Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 55: Simple Questions, part 2 of 2
Part 1 of 2
Sylar blinked and jolted as he found himself in the dark, nose full of the smell of drying masonry instead of Peter's delicious scent. His abilities, all of them, stirred to life in the back of his mind as the rest of his consciousness swiftly reorganized its grip on reality. One thing was for sure - he wasn’t on his couch, making out with Peter Petrelli, with a warm, sexy, and very willing body pressed to his own. The loss and change was shocking, but it was hardly the first harsh bait-and-switch he’d endured. He felt like he could actually sense his spirit shrinking. The memory of being loved seemed as unreal as anything else in the bizarre dream. Matt Parkman’s ability trapped me, just like Candace's did. I must have found the way out. How much of that did I make up along the way? Anger surged up inside of him, along with an uncertainty as to what to do about Parkman’s trick. Playing with his heart like that was one of the cruelest things he’d ever had done to him. Before he’d had his enforced siesta, he would have punished Matt in kind. But now? It felt wrong.
There was a noise outside, a faint scuffling. Sylar welcomed the excuse to act. He exerted his powers, channeling a telekinetic blast straight forward. And there was Peter, staggering back from the explosion, then moving forward to look at him as Sylar stepped out. Peter’s expression showed no fear of him, regarding him in a familiar manner. Instantly, his rage died as he realized Peter’s presence in the dream hadn’t been a figment of his imagination. Peter was no demon conjured by an overactive mind to flog a confession out of him. He’d come to save him - could it all be true? His heart leapt to his throat and his spirit rebounded. He didn’t dare push for answers, fearing it might all fall apart if he questioned it too much. What he knew for sure was that Peter had come for him, wasn’t leaving him, and a few minutes later, he supported him when Matt threatened him. Peter was there, a hand on his back and a presence at his side. Sylar clung to that, remembering dimly that Peter had had a purpose beyond saving Sylar’s soul. He had a mission to fulfill and if Sylar knew anything about Peter, it was that the mission would come first.
It was easily enough accomplished. The evening drew to a close without any new demand on their attention. The carnies were safe; Claire had left with the reporters. After one last, vigilant look over the dispersing crowd, Peter sidled closer and slipped his hand into Sylar’s. Looking down at their joined hands, Peter rubbed his index finger back and forth. “Do you want to come back to my place?” He glanced up at Sylar then, all dark lashes and darker eyes. Peter looked away when he didn't get an immediate answer; Sylar was literally wordless at the moment. Peter shrugged with affected nonchalance, giving his hand a squeeze and adding, “It’s probably best to get you out of here, in case Noah or …”
“Yes.” Sylar managed to blurt. He didn’t think Peter was seriously considering his safety as the reason for finding some privacy. His heart soared. He could have flown back to Peter’s apartment and if he’d been able to teleport, they would have been there already. Peter squeezed his hand again and off they set. They’d held hands while flying, too, but talking while supersonic was impossible. Even though Peter had tried a few bits of sign language, neither of them knew enough to hold a conversation Watching Peter smile shyly and finger-spell his name as they'd rushed through the sky had soothed Sylar’s insecurities and charmed him. It allowed him to be patient and stay focused on what he needed to do rather than what he wanted. For there to even be a difference between those two was an exotically new flavor of candy.
With the apartment door finally shut behind them, a few worries surfaced. It was possible, after all, that Peter had just invited him up for coffee or to talk and maybe not for a continuation of where the dream had left off. Sylar supposed those were … okay. They'd still sort of be together, after all. Peter had so many other choices now that they were back. He was a fool to think that wouldn't play a part in things. There would be other missions, he knew, but he didn't know where he'd fit into any of that, if he'd fit at all. To distract himself from any possible disappointment, he looked around the oddly barren apartment, thinking about the various times he or Nathan had been here in the last few years - violence, strangeness, and betrayal came to mind. No wonder he wanted answers. Things have been as fucked up for him as they were for me.
He didn’t get to think more before Peter was in his arms, pinning him to the door, pulling him down for an ardent kiss. It obliterated all his doubts and reminded him acutely of how inside-of-his-own-head he’d been living recently and how little regard he'd been giving to Peter. Peter, who wanted him and was expressing that very clearly at the moment - but why? Something about solving his own internal problems had lit a fire of curiosity within Sylar to know more about others. He’d been so focused on his own journey that he’d missed the one Peter had been making parallel to him - how over the years, hatred had cooled to dislike, and then had come the questions - first as interrogation, but then becoming gentle and probing though no less persistent. And while Peter’s tone softened, so too had his heart. Somewhere along the line, sympathy had become empathy which had morphed into affection - and maybe even into something more. Sylar cursed himself briefly for not having paid more attention to that ultimate transformation, though he’d been a bit busy with his own.
Peter parted from him just enough to whisper huskily against his lips, “You still want this?”
“All of it,” Sylar growled without hesitation this time, kissing back and pushing Peter backwards from the door towards the bed. A flick of his fingers threw the French doors open wide. Peter scrambled onto the bed, pulling off his shirt with enthusiastic abandon. Sylar’s shirt followed, the two garments landing atop one another in the corner.
Sylar paused at the bedside and took in the incredible sight of someone eagerly awaiting intimacy with him. Peter was so beautiful and perfect that it seemed almost too good to be true. Peter had had his dramatic rescue of Emma. He had to know Sylar wasn’t going to go back to the life he’d had before (any of the various walks of life he’d trodden). And so Sylar found himself contemplating once more the same question Peter had pestered him with so much in the nightmare world, the same one that was already echoing around in his own skull: Why? But rather than torment Peter with years of questions, he had a short cut. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes intent on Peter. “I have an ability from Lydia. It helps me understand people. I want to understand you. Will you let me use it?”
Wide-eyed, Peter blinked at the interruption in the moment, but took the quick de-escalation in stride. “Okay.” He nodded slowly as he took in what that meant. “I want you to understand me, so … yeah.”
Sylar nodded back, turning to crawl onto the mattress and sit cross-legged before Peter, who was on his knees. Sylar reached out to cup Peter’s face with a hand on each handsomely-stubbled cheek. “Using her ability has its perks.” He smiled and leaned in, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to Peter’s lips. He felt Peter stiffen at the foreign tingle of the ability, but he showed his trust by not pulling away. A moment later, Sylar had all the answers he needed - all the mechanisms and complications of Peter’s soul were laid bare, every damaged part clear. There were a lot more of them than he'd expected. Leaning back, he observed, “You need a connection as badly as I do.”
Peter defiantly pulled his face from Sylar’s grasp, leaving Sylar smiling slightly at the display of ‘I’m not weak’ or perhaps an even more childish, 'I don't need nothing!' But Peter recognized the reaction as well as Sylar did. “Maybe,” he allowed and then warned, “Things haven’t been good for the people I’ve fallen for. Think you’re up for it?”
A challenge. Peter was not at all as confident and purposeful as he acted. The passionate, pinned-to-the-door kiss of earlier and the scrambling on the bed weren’t the indicators Sylar had thought they were. They were still indicators, but instead of a thoroughly thought-out course of action, it was a reckless plunge accompanied by a ‘hope for the best’. It was winsome and adorable in that sweet, naïve way of Peter’s. He’d take a risk on anyone, even Sylar, and he’d been battered so badly by that openness that his whole life had come apart. Sylar knew how to put it together, and that would start with building him up. “I’ve taken falls for worse.” Sylar cocked his head philosophically, his gaze falling into Peter’s. “But not for better.”
Peter chuckled uncertainly, wanting to take that as an authentic compliment, but thinking it was so much more likely that Sylar was joking. He didn’t look like he was joking. As always, Peter dealt with uncertainty with action and started to pull Sylar down over him to repeat their arrangement on the couch. Sylar stopped him, pulling him right back up. “I want you inside of me,” Sylar said seriously, taking Peter's chin and giving him a quick smooch, then backing off a few inches. This was far more important than he suspected Peter knew.
Sylar knew it wasn't enough for Peter to have the anticlimactic non-answer he’d gained in the dream world, that Sylar was as he was. It had been enough for Sylar, but he’d seen in Peter’s heart that it wasn’t enough for him - not really, not completely. Ultimately, that wouldn't satisfy someone who had so determinedly peeled back every layer of Sylar's being, trying to metaphorically get inside him. To have Peter accept him entirely, forever, Sylar had to let him get inside him physically, to know him in every way, and to claim him. And Sylar so badly wanted to be claimed. It would finalize that connection, just as he'd wanted to do in the dream world.
For a long, dangling moment, Sylar wondered if he'd misread the signs he'd divined with Lydia's ability. Peter's gorgeous, liquid eyes were inches from his own, taking him in and sizing him up. Then with a sudden, decisive huff of breath, Peter pushed forward and kissed him hard and lustily, guiding him over backwards, heads towards the foot of the bed. Sylar squirmed to unfold his legs and then raised his knees around Peter’s hips just as Peter had done to him on the couch. He'd never been in this position with a male: face to face. His hands wrapped around the bare skin of Peter's sides, fingers skating across the moving planes of muscle on his back. Peter bent to Sylar's neck, kissing and working his way up in separate applications of lips and teeth. Sylar groaned at the riveting feeling of Peter's breath alternating hot and cool against him. Peter rolled his pelvis in a slow rocking motion, rubbing them together and bringing yet another dimension of pleasure to bear.
A desperate urge to hurry passed through Sylar. He wanted this to happen. He wanted it to be real. He didn’t want to get interrupted by dreams or gunshots or Peter’s mother calling on the phone at the exact wrong time. He stopped gripping the valley of Peter’s spine and instead scrambled at their pants. Peter let him, but moved up distractingly to kiss his mouth, all tongue and pulsing lips, one kiss after another, hard and soft and all over and then just sucking in one lip at a time. Sylar couldn't take it - his eyes rolled back in their sockets as his hands gave up their task only half done and seized Peter’s still fully-clothed hips. Even aside from drowning in sensation, he could hardly breathe with the oral assault Peter was laying on him. His own pants were open, his erection straining for release as Peter’s matching hardness ground against him.
“Ugh.” Sylar tried to pull himself together, vague thoughts about telekinesis and pulling his jeans off getting repeatedly disrupted by Peter's hums and smooches and being awash in the experience of the man being right up in his face and staying there. He finally put his hand on Peter’s chest and pushed him away. It took more resolve than he'd expected, but it was the only way he was going to get any more of his clothes off.
Peter took the opportunity to follow his example, ending naked and on his knees between Sylar’s legs. As Sylar settled back into his former position, Peter licked his finger and ran it daringly from the tip of Sylar’s erect cock to the base, a glowing golden light sparking between the two of them. What the hell is that? Sylar’s eyes widened. He was okay with abilities, obviously as he’d just used one to toss his pants over on the growing pile in the corner, but having something completely unknown applied without warning (to his penis of all things) was startling. Everything felt okay, though.
Peter smiled smugly at him and put that hand out to the side, a focused expression passing over his face. Lotion flew to his hand a moment later and Sylar supposed Peter could be forgiven for showing off his single ability when Sylar had more than a dozen. “It’s been a while for me,” Peter said hesitantly, explaining his lack of prober sexual lubricant as he popped the cap on the bottle. It was unscented at least. “I don’t have condoms, either. I’m tested at work; I’m clean. If you'd rather do other things, I’m okay with that …”
Sylar shook his head, crooking an elbow to put his hand behind his head, watching Peter let a little vulnerability show through. “I want you in me,” Sylar repeated his objective firmly. He had no idea of his own ‘status’, but of all his various problems, he’d never had symptoms of that issue. He had regeneration and Peter could acquire that ability from him. STDs were not a realistic concern, but he was glad Peter brought it up. He was thinking, at least - thinking about Sylar and his safety.
Peter nodded, setting aside the bottle as he leaned over Sylar, one hand coming down on the edge of the mattress near his head while the other, slick and searching, moved up between Sylar’s legs. Peter kissed him, gentler, slower kisses now than they had been earlier. The back of his thumb found the bottom of Sylar’s testicles and stroked back and forth across them, causing his scrotum to involuntarily tighten and draw up. Peter smiled, feeling the tender skin he’d been rubbing go from smooth to wrinkled in a few heartbeats. Wet, lotion-heavy fingers began to probe lower down. Sylar’s legs pulled up further, knees high as his gut clenched and anxious butterflies took flight in his stomach. He worried about being too hairy or dirty or having some physical trait previously unbeknownst to him that might make him unsuitable for the act. His hands stroked nervously up and down Peter’s wonderfully smooth chest and abdomen. He tried to fight off the feeling of possible inadequacy, but the strongest blow against that was how Peter didn't pause or flinch or turn away. Peter used his skilled digits to smear Sylar thoroughly, the slick, sliding sensation on his anus titillating and tantalizing with the promise/threat of more.
Sylar pulled Peter down for a longer kiss, hands on each side of his face as he called on Lydia’s power again. He needed the reassurance it offered. Peter wasn’t going to hurt him; Peter’s motives were pure (or, well, as pure as you could expect for someone currently overcome with the desire to fuck your brains out). It was what Sylar needed to know - no hidden agenda, no manipulation, no reservations. Peter wanted him, might even love him although he wasn’t quite to verbalizing that yet. He was still a lot closer to it than Sylar was, which blew Sylar away that anyone could feel that way towards him at all. He let go the last of his reservations and tried to relax all the right muscles to make this work the way he'd heard it did between people who wanted the pleasure to be mutual.
A single finger breached him and he jerked, wondering, realizing, that Peter had felt what he’d done in using Lydia’s power, but hadn’t let it interrupt this time. His hips bucked as Peter hooked his finger up and brushed over sensitive, internal parts. Peter showered kisses in a trail across Sylar’s cheek and then back along his jawline as he probed and opened him.
“You want me,” Sylar whispered to him as earnestly as if it were a profession of his own attraction.
“Don’t need an ability to find that out,” Peter made a rough chuckle, turning his head to work his way down Sylar’s throat. His fingers, plural now, pistoned in and out slowly.
Sylar tipped his head back, baring himself eagerly. Mindful of the dangers of his Adam’s apple bobbing around under the circumstances, he took the risk anyway and said, “I didn’t hurt anyone for that one. It’s special.”
Peter lifted and looked at him, hand stilling for a moment before he leaned in to kiss his mouth tenderly and slowly. “You’re special no matter what.” He eased his hand out, lotioned himself heavily, and moved into position after tucking a pillow under Sylar’s rump. Sylar canted his hips up, trying to visualize how the angles were going to work and wishing he’d watched more gay porn in his rather sheltered and limited sexual life. Peter knew what he was doing, though, and he could feel the hot, rounded head of Peter’s cock pressing against him, one hand on it to guide it in, the other bracing Peter's upper body as he mounted his partner.
Sylar reached up to pet his face, watching the expressions of concentration and desire play out across Peter’s features. He had enough of an idea of what was about to happen to bear down at the right point, feeling the gradual stretching as Peter pressed inside of him bit by careful bit. The feeling went from odd to uncomfortable to something Sylar could only describe as 'hungry' in a far shorter order than he expected. His breathing turned to gasps. He moved his hand from Peter’s cheek to slip it behind his neck, holding on as Peter began to flex back and forth, adding a whole new magnitude to the experience. That was new, different, and good. “Oh!” popped out of his mouth unintentionally as Peter prodded his way deeper, the delicate, nerve-filled skin of his ass being pulled and pushed, the muscles of his sphincters being gently coaxed even further open.
Peter stooped to kiss him - long, slow, and unbearably sweet. Finding himself surprisingly impatient, Sylar started moving his hips himself and Peter let him fuck himself on him for a while before taking over with one final push, socketing them together as deep as he could go. Sylar gave up any illusion of dignity and moaned, clenching his hands on Peter’s shoulders, then he growled possessively as he tightened his legs around Peter’s buttocks. This was his - it was finally his! Peter pushed him down and started riding him harder, tirelessly filling and refilling Sylar’s body with his cock. He was taking him, pounding himself into him, and making them one. Sylar offered himself up, giving a loose, smug smirk of immense satisfaction as Peter worked and sweated and pumped away at him.
Sylar’s dick was hard between them, bobbing and slapping against his stomach in time with Peter’s thrusts. Sylar touched himself occasionally, but mostly he was just along for the ride, thrilled at what was happening. It was so fucking unbelievable. Everything about it made his head spin. He tried to stay focused on Peter and on how much Peter wanted him. He felt loved … and damned if he didn't feel what he imagined love to be, swelling to life inside of him.
Peter stopped for a moment, shifting his weight and displacing Sylar’s half-hearted tugging at himself. “I want to feel you come … around me,” Peter murmured as he leaned in what was an impressive one-handed push-up, kissing Sylar deeply. Mouth, dick, ass all being stimulated at once by a lover, Sylar was overwhelmed by this growing, glowing, tingling limerent feeling of being high burning inside of him. When the kiss ended, he flopped back, his head dipping off the end of the bed, as Peter wasn’t quite as good at keeping them on the furniture while one of his hands was busy. Sylar thought about trying to give them leverage with telekinesis, but … fuck it. He didn’t care if they fucked on the floor or hanging from the ceiling. He was getting stroked and pounded in sync and wasn’t going to last long enough anyway, although the real reason was that in all of that huge brain of his, he couldn't spare the brain cells. Every one of them was too busy with the experience just as it was.
After a few more seconds, Peter repeated his athleticism of earlier, bending to bite and nip at Sylar’s exposed throat. It was so easy for that particular maneuver to be brutal, life-ending even, yet Peter was so delicate, so careful. Sylar felt himself losing it - arousal lit him up even brighter from inside, warming and spreading, coiling through his form until it settled in his balls, a hot, building pressure desperate for release. Nothing else existed but the urge to come, Peter’s hand working him, and Peter’s shaft filling him. He was wanted, taken, and used - everything he wanted, all at once. He burst out, ejaculating across Peter’s hand, his asshole tightening and squeezing around Peter’s cock.
“Ha,” Peter puffed out triumphantly, moved to speak even if he was lacking a bit in articulation at the moment. “Oh yeah. Baby. Yeah. Fuck. Yeah!” He went back to both hands, bracing himself through his own climax a few moments later. This time, Sylar finally used telekinesis to keep him from taking a fall for Peter in a very literal fashion. It would be exactly the wrong moment for Peter’s needs, as the man was grunting and vigorously slamming himself home, shoving into him as hard as flesh would bear. Sylar knew he was being well and thoroughly fucked. Peter's breath caught and his thrusts shuddered to an erratic stop as his cock pulsed, spilling his seed. Finally spent, Peter sank over Sylar and held them together as his hips started moving again, making a few last, parting rolls out of instinct or just indulgence. “Oh … yeah. Fuck me,” he muttered. A second later, as sense finally penetrated the fog of lust Peter was in, he noticed there was nothing but empty air beyond Sylar’s shoulders. “Uh?”
“Hold onto me.” Sylar lifted them both and reoriented them back on the mattress. “There. Safe now.”
“Hm. Yeah.” Peter nuzzled him, lifting his weight off and slowly extracting himself before returning for more nuzzling and pecking at Sylar’s face. The endorphin rush left them both affectionate and cuddling. Sylar's muscles felt watery and bone-deep sore in a few places. For the moment, he elected to leave his regeneration off-line. The feeling was fantastic - like nothing else he'd ever had. To be on the receiving end of a partner who was so attentive to his pleasure was mind-blowing. He felt so vulnerable, yet safe. Peter rubbed his nose against his cheek, asking, “Is this … what you want? Someone to love? Can … Could I be …”
Sylar smiled wanly as Peter tried to pick his way to a declaration he’d made so easily to many people before. It was always easier when you’d just met someone and had little on the line. It was tougher when someone already meant a lot to you, when you were invested, when you felt like you’d lived with them for years and knew them inside and out. That was when there was more to lose, but Peter was still trying gamely to say it, and he was enough of a romantic to think they needed to talk about it, right now. Silly man, Sylar thought, and rescued Peter from his struggle. “Yes. This is what I wanted: someone to-“ He paused for a moment, wondering if Peter had intentionally tricked him into saying it first. Even if it wasn't the classic, three-word formula, the meaning was the same. From the sly little smile tickling the corner of Peter’s mouth, Sylar knew the answer. Well. So he’s not an entirely open book after all. That's good. Clever, clever. Sylar’s smile broadened and he finished, “Someone to love, someone to love me.”
Sylar blinked and jolted as he found himself in the dark, nose full of the smell of drying masonry instead of Peter's delicious scent. His abilities, all of them, stirred to life in the back of his mind as the rest of his consciousness swiftly reorganized its grip on reality. One thing was for sure - he wasn’t on his couch, making out with Peter Petrelli, with a warm, sexy, and very willing body pressed to his own. The loss and change was shocking, but it was hardly the first harsh bait-and-switch he’d endured. He felt like he could actually sense his spirit shrinking. The memory of being loved seemed as unreal as anything else in the bizarre dream. Matt Parkman’s ability trapped me, just like Candace's did. I must have found the way out. How much of that did I make up along the way? Anger surged up inside of him, along with an uncertainty as to what to do about Parkman’s trick. Playing with his heart like that was one of the cruelest things he’d ever had done to him. Before he’d had his enforced siesta, he would have punished Matt in kind. But now? It felt wrong.
There was a noise outside, a faint scuffling. Sylar welcomed the excuse to act. He exerted his powers, channeling a telekinetic blast straight forward. And there was Peter, staggering back from the explosion, then moving forward to look at him as Sylar stepped out. Peter’s expression showed no fear of him, regarding him in a familiar manner. Instantly, his rage died as he realized Peter’s presence in the dream hadn’t been a figment of his imagination. Peter was no demon conjured by an overactive mind to flog a confession out of him. He’d come to save him - could it all be true? His heart leapt to his throat and his spirit rebounded. He didn’t dare push for answers, fearing it might all fall apart if he questioned it too much. What he knew for sure was that Peter had come for him, wasn’t leaving him, and a few minutes later, he supported him when Matt threatened him. Peter was there, a hand on his back and a presence at his side. Sylar clung to that, remembering dimly that Peter had had a purpose beyond saving Sylar’s soul. He had a mission to fulfill and if Sylar knew anything about Peter, it was that the mission would come first.
It was easily enough accomplished. The evening drew to a close without any new demand on their attention. The carnies were safe; Claire had left with the reporters. After one last, vigilant look over the dispersing crowd, Peter sidled closer and slipped his hand into Sylar’s. Looking down at their joined hands, Peter rubbed his index finger back and forth. “Do you want to come back to my place?” He glanced up at Sylar then, all dark lashes and darker eyes. Peter looked away when he didn't get an immediate answer; Sylar was literally wordless at the moment. Peter shrugged with affected nonchalance, giving his hand a squeeze and adding, “It’s probably best to get you out of here, in case Noah or …”
“Yes.” Sylar managed to blurt. He didn’t think Peter was seriously considering his safety as the reason for finding some privacy. His heart soared. He could have flown back to Peter’s apartment and if he’d been able to teleport, they would have been there already. Peter squeezed his hand again and off they set. They’d held hands while flying, too, but talking while supersonic was impossible. Even though Peter had tried a few bits of sign language, neither of them knew enough to hold a conversation Watching Peter smile shyly and finger-spell his name as they'd rushed through the sky had soothed Sylar’s insecurities and charmed him. It allowed him to be patient and stay focused on what he needed to do rather than what he wanted. For there to even be a difference between those two was an exotically new flavor of candy.
With the apartment door finally shut behind them, a few worries surfaced. It was possible, after all, that Peter had just invited him up for coffee or to talk and maybe not for a continuation of where the dream had left off. Sylar supposed those were … okay. They'd still sort of be together, after all. Peter had so many other choices now that they were back. He was a fool to think that wouldn't play a part in things. There would be other missions, he knew, but he didn't know where he'd fit into any of that, if he'd fit at all. To distract himself from any possible disappointment, he looked around the oddly barren apartment, thinking about the various times he or Nathan had been here in the last few years - violence, strangeness, and betrayal came to mind. No wonder he wanted answers. Things have been as fucked up for him as they were for me.
He didn’t get to think more before Peter was in his arms, pinning him to the door, pulling him down for an ardent kiss. It obliterated all his doubts and reminded him acutely of how inside-of-his-own-head he’d been living recently and how little regard he'd been giving to Peter. Peter, who wanted him and was expressing that very clearly at the moment - but why? Something about solving his own internal problems had lit a fire of curiosity within Sylar to know more about others. He’d been so focused on his own journey that he’d missed the one Peter had been making parallel to him - how over the years, hatred had cooled to dislike, and then had come the questions - first as interrogation, but then becoming gentle and probing though no less persistent. And while Peter’s tone softened, so too had his heart. Somewhere along the line, sympathy had become empathy which had morphed into affection - and maybe even into something more. Sylar cursed himself briefly for not having paid more attention to that ultimate transformation, though he’d been a bit busy with his own.
Peter parted from him just enough to whisper huskily against his lips, “You still want this?”
“All of it,” Sylar growled without hesitation this time, kissing back and pushing Peter backwards from the door towards the bed. A flick of his fingers threw the French doors open wide. Peter scrambled onto the bed, pulling off his shirt with enthusiastic abandon. Sylar’s shirt followed, the two garments landing atop one another in the corner.
Sylar paused at the bedside and took in the incredible sight of someone eagerly awaiting intimacy with him. Peter was so beautiful and perfect that it seemed almost too good to be true. Peter had had his dramatic rescue of Emma. He had to know Sylar wasn’t going to go back to the life he’d had before (any of the various walks of life he’d trodden). And so Sylar found himself contemplating once more the same question Peter had pestered him with so much in the nightmare world, the same one that was already echoing around in his own skull: Why? But rather than torment Peter with years of questions, he had a short cut. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes intent on Peter. “I have an ability from Lydia. It helps me understand people. I want to understand you. Will you let me use it?”
Wide-eyed, Peter blinked at the interruption in the moment, but took the quick de-escalation in stride. “Okay.” He nodded slowly as he took in what that meant. “I want you to understand me, so … yeah.”
Sylar nodded back, turning to crawl onto the mattress and sit cross-legged before Peter, who was on his knees. Sylar reached out to cup Peter’s face with a hand on each handsomely-stubbled cheek. “Using her ability has its perks.” He smiled and leaned in, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to Peter’s lips. He felt Peter stiffen at the foreign tingle of the ability, but he showed his trust by not pulling away. A moment later, Sylar had all the answers he needed - all the mechanisms and complications of Peter’s soul were laid bare, every damaged part clear. There were a lot more of them than he'd expected. Leaning back, he observed, “You need a connection as badly as I do.”
Peter defiantly pulled his face from Sylar’s grasp, leaving Sylar smiling slightly at the display of ‘I’m not weak’ or perhaps an even more childish, 'I don't need nothing!' But Peter recognized the reaction as well as Sylar did. “Maybe,” he allowed and then warned, “Things haven’t been good for the people I’ve fallen for. Think you’re up for it?”
A challenge. Peter was not at all as confident and purposeful as he acted. The passionate, pinned-to-the-door kiss of earlier and the scrambling on the bed weren’t the indicators Sylar had thought they were. They were still indicators, but instead of a thoroughly thought-out course of action, it was a reckless plunge accompanied by a ‘hope for the best’. It was winsome and adorable in that sweet, naïve way of Peter’s. He’d take a risk on anyone, even Sylar, and he’d been battered so badly by that openness that his whole life had come apart. Sylar knew how to put it together, and that would start with building him up. “I’ve taken falls for worse.” Sylar cocked his head philosophically, his gaze falling into Peter’s. “But not for better.”
Peter chuckled uncertainly, wanting to take that as an authentic compliment, but thinking it was so much more likely that Sylar was joking. He didn’t look like he was joking. As always, Peter dealt with uncertainty with action and started to pull Sylar down over him to repeat their arrangement on the couch. Sylar stopped him, pulling him right back up. “I want you inside of me,” Sylar said seriously, taking Peter's chin and giving him a quick smooch, then backing off a few inches. This was far more important than he suspected Peter knew.
Sylar knew it wasn't enough for Peter to have the anticlimactic non-answer he’d gained in the dream world, that Sylar was as he was. It had been enough for Sylar, but he’d seen in Peter’s heart that it wasn’t enough for him - not really, not completely. Ultimately, that wouldn't satisfy someone who had so determinedly peeled back every layer of Sylar's being, trying to metaphorically get inside him. To have Peter accept him entirely, forever, Sylar had to let him get inside him physically, to know him in every way, and to claim him. And Sylar so badly wanted to be claimed. It would finalize that connection, just as he'd wanted to do in the dream world.
For a long, dangling moment, Sylar wondered if he'd misread the signs he'd divined with Lydia's ability. Peter's gorgeous, liquid eyes were inches from his own, taking him in and sizing him up. Then with a sudden, decisive huff of breath, Peter pushed forward and kissed him hard and lustily, guiding him over backwards, heads towards the foot of the bed. Sylar squirmed to unfold his legs and then raised his knees around Peter’s hips just as Peter had done to him on the couch. He'd never been in this position with a male: face to face. His hands wrapped around the bare skin of Peter's sides, fingers skating across the moving planes of muscle on his back. Peter bent to Sylar's neck, kissing and working his way up in separate applications of lips and teeth. Sylar groaned at the riveting feeling of Peter's breath alternating hot and cool against him. Peter rolled his pelvis in a slow rocking motion, rubbing them together and bringing yet another dimension of pleasure to bear.
A desperate urge to hurry passed through Sylar. He wanted this to happen. He wanted it to be real. He didn’t want to get interrupted by dreams or gunshots or Peter’s mother calling on the phone at the exact wrong time. He stopped gripping the valley of Peter’s spine and instead scrambled at their pants. Peter let him, but moved up distractingly to kiss his mouth, all tongue and pulsing lips, one kiss after another, hard and soft and all over and then just sucking in one lip at a time. Sylar couldn't take it - his eyes rolled back in their sockets as his hands gave up their task only half done and seized Peter’s still fully-clothed hips. Even aside from drowning in sensation, he could hardly breathe with the oral assault Peter was laying on him. His own pants were open, his erection straining for release as Peter’s matching hardness ground against him.
“Ugh.” Sylar tried to pull himself together, vague thoughts about telekinesis and pulling his jeans off getting repeatedly disrupted by Peter's hums and smooches and being awash in the experience of the man being right up in his face and staying there. He finally put his hand on Peter’s chest and pushed him away. It took more resolve than he'd expected, but it was the only way he was going to get any more of his clothes off.
Peter took the opportunity to follow his example, ending naked and on his knees between Sylar’s legs. As Sylar settled back into his former position, Peter licked his finger and ran it daringly from the tip of Sylar’s erect cock to the base, a glowing golden light sparking between the two of them. What the hell is that? Sylar’s eyes widened. He was okay with abilities, obviously as he’d just used one to toss his pants over on the growing pile in the corner, but having something completely unknown applied without warning (to his penis of all things) was startling. Everything felt okay, though.
Peter smiled smugly at him and put that hand out to the side, a focused expression passing over his face. Lotion flew to his hand a moment later and Sylar supposed Peter could be forgiven for showing off his single ability when Sylar had more than a dozen. “It’s been a while for me,” Peter said hesitantly, explaining his lack of prober sexual lubricant as he popped the cap on the bottle. It was unscented at least. “I don’t have condoms, either. I’m tested at work; I’m clean. If you'd rather do other things, I’m okay with that …”
Sylar shook his head, crooking an elbow to put his hand behind his head, watching Peter let a little vulnerability show through. “I want you in me,” Sylar repeated his objective firmly. He had no idea of his own ‘status’, but of all his various problems, he’d never had symptoms of that issue. He had regeneration and Peter could acquire that ability from him. STDs were not a realistic concern, but he was glad Peter brought it up. He was thinking, at least - thinking about Sylar and his safety.
Peter nodded, setting aside the bottle as he leaned over Sylar, one hand coming down on the edge of the mattress near his head while the other, slick and searching, moved up between Sylar’s legs. Peter kissed him, gentler, slower kisses now than they had been earlier. The back of his thumb found the bottom of Sylar’s testicles and stroked back and forth across them, causing his scrotum to involuntarily tighten and draw up. Peter smiled, feeling the tender skin he’d been rubbing go from smooth to wrinkled in a few heartbeats. Wet, lotion-heavy fingers began to probe lower down. Sylar’s legs pulled up further, knees high as his gut clenched and anxious butterflies took flight in his stomach. He worried about being too hairy or dirty or having some physical trait previously unbeknownst to him that might make him unsuitable for the act. His hands stroked nervously up and down Peter’s wonderfully smooth chest and abdomen. He tried to fight off the feeling of possible inadequacy, but the strongest blow against that was how Peter didn't pause or flinch or turn away. Peter used his skilled digits to smear Sylar thoroughly, the slick, sliding sensation on his anus titillating and tantalizing with the promise/threat of more.
Sylar pulled Peter down for a longer kiss, hands on each side of his face as he called on Lydia’s power again. He needed the reassurance it offered. Peter wasn’t going to hurt him; Peter’s motives were pure (or, well, as pure as you could expect for someone currently overcome with the desire to fuck your brains out). It was what Sylar needed to know - no hidden agenda, no manipulation, no reservations. Peter wanted him, might even love him although he wasn’t quite to verbalizing that yet. He was still a lot closer to it than Sylar was, which blew Sylar away that anyone could feel that way towards him at all. He let go the last of his reservations and tried to relax all the right muscles to make this work the way he'd heard it did between people who wanted the pleasure to be mutual.
A single finger breached him and he jerked, wondering, realizing, that Peter had felt what he’d done in using Lydia’s power, but hadn’t let it interrupt this time. His hips bucked as Peter hooked his finger up and brushed over sensitive, internal parts. Peter showered kisses in a trail across Sylar’s cheek and then back along his jawline as he probed and opened him.
“You want me,” Sylar whispered to him as earnestly as if it were a profession of his own attraction.
“Don’t need an ability to find that out,” Peter made a rough chuckle, turning his head to work his way down Sylar’s throat. His fingers, plural now, pistoned in and out slowly.
Sylar tipped his head back, baring himself eagerly. Mindful of the dangers of his Adam’s apple bobbing around under the circumstances, he took the risk anyway and said, “I didn’t hurt anyone for that one. It’s special.”
Peter lifted and looked at him, hand stilling for a moment before he leaned in to kiss his mouth tenderly and slowly. “You’re special no matter what.” He eased his hand out, lotioned himself heavily, and moved into position after tucking a pillow under Sylar’s rump. Sylar canted his hips up, trying to visualize how the angles were going to work and wishing he’d watched more gay porn in his rather sheltered and limited sexual life. Peter knew what he was doing, though, and he could feel the hot, rounded head of Peter’s cock pressing against him, one hand on it to guide it in, the other bracing Peter's upper body as he mounted his partner.
Sylar reached up to pet his face, watching the expressions of concentration and desire play out across Peter’s features. He had enough of an idea of what was about to happen to bear down at the right point, feeling the gradual stretching as Peter pressed inside of him bit by careful bit. The feeling went from odd to uncomfortable to something Sylar could only describe as 'hungry' in a far shorter order than he expected. His breathing turned to gasps. He moved his hand from Peter’s cheek to slip it behind his neck, holding on as Peter began to flex back and forth, adding a whole new magnitude to the experience. That was new, different, and good. “Oh!” popped out of his mouth unintentionally as Peter prodded his way deeper, the delicate, nerve-filled skin of his ass being pulled and pushed, the muscles of his sphincters being gently coaxed even further open.
Peter stooped to kiss him - long, slow, and unbearably sweet. Finding himself surprisingly impatient, Sylar started moving his hips himself and Peter let him fuck himself on him for a while before taking over with one final push, socketing them together as deep as he could go. Sylar gave up any illusion of dignity and moaned, clenching his hands on Peter’s shoulders, then he growled possessively as he tightened his legs around Peter’s buttocks. This was his - it was finally his! Peter pushed him down and started riding him harder, tirelessly filling and refilling Sylar’s body with his cock. He was taking him, pounding himself into him, and making them one. Sylar offered himself up, giving a loose, smug smirk of immense satisfaction as Peter worked and sweated and pumped away at him.
Sylar’s dick was hard between them, bobbing and slapping against his stomach in time with Peter’s thrusts. Sylar touched himself occasionally, but mostly he was just along for the ride, thrilled at what was happening. It was so fucking unbelievable. Everything about it made his head spin. He tried to stay focused on Peter and on how much Peter wanted him. He felt loved … and damned if he didn't feel what he imagined love to be, swelling to life inside of him.
Peter stopped for a moment, shifting his weight and displacing Sylar’s half-hearted tugging at himself. “I want to feel you come … around me,” Peter murmured as he leaned in what was an impressive one-handed push-up, kissing Sylar deeply. Mouth, dick, ass all being stimulated at once by a lover, Sylar was overwhelmed by this growing, glowing, tingling limerent feeling of being high burning inside of him. When the kiss ended, he flopped back, his head dipping off the end of the bed, as Peter wasn’t quite as good at keeping them on the furniture while one of his hands was busy. Sylar thought about trying to give them leverage with telekinesis, but … fuck it. He didn’t care if they fucked on the floor or hanging from the ceiling. He was getting stroked and pounded in sync and wasn’t going to last long enough anyway, although the real reason was that in all of that huge brain of his, he couldn't spare the brain cells. Every one of them was too busy with the experience just as it was.
After a few more seconds, Peter repeated his athleticism of earlier, bending to bite and nip at Sylar’s exposed throat. It was so easy for that particular maneuver to be brutal, life-ending even, yet Peter was so delicate, so careful. Sylar felt himself losing it - arousal lit him up even brighter from inside, warming and spreading, coiling through his form until it settled in his balls, a hot, building pressure desperate for release. Nothing else existed but the urge to come, Peter’s hand working him, and Peter’s shaft filling him. He was wanted, taken, and used - everything he wanted, all at once. He burst out, ejaculating across Peter’s hand, his asshole tightening and squeezing around Peter’s cock.
“Ha,” Peter puffed out triumphantly, moved to speak even if he was lacking a bit in articulation at the moment. “Oh yeah. Baby. Yeah. Fuck. Yeah!” He went back to both hands, bracing himself through his own climax a few moments later. This time, Sylar finally used telekinesis to keep him from taking a fall for Peter in a very literal fashion. It would be exactly the wrong moment for Peter’s needs, as the man was grunting and vigorously slamming himself home, shoving into him as hard as flesh would bear. Sylar knew he was being well and thoroughly fucked. Peter's breath caught and his thrusts shuddered to an erratic stop as his cock pulsed, spilling his seed. Finally spent, Peter sank over Sylar and held them together as his hips started moving again, making a few last, parting rolls out of instinct or just indulgence. “Oh … yeah. Fuck me,” he muttered. A second later, as sense finally penetrated the fog of lust Peter was in, he noticed there was nothing but empty air beyond Sylar’s shoulders. “Uh?”
“Hold onto me.” Sylar lifted them both and reoriented them back on the mattress. “There. Safe now.”
“Hm. Yeah.” Peter nuzzled him, lifting his weight off and slowly extracting himself before returning for more nuzzling and pecking at Sylar’s face. The endorphin rush left them both affectionate and cuddling. Sylar's muscles felt watery and bone-deep sore in a few places. For the moment, he elected to leave his regeneration off-line. The feeling was fantastic - like nothing else he'd ever had. To be on the receiving end of a partner who was so attentive to his pleasure was mind-blowing. He felt so vulnerable, yet safe. Peter rubbed his nose against his cheek, asking, “Is this … what you want? Someone to love? Can … Could I be …”
Sylar smiled wanly as Peter tried to pick his way to a declaration he’d made so easily to many people before. It was always easier when you’d just met someone and had little on the line. It was tougher when someone already meant a lot to you, when you were invested, when you felt like you’d lived with them for years and knew them inside and out. That was when there was more to lose, but Peter was still trying gamely to say it, and he was enough of a romantic to think they needed to talk about it, right now. Silly man, Sylar thought, and rescued Peter from his struggle. “Yes. This is what I wanted: someone to-“ He paused for a moment, wondering if Peter had intentionally tricked him into saying it first. Even if it wasn't the classic, three-word formula, the meaning was the same. From the sly little smile tickling the corner of Peter’s mouth, Sylar knew the answer. Well. So he’s not an entirely open book after all. That's good. Clever, clever. Sylar’s smile broadened and he finished, “Someone to love, someone to love me.”