Fic: Turbulence
Something that's not broyay?! I blame Lana and Mac.
Title:Turbulence
Summary: PWP. Sylar and Peter take a plane trip. You know where this is going.
Word count: 1400
Rating: NC-17
Author’s note: for the Advent calendar! (see capn_mactastic for details) Also, for the mission_insane prompt: aeroplane.
“This is a waste of time,” Sylar grumbled. “I don’t see why you couldn’t fly us. Or teleport.”
“Because a visit means more if Claire knows we went to the trouble of actually traveling like, you know, normal people,” Peter explained for the tenth time.
“That’s a stupid reason.”
“Nervous flyer?” A blonde flight attendant leaned over Peter’s chair, giving Sylar a sympathetic smile.
“No,” Sylar snapped. Peter grabbed his hand on the armrest between them and gave it a warning squeeze to remind the killer to be civil.
Unfazed by Sylar’s rudeness, the woman said, “Let me know if you need anything, hon,” and moved off down the aisle.
Peter looked after her, chuckling to himself. This might be the first time he’d heard anyone call Sylar “hon.” He turned back to his lover to say as much, only to see that Sylar had his eyes clenched shut tight. Peter realized his hand was being squeezed in a crushing grip that might require cellular regeneration to recover from.
“You are scared,” he said in wonder.
Sylar’s eyes flew open. “No,” he snapped. To prove it, he looked out the window, where fluffy clouds blocked his view of the ground. With a startled whimper he squeezed his eyes shut again. “I was fine until we took off,” he muttered, expecting Peter to laugh at him. When no laughter came, he risked a peek.
Peter was watching him, concern written in his furrowed brow. “What’s the matter?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know how it works,” Sylar complained, waving his hand to indicate the machinery around them. “I keep expecting us to fall out of the sky.”
Peter regarded him for a moment, and Sylar could almost hear the wheels turning. “I’ll tell you what,” Peter said finally. “When we get back home, I’ll find you an old plane you can take apart, okay?”
“Really?” Sylar brightened. It never ceased to amaze him that Peter would look after him like that.
“Yeah.” Peter leaned in and stole a quick kiss. The plane lurched a little, and Sylar let out another terrified whimper. Peter grabbed his hand again, rubbing his thumb over the smooth skin of Sylar’s wrist. “We should find a way to make the rest of the flight go faster,” he said softly.
“If the next words out of your mouth are, ‘Let’s get headphones and watch The Santa Clause Three; it’s not that bad,’ I’m breaking up with you.”
Peter chuckled, and leaned in close to Sylar’s ear, whispering so softly only he could have heard it. “I had something else in mind.” Peter unbuckled his seatbelt. When Sylar didn’t move, he reached over and pulled his buckle apart as well. “Let’s go.”
Peter bounced out of his seat and took of down the aisle. Sylar had no choice but to follow or be left all alone.
There was a little kitchenette at the back of the plane, currently devoid of flight attendants. Peter was holding open a door.
“You’re joking,” said Sylar.
Peter gifted him with a cheeky, lopsided smile. The plane gave a little shudder. When Sylar turned his head to see what was happening, Peter seized him by the front of his shirt, pulled him into the bathroom, and locked the door behind them.
The room was so small that the two men couldn’t help but stand pressed together. “What are we doing in here?” Sylar asked.
Peter reached behind Sylar to brace his hands against the sink, and claimed his mouth in a playful kiss. “I thought that was obvious.” Peter rubbed his crotch against Sylar’s thigh to illustrate.
“Oh.”
Peter rubbed up against him again, and Sylar could feel the hard ridge of Peter’s cock through his jeans. He took stock of the tiny bathroom doubtfully. “But it’s dirty in here,” he protested weakly.
Peter licked a line across Sylar’s throat up to his ear. “Good thing I’m a dirty boy then, hm?”
That made Sylar’s cock twitch in his pants, and he reached down to capture Peter’s lips. With a smug little “hm,” Peter snaked a hand between their bodies, rubbing Sylar through too many layers of fabric.
Sylar gave a whine of protest when Peter broke the kiss, but Peter ignored him, nuzzling his face against Sylar’s chest, then his belly as he sank to the ground. There wasn’t enough room to kneel properly, so Peter found himself squatting precariously as he rubbed his face against Sylar’s clothed erection. Sylar made an inarticulate noise, grabbing on to Peter’s shoulders and digging his fingers in.
“What was that? Didn’t hear,” Peter teased, pulling back so he could watch Sylar’s face.
“Come on,” Sylar growled.
Relenting, Peter attacked Sylar’s jeans, clawing past buttons and zipper and boxers to get to his prize. First he licked his lips, then he tenderly kissed the tip of Sylar’s cock before pulling back and blowing warm breath delicately onto the wet spot. With a reluctant moan, Sylar let go Peter’s shoulders to grab the edge of the sink behind him.
Peter reached up with one hand to steady himself on Sylar’s hip, and wrapped his other hand around the base of Sylar’s erection, pumping it slowly as he watched frustration turn to anticipation on the killer’s face. He flicked out his tongue to tease the head, tasting the pre-come there. Then swiftly he sucked the head into his mouth, humming in pleasure at Sylar’s swift intake of breath.
Peter grinned around a mouth full of cock. “Yes,” Sylar hissed. His lover was well and truly distracted.
Just then the plane gave a small lurch. Peter lost his balance, falling forward and nearly choking as his throat was invaded. Sylar’s whimper of terror morphed into a moan halfway through as he was engulfed. Peter willed himself to relax, and managed to avoid gagging, instead taking a steadying breath through his nose. He could feel Sylar trembling beneath him, though he wasn’t sure if it was from fear or pleasure.
“You okay?” Sylar rasped.
In answer, Peter swallowed around the cock in his mouth. “Ungh,” said Sylar cleverly. He watched, mesmerized by the motion of Peter’s hair as he bobbed up and down, slurping noisily. Peter hollowed his cheeks, sucking harder, and ran his teeth carefully along the bottom of Sylar’s length.
Sylar’s hips jerked again-he was so close. “Nuh, let me,” he said, pushing Peter back with telekinesis. Peter fell back onto his ass, and Sylar took over, whipping a loose fist up and down his cock at blurring speed.
Peter locked his eyes on Sylar’s face and reached into his pants, unbuttoning his fly with one hand while rubbing desperately with the other, trying to catch up with Sylar. “Let me see you come,” Peter gasped.
Sylar’s face tensed then, his eyes squeezed shut, and Peter thought he’d never looked more beautiful. Peter kept stroking his newly-freed erection, but he waited until Sylar had come down from his peak, until he was looking hungrily down at where Peter was wedged against the floor. Only then did Peter speed up, giving himself the friction he needed to fall over the edge, gasping.
When Peter opened his eyes, Sylar was grinning at him. “Dirty,” Sylar said. It took some tricky maneuvering to get Peter back on his feet, but they managed it. Sylar wet a paper towel and got them both cleaned up with minimal groping.
When Peter opened the door, the blonde flight attendant was standing in the kitchenette, scowling and evidently ready to give a scathing lecture to whoever had been monopolizing the bathroom. She raised an eyebrow when she saw Peter, and her other eyebrow joined the first when she saw Sylar behind him. Her confusion quickly dissolved into amusement, and then appreciation.
Before she could say anything, Peter pulled Sylar back up the aisle to their seats. Sylar collapsed into his chair with a sated grin that meant he would be asleep in seconds. Peter fastened the killer’s seatbelt as his eyelids began to flicker. “Peter?” he muttered sleepily.
“Hm?” Peter asking, brushing his hand against Sylar’s cheek.
“Can we fly back from Texas, too?”
Title:Turbulence
Summary: PWP. Sylar and Peter take a plane trip. You know where this is going.
Word count: 1400
Rating: NC-17
Author’s note: for the Advent calendar! (see capn_mactastic for details) Also, for the mission_insane prompt: aeroplane.
“This is a waste of time,” Sylar grumbled. “I don’t see why you couldn’t fly us. Or teleport.”
“Because a visit means more if Claire knows we went to the trouble of actually traveling like, you know, normal people,” Peter explained for the tenth time.
“That’s a stupid reason.”
“Nervous flyer?” A blonde flight attendant leaned over Peter’s chair, giving Sylar a sympathetic smile.
“No,” Sylar snapped. Peter grabbed his hand on the armrest between them and gave it a warning squeeze to remind the killer to be civil.
Unfazed by Sylar’s rudeness, the woman said, “Let me know if you need anything, hon,” and moved off down the aisle.
Peter looked after her, chuckling to himself. This might be the first time he’d heard anyone call Sylar “hon.” He turned back to his lover to say as much, only to see that Sylar had his eyes clenched shut tight. Peter realized his hand was being squeezed in a crushing grip that might require cellular regeneration to recover from.
“You are scared,” he said in wonder.
Sylar’s eyes flew open. “No,” he snapped. To prove it, he looked out the window, where fluffy clouds blocked his view of the ground. With a startled whimper he squeezed his eyes shut again. “I was fine until we took off,” he muttered, expecting Peter to laugh at him. When no laughter came, he risked a peek.
Peter was watching him, concern written in his furrowed brow. “What’s the matter?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know how it works,” Sylar complained, waving his hand to indicate the machinery around them. “I keep expecting us to fall out of the sky.”
Peter regarded him for a moment, and Sylar could almost hear the wheels turning. “I’ll tell you what,” Peter said finally. “When we get back home, I’ll find you an old plane you can take apart, okay?”
“Really?” Sylar brightened. It never ceased to amaze him that Peter would look after him like that.
“Yeah.” Peter leaned in and stole a quick kiss. The plane lurched a little, and Sylar let out another terrified whimper. Peter grabbed his hand again, rubbing his thumb over the smooth skin of Sylar’s wrist. “We should find a way to make the rest of the flight go faster,” he said softly.
“If the next words out of your mouth are, ‘Let’s get headphones and watch The Santa Clause Three; it’s not that bad,’ I’m breaking up with you.”
Peter chuckled, and leaned in close to Sylar’s ear, whispering so softly only he could have heard it. “I had something else in mind.” Peter unbuckled his seatbelt. When Sylar didn’t move, he reached over and pulled his buckle apart as well. “Let’s go.”
Peter bounced out of his seat and took of down the aisle. Sylar had no choice but to follow or be left all alone.
There was a little kitchenette at the back of the plane, currently devoid of flight attendants. Peter was holding open a door.
“You’re joking,” said Sylar.
Peter gifted him with a cheeky, lopsided smile. The plane gave a little shudder. When Sylar turned his head to see what was happening, Peter seized him by the front of his shirt, pulled him into the bathroom, and locked the door behind them.
The room was so small that the two men couldn’t help but stand pressed together. “What are we doing in here?” Sylar asked.
Peter reached behind Sylar to brace his hands against the sink, and claimed his mouth in a playful kiss. “I thought that was obvious.” Peter rubbed his crotch against Sylar’s thigh to illustrate.
“Oh.”
Peter rubbed up against him again, and Sylar could feel the hard ridge of Peter’s cock through his jeans. He took stock of the tiny bathroom doubtfully. “But it’s dirty in here,” he protested weakly.
Peter licked a line across Sylar’s throat up to his ear. “Good thing I’m a dirty boy then, hm?”
That made Sylar’s cock twitch in his pants, and he reached down to capture Peter’s lips. With a smug little “hm,” Peter snaked a hand between their bodies, rubbing Sylar through too many layers of fabric.
Sylar gave a whine of protest when Peter broke the kiss, but Peter ignored him, nuzzling his face against Sylar’s chest, then his belly as he sank to the ground. There wasn’t enough room to kneel properly, so Peter found himself squatting precariously as he rubbed his face against Sylar’s clothed erection. Sylar made an inarticulate noise, grabbing on to Peter’s shoulders and digging his fingers in.
“What was that? Didn’t hear,” Peter teased, pulling back so he could watch Sylar’s face.
“Come on,” Sylar growled.
Relenting, Peter attacked Sylar’s jeans, clawing past buttons and zipper and boxers to get to his prize. First he licked his lips, then he tenderly kissed the tip of Sylar’s cock before pulling back and blowing warm breath delicately onto the wet spot. With a reluctant moan, Sylar let go Peter’s shoulders to grab the edge of the sink behind him.
Peter reached up with one hand to steady himself on Sylar’s hip, and wrapped his other hand around the base of Sylar’s erection, pumping it slowly as he watched frustration turn to anticipation on the killer’s face. He flicked out his tongue to tease the head, tasting the pre-come there. Then swiftly he sucked the head into his mouth, humming in pleasure at Sylar’s swift intake of breath.
Peter grinned around a mouth full of cock. “Yes,” Sylar hissed. His lover was well and truly distracted.
Just then the plane gave a small lurch. Peter lost his balance, falling forward and nearly choking as his throat was invaded. Sylar’s whimper of terror morphed into a moan halfway through as he was engulfed. Peter willed himself to relax, and managed to avoid gagging, instead taking a steadying breath through his nose. He could feel Sylar trembling beneath him, though he wasn’t sure if it was from fear or pleasure.
“You okay?” Sylar rasped.
In answer, Peter swallowed around the cock in his mouth. “Ungh,” said Sylar cleverly. He watched, mesmerized by the motion of Peter’s hair as he bobbed up and down, slurping noisily. Peter hollowed his cheeks, sucking harder, and ran his teeth carefully along the bottom of Sylar’s length.
Sylar’s hips jerked again-he was so close. “Nuh, let me,” he said, pushing Peter back with telekinesis. Peter fell back onto his ass, and Sylar took over, whipping a loose fist up and down his cock at blurring speed.
Peter locked his eyes on Sylar’s face and reached into his pants, unbuttoning his fly with one hand while rubbing desperately with the other, trying to catch up with Sylar. “Let me see you come,” Peter gasped.
Sylar’s face tensed then, his eyes squeezed shut, and Peter thought he’d never looked more beautiful. Peter kept stroking his newly-freed erection, but he waited until Sylar had come down from his peak, until he was looking hungrily down at where Peter was wedged against the floor. Only then did Peter speed up, giving himself the friction he needed to fall over the edge, gasping.
When Peter opened his eyes, Sylar was grinning at him. “Dirty,” Sylar said. It took some tricky maneuvering to get Peter back on his feet, but they managed it. Sylar wet a paper towel and got them both cleaned up with minimal groping.
When Peter opened the door, the blonde flight attendant was standing in the kitchenette, scowling and evidently ready to give a scathing lecture to whoever had been monopolizing the bathroom. She raised an eyebrow when she saw Peter, and her other eyebrow joined the first when she saw Sylar behind him. Her confusion quickly dissolved into amusement, and then appreciation.
Before she could say anything, Peter pulled Sylar back up the aisle to their seats. Sylar collapsed into his chair with a sated grin that meant he would be asleep in seconds. Peter fastened the killer’s seatbelt as his eyelids began to flicker. “Peter?” he muttered sleepily.
“Hm?” Peter asking, brushing his hand against Sylar’s cheek.
“Can we fly back from Texas, too?”