Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 90: Come Out In The Wash
Title: Come Out In The Wash
Characters: Peter, Sylar
Words: 1,400
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Sylar asks Peter for jerk-off material, though it doesn't have the happy ending he expected.
Note: A couple years ago, I read an article about how one's writing would be better if one eliminated all reference to what a character was thinking. I don't usually write that way, but from time to time I toy with it. Like here.
They sat together in the laundry room, listening to the whirring and sloshing. Sylar spoke. "Tell me about a time when you had sex on a washing machine."
Peter gave him a long, piercing look.
Sylar shrugged slightly, more a gentle roll of his shoulders. "Or in a laundromat."
"I've never had sex in a laundromat," Peter said sharply. Looking off to the side, he grudgingly admitted, "I made out in one once."
"Either," Sylar said. "The laundromat, or the washing machine."
"How do you know I had sex on a washing machine?" Peter challenged.
"Because you denied the laundromat, but not the other. Ergo, the washing machine happened."
Peter scowled at him. "Why do you want to know, anyway?"
"I like to know things - especially these kinds of things."
"What are you going to do with the information? It's not … valuable."
"Oh, it's very valuable." Sylar raised his brows and looked at Peter loftily. "I'm going to think about it next time I jerk off. So …," his expression turned particularly lewd, "spill."
Peter snorted and looked away. He was silent for a long time, before finally saying, "It only happened the once." He looked back at Sylar, who was watching him back, listening with polite, but pointed, interest. Peter looked away again. "Her name was Cheryl … or maybe Sherry."
"You don't remember? Peter Petrelli, who prides himself on never forgetting a name?"
"Do you want me to tell this or not?" Peter said nastily. Sylar smiled, but said nothing. "Fine. Yeah, that was her name. I went to her apartment to … study or something." Sylar was still smiling. Peter made a palm-up gesture with the hand nearer to Sylar, shaking his head. "It was a long time ago! I was like a freshman in college or something!"
Sylar's smile faded to seriousness. "Go on."
"Jerk off material, huh?"
"I've been alone a long time," Sylar dead-panned. "And since you're not putting out ..."
Peter sighed and leaned forward, elbows on knees. Another long pause passed. "I made a pass at her," he said quietly, cupping his hands together. "I'd been flirting and she was flirting back. That was how I got in her apartment. Once we were there, you know, the studying thing fell apart, since neither one of us wanted to. I asked her what she liked," he glanced over at Sylar slyly, "in the way of sex. She said anything I wanted was good." Peter looked away, pooched out his lips, and shook his head a little. "That was kind of a boner-killer - someone who doesn't know what they want, can't or won't tell me. It doesn't give me anything to work with. So I asked her what she liked to do to herself, when she was alone, what did she think about." He gave Sylar another sidelong look. Sylar was a rapt audience now. Peter's voice softened into bedroom tones.
"She said she didn't think about anything much, but there was this one thing she did that always got her off. I asked what it was. She was embarrassed, but I teased it out of her - the washing machine. I told her to show me, so she did. She put in this ratty old bathrobe and knotted a towel around it, then started the cycle. While it got up to speed, we kissed. Then she climbed on top of it and kissed down. It was nice," he purred, occasionally flitting his eyes over to Sylar, who was listening avidly.
"Then it started rumbling, shaking a little. She started smiling and laughing. I guess it felt really good. I'd been touching her - her sides, her hips, her breasts - but now I started working on getting her jeans off. I unfastened the top button and worked my hand inside, but I only stroked her belly. We were french kissing so deep, it was awkward to do more than that. So I ran my fingers around the belt line. She scooted out of them, said she usually sat on the washer naked anyway, this was why she didn't have a roommate." Peter smirked, now looking straight ahead with a faraway look in his eye.
"We made out a little more. I was petting her. Then I asked her to come to the edge of it. She did, and I went down on my knees. It put me just at the right level." Peter licked his lips, tongue slowly traveling across the top and then the bottom. Sylar swallowed noisily. Peter went on in a soft voice, "I started kissing her belly, then her pubic hair. Finally I spread her legs and kissed her lips. I tongued her. She was shocked." He looked over his shoulder at Sylar. "She'd never had that." Peter gave him a long, sensuous blink before turning away again. "I told her to lean back and play with her breasts, so she did. I licked … and I sucked … and then I sucked some more. I rolled my fingers up inside of her." Peter demonstrated by turning the wrist of the hand which was further away from Sylar, two fingers curled in a 'come hither' motion. "She was hot and wet and dripping. I was drooling on her and so hard I was aching. She started making these little squeaking noises and then I felt her come on my hand, on my fingers, all around them." Peter looked over at Sylar again with a lingering, satisfied look. He curled his lips in, licked them, and swallowed.
Sylar had a slightly dazed look to him. He breathed out heavily. "Then what?"
Peter shrugged. "That was it."
"Did you fuck her?" Frustration was evident in his voice.
"No." Peter looked away and shook his head. "It … actually went sort of downhill after that."
"What? How?"
"It's not important." Peter shook his head again. "Just … if you want jerk off material, imagine I stood up and fucked her silly after that."
"But what really happened?" When Peter didn't answer and kept looking away, Sylar reached out and touched his shoulder gently.
Peter glanced back at him, his expression now normal (without the 'porn narrator' look he'd adopted before). He huffed. "She said her dad had shown her the washing machine trick but had never shown her that." His voice took on an edge. "I asked her what she meant, and she … anyway, he'd molested her since … I guess puberty, I don't know, and …" Peter shook his head. "I lost my … anyway, I left. I was stupid, nineteen, and I didn't know what to say or how to react to that. I don't remember what I said, but it was probably clumsy, and I left. I don't think … she … really knew how to deal with it either. That's why she was blurting it out to the first guy who got her off other than her fucking father." Peter sat up and leaned back in the chair, one fist balling and releasing over and over. He shot Sylar a tense look. "You asked."
"She was damaged goods," Sylar said hollowly, looking a little more pale than usual.
Peter shook his head. "Yes, no, not really. I mean, what happened to her sucked, but it didn't mean there was anything wrong with her."
"How would you react to that now?" Sylar asked, blank-faced.
Peter gave him an appraising look. "You mean … to being with someone who'd been molested?"
Sylar blinked a few times and said, "You said you were nineteen then, like that … explains it. How would it be any different if you'd been older?"
"If I'd known then what I know now," Peter said quietly, looking straight at Sylar as he spoke, "I would have held her. I would have told her I was glad she'd enjoyed it. I would have asked how she felt about how things had been with her dad and if she'd ever shared that with anyone else. I would have listened … and I would have stayed."
Sylar was silent for a long moment. "And then you would have fucked her silly?"
Peter hesitated, then gave an easy smile and reached over to lightly chuck Sylar on the shoulder. "Yeah. Then I would have fucked her silly. If that's what she wanted."