Heroes fic - No light, but rather darkness visible - Sylar/Peter
Title: No light, but rather darkness visible
Author: Penemuel (g_shadowslayer)
Characters/Pairing: Claude/Peter, Sylar/Peter, hints of Petrellicest
Warnings/Notes: take a look at the prompt and the pairing, and think about it a minute... questionable-con; semi-non-con, blatant disregard of aired events after a certain point in the fight
Rating: NC-17 for graphic m/m sex
Spoilers: For .07%
Word Count: 3173 per MS Word
Written For: The Kink/Cliche Challenge
Prompt: Falling (falling from grace; going bad; turning to the Dark Side; Faustian deals; succumbing to temptation or addiction; degradation and descent in general)
No light, but rather darkness visible
by Penemuel
Peter had one important question that no one seemed to be able to answer. Not Isaac, not Nathan, not even Claude. When he dreamed about someone -- not the normal dreams but those dreams, when he Saw things that were going to happen and people he hadn't met yet -- did he form a connection with them?
He couldn't judge it by Nathan. He'd had a connection with his older brother for far longer than this thing -- whatever it was -- had been active. Long before Nathan's accident and Peter's dream where he saw the whole thing. They were already so close they knew each other inside and out, and no powers or abilities were needed to know how his brother felt.
He really couldn't judge it by Claude, either, although dreaming that vividly of someone he'd never met was a pretty good sign something was going on. But once they had met he and Claude had connected so intensely that he couldn't tell if it had been his dream, or just whatever it was that had made him fall head-over-heels in love with his grumpy mentor.
He couldn't exactly ask Charles Deveaux, considering the man had died. Although if what Simone had told him was true, there had to have been some connection there. If the man had dreamed that Peter took him flying at the same time that Peter dreamed it, there had to be some connection, right?
Which didn't bode well, all things considered...
The first dream he had about Sylar was in the jail cell in Texas. Nathan had come to get him out, speaking lovingly to him and trying to talk him out of an absurd fool's quest. Except that Nathan (more Nathan than the real one, when he'd finally arrived, which scared him more than he wanted to admit...) told him he'd fail and then turned into Sylar, who purred in his ear, "How can you stop what's coming when you don't know anything about power?" He awoke screaming, even then trying desperately to get away from the man. But he didn't think anything of it at that point -- the fever was already building in his system, and he had met Sylar, although not close enough to see his face or know that spicy musky scent that did things it shouldn't to his cock. He chalked it all up to a figment of his imagination -- a fever dream -- and forgot about it.
Until the second dream...
He lay in bed with Claude, exhausted from a full day of training. He'd managed to access the telekinesis and defend himself with it, but thoughts of telekinesis and Texas had led to thoughts of Sylar, and once he fell asleep his nemesis returned.
...Large, strong hands slid over his skin as finely tuned telekinesis held him down. He struggled, trying to get away, trying to push Sylar off, trying to fight his attacker's powers with his own; couldn't concentrate enough to gather his strength. Those strong hands slid over his chest and sides in a heavy-handed caress as Sylar smiled down at him, watching him struggle and growing more and more aroused by his helplessness. "You still haven't learned anything," he purred, and Peter shook his head, trying to deny the way his own body was responding to the murderer's touch.
"Let me go!" he panted, frightened by the intensity of the heat blazing between his legs and coiling in his belly and by the way Sylar was looking at him with such hunger. "Let me go!"
"You don't really want me to," Sylar purred, and his hands edged down, closer and closer to his cock until his thighs were trembling with the strain of trying to thrust up against the teasing touch. "I can do things to you that no one else can," that eerie voice purred, and Peter shivered at the thoughts he could hear behind it.
"No..." he whimpered, trying again to shove Sylar off as terror gripped him. He could feel his telekinesis now, but he couldn't make it work.
"Tell me what you want, Peter, and I'll give it to you..."
"I want you to let me go!"
And Sylar leaned in close, nipping his neck sharply as cruel hands closed on his throbbing cock. Peter cried out and came hard, and Sylar purred, "No, you don't..."
When he woke, screaming and tangled in sticky sheets, Claude was looking down at him, not quite able to hide the worried look in his eyes. "You had a nightmare, mate. I think..."
All he could do was tug his mentor down into a trembling embrace and beg him, "Let me feel you, Claude, please! I need to feel you..."
"I'm here," Claude said softly, pressing him back against the pillows and stroking large calloused hands over warm skin. Peter let Claude's emotions wash over him, wrap around him. He knew the older man cared, no matter what he said aloud, and that care soothed his jangled nerves and brought him back to himself. His lover's touch drove away the nightmare, and later when he slept again, it was deep and dreamless.
* * *
Peter's world was falling apart -- the woman he once thought he loved was dead, Isaac was working for the people who wanted to imprison them just for being different (and he didn't want to think about how easily the abilities had come when he was raging -- that had scared him, just a little. He refused to think about that moment when his voice wasn't his own, instead some terrifying echoing thing he'd heard only one other place...). His brother was off to Las Vegas to risk his life taking down Linderman, and Claude had fled. He couldn't really blame his lover although a part of him railed and screamed against his cowardice -- he understood the fear that sent him back into hiding, even if he didn't agree with it.
He'd stayed up all night, unable to sleep, too much in shock to even wash Simone's blood off his face. Dark whispers in the back of his mind were his only company, and he wasn't sure if he'd drifted off and had dreamed, or if he were going mad. Either option was better than the alternative -- that he really was connected somehow to the man who was murdering other 'specials' and stealing their abilities.
There was nothing else he could do -- he wasn't sufficiently trained to control the abilities, and with Claude gone now he knew he never would be. He had to find some way to end it without risking anyone else, and the only person he knew who could help without turning him over to Them -- whoever They actually were -- was Mohinder Suresh...
When he arrived at Suresh's apartment, the door was unlocked but blocked by something. He had to muscle it open and stepped cautiously into the room. It looked like a whirlwind had hit it, furniture and books scattered everywhere, and he wondered if someone had broken in. There had definitely been a struggle of some type, and he swallowed hard as nervousness flooded him. Something dripped on his head and he automatically reached up to see what it was; gasped when his fingers came back red. Another drip, this time hitting his face, and he looked up in horror to see Mohinder stuck to the ceiling. "Sylar..." the scientist hissed, blood dripping from a split lip, and Peter turned to find the murderer standing right there.
"I remember you..."
Peter gasped again, found himself shoved against the wall, trapped with an ease that sent a shiver of terror through him. And then Sylar was there in front of him, studying him, those dark eyes looking deep into him almost as if he could take him apart and put him back together again after finding how all the pieces worked. He couldn't quite hold back the whimper.
"You've been thinking about me," Sylar said, that darkly echoing voice sending shivers up and down his spine. //You've been dreaming of me -- feel you there at night -- wondered when you would come to find me...//
Sylar's thoughts battered at him, terror rising as he realized what it meant. He tried to shake his head and found he couldn't move at all. And Sylar smiled and stepped closer.
"You're like me, aren't you... like to see how that works." The murderer raised his hand and with one simple move of his index finger began slicing through Peter's skull with no visible effort. Peter screamed, loudly, until the healing ability kicked in and the wound closed as quickly as Sylar had made it, protecting his brain once more.
Sylar smiled and cocked his head, studying Peter carefully, and panic gave Peter the strength to push back at his captor, shoving him across the room and into one of Mohinder's bookshelves hard enough to knock him senseless for a moment or two. Mohinder fell to the floor with a painful whoof as the impact knocked the wind out of him, and Peter collapsed from where he was pinned to the wall just a moment later. Unfortunately, an instant later, Sylar was already on his feet while Peter was still struggling to his.
Peter glanced at Mohinder, willing him to get to his hands and knees and get his ass out of there, but Sylar saw his expression and knew instantly what he was doing. "No no, I'm not done with him yet," he purred softly, glancing at Mohinder and holding him where he knelt on the floor with a mere fraction of his attention. Then he looked back at Peter again and asked, "I fascinate you, don't I..."
Peter shook his head, still startled by the murderer's quick recovery. "No. You disgust me -- killing people to take their abilities..."
"Give me yours and I won't need to kill any more," Sylar said with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And then he smiled darkly and took a step closer. "Besides, Peter, why do you dream about me so vividly if I don't?"
Peter just barely restrained the urge to take a step back, realizing that would put him at the wall once more. Sylar took another step and smiled, studying his expression. They stood close enough to touch once more, and Sylar reached out to stroke his index finger over the healed line on Peter's forehead, then almost gently stroked his cheek.
Peter shivered at Sylar's touch, realized an instant before it happened what the murderer had planned. Then Sylar shoved him back against the wall and he gasped, struggling this time because it was only Sylar's startling strength that held him there. His strength, and the hand sliding down to close around his throat and squeeze just firmly enough to make his pulse pound. "It's not-- I don't--"
Sylar smiled again, gaze dropping to Peter's crotch and then back up to his eyes. "Tell me what you want, Peter, and I'll give it to you..." The echoing voice speaking the words from his dream sent shivers down his spine and made goosebumps rise on his arms.
He answered, feeling helplessness rise, "I want you to let me go!"
Sylar smiled and leaned in to kiss him brutally, nipping his lower lip and drawing blood; sucking on it and purring when Peter yelped and squirmed. "No, you don't..." Sylar whispered, Peter's blood shining dark on his lip. //Pretty empath twist you break you fix you...// the thought slithered through Peter's mind, making him shiver and struggle again, and Sylar grinned cruelly. "Mohinder already understands," Sylar whispered, sparing his other captive a possessive glance. "I know how things work. I know what you really want..."
"You're wrong!" Peter gasped, squirming again and trying to shove Sylar away, finding himself telekinetically pinned to the wall, arms spread wide as Sylar's hands stroked down his sides and gripped his ass. Then Sylar ground his hips against him, and Peter shivered, feeling the heat and hardness and that startling strength press him hard against the wall.
"No, I'm not," Sylar purred again, leaning in to bite and nibble his way down Peter's neck. "If I were wrong," and the echoing voice was back, this time a low and terrifying whisper, "your body wouldn't be burning like this, begging for my touch..."
Peter struggled again, whimpered when all he accomplished was writhing against Sylar's lean form, heat blazing through him as the murderer continued to bite and nibble, strong fingers digging in as he kneaded. He groaned, his body demanding more, his mind trying to scream denial. "Stop -- please..." but his voice was breathy and needy, a broken moan of desire escaping him as Sylar bit down hard on his shoulder and arousal flared hot and bright in his balls.
//So much need so much want give in give in give in!// The thoughts slithered through the back of his brain, bringing heat and want and he found himself bucking forward, grinding his hips into Sylar's, spreading his legs wider and panting hotly as telekinesis and the hands on his ass lifted him, let him wrap one leg around his captor's thighs. They rutted against each other then, need ruling both of them and lust blazing so fiercely Peter couldn't tell if it was his, or Sylar's, or even Mohinder's.
"No no nononoohfuck fuck yes yes!" Peter murmured, the pleasure and slight edge of pain overwhelming him and exploding through him. He bucked against Sylar and came hard, arching back into the wall so hard he hit his head. "Ohgod... fuck..." he panted as he came back to himself, opened his eyes to see Sylar grinning at him with blood painting his lips. "No!"
"How can you say no when you're still clinging to me, Peter? Still writhing into me..." Sylar purred, stroking one large hand lazily along his thigh while the other continued to knead his ass. Then he leaned in close and whispered against Peter's ear, "There's still more you want -- the things you know I'll do to you that no one else will. Not even your brother..."
Peter couldn't hold back the whimper at that, damning himself by that response alone. He could feel Mohinder's eyes on him, feel him wanting to be in his place, wanting those cruel hands touching him. Part of him wanted to scream 'you can have it!' but the rest was sinking fast into the thoughts and images Sylar's mind spun around him.
He wasn't even really aware of them stepping away from the wall, of Sylar telekinetically stripping him with frightening ease and lying him down on the rug with surprising gentleness. Then Sylar purred, "Watch us, Mohinder -- he's so much like you. Soon I'll have both of you," and Peter whimpered at the thoughts that accompanied those words.
Then Sylar's hands were on him again, big hands that sought out every sensitive place; heavy handed caresses systematically breaking down every defense he had. He moaned, helpless, his body aching for it, wordlessly begging for more, now, please! Sylar smiled down at him and pushed his thighs apart, and suddenly there were slick fingers sliding behind his balls, teasing at his hole. He didn't know where the lube had come from -- whether Sylar had telekinetically drawn it to him or Mohinder had supplied it -- all he knew was that those fingers were teasing and driving him mad and he needed them in him soon or he would scream.
"So eager, Peter..." Sylar murmured, and another stream of filthy images wrapped around his mind; what Sylar wanted to do with him, what he had done with Mohinder, what he would do with both of them...
The fingers still teased and Peter knew he was babbling something -- begging, pleading, not quite daring to demand -- and then two pressed in deep and hard and he whined, muscles clenching and twitching and god he still needed more.
"Good boy," Sylar purred, and the hot slick slide inside him pressed deep. Sylar laughed as he bucked up helplessly and precum dribbled from his cock.
A third finger, fucking him mercilessly now, and it still wasn't enough. He moaned low and loud, fingers digging into the rug until Sylar's telekinesis held him down, the feel of strong hands clamping hard around his wrists. His cock twitched at this and Sylar jabbed cruelly into him, slicking his fingers with more lube and adding the fourth.
"No no please stop fuck no don'twantohgodsogood--" Peter babbled, trying to arch, trying to writhe and finding himself held utterly immobile, struggling against those mental fingers that were so terrifyingly strong. Sylar looked down at him, and he was drowning in the murderer's dark eyes; falling, falling... "Please."
//Please what, Peter?// "Please?"
"Oh fuck -- so wrong -- can't do this..."
//Oh but you can. Let go give in give in give yourself to me...// "You know you want me. Your body's begging for me, begging for what I can give you. You need me, Peter. Every hero needs a nemesis..."
"No no no..." Peter whimpered, but his muscles clenched again on Sylar's fingers and he moaned, feeling the telekinetic hold on him loosen. He could fight now -- could escape -- but instead arched into the rough penetration, panting hotly and knowing he was lost. "Please... fuck me..." he breathed, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.
Sylar smiled darkly, his hearing picking up every nuance of desperation in Peter's words. "Oh yes," he purred, slipping his fingers from Peter's ass and licking his lips as Peter whined.
Peter shivered as Sylar unfastened his jeans and freed his cock, tried not to stare at it as Sylar drew closer and slicked it with lube; tried not to think about how big it was or how hard. Tried not to think as Sylar pressed the blunt head against his twitching hole and shoved in hard and fast -- and then he couldn't think any more as pleasure and pain burned through him. Sylar let him move now, confident in his control. Peter wrapped his legs around the murderer's hips, surging up into his brutal strokes and moaning loudly.
Sylar silenced him with a kiss, tongue thrusting deep and harsh in an obscene echo of their fucking, teeth catching his lower lip and biting down hard. Peter cried out, his trapped cock twitching between them, and Sylar laughed.
Peter screamed into the kiss and came again, Sylar coming a moment later, spilling thick and hot inside him. They lay panting together for a few moments, then Sylar pulled out and stood up, looking down at him where he lay. "I think I'll keep you alive a little while longer," he purred, then he looked over at Mohinder. "After all, you're both so very pretty."
Peter rolled onto his side on the rug and quietly began to cry.
~~end~~
Author: Penemuel (g_shadowslayer)
Characters/Pairing: Claude/Peter, Sylar/Peter, hints of Petrellicest
Warnings/Notes: take a look at the prompt and the pairing, and think about it a minute... questionable-con; semi-non-con, blatant disregard of aired events after a certain point in the fight
Rating: NC-17 for graphic m/m sex
Spoilers: For .07%
Word Count: 3173 per MS Word
Written For: The Kink/Cliche Challenge
Prompt: Falling (falling from grace; going bad; turning to the Dark Side; Faustian deals; succumbing to temptation or addiction; degradation and descent in general)
No light, but rather darkness visible
by Penemuel
Peter had one important question that no one seemed to be able to answer. Not Isaac, not Nathan, not even Claude. When he dreamed about someone -- not the normal dreams but those dreams, when he Saw things that were going to happen and people he hadn't met yet -- did he form a connection with them?
He couldn't judge it by Nathan. He'd had a connection with his older brother for far longer than this thing -- whatever it was -- had been active. Long before Nathan's accident and Peter's dream where he saw the whole thing. They were already so close they knew each other inside and out, and no powers or abilities were needed to know how his brother felt.
He really couldn't judge it by Claude, either, although dreaming that vividly of someone he'd never met was a pretty good sign something was going on. But once they had met he and Claude had connected so intensely that he couldn't tell if it had been his dream, or just whatever it was that had made him fall head-over-heels in love with his grumpy mentor.
He couldn't exactly ask Charles Deveaux, considering the man had died. Although if what Simone had told him was true, there had to have been some connection there. If the man had dreamed that Peter took him flying at the same time that Peter dreamed it, there had to be some connection, right?
Which didn't bode well, all things considered...
The first dream he had about Sylar was in the jail cell in Texas. Nathan had come to get him out, speaking lovingly to him and trying to talk him out of an absurd fool's quest. Except that Nathan (more Nathan than the real one, when he'd finally arrived, which scared him more than he wanted to admit...) told him he'd fail and then turned into Sylar, who purred in his ear, "How can you stop what's coming when you don't know anything about power?" He awoke screaming, even then trying desperately to get away from the man. But he didn't think anything of it at that point -- the fever was already building in his system, and he had met Sylar, although not close enough to see his face or know that spicy musky scent that did things it shouldn't to his cock. He chalked it all up to a figment of his imagination -- a fever dream -- and forgot about it.
Until the second dream...
He lay in bed with Claude, exhausted from a full day of training. He'd managed to access the telekinesis and defend himself with it, but thoughts of telekinesis and Texas had led to thoughts of Sylar, and once he fell asleep his nemesis returned.
...Large, strong hands slid over his skin as finely tuned telekinesis held him down. He struggled, trying to get away, trying to push Sylar off, trying to fight his attacker's powers with his own; couldn't concentrate enough to gather his strength. Those strong hands slid over his chest and sides in a heavy-handed caress as Sylar smiled down at him, watching him struggle and growing more and more aroused by his helplessness. "You still haven't learned anything," he purred, and Peter shook his head, trying to deny the way his own body was responding to the murderer's touch.
"Let me go!" he panted, frightened by the intensity of the heat blazing between his legs and coiling in his belly and by the way Sylar was looking at him with such hunger. "Let me go!"
"You don't really want me to," Sylar purred, and his hands edged down, closer and closer to his cock until his thighs were trembling with the strain of trying to thrust up against the teasing touch. "I can do things to you that no one else can," that eerie voice purred, and Peter shivered at the thoughts he could hear behind it.
"No..." he whimpered, trying again to shove Sylar off as terror gripped him. He could feel his telekinesis now, but he couldn't make it work.
"Tell me what you want, Peter, and I'll give it to you..."
"I want you to let me go!"
And Sylar leaned in close, nipping his neck sharply as cruel hands closed on his throbbing cock. Peter cried out and came hard, and Sylar purred, "No, you don't..."
When he woke, screaming and tangled in sticky sheets, Claude was looking down at him, not quite able to hide the worried look in his eyes. "You had a nightmare, mate. I think..."
All he could do was tug his mentor down into a trembling embrace and beg him, "Let me feel you, Claude, please! I need to feel you..."
"I'm here," Claude said softly, pressing him back against the pillows and stroking large calloused hands over warm skin. Peter let Claude's emotions wash over him, wrap around him. He knew the older man cared, no matter what he said aloud, and that care soothed his jangled nerves and brought him back to himself. His lover's touch drove away the nightmare, and later when he slept again, it was deep and dreamless.
* * *
Peter's world was falling apart -- the woman he once thought he loved was dead, Isaac was working for the people who wanted to imprison them just for being different (and he didn't want to think about how easily the abilities had come when he was raging -- that had scared him, just a little. He refused to think about that moment when his voice wasn't his own, instead some terrifying echoing thing he'd heard only one other place...). His brother was off to Las Vegas to risk his life taking down Linderman, and Claude had fled. He couldn't really blame his lover although a part of him railed and screamed against his cowardice -- he understood the fear that sent him back into hiding, even if he didn't agree with it.
He'd stayed up all night, unable to sleep, too much in shock to even wash Simone's blood off his face. Dark whispers in the back of his mind were his only company, and he wasn't sure if he'd drifted off and had dreamed, or if he were going mad. Either option was better than the alternative -- that he really was connected somehow to the man who was murdering other 'specials' and stealing their abilities.
There was nothing else he could do -- he wasn't sufficiently trained to control the abilities, and with Claude gone now he knew he never would be. He had to find some way to end it without risking anyone else, and the only person he knew who could help without turning him over to Them -- whoever They actually were -- was Mohinder Suresh...
When he arrived at Suresh's apartment, the door was unlocked but blocked by something. He had to muscle it open and stepped cautiously into the room. It looked like a whirlwind had hit it, furniture and books scattered everywhere, and he wondered if someone had broken in. There had definitely been a struggle of some type, and he swallowed hard as nervousness flooded him. Something dripped on his head and he automatically reached up to see what it was; gasped when his fingers came back red. Another drip, this time hitting his face, and he looked up in horror to see Mohinder stuck to the ceiling. "Sylar..." the scientist hissed, blood dripping from a split lip, and Peter turned to find the murderer standing right there.
"I remember you..."
Peter gasped again, found himself shoved against the wall, trapped with an ease that sent a shiver of terror through him. And then Sylar was there in front of him, studying him, those dark eyes looking deep into him almost as if he could take him apart and put him back together again after finding how all the pieces worked. He couldn't quite hold back the whimper.
"You've been thinking about me," Sylar said, that darkly echoing voice sending shivers up and down his spine. //You've been dreaming of me -- feel you there at night -- wondered when you would come to find me...//
Sylar's thoughts battered at him, terror rising as he realized what it meant. He tried to shake his head and found he couldn't move at all. And Sylar smiled and stepped closer.
"You're like me, aren't you... like to see how that works." The murderer raised his hand and with one simple move of his index finger began slicing through Peter's skull with no visible effort. Peter screamed, loudly, until the healing ability kicked in and the wound closed as quickly as Sylar had made it, protecting his brain once more.
Sylar smiled and cocked his head, studying Peter carefully, and panic gave Peter the strength to push back at his captor, shoving him across the room and into one of Mohinder's bookshelves hard enough to knock him senseless for a moment or two. Mohinder fell to the floor with a painful whoof as the impact knocked the wind out of him, and Peter collapsed from where he was pinned to the wall just a moment later. Unfortunately, an instant later, Sylar was already on his feet while Peter was still struggling to his.
Peter glanced at Mohinder, willing him to get to his hands and knees and get his ass out of there, but Sylar saw his expression and knew instantly what he was doing. "No no, I'm not done with him yet," he purred softly, glancing at Mohinder and holding him where he knelt on the floor with a mere fraction of his attention. Then he looked back at Peter again and asked, "I fascinate you, don't I..."
Peter shook his head, still startled by the murderer's quick recovery. "No. You disgust me -- killing people to take their abilities..."
"Give me yours and I won't need to kill any more," Sylar said with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And then he smiled darkly and took a step closer. "Besides, Peter, why do you dream about me so vividly if I don't?"
Peter just barely restrained the urge to take a step back, realizing that would put him at the wall once more. Sylar took another step and smiled, studying his expression. They stood close enough to touch once more, and Sylar reached out to stroke his index finger over the healed line on Peter's forehead, then almost gently stroked his cheek.
Peter shivered at Sylar's touch, realized an instant before it happened what the murderer had planned. Then Sylar shoved him back against the wall and he gasped, struggling this time because it was only Sylar's startling strength that held him there. His strength, and the hand sliding down to close around his throat and squeeze just firmly enough to make his pulse pound. "It's not-- I don't--"
Sylar smiled again, gaze dropping to Peter's crotch and then back up to his eyes. "Tell me what you want, Peter, and I'll give it to you..." The echoing voice speaking the words from his dream sent shivers down his spine and made goosebumps rise on his arms.
He answered, feeling helplessness rise, "I want you to let me go!"
Sylar smiled and leaned in to kiss him brutally, nipping his lower lip and drawing blood; sucking on it and purring when Peter yelped and squirmed. "No, you don't..." Sylar whispered, Peter's blood shining dark on his lip. //Pretty empath twist you break you fix you...// the thought slithered through Peter's mind, making him shiver and struggle again, and Sylar grinned cruelly. "Mohinder already understands," Sylar whispered, sparing his other captive a possessive glance. "I know how things work. I know what you really want..."
"You're wrong!" Peter gasped, squirming again and trying to shove Sylar away, finding himself telekinetically pinned to the wall, arms spread wide as Sylar's hands stroked down his sides and gripped his ass. Then Sylar ground his hips against him, and Peter shivered, feeling the heat and hardness and that startling strength press him hard against the wall.
"No, I'm not," Sylar purred again, leaning in to bite and nibble his way down Peter's neck. "If I were wrong," and the echoing voice was back, this time a low and terrifying whisper, "your body wouldn't be burning like this, begging for my touch..."
Peter struggled again, whimpered when all he accomplished was writhing against Sylar's lean form, heat blazing through him as the murderer continued to bite and nibble, strong fingers digging in as he kneaded. He groaned, his body demanding more, his mind trying to scream denial. "Stop -- please..." but his voice was breathy and needy, a broken moan of desire escaping him as Sylar bit down hard on his shoulder and arousal flared hot and bright in his balls.
//So much need so much want give in give in give in!// The thoughts slithered through the back of his brain, bringing heat and want and he found himself bucking forward, grinding his hips into Sylar's, spreading his legs wider and panting hotly as telekinesis and the hands on his ass lifted him, let him wrap one leg around his captor's thighs. They rutted against each other then, need ruling both of them and lust blazing so fiercely Peter couldn't tell if it was his, or Sylar's, or even Mohinder's.
"No no nononoohfuck fuck yes yes!" Peter murmured, the pleasure and slight edge of pain overwhelming him and exploding through him. He bucked against Sylar and came hard, arching back into the wall so hard he hit his head. "Ohgod... fuck..." he panted as he came back to himself, opened his eyes to see Sylar grinning at him with blood painting his lips. "No!"
"How can you say no when you're still clinging to me, Peter? Still writhing into me..." Sylar purred, stroking one large hand lazily along his thigh while the other continued to knead his ass. Then he leaned in close and whispered against Peter's ear, "There's still more you want -- the things you know I'll do to you that no one else will. Not even your brother..."
Peter couldn't hold back the whimper at that, damning himself by that response alone. He could feel Mohinder's eyes on him, feel him wanting to be in his place, wanting those cruel hands touching him. Part of him wanted to scream 'you can have it!' but the rest was sinking fast into the thoughts and images Sylar's mind spun around him.
He wasn't even really aware of them stepping away from the wall, of Sylar telekinetically stripping him with frightening ease and lying him down on the rug with surprising gentleness. Then Sylar purred, "Watch us, Mohinder -- he's so much like you. Soon I'll have both of you," and Peter whimpered at the thoughts that accompanied those words.
Then Sylar's hands were on him again, big hands that sought out every sensitive place; heavy handed caresses systematically breaking down every defense he had. He moaned, helpless, his body aching for it, wordlessly begging for more, now, please! Sylar smiled down at him and pushed his thighs apart, and suddenly there were slick fingers sliding behind his balls, teasing at his hole. He didn't know where the lube had come from -- whether Sylar had telekinetically drawn it to him or Mohinder had supplied it -- all he knew was that those fingers were teasing and driving him mad and he needed them in him soon or he would scream.
"So eager, Peter..." Sylar murmured, and another stream of filthy images wrapped around his mind; what Sylar wanted to do with him, what he had done with Mohinder, what he would do with both of them...
The fingers still teased and Peter knew he was babbling something -- begging, pleading, not quite daring to demand -- and then two pressed in deep and hard and he whined, muscles clenching and twitching and god he still needed more.
"Good boy," Sylar purred, and the hot slick slide inside him pressed deep. Sylar laughed as he bucked up helplessly and precum dribbled from his cock.
A third finger, fucking him mercilessly now, and it still wasn't enough. He moaned low and loud, fingers digging into the rug until Sylar's telekinesis held him down, the feel of strong hands clamping hard around his wrists. His cock twitched at this and Sylar jabbed cruelly into him, slicking his fingers with more lube and adding the fourth.
"No no please stop fuck no don'twantohgodsogood--" Peter babbled, trying to arch, trying to writhe and finding himself held utterly immobile, struggling against those mental fingers that were so terrifyingly strong. Sylar looked down at him, and he was drowning in the murderer's dark eyes; falling, falling... "Please."
//Please what, Peter?// "Please?"
"Oh fuck -- so wrong -- can't do this..."
//Oh but you can. Let go give in give in give yourself to me...// "You know you want me. Your body's begging for me, begging for what I can give you. You need me, Peter. Every hero needs a nemesis..."
"No no no..." Peter whimpered, but his muscles clenched again on Sylar's fingers and he moaned, feeling the telekinetic hold on him loosen. He could fight now -- could escape -- but instead arched into the rough penetration, panting hotly and knowing he was lost. "Please... fuck me..." he breathed, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.
Sylar smiled darkly, his hearing picking up every nuance of desperation in Peter's words. "Oh yes," he purred, slipping his fingers from Peter's ass and licking his lips as Peter whined.
Peter shivered as Sylar unfastened his jeans and freed his cock, tried not to stare at it as Sylar drew closer and slicked it with lube; tried not to think about how big it was or how hard. Tried not to think as Sylar pressed the blunt head against his twitching hole and shoved in hard and fast -- and then he couldn't think any more as pleasure and pain burned through him. Sylar let him move now, confident in his control. Peter wrapped his legs around the murderer's hips, surging up into his brutal strokes and moaning loudly.
Sylar silenced him with a kiss, tongue thrusting deep and harsh in an obscene echo of their fucking, teeth catching his lower lip and biting down hard. Peter cried out, his trapped cock twitching between them, and Sylar laughed.
Peter screamed into the kiss and came again, Sylar coming a moment later, spilling thick and hot inside him. They lay panting together for a few moments, then Sylar pulled out and stood up, looking down at him where he lay. "I think I'll keep you alive a little while longer," he purred, then he looked over at Mohinder. "After all, you're both so very pretty."
Peter rolled onto his side on the rug and quietly began to cry.
~~end~~