Sexual Tension Chapter 16: Practice Run
Title: Practice Run
Characters: Sylar, Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, a little fighting, handcuffs, intercrural sex
Word count: 3,000
Setting: The Wall, Sexual Tension AU
Summary: Peter and Sylar continue to work out their relationship dynamics in bed. Written for the 2012 Advent Calendar.
So. I guess the new norm involves being attacked by Peter Petrelli for sex. Sylar was delighted.
He tried to catch himself as he was thrown down on the bed, Peter's hand authoritatively gripping the back of his neck. He pushed up, Peter pushed down and then augmented it by putting a knee into his kidney. There was a stab of pain and Sylar went flat immediately. In the past, Peter had demonstrated his willingness to escalate fights to ridiculous degrees, just like getting out that stupid hammer the day before. Sylar was uninterested in pissing blood for the next week. Also, he liked being dominated and forced down more than he liked fighting, doubly so now that they had some trust between them and could really let himself enjoy it.
He panted against the bedspread, feeling Peter rock most of his weight off of his knee and smooth his free hand up and then down Sylar's side in quiet appreciation. They were both naked, having moved to the apartment down the hall from Sylar's for their sex, just like they'd done that morning. Sylar knew what he was signing on for, if not the particulars. That's what they were discussing, oh-so-physically. He liked that better than the talky crap. He was getting so much of what he wanted here - it was just like he'd always dreamed Christmas should be, with one lovely gift after another. All he had to do was find the right blend of naught and nice.
Speaking of which, Peter reached over and fished under the nearer pillow, pulling out something with a metallic clink that had Sylar jerking his head around that direction The handcuffs! Where did … he must have slipped in here and planted them! I wondered where those were. Peter had one slipped over his right wrist before Sylar could jerk away from him. Sylar wasn't going to make it easy for him, after all. Peter bore down with his knee; Sylar rolled into the pressure and then away to the side. Peter grabbed his right arm, nails digging in and leaving gouges as Sylar twisted out of that grip, too, trying to shove himself up off the bed so he could get some height and leverage. Also, he basically had his back to Peter at the moment, which wasn't a healthy position to be in.
Peter wasn't going to give up his advantage. He threw his body forward on Sylar's back, grabbing at his neck with his left hand and trying to stick his right under Sylar's right arm for a half nelson. Sylar made another twist and roll, this time ending up with his back flat against the bed - also not the best place to be for fighting, but he'd dislodged Peter for the moment. Peter grabbed the dangling handcuff and yanked Ow! His wrists were still sore from the day before and Peter, ever vicious in a fight, seemed well aware of that. Sylar liked that A lot You are seriously revving my engine, Petey-boy. But he still punched the empath in the face with his left fist.
Peter fell back, floundering a little as Sylar tried to pull his right hand away. Peter hadn't been hit hard - Sylar's blow was more of a distraction than anything else. He hadn't forgotten Peter's admonition about how pain was not on the menu for him. In the struggle over his right hand, Peter came forward once more and Sylar tried to hit him again, open-handed this time because it didn't make much difference. On his back, he couldn't get enough wind-up to do any real damage. Peter still dodged it, but he did so by falling on Sylar - whether intentional or not was unclear. What was clear though was that as Sylar tried to shove him off, Peter snagged his left wrist with his right hand, trying to drag it to the handcuff Whoa! Stop that.
It didn't work. They wrestled. Peter straddled him, climbing on top and Sylar could barely suppress a surge of joy, imagining fucking Peter like this. Sylar was already well hard. Peter wasn't, but that was oddly charming and unthreatening in a perversely sexy way. It made Sylar want to climb all over him and ravish him into submission. The idea that such might be allowed made his head spin. They struggled over the cuffs a bit more until Sylar managed to yank Peter forward and roll them over, putting him securely between Peter's legs. "My turn!" he crowed, just as Peter managed to finally click the other cuff over his left wrist Fuck! He yanked - that hurt like hell and definitely did not help. Pain and desire were fogging together, making it hard to think.
Peter grabbed him by the throat and Sylar rolled them again, this time closer to the headboard. With a growl, Sylar wriggled and continued the motion while Peter didn't, trying to get away from him. Sylar ended up on his stomach, bowing his back to throw Peter off of him. He wasn't sure he was happy with Peter on top of him. It felt awfully threatening. Peter went; Sylar got up to his hands and knees. Peter grabbed at his chained hands; Sylar jumped back and to the side, almost going off the far end of the bed. He wavered on the edge. Peter seized his arm and pulled him back. The both stopped for a moment, breathing hard and looking at each other. Sylar's erection was at full attention, bobbing stiffly in front of him. Peter's expression conveyed how pleased he was about that.
Blood racing, heart pounding, Sylar let his lids fall to half-mast as he leaned forward slowly, opening his mouth and tilting his head. Peter met him, kissing him passionately and deeply. Sylar started laughing in the middle of it. He couldn't help it - this was so much fucking fun! Peter pulled back, jerked Sylar's hands to the side and something hit Sylar's hand, then the chain between his wrists. He started to pull away, but his balance was off and Peter had braced himself - probably during the kiss, the cheating little twerp. Sylar would have put up a better fight if he hadn't been trying to stifle laughter. There was a click of another cuff - this one tightening over the chain between his hands. The other end of the new handcuff was attached to the headboard of the bed.
Oh, Sylar thought, realizing he might be really stuck now. Fear flooded him right alongside an additional dose of delight. Uncertainty flared. Despite the pain that he knew it would cause, he yanked. The headboard was wooden - it wasn't made to secure prisoners. Sylar was hoping it would give way before the bones in his hands did. Peter's hand was on the back of his neck again, pushing him down. "No!" Peter ordered him sharply. "Don't break it." He pushed Sylar's face down into the pillow, expressing his dominance with a confidence that went straight to Sylar's dick.
Sylar twisted his head to the side, blowing his hair out of his way. It fell back into his face immediately. He didn't speak - panting, waiting, his mind feeling over this concept of surrendering that was making itself known to him. Peter leaned in, telegraphing his intentions much as Sylar had just before, and kissed him on the shoulder. He lingered, chewing and sucking his way around the triceps until Sylar relaxed and sank into the bed Yeah, okay, you can molest me. I'll allow that. He smiled into the pillow, stretching out flat as Peter nudged his butt down and began to work across his back. This wasn't surrendering; this was just letting something pleasant (very pleasant) happen without contesting it.
Sylar's back was kissed and licked and touched and caressed. He squirmed against the bedspread in response. Fingers tickled up and down his short ribs in exploration, leaving his own fingers to clench and spread, confined by the cuffs Hey, I'm not blindfolded! He rumbled a deep, appreciative chuckle at the realization. He soaked up the attention and let himself relax into submission. It was something he hadn't been able to do completely the first time, in the room. Now he was much more certain that Peter would let him go at the end, and that he'd be alive, whole, and miraculously, even satisfied. He rubbed his eager, straining prick against the bedspread in anticipation.
Peter's hand went to the small of his back and then lower, making Sylar tense again. They hadn't discussed Peter topping him and it only now occurred to Sylar that face-down like this made it pretty damn obvious what Peter had in mind. He pulled himself forward a little, up on his elbows so he could hunch his shoulders and bow his head Three out of four's not bad. Getting anything at all is an improvement. Yesterday, before I got him going, getting fucked is what I'd assumed would happen, best case. He wants me; I can focus on that while he does it.
Peter's hand swirled around one butt cheek and then the other, one finger teasing along Sylar's crack from bottom to top. Anticipation and worry bubbled up inside of him, making him alternately long for Peter to do it and be grateful that he wasn't yet. Taking in a deep breath, Sylar spread his legs. That would make it easier, he knew, as would, he assumed, lifting his ass but Peter wasn't asking for that yet. Peter repeated his stroking several times - cheek one, cheek two, and then crack, but the last time it was top to bottom, slowing as he went deeper, hand sliding between Sylar's legs. He spread himself further, head dipping lower as Peter's fingertips grazed along the hairy back side of his balls.
That feels weirdly nice. I wonder if he can make this okay somehow? He seems to like it when I do it to him. He said he even preferred it. Peter's mouth left a trail of kisses down his spine while the hand between his legs pressed down on the bedspread to cup up under him, taking his balls into Peter's grip. It felt good - surprisingly good. Sylar tugged on the cuffs to remind himself he wasn't in charge at the moment. Pain bit into the back of hands still sore from the day before. He groaned a little at the sensation, giving himself up to it. Peter squeezed, kneaded, and tugged on his testicles No, not in charge at all, and somehow, that's not a bad thing. Sylar fought the urge to raise his ass and present himself. It frightened him - that unsolicited instinct to make his receptivity known. But he wanted more, wanted to beg for it.
When Peter got the lube off the bedside table, Sylar's breathing jumped again He's going to do it! Fuck .. He trembled in anxious anticipation when Peter slathered it on - up and down his crack, sloppily across the inside of his thighs, and slicked up his balls for good measure My balls? His apprehension was side-tracked by uncertainty. That wasn't quite the script he'd been expecting.
Peter climbed above him, paradoxically nudging his legs together instead of apart and mouthing on his shoulders What is he doing? That feels good, but why isn't he fucking me? Peter (probably?) wouldn't (couldn't?) fuck him with his legs together (right?) He could, and did, rub his own healthy Petrelli erection across Sylar's ass. That was a turn-on definitely. To know that Peter was aroused by him was arousing in and of itself. The set of Sylar's shoulders relaxed as he let Peter nibble away the tension with his teeth - a series of small bites and nips across his back as the empath's thighs hugged his and the man's cock settled into the cleft of his ass.
Peter hugged him from behind, letting his weight settle over him 'Covering' - a euphemism for sex, the breeding of animals, Sylar thought. Biology and animal husbandry textbooks had been one of the few allowed outlets for his sexual curiosity as a youth. It had given him a technical understanding of the act, but Peter was a seemingly endless font of knowledge about variations and expressions of sexing Sylar had never known existed. It made him wildly greedy to experience them all. He shifted his body back and forth under his own personal Italian stallion, reveling in how much skin contact they had going on. His mind buzzed with excitement from all that soft skin rubbing on his own.Oh yeah, Petrelli. You could get me off like this, so easy. Rub all over me!
Peter lifted off for a moment, the lube bottle making a rude noise as he slicked himself up. Then Sylar felt it: he sucked in breath as Peter slid his dick between his legs with a low groan of pleasure and &hellip Wait, what? Inside of Sylar's head, it was like the scrape of a needle drawn across a record, screeching to a stop. Not that Peter had stopped. No, he was getting into it. Really getting into it.
"Oh, fuck! Sylar ..."
Sylar's sudden mental paralysis didn't change the fact that Peter's cock was wetly slurping up and down between Sylar's legs rather than penetrating him, having departed from expectations yet again. An arm snaked under Sylar's upper chest, holding him while Peter humped away at him with abandon Is this … foreplay? Or fucking? Or that frottage thing he mentioned? It was exciting, not so much in the way of direct stimulation, but he was getting so much more. Peter's heated groin was cupping his ass, thrusting into him without being 'in' him. It slapped against his skin just like sex, with the incredible feeling of Peter's dick sliding in and out as he was held tightly Leave it to you, Peter, to fuck me in ways I didn't even know existed.
"You are so hot," Peter crooned as his love-bites on Sylar's back turned harder and more passionate.
Sylar rolled his shoulders and wriggled his body, shifting his hips experimentally. Peter's thrusts changed tempo to faster and shallower, pumping at him more energetically.What would it be like … if he did? If he fucked me? He said he prefers getting fucked. It can't be that bad. What if I'm missing out? God this … this actually feel good. Sylar made a low, deep noise of approval and Peter's hand forced its way down his chest, past his belly, finding his long-trapped shaft and wrapping around it.
"Gah!" Sylar choked out, surprised and grateful for the attention he hadn't even realized he wanted at that moment. Peter retracted his hand and hesitated for a moment, a second graceless noise from the lube bottle announcing his action. Then the hand was back, slippery and sexy, the sensation such a contrast to the former that it pulled a needy sound from Sylar's throat. Peter's hips slowed a bit as his concentration went to the grip sliding up and down Sylar's cock, stroking and pulling.
"Fuck my hand," Peter whispered So hot. To have those words murmured to him by this particular person was unbelievable. Sylar's loins began to flex, slowly at first and then building in tempo, fornicating with Peter's fist Feels so good. He could feel his shifting thighs squeezing Peter's dick, so slick and hard between his legs.
Fuck! This is … oh God … it's like fucking myself on his cock &hellip And without any of those things he was worried about. It was like anal sex without the problems - no grossness, no penetration, no pain. Not that he minded the pain, and the tight grip Peter had on him was a perfect intensity that had him gasping and shoving into it for more. His muscles were bunching and starting to burn, but what sent him over the edge was the return of Peter's mouth to his shoulder, biting him hard and growling possessively in his ear. Hot breath, wet tongue, and sharp teeth all caressed his skin with firey pleasure, sinking in and making him arch up off the bed. Something inside of Sylar clicked - he really, desperately wanted Peter to fuck him for real, to take him in every sense of the word.
The thought of opening himself like that to anyone shot through him like lightning, setting off sparks throughout his body, narrowing fast to pure, raw need in his gut. "Take me!" he said gutturally, a spontaneous, almost unthinking utterance that caused Peter to redouble his energy, roughly pounding him, tugging at his root, biting him twice more. "I want … fuck ..." Sylar said brokenly, unable to articulate as the world narrowed down to nothing but glorious, pain-tinged sensation. A moment later, he was spilling.
Peter came up to his knees, pulling out from between Sylar's legs and half-crouching above him. Sylar looked back over his shoulder to see Peter beating himself off, one hand getting busy as the other caressed the side of Sylar's ass. The head of his dick was swollen and shiny, darkening even as he watched. In another moment, Peter came, muscles tightening as his balls emptied themselves onto Sylar's buttocks. Hot jism dribbled and spurted onto him. Sylar had only the faintest ambivalence, a concern about what it meant for Peter to do something that … dominant? presumptive? possessive? to him. It was wiped out by the realization that was exactly what it was - an expression of Peter's desire for him, to dominate, to presume, to possess.
He's … he's marking me. Bites, cuffs, semen. He really wants me, wants me to be ... his.