Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 86: Hot and Cold
Title: Hot and Cold
Characters: Peter, Sylar
Words: 550
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Frustration
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Peter frustrates himself.
Warmth. Peter woke up with his face pressed to the middle of Sylar's back, fuzzy cotton t-shirt between them. Ugh. What am I doing? His eyes opened. He pulled his face back an inch or two, working out where he was, in bed with Sylar as a balm to the other man's phobias about being alone. It felt so good to be here, huddled under the comfy blankets, with his bed partner so close. I want to fuck him so bad, came to Peter's mind unbidden. We might as well go ahead. We're sleeping together anyway. He let his forehead settle against Sylar's back again with a noisy sigh of frustration. That's not going to happen. It's not. Period. He has good reason to be afraid and traumatized and need someone in bed with him. I do nothave good reason to be fucking the guy who killed my brother. Or even to be lingering here now that I'm awake. I should get up and go take a cold shower. Instead, he inhaled deeply of their mingled scents. The air between them, trapped under the blankets, was positively saturated. He wanted to luxuriate in it. He wanted to do more than that. He wanted to cup his body to Sylar's, snake his arms around the man's torso, nuzzle his back and stroke his chest until Sylar woke, then see if he could sweet talk him into sex. It wouldn't be difficult. Sylar had made it clear the offer was on the table. Just the fantasy of taking him up on it had Peter hard. No. No, no, no!
Peter rolled away, flipping the covers off of himself with annoyance and a barely suppressed growl. He stalked to the bathroom, erection tenting his boxers. He looked straight ahead, not checking to see if Sylar was awake because he didn't want to risk the eye contact. He didn't want to know if Sylar saw him parading by, arousal perfectly evident in the morning light. But he shut the bathroom door quietly just in case Sylar was still asleep, trying to convince himself that his walk of shame had gone unnoticed.
He stripped quickly and got in the shower, only to find that his raging hard-on was rapidly fading. After all, the object of his desire was out there in bed, not in here in the shower. Peter's angry growl was not restrained this time. He made one more attempt, stroking himself determinedly, but the irritation at himself for being less excited than he had been in bed, now that he could actually jerk off, just made him lose his erection even faster in a self-reinforcing downward spiral. With a snarl, he left off and slammed the heel of his hand into the wall. The tile cracked under his palm, leaving an obvious mark of his frustration. Fuck! I don't know how to replace tile. Cut it the fuck out, Peter. He'll make you fix that. (Maybe he won't notice?) Fat chance of that. He'll notice. I'll have to explain. (Maybe I slipped?) I'm not going to lie. (So I'll tell him he's irresistibly hot? That sounds like a fun conversation.) God-dammit! Thoroughly disgruntled, he took the cold shower he thought he deserved, or at least needed.