Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 43: Sparring
Title: Sparring
Characters: Sylar, Peter Petrelli
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild violence and sexual innuendo
Word count: 400
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Peter tries to play, but Sylar isn't sure how.
Notes: Look, a Peter-pounce!
XXX
Peter danced back and forth, displaying some pretty good footwork as he punched and jabbed playfully at Sylar’s arms and chest. “Come on! Fight me!”
Sylar drew himself up. Cool, disinterested-looking eyes regarded his antagonist from the elevation, keeping close watch. He knew guys mock-fought a lot. It was a sign of affectionate approval, but he wasn’t sure how to reciprocate without getting hurt.
“Fine.” Peter stopped, shoulders slumping, and turned away to sulk. “You’re no fu-“ Sylar whapped him on the back of the head, lightning-quick.
Peter made a surprised cry and wheeled, jumping directly at Sylar so unexpectedly that the taller man could do nothing about being tackled (painfully) to the ground. Air driven out of him, he was powerless as Peter scrambled up, straddled him, and grabbed his throat with an exultant grin.
Sylar slapped a hand over Peter’s wrist and froze there, because Peter wasn’t choking him. And in fact, as the shock cleared from his brain, he realized this was incredibly sexy - Peter crouching above him, groin inches from his own, panting and flushed from the sudden assault, while Sylar still had adrenaline coursing through him and making everything super-sharp. A faltering, uncertain expression graced Peter's face. Sylar slowly rubbed the wrist in his hand, keeping his features neutral. He hoped Peter wouldn’t decide the best way to show this wasn't the rough foreplay it looked like was to move things along to bloody violence.
A half-smile bloomed, then shuttered, then bloomed again on Peter’s face. He blushed, stammered something unintelligible, and tugged his hand away, swinging himself up to his feet. He reached down to help Sylar stand, bringing him up, whether intentionally or not, a bit too close to himself. Sylar could have put his arms around him in embrace without either of them having to take a step. Peter’s eyes rested on Sylar's lips for a very long beat, before Peter rolled his shoulders and inhaled deeply. “Maybe we can spar some other time.” Peter reached out and slapped him on the outside of his shoulder as he moved away.
“I’d love to.” Getting hurt looked like it might be worth it.
Characters: Sylar, Peter Petrelli
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild violence and sexual innuendo
Word count: 400
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Peter tries to play, but Sylar isn't sure how.
Notes: Look, a Peter-pounce!
XXX
Peter danced back and forth, displaying some pretty good footwork as he punched and jabbed playfully at Sylar’s arms and chest. “Come on! Fight me!”
Sylar drew himself up. Cool, disinterested-looking eyes regarded his antagonist from the elevation, keeping close watch. He knew guys mock-fought a lot. It was a sign of affectionate approval, but he wasn’t sure how to reciprocate without getting hurt.
“Fine.” Peter stopped, shoulders slumping, and turned away to sulk. “You’re no fu-“ Sylar whapped him on the back of the head, lightning-quick.
Peter made a surprised cry and wheeled, jumping directly at Sylar so unexpectedly that the taller man could do nothing about being tackled (painfully) to the ground. Air driven out of him, he was powerless as Peter scrambled up, straddled him, and grabbed his throat with an exultant grin.
Sylar slapped a hand over Peter’s wrist and froze there, because Peter wasn’t choking him. And in fact, as the shock cleared from his brain, he realized this was incredibly sexy - Peter crouching above him, groin inches from his own, panting and flushed from the sudden assault, while Sylar still had adrenaline coursing through him and making everything super-sharp. A faltering, uncertain expression graced Peter's face. Sylar slowly rubbed the wrist in his hand, keeping his features neutral. He hoped Peter wouldn’t decide the best way to show this wasn't the rough foreplay it looked like was to move things along to bloody violence.
A half-smile bloomed, then shuttered, then bloomed again on Peter’s face. He blushed, stammered something unintelligible, and tugged his hand away, swinging himself up to his feet. He reached down to help Sylar stand, bringing him up, whether intentionally or not, a bit too close to himself. Sylar could have put his arms around him in embrace without either of them having to take a step. Peter’s eyes rested on Sylar's lips for a very long beat, before Peter rolled his shoulders and inhaled deeply. “Maybe we can spar some other time.” Peter reached out and slapped him on the outside of his shoulder as he moved away.
“I’d love to.” Getting hurt looked like it might be worth it.