Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 92: Primal
Title: Primal
Characters: Sylar, Peter Petrelli
Words: 1,400
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None.
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Two scenes inspired by the word, 'primal'. The scenes are not necessarily connected.
The fight had gone on long enough. Sylar could see Peter was getting genuinely angry. Pretty soon, one or both of them was going to get hurt. Sylar knew the odds were it would be him, as he was already losing as they grappled on the floor. Much as he liked to criticize Peter for not knowing when to give up, that only had bite if Sylar himself wasn't guilty of the same thing. Still, it would rankle his pride to say anything out loud. Instead, he indicated his surrender in a primal and unmistakeable way - he dropped his defenses, lifted his chin, turned his face away, and exposed his neck. He hoped Peter had enough sense to see what he was doing.
A second later, he had reason to doubt that as Peter grabbed the offered throat. Sylar made an involuntary, faint noise as he tensed, but didn't otherwise move. Neither did Peter, so maybe he understood after all. He had surrendered; Peter was accepting it; and yet Peter was still holding him, forcing the submission, proving it, being dominant simply because he could be. He was rubbing it in. A shudder ran through Sylar. For whatever perverse reason Sylar didn't bother to explore, that was hot as hell. He was hard in an instant and hitched his hips upward in a slight motion. Peter huffed, but he didn't pull away. There was no snarky comment, no objection at all.
Sylar's eyes were shut. He lay on his back on the floor, Peter half-crouched above him with one hand on his throat and the other restraining one of his arms. Peter's legs pinned Sylar's, which put their groins perilously close. Sylar exhaled his yearning in a thin whine. Being taken and held down triggered something wanton and dark in him. It thrived on pain and subjugation. Maybe Peter knew that, and had the dark opposite of it, because his thumb began to slowly stroke up and down Sylar's neck. Sylar shifted his hips again in hungry need and a moment later, Peter adjusted his position so his hip rode down across Sylar's crotch. His knee pushed between Sylar's thighs. Sylar gripped the shirt on Peter's side, rubbing against him fast and firm. It was bony and uncomfortable, but it was also a willing, warm body which was enabling him. His breath puffed out. Peter put just the slightest pressure on his windpipe and it was perfect. Peter knew. Peter was participating. This was almost sex.
With a stifled groan, Sylar came. It had taken him an embarrassingly short time, but Peter had never given him this sort of opportunity before. There had been no sex and precious little comfort or even touching between them - just the fights and whatever contact was inadvertent. This - this had been very, very intentional. Sylar's lids fluttered. His head lolled. He didn't know what to do with this experience now that he'd had it. Peter took his hand off Sylar's throat, putting his fist on the floor next to Sylar's head. He bent. A light kiss was placed on Sylar's cheek. It was … sweet, cute, almost fraternal. It was the kind of peck you might give a relative you hadn't seen for a while. Sylar opened his eyes and looked at Peter, who gracefully rolled off of him.
Peter didn't look aroused in the least, but satisfied? Yes, he looked satisfied and sort of smug. Sylar sighed, deciding to be pleased that Peter didn't look angry or disgusted. Maybe this was something they could do more often? 'Smug' was something he could work with. Peter went to his knees and gave Sylar a nudge. "You need to go get cleaned up," he said quietly, glancing away. He was completely aware of what had happened, and he was accepting it.
"I'll do that." Sylar sat up, then got his feet under him as Peter stood with him. Sylar tried to reach out for him, just to touch his arm, but Peter stepped back and batted him away. Watching Peter's face with special attention, Sylar said, "I'm sure we'll find something else to fight about soon."
Peter gave him a sly smile that gave Sylar a fluttering sensation in his gut. "I'm sure we will."
Sylar came awake with a start when Peter grabbed his wrist. His eyes flew open, his heart thudded, and his brain flooded to full capacity. In front of him, Peter lay in bed, eyes shut, a troubled expression on his sleeping face. Fuck, Sylar thought, realizing what was going on. Peter was having a nightmare or something. He turned his hand and took Peter's wrist, giving it a squeeze. Peter's expression cleared and his breathing deepened. Apparently, that was all Peter needed. Sylar, though, was now wide awake. Peter slumped over onto his back, drawing Sylar's hand and arm along with him. Sylar frowned at him.
Putting up with Peter's nocturnal shenanigans was the stated price of sleeping with the man, along with not actively molesting him. Generally, Sylar was willing to pay, but at the moment, he felt irritated and taken for granted. He reached out and pulled Peter's nearer arm up and out of the way. He could tell in an instant that Peter had woken, for real this time. Peter's breathing caught and his body tensed. Sylar didn't care. He snuggled in close, putting his shoulder in Peter's armpit and his head on Peter's upper chest. Being close dissuaded Sylar's own nightmares, though honestly he didn't need to be this close. But he liked it. And if Peter was going to wake him up randomly in the middle of the night, then he could deal with being a little taken advantage of in return. To Peter's credit, he dealt with it fine. Once Sylar was settled, Peter dropped his arm to Sylar's back, brushed him lightly a couple times, and then fell back asleep.
Sylar slept lightly for the rest of the night, enraptured by the feel of strong arms holding him close, and so willingly. It was even nicer that Peter had awoken, Sylar decided. It made the choice to hold him seem very intentional. He hoped Peter had thought it out and made a deliberate choice, and not some half-asleep, muzzy decision that it wasn't worth fighting over. Even if that, by itself, would be an improvement between them.
Peter woke again, eventually, and disturbed Sylar's dozing by trying to inch out of his embrace. It was the stealthy motions of a man trying to wriggle away from the ugly woman who had looked fabulous through the beer goggles of the night before. Sylar growled as the illusion of a willing partner cracked and fractured.
"I have to go pee," Peter whispered in response to the growl.
It gave Sylar hope. "Come back," he asked in his own whisper, like reality couldn't take it if he spoke at full volume.
"No." Peter had made it to the side of the bed and stood. "I'm getting up."
"I want you," Sylar said petulantly. He didn't like the refusal.
Peter just shook his head and rolled his eyes.
Sylar snarled. If Peter was going to take himself away, then fine! He pushed his face into the pillow Peter's head had rested on and rolled himself into the warm spot Peter's body had left. Thrusting his hand into his pajama bottoms, he pushed them down and stroked himself hard within a few seconds. Peter was still standing there - of that, Sylar was very, very aware. Sylar kept his eyes mostly shut and moaned for his audience, tugging and jerking himself. He bared his teeth, feeling himself ridiculously close, ridiculously fast. He'd never done this while anyone watched. Admittedly, there was a sheet obscuring him, but the motions were unmistakeable. He turned to his side when he came, wishing he'd thought to flip back the sheet so he could try to target Peter, but this was probably better. His semen spurted, striping Peter's side of the bed, marking it and claiming it in a primal way. Parting his eyes and adopting a lazy, satisfied smile, he looked up at Peter.
"Not cool, man," Peter said, but his expression was slack-jawed lust. "Not cool." He went around the edge of the bed towards the bathroom, collecting himself. "You're doing the laundry today."
"You watched the whole thing," Sylar crowed. If that was Peter's only objection, then … wow.
"You were covered," Peter snapped. "There was nothing to see."
Sylar snorted, talking to Peter's back as he left the room. "You knew exactly what I was doing." The bathroom door shut firmly. Sylar's smile broadened as he murmured to himself, "Just like I know exactly what you're going to do now." He stretched out on his side of the bed, luxuriating as he wondered how long it would take Peter to jerk himself off in there.