Only You
Title: Only You
Characters: Sylar, Peter Petrelli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Graphic sexual content
Word count: 650
Setting: Post-season 4, not that it matters
Summary: Porn without plot.
Notes: Inspired by this art.
Sylar shifted in squirmy delight as Peter plunged into him. He liked it better this way, facing away. It let him be more uninhibited without having to be aware of someone watching him all the time. It seemed to be having the same effect on Peter - he was rougher this way, more assertive and less cautious. Peter sunk his hand into Sylar's hair and pulled, hard and steady as he pounded inside of him. Sylar groaned in unabashed pleasure.
"I want you," Peter told him hoarsely, getting out short phrases between thrusts. "Only you. You're special. Inside you. I want … Fuck! I want … you. Everything. Everything. You. Have. Ah! Yeah!" He gripped tighter, pulling Sylar back as Peter came forward and wrapped his other arm possessively around Sylar's chest. "Want ..." Peter rolled his hips side to side, his face pressed against Sylar's shoulder blade, squeezing his upper body to himself as he fucked him. The new sensation of stiff cock wagging right and left within him left Sylar whimpering and spreading his legs. He pushed back into Peter's loins, feeling them cup his buttocks and slide over them, enhancing the feeling of being probed.
Peter growled, beyond words now, not that he'd been all that articulate before. He pulled back and then slammed home, giving Sylar's hair a tug as he did it. Sylar called out, his eyes rolling upward as he let himself be violated, penetrated, and taken. What Peter had said had left Sylar thrumming inside like a piano string struck by a hammer. Peter wanted him. Someone wanted him! Someone, anyone, but that it was Peter made him feel incredible, like he was the most prized thing in the world, that Peter would put aside everything between them just to have him - and not to destroy him, but to have him like this, to use him so privately and intimately, like he had real value. No sharing. No being put in danger. No humiliating experience of being cast aside after, lost and rudderless in a world that was out to get him. Peter was holding him like he'd never let go, joining them together, filling Sylar over and over with his shaft - and soon, with his seed. He wanted Sylar inside and out.
Peter was his. The thought, the knowledge, was the sweetest candy in Sylar's brain. It exploded there, as good as any orgasm. He had, by virtue of the gifts he possessed, won over this man and seduced him so thoroughly that Peter rutted within him like a mating animal, seizing him and holding him in place, yanking on his hair and mouthing at his shoulder. Sylar could hardly catch his breath, feeling weak and hot and trembly all over. He kept feeling that way all through when Peter spent inside of him, the base of his dick throbbing perceptibly in Sylar's ass as Peter's grunts changed in pitch and frequency. After that, Peter's last thrusts were slower and longer, easy, gliding motions that still made Sylar shudder. He was lying in his own come by that point, not entirely sure of when he'd lost it and entirely sure he didn't care.
They separated, repositioned and then came together facing one another. Peter needed kisses now - both to give and receive, that much was consistent with how he was in other positions. Sylar happily complied. His breathing was slowing, but he still felt light-headed. Butterflies fluttered crazily in his gut and he was more excited now than he had been before they'd fucked. "Only me?" Sylar whispered, not daring to speak louder as he considered the possible meanings in those two words. Were they just careless pillow talk? Or did Peter-of-so-many-other-partners really mean it? Did it mean that not only was Peter his now, but he would be always?
Smashing his nose against Sylar's cheek, Peter confirmed, "Only you."