Heroes fic--Hiding of All Kinds
Title: Hiding of All Kinds
Summary: Sylar pisses Peter off and reaps what he soes, but it's a thin line between punishment and reward.
Rating: NC-17/R, whatever you wanna call it.
AN: This takes place after all my December fic a day fics...some point after those...anyhoo--it is a part of the Settled World Verse and it's full of smut. Enjoy!
3rd Person POV
Sylar felt like prey, not something he felt often. At the moment he was hiding, rather unsucessfully, in the laundry room in hopes that Peter wouldn't find him. So far he'd been found by a blond teeny-bopper and an old couple. Gabriel had been absolutely delighted when he realised the woman was carrying lights and the man had been carrying darks. But Sylar shoved Gabriel back down so he could focus on the task at hand; avoiding Peter. He was sitting with his knees to his chin in the gap made by the corner and two rows of machines. There was something sticky on the wall behind him and the free floating lent bothered his eyes, but he refused to find a new hiding place.
"Oh, excuse me young man. Young man?"
Sylar took a deep breath and put on a smile for the old woman.
"Ma'am?"
She smiled and Sylar caught a glimpse of well crafted dentures before she started speaking again.
"I'm sorry for bothering you, but are you living with that charming nurse with dark hair?"
Sylar nodded and brought his legs down and crossed them. Gabriel was constantly reminding him to look 'more open'. Above him the old woman smiled and tittered about, finishing up her laundry with her husband. After measuring out some soap flakes she spoke up over the whir of the machines.
"I think you two are just lovely together. I have a gay grandson you know. Live and let live I say. I was with three other men before settling down with Harold. That was like a hundred back then you know."
Sylar dithered and fought the urge to visualise that particular image. He heard Harold shush his wife before he settled into one of the available chairs.
He's wearing a nice cardigan. I've always wanted a brown one but I'm worried I'll look too much like Martin.
Sylar hummed to himself, relativly happy that Gabriel at least drew a line at brown cardigans. Then the old woman spoke up again. She was chattering away to the basement at large about her scandalous love life and whirl-wind romances. Sylar found it odd that she didn't seem preturbed by the fact that her audience consisted of one dosing husband, one mad man, and an army of lent bunnies.
Tell me my monolouges never went like this.
...I'm not going to lie to you Sylar.
So?
So, that being said, I just won't say anything.
Sylar dithered again and curled back into himself.
"Oh lordy, and the virginity scandal! My word--"
I'm out.
Sylar nodded to Harold as he left and dodged through the lower level hallways. He kept an eye out for Peter, who was on the hunt. Earlier in the day Sylar had spotted Peter chatting with Hesam and some other EMT's on a streetcorner. So naturally, when the traffic thinned he whistled and yelled cat calls at Peter. The look on Peter's face had made it worth it, the anger that came after it...not so much. Apperantly Peter and Hesam were chatting with representatives from the hospital about 'special' work rights.
Sylar had quickly realised his mistake, but the damage had been done. An hour earlier Peter had stormed into the apartment and made his anger known. Sylar managed to skirt around him and flea into the hallway before sustaining injury. He still wasn't quite ready to return.
Personally, I think he's blowing this out of proportion.
You yelled 'Shake that fine ass' and then managed to work in something about him wearing panties. He has every right to be angry.
I didn't know who he was with.
Ignorance is no excuse Sylar.
Sylar got so lost in his internal conversation that he didn't notice the figure at the foot of the stairs. He stopped when scuffed black uniform shoes came into his field of vision. He knew that scuff and by association, he knew those toes. Peter was standing in front of him at the foot of the stairs. Sylar threw an arm up and pointed somewhere behind Peter and took off in the opposite direction, running like a mad man. But before he could escape to the safety of the elevator a strong telekenetic grip wound around his chest.
He refused to scream like a little girl as he was dragged up the stairs by his ankles, but he did cover his face to hide his embarassment. To his horror he spotted the delicate and tanned ankles of the teeny-bopper who'd come down for laundry earlier. Although he was quite happy in his relationship, being embarassed in front of a pretty girl still stung as much as it had in high school.
Seven flights of stairs, and several stares later, Peter was swinging their front door open and dragging Sylar inside. He was dumped carelessly on the entry way floor and left there long enough for Peter to kick off his shoes and yank off Sylars. Then Peter seized Sylar by the back of his collar and drug him into the bedroom.
"If you aren't naked and it that bed by the time I come out of the bathroom, you and me are going to have problems."
The nurse stormed off in the direction of the bathroom and Sylar seriously considered running again.
I wouldn't do that if I were you. He seems really angry this time Sylar.
Hush you! Since when do I take your advice anyway?
Fine, leave. I don't care. That just means I'll be the one having sex with Peter while you pout in the back of our head
I do not pout.
You can't hide what's inside.
Before Sylar could retort he heard the bathroom door open again. Sylar quickly pulled his shirt up and off before flopping back against the matress to struggle out of his jeans. In an effort to fling the jeans off from around his ankles he gave a frantic kick in conjunction with an awkward fish like flop. His jeans hit the floor just as Peter crossed the threshold. When Sylar caught the thinly veiled aggitation on Peter's face he thanked higher powers that he hadn't had time to put on socks before running away earlier.
"You don't think do you? You just do things. Whatever crosses your mind is fair game isn't it? You need to learn to act right or face the concequenses."
Sylar gulped at Peter's imposing form and worked his way further up the bed, only to be yanked back down by Peter. His ankles were tossed over Peter's shoulders. Sylar wound his fingers into the bedspread. He had been mildly frightened at the start, but it had been a while since he'd been reamed into the matress and he missed it. He almost sighed in relief when he felt Peter's spit splash across his ass.
Above him Peter tightened the fingers of one hand into a pale thigh and used his other hand to guide himself into Sylar. His breath eased out through his clenched teeth as he pushed forward, revaling in the burn of friction. Sylar groaned and squirmed beneath him, fighting the urge to fight the burn and lash out. He grit his teeth and tried to force himself down on Peter, but the position left him with little leverage.
Stop it! You humiliated me. This isn't about you.
Peter dug his fingernails into the tender flesh of Sylar's calves and surged forward again. Grudgingly, Sylar submitted and stilled. He focused his gaze on Peter's tense, pinkened face. His eyes trailed a single drop of sweat trailing from his hairline to his chin.
"Fucking gorgeous."
Peter grunted in response and pulled slowly out of Sylar. He licks his lip and slams in again, taking pride in the jolt that shakes through Sylar's frame. He works himself into a frenzied pace, pushing so hard and fast that the bedframe clanged into that wall and dented it. The constant clang, clang, clang against the wall and the groan of the bedsprings roared out into the room and built into a cresendo. Peter threw his head back, mindful of Sylar's ankles, and panted and groaned to the ceiling.
On the bed Sylar was lost in a different world. His ears were deaf to the thunder of the bed; all he could hear was Peter's strained pants and the harsh smacking noise that sounded each time his hips slammed forward. He grit his teeth and clenched his fingers desperatly into the sheets, trying to brace himself better against the jarring slams that rocked his frame and tore him apart inside.
Peter dug his nails deeper into Sylar's legs, keeping the wounds open with the constant pressure. He turned his face to the side and licked a thin trail of blood that leaked out from under his nails. His tongue lingered there for just a moment before the lick turned to a bite. His pace began to falter as Sylar's body churned and clenched around him because of regeneration. Peter slid a hand down to Sylar's hip and held tight. He forced himself to keep pace and hold back his orgasm. He wanted Sylar to feel this.
He lets Sylar's ankles slide from his shoulders and and braces his palms against Sylar's hips, pinning him to the bed. His body bows forward and his head drops to focus down on Sylar's bellybutton. He gets caught up in the rhythmic clenches and spasms that work across Sylar's belly in tune with his own rough thrusts. His toes curled against the carpet and constant sting in his hips begged him to stop, but he wasn't ready. His eyes flickered to Sylar's face and took it all in.
He looked entirely debauced. His hair was a tangled, sweaty mess wrapped around his face. His cheeks were red and drool shone on his chin in the dim lighting. His eyes were glazed over; Peter knew that meant he was too blissed out to be coherent. His chest was heaving and his finger nails had torn the sheets beneath them.
The room was dark except for a wide beam of yellow light that came from a security lamp outside. It streaked across the bed and framed Sylar's face. Peter slammed forward and ground his hips in a circle. In reponse Sylar's mouth opened wide and let out a gurgled whine. Peter's mind flashed to an image of a hooker from some overly dramatic B-flick he once saw with Nathan. It stuck with him, made him moan and claw at Sylar's hips.
Sylar caught the stray thought and howled. He twisted his hips up and down, scrambling to get more of Peter. The constant tingle and tightening of regeneration had kept the burn constant, but the blood made the thrusts smoother. He wanted Peter to be rougher. He wanted to be torn apart and taught a lesson. He missed being put in his place by the petite nurse.
"Say it!"
Peter punctuated his demand with a jerky thrust and a telekenetic slash to Sylar's stomach.
"Tell me!"
Sylar moaned pittifully under him, lost in the tingle dancing across his stomach and the nerves sparking inside him. His head thrashed from side to side in chaotic joy.
"TELL ME!"
Peter's scream was harsh and high. It cut through Sylar's endorphin enduced haze and ilicited a nasal keen. Sylar's blissed out brain struggled to piece together what Peter wanted. He was willing to say anything, but he wanted to say something right. He unclenched his fingers from the bedspread and worked them around his, thus negelected, dick. The spike of pleasure cleared away the fog of pain and let Sylar concentrate.
Above him Peter was keeping up a constant mantra of 'say it', 'say it', over and over until the words lost their heat and stumbled out paniced instead. Sylar heard the nasal whine that accompanied the mantra and knew Peter was fighting tears. It clicked.
"I belong to you. I'm--", Sylar's whole body jerked and tensed as he came. The semen painted broken white ribbons across his stomach and chest. Peter's jaw ticked as he fought off thoughts about licking it up. He pulled free and came, groaning through clenched teeth. Sylar watched with hooded eyes as Peter's semen mixed with his own across his stomach.
"Sylar..."
"I'm yours babe. All of me."
Peter let out a sob of relief and collapsed onto the bed partially on top of Sylar. There was a moment of peace, the only sound being their panting breaths. Then Peter gave a swift punch to the center of Sylar's chest.
"Asshole, those guys think I'm a freak now."
Sylar cringed at the punch but didn't retaliate.
"What'd you tell them about me?"
"That you were crazy."
Peter's fingers skimmed across Sylar's stomach, unmindful of the cooling semen there, and curled his fingers around a newly healed hip.
"No really, what'd you say?"
"That you were crazy."
__________________
In case some of you are confused: Peter wasn't quite that angry about the stunt, it was just the straw that broke the camels back. He was pissed in general and took it out on Sylar in some rough sexin. Then he got upset near the end because he feels like sometimes Sylar only treats him like property. Peter just wanted to know that Sylar felt like Peter owned him too.
Hmmm...I feel like I'm being confusing...college is drivin me nuts though. I've got a lot of stuff all due at once and I just started a semester B night speech class. So much craziness, it's sucking all my coherence away. But hey, Sylar took it in the ass this time. Yay~
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