Sexual Tension Chapter 14: He Likes Me, He Likes Me Not
Title: He Likes Me, He Likes Me Not
Characters: Sylar, Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content
Word count: 4,500
Setting: The Wall, Sexual Tension AU
Summary: The pair clean up and get dirty all over again, while Sylar continues to angst about whether Peter likes him. All Sylar's POV. Written for the 2012 Advent Calendar.
Sylar very much did not know what to do with himself. Take charge? Back off? Go slow? Be indifferent? Because that's how Peter seemed to be - indifferent. Or at least he wasn't giving the constant direction Sylar needed. Sylar dithered outside the showers, standing beside his pile of clothing and feeling himself vacillate between desperate, clingy neediness and angry, aloof sullenness. Intellectually, he kept trying to remind himself that Peter had warned him he wasn't stable. And it wasn't like this was all that different from normal - things between Peter and him had been like this for years, but now it was sharper, made more acute by the taste he'd been given today (well, more than a taste if he was honest, but his hunger was endless, for this especially).
He'd expected more - hugging, loving, something - when they got undressed, but had received nothing. Instead, Peter had disrobed quickly and hustled into one of the family-sized stalls, leaving Sylar still tugging off his socks. He seethed quietly, the only thing keeping him from stalking out of the place was the half open curtain of the stall Peter had gone into. Tantalizing glimpses of his body became visible as he moved around. Sylar dropped the socks onto the rest of his clothes. It was an invitation, he finally decided, a non-verbal signal that he was not being shut out. But an invitation to what?
He eased in after the other man, whose light tan skin was wet and glistening in the falling water. It was a fantastic view and one his eyes took in greedily, head to toe. One good thing about his nervousness was that he wasn't erect. Nor was Peter, he saw. Peter was dripping and delicious-looking, slightly turned away from him, eyes shut and with his face directly in the shower spray as his hands scrubbed over himself. Sylar touched Peter with three fingertips on the side, hopefully a non-threatening contact. Peter side-stepped just like he had on the sidewalk and this time Sylar didn't automatically take it as rejection.
Maybe … it's the opposite? Maybe it's him making room for me? Sylar matched Peter, withdrawing to 'his' side of the big shower, availing himself of soft soap from a wall dispenser and washing. Maybe I should just take care of my business? Peter wiped hair out of his face, glancing over at Sylar a few times before continuing with his ablutions. He's not telling me to get lost, Sylar thought, salving his ego. He's not telling me much of anything, but at least he's not telling me that. He was pleased to notice Peter was scrupulous about cleaning every nook and cranny. They didn't have washcloths and it probably wasn't the most aggressive soap, but Sylar was still glad to see that hygiene was well adhered to. He hoped to get another chance to use that incredible body.
Then it occurred to him that he might be called upon to do the same - to be spread for fingers or cock, required to pass a close inspection and no telling when. He'd been soaping himself slowly, lost in admiring the view if he were honest. Watching Peter spread and fondle himself, hands and fingers brushing over his private parts with casual familiarity, was fascinating. With a start, he began seeing to himself in earnest, realizing he needed to be ready in case their roles were reversed. Much as he was uncertain and apprehensive about taking that position, he knew he'd do whatever Peter required. Best to be clean if it happened. Peter, finished, glanced back at him again, gave a small smile, and exited. It was only after Peter was gone that it also occurred to him that perhaps he should have offered to wash Peter. Is that normal or just something they do in movies? And what do you do when there's no sponge or cloth? It would have at least let me touch him again. But he moved away when I did that … Sylar growled in frustration, finished, rinsed, and walked out.
It felt more than a little weird to saunter through the huge, vacant facility nearly naked. Only the towel wrapped around his waist separated him from the view of the rest of the world, empty though it was. He found Peter right where the man had indicated he would be, slouched in the hot tub up to his neck. His eyes were shut and remained that way as Sylar padded over to where the tub was sunk into the floor. Peter's closed lids weren't what Sylar wanted - he wanted to be looked at and at least welcomed. But Peter had held his hand, let Sylar fuck him, smiled at him many times and been very genuine. That had to count for something. He dropped the towel to the side next to Peter's and clambered in far less gracefully than he would have liked, feeling like he was too large and ungainly by far.
Sylar sank in, finding the bench along the edge, and sat. Alone. On his side. Looking across at Peter, who still had his eyes shut. Sylar frowned, but he had to admit the swirling, slightly foaming, hot water felt nice, especially the jets set into the side behind him, gently pummeling his back muscles. Deciding to match Peter by enjoying the bath instead of continuing to pine after the touch of the man across from him, he leaned into the pressure from the jets, stretching his legs out in front of himself. Inadvertently, he bumped Peter's foot, and jerked his own into unclaimed space. Peter grunted and Peter's foot followed Sylar's to brush up against it on purpose. Sylar's lips tightened, eyes focused on Peter's unchanged face as he tried to figure that out. He left his foot exactly where it was, feeling Peter's stroke slowly along the outside of his ankle, then back down.
Sylar's face softened. He's touching me! He's touching me! It's okay; he still wants to touch me. He drew in a deep breath, feeling his cock twitch to wakefulness in the warm water. He shifted, wriggling into a better position, wondering where this stealth-footsie was going to lead. Seconds passed while Peter slipped his foot up and down Sylar's shin and foot, one side then the other. Do I do something in return? Or just let him do this? Maybe I should just let him lead … don't want to spook him … in case he's trying to pretend to himself he's not really doing this. Peter's eyes remained shut, but in a few minutes, Sylar had a nudge and a shift that prompted him to move back where he'd put his feet originally, which as it happened was between Peter's somewhat splayed feet.
Peter adjusted himself a little, feet brushing and lightly bumping the sides of Sylar's ankles before settling into stroking him. The big toes on each of Peter's feet rubbed and scraped up and down the outside of his shins, both at the same time in a slow oscillation. Sylar watched Peter's face, noticing how Peter's lips parted when he brought both feet to bear, the faint flush, and the relaxation around the corners of his eyes. Oh. Oh, yeah. He's liking this. Is he imagining someone else? Does it matter? Sylar's cock apparently didn't care. It was filling rapidly, every small sign of Peter's interest swelling it further. He could hardly believe his day - rough but sexual play, definite sex with him even being allowed on top, and now being felt up in a hot tub. The toes along his legs were spurring him on. He reached down to move himself, pulling his balls forward and feeling that his penis had stiffened into full erectness. As if he knew, Peter smiled and made a purring sound.
Oh God, he really loves the slow tease, doesn't he? Sylar leaned his head back against the hard rim of the tub, looking upward and letting himself be helplessly aroused. Peter shifted enough to reach his toes around to the back of Sylar's knees, touching and scratching along the more sensitive skin there. Sylar bit off a whimper, putting both hands on his thighs, fingers digging in. I could get used to this. Please let me have the opportunity to get used to this.
The slight splash of the motion finally prompted Peter to open his eyes. "You jerking yourself off?" he asked in a deep, husky voice.
Oh yeah, he wants me. This is foreplay. Jesus Christ, does he always take forever to get to the good stuff? Not that I mind … It was just different than Sylar had expected. Sex with Peter was no hurried rush to completion, that was for sure. It shocked him to discover that Peter made love like Sylar restored timepieces - meticulous, careful, attentive, and totally engaged in the process. To answer the man's question, though, Sylar snarked, "No. That's your job." He lifted his head and stared at Peter lustfully, moving his own feet finally to do the same thing to Peter - stroking the back of his knees with his toes - that Peter had done to him.
The effect was immediate and very gratifying. Peter laughed, squirmed, flushed, jerked his legs away, and then brought them back for a quick flurry of playful touches and strokes that reminded Sylar of how Peter had responded when he'd asked him what he liked. It was that same laugh, too - silly, relaxed, and spontaneous. He's … interested. I think that's his 'I'm interested in you' laugh. I've only ever heard that twice now, in all the years of being here with him, in all of Nathan's memories of him - I've never heard that until these two times. Huh. Sylar smiled, a surge of innocent happiness going through him at having something Nathan had never had of Peter.
"My job, huh?" Peter said, pushing off from his side and easing across the gap between them. It was a slow approach, his eyes boring into Sylar's and Sylar knew that the slightest wrong move really would scare him off. He let his hands fall to his sides, wishing fervently that he knew what Peter intended. Peter was straddling him, thighs brushing the outside of Sylar's knees and legs. Peter glanced down, his hands finding Sylar's biceps and exploring them for a moment before looking back to Sylar, who smiled hopefully. Apparently it was the right response, because Peter brought his knees up on the bench, on either side of Sylar's hips. Sylar lifted his hands and cupped Peter's knees, rolling his palms around them as Peter shifted his weight back, his buttocks over Sylar's thighs now.
They looked at one another, less than an arm's length apart, studying features and expressions. "Don't look at me," Peter said abruptly. Sylar pulled his head back a fraction, eyes widening a little before he snapped them down and to the side. Peter's fingers touched his biceps anxiously. I would have thought he was the one who didn't want to see me. He doesn't mind seeing me … but he doesn't want me looking at him. Sylar shut his eyes, hoping this wasn't about to be followed by Peter jury-rigging the towels into another blindfold. At least I was able to look at him while I fucked him. That was nice. Eyes closed, he could feel Peter move in closer, one hand cupping his shoulder and the other climbing to the back of his neck.
Peter's shifting weight and the angle of his hands told Sylar the other man was moving close, hopefully to kiss him. Sylar lifted his face, licking and parting his lips in anticipation, thrilled when he was proven right by the feeling of Peter's mouth brushing against his own. His cock throbbed in approval as Peter pressed in more firmly, sliding closer until his knees were against the back of the hot tub and Sylar's hands slid up Peter's legs to rest at his hips. A moment later, Sylar felt something bump against his dick even though Peter's hands were still on his shoulder and the other now cradling the back of his head as they kissed. His eyes opened on instinct. Peter's were heavy-lidded, face relaxed, totally absorbed by the osculation. What the hell was that? Wait, there it is again! Is that his … dick? A quick mental review of the geometry of their position assured him that was the only likely candidate. He slid his eyes shut again with a throaty chuckle.
Peter drew back and began his start/stop/start method of kissing. Sylar's fingers traced Peter's hip bones, rubbing into the flesh as a means of keeping his hands from grabbing Peter's head and holding their faces together. More teasing. Oh God, Peter … tease me. Please tease me. And all the while, every few seconds he could feel the warm contact of Peter's dick against his own. The hand on Sylar's shoulder slid down his arm, leaving at the wrist to move between them, the back of Peter's fingers skimming along his abdomen. "Ah," Sylar grunted out, eyes opening briefly again.
Peter was so close in his face, breath hot against his skin. A long lock of hair, looking black from being wet, had come loose and hung across the man's face, reaching halfway down his cheek. His mouth was open, lids only slightly parted. He looked like a picture of passion and Sylar shivered a little to know it was all directed at him. He tilted his head and extended his tongue to lick at that dangling hair, sucking the delicious moisture from it as he leaned his head back until the end slipped from between his lips. He caught the movement of Peter's eyes and shut his own, putting his head forward in invitation for a kiss. It was granted, mouths sliding against one another as Peter's questing hand found his cock, fingers touching along it tantalizingly.
"Oh yes. Yes," he purred when Peter's mouth roamed off to the side, kissing along his cheek now. 'Resigned' was not the right word for how Sylar felt about the gradual tempo. Now that he saw it as Peter's pattern, he was molding himself to it, anticipating it, hoping for it, eager and offering himself up for it. Peter's method made it last longer, he realized, and it wasn't like it didn't include the possibility of conquering and fucking - what Sylar wanted most. This, Sylar suspected, all this foreplay was Peter making a promise that Sylar would get what he wanted. That was amazing - that this wasn't just one-sided. He shuddered, shoving his hips forward a little to bring them more into contact.
Peter's hand wrapped around him in the swirling water, pumping him slowly, then just palming him. Wanting more, Sylar whined, sliding one hand behind Peter's back, wondering if it would be possible for Peter to ride him here in the tub. Even though he knew he was probably going faster than Peter wanted, he opened his eyes and asked, "Do you want to get on me?"
"On your dick?"
No, Peter, on my head. What did you think I meant? "Yeah."
Peter shook his head. "No lube."
"Water's a lubricant."
Peter snorted and leaned in to give him a brief smooch. "We need to talk later. After I finish with my 'job'." He followed that with a nip to Sylar's chin that made him jump and tighten, then growl slightly as he tilted his head back, baring his neck and begging for Peter to keep that up. Peter chewed and sucked his way down Sylar's stubbled throat, pulling gasps and then mewls from Sylar as he put both hands around Peter now, holding him close as Peter's hand began to pump again.
He'd barely done that but Peter took one of his hands (his right, just as Peter was using his right to masturbate him) and put it between them, rolling his hips a little to slide his dick against him. Sylar got the idea, taking Peter, erect, in hand. He wished he could see what he was doing, or Peter's face, but at the moment he was submitting to Peter mauling him. He wasn't about to interrupt that. He curled his fingers around the phallus, feeling it hot, hard, and alive in his hand. It was such a delicate part, so sensitive, he knew. He pulled up and down in slow strokes. Peter bit him, hard, just above the collarbone, and Sylar's hand clenched.
"Ah, yeah," Peter murmured against him. "Yeah, that's it. Harder. Fuck me."
Sylar had a moment of hesitation. Fuck you? I'm … but you said … what? He tightened his grip and tugged harder. Peter matched him with the hand on Sylar's shaft. "Oh, oh!" Yeah, okay, I get the message. Whatever you say, maybe it doesn't make sense. You just want more. You're closer than I thought. Encouraged by that, Sylar asked for something he wanted, "Bite me?"
Peter snarled with lust and attacked him with his teeth, hips grinding opposite Sylar's motions so that he was fucking into his hand as much as Sylar was jerking him off. Peter's own hand was firm and skilled on Sylar's cock, sending shudders through him, delighting him with the rising swell of his climax. The biting, claiming, brutal kisses at his neck were running all through him, making him twitch and shift, his legs pulling up with all the stimulation, toes curling. Peter changed position suddenly, grabbing the edge of the tub with one hand while he pulled up, moved his legs, and crossed them behind Sylar's back. "More!" he urged as he sat in Sylar's lap, taking his mouth in a possessive, impassioned kiss.
Sylar whined, trying to find his rhythm again with short, hard jerks. Peter's hand on his dick moved, too, taking Sylar's and trying to reposition him somehow. "Both of us … hold both of us." Sylar's fingers were longer and more able to get their shafts together. Peter gripped the other side, thrusting back and forth, cocks rubbing together in the most exquisite ecstasy. "Oh … I'm almost ..." Peter trembled. Sylar's other hand, on the small of his back, felt the shivers coming from deep inside the man. He watched Peter's face, wanting to commit to memory the expression Peter wore when Sylar got him off. That, too, belonged to Sylar now - Peter's pleasure, in his hand. Peter's breath stuttered, mouth opening wider and asymmetrically as his lip pulled down unevenly. He looked gorgeous - skin darkening in a flush, lips reddening from their usual pink. His hand, tight on Peter's moving dick, felt it surge and throb under his fingers as it undoubtedly dumped his load into the water they were sitting in.
For a moment, swimming in Peter's spunk was the sexiest thing imaginable - dirty, filthy, nasty, submerged in it, covered with proof of Peter's desire for him and willingness to be with him as intimately as possible. Sylar's climax followed almost immediately, drowning in that thought as he emptied his balls. Peter whined, releasing him to reach up with both hands to take Sylar's head. Peter put his own to him cheek-to-cheek, breathing hard now.
Please don't say anything awful, Peter, was Sylar's first coherent thought. Don't tell me to forget it; don't tell me you think I'm going to hurt you. I'm trying to treat you right. I really am. But Peter said nothing at all for a while, just holding him close and squirming closer like he couldn't get enough of touching him, legs and arms wrapped around him as he clung like a monkey. Sylar relaxed and returned the embrace, turning to nuzzle and peck at Peter's face affectionately, gestures Peter responded to by stroking his hair and nuzzling back with happy sounds. They spent long minutes doing it before it occurred to Sylar suddenly that his eyes were open and had been since before he'd come. Peter was looking right at him, making no complaint about it. In fact, he seemed perfectly relaxed. Sylar moved his head in for a direct kiss on the mouth, eyes on Peter's. Peter returned it, matching his gaze - dark, hazel-brown eyes open wide, pupils dilated with pleasure and acceptance.
Sylar pulled back, smiling. He likes me! We're getting there. A little at a time. Fuck, I want everything! All at once. But I've got to go slow for him. Slow and easy, and I'm getting him. He's mine, or going to be. He kissed Peter again, possessively this time, plundering Peter's mouth with his tongue and doing some claiming of his own. Peter moaned and pressed to him, every sign of acceptance healing some of the damage time had done to Sylar's heart. When Sylar ended the kiss, Peter hugged him tighter, put his chin down on Sylar's shoulder, and held him quietly for long minutes, going through a final stage of winding down. He likes to cuddle after he comes. At least, I think he does. I think I do, too. Sylar embraced him in return, letting his mind fuzz out and just float along on the endorphin high.
Finally, with a great sigh, Peter grimaced and climbed off awkwardly. The position was not kind to his knees. He sat on the bench next to Sylar, rubbing the joints slowly. Sylar reached up and took that errant lock of hair from Peter's face, tucking it behind his ear. Peter gave him the most affectionate, thankful smile that it made Sylar's stomach somersault and a queasy, tenuous, fluttery warmth of limerence spread through him. He leaned back, letting his hand rest on Peter's shoulder companionably.
"Tell me," Sylar started, "about water as a lubricant."
"It's a lousy one. Trust me on that. I figure it's better than doing it dry, but ..." He shook his head. "I'm not going to try. There's other things we can do. And we can just go find some real lube for when we need it."
Sylar made a slight hum in acknowledgment, pleased by the implied possibility of lots of sex in their future.
"A few other things," Peter went on, "when you're prepping me, for now, start with- um, prepping me for anal sex," Peter clarified and Sylar fought and failed to keep his expression neutral. While he was eager to know the information, he didn't like the insinuation that he needed to be schooled, "start with one finger, lubed, and at first just go in and out. Okay?"
Sylar's lips thinned and he nodded shallowly. Peter looked hesitant. If I set a pattern of disapproving when he explains things to me, then he won't explain them. "What about after that?" he asked, trying and this time succeeding in fixing his face.
Peter checked him out for a few more moments, then said, "The main things that help relax a person's ass are arousal and stimulation, along with making them feel safe and like they won't get hurt if they ease up. So just keep moving that finger and don't stop doing other things while you do. When the muscle tension goes down, add a second finger. Don't shove it in there, though, just because you can."
Sylar frowned heavily at the implication he'd done wrong earlier. I didn't know because you hadn't told me! … Well, he did tell me to go slow. … Wait, did I break something? Is that what he's trying to say? "Are you okay? From … earlier?"
Peter gave a wan smile and shrugged. "I'm sore. I'll be all right tomorrow."
I broke something. Dammit!
"'One finger, two fingers, three fingers, dick.' That's the sequence until we know each other's signals better. And nothing goes in all the way at once. Even your dick. Little motions at first. The body has to adjust. Give me a chance to breathe and get ready. Once I'm there, I'll tell you to go for it, or faster or harder or I'll start urging you to fuck me."
Irritated at his failure and Peter not pointing it out until now, Sylar grumbled, "You could have told me."
"I could show you."
"What?" His head snapped up in alarm.
Peter cocked his head a little. "I was saying that I could show you - a little finger-play with your ass instead of mine. I wouldn't fuck you if you didn't want it."
He didn't know what to say to that. Sylar swallowed. Have I been that transparent? I'll let him do what he wants. Fair is fair, after all. Peter wanting him, Peter playing with him - that was kinky, exciting, and arousing. Peter sticking things in his butt? He wasn't sure about that. He'd much rather stay with getting to stick things into Peter's ass instead, which he noticed with a start had been the entire slant of Peter's discussion - how Sylar could keep Peter happy so that Sylar would get to keep sticking parts of his body into Peter's. "No, I think- I mean, I'll do it better next time. Promise." There's a next time, right?
"Okay," Peter said, nodding.
A little wound up by the discussion and realizing that he was now marinating in a dilute concentration of their combined ejaculates, Sylar said, "I'm going to go take another shower," bailing out. It had been sexy when it happened. Now it was disgusting as he imagined millions of tiny sperms swimming in the water. He felt bad once he was alone in the shower. Does he think I'm implying he's gross? That I need to shower after sex with him? I'm not even sure what we did was sex, technically. Should I have stayed there in the hot tub? I've left him alone. I got up after sex and left. Will he think that's because he told me how to get him ready for sex? I can't screw this up. I might never get another shot at it and even if I do, if I've fucked it up the first time, I'll be carrying that baggage forever.
And so it was that when they walked back to their respective apartments, Sylar was hesitant and uncertain again, angst-ridden as to how he should deal with the looming separation. He was right back to where he started, not knowing what to do with himself. Were they supposed to go their separate ways or never be parted again? Peter let go of his hand in front of Sylar's place, stepping away and glancing up the building when Sylar didn't immediately move off. In a tiny voice, Sylar said, "You could come up ifyouwantedto," running the words together at the end.
Peter glanced over at him, casual as could be, and shook his head. "No. Not tonight. I'll see you in the morning." He gave a friendly smile and walked off. Sylar shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his shoe along the pavement. Maybe I should just let things happen without trying to force them. It's going okay - the room, Peter, everything. Sylar lifted his head, looking out from under his brows at Peter's retreating back. A slow, predatory smile curled across his lips. Not much longer and you'll never be indifferent to me again. I'll be special and you'll be mine.