Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 24: Overdoze
Title: Overdoze
Characters: Sylar, Peter
Rating: PG
Warnings: Dubious consent of the drug-induced variety.
Word count: 900
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Sylar tends to Peter after Peter sustains a bad injury. The complications from the injury aren’t limited to medical.
“I think I overdosed you on the morphine.”
“Nah. Fells fine. Izza good,” Peter slurred confidently. “Only buzzes.”
Sylar leaned in close, looking beyond Peter’s droopy lids. “Your eyes are really dilated.”
Peter gave a relaxed, crooked smile and reached up with his free hand to surprisingly lay his palm against Sylar’s cheek. Sylar froze. Peter patted. “Your face … izzo cloze. Good face. I like it.”
“I like it, too, Peter,” Sylar said guardedly, scanning and re-scanning Peter’s face, looking for some sign that this was anything other than a spontaneous, drug-induced observation. He didn’t see any indication of premeditated manipulation.
Since Sylar hadn’t moved away, Peter kept smiling and turned his hand to stroke over the bristly cheek. “Mesclun,” he said, which took Sylar a few moments to translate from ‘salad greens’ into ‘masculine’. “Good face. Great lisps.” He touched them and Sylar leaned forward a little, wondering how unethical it was to enjoy this unexpected intimacy. He knew Peter was suffering liberally from drug-induced lowered inhibitions. He’d never approve of this clean and sober. For a long, breathless moment, Peter’s fingertips tickled against Sylar’s lips like a lover’s touch. “Kissing lisps.” Peter smiled wider and let his hand fall. “Ein not makin any senz, am I?”
“Not much, no,” Sylar said quietly, pulling in a deep breath and letting it out again. More than anything, he wanted that to continue.
“Feel good, though. Izza doze, you know? Notta ovadoze. Doze. Differnt.”
“Of course.” Sylar watched as Peter’s lids drooped again and his face relaxed. Peter had fallen after some ill-advised climbing and untrained acrobatics, resulting in a nastily compound fracture of his arm, a hyper-extended knee and what seemed to be a twisted ankle. Details were hard to come by without doctors or x-ray machines. Sylar had gotten Peter to the hospital, empty and untended as it was, and struggled to follow Peter’s irritable, pained directions on patching him up. When everything was as fixed as it was going to get without the passage of time, Peter had finally requested painkillers. By that point, Sylar was only too happy to give them. He had, perhaps, been too enthusiastic with the dosage (but with the best and most innocent of intentions). Without abilities, Peter had clearly been suffering badly. Just as clearly, now, he was not. In fact, he looked kind of like Sylar had imagined Peter would post-coital - damp locks, relaxed face, blissed out, glazed eyes. Sexy. Oh, so sexy!
Please forgive me, Sylar intoned mentally as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Peter’s, unable or unwilling to resist the temptation.
Peter made a surprised noise and hesitated for a long moment. Sylar ignored the pregnant pause and continued the kiss, shutting his eyes, fairly confident that Peter was too stoned to resist him. Peter exhaled and settled into the kiss, working his lips against Sylar’s with envious skill despite his stoned condition.
Sylar knew he ought to pull away and leave it at just the one brief kiss. Maybe he could deny it later. But instead Sylar shifted closer to Peter’s head, running one hand into Peter’s hair as he opened his mouth and Peter, still so relaxed and highly, highly suggestible, slid his tongue wetly within to tease at Sylar’s teeth and gums. Sylar moaned and he felt Peter’s free hand brush at his cheek and then ear. He gripped Peter’s hair, turning the man’s head and bending it back so he could plunder Peter’s mouth as deeply as possible. He’d wanted to do this for so long! Peter made a deep crooning sound in response. Finally, after what Sylar was sure was long minutes, he pulled away. His lips were swollen with arousal, as were Peter’s. Poor Peter. He looked completely baked.
The thought that he could keep Peter drugged like this for as long as he wanted crossed his mind. A quick glance down Peter’s bandaged, splinted body dissuaded any further thoughts of a sexual nature. Pumped full of enough opiates, it seemed that Peter was likely to cooperate, but Sylar found his willingness to further molest the unresisting man flagging. What he’d already done was bad enough. “How angry are you going to be at me for this?”
Peter licked his lips and looked confused, staring off to the side. Sylar tugged him back by his hair and kissed him deeply again. It was disturbing and gratifying that Peter returned it so passionately. When they parted, Peter said breathlessly, “We’re not spoze be kissin, are we?”
Sylar smiled wanly at him. “No. But that’s never stopped me in the past.” With a great sigh, Sylar tore himself away from the source of his temptation. He stood and walked to the door. “I’m going to let you get some rest.”
“Kay.” Peter gave him a dismissive, unbothered wave, shut his eyes, and went to sleep. Sylar watched him as Peter’s breathing slowed and deepened under the continuing effects of the drugs. Now he had to debate whether to try to convince Peter it was just a drug-induced hallucination, or to admit to taking advantage of the situation. There was so much worse he could have done, after all, and Peter knew Sylar had helped him. Wouldn’t that count for something?