WHY DOES EVERYTHING I LOVE DIE
...LIKE THIS WHOLE POST-A-DAY THING I HAD GOING ON. Seriously, that was such a good nice little thing there and then I had to go break it. ::sigh::
Title: Being Alive
Characters/Pairing: Petlarrrrrrr.
Set: AU, Peter thinks they're brothers but Sylar knows they're not.
Rating/Warnings: Swearing. Slash. Sex. Also that thing Sylar always seems to do in my fics where he fucks Petey's corpse for a second. And dub/non-con. And something hinting into S&M. Also Peter is flexy. Not that that's a warning.
Summary: Peter gets his powers back.
A/N: It's a bit cracky...written for "Death" at "Themed/Horror." This one totally fits horror and porn. TEMP DEATH FFS.
The first sound in the room is a long groan. Then there’s a bubble of low laughter, and Peter’s odd gasp as his eyes open.
“Sylar,” he chokes out. The word slide off his tongue, sticky with sleep.
Sylar groans again, laughs again. Peter thrashes under his tight grasp, wriggles. His brown eyes dart around the room fearfully, and all he can see through the dark that tells him it must be night is the ceiling. Sylar’s teeth scrape over his neck.
Peter bucks and writhes, but Sylar isn’t moved an inch. He bites, and Peter cries out shallowly. He screams as loud as he can, yells for help, and Sylar chuckles against him.
“Sylar,” he chokes again. “I’m your brother.”
Sylar still grinds his hips into Peter’s own, pulls his mouth away from Peter’s neck to speak. “They lied to us. You’re not.”
Peter’s heart is racing, and Sylar’s hands dance over his skin. Sylar devours his throat again, leaves heavy dark bites that blossom into bruises.
“No,” Peter pleads desperately.
“Yes,” Sylar counters. His hands skim to Peter’s hips, and to the waistband of his boxers. He slips his fingers underneath and tugs them down, throws them aside and pushes his hands back into Peter’s hair as he kisses him.
Peter keeps his mouth closed, and Sylar growls against his lips, bites them. He pulls away and sits up, in a straddling position now, sitting on Peter’s bare thighs with rough jeans. He’s shirtless.
“Kiss me back,” he orders.
Peter shakes his head. “I won’t.” He tugs uselessly again at the telekinetic grasp.
“Kiss me back,” Sylar demands again. He leans down until his face is hovering above Peter’s, holds himself with hands either side of Peter’s shoulders. He brushes their lips together.
Peter closes his eyes tightly, and Sylar kisses him properly again.
He sits up and tugs at the zipper of his jeans, slides them down off his hips.
“Don’t do this,” Peter begs with new-opened eyes.
Sylar grins at him, teeth glinting and eyes shining in the dark. He throws his jeans to the floor, and Peter closes his eyes again.
“I’m going to kill you now, Peter.”
Peter’s eyes fly open and he meets with Sylar’s brown ones. “No, don’t, please. Please.”
It’s funny how his heart races all the faster now there’s the chance it could stop at any moment. Stop forever. There’s no healing for him now, no back-up, no more chances. He is purely and exclusively mortal. He’s human again, he’s human and naked and powerless with a superpowered, indestructible superhuman on top of him. And he just thinks if he does this, then maybe he’ll live. Maybe.
“Because Daddy took your powers?” Sylar growls. “Wrong.”
He leans down and grinds his hard dick against Peter, half-grunts and leaves a startling, marring lovebite on the skin of Peter’s pale chest.
“You still have your powers,” he mutters into the skin. Peter bites back a sob, and Sylar mouths over his nipple, catches it between his teeth.
“If that were true, why would I be here?” Peter demands, and his voice cracks with tears. Sylar licks a path up his chest and neck, and kisses his jaw.
“Because you want this.”
“I don’t.”
“You do,” Sylar says with a smirk. He slides his hand between them and wanders to Peter’s dick, dances his fingers over the hardening flesh. He jerks his wrist, and Peter bucks automatically, arches into the touch and blushes a deep red while his eyes fill with tears. “If you really wanted your powers, you’d use them. You. Want. This.”
“I don’t,” the Empath protests.
“You’ll come back when I kill you,” Sylar tells him confidently. “Because you want this.”
“I don’t want this. I’ll just die.”
Sylar’s eyes wander to Peter’s lips as he sits back and shrugs. “Then I’ll fuck you anyway.”
It’s the last thing Peter hears before the world turns black.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Peter gasps awake and his eyes fly open.
He moans as he feels Sylar inside him, and the killer’s hands slip under his back, dig his nails into Peter’s shoulder blades as he thrusts deep.
“Knew you wanted this.”
Sylar pulls his weight upright and sits back, moves so he is kneeling, Peter straddling him. He snaps his hips and pushes his nails deeper into Peter’s back, leans forward and bites at his shoulder.
“I’m alive,” Peter mutters. Sylar’s teeth break his skin, and he groans.
Sylar rocks his hips and Peter clenches around him, finds his hands draped over Sylar’s shoulders and sinks his nails into the nape of Sylar’s neck as he lolls his head forward and down. He sees their two bare chests only inches apart, sees his open legs either side of Sylar’s hips and his hard cock brushing Sylar’s stomach.
Sylar rocks again and pulls at Peter, tilts his head up and kisses him, hard. His tongue pushes past Peter’s lips and he smiles as Peter kisses back.
“I’m alive,” Peter says again through the kiss.
“I saved you,” Sylar replies.
Peter lifts his hips and grinds back down, kisses hungrily and nips at Sylar’s lips. His hands creep into the killer’s hair, fingers entangled as he raises himself again to have Sylar thrust up into him.
He breaks the kiss and pants into the side of Sylar’s neck, arches his back to press their chests together and forces Sylar down. The man falls into a laying position, and Peter’s hands snake to pin Sylar’s above his head as he smiles.
Sylar bucks into him, and Peter gives a pornographic moan of pleasure, starts to ride the man as his hair falls across his face. Sylar’s hips and chest are sheened with sweat, and Peter brings his face down to lick it off Sylar’s torso.
He bites up his neck and mouths over the stubbled jaw, finds his lips and kisses them.
“Harder,” he instructs with their lips still pressed together.
“You want this,” Sylar pants as he slams his hips up and meets Peter’s every downward stroke.
“Don’t,” Peter gasps into his mouth with red-bitten lips.
“Your body knows what you want,” Sylar laughs. Peter swaps his grasp and pins Sylar’s wrists with one hand, brings his free one down to jack his cock.
“My body wants to be alive,” Peter contradicts. He thrusts into his fist as well as pushing down onto Sylar’s dick, grunts desperately.
“You want to be alive,” Sylar corrects him.
Peter stumbles for words and it dissolves into a gasp. He bites his lip to hold his breath.
“Yes,” he bursts with closed eyes.
“Yes,” Sylar agrees in heady tones, and he closes his own eyes as Peter clenches tight around him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Peter gabbles. His mouth is suddenly on Sylar’s. “Kill me.”
Sylar roars, and he smashes through Peter’s grip to throw him on the bed, pin him underneath. Peter comes with a yell that Sylar cuts short with his death, and he thrusts into Peter’s corpse for only a second before Peter comes back to life with a scream on his lips.
“Sylar,” he screams.
Sylar smashes their mouths together and kisses him messily, all tongue and teeth. He growls as he comes, Peter audible even throughout.
They curl up together, panting and sweaty and sticky, and Peter's heart is flipping all the faster for it being Sylar.
IS THAT SOME LOVE CREEPING IN AT THE END?! Whatever is becoming of me?!