Sleeping Beauty, Chapter 3: Third Flirtation
It was a short bench, but they shared it anyway. So much of the hostility and distrust between them had disappeared. It was just the two of them here - keeping company, talking, arguing, occasionally fighting, but more often playing. Today had ended with a long game of Frisbee toss, the encroaching darkness having finally made them quit. They watched the slowly rising moon through a gap in the trees. Peter was leaned forward, elbows on knees. Sylar was sprawled back, one arm along the back of the bench, the other hanging at his side.
It was quiet here. No birds. No cars. No pedestrians. No helicopters, sirens, dogs, or even crickets. In the absence of those sounds, Peter could hear Sylar's even breathing with clarity. It was soothing to listen to. Without that anchor, the world had an unreal character to it, false, like a television show or a huge hologram. If he thought about it, he could even feel the heat from Sylar's body, along the left side where the man sat, quite a bit closer than most people would sit but Peter didn't mind; he liked it. The sensation of warmth was strongest along Peter's legs, where they both wore shorts. It was nice in a deep and satisfying way to have someone so closely with him.
Peter flexed his back a few times, then rotated his shoulders. Sylar made the faintest, "Mm," to let him know the man was watching the way he moved his body. It gave Peter an unadulterated thrill. Although facing away, Peter smiled and looked down, letting the darkness hide the blush he could feel on his skin. He liked being looked at, admired even, and he knew the hungry look that sometimes marked Sylar's face when Peter showed off to him. He cycled through the stretches again in case Sylar wanted another look. Then Peter sat up, finding Sylar's right arm on the bench behind him. He froze for a moment, glancing over.
Sylar met his eyes evenly, blank-faced, then turned to look at the sky. "I like watching the moon," Sylar said, voice low. "Astronomical cycles were the earliest forms of time-keeping."
Peter let the air flow out of him, settling against the bench (and Sylar's arm) like it was no big deal. They had touched each other a lot more at other times, especially during basketball, but the romantic nature of sitting together, Sylar's arm around him, while watching the moonrise, wasn't lost on either of them. He'd sat with Sylar other times to see him to bed. For a little while, he'd gotten into the habit of tucking him in. That stopped when Sylar tried too strongly to urge Peter to join him. They might play together, do a lot of things together, but Peter wasn't ready to do that yet. He was happy with the glacial pace of things between them.
He glanced to his right when Sylar's fingers curled against his upper arm, brushing him through the thin cotton of the short sleeve of his t-shirt. A look to his left showed Sylar was pretending to look at the moon, which was now climbing above the level of the trees in slow, majestic progress. Peter sighed and smirked, letting Sylar have his game. "It's a nice night," he murmured.
"Yes, it is." Sylar's voice was low, almost a purr. It stirred things in Peter's chest and loins. He sighed again, feeling content in a way he hadn't in a very long time. Maybe ever. He was still basking in that feeling when Sylar gave him a tug and pulled him to him, putting Peter in the position of resting his head on the man's shoulder.
Peter sputtered indignantly and snorted, righting himself and pulling away, reaching back and prying Sylar's arm out from behind him. He gave Sylar a short, forceful shove, glaring at him for a moment in case this was going to be the start of a fight. But it wasn't. Sylar put his hands on his thighs and was quiet, staring at his own knees. He looked so suddenly despondent that Peter rolled his eyes, made a scoffing noise, and put his arm around Sylar in turn to pull him into the same position.
Maybe it was revenge (let's see how you like it!) Maybe it was consolation (if you want to cuddle, then …?) Sylar was stiff, defensive, but he went where he was put. Peter adjusted his grip on Sylar's far shoulder, rubbing gently up and down to communicate that this was just like the other times Peter had held him - harmless and safe. Sylar relaxed, very tentatively pressing closer. Peter realized they were really going to do this - cuddle on a bench, maybe more. That is, unless he did something screwy like shove Sylar away. Again. He didn't want to. He liked him like this. Sylar snuggled up closer, his hand touching at the back of Peter's waist. Peter scooted forward, creating a tunnel for Sylar's arm to wrap around his waist. Sylar shifted, the position awkward for someone of his height, but he managed it.
It was warm, affectionate, and way more than friendly. Peter soaked up Sylar's warmth, trailing his hand down Sylar's upper arm a few times, toying with the different feelings of t-shirt and arm. He'd been allowed to become familiar with certain easily accessible parts of Sylar's body and he really enjoyed touching them. He'd missed that, after their nightly ritual had stopped. Peter bent his elbow to reach back to Sylar's head. He brushed his fingertips through the man's hair, tilting his head down to rub his cheek against the top of Sylar's head. Hair was a new thing, something Peter rarely touched. Sylar moved, lifting himself and turning his head up. In the dim moonlight, Peter could see his dark brows hovering above wide eyes, lips parted. He remembered that brief kiss they'd shared in the rec room. The world hadn't ended because of it. No ghost of Nathan had risen up to dog his steps and haunt his nights because his self-control had slipped for just a second. He wanted this. He knew Sylar wanted it even more badly. The timing seemed finally right - calm, easy, no grief or horrible flashback marring things.
Peter bent and turned his head, warm breath caressing his lips a moment before the soft skin of Sylar's mouth touched his. A burning tingle ran through him like electricity from crown to toe at the contact. He made a faint sound in the back of his throat, a half-whimper of long suppressed desire. It was quiet, but Sylar clearly heard it and Peter could feel the aching, long-denied passion that flared through them both. Sylar's right hand tightened around Peter's waist and his left rose to cup the side of Peter's face. Peter kissed him, mouth working slow and tender while the most delicious fluttering feeling suffused his stomach. It felt like they were floating, flying, joined together. He was hard, instantly, breath catching as Sylar's tongue-tip touched his mouth. He had one hand cradling the back of Sylar's head. The other touched his cheek, then temple, then neck. Sylar groaned softly and Peter could feel the rumble under his fingers. He turned his head a little more, welcoming Sylar into his mouth and licking at him in return. He felt light-headed, oxygen suddenly in short supply. He felt like he was going to burst from the kiss alone.
Feeling drugged, Peter pulled away with the greatest of difficulty and reluctance. He was a curse on his partners and not the easiest man to love even before his abilities and history complicated things. Back then, he'd been clingy and managed his relationships badly, had weird family issues (he still did), and wasn't completely out of the closet. Although he'd learned from that, all he could think of to apply to this very different situation was taking it slow. So much of his life had been fucked up by taking stupid plunges without looking first. This was important to Peter. He didn't want to fuck it up.
Sylar was panting up at him, then nuzzled his shirt. Peter buried his hand in Sylar's hair, making a fist for a moment before releasing him. Peter knew he couldn't just sit there. Things would continue. They would get more involved. What if they weren't ready for that? What if he wasn't ready for it? He struggled up from the bench, disentangling himself and snagging the Frisbee. "Come on," he said, trying to discreetly arrange his pants. "It's a long walk back."
Sylar was on his feet in an instant. "To … your apartment?"
Peter glanced at him guiltily, knowing his answer wasn't what Sylar wanted to hear. "No, your apartment and my apartment. We're not sleeping together."
It was too dark to see Sylar's expression, but the rigidity of his posture conveyed his displeasure well enough.
"Yet," Peter added softly, reaching for Sylar's hand, seeing the tall man ease some and hearing him start breathing again. The walk back was comfortably quiet.