Ficcageee.
Title: Drowning
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Peter Petrelli x Sylar
Length: 5,132 words
Rating: 15 for swearing
Status: Complete
Warning: Spoilers for end of Series 1, nothing for Series 2, some character death. Gabriel and Sylar are the same person.
It hit again, but Peter dodged again. They were getting closer and closer together - the radioactive burning making his heart speed up faster and faster - Peeeeter… Distraction tactics, how predictable. Sylar strode forwards leisurely and hit him over the head with the pipe yet again, but the pain was nothing compared to the breath that whispered across his cheek. He could tell by Sylar’s squinting at his face he was trying to get inside his head. Good luck, he thought rebelliously, and then almost sniggered - almost - before regaining some remnant of composure and staring forward steadfastly.
Unfortunately, this reform informed him that currently he was being suspended only by the grip of the other man above him. He swore and writhed out of the grip, shot back onto the roof and spun around angrily. Distraction tactics that worked. Peter rolled his eyes and advanced again, the heat slamming into his chest the precise moment his hand pushed into Sylar’s head. He ignored the reknitting of his cells and focused on making the beam of energy precise enough to cut through Sylar’s skin. The other simply laughed and twirled away again, dancing across the rooftop nimbly and turning to look back across to him.
But he wasn’t there.
He felt - heard - Sylar tense immediately. He knew he hated this power almost as much as when he teleported - it provided the mass-murdering supposed immortal killer with no power whatsoever. It gave Peter all the control. Peter quietly sidestepped the metal bulks that were being pushed towards his vague direction frantically. Sylar’s arms were lank and weak beside him as he desperately wrenched pieces of the roof off and hurled them around, trying to find him and stop him before he got too close.
Another thing Peter had wanted to be. Too close. Because Sylar knew as well as Peter did that as soon as Peter got too close he tended to lose the will to fight. But Sylar was predictably stubborn on physical contact, and they never tended to trade physical blows - more likely telekinetic/radioactive ones. I’ve let this go on for much too long, Peter realised as he came closer. I don’t know what you’re thinking anymore. He ran an invisible hand across Sylar’s cheek and the other froze. Once touched, he simply forgot everything and panicked, but Peter restrained him telekinetically. The hand trickled down to the chin again and Peter leaned in closer and kissed him. There was blood and sourness in Sylar’s mouth, but his lips were irresistibly soft and he couldn’t help but wish that the other didn’t bite them as much as he must.
He teleported away before he could see Sylar’s reaction. He missed the other leaning into the kiss rather than away.
“He’s getting more and more desperate to see inside my head,” Peter said with a sigh, ruffling his hair anxiously. “I don’t know what he’s thinking anymore.”
Mohinder was slumped on a sofa, his eyes on his laptop screen. He rarely looked at Peter at all. “If you’re in over your head - ”
Peter snorted sarcastically. “Don’t even go there.”
Mohinder rolled his eyes. “You’re only meant to ensnare, not aggravate. We don’t need World War Three on our hands, courtesy of a certain radioactive Sylar.”
“If we’re going to start listing off faults shall we mention the way that he walked out of the high-security prison that you designed?” he teased.
Mohinder glared at him. “Don’t start that again. We controlled him.”
Peter laughed. “I controlled him.” He walked over to the window and gazed out momentarily. “We both know that with him aggravate is the same as ensnare.” And whatever you did by kissing him won’t have helped, either.
He was glad for a moment that Mohinder couldn’t hear his thoughts. “I’ve just given him false information that there’s a pyrokinetic in Alabama, so he should be heading off that way if you want to get a head-start.”
Peter groaned. “Remind me exactly why I can’t just beat the crap out of him and kill the bastard?”
Mohinder rolled his eyes. “Because The Company want him alive. I’m following orders.”
Peter sighed and ruffled his hair. “Yeah. I know. Orders. I should probably try it sometime.” He looked warily across at Mohinder for a moment. “There isn’t really a pyrokinetic in Alabama, is there?”
“The use of the word false in my previous statement would suffice from further explanation, I believe,” Mohinder muttered as he typed.
Peter grunted. “The last thing we need is him getting pyrokinesis too.” The phone began to bzzzt against Mohinder’s desk - always on silent, though Peter had always thought this actually more annoying than a ringtone. He looked at the other who hadn’t ceased in typing. “More orders?”
Mohinder shook his head, flipping the lid down. “Nope. Just spoke to our representative.” Peter snorted at the word. “Don’t get cocky with me, you know I can’t name names.” He flipped open the phone. “Yeah?” He strolled over beside Peter and leant on the windowsill, head falling back against the glass, expression melodramatically bored which had Peter giggling. “Yeah, he’s just come back. No. Well, I know that’s a little unorthodox - ” Peter began to get bored and wandered back to Mohinder’s laptop, booting up and typing the password easily. Mohinder glared at him but he winked and began flicking through maps to Alabama. The sudden cessation in Mohinder’s less than eloquent replies attracted his attention, and Mohinder’s horrified expression confirmed the instinctive lump in his throat to have some backing. He shot up from the sofa as Mohinder clicked the phone to.
“Who did he kill?” Peter asked quietly. He never knew with Sylar whether to expect someone ordinary or extraordinary - his patterns weren’t patterns. The man was a maniac.
“Matt.” Mohinder slumped down on the sofa. “He got to Matt.”
Peter felt utterly numb. “How did he get to Matt?! Was that your lax security too?!”
“Don’t start blaming me, Peter! I only do what I’m told!” Mohinder’s eyes were glittering dangerously.
“And with that you just lost the right to speak to me,” he spat angrily. Mohinder started up as Peter turned away.
“Peter, please don’t go after him! Peter!” Time and space shimmered as Peter teleported and Mohinder fell back onto the sofa with his head in his hands.
Megalomaniac. Completely insane. Peter stared up at the church and couldn’t help but agree. Wanting to meet in a church… well, with a name like Gabriel the man was going to have some religious background. And if not, from what The Company had told him of his background a name like Gabriel would certainly have helped his utter obsession to become someone special. He had found the message to come meet here daubed in one of his friend’s blood across the wall. He shrugged and strolled inside leisurely, ignoring what he’d dubbed the Mohinder voice in his head which told him to listen to orders. I haven’t had any orders, he snapped, and glanced around. Sylar was sitting near the front, his eyes transfixed on the large crucifix in the centre of the altar. He slid into a pew near the back, his eyes staring up to the ceiling.
Good of you to join me, Peter.
Glad to be here. The fact they could now have this sort of conversation intensified the deep hatred that had been churning inside his stomach. His friend had died just because Sylar had wanted to look inside his head. I approve of your meeting place, by the way.
Why?
You can’t kill me in a church. Peter’s eyes widened as from the distance Sylar’s shoulders appeared to heave once in mirth.
I can’t kiss you in a church either. If the thought had been voiced it would have been barely a whisper - Peter almost missed it, but the implications of it made him shudder. Whether it was with delight or disgust or some other word beginning with d he decided he wouldn’t ever know. He decided he didn’t want to. I can’t fuck you in a church.
Peter literally choked, having to turn it into a cough. That had been entirely too close to what he had been thinking about as he stared at Sylar’s head. The other got up and began to edge along the pew towards the vestry. Where are you going?
Away from you.
Why? He hadn’t expected an answer, and was already on his feet and moving after him when he sent the message. The door to the vestry clicked shut and Peter glanced around once before opening the door and slipping inside.
Hands wrenched around the sides of his face and his breath was stolen by another mouth and before he could even think otherwise he pushed back angrily. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be sweet and loving and Gabriel, not angry and full of hate and Sylar. This wasn’t the way he’d wanted to kiss him. But this was the way they were kissing and hell, if it didn’t stop he was fine with that. This is why, he added quietly as his tongue shoved forwards. I don’t want to do this but I am.
Join the fucking club. Peter gasped terribly as Sylar bit angrily on his neck. Just don’t you even fucking think about stopping that.
Wouldn’t dream of it, he muttered sullenly, tongue pressing against his Adam’s apple. Peter heard himself whine and suddenly began to panic. I don’t want this… he doesn’t want this… I’m disobeying The Company… Fuck The Company, Sylar snarled.
You still don’t want this, Peter thought quietly. The pause that Sylar took to respond was confirmation enough and he teleported away before the other could pull him too close again.
Mohinder freaked, but Peter couldn’t be bothered to patch things up right now. He just watched the other rant for a while before muttering that he was “going out” and slumping out of the door, despite Mohinder insisting that if he left then he wasn’t coming back. They both knew that he would, in the end.
He really hated being up here, but it was the place where he could truly think. Claude hadn’t come back for his birds, so he’d started letting them out once a day. They’d always come back - even though the first time he’d been terrified that they’d be as fickle as their former master and would never return. Still. He flicked open the doors and walked back out to the ledge, which he leant over and saw the height. He wondered whether he’d like to fall off just to feel those few seconds of utter, terrified exhilaration, but knew that he’d only hate himself for dragging himself back into life again. It was foolish, stupid and something that most people would generally disapprove of. He wasn’t doing much to persuade himself not to do it. His phone began to buzz in his pocket and, more annoyed at himself than anyone else he flipped it open.
“Peter, I’m sorry.”
Peter chuckled softly. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have shouted.”
“You’re on the roof.” Mohinder knew him too well by now. He grunted nonchalantly. “Come… go home when you’re ready. I’ll get you out of shit for a while.”
“’Night,” he muttered, but Mohinder had already hung up on him. He let his head hang forward and the ground suddenly looked rather inviting again.
It would be rather inconvenient if you did jump, you know. Peter jumped and whirled, but Sylar was stroking one of the birds, a soft croon in his throat.
Why? The repetition of his previous question made him blush rather violently and look aside for a moment. Sylar grinned maliciously at him, a mental tug jolting his feet towards him - although Peter didn’t exactly protest. You don’t know how incredible it is, he thought quietly. It feels amazing.
Standing unbearably close, Sylar’s lips whispered across his neck, no space to stop him, hands trembling on his waist. It must hurt.
Yeah. But it’s worth the pain. He gasped gently at the lips that were hovering on his neck.
Am I? The hands clamped tighter on his hips.
Peter groaned. Oh, God…
Believe me, there’s no help. I’ve tried so hard. Peter forced himself to look directly at the other, who stared back just as calmly. You’re on your own. No. Peter tugged him closer and wrapped his hands around his face. I’m not. He thought intently of his flat, hands clamped on Sylar’s upper arm, and teleported them there.
The instant he arrived something sharp and cold and painful pierced his stomach. He felt blood trickle down his cheek and looked up, his eyes unfocusing as blackness began to take over his vision. He vaguely felt Sylar panic beside him before the familiar death took him away again.
The pain was still horribly intense as he was dragged back into consciousness. Sylar was crouching beside him, hands whispering across his chest, eyes large and glittering as he waited for Peter to regenerate. As soon as he heard Peter’s first ragged cough he pulled him up. “Fuck, Peter,” he gasped. “I can’t stand the noise…” Peter pushed him away, scrabbling up against the wall. He took in deep breaths, searching around for the weapon Sylar had used on him. There isn’t one. I froze the water in the atmosphere to make a sword. It melted. He gestured to a puddle beside him on the floor.
Why…? Peter was still painfully pressing against the wall, trying to get away.
When my Mom died. I heard it. When I… when Hiro… he… just before he… Sylar breathed for a moment, scowling, his face turned away.
Peter felt himself begin to calm down. Okay. It’s okay. You just panicked. Even the best of us do that from time to time. Just try not to kill me next time, okay? He reached out and pulled him closer, kissing him again. He felt Sylar begin to calm down underneath him, a rush of shuddering breath followed by his head falling onto his shoulder. Both of them jumped when his phone went off in his pocket, and he groaned softly, fishing in his trouser pocket for it and flipping it open. Following orders, he said quietly as he flipped open the phone. A Company agent is never to ignore his phone.
Sylar glared at him, hands ghosting down his back as he turned away and placed it to his ear. “Peter, where are you?!”
Sylar crept up behind him and started to kiss the back of his neck. Peter shuddered softly and let his head fall back against the other’s shoulder. “At the flat, why?”
“Sylar’s here!” Mohinder sounded positively freaked.
Peter stifled a giggle as Sylar nipped the back of his neck. He felt a tad too hysterical. “Oh. Should I keep an eye out?”
“Our sources said that he went to the roof!” Peter pushed him away, walking towards the window and looking around worriedly.
“Do they know where he is now?” I think they might have followed us, he thought quietly to Sylar, who was beginning to ache with anger at Peter for pushing him away.
“No, they lost track of him after that.” The relief was almost painful. He let his head fall forwards as he leant on the sill with one hand.
“I’ll keep an eye out,” he said confidently, intent on finishing the conversation as soon as possible.
“Peter?” Mohinder said quietly.
“Hmm?” he muttered, distracted by the way that Sylar’s hands were beginning to worm back below his waist.
“Just be careful.” Before he could think of the full implications of this Sylar had torn the mobile away, thrown it across the room and kissed him angrily.
No one but me. Think of no one but me! He groaned softly as hands returned to his waist and began to tear off his trousers angrily. You’re MINE! The mental blow sent him careering into the wall and he slammed into it with unquestionable force, but he wrenched himself off and ran across the room to crash their mouths together again.
“Sylar…” he whispered, but the mouth returned to his neck and nipped at him angrily.
No. Don’t think. Please don’t think. The mouth pressed against his own. He didn’t speak again.
Sylar’s face was pressed into the pillow. Peter propped onto one arm, smiling softly. He reached forwards and kissed the back of Sylar’s neck. Go away. Peter laughed gently. Sylar wriggled slightly and groaned. God, I’ve never been this sore. Peter kissed his neck again, hands stroking soothingly down his back. His fingers dug gently into the small of his back, and underneath him Sylar shuddered. I hate you. Peter kissed his neck again, lips twitching slightly.
His phone rang again. “Sorry,” Peter yawned, scrambling over Sylar to where his phone lay on the other side of the bed. Sylar buried his face further in the pillow to escape the ‘terrible’ noise. With another kiss to his back he flipped open the phone. “Yup?” he yawned, rolling onto his back. He hadn’t bothered to see who was calling, and when the tone was anything but the soft Indian’s he’d been expecting he sat up again.
“Peter, what are you doing?” His mother was still as cold as hell even over the phone.
“Right now?” he said quietly, running a hand down Sylar’s spine.
“You know what I mean. Don’t you think you could have been a little less promiscuous?” His hand wavered on Sylar’s back as he sat upright, swivelling his legs off the bed.
“Shut up,” he said quietly.
His mother was not at all upset at his address; it was commonplace. She sighed in a rush of static. “Do you have any idea of the trouble I’ve - never mind. I don’t suppose you’ll ever change.”
“I’m not Nathan, Mom.”
He could imagine her lip curling from just her voice. “And you never will be,” she snapped and hung up. Peter stared at the phone for a moment before putting it beside him with a long sigh. His head fell gently forwards onto his hands and he felt a hand run up his back.
He massaged the tip of his nose with his fingers. “Sorry to wake you up,” he muttered.
I couldn’t sleep anyway. Lips brushed his back gently.
Peter smiled as his head fell back against the other’s shoulder. And you call me insatiable.
Dream on. I’m too sleepy. A hand wrapped around his chest and pulled him down again. He let the air fall out of him as his back hit the mattress. Don’t think about anything and just sleep, okay? Your bitching keeps me awake, it’s like a cacophony in my head. The last was almost an afterthought, as if to justify it was about his comfort and not because he cared. Peter felt a small wrench that he still felt it was necessary.
Fine, he grumbled teasingly. He looked at him once, peeking through just-closed eyes. He wondered for a moment whether he’d still be there once he woke up, but dismissed it instantly and closed his eyes again.
It was the shaking that woke him, terrible tremors accompanied by wracking shivers. He forced his eyes open and flicked on the light, turning over. Sylar was on his side but he was shuddering, frowning, whole body quivering. “Sylar?” he took his hand and placed it on his shoulder carefully. He tried to read his thoughts but the other was deeply asleep, captured by this nightmare. “Gabriel?” he whispered softly.
His eyes shot open at the name, but they were glazed. “My name is Sylar!” he yelled and slammed him away, pinning him telekinetically.
“Sylar - ” he whispered softly but the other was too caught in rage to hear him, mind utterly taken by whatever he had been dreaming of. The finger slashed across his throat once and with a shuddering scream he died.
Part 2
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Peter Petrelli x Sylar
Length: 5,132 words
Rating: 15 for swearing
Status: Complete
Warning: Spoilers for end of Series 1, nothing for Series 2, some character death. Gabriel and Sylar are the same person.
It hit again, but Peter dodged again. They were getting closer and closer together - the radioactive burning making his heart speed up faster and faster - Peeeeter… Distraction tactics, how predictable. Sylar strode forwards leisurely and hit him over the head with the pipe yet again, but the pain was nothing compared to the breath that whispered across his cheek. He could tell by Sylar’s squinting at his face he was trying to get inside his head. Good luck, he thought rebelliously, and then almost sniggered - almost - before regaining some remnant of composure and staring forward steadfastly.
Unfortunately, this reform informed him that currently he was being suspended only by the grip of the other man above him. He swore and writhed out of the grip, shot back onto the roof and spun around angrily. Distraction tactics that worked. Peter rolled his eyes and advanced again, the heat slamming into his chest the precise moment his hand pushed into Sylar’s head. He ignored the reknitting of his cells and focused on making the beam of energy precise enough to cut through Sylar’s skin. The other simply laughed and twirled away again, dancing across the rooftop nimbly and turning to look back across to him.
But he wasn’t there.
He felt - heard - Sylar tense immediately. He knew he hated this power almost as much as when he teleported - it provided the mass-murdering supposed immortal killer with no power whatsoever. It gave Peter all the control. Peter quietly sidestepped the metal bulks that were being pushed towards his vague direction frantically. Sylar’s arms were lank and weak beside him as he desperately wrenched pieces of the roof off and hurled them around, trying to find him and stop him before he got too close.
Another thing Peter had wanted to be. Too close. Because Sylar knew as well as Peter did that as soon as Peter got too close he tended to lose the will to fight. But Sylar was predictably stubborn on physical contact, and they never tended to trade physical blows - more likely telekinetic/radioactive ones. I’ve let this go on for much too long, Peter realised as he came closer. I don’t know what you’re thinking anymore. He ran an invisible hand across Sylar’s cheek and the other froze. Once touched, he simply forgot everything and panicked, but Peter restrained him telekinetically. The hand trickled down to the chin again and Peter leaned in closer and kissed him. There was blood and sourness in Sylar’s mouth, but his lips were irresistibly soft and he couldn’t help but wish that the other didn’t bite them as much as he must.
He teleported away before he could see Sylar’s reaction. He missed the other leaning into the kiss rather than away.
“He’s getting more and more desperate to see inside my head,” Peter said with a sigh, ruffling his hair anxiously. “I don’t know what he’s thinking anymore.”
Mohinder was slumped on a sofa, his eyes on his laptop screen. He rarely looked at Peter at all. “If you’re in over your head - ”
Peter snorted sarcastically. “Don’t even go there.”
Mohinder rolled his eyes. “You’re only meant to ensnare, not aggravate. We don’t need World War Three on our hands, courtesy of a certain radioactive Sylar.”
“If we’re going to start listing off faults shall we mention the way that he walked out of the high-security prison that you designed?” he teased.
Mohinder glared at him. “Don’t start that again. We controlled him.”
Peter laughed. “I controlled him.” He walked over to the window and gazed out momentarily. “We both know that with him aggravate is the same as ensnare.” And whatever you did by kissing him won’t have helped, either.
He was glad for a moment that Mohinder couldn’t hear his thoughts. “I’ve just given him false information that there’s a pyrokinetic in Alabama, so he should be heading off that way if you want to get a head-start.”
Peter groaned. “Remind me exactly why I can’t just beat the crap out of him and kill the bastard?”
Mohinder rolled his eyes. “Because The Company want him alive. I’m following orders.”
Peter sighed and ruffled his hair. “Yeah. I know. Orders. I should probably try it sometime.” He looked warily across at Mohinder for a moment. “There isn’t really a pyrokinetic in Alabama, is there?”
“The use of the word false in my previous statement would suffice from further explanation, I believe,” Mohinder muttered as he typed.
Peter grunted. “The last thing we need is him getting pyrokinesis too.” The phone began to bzzzt against Mohinder’s desk - always on silent, though Peter had always thought this actually more annoying than a ringtone. He looked at the other who hadn’t ceased in typing. “More orders?”
Mohinder shook his head, flipping the lid down. “Nope. Just spoke to our representative.” Peter snorted at the word. “Don’t get cocky with me, you know I can’t name names.” He flipped open the phone. “Yeah?” He strolled over beside Peter and leant on the windowsill, head falling back against the glass, expression melodramatically bored which had Peter giggling. “Yeah, he’s just come back. No. Well, I know that’s a little unorthodox - ” Peter began to get bored and wandered back to Mohinder’s laptop, booting up and typing the password easily. Mohinder glared at him but he winked and began flicking through maps to Alabama. The sudden cessation in Mohinder’s less than eloquent replies attracted his attention, and Mohinder’s horrified expression confirmed the instinctive lump in his throat to have some backing. He shot up from the sofa as Mohinder clicked the phone to.
“Who did he kill?” Peter asked quietly. He never knew with Sylar whether to expect someone ordinary or extraordinary - his patterns weren’t patterns. The man was a maniac.
“Matt.” Mohinder slumped down on the sofa. “He got to Matt.”
Peter felt utterly numb. “How did he get to Matt?! Was that your lax security too?!”
“Don’t start blaming me, Peter! I only do what I’m told!” Mohinder’s eyes were glittering dangerously.
“And with that you just lost the right to speak to me,” he spat angrily. Mohinder started up as Peter turned away.
“Peter, please don’t go after him! Peter!” Time and space shimmered as Peter teleported and Mohinder fell back onto the sofa with his head in his hands.
Megalomaniac. Completely insane. Peter stared up at the church and couldn’t help but agree. Wanting to meet in a church… well, with a name like Gabriel the man was going to have some religious background. And if not, from what The Company had told him of his background a name like Gabriel would certainly have helped his utter obsession to become someone special. He had found the message to come meet here daubed in one of his friend’s blood across the wall. He shrugged and strolled inside leisurely, ignoring what he’d dubbed the Mohinder voice in his head which told him to listen to orders. I haven’t had any orders, he snapped, and glanced around. Sylar was sitting near the front, his eyes transfixed on the large crucifix in the centre of the altar. He slid into a pew near the back, his eyes staring up to the ceiling.
Good of you to join me, Peter.
Glad to be here. The fact they could now have this sort of conversation intensified the deep hatred that had been churning inside his stomach. His friend had died just because Sylar had wanted to look inside his head. I approve of your meeting place, by the way.
Why?
You can’t kill me in a church. Peter’s eyes widened as from the distance Sylar’s shoulders appeared to heave once in mirth.
I can’t kiss you in a church either. If the thought had been voiced it would have been barely a whisper - Peter almost missed it, but the implications of it made him shudder. Whether it was with delight or disgust or some other word beginning with d he decided he wouldn’t ever know. He decided he didn’t want to. I can’t fuck you in a church.
Peter literally choked, having to turn it into a cough. That had been entirely too close to what he had been thinking about as he stared at Sylar’s head. The other got up and began to edge along the pew towards the vestry. Where are you going?
Away from you.
Why? He hadn’t expected an answer, and was already on his feet and moving after him when he sent the message. The door to the vestry clicked shut and Peter glanced around once before opening the door and slipping inside.
Hands wrenched around the sides of his face and his breath was stolen by another mouth and before he could even think otherwise he pushed back angrily. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be sweet and loving and Gabriel, not angry and full of hate and Sylar. This wasn’t the way he’d wanted to kiss him. But this was the way they were kissing and hell, if it didn’t stop he was fine with that. This is why, he added quietly as his tongue shoved forwards. I don’t want to do this but I am.
Join the fucking club. Peter gasped terribly as Sylar bit angrily on his neck. Just don’t you even fucking think about stopping that.
Wouldn’t dream of it, he muttered sullenly, tongue pressing against his Adam’s apple. Peter heard himself whine and suddenly began to panic. I don’t want this… he doesn’t want this… I’m disobeying The Company… Fuck The Company, Sylar snarled.
You still don’t want this, Peter thought quietly. The pause that Sylar took to respond was confirmation enough and he teleported away before the other could pull him too close again.
Mohinder freaked, but Peter couldn’t be bothered to patch things up right now. He just watched the other rant for a while before muttering that he was “going out” and slumping out of the door, despite Mohinder insisting that if he left then he wasn’t coming back. They both knew that he would, in the end.
He really hated being up here, but it was the place where he could truly think. Claude hadn’t come back for his birds, so he’d started letting them out once a day. They’d always come back - even though the first time he’d been terrified that they’d be as fickle as their former master and would never return. Still. He flicked open the doors and walked back out to the ledge, which he leant over and saw the height. He wondered whether he’d like to fall off just to feel those few seconds of utter, terrified exhilaration, but knew that he’d only hate himself for dragging himself back into life again. It was foolish, stupid and something that most people would generally disapprove of. He wasn’t doing much to persuade himself not to do it. His phone began to buzz in his pocket and, more annoyed at himself than anyone else he flipped it open.
“Peter, I’m sorry.”
Peter chuckled softly. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have shouted.”
“You’re on the roof.” Mohinder knew him too well by now. He grunted nonchalantly. “Come… go home when you’re ready. I’ll get you out of shit for a while.”
“’Night,” he muttered, but Mohinder had already hung up on him. He let his head hang forward and the ground suddenly looked rather inviting again.
It would be rather inconvenient if you did jump, you know. Peter jumped and whirled, but Sylar was stroking one of the birds, a soft croon in his throat.
Why? The repetition of his previous question made him blush rather violently and look aside for a moment. Sylar grinned maliciously at him, a mental tug jolting his feet towards him - although Peter didn’t exactly protest. You don’t know how incredible it is, he thought quietly. It feels amazing.
Standing unbearably close, Sylar’s lips whispered across his neck, no space to stop him, hands trembling on his waist. It must hurt.
Yeah. But it’s worth the pain. He gasped gently at the lips that were hovering on his neck.
Am I? The hands clamped tighter on his hips.
Peter groaned. Oh, God…
Believe me, there’s no help. I’ve tried so hard. Peter forced himself to look directly at the other, who stared back just as calmly. You’re on your own. No. Peter tugged him closer and wrapped his hands around his face. I’m not. He thought intently of his flat, hands clamped on Sylar’s upper arm, and teleported them there.
The instant he arrived something sharp and cold and painful pierced his stomach. He felt blood trickle down his cheek and looked up, his eyes unfocusing as blackness began to take over his vision. He vaguely felt Sylar panic beside him before the familiar death took him away again.
The pain was still horribly intense as he was dragged back into consciousness. Sylar was crouching beside him, hands whispering across his chest, eyes large and glittering as he waited for Peter to regenerate. As soon as he heard Peter’s first ragged cough he pulled him up. “Fuck, Peter,” he gasped. “I can’t stand the noise…” Peter pushed him away, scrabbling up against the wall. He took in deep breaths, searching around for the weapon Sylar had used on him. There isn’t one. I froze the water in the atmosphere to make a sword. It melted. He gestured to a puddle beside him on the floor.
Why…? Peter was still painfully pressing against the wall, trying to get away.
When my Mom died. I heard it. When I… when Hiro… he… just before he… Sylar breathed for a moment, scowling, his face turned away.
Peter felt himself begin to calm down. Okay. It’s okay. You just panicked. Even the best of us do that from time to time. Just try not to kill me next time, okay? He reached out and pulled him closer, kissing him again. He felt Sylar begin to calm down underneath him, a rush of shuddering breath followed by his head falling onto his shoulder. Both of them jumped when his phone went off in his pocket, and he groaned softly, fishing in his trouser pocket for it and flipping it open. Following orders, he said quietly as he flipped open the phone. A Company agent is never to ignore his phone.
Sylar glared at him, hands ghosting down his back as he turned away and placed it to his ear. “Peter, where are you?!”
Sylar crept up behind him and started to kiss the back of his neck. Peter shuddered softly and let his head fall back against the other’s shoulder. “At the flat, why?”
“Sylar’s here!” Mohinder sounded positively freaked.
Peter stifled a giggle as Sylar nipped the back of his neck. He felt a tad too hysterical. “Oh. Should I keep an eye out?”
“Our sources said that he went to the roof!” Peter pushed him away, walking towards the window and looking around worriedly.
“Do they know where he is now?” I think they might have followed us, he thought quietly to Sylar, who was beginning to ache with anger at Peter for pushing him away.
“No, they lost track of him after that.” The relief was almost painful. He let his head fall forwards as he leant on the sill with one hand.
“I’ll keep an eye out,” he said confidently, intent on finishing the conversation as soon as possible.
“Peter?” Mohinder said quietly.
“Hmm?” he muttered, distracted by the way that Sylar’s hands were beginning to worm back below his waist.
“Just be careful.” Before he could think of the full implications of this Sylar had torn the mobile away, thrown it across the room and kissed him angrily.
No one but me. Think of no one but me! He groaned softly as hands returned to his waist and began to tear off his trousers angrily. You’re MINE! The mental blow sent him careering into the wall and he slammed into it with unquestionable force, but he wrenched himself off and ran across the room to crash their mouths together again.
“Sylar…” he whispered, but the mouth returned to his neck and nipped at him angrily.
No. Don’t think. Please don’t think. The mouth pressed against his own. He didn’t speak again.
Sylar’s face was pressed into the pillow. Peter propped onto one arm, smiling softly. He reached forwards and kissed the back of Sylar’s neck. Go away. Peter laughed gently. Sylar wriggled slightly and groaned. God, I’ve never been this sore. Peter kissed his neck again, hands stroking soothingly down his back. His fingers dug gently into the small of his back, and underneath him Sylar shuddered. I hate you. Peter kissed his neck again, lips twitching slightly.
His phone rang again. “Sorry,” Peter yawned, scrambling over Sylar to where his phone lay on the other side of the bed. Sylar buried his face further in the pillow to escape the ‘terrible’ noise. With another kiss to his back he flipped open the phone. “Yup?” he yawned, rolling onto his back. He hadn’t bothered to see who was calling, and when the tone was anything but the soft Indian’s he’d been expecting he sat up again.
“Peter, what are you doing?” His mother was still as cold as hell even over the phone.
“Right now?” he said quietly, running a hand down Sylar’s spine.
“You know what I mean. Don’t you think you could have been a little less promiscuous?” His hand wavered on Sylar’s back as he sat upright, swivelling his legs off the bed.
“Shut up,” he said quietly.
His mother was not at all upset at his address; it was commonplace. She sighed in a rush of static. “Do you have any idea of the trouble I’ve - never mind. I don’t suppose you’ll ever change.”
“I’m not Nathan, Mom.”
He could imagine her lip curling from just her voice. “And you never will be,” she snapped and hung up. Peter stared at the phone for a moment before putting it beside him with a long sigh. His head fell gently forwards onto his hands and he felt a hand run up his back.
He massaged the tip of his nose with his fingers. “Sorry to wake you up,” he muttered.
I couldn’t sleep anyway. Lips brushed his back gently.
Peter smiled as his head fell back against the other’s shoulder. And you call me insatiable.
Dream on. I’m too sleepy. A hand wrapped around his chest and pulled him down again. He let the air fall out of him as his back hit the mattress. Don’t think about anything and just sleep, okay? Your bitching keeps me awake, it’s like a cacophony in my head. The last was almost an afterthought, as if to justify it was about his comfort and not because he cared. Peter felt a small wrench that he still felt it was necessary.
Fine, he grumbled teasingly. He looked at him once, peeking through just-closed eyes. He wondered for a moment whether he’d still be there once he woke up, but dismissed it instantly and closed his eyes again.
It was the shaking that woke him, terrible tremors accompanied by wracking shivers. He forced his eyes open and flicked on the light, turning over. Sylar was on his side but he was shuddering, frowning, whole body quivering. “Sylar?” he took his hand and placed it on his shoulder carefully. He tried to read his thoughts but the other was deeply asleep, captured by this nightmare. “Gabriel?” he whispered softly.
His eyes shot open at the name, but they were glazed. “My name is Sylar!” he yelled and slammed him away, pinning him telekinetically.
“Sylar - ” he whispered softly but the other was too caught in rage to hear him, mind utterly taken by whatever he had been dreaming of. The finger slashed across his throat once and with a shuddering scream he died.
Part 2