Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 35: Private Messaging
Title: Private Messaging
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Explicit sexual content, mildly passive aggressive BS
Words: 1,400
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Sylar has managed to weasel his way into Peter's bed. Now he continues his plot of working his way onto Peter's dick.
Sylar rubbed his ass back and forth against Peter's groin from where they lay side-by-side in the bed. It didn't take long to get the sleeping man's attention. Peter's hands gripped his hips, holding him still for a moment while Peter oriented to what was going on. Good, Sylar thought. I won't have to touch him this way. He moved up and down slightly, shifting back and forward in a crude simulation of sex. He could feel Peter's erection hardening. The man was finally getting the message.
The first time Sylar had tried this, after wheedling his way into Peter's bed by a mix of persistence, stealth, and subterfuge, Peter hadn't reacted well. In fact, he'd been rather combative about the whole thing, despite Sylar's insistence that his body was available for Peter's needs whenever and however Peter might want it. That Peter had demurred just demonstrated that he needed to be shown, not told. Peter Petrelli was a man of action, after all, despite his attempts to put words to things that were so visceral as to be beyond articulation.
The second time had gone much better, even if Peter had acted like a scalded cat afterward - guilty and sullen by turns. He'd been asleep through a lot more of it that time, which probably had a lot to do with it. Sylar assumed Peter's act was due to the shock of dreaming of someone else and waking to find himself disappointed. But Peter had still finished, so it couldn't have been that bad.
Now, the third time, Peter was awake nearly from the start. That made it more dangerous and all the more sweet when Peter adjusted himself to line up with Sylar's crack and started moving with him. Penetration was a low risk. They were both wearing boxers and t-shirts - Peter because that was what he wore and Sylar because that was what Peter wore. He'd been working hard to adopt Peter's habits as his own, an effort that Peter seemed not to appreciate as much he should (the comment about being 'creepy' was especially uncalled for).
But Peter was adjusting. Lord knew he'd had to adjust to worse and stranger as a Petrelli. The mind games from the likes of Angela and Arthur made Sylar's honest desire to sate Peter's appetite look like small potatoes. No, Sylar was showing Peter how much better it could be if he would only reach out and take what he wanted. It had always worked for Sylar, after all.
Peter's muscular thighs flexed, sliding his shaft along Sylar's crack, the thin material of the boxers doubled between them as a protection Sylar still felt he needed. Of course Peter could take whatever he wanted, but Sylar found comfort in how that barrier had yet to be stripped from him. Peter shifted down, his loins cupping Sylar's with such delicious warmth that Sylar made a slight noise of pleasure. He cut it off fast, biting his lip.
"No," Peter murmured. "Let me hear you. It helps me to know you're enjoying this."
You're the one enjoying this. I'm just helping you. But fine, I'll help you enjoy it. Sylar didn't answer in words, but let his mouth open to pant noisily against the pillow. Sylar canted his hips up, letting Peter's cock nudge deeper in his cleft. He let his eyes roll upward as he imagined what it would be like to have that fleshy rod pulsing inside of him, filling him up. It was going to happen, they just hadn't gotten there yet. Once Peter realized how much was on offer, he'd want that, too, Sylar knew. He groaned as he felt Peter's fingers clench into his hips to pull him back into each thrust. The man's cock was rock hard by now, leaving damp spots where precome was wetting the fabric.
"Oh yeah," Sylar purred, moving in rhythmic counterpoint. This was so good, to have someone touching him, playing with him, and enjoying being with him. It soothed something itchy deep inside him to know that Peter was getting off on him. He was pleasing to someone and that was such a rush.
Peter leaned forward to nip him over one shoulder blade, making Sylar's breath catch and his uppermost arm reach back to grab Peter's ass, fingers digging in like talons. Peter growled and responded to the touch, rolling him over slightly and pushing into him harder and faster, opening him up and topping him more literally. Sylar's whole body was being jogged by the power Peter packed into those pumping buttocks. He could hear Peter's breathing speeding up and shivered to feel bites and kisses delivered along his back. That was new - and very, very arousing.
Also new was the hand Peter slid under his shirt and around his waist, hugging him close as he changed tempo to unremitting, hard grinding. Fingers sifted through his belly hair and drifted downward, leaving Sylar squirming in ambivalent uncertainty. Peter had never touched him before - not awake and purposefully. His purpose was undeniable now. Fingers breached his boxers, letting in a bit of cool air and a questing hand. Sylar quivered, muscles drawing and flexing involuntarily. What flimsy protection he had was being bypassed. He breathed more shallowly, pressing his forehead into the pillow.
"Easy, easy," Peter crooned against his skin, still shoving slowly against his rear, rubbing his own dick up and down the valley of Sylar's glutes. Peter's hand found Sylar's penis aching in unrelieved need. He hadn't orgasmed either time before. The first was brought to an early halt; the second Peter had bailed as soon as he'd finished. Not that Sylar had expected any attention. Even now, with Peter beginning to stroke up and down him, it seemed unbelievable. Sylar's eyelids fluttered with the sensation of a foreign touch handling him so intimately and carefully. It felt incredible. He wasn't being hurt, either. He'd never had this. Ever. He'd fucked, but his partners did not get off on giving him a hand-job and so he'd never gotten one. Does Peter get off on this?
If his sounds and the renewed mouthiness were any indication, the answer was yes. Peter surged against him in time with the tugging and squeezing of his prick. Sylar felt orgasm rising through him faster than he'd thought possible, Peter's mere touch driving him wild. Mouth wide, he felt his limbs stiffen as his breathing became gasps. Sensing it, Peter pressed into him harder, pushing him into the mattress as he humped on top of him, biting his back hard enough to make Sylar arch upwards. That was going to leave a mark. Sylar's only regret was that it would be difficult to see it later. It felt like fire and light was sparking through him all at once, coiling into his groin to hang there, burning in his nuts before finally gushing outward in release.
Sylar whimpered, feeling completely and utterly whipped, dominated, something. He brought me off. He … he brought me off. Him. He did it. He touched me. He did that … why? Oh my God. Why? Why would he? Does he care? He … His mind whirled, sluggish now as aftershocks spread through him, endorphins clouding his thinking. Peter hugged him close with one hand while his other had shifted from Sylar's dick to his own, working himself with short, hard jerks punctuated by unashamed noises of pleasure. A few moments later, there was more than precome wetting his back.
Peter didn't seem to care in the least about the grossness of that. He settled in next to Sylar's side, pulling up the long-since dislodged blankets, and wrapping himself around Sylar as much as possible. He gave tender pecks to the middle of Sylar's back, then rested his forehead against the spot. Sylar, mind spinning at how incomprehensibly well this had gone, didn't dare to move as the other man drifted back into slumber. Peter had gotten the message, all right.
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Explicit sexual content, mildly passive aggressive BS
Words: 1,400
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Sylar has managed to weasel his way into Peter's bed. Now he continues his plot of working his way onto Peter's dick.
Sylar rubbed his ass back and forth against Peter's groin from where they lay side-by-side in the bed. It didn't take long to get the sleeping man's attention. Peter's hands gripped his hips, holding him still for a moment while Peter oriented to what was going on. Good, Sylar thought. I won't have to touch him this way. He moved up and down slightly, shifting back and forward in a crude simulation of sex. He could feel Peter's erection hardening. The man was finally getting the message.
The first time Sylar had tried this, after wheedling his way into Peter's bed by a mix of persistence, stealth, and subterfuge, Peter hadn't reacted well. In fact, he'd been rather combative about the whole thing, despite Sylar's insistence that his body was available for Peter's needs whenever and however Peter might want it. That Peter had demurred just demonstrated that he needed to be shown, not told. Peter Petrelli was a man of action, after all, despite his attempts to put words to things that were so visceral as to be beyond articulation.
The second time had gone much better, even if Peter had acted like a scalded cat afterward - guilty and sullen by turns. He'd been asleep through a lot more of it that time, which probably had a lot to do with it. Sylar assumed Peter's act was due to the shock of dreaming of someone else and waking to find himself disappointed. But Peter had still finished, so it couldn't have been that bad.
Now, the third time, Peter was awake nearly from the start. That made it more dangerous and all the more sweet when Peter adjusted himself to line up with Sylar's crack and started moving with him. Penetration was a low risk. They were both wearing boxers and t-shirts - Peter because that was what he wore and Sylar because that was what Peter wore. He'd been working hard to adopt Peter's habits as his own, an effort that Peter seemed not to appreciate as much he should (the comment about being 'creepy' was especially uncalled for).
But Peter was adjusting. Lord knew he'd had to adjust to worse and stranger as a Petrelli. The mind games from the likes of Angela and Arthur made Sylar's honest desire to sate Peter's appetite look like small potatoes. No, Sylar was showing Peter how much better it could be if he would only reach out and take what he wanted. It had always worked for Sylar, after all.
Peter's muscular thighs flexed, sliding his shaft along Sylar's crack, the thin material of the boxers doubled between them as a protection Sylar still felt he needed. Of course Peter could take whatever he wanted, but Sylar found comfort in how that barrier had yet to be stripped from him. Peter shifted down, his loins cupping Sylar's with such delicious warmth that Sylar made a slight noise of pleasure. He cut it off fast, biting his lip.
"No," Peter murmured. "Let me hear you. It helps me to know you're enjoying this."
You're the one enjoying this. I'm just helping you. But fine, I'll help you enjoy it. Sylar didn't answer in words, but let his mouth open to pant noisily against the pillow. Sylar canted his hips up, letting Peter's cock nudge deeper in his cleft. He let his eyes roll upward as he imagined what it would be like to have that fleshy rod pulsing inside of him, filling him up. It was going to happen, they just hadn't gotten there yet. Once Peter realized how much was on offer, he'd want that, too, Sylar knew. He groaned as he felt Peter's fingers clench into his hips to pull him back into each thrust. The man's cock was rock hard by now, leaving damp spots where precome was wetting the fabric.
"Oh yeah," Sylar purred, moving in rhythmic counterpoint. This was so good, to have someone touching him, playing with him, and enjoying being with him. It soothed something itchy deep inside him to know that Peter was getting off on him. He was pleasing to someone and that was such a rush.
Peter leaned forward to nip him over one shoulder blade, making Sylar's breath catch and his uppermost arm reach back to grab Peter's ass, fingers digging in like talons. Peter growled and responded to the touch, rolling him over slightly and pushing into him harder and faster, opening him up and topping him more literally. Sylar's whole body was being jogged by the power Peter packed into those pumping buttocks. He could hear Peter's breathing speeding up and shivered to feel bites and kisses delivered along his back. That was new - and very, very arousing.
Also new was the hand Peter slid under his shirt and around his waist, hugging him close as he changed tempo to unremitting, hard grinding. Fingers sifted through his belly hair and drifted downward, leaving Sylar squirming in ambivalent uncertainty. Peter had never touched him before - not awake and purposefully. His purpose was undeniable now. Fingers breached his boxers, letting in a bit of cool air and a questing hand. Sylar quivered, muscles drawing and flexing involuntarily. What flimsy protection he had was being bypassed. He breathed more shallowly, pressing his forehead into the pillow.
"Easy, easy," Peter crooned against his skin, still shoving slowly against his rear, rubbing his own dick up and down the valley of Sylar's glutes. Peter's hand found Sylar's penis aching in unrelieved need. He hadn't orgasmed either time before. The first was brought to an early halt; the second Peter had bailed as soon as he'd finished. Not that Sylar had expected any attention. Even now, with Peter beginning to stroke up and down him, it seemed unbelievable. Sylar's eyelids fluttered with the sensation of a foreign touch handling him so intimately and carefully. It felt incredible. He wasn't being hurt, either. He'd never had this. Ever. He'd fucked, but his partners did not get off on giving him a hand-job and so he'd never gotten one. Does Peter get off on this?
If his sounds and the renewed mouthiness were any indication, the answer was yes. Peter surged against him in time with the tugging and squeezing of his prick. Sylar felt orgasm rising through him faster than he'd thought possible, Peter's mere touch driving him wild. Mouth wide, he felt his limbs stiffen as his breathing became gasps. Sensing it, Peter pressed into him harder, pushing him into the mattress as he humped on top of him, biting his back hard enough to make Sylar arch upwards. That was going to leave a mark. Sylar's only regret was that it would be difficult to see it later. It felt like fire and light was sparking through him all at once, coiling into his groin to hang there, burning in his nuts before finally gushing outward in release.
Sylar whimpered, feeling completely and utterly whipped, dominated, something. He brought me off. He … he brought me off. Him. He did it. He touched me. He did that … why? Oh my God. Why? Why would he? Does he care? He … His mind whirled, sluggish now as aftershocks spread through him, endorphins clouding his thinking. Peter hugged him close with one hand while his other had shifted from Sylar's dick to his own, working himself with short, hard jerks punctuated by unashamed noises of pleasure. A few moments later, there was more than precome wetting his back.
Peter didn't seem to care in the least about the grossness of that. He settled in next to Sylar's side, pulling up the long-since dislodged blankets, and wrapping himself around Sylar as much as possible. He gave tender pecks to the middle of Sylar's back, then rested his forehead against the spot. Sylar, mind spinning at how incomprehensibly well this had gone, didn't dare to move as the other man drifted back into slumber. Peter had gotten the message, all right.