The Prisoner, Chapter 6: The Fantasy
The next time he came in, Sylar looked pissed. He was also empty-handed, which Peter felt a little resentful about. He narrowed his eyes at the man. Sylar told him, voice hard, "I'm going to have sex with you. Pick a position."
Peter pursed his lips, then looked down. He wasn't being given a choice and for some reason that hung in the air between them. Well … he wasn't really in any position to argue, though it sort of heartened him to know that he at least had the power to make the experience utterly miserable for Sylar. There wasn't any need for that, though. He looked at the platform that he was standing next to, then hitched up his leg and lifted himself onto it silently.
Sylar's eyes went up and down him, then he took a deep breath and walked over slowly. He stopped next to him for a moment. Peter spread his knees apart and Sylar sidled between them. The set of his shoulders eased a little.
Peter looked down and realized. "Um. My pants .."
"It's okay. Later." Sylar touched his chin and tilted it up with gentle pressure. Peter let himself relax and kissed him. He reached out and let his hands rest on Sylar's hips. Sylar licked along Peter's lips and the pissed-off look faded from his face. He ran his hands up Peter's sides. "Do you mind me touching you?" he asked as he kissed a slow trail from Peter's mouth to the corner of his jaw. He paused long enough to grumble, "Pretend, please."
"No." And really, he didn't mind. It was just a touch. "I don't have to pretend. It's okay. Kind of nice, actually." I've definitely been cooped up in here alone for too long if I'm telling Sylar it's nice that he's touching me. But it didn't matter. Peter ran his fingers under Sylar's waistband. He told himself that the quicker he got this over with, the better. It wasn't like he was eager or anything, he thought. It was just that if he was setting the pace, then he was in control. Right.
Sylar made a pleased noise and pressed up against him, making Peter very aware of just how pleased he was. The other man's mouth continued from the point of his jaw down his neck, then to his shoulder. Peter pulled away slightly from his mouth. Sylar's jaw tightened and he straightened. "Fine." He put his hand in the middle of Peter's chest and pushed him onto his back. He grabbed the waistband of the pajama pants and jerked them over Peter's rump.
"I'm sorry," Peter said, realizing he'd pissed him off by pulling away. The nasty look Sylar shot him confirmed this. His chest tightened - with fear, and unhappiness that he'd hacked the man off. His voice laden with emotion, Peter added, "I'm really sorry."
Sylar hesitated with Peter's pants and underwear around his ankles now. He looked at him for a moment, then down at his hands. His face softened a little. He nodded. "Okay." He slipped the clothing off more carefully and set it aside. He pulled out a small bottle of lube.
Peter leaned up on his elbows and said, "Can I?"
"Can you what?"
"Um … do whatever? Prep?" He extended his hand partway towards the bottle. Sylar glanced at the bottle and handed it to him. Peter hadn't expected to be allowed. But he had been. He squirted some of the stuff onto his fingers and worked it around on them, then leaned to the side and reached down. He felt for the right spot. Sylar had just taken way too long at this step and Peter suspected strongly that he got off on it. Which wasn't really a problem, he supposed, but it didn't do anything for Peter.
Sylar leaned on the platform with one arm and watched as Peter plunged one finger in and out a few times. It went easily enough, really. He tried two. That was a little tougher, but in, and out, and he was done. He scooted his butt to the edge and said, "There."
Sylar struggled with his face, trying very hard not to smile. He reached up and scratched at his nose instead. "Really?"
"You aren't-" Peter stopped. Saying that Sylar was the size of two fingers was insulting and not true. So … yeah, maybe he should have used three. His fingers were still wet, so he rolled over a little and worked at himself. Three was a lot tighter, but he managed it. He could get them in there and that was what counted, right? "I'm ready."
"You really think so?" Sylar looked from Peter's ass to his face a couple times.
"Yes, I really think so," Peter said, an edge to his voice. He did not appreciate the amount of manipulation Sylar had seemed to think he needed before. It was probably why he was being so sullen and making fun of him now, he figured. Plus, wouldn't Peter know his own body better than some psycho rapist? He snorted and laid back.
"All right," Sylar said and Peter really should have paid more attention to the tone of voice he used. It was a warning by itself. Sylar took the lube and applied it generously to himself, then smeared it (again generously) around Peter's hole. Peter thought he already had enough there from his finger work, but Sylar was quick about it so he didn't complain. He felt the other man line himself up slowly and carefully. "You think you're ready for this?"
"Yes." Peter raised his head to give Sylar an annoyed look - which was also a stupid idea.
Sylar nodded once, gripped his hips and shoved into him. There was enough lube, and he used enough pressure that he went most of the way in. However, Peter screamed and jerked his legs back as if to try to kick the man off. He barely stopped himself from just that and for a moment, they hung together - the most excruciating, unexpected pain in his asshole and Sylar's 'don't you dare kick me' expression warring for which impulse he'd follow. Sylar pulled back, steadily, and all the way, out.
Peter whimpered. "Oh my God." He curled over on his side, trying to block out the memories of the rape, which had triggered full force for him. It had been a very similar sensation, but then he'd also had fear and anger to distract him. All he could do now was ache. Sylar stepped away from him and let him be. "Oh my God that hurt," Peter said again.
After a few moments, Sylar's voice cut through the fugue of pain Peter was feeling. "I really ought to give you more time, but I'm feeling a little impatient today."
Peter looked at him, eyes a bit too wide. He let his head fall back. He had well and truly fucked himself. He hurt again in a sudden wave. Sylar rolled him onto his back. Peter didn't fight it. He just bit his lip and was quiet as the other man pushed his knees up and exposed him again. He shook a little, then clamped down on his reactions. He shut his eyes, thinking that at least this time he knew a little better what was going on, he wouldn't be held down, and he wouldn't be struggling.
"Relax," Sylar growled, "Or this is going to take forever."
Peter opened his eyes and looked at him, because Sylar wasn't pushing into him. He was using telekinesis to hold his legs still while he rubbed Peter's thighs, following the muscle to his groin, then back to his knees. Peter stared at him, gathering that 'impatient' for Sylar did not mean getting straight to business. His captor's hands went down the back of his legs, rubbing circles with his thumbs near his anus, making Peter tense a little in surprise.
"Relax," Sylar said more softly.
Peter shifted his legs a little. They weren't held down so much as propped. He let his head flop back down. "Thank God. I thought you were just going to fuck me."
"I'm not a monster, Peter." He paused. "Well, maybe I am. But I'm … I'd rather it … it's probably easier for you to act like you like it if it feels good, rather than if it hurts like hell. I've been had like that too. Wasn't pleasant. I'd rather …" He huffed and quit talking, concentrating on what his hands were doing for a little bit. His strong fingers massaged Peter's buttocks thoroughly and carefully. "You'll be more open still if you come first."
"Please no," Peter said softly. He'd hooked a hand behind his head to cradle it, watching this very strange man do things to him that were also very strange, given that Peter was his prisoner. He lifted his feet and rested his heels on Sylar's shoulders.
"Mm," Sylar hummed approvingly. "Now that's a good position, by the way. Do you think you could keep it for long, or would that give you a cramp?"
Peter looked at his legs. "I don't know."
"Maybe we'll try it someday," Sylar mused.
"What … what's your endgame here?"
"I said that when I walked in - I'm going to fuck you today." Sylar's thumbs worked on either side of his opening, which for some reason provoked another spasm of pain.
Peter's face twisted, but it wasn't as bad as before. "That's-" He took a careful breath. "That's not what I mean. I mean what are you trying to accomplish with me? With all of this? What happens when you get tired … of me?" Do I end up in the morgue like Claire, with a stainless steel spike in my head, as good as dead?
"I'm not going to get tired of you," Sylar said very quietly, so softly Peter had to listen carefully to hear. "Not as long as you're basically cooperating like this. I understand this isn't ideal for you. I understand this isn't consensual. I understand that the only way I get to fuck you is if I coerce you and rape you." He looked up at Peter, a strange intensity in his eyes. "I want to do it anyway. I didn't get much of a choice on this either."
Peter swallowed roughly. "What?" he asked, confused.
Sylar ignored his question. "As long as you allow me the opportunity to fantasize, Peter, that's enough." He paused for a moment and looked down at what he was doing. "Your ass, like everyone else's ass, has a very strong sphincter muscle here, right inside the outer one." His fingertip traced a circle around the sensitive flesh of the anus. Peter twitched a little. "When you feel fear, or pain, in combination with stimulation here, it often causes the muscle to get irritated, overexcited, and then it spasms. That's what hurts. It will continue to spasm until it tires or until whatever is setting it off changes. Someone with more experience than you have can override it." Sylar continued rubbing the anal ring, relaxing and exhausting it by constant manipulation.
"That's why I've been prepping you a little more than normal - you're scared and you're inexperienced, so I know it's going to hurt if I don't stretch you out manually first." He applied lube to his hand, then slid three fingers into Peter fairly easily. The empath stiffened at the intrusion, shocked at how loose Sylar had gotten him without Peter even realizing it. The other man moved them in and out very slowly as he leaned over Peter's body, pursing his lips slightly and looking at Peter's in invitation.
Peter propped himself up and kissed him, opening his mouth and letting the other man's tongue inside him. Sylar's fingers continued to piston within him slowly. It felt good. Peter made a faint noise - not really a moan, of course, he told himself, because he wasn't enjoying this. None of it was enjoyable…he told himself that, at least. It wasn't very convincing.
He pulled back from the kiss to breathe harder. Sylar watched his face from only inches away and did something with his hand that caused a sudden, incredible surge of pleasure to run all through Peter's body, centered on his groin, or his ass, he wasn't sure which. It tore a whimper from his throat. "Oh!"
"That's your prostate," Sylar told him helpfully.
Peter clenched his teeth, upset about the involuntary reaction. That sphincter Sylar had been talking about tried to contract. It hurt. Sylar stroked the spot inside of him again and Peter fell back on the platform, arching a little and forgetting the pain.
Sylar said, "I'd been leaving this part alone until you got a little more used to the idea." He stroked him persistently now, setting every nerve in Peter's body ablaze with pleasure. Okay, this was enjoyable after all. Fine. Whatever. He writhed on Sylar's hand and moaned with abandon. There didn't seem to be any point in denying it. The other man leaned over him again for another round of kissing. Peter met him eagerly, feeling himself hard and full between them. He wrapped one hand behind Sylar's neck, while the other was behind him, propping himself up. Ardently, he pulled Sylar onto him.
His captor pulled his hand out and a moment later smoothly replaced it with his penis. Peter shoved back against him, trying to get that sensation again, hoping it wasn't something limited to hands alone. A moment later, Sylar shifted angle and Peter was flying high again. He fucked into him slowly, leaning forward to kiss him again, his hand sliding between them to stroke Peter's shaft. Peter groaned and whimpered into his mouth.
He wasn't going to last long. The regular strokes deep within him were pushing him right over the edge. He stopped propping himself up with one hand and clung to Sylar with both, rocking his body back against him, trying to draw him deeper and more fully on him. He felt like a complete slut, but he did it anyway. He clenched his legs around the other man's waist and suddenly threw his head back, gasping. Sylar bent his head and put his mouth over a nipple, sucking warmly at it. Everything inside of Peter exploded at once, his come shooting up between them to smack against Sylar's chest, throat and chin.
The other man straightened and pounded into him hard, plowing him through the aftershocks. This time Peter's white-knuckle clinging was for a totally different reason. Sylar spent himself a moment later, shuddering briefly afterward. They both held still, joined, and slowly calmed down. Peter curled forward, resting his forehead on Sylar's shoulder. Their breathing slowed. Peter's fingers relaxed a little and massaged slow, small circles where he'd been gripping.
That was not rape, Peter thought. He wasn't sure what it was or how he felt about things, but they'd definitely changed. Peter finally spoke, saying, "Feel better? You looked kind of grumpy when you came in."
Sylar smiled lazily and kissed his cheek. "Yes. Thank you. This was exactly what I needed."
"You're twisting me up inside. I don't even know what I want anymore."
Sylar gave him a wry smile. "Peter … you have no idea. Ever since I took your ability …" He pulled Peter close and sighed.
"You have my ability?" Peter hadn't really thought about it, but yeah, there was no reason why Sylar would refrain from taking it while he was comatose and defenseless. He wondered if that had something to do with the CPR and other medical procedures he seemed to have endured before waking up here.
Sylar said, "All I ask is that you help me pretend. But if … if it stops being a pretense … it's not like I'd turn you away."
Peter pulled back and looked at him searchingly. What did it mean for a serial killer to suddenly develop empathy, to have a sense of people's genuine emotions and feel some reflection of them in his own soul? Peter kept holding the other man as he pondered, still enjoying the contact. He didn't want to let go.
They disengaged slowly, reluctantly, and cleaned up. Sylar asked, "What kind of books do you want to read?"
Peter took a deep breath and thought about that. They talked about his reading preferences for a while and Peter tried again to ask about what was going on with the other man. He was ignored once more, so he dropped it. Later that day, before the last meal, he received three paperbacks to his specifications. He spent the whole night reading them - for once pleased that they didn't turn off the lights. Sylar flogged him again in Scrabble the next day, but he didn't care. Peter was actually kind of content with things - not that he was happy to be a prisoner, but this was survivable. It was doable. He could handle this.