Sexual Tension Chapter 15: Counterpoint
Title: Counterpoint
Characters: Sylar, Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, moderate breath play
Word count: 3,600
Setting: The Wall, Sexual Tension AU
Summary: The day after their first sex, Sylar tries to figure out who's in charge of this new relationship. Written for 2012 Advent Calendar.
Sylar had asked for this position. He was a little less than enthused now that he had it. Peter was bent over the bed in front of him, properly lubed and prepped as far as Sylar could tell. He'd at least followed the directions Peter had given him the night before and promised (threatened?) to demonstrate on Sylar if he didn't get it right. He hadn't realized how much he'd miss seeing Peter's face and how many cues he got from that - hard to believe given the blindfold and keeping his eyes shut, but facing one another, he still had Peter's breath, lips, and proximity even if he couldn't see him. He also missed the man's hands roaming his body. But in exchange for all that, he had Peter even more defenseless and subordinate than taking him in missionary - the superiority what Sylar had been going for. Peter's willingness to adopt the position without a fight though left it feeling less like a victory and more like a poor choice.
Too late to back out now, Sylar thought. I'm getting the chance to learn. That's more than I had before. Nothing else is quite like 'hands-on' experience. One of those hands teased along Peter's crack again, making the man squirm deliciously and mewl with pleasure as the digits slipped back inside the slick hole. So easy, so hot. He'd spent a lot of time exploring the orifice this time, much to Peter's apparent delight. He bent to bite at Peter's shoulders and then rub his face against the dark hair - learning and experiencing. He was following his instincts and doing whatever seemed pleasurable as he figured out what he liked and what Peter responded to. He'd get more systematic at some later point, but right now he relished the opportunity to simply play without a script. He trusts me more now than he did yesterday, Sylar thought with no small touch of pride.
Peter turned his head, panting, eyes rolled enough to see him. Sylar kissed his cheek briefly, working his groin against Peter's ass, pulling his fingers out to guide himself even though all he was doing at the moment was rubbing his cockhead over the well-prepared entrance. Peter moaned so erotically at that, curving his back to present himself even more obviously, his body begging for penetration. The empath followed up with a slow rotation of his hips, causing Sylar to bite his lip, look upward and shut his eyes in bliss as he let Peter reverse things, rubbing his ass on Sylar's dick instead of the other way around. It was amazing to him how much more fluid their roles were than he'd anticipated. He was starting to fathom, to just get the edges of a grip, on Peter's way of thinking. There were no rules with carefully demarcated right and wrong, no black and white, no dominant and submissive. There was just this mixed up sea of grey and interchangeable roles that shifted constantly. It frightened him to realize the mind that could comfortably keep track of such turbulent, messy dynamics might be in some ways superior to his own. It was … kind of intimidating.
That aside, the alternating slick/hot/pressure/rubbing on the tip of his dick was blowing his mind. If he let Peter keep this up, he'd soon be blowing his load, too. He needed inside Peter now. He wanted to buck against him violently and hear Peter cry out as he was pounded. He wanted to fill him, take him, and own him; devour Peter and make him his. That starving, possessive desire deep inside of him knew no boundaries. If Peter wouldn't draw limits, then he'd take everything he could get.
Sylar lined up and pushed within, much more slowly than he had the day before. He felt the spongy tip of his dick seem to pop past the slicked ring of muscle. Peter gasped and arched. It was such a lovely reaction that Sylar delayed his desire to slam into the man so he could pull out and repeat. This time Peter whimpered. Sylar held his position, one hand caressing the small of Peter's back while the other cupped the luscious curve of his ass. He waited with his cock barely an inch inside, softly stroking while Peter panted. Is this what he means about letting him adjust? I think I could get off on the control alone! With another plaintive mewl, Peter's knees flexed against the side of the mattress, pushing him back onto Sylar's dick. Oh yeah, Petrelli. Oh fuck YES! Fuck yourself on me … Oh God.
Sylar watched the mesmerizing, unbelievable sight of his penis gradually disappearing into Peter Petrelli's asshole, the dark, reddish skin clinging a little as Peter fucked himself with Sylar's cock. Sylar gave a deep, rumbling chuckle. Not even his wildest fantasy had ever gone this far! Peter reached back with his hands, groping blindly at Sylar's hips, probably with the intent of forcing some movement from his partner.
No, you're mine, Petrelli. All mine. Sylar took Peter's wrists and held them up and out to the sides, turning them to arch Peter off the bed just a little. The motion shoved Sylar's shaft all the way inside that perfect, wet asshole, socketing him perfectly. You fit so good on my dick, Peter. It's like you fucking belong there. Peter's breathing choked and hitched, another whimper of delicious submissiveness filling the air as Sylar let his mind run wild with the power trip. Mine to fuck. Mine to position. Mine to arouse. Mine to do filthy, nasty, sexy things with. You don't get to touch me right now. I get to decide when we fuck!
He twisted the man's arms so that Peter's wrists overlapped one another on the small of his back, where Sylar's long fingers could hold both at the same time. Peter's responsive moan took on a slightly different tone, deeper and more husky like it was from the bottom of his lungs. Even from behind, Sylar could tell that the man flushed. "You like being held down, huh? Is that it?" Sylar's grip tightened, pulling back and forcing himself as deeply inside the other man as possible. Peter's legs trembled and his breathing was short gasps. Sylar snarled, pulling almost all the way out and then yanking Peter back onto himself with a sharp, wet slapping noise as they came together. Mine! Finally!
He gripped Peter's wrists harder as Peter was stiffening, tightening, breath still catching in the man's throat. Sylar pulled back a second time, looking down again to see Peter's lovely ass sucking lewdly at his cock before he rammed it back inside with another slamming thrust that left Peter choking and mewling helplessly. It was such a beautiful sound - exactly what Sylar wanted to hear from him. Peter's legs straightened and then flexed to either side of him, his shoulders jerked a couple times, and his next noise was definitely orgasmic as he writhed ecstatically, impaled as he was on Sylar's cock.
What? Sylar blinked at him, totally thrown as he felt a firm, decided clenching around the base of his dick. He just … did he …? Uh … He recalled how fucked out Peter had looked the only other time Sylar had penetrated the man and Peter had looked that way … well, before Sylar had even fucked him. He hadn't really paid much attention to what point in time Peter orgasmed then, either. I think he just came. What does that mean? Is that normal? What am I supposed to do now? I've only fucked him twice … I mean, fucked into him, thrust … whatever. I didn't get to do my part!
Peter started breathing again - long, breathy exhales sprinkled with small, sexy moans as he relaxed and deflated, legs going limp again, head flopping back against the bed. Sylar could see the edge of Peter's utterly self-satisfied smile and Sylar felt cheated that he'd done so little on his own to put that expression there. A moment later, Peter rotated his hips again in a slow, sensuous grind that apparently provoked some aftershock, because Peter twitched and his ass clenched again as he made a quieter, but still ecstatic murmur of sound.
Sylar was just standing there, dick inside the other man, feeling confused, let down, and very put-off. Yeah, he'd wanted Peter to come first, and it was, he supposed, a bit of a compliment that he'd gotten Peter off so quickly, but now he felt like the sex was pointless. There was no erotic climb, no conquest involved in bringing his partner completion. It was over before he'd even gotten started. Much.
"You can still fuck me," Peter said, voice thick with pleasure. He rocked his butt back a few times rhythmically in case Sylar didn't understand the principle. Completely nonplussed, Sylar let go of Peter's wrists (Did he pop because I was holding him down? Was that what got him off right away? Or was it because I fingered him too much first?) and took his hips, beginning to thrust dutifully. Unsurprisingly, within a few moments he was pushing a rope. It was impossible to stay aroused while his mind was running ninety miles an hour trying to work out what he'd done 'wrong' and even more importantly, if he'd done something wrong. The squishy, flexible rules of Peter's worldview left him in maddening uncertainty. His dick rebelled against the distraction by limping out. He gave up quickly on the sex, disgruntled and dispirited.
Sylar withdrew, wanting to blame Peter but not able to figure out what to blame him for. Then there was the non-trivial matter of it being stunningly unwise to express any level of dissatisfaction with a partner so new, who had issues with the whole thing anyway, and was even more fragile than Sylar. What the fuck do I do now? He's already gotten off. Am I supposed to fuck him anyway? Or is he just being nice when he's offering? If I can't do it, is that wrong? And what do I do about my dick not working? Isn't all of this his fault? (Does someone have to be at fault? I wonder if Peter thinks I did anything wrong?) I can't even say anything to ask! As it turned out, it didn't matter that Sylar said nothing. His silence and stillness radiated his pent-up, building anger clearer than he realized. About as vulnerable as he could possibly be, Peter pulled himself further on the bed and curled up into a very quiet, very still ball.
Seeing that damaged body language, Sylar said in an undertone, "No, no, no, no!" He climbed on the bed immediately, fear obliterating his budding and unjustified wrath. He trusted me - he trusts me! He's defenseless right now. He made himself defenseless to me. Don't make him regret that! He touched Peter's shoulder and scooted closer, offering a hug because it was what Peter had sought immediately after their previous romp on the dirty mattress of the sex room. With only a second's hesitation and a careful glance at his face, Peter huddled up to him just as before, relaxing (thank God. I didn't screw things up too badly) as Sylar settled his arms around him and began to softly kiss the crown of Peter's head. Doesn't matter. We can fuck some other time. It's okay. He had a good time and that's what counts. I have to … learn how to take care of him. That's so weird. 'You break it, you buy it' - I want to own him … to do that I have to fix him. I'm the one who broke him in the first place, killing Nathan. He mulled around the thoughts, occasionally making supportive murmurs as he perved on stroking Peter's silky hair.
A few minutes passed. Peter's hands came to rest on Sylar's ribs, forehead against his chest as more questions ran through Sylar's head. Is this what he meant by having issues and things being hard for him? Is this an inevitable cycle of … problems between us? Will it get worse? Better? … What can I do to make it better? Sylar stroked Peter's back. I think this helps. I have this. He has it, too. We're okay together. I'm making him feel better. Things I'm doing … I'm doing things that are helping. I'm … helpful? Does that mean I could be … worthy, worthwhile, to have a relationship with him? Peter lifted his head and kissed Sylar on the collarbone. Sylar felt a slow swipe of tongue, warm and wet. Jolted out of his internal monologue, Sylar glanced down to see Peter looking up at him with a questioning brow raised. Sylar smiled slightly. What does that mean? Is he turned on again?
Peter uncurled himself to straighten and touch his lips lightly to Sylar's. Sylar exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain out of him. This was such a handsome creature he was in bed with, who was gentle and kind to him, passionate and friendly. So Peter had apparently really gotten off there. Sylar's frustration about it didn't seem to matter so much anymore - not with a heartrendingly sweet kiss being shared between them. I'm the one who got him off, in any case. Peter's arms curled around his back and up to the top of his shoulders as Sylar let himself be rolled onto his back, Peter astride him. I'm still in the dominant position, even if he's on top. I could fuck him like this. Does he put himself into these positions intentionally, or is it an instinct?
Sylar felt a surge to his groin, thinking about asking for this position the next time he had the opportunity. He assumed they were taking turns, but he really didn't know. There'd been the hand job (Peter's preference), missionary (Sylar's choice, far as he could tell), then the whatever-they'd-done in the hot tub (Sylar had no idea how to characterize that - it didn't fit any of Sylar's simple categories of dominant and submissive), and now this. Peter's tongue slid into Sylar's mouth, his head turning with a low moan in the back of his throat. Sylar answered it out of his own instinct, his hands stroking along Peter's sides as he kissed back. This is sexy. I like this. He's not telling me I can't look at him. Maybe … maybe he thinks I'm okay.
Peter broke from him to nuzzle along his cheek, nose and lips working at him, teeth nipping as he got to Sylar's jaw. Sylar let his fingers curl and grip as he stretched his head up and to the side. Please do my neck? Please? A hot breath caressed his throat as Peter continued, working his way down to collarbone and then back up, getting progressively rougher, biting harder, sucking more, and growling as Sylar began to pant and his hips twitched in want. His cock still had regeneration, even if the rest of him didn't - or at least it was hurriedly resurrecting itself. Something broke over him - it was an odd moment to have an epiphany, but it worked - and left his skin tingling with how important it was: he could make mistakes, do things to try to make up for them, and sometimes it would work and Peter would forgive him. He could be forgiven. That's what he was getting, right now, with Peter crouched above him, getting him off. It's okay. This is okay. I'm okay!
Sylar groaned at that happy thought, buried his hand in Peter's hair and pulled him up for a passionate, probing kiss. Peter moaned into it, flattening himself against Sylar, his folded legs tightening against Sylar's hips. When they parted, Sylar blurted out a question he'd have never asked if he wasn't so overwhelmed by things. "You like me?"
"Oh, yeah," Peter crooned heartily. Sylar felt like he was melting inside. The approval made him want to surrender completely, do anything Peter asked or even implied he wanted. Right now what Peter seemed to want was to get him off, as the empath rose from him to cast about for the lube. He found it a long reach away, snagging it and applying a generous squirt to his hand. Sylar just watched, still thrilling to Peter's answer as the other man laid beside him and palmed Sylar's dick. Peter lay on his side with the elbow of the other arm propping him up near Sylar's head. Oh! Oh, God, yes! Touch me! Fuck, that feels good. He wants to make me feel good - to make me feel good. Just … just because he likes me! Pleasure radiated through him from sources both emotional and physical. Flames of desire roared back to full strength as Peter returned to his earlier vocation in mauling Sylar's neck, marking him as shamelessly as he stroked him. Make me yours! Take me!
Sylar stretched and arched, hips moving in tandem with Peter's hand, fucking into that warm, wet grip, bringing him off so selflessly. "Want you," Peter whispered as he reached Sylar's ear, nibbling and sucking at the lobe. The hot breath in his ear made Sylar shudder. His hands roamed indecisively over Peter's body, not sure what he wanted except that he wanted more. He wanted Peter's passion and desire and he was getting it. That 'want you' was ringing so sweetly in Sylar's ears. Peter rolled onto him, pushing a knee between Sylar's thighs and shoving it up until Sylar was riding Peter's leg. Peter didn't miss a beat with his cock, giving him long, perfect strokes from root to tip. Sylar panted, hanging onto Peter and shamelessly enjoying something for once in his life. Peter wasn't the only one being repaired inside.
Peter climbed partly over him again, turning his other arm so that the blade of his forearm was across the side of Sylar's throat, strangling him a little and pressing in enough to make him realize how easy it would be for the stronger man to hurt him. "Ya trust me?" Peter whispered hoarsely, his hand still pumping hard at him, that tempo pulsing through Sylar and making his whole body quake with the motions.
Oh! His eyes widened at that erotic threat, doubly so at the question. Have I ever really trusted anyone? Ever? Not really - mostly, he'd just thrown himself forward into Fate's arms, helpless to stop whatever betrayal he knew was inevitable. But this wasn't Fate; it was Peter. Maybe, just maybe, betrayal wasn't inevitable. He nodded.
Peter gave him a dark, menacing grin before taking his mouth, licking inside of him and lowering his body so Sylar was bearing some of his weight. Oh yeah! Oh, God, I want this! Another moment of clarity slipped into Sylar's mind - his wants, Peter's wants - they weren't the same and they didn't need to be the same. It was a boundary he didn't need to cross. He didn't need everything. But before he could marvel at that too much, the hand at his groin began to grip harder, jacking him faster. He clung to Peter, feeling that forearm bear down on his throat, bringing a building pressure and light-headedness. Tie me up, hold me down, turn me on, get me off, beat me, want me! That's what I want! He shifted his hips, spreading them and then tightening around Peter's leg, humping against him in time with the quickening motions on his cock. He shut his eyes and his constricted throat made a strained moan under the onslaught of Peter's passion for him. For me! All for me! He likes me! He wants me!
Peter was not only holding his forearm to Sylar's throat, but he was sucking the air literally out of him. Sylar felt the burn in his lungs at the same time that he felt his orgasm spreading through him, gathering his awareness to a single, glorious point. Distantly he was aware of Peter's harsh exhales against his cheek followed by sucking at his mouth, consuming the essence of his life, swallowing down his air the same way he'd lapped up Sylar's come. It was impossibly erotic, sexy, and satisfying, to know that he was that acceptable to someone, approved of that much that they would take him into their body - vapor, liquid, or solid - any form, Peter would take them all from him. Peter wanted them all from him. It left Sylar delirious with happiness. Short of oxygen, he had a moment of out-of-body transcendence, floating awash in sensation before he came hard enough to snap back into his body, quivering in orgasm and bucking against Peter's weight. Peter lifted, rotating his arm off his neck, and Sylar gasped, sucking in air. Peter stroked lightly at Sylar's hair, slumping off to the side while Sylar's sense of reality came rushing back in a tingle of surging and receding pleasure across his body. It was nothing compared to the feeling of fulfillment in his soul.
Peter wiped his hand off on the bedspread behind him, then gathered Sylar up in an embrace that was a counterpoint to how Sylar had held him earlier. Questions that might have troubled him before (Dominant? Submissive? In charge? Not?), no longer mattered. He was liked. He was okay. He was salvageable. Because of that, he would be anything Peter wanted.