Sexual Tension Chapter 13: Quite a Handful
Title: Quite a Handful
Characters: Sylar, Peter
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word count: 1,400
Setting: The Wall, Sexual Tension AU
Summary: Peter fumes over Sylar projecting; Sylar projects his insecurities onto Peter. They're quite a pair. Written for the 2012 Advent Calendar.
"Keep the handcuffs," Sylar said as they finished cleaning up the room and putting things to right. "I want to use those again."
"You liked that?" Peter asked, slipping them into his back pocket. He hadn't been sure, given that he hadn't asked Sylar's permission. The whole thing was still surreal. The way they'd lived for years now had been turned on its ear, a wall between them smashed down in a single hour. Peter wasn't so sure about how open that left him. With that wall gone, where were the new boundaries?
"Whatever trips your trigger, Peter, is something I like."
Peter snorted, fishing out the key to make sure he still had it. He did. Replacing it, he turned to Sylar. New boundary number one was making sure Sylar understood where he ended and Peter began. This whole thing had started with some pretty weird assertions on Sylar's part about who was responsible for what was happening. It wasn't like Peter had woke up this morning expecting to have sex with Sylar; though apparently Sylar had woke up with the expectation of getting laid. Or killed. Or maybe both. Peter asked, "Tell me you liked what we just did."
Sylar gave him a wary look, but cooperated. "I … liked it."
"Okay," Peter said. That was the gimme-question. Next was the harder one. "Now tell me this room was your idea."
Sylar straightened, head up in a stance Peter had previously thought of as a display of arrogance. Now he saw it as nerves. "You clearly wanted it."
Ah-hah. About what I expected. A small smile played across Peter's lips at Sylar's evasion. "I wasn't talking about me. I need you to take some responsibility for your actions."
Sylar paled, stiffening now, breaths coming shallower.
Crap! Peter thought, seeing the reaction but not knowing what was causing it. Is he that sensitive about this? What is that, passive aggressive, projecting? There's a name for what he's doing. It's something like that. He needed Sylar to admit what he'd done, and although Peter had meant only here, with the room and the sex, now that Sylar was balking, the issue ballooned to encompass all sorts of actions in Sylar's past. Is that his problem all along, for everything? Can't own up to what he's done?
"The only crime that happened here was one of passion, Petrelli," Sylar said, voice dropping to a growl as the beginnings of a snarl formed on his face.
Peter shook his head, rolling his eyes. He was feeling too good to fight and it looked like trying to untangle Sylar's issues would be as difficult as working out his own. They'd have plenty of time for it later. "Fine, whatever. Come on." He walked out, pausing briefly at the door, recalling his own interrupted attempt to tell Sylar that what happened inside the room was different from the rest of this world. He'd intended to say that if Sylar let him pretend this hadn't happened, then Peter would be willing to come back. He hadn't gotten that far though before Sylar's response derailed Peter's attempt to quarantine his complicated emotions.
Now, though … He fingered the door frame, glancing back to see if Sylar was coming. He was, the anger fading from his face as he fell in line. Peter glanced down. There's no 'here' where it's okay to be on fucking terms with Sylar and 'everywhere else' where it isn't. It's everywhere we are. He sighed and headed out, trying to decide what to do about Sylar heaping all the responsibility for this on his shoulders. It's not right. How do I get that through to him? What he did isn't even a bad thing, Peter mused. He was lost in thought as they exited to the street. Peter's steps turned automatically towards the destination he'd mentioned when they were cleaning the room - the YMCA. It had showers and a hot tub, both of which Peter wanted at the moment.
The silence was quick to wear on Sylar's nerves. He was not happy with wishy-washy, flip-floppy Peter. First, everything was wonderful, happiness, and light, then Peter wanted to grill him about whose idea it was? Now the intimacy was turned off and he wanted it back, immediately. It bothered him that Peter got to dictate that. Sometimes it felt like Peter was in complete control of everything here. That wasn't a bad thing, as long as Sylar was getting his way, but at the moment he wasn't getting anything.
They hadn't touched since getting dressed - even though that was only a few handfuls of minutes ago, trying to blame him for the room, the 'whatever', and Peter ignoring him now was eating at him. He walked abreast of Peter, pacing out the distance to their objective. Besides walking, a lot of nothing seemed to be happening. Peter was either ignoring him, was lost in thought, or both, and it was rude no matter which. Well, taking things into my own hands earlier seemed to pan out. He changed his course, each stride bringing them closer together, carefully adjusting his steps to match those of the shorter man. If Peter noticed, he didn't respond, but his physical bubble was more like a film, anyway. The back of Sylar's hand brushed Peter's and now Peter responded, stepping over to the side to be further away.
Damn it! That was not what Sylar wanted. And what did it mean, anyway? Peter didn't even glance over. He just gave space and kept going, like he didn't detect or wouldn't acknowledge there was anything else behind the touch. Fuck him. Sylar walked along, fuming about how Peter was acting and worrying that he wasn't doing what Peter wanted. Why is this all on me to figure out? Why can't he show me what I'm supposed to be doing? He's done this before! He should know! If I'm doing this wrong, it's all his fault. Determined to get a clear rejection or acceptance, Sylar tried again.
Another stride brought him close, as Sylar didn't bother with the gradual approach this time. Nor did he try to play it cool. He reached out quickly and grabbed Peter's hand aggressively. Peter jerked it away, giving him a look of mingled surprise and distaste. There was enough 'what the fuck are you doing?' in the look to give Sylar his answer. Well, if that didn't put me in my place … He slowed and slunk away, putting most of the sidewalk between them as depression crashed down. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and hunched. So that's how it is. Funny, that was what Peter said he didn't like about those other guys he was with - okay to fuck, but not okay to be with after. Peter was slowing down, too, and glancing over at him. Every look made Sylar tuck his face down more, trying to avoid his eyes.
"What the hell was that?" Peter tried asking.
Sylar made no answer. His face tensed and blanked and he suddenly found the other side of the street worth looking at. 'What the hell was that?' he thought blackly in a mocking mental tone. Not even worthy to touch him anymore. He wants to deny any of that happened. He'll get horny again though and then I'll be- A hand took his wrist and Sylar stopped immediately, head whipping around to face Peter, stiffening and rearing back in expectation of an attack. But Peter just tugged Sylar's hand out of the pocket and put their hands together, looking at Sylar with an open, patient expression.
Sylar relaxed a tiny fraction, enough to look down at Peter's hand resting against his. What is he doing? Why …? He looked up at Peter's face, distrustful but hoping, and slowly curled his fingers around Peter's. Sylar adjusted his grip a little, their hands sliding into classic hand-holding position.
A smile bloomed on Peter's face. "Hey, yeah," Peter said softly. "This is okay." Peter swallowed and added, "It's going to take me a little while to get used to this. That's … that's just part of the package with me, Sylar." He squeezed Sylar's hand.
Sylar smiled back, brittle and fragile. He's as broken as I am. How am I supposed to deal with his issues, too? I can't even handle my own! Peter tilted his head in the direction they'd been walking, giving a slight pull on Sylar's hand as he turned back towards their goal. They walked along slowly, hands clasped between them.