Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 93: Changes
Title: Changes
Characters: Sylar, Peter
Words: 1,300
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: The barest hint of dub-con and rough sex.
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Peter wants Sylar to give him a good reason for fucking.
"Nothing ever changes with you!" Peter said, his exasperation clear.
Sylar rolled his eyes. He'd had enough of this argument five minutes ago. "Fucking me would change things," he said, flippant, but true.
Peter stared at him. It was hardly new - the offer, that is - but to have Peter really latch onto it was. "You think it would? Huh?" Peter's voice started out hard, then changed.
Sylar blinked and straightened as Peter advanced on him. He was grabbed and hauled off-balance in the open-plan penthouse they'd taken up residence in. Shoving and pulling, Peter got him to the bed and fairly threw him on it. Sylar rolled to his back and lifted to his elbows, mouth agape, a bewildered smile fighting its way onto his face.
"You really," Peter said huskily, sliding his knee between Sylar's legs, parting his thighs with it, and nestling it firmly but gently in Sylar's crotch, "really think it would change things?" Peter shoved him flat on the bed and leaned over him, exhaling heavily.
Sylar's eyes were huge. This was totally unexpected. It had his blood pumping with the possibilities. "Yes."
Peter smirked at him, dropping his knee off the edge of the bed and letting his thigh and hip roll into and against Sylar's groin. "How?" he asked as he rubbed up and down, feeling Sylar's growing hardness under him.
Sylar didn't want a conversation. He pulled Peter down and kissed him, trying unsuccessfully to bring Peter flush against him. Peter pressed him to the bed, returning the kiss passionately, but refusing to be drawn down. When he broke the kiss, he scoffed, "No," and pulled away entirely, leaving Sylar unsatisfied on the bed.
Sylar's head popped up immediately. "What? 'No?' You fucking tease!" He sat up, outraged and flabbergasted to be led on so strongly and then dropped like a moldy donut.
Peter laughed, low in his throat. "It's hardly a tease when I've told you 'no' for months, Sylar. If I say 'no' nineteen times and then the twentieth I say 'maybe', and I think about it and say 'no' again, that's not a tease. That's me checking my options."
"No, that's you being a fucking cock-tease and you know it!" Sylar was on his feet now, simmering with anger. He wouldn't put up with being treated like this.
"You didn't give me a good reason."
"I'll give you any reason you want!" He was nearly yelling, looming over Peter now.
"You're not offering anything I want, Sylar!" Peter growled up at him.
"The things you want," Sylar ground out, "no one can give you."
"Exactly."
"That's not fair!"
"Tell me how killing my brother was fair, huh?"
"I'll give you your fucking good reason!" Sylar grabbed him, and this time it was Peter getting thrown on the bed. Sylar was on him in a moment, aggressively crawling over him and flattening Peter out. He needn't have bothered - Peter wrapped arms and legs both around Sylar, pulling them together and not trying to get away. "Yeah!" Sylar huffed out before Peter turned his face and kissed him. Peter hunched against him and Sylar responded, humping between his legs, the alternating pressure working for him. Peter freed a hand and put it between them, finding the bulge of Sylar's cock and massaging it expertly.
"Come on," Peter whispered in his ear, air puffing against Sylar's disarrayed hair. "Fuck me. You gonna come for me? Come on! Show me!"
Sylar groaned. The dirty words, the lewd commands, the sudden cooperation went all through him. He bucked harder, Peter's fingers somehow finding him even through the denim, pinching, pressing, and stroking. After a moment of fumbling, he felt Peter drop Sylar's zipper. He was taken in hand with nothing but cotton briefs between them. He came almost immediately.
"Oh yeah," Peter growled, grinning smugly. He kissed Sylar again, deep and probing. He released Sylar's dick and pushed the flaps of his fly closed.
Sylar reached down to return the favor, but Peter pushed his hand aside. Confused, Sylar asked, "What? That's-"
"Fading already," Peter interrupted him. "I don't need anything from you."
Sylar's eyes widened. Peter had just jerked him off to shut him up. That was all it was. There was nothing mutual to it, no desire, no nothing. He'd been…used. His jaw dropped.
"Except a kiss," Peter murmured. "I want another one of those before you blow up." He raised himself quickly to claim one, covering Sylar's open mouth with his own, prompting Sylar to return the kiss, too befuddled to do anything else. When it ended, Peter began to scoot away backwards across the bed, apparently aware of how much danger he was in. Sylar finally came to his senses. He lunged after, brought up short by Peter grabbing a handful of shirt with one hand and cocking back the other as a fist. Sylar paused long enough to establish that Peter wasn't going to hit him. Then he pushed forward slowly, eyes on Peter's lips. Peter let him.
"You need kisses." Sylar turned his head and let their lips meet. It was soft, warm, and almost chaste. His eyes were open and on Peter the whole time, all the fury, humiliation, and despair of the last few minutes warring with a tiny flame of hope. When he pulled back, he said, "Then I will give you kisses." He looked at Peter with an expression of pleading. There was a way between them and Sylar could see it through all the sloppy, interfering emotions. Peter had asked a question, opened a door, taken an action, and expressed a need. Everything else - the taunting, the teasing, the threats - was a distraction, a Petrelli smokescreen. Or so Sylar hoped.
Peter swallowed. He released Sylar's shirt and lifted that hand to touch lightly at the moisture on Sylar's lips. He met Sylar's eyes with something like wonder, then pulled back, finishing his escape over the opposite side of the bed.
Sylar heaved a sigh and went back the way he'd come. He got a new pair of underwear from the dresser, then went to the bathroom to change and clean himself up. When he came out, Peter was curled up on one corner of the couch, bare-footed and staring at a book. Peter set it aside immediately and looked at him. It wasn't a challenging look. It was wide-eyed and encompassing, as if he were taking Sylar in for the first time, or trying to memorize his appearance. Sylar met his gaze. It went on for more than a minute, before Peter finally dropped his eyes to take in the rest of Sylar. Sylar slid onto the couch, in the middle, near Peter's end. He wasn't there a second before Peter stuck out his foot and wedged his toes under Sylar's thigh near the knee. Sylar smiled and stroked the foot more familiarly than he'd ever done before.
Peter reached out and touched a few fingers along the top of Sylar's hand, giving him tiny strokes. "Good reason," he said. "Good change."
"I told you it would work," Sylar said softly, a fluttering in his gut as he realized he'd been right.
Peter smiled and made a dry chuckle. "Yeah, you did. Sometimes you've got to hit me with a sledgehammer to make me listen."
Sylar looked at him with complete innocence. "I will be your sledgehammer whenever you need it."
Peter blinked. "You did not just say that."
Sylar looked down, smiling away his mischief. Peter laughed, then rolled to his back and set his lower legs across Sylar's lap. "Okay," Peter said. "We'll try it your way."