Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 61: Touchy Feely
Title: Touchy Feely
Characters: Peter, Sylar
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Words: 2200
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Sylar works on breaking down Peter's walls, with unexpected success.
"It goes without saying that you can touch me any way you want - you already do, after all." Sylar sank into the mustard-yellow, leather-clad easy chair across from Peter, a tiny, glass table between them in the cozy little retro coffee shop. He pressed his lips together after his words and regarded Peter, who was blinking at him in surprise at this odd way to start a conversation. Sylar knew it was weird as hell and maybe it was a little early in the morning for this, but he didn't know how else to broach the subject. "What I want to know is what is allowed for touching you."
"Me?" A squawk.
"Yes. You are the only other person in the world, as far as I know."
Peter's brows pulled together, but thankfully he didn't argue. He didn't say anything else, either, which led Sylar to sigh internally and repeat the question. "Where may I touch you in a way that doesn't get me hit?" He'd had enough of that.
"Touch me how?"
"Casually," he bit out, because he wanted so much more, but thought it was wiser to start small. Hence this entire conversation - the come-ons were turned down harshly in those moments when Peter noticed them at all. It wasn't like the need and the drive wasn't there - Peter was both very physical and very sexual. Sylar needed to find a way past the inhibitions.
He had Peter's attention, though, which was a good start. After a moment of thought, he answered in a manner Sylar found useful and intriguing. "You can touch me casually anywhere other than my ass, my groin, and my chest." He pronounced this like it was a written rule, something that had always been true and always would be, and something Sylar should have already been aware of.
But Sylar's mind abounded in questions. Why the chest? His chest is off limits but his face isn't? His hair isn't off limits either! You mean I could have been touching his hair this whole time? But not his chest, because of course that's an obvious area for a man to refuse to be touched, he thought sarcastically. Well, that is part of why I was asking. "What about … other touching?" Sylar's expression insinuated dirty things.
Peter's face hardened and his voice became clipped. "What 'other touching'?"
Okay, that's not going to work. Flirty = shutdown, every time. Adopting innocence, he said, "Supportive touching."
Peter narrowed his eyes briefly at Sylar, then shrugged. "Wherever. I don't care. As long as it's really you supporting me, helping. That's different."
Sylar nodded slowly. No ass/groin/chest exemption this time. "I meant it literally, yes. What about medically?" He assumed the answer was the same. This time he was not surprised.
"Yeah," Peter nodded. "Anywhere." Again, though, he felt the need to throw in a glare and say threateningly, "Assuming we're not talking about euphemisms?"
"No, we're not," Sylar said immediately, irritated by Peter's tone and how Sylar's one intimation of 'other touching' was still causing Peter to bite at him. "What about violent touching?" In case I need to do some. Any conversation between the two of them had the potential to spiral in unlikely directions. Sylar preferred to believe this was due to chemistry.
Peter's head pulled back, brows knitting together. Sylar wondered briefly what Peter made of the line of questioning. Did he accept each new question as an unexpected non-sequitor? Was he puzzling out Sylar's true motivations or did he already know them? Sometimes Peter would see right through Sylar, shocking him with the realization that Peter had been onto him from the start. Other times, Peter acted so dense it was a wonder the planet didn't collapse into a singularity. Peter said, "I would prefer you didn't touch me violently at all."
Sylar gave a sardonic, fatalistic loft of his brows. Fine. He's never any fun. But Peter apparently thought better of it and came back for clarification. "Do you mean, like, playing?"
"Yes," Sylar answered patiently. Peter clearly did not understand the purpose of violence. For Peter, it was a means of achieving an end - you used it to remove obstacles or achieve goals when other methods failed. For Sylar, it was an end unto itself. It was fun, exciting, and made his blood race to pit himself against someone. Violence was a game he wanted to play over and over again, and hurting his partner too badly would prevent that. In their first fights, it had quickly become apparent that Peter had no interest in preserving Sylar's ability to fight again some other day. Quite to the contrary, Peter escalated with absurd rapidity, making physical conflict so costly and risky that Sylar had faced each new one with the fear it would be the last. He'd had to look out for himself - nothing new; it was depressingly familiar. If they were to survive, he had to change things.
"Playing. Okay. Like sports?" Sylar nodded to Peter's question. Peter went on, "That's okay. Anything but my groin. Nut shots are never cool."
Sylar blinked slowly. Chest and ass are okay, though? Sports-related butt-pats get a bye, then. His face is still not off-limits either. Does he mean that, or is he just not thinking about it because he thinks that should be taken for granted? Sylar looked down, contemplating that and deciding to stop here for the day. He'd learned some interesting things he wanted to think over a bit more and Peter seemed too jumpy to tolerate a follow-up question about intimate touching.
The silence invited Peter to ask his own questions, and he did. "How about you? Do you have the same limits?"
Sylar lifted his head, taking a moment to figure out why he'd ask that when Sylar had started the talk by addressing it. He doesn't believe me. "I meant what I said," he said levelly. "You can touch me anywhere you want."
Peter looked at him straight for a moment, then snorted a disbelieving laugh. "No. You're not telling me you'd be okay with me just copping a feel whenever I was curious."
"Yes. That's what I'm telling you." He tried to keep his tone factual instead of arch as he wanted it to be, offended by Peter very nearly calling him a liar. Why is this so hard for him to believe? He's always fondling my shoulders or arms or the back of my neck or petting my back and touching against my hands when we do things. I never stop him. I don't even call attention to it. Does he not notice what he's doing?
"Seriously?"
Do I detect a hint of interest there? Temptation maybe? Did his mind jump to copping a feel because he genuinely is curious? Sylar sprawled backwards in his seat, spreading his legs and putting his arms along the armrests of the chair, slouching back. Peter was staring at him. Sylar almost -almost- rumbled his invitation before catching himself and changing his voice from seductive to challenging. The small difference was crucial."Try me." With that, he shut his eyes. He didn't have to wait long. He knew Peter well enough to know that. He heard Peter stand. For a moment, there was the wavering probability Peter would stalk off and leave. That by itself would be good to know because it would confirm Peter's disinterest and establish that the 'hint' Sylar had detected was wishful thinking. But Peter didn't stalk off. He stepped around the table until his knee brushed Sylar's without any evident attempt to minimize contact. Focused only on the sounds, he heard Peter draw in a deep breath, then felt the light stir of air on his arm as Peter let it out. He's going to do it. Or something, at least.
Sylar felt the warm pads of fingertips touch his forearm, immediately above his watch. They touched and rested there, immobile. Nothing so direct as grabbing my junk, then. Sylar breathed evenly, relaxed in appearance and fact. Tension served no purpose at the moment and he could strike out at Peter as quickly from repose as from alert. Plus, he was nearly certain he didn't need to. A moment later, he felt the change in texture as Peter curled his hand so it was the back of his fingers rubbing against Sylar's arm. Is he just testing me?
The contact stopped. It hadn't lasted long, really, although Sylar missed it as soon as it ceased. Not knowing what else to do, he turned his arm over in mute invitation, baring the underside like a dog asking for a belly scratch. That seemed to help, as Peter returned to touching him, tickling over the sensitive skin so lightly that Sylar made an involuntary noise. His skin pimpled with goosebumps. Peter almost immediately made an appreciative noise in return. He liked that!
Peter began full-on stroking him, fingers gripping around his forearm and gliding up and down it like it was an enormous shaft. Sylar felt uncomfortable in his groin and shifted slightly in his seat. Peter made another faint, pleased noise before saying softly, "Look at me."
Sylar opened his eyes. He wants to be seen. He wants the attention. That's why he liked that before - it wasn't the goosebumps, it was that I reacted. He held Peter's eyes until the other man looked down to where he put one hand on the arm of the chair. It freed the other so he could tease up Sylar's biceps, stopping at the hem of the shirt sleeve as though it was some barrier to be tested and explored. Sylar sighed wistfully, turning his head to gaze up at Peter in a manner he hoped was adoring and encouraging. This was already way more intimate than any passing shoulder-grope Peter might give him. Sylar's heart was thudding in his chest. Everything seemed warm and tingly.
Peter toyed with the edge of the shirt sleeve, looking up at Sylar uncertainly. "You like this?"
"Yes." How could there have ever been any doubt?
"This is what you want?"
Oh shit. Peter's tone was the same, but Sylar's experience was that people only asked what he wanted so they could charge more for it. Fear stabbed through him. "Yes," he said cautiously, hoping his honesty might somehow minimize the regret he was sure he'd feel for saying it, or at least give him a weapon against Peter.
Instead of withdrawing, though, Peter's hand made the leap and brushed across his shoulder and upper chest. "Anywhere?"
"Yes," Sylar murmured, wishing sorely that there was some form of touching he could do right now that could legitimately be considered 'casual'. It was breaking over and through him that Peter's inhibitions had nothing to do with asking for Peter's permission to touch him and everything to do with telling Peter he had permission. It was blindingly simple (and so very like Peter that something so stupid would be his hang-up).
Peter rested his hand over Sylar's heart, flattening, palm down. He had to be able to feel the organ's pounding. Sylar wondered if Peter could even hear it. Taking a risk of how he would interpret the gesture, Sylar brought his right hand over to Peter's. This is supportive, right? Or maybe even medical. Sylar stroked gently down from elbow to hand, where he rested his over Peter's, over his heart, which felt like it was fluttering or misfiring. He hoped it wasn't serious, because the more this went on, the more strongly it was happening and the less he wanted to take a moment out to work out why it was doing that. It was worrying. "Can you feel that?" he finally asked.
Peter smiled and nodded, soft and romantic in a way that made Sylar's gut clench and his pants felt more uncomfortable than ever. Sylar wondered even if Peter was doing this intentionally, creating these weird sensations. Had he come over here and put his hand on Sylar's heart to …? Sylar's brain was fuzzing out. Looking up, all he wanted to do was pull Peter down to him for a kiss. He reached for him, but Peter gave his chest a little push, clearly a discouragement.
"Not yet."
"'Yet'?" Sylar asked, seeing as that was almost a promise for later.
Peter drew in a deep breath and straightened, his hand returning to his side and Sylar's heart thundering away with almost painful beats. Peter said, "I … I might have been wrong on some of the things I said earlier. Let me think about it." With that, he patted Sylar on the side of the forearm, his hand trailing off down that limb to perch briefly on Sylar's watch before finally breaking contact. Peter gave him a shy, awkward smile before turning and leaving to have his 'think'.
Sylar shut his eyes and let his head fall back, waiting the few seconds until the coffee shop door closed. It felt like his body was on fire, every blood vessel about to burst - particularly the ones in the organ currently swelling his jeans. It was not ten seconds after the door shut behind Peter before Sylar had his cock in his hand.