Endings
Story Info
Title: Endings
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: Heroes
Era: Post season 4, after “Brave New World”
Genre: Erotica, drama
Rating: MA / FRAO
Characters: Peter Petrelli, Sylar
Pairing: Peter/Sylar
Summary: Peter and Sylar experience the end and a beginning together.
Complete.
Written for: Heroes_Contest’s (heroes-contest) final challenge
Warnings: Slash (m/m sex), bits of bad language. Spoilers for the last episode of Heroes.
Beta: Gamebird (game-byrd)
Disclaimer: The show, its characters, the places and everything else belong to Tim Kring, NBC, and the other respective creators and owners of the TV show ‘Heroes’. I have made no profit by writing this story and make no claim over the show.
Feedback: Very much appreciated.
About Endings: My contribution to the last challenge at Heroes_Contest (heroes-contest).
A rather random piece of porn with some hints of plot and a few thoughtful lines.
Story and status: Below you see the writing process of the story. If there is no text after the title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.
Endings
~ ~ ~
Written for Heroes_Contest’s (heroes-contest) final challenge.
Endings
He couldn’t breathe.
Well, okay, that’s a lie; he could breathe, but it’s hard and strained and if he focused on it too much he might lose the thread of pleasure and that just wouldn’t do. So, breathing was secondary - although necessary - and he wished it came easier so that he didn’t need to feel like he’s suffocating but Sylar’s heavy on top of him, pushing against him and every time his ribs shifted and his lungs filled, another shove pushed the air right out of him before he could properly try to absorb it.
“Are you close?”
Sylar didn’t sound much better, out of breath and panting, his hips stuttering, legs shifting, fingers probably burying even deeper into the mattress because it felt like he was jerking on it, trying to find purchase or just something to hold onto.
Peter couldn’t talk; he couldn’t breathe so talking wasn’t really an option. Every sound that escaped him was mostly due to impact of bodies and the air being forced out of him. He nodded, though, because that he could do, and it didn’t take him too far from the edge that kept hovering closer and closer like a teasing carrot.
He wanted to get to it, wanted to cross it and leap into nothing. He knew it would be amazing; it’d been a while since he enjoyed sex this much, got so high on it. This reminded him of his teenage years, when he would get lightheaded from simply jerking himself off. Back when orgasms were incredible and new.
It never got old - how could it? - but priorities in his life changed and sex became rare. Rarer than he had ever thought possible, and wouldn’t that teenage boy look at him in disbelief if he told him how his life would turn out. Well, he might skip the sex altogether to tell that boy what else lay in wait. Sex didn’t get even to… top five of things, maybe not even ten.
Being a hero, being special, it had very little to do with rewards or having a moment with a person you cared about. Mostly you kept losing those people or were too afraid to throw yourself into the deep end of things.
That was before the events in Central Park.
Sylar lowered his head, resting his forehead on Peter’s chest, skull grinding against his left collarbone. He felt every pant of air against his skin, a ghost of a tongue as Sylar wet his lips. As if noticing that too, Sylar bowed his head further and licked the skin, sucking it with a hint of teeth, intent on leaving a mark although it was a random spot and it was disrupting his movements.
“Move,” Peter demanded, trying to shift, to help, to not allow the fine edge of release disappear.
The man on top of him resumed moving, head still dragging along his skin as if it was too heavy for him to lift. Peter pushed one hand up, to the dark hair, tugging at it, holding it, canting his hips up, finding the perfect angle which made him shake and grind up for more.
“Right there,” he managed, a half-whisper, half command for the other man to keep going. “Fuck, yes…” He bit his own lip, eyes closed, legs ready to cramp and they could do it afterwards for all he cared - he was so close.
“Peter,” Sylar murmured, lifting his head, dark eyes locking with his. The bed shook, it literally did. The entire room vibrated with barely contained energy. Sylar’s fingers still tugged at the mattress; nothing tore but Peter guessed it was close, so very close. “Do you need to touch it?” he asked, not slowing down, a manic look in his eyes that told Peter he was just as close, just as uncompromising to get what he wanted.
“No,” Peter replied, shifting again, losing the spot and then finding it again. His cock dragged against both their bodies; coarse hair and sweaty skin giving it friction. If he reached down he might accidentally move around too much and it was too good, he was too close; he would get there without the extra stimulation.
Sylar’s body heaved, his cock pushing deep and Peter felt the fireworks start. His brain screamed with pleasure and shut down as his body shook. It was so damn good and it lasted just a little bit longer than usually - just as he had known it would. The build up had been suggesting it and it was worth it, all of it.
He sagged down, blissed out, staring owlishly. It may have been polite to at least try and hang on until Sylar was done but he knew the other man was more than capable of seizing what he needed in order to follow him.
And Sylar did just that; his thrusts resumed, hands coming up, fingers clamping around Peter’s wrists and tugging them up over his head. Peter’s legs still clung to his hips, giving him an angle he seemed to enjoy and he finally groaned, deep and loud, pumping in and Peter imagined he felt it, every gush before the other pulled out, leaving him sore and too tired to move.
They lay down, half-spooning, half tangling where they fell, limbs entwined and entangled. The room fell silent as their breaths grew steadier.
Sylar kissed the back of his neck, just below the hair, making Peter close his eyes.
The TV flickered on and Peter forced his lids open. Sylar settled his head on his shoulder in order to see the screen, one hand drawing lazy circles on Peter’s hip. When Peter craned his neck to see, he found the dark eyes intent on the screen, just like he knew they would be. He followed the gaze.
A news clip was running, nothing new from the one before, or the one before that. From one hour to the next they had been broadcasting the same thing, more or less, not having anything more to add to it but wanting to spread the news.
It felt like watching something they hadn’t actually seen first hand. So far Peter hadn’t spotted himself or Sylar on the footage.
“I dreamt, sometimes, that people would know,” Peter mused, then frowned. “I guess I stopped thinking about it when I realized what it would be like.”
There was no panic yet, but there were questions, so many questions. A Pandora’s box had been opened and the truth couldn’t be stuffed back in now that it had come out. Maybe some people regretted broadcasting the events from Central Park, thinking now that it may have been better to bury the queer events that took place there.
The world knew, though, and you couldn’t make the whole world forget.
“It feels like an end,” Peter mused.
“Some things have to end in order for new things to begin,” Sylar replied then shifted his head, kissing Peter’s shoulder. New things, like this spark between them. Unexpected and unwanted at first, but some things needed to end in order to make way for the future. Peter thought of their future and slid a hand over, capturing the fingers that were still drawing idle marks onto the skin of his hip. Sylar entwined their fingers.
New things… like the entire world knowing of the existence of specials, only they were just beginning to realize there was so much more to it than a teenage girl falling from a Ferris wheel and surviving it to give an interview.
An end, like always, was merely a gateway to something that came after. The rest of it was just details.
The End
Title: Endings
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: Heroes
Era: Post season 4, after “Brave New World”
Genre: Erotica, drama
Rating: MA / FRAO
Characters: Peter Petrelli, Sylar
Pairing: Peter/Sylar
Summary: Peter and Sylar experience the end and a beginning together.
Complete.
Written for: Heroes_Contest’s (heroes-contest) final challenge
Warnings: Slash (m/m sex), bits of bad language. Spoilers for the last episode of Heroes.
Beta: Gamebird (game-byrd)
Disclaimer: The show, its characters, the places and everything else belong to Tim Kring, NBC, and the other respective creators and owners of the TV show ‘Heroes’. I have made no profit by writing this story and make no claim over the show.
Feedback: Very much appreciated.
About Endings: My contribution to the last challenge at Heroes_Contest (heroes-contest).
A rather random piece of porn with some hints of plot and a few thoughtful lines.
Story and status: Below you see the writing process of the story. If there is no text after the title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.
Endings
~ ~ ~
Written for Heroes_Contest’s (heroes-contest) final challenge.
Endings
He couldn’t breathe.
Well, okay, that’s a lie; he could breathe, but it’s hard and strained and if he focused on it too much he might lose the thread of pleasure and that just wouldn’t do. So, breathing was secondary - although necessary - and he wished it came easier so that he didn’t need to feel like he’s suffocating but Sylar’s heavy on top of him, pushing against him and every time his ribs shifted and his lungs filled, another shove pushed the air right out of him before he could properly try to absorb it.
“Are you close?”
Sylar didn’t sound much better, out of breath and panting, his hips stuttering, legs shifting, fingers probably burying even deeper into the mattress because it felt like he was jerking on it, trying to find purchase or just something to hold onto.
Peter couldn’t talk; he couldn’t breathe so talking wasn’t really an option. Every sound that escaped him was mostly due to impact of bodies and the air being forced out of him. He nodded, though, because that he could do, and it didn’t take him too far from the edge that kept hovering closer and closer like a teasing carrot.
He wanted to get to it, wanted to cross it and leap into nothing. He knew it would be amazing; it’d been a while since he enjoyed sex this much, got so high on it. This reminded him of his teenage years, when he would get lightheaded from simply jerking himself off. Back when orgasms were incredible and new.
It never got old - how could it? - but priorities in his life changed and sex became rare. Rarer than he had ever thought possible, and wouldn’t that teenage boy look at him in disbelief if he told him how his life would turn out. Well, he might skip the sex altogether to tell that boy what else lay in wait. Sex didn’t get even to… top five of things, maybe not even ten.
Being a hero, being special, it had very little to do with rewards or having a moment with a person you cared about. Mostly you kept losing those people or were too afraid to throw yourself into the deep end of things.
That was before the events in Central Park.
Sylar lowered his head, resting his forehead on Peter’s chest, skull grinding against his left collarbone. He felt every pant of air against his skin, a ghost of a tongue as Sylar wet his lips. As if noticing that too, Sylar bowed his head further and licked the skin, sucking it with a hint of teeth, intent on leaving a mark although it was a random spot and it was disrupting his movements.
“Move,” Peter demanded, trying to shift, to help, to not allow the fine edge of release disappear.
The man on top of him resumed moving, head still dragging along his skin as if it was too heavy for him to lift. Peter pushed one hand up, to the dark hair, tugging at it, holding it, canting his hips up, finding the perfect angle which made him shake and grind up for more.
“Right there,” he managed, a half-whisper, half command for the other man to keep going. “Fuck, yes…” He bit his own lip, eyes closed, legs ready to cramp and they could do it afterwards for all he cared - he was so close.
“Peter,” Sylar murmured, lifting his head, dark eyes locking with his. The bed shook, it literally did. The entire room vibrated with barely contained energy. Sylar’s fingers still tugged at the mattress; nothing tore but Peter guessed it was close, so very close. “Do you need to touch it?” he asked, not slowing down, a manic look in his eyes that told Peter he was just as close, just as uncompromising to get what he wanted.
“No,” Peter replied, shifting again, losing the spot and then finding it again. His cock dragged against both their bodies; coarse hair and sweaty skin giving it friction. If he reached down he might accidentally move around too much and it was too good, he was too close; he would get there without the extra stimulation.
Sylar’s body heaved, his cock pushing deep and Peter felt the fireworks start. His brain screamed with pleasure and shut down as his body shook. It was so damn good and it lasted just a little bit longer than usually - just as he had known it would. The build up had been suggesting it and it was worth it, all of it.
He sagged down, blissed out, staring owlishly. It may have been polite to at least try and hang on until Sylar was done but he knew the other man was more than capable of seizing what he needed in order to follow him.
And Sylar did just that; his thrusts resumed, hands coming up, fingers clamping around Peter’s wrists and tugging them up over his head. Peter’s legs still clung to his hips, giving him an angle he seemed to enjoy and he finally groaned, deep and loud, pumping in and Peter imagined he felt it, every gush before the other pulled out, leaving him sore and too tired to move.
They lay down, half-spooning, half tangling where they fell, limbs entwined and entangled. The room fell silent as their breaths grew steadier.
Sylar kissed the back of his neck, just below the hair, making Peter close his eyes.
The TV flickered on and Peter forced his lids open. Sylar settled his head on his shoulder in order to see the screen, one hand drawing lazy circles on Peter’s hip. When Peter craned his neck to see, he found the dark eyes intent on the screen, just like he knew they would be. He followed the gaze.
A news clip was running, nothing new from the one before, or the one before that. From one hour to the next they had been broadcasting the same thing, more or less, not having anything more to add to it but wanting to spread the news.
It felt like watching something they hadn’t actually seen first hand. So far Peter hadn’t spotted himself or Sylar on the footage.
“I dreamt, sometimes, that people would know,” Peter mused, then frowned. “I guess I stopped thinking about it when I realized what it would be like.”
There was no panic yet, but there were questions, so many questions. A Pandora’s box had been opened and the truth couldn’t be stuffed back in now that it had come out. Maybe some people regretted broadcasting the events from Central Park, thinking now that it may have been better to bury the queer events that took place there.
The world knew, though, and you couldn’t make the whole world forget.
“It feels like an end,” Peter mused.
“Some things have to end in order for new things to begin,” Sylar replied then shifted his head, kissing Peter’s shoulder. New things, like this spark between them. Unexpected and unwanted at first, but some things needed to end in order to make way for the future. Peter thought of their future and slid a hand over, capturing the fingers that were still drawing idle marks onto the skin of his hip. Sylar entwined their fingers.
New things… like the entire world knowing of the existence of specials, only they were just beginning to realize there was so much more to it than a teenage girl falling from a Ferris wheel and surviving it to give an interview.
An end, like always, was merely a gateway to something that came after. The rest of it was just details.
The End