Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 58: Physical Training
Title: Physical Training
Characters: Peter, Sylar
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Words: 900
Setting: Any of my various Wall settings
Summary: Peter talks Sylar into joining him in the weight room. Two scenes - one from Sylar's POV and the next from Peter's.
"No, no. You need to lock your wrists." Peter left the weight bench he'd just finished setting up to his satisfaction and returned to Sylar, who froze in place at his approach. Peter's hands were gentle, though, moving across Sylar's hands and forearms as he positioned the weight. "Like that. Keep your wrists straight." Peter went through the motion of an upright row to demonstrate.
Sylar exhaled, mentally reviewed what Peter wanted him to do, and repeated the motion. He had hand weights in each hand - lighter than he thought he needed, but the bit about his wrists was hardly Peter's first piece of unsolicited assistance. He stood erect, pulling the weight from waist level to mid-chest, his elbow bending to the side. He paused at the apex of the lift. "I can raise this higher."
"Don't. You can pinch nerves in your shoulders. That right there is good." He touched Sylar's wrists again - ever so touchy, Sylar thought, appreciating that quality of Peter - and said, "Just like I don't want you spraining your wrists. Don't bend them. You're not trying to work your wrist muscles here." Peter stepped back and assessed his form for a few moments. "Don't lock your knees, just your wrists."
Sylar snorted an exhale at the constant corrections and flexed his knees slightly. Peter had mentioned that right at first, but Sylar had straightened at some point in the exercise. "Why do you care?"
"What?" Peter turned around from where he'd begun to go back to his own equipment.
"I asked why you care if I get sprained muscles. I'm working out with you either way. Is it that you don't want to see it being done wrong?"
"No." Peter's brows knit. "I care if you get hurt, Sylar."
Sylar gave Peter a level look, although he continued to do the exercises Peter had directed. "Why does that matter to you?" As much as Sylar wouldn't mind having ice packs prepared for him and Peter doting on him (and Sylar knew Peter would, which was adorable and unsettling at the same time), he couldn't see what Peter got out of it whether he did it right or wrong.
Peter sputtered at a loss for words momentarily. "Well, I just do!" His embarrassment morphed into a scowl and Peter growled at him, "You've locked your knees again. Quit that."
"Yes, Peter," he said with a singsong voice suited for 'yes, dear'. Sylar smiled slightly, amused by Peter's irritation, but even more taken by the idea the man cared about his safety and comfort for no reason other than … well, because he was Peter and Sylar was Sylar. Sylar couldn't think of anyone who knew him at all who had ever cared for him like that. It was charming and very attractive.
XXX
Panting heavily, Peter toppled onto the bench next to Sylar. Although they'd both been doing cardio exercises for the same length of time, Sylar seemed almost perfectly composed. As he caught his breath, Peter carded the sweaty, lanky hair out of his own face to better regard his companion. Sylar looked only the slightest bit winded. "You know," Peter puffed, "that friend of mine who worked as my trainer," he paused for a couple more deep breaths, "had a saying, 'If you can talk while you're doing cardio, you're not working hard enough.'"
Sylar raised a brow at him. "That's not much of a saying. 'No pain, no gain' has a much better ring to it."
Peter snorted. "My point is that you're not pushing yourself hard enough to get any improvement."
"Maybe I'm already perfect."
Peter leaned back against the wall behind them, chuckling. "You keep telling yourself that, buddy."
Sylar gave him a very brief, softer smile. Peter'd noticed he did that a lot when called 'buddy'. And they were buddies as far as Peter was concerned. He placed the term as less emotionally-laden than 'friend', but they were obviously more than just associates. Then Sylar looked away, silent.
Peter didn't think it was his imagination that Sylar had tensed a little. He did that, too, a lot - he froze up when Peter approached him, stiffened sometimes in a sort of abbreviated flinch, and fell silent when words might betray something he was concerned about. Without thinking it through, a conclusion formed in Peter's mind and came out in words. "You're afraid to get tired around me. You think I might do something to you if you were too exhausted to fight back."
It definitely wasn't Peter's imagination - he saw muscles flex in Sylar's legs, bare other than shorts, and in his forearms. His hands and face stayed impassive through sheer will. "I am not afraid of you."
Peter eyed him perceptively, seeing the lie for what it was but deciding to leave it alone for the sake of Sylar's ego. "Okay. But you're holding back. You're not going to accomplish anything if you keep doing that. You're going to have to commit if you want any development here."
Sylar's head snapped back to him and after a focused examination of Peter's face, the man said, "If it were anyone else who said that, I'd think that had to be subtext. But with you," Sylar faced forward again, "I'm sure you're only talking about my cardiovascular health."
Peter frowned, thinking over his words. Seeing what Sylar was getting at, Peter got to his weary feet and planted his hand briefly on Sylar's shoulder. "Well, you're not going to get any other development, either, as long as you're making me do all the work." He headed off to the showers, mulling over the possibility of 'developments' between them.
Characters: Peter, Sylar
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Words: 900
Setting: Any of my various Wall settings
Summary: Peter talks Sylar into joining him in the weight room. Two scenes - one from Sylar's POV and the next from Peter's.
"No, no. You need to lock your wrists." Peter left the weight bench he'd just finished setting up to his satisfaction and returned to Sylar, who froze in place at his approach. Peter's hands were gentle, though, moving across Sylar's hands and forearms as he positioned the weight. "Like that. Keep your wrists straight." Peter went through the motion of an upright row to demonstrate.
Sylar exhaled, mentally reviewed what Peter wanted him to do, and repeated the motion. He had hand weights in each hand - lighter than he thought he needed, but the bit about his wrists was hardly Peter's first piece of unsolicited assistance. He stood erect, pulling the weight from waist level to mid-chest, his elbow bending to the side. He paused at the apex of the lift. "I can raise this higher."
"Don't. You can pinch nerves in your shoulders. That right there is good." He touched Sylar's wrists again - ever so touchy, Sylar thought, appreciating that quality of Peter - and said, "Just like I don't want you spraining your wrists. Don't bend them. You're not trying to work your wrist muscles here." Peter stepped back and assessed his form for a few moments. "Don't lock your knees, just your wrists."
Sylar snorted an exhale at the constant corrections and flexed his knees slightly. Peter had mentioned that right at first, but Sylar had straightened at some point in the exercise. "Why do you care?"
"What?" Peter turned around from where he'd begun to go back to his own equipment.
"I asked why you care if I get sprained muscles. I'm working out with you either way. Is it that you don't want to see it being done wrong?"
"No." Peter's brows knit. "I care if you get hurt, Sylar."
Sylar gave Peter a level look, although he continued to do the exercises Peter had directed. "Why does that matter to you?" As much as Sylar wouldn't mind having ice packs prepared for him and Peter doting on him (and Sylar knew Peter would, which was adorable and unsettling at the same time), he couldn't see what Peter got out of it whether he did it right or wrong.
Peter sputtered at a loss for words momentarily. "Well, I just do!" His embarrassment morphed into a scowl and Peter growled at him, "You've locked your knees again. Quit that."
"Yes, Peter," he said with a singsong voice suited for 'yes, dear'. Sylar smiled slightly, amused by Peter's irritation, but even more taken by the idea the man cared about his safety and comfort for no reason other than … well, because he was Peter and Sylar was Sylar. Sylar couldn't think of anyone who knew him at all who had ever cared for him like that. It was charming and very attractive.
XXX
Panting heavily, Peter toppled onto the bench next to Sylar. Although they'd both been doing cardio exercises for the same length of time, Sylar seemed almost perfectly composed. As he caught his breath, Peter carded the sweaty, lanky hair out of his own face to better regard his companion. Sylar looked only the slightest bit winded. "You know," Peter puffed, "that friend of mine who worked as my trainer," he paused for a couple more deep breaths, "had a saying, 'If you can talk while you're doing cardio, you're not working hard enough.'"
Sylar raised a brow at him. "That's not much of a saying. 'No pain, no gain' has a much better ring to it."
Peter snorted. "My point is that you're not pushing yourself hard enough to get any improvement."
"Maybe I'm already perfect."
Peter leaned back against the wall behind them, chuckling. "You keep telling yourself that, buddy."
Sylar gave him a very brief, softer smile. Peter'd noticed he did that a lot when called 'buddy'. And they were buddies as far as Peter was concerned. He placed the term as less emotionally-laden than 'friend', but they were obviously more than just associates. Then Sylar looked away, silent.
Peter didn't think it was his imagination that Sylar had tensed a little. He did that, too, a lot - he froze up when Peter approached him, stiffened sometimes in a sort of abbreviated flinch, and fell silent when words might betray something he was concerned about. Without thinking it through, a conclusion formed in Peter's mind and came out in words. "You're afraid to get tired around me. You think I might do something to you if you were too exhausted to fight back."
It definitely wasn't Peter's imagination - he saw muscles flex in Sylar's legs, bare other than shorts, and in his forearms. His hands and face stayed impassive through sheer will. "I am not afraid of you."
Peter eyed him perceptively, seeing the lie for what it was but deciding to leave it alone for the sake of Sylar's ego. "Okay. But you're holding back. You're not going to accomplish anything if you keep doing that. You're going to have to commit if you want any development here."
Sylar's head snapped back to him and after a focused examination of Peter's face, the man said, "If it were anyone else who said that, I'd think that had to be subtext. But with you," Sylar faced forward again, "I'm sure you're only talking about my cardiovascular health."
Peter frowned, thinking over his words. Seeing what Sylar was getting at, Peter got to his weary feet and planted his hand briefly on Sylar's shoulder. "Well, you're not going to get any other development, either, as long as you're making me do all the work." He headed off to the showers, mulling over the possibility of 'developments' between them.