s type of thing, but there he was; leaning against the bar, black finger nailed hand curled around a drink, talking to a girl who was obviously older than him. Sylar smirked, pressing forward, moving swiftly and quietly behind Luke to stand a few feet away from him.
“Yeah, you’re right, Marilyn Manson is so over,” he said, sounding more pretentious than Sylar thought him capable of. “I mean, Golden Age was okay, but seriously, Eat Me, Drink Me? Who cares, right?” The girl nodded, seemingly uninterested in smiling or displaying any signs of life.
“I respect him as an artist capable of embracing his darkness, but everything he made past Antichrist Superstar represented something way too commercial to be considered goth.” Her tone was flat and emotionless, even as she raised her voice above the music. Sylar tried desperately not to laugh, instead flagging down the bartender and ordering a beer. Luke seemed a little flustered by the fact that she seemed to know what she was talking about better than he did.
“Yeah, you’re right. Do you like Laibach?” The girl nodded noncommittally.
“I never knew you were such a connoisseur,” Sylar called over the deep thud of the music. Luke jumped about ten feet in the air, ice cubes rattling in his drink. The girl jumped too, looking over Luke’s shoulder before resuming her casual disinterest.
“Jesus,” he half-shouted. “What the fuck are you doing here, man!?”
“You shouldn’t have run off.” Sylar peered over Luke’s head, addressing the Morticia clone he was attempting to entertain. “He’s seventeen, by the way,” he said matter-of-factly, taking a sip of his beer. The girl looked momentarily disturbed by the news before rolling her eyes at Luke and walking away. Luke stared after her for a moment, making a loud noise of disbelief before turning back to Sylar, eyes wide and accusatory.
“What the hell, man!?”
Sylar leered at Luke’s face. “Are you wearing eyeliner?”
“Shut up, why the hell are you following me? I was gonna be back by morning! Do you know how hard it was to get in here in the first place?”
“Well, I’m guessing you had to pay an additional twenty bucks on top of the cover charge since you look about fourteen,” Sylar smirked.
“God, you’re unbe-freakin-lievable, you know that? Why do I even hang out with you!?”
Sylar was completely ignoring him as he ranted. The clothes Luke was wearing would have been completely normal (even if the t-shirt was a little tighter than he was used to) if not for the makeup. He’d never understood the concept of males wearing makeup, nor remotely understood why anyone would find it attractive, but now Luke was sitting in front of him, outraged, thick black lines smeared around his eyes. Sylar vaguely wondered where he’d gotten the nail polish and eyeliner, but Luke always did have a nasty shoplifting habit. He’d always come back to the car with what they needed in addition to packs of gum, batteries, key chains, and one memorable time, a full book-on-tape set.
“And did you really have to cock-block me?” he finished, throwing his hands in the air. Sylar stared at him quietly for a moment.
“You done yet, kid?”
“… Yeah. I’m done, jackass.”
“Good.” Sylar grabbed Luke by the wrist, pulling him along despite the boy’s loud protests. People were staring, but he ignored them as he nudged his way through.
“What the hell is your problem, dude?” Luke yelled into the relative quiet of the bathroom as Sylar shoved their way in. He slammed a palm against each of the stall doors, ensuring they were empty before ushering Luke into the handicapped stall and sliding the lock into place.
“How many times to I have to tell you not to call me ‘dude,’” Sylar growled as he turned around. His tone was terrifying, but he was smiling. The effect was even scarier, and Luke took a slight step back, ankle hitting the wall behind him. Sylar advanced on him, predatory and grinning like a wolf as he nudged a knee between Luke’s legs, clad in his usual baggy jeans. Luke’s demeanor changed slightly, sudden arousal infused with the terror.
“Seriously?” he exhaled with a shaky laugh, looking over Sylar’s shoulder at the bathroom door. “Here?”
Sylar narrowed his eyes slightly and smiled wider, leaning in ever so slowly.
“So,” he exhaled against Luke’s neck, “how long have you been doing this?”
“D-doing what?”
“Dressing like this.”
Luke swallowed hard as Sylar’s stubble scratched against the sensitive skin of his neck. “I did it for like a week in high school and got beat up.”
“That’s a shame,” Sylar murmured, fingers tracing firm lines up Luke’s thighs. “I’m sure you’d have been the proud owner of a corset and a pair of bondage pants by now.”
“Shut up,” Luke exhaled, all conviction gone from his voice as his head fell back, hitting against the tile of the wall with a dull thud. The bass of the music still pounded through the walls, pumping relentlessly against his shoulder blades and setting the pace of his heartbeat. “So this gets you all hot and bothered, huh?”
“Apparently,” Sylar grinned as he slid to his knees, slipping a hand under Luke’s t-shirt, biting gently at the area of skin he’d exposed. He pushed the thin fabric up further, running his hands up Luke’s sides, across the soft expanse of his stomach. In his exploration, he felt a strange set of ridges on the edge of the boy’s jeans. He heard a sharp intake of breath and became momentarily distracted, looking up at Luke. But the teen’s eyes were fixated on Sylar’s hand and the scars his fingertips touched. The older man’s eyebrows pulled in, consternation evident as he tugged down Luke’s pants just far enough to see the full expanse of the scars. They were thin, but concentrated, and there were far too many of them. Luke’s breathing had become shallow, cheeks lightly pink.
“What are y-you doing?”
Sylar ignored the question. He’d been with Luke on more than one occasion, but their trysts were frenzied, driven by long overdue need and fumbling desire, desperate hands in the back seats of stolen cars. It was easy to believe he could have missed this; a reminder of the pain Luke could only take out on himself.
“You did this,” Sylar breathed. It wasn’t a question. Luke said nothing. He seemed afraid that he’d wronged Sylar in some way, that he had earned punishment for this weakness.
“It was a… a really long time ago…” Indeed, the scars looked at least a year old. But Sylar wasn’t concerned about the past. He straightened, holding Luke’s gaze as he gripped the youth’s jaw, gentle and possessive.
“I want to give you one.” Sylar’s hand still lingered on Luke’s hip, tracing circles over the ridged area with his thumb. Luke’s eyes widened briefly, but after a short while he nodded slowly. Sylar tugged Luke’s t-shirt over his head, his arms awkwardly waving in the air as he finished pulling it off. The man stood back, admiring the pale, soft canvas at his disposal. Luke’s head was bowed, eyes shut tight, lips parted and shaking ever so slightly. His shoulders were flat against the wall, black nails barely scraping against the wall behind him in anticipation of the pain.
Suddenly, the door opened with a bang, music filling the room temporarily. Luke’s head snapped up, glancing fearfully at the stall door, but at the same moment Sylar surged forward, covering Luke’s mouth with his hand and slicing a long cut across his chest with a thought. Luke screamed in surprise and pain, the sound lost in his throat and slowly descending into quieter cries as gasps against the barrier.
“Shhhh,” Sylar hissed against his ear, pinning Luke’s writhing body against the wall as they waited for their guest to leave. The man’s weight against his chest only made it hurt more and he tried to cry out, to push away, but he was met with resistance at every attempt. A wet warmth spread across his chest and he started to feel a little dizzy from the lack of blood in his brain.
The bass flooded the room once more and vanished again with a dull thud.
Luke sucked in a greedy gasp of air as Sylar removed his hand, only to have the breath hitch in his chest as the man slid gracefully to his knees, lips ghosting over Luke’s body the whole way down. He was drawing in desperate, shuddering breaths, in slight panic at the size of the cut.
“Relax,” Sylar purred, nibbling and kissing the exposed flesh of his stomach. “It’s a surface wound.” Even so, the blood was trickling down over his skin, the copper scent of it hitting the air like fireworks. Sylar repressed a growl and moved his hand up into the slow stream, smearing red cross Luke’s abdomen.
“H-holy shit,” Luke gasped, voice an octave higher than usual. He wasn’t sure if he was terrified or insanely horny, but guessed it was probably both. He absently reached for Sylar, one fist bunching in the shoulder of his shirt as the killer tugged his belt-free pants down. Adrenaline and arousal mixed in his blood like a cocktail at the sensation of Sylar’s lips on his cock. “Didn’t… ah… really figure you for…”
“Shut up,” Sylar grinned, dragging the boy’s hips forward, causing him to slide down the wall considerably. He took Luke fully into his mouth at an agonizing pace, enjoying the long, drawn-out whimper that emanated from above. He knew that with the level of stimulation Luke had been exposed to that he wouldn’t last long, but still he continued steadily, relentlessly, driving him insane with every subtle flick of his tongue. The little noises that greeted his ears, like the scratch of fingernails against the wall and the poorly stifled moans.
“Shi-it, Sylar, nng--” Luke’s hips jerked forward as he came, Sylar pinning his waist firmly to the wall as he swallowed as quickly as possible. Letting the slender, soft length slide free and planting one final kiss on the criss-crossed patch of scars, Sylar stood, carefully pulling the teen’s pants back up. He cast around for a moment before spotting the black t-shirt caught on the stall door handle. He retrieved it and handed it back to Luke, who looked for all the world like a spent, sweaty, boneless and bleeding mess. Sylar smirked as he struggled to put the shirt back on.
“Ready to head back?”
Luke nodded tiredly. “You might have to carry me, my legs don’t wanna go.”
“You’d better find that energy again before we get back to the hotel,” Sylar growled happily, pulling Luke against his side and flinging the stall door open.