Petlarkinkmeme entry
A/N: Is it dub-con when your victim wants it? This would be set right at the end of Landslide, Season One, as Sylar is on the roof testing out his newly acquired radiation ability.
I’m not thrilled with the characterization, but this was quick.
Sylar stood on the New York rooftop, saturated in hate and misery. He held up his hand, watching the radiation flare off of it. “Boom.”
“Boom-boom, baby,” said an unexpected, but familiar, voice behind him.
Sylar very nearly jumped off the roof, wavering unsteadily on the edge before righting himself with telekinesis. He spun, teeth bared and hand up. It was Peter Petrelli. “I don’t know how you got here or what you think you’ll accomplish, Peter, but you can’t stop me!” He would have struck immediately, but uncertainty washed through Sylar. There were too many factors here that didn’t add up: just how had Peter managed to sneak up on him given Sylar’s enhanced hearing? What was that scar doing on his face? Why didn’t he look in the least intimidated? And… ‘boom-boom, baby’?
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Peter said, looking Sylar up and down with unmistakable intent.
Sylar straightened a little. No… he had to be mistaken. Peter hadn’t just checked him out, did he? What the hell? “What are you doing here, Petrelli?” Sylar got off the edge of the roof and began to circle. Adrenalin was flushing through his system, making him breathe harder. Everything seemed crisp and surreal. He loved this feeling. He felt like he could do anything.
Peter spoke, saying, “There’s a lot of things I wish I’d done, in the past, when I had a chance, before everything happened. I don’t know if this will change anything, but…” Peter threw a blast of fire at him, hitting Sylar on the thigh even as he dodged to one side. Unable to do anything with finesse, Sylar hit him with a simple telekinetic shove in return, putting enough force into it to knock Peter clear off the roof.
Sylar put the fire out on his leg hastily with cryokinesis, looking up to see Peter diving back towards him, hands flaming. He jerked backwards, trying to roll with the tackle. He grabbed Peter’s hands with his own, trying to nullify the fiery power. Peter’s whole body was hot - not painfully so, but enough to make him strongly aware of every place they touched. Peter laughed, low and husky, making him aware of other things too.
“What the fuck?” Sylar exclaimed. He fought harder, rolling Peter over onto the pebbly surface of the roof, finding himself straddling the other man. He wasn’t entirely sure that was the position he wanted to be in. After seeing Peter's expression, he was certain it wasn't. Sylar pushed his power as much as he could, finally overwhelming the fire and spreading ice across Peter’s hands and down his arms.
Peter groaned, clenching his teeth and arching his back in pain. He brought his legs up and managed to unseat Sylar and then kick him away. Peter rolled in the opposite direction, coming up on his knees and elbows, arms curled inward, taking a moment to heal them. Sylar took that moment to lock Peter up with telekinesis, forcing his body to hold that position. He walked over to kick him and hesitated.
Peter could heal. Kicking him was entertaining, but it wasn’t permanent. Under other circumstances, it would have never entered Sylar’s mind, but Peter had already broached the subject with his obvious sexual interest. Sylar was no one’s bitch. And here Peter was, crouched with his ass in the air - it was practically an invitation. Sylar grinned. There was something he could do that Peter would remember for the rest of his unnaturally long life.
Keeping the other man still with telekinesis, Sylar reached around and opened his jeans, jerking them off of him roughly. He pulled down Peter’s briefs with similar efficiency and then leaned over him. He could feel Peter struggling against his power, but he was helpless.
This would be all the worse, all the more traumatizing, Sylar thought, if he could force Peter to enjoy it. He took a moment to run his hand up along the smooth skin of the small of Peter’s back, then under his shirt, along his spine. There were other scars there. He flipped the shirt up and looked at them. They were odd slashes, like those he made with his own telekinesis, when he turned it into a weapon.
He bent to lick along one of them and felt his telekinesis waver as Peter flexed against it. He bit down on one of the ridges of scar tissue. Peter panted with exertion. Sylar didn’t think he was going to have very long, so he positioned himself behind Peter and opened his pants. He couldn’t stop himself from toying with the other man just a bit more, grabbing his balls from behind and pulling them back. He didn’t want to do anything truly bizarre like castrate him, but he squeezed enough to let Peter know he had him. The darker haired man managed to get a whimper out of his throat.
Sylar shivered at that sound and selectively reduced the grip of his ability over Peter’s mouth and throat. He wanted to hear him cry out when he raped him. He let go of Peter’s testicles and began to stroke himself to hardness, one hand rubbing Peter’s butt cheek, listening as Peter breathed raggedly.
“Ssylar…”
Sylar laughed darkly. Oh yes, it had been a good idea to let Peter vocalize. “Beg me, Petrelli. Beg me not to do it.”
“Please… please Sylar… I’m begging you…”
Sylar spat on his hand and smeared the head of his cock, nudging it against Peter’s ass. This was wonderful. This was incredible. He’d never done this sort of thing. It was a rush as intense as murder and even more delicious because he knew this would stay with Peter forever.
“Oh!” Peter said at that contact, breathing harder and making a tense whine through clenched teeth.
“Yeah. Now see what good that did you.” Sylar pushed forward in a slow, methodical manner. It wouldn’t do to have it over with too soon. He pulled back and spat again, wetting himself so he’d slide in easier and Peter’s body couldn’t bar him access. It wasn’t as tough as he’d expected. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it was tight and hot and slick and he very nearly lost the telekinesis altogether at how god-damned good it felt.
“Oh, God, Peter. This is awesome. Peter Petrelli, I am going to fuck your beautiful ass and for the rest of your miserable life, you’re going to know that Sylar had you this night.” He shoved into him in an abrupt jerk, making Peter cry out. It was a rapturous sound to Sylar’s ears. His enhanced hearing let him perceive every catch and hitch in Peter’s breathing, every rapid beat of his heart and every subtle, stifled moan he made.
Sylar fucked him slowly, spreading his cheeks to get deeper, so that each stroke sent him all the way into that enveloping flesh, hugging his dick so closely, surrounding him with sensation. He growled, digging his fingers into Peter’s body, pulling him back into each motion. Peter was trying to stay quiet, but Sylar could hear him anyway. Those weren’t sounds of anger or fear or pain - it was lust, returned. What a fucking slut, Sylar thought in surprise. He’s enjoying this!
Sylar thought about what to do about it, keeping up his pace. It felt too good to stop. To hell with what Peter enjoyed. He could be a pervert for all Sylar cared. Maybe he even came here for this. Sylar was still the one with his penis riding back and forth within the other man, dominating him and topping him. So Peter liked it. Sylar decided to take that as a compliment and thrust into him harder.
“You feel my dick inside of you, Petrelli?”
When Peter didn’t answer immediately, Sylar slammed into him hard, forcing out an unintentional grunt.
“Answer me, Peter. Talk to me while I’m fucking you…” Sylar leaned down over him, wondering if his interpretation of Peter’s noises was correct. Time to find out, “…or I’ll stop.”
“Yes,” Peter answered immediately. “Yes, I feel it.”
Sylar actually missed a beat there as the encounter shifted from rape to sex in his head.
“I said I felt it!” Peter said, voice high pitched and needy, afraid because Sylar had stopped.
Sylar started fucking him again, slower than before, almost gentle. Peter whined, “Please fuck me. Please fuck me, Sylar, baby.”
“Don’t call me baby, damn you.” Sylar was still trying to figure out what he needed to be doing here. Peter Petrelli was begging him to fuck him. And… he was fucking him. And… it felt incredibly good.
“I’m sorry,” Peter murmured, pushing back slightly into the thrusts. That was when Sylar realized he’d been shocked enough to not only pause in the sex, but stutter and lose focus on the telekinesis too. It had already been long enough for Peter to do any number of things. He’d done nothing.
Sylar bent forward over him, hands sliding up Peter’s sides and ribs as he continued to move within him. Peter arched his back. There was nothing holding him there except his own will, his own desire to let Sylar take him. Sylar lowered his mouth to those other scars again, sucking at the end of one.
“Ah!” Peter panted, pushing back harder to meet Sylar’s hips, spearing himself on Sylar’s shaft.
“You want me?” Sylar asked, a whisper of uncertainty and confusion.
“Yes.”
Sylar felt a weird thrill at that. As if this evening could get anymore bizarre… “You came here for this? For me?”
“Yes.”
Sylar tried to process that. He failed. “Are you really Peter Petrelli?” Not that he could imagine anyone else being here, doing this, but there was just no reason for this to be that guy he’d run into twice now and killed each time.
“I’m from the future. Five years in the future. Please… just shut up and fuck me. I’ve always wanted this.”
Oh. Okay. That didn’t make sense either, but his body knew what was going on. He was kind of committed to the process anyway. He bit Peter on the back and curled his loins into him, humping. He straightened and when he did, Peter shifted to support his weight with one arm while the other reached back and stroked himself. Sylar took hold of him and screwed him in earnest, flesh slapping flesh in a fascinating, almost musical score of percussion and breath, voice and the exquisite, faint sound of his member sliding against the walls of Peter’s body.
The tension that built in his body had no sound to it but the rising beat of his heart and the surge of his pulse. It seemed like it should crash over him in noise and concussion, but there was nothing but the liquid surge as he consummated the act. It felt like his whole body throbbed with it. He called out, pushing as deeply as he could and holding Peter to him. He could hear Peter crooning softly, muffled like he was biting his lip. His hand worked himself frantically.
Sylar started to pull back, but Peter gasped out, “No! Wait. In me.”
He waited, pushing gently and rhythmically at Peter’s rump, not sure if that would help, but he imagined it might. Peter pulled in several sharply drawn breaths before his hips bucked forward slightly once, twice and a third time as he came. Sylar followed the motions. He waited until Peter’s breathing evened a little before stroking the small of his back tentatively and asking, “Now?”
He didn’t know why he asked. But somehow, there was a connection between them now. Sylar didn’t know what it was he was feeling, but it wasn’t anger or rage or even fear. He felt… uncertain. Peter nodded and shifted forward. They disengaged. Peter reached down and pulled his pants up. Sylar tucked himself away.
Peter got to his feet and turned to face him. Sylar tilted his head at him as his core ability tried to tackle this mystery. “You really are from the future,” he said.
“Yeah. Thank you. Thank you for this. I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ve already screwed up the timeline enough.” And with that, Peter vanished.
Sylar stood there silently, feeling oddly bereft. He turned and stared out over the city of New York, which no more than a half hour before he had been contemplating leveling. Now he had only one thing on his mind - finding Peter Petrelli in this time and having a little chat with him. Or maybe more than a little chat… if he was willing.
I’m not thrilled with the characterization, but this was quick.
Sylar stood on the New York rooftop, saturated in hate and misery. He held up his hand, watching the radiation flare off of it. “Boom.”
“Boom-boom, baby,” said an unexpected, but familiar, voice behind him.
Sylar very nearly jumped off the roof, wavering unsteadily on the edge before righting himself with telekinesis. He spun, teeth bared and hand up. It was Peter Petrelli. “I don’t know how you got here or what you think you’ll accomplish, Peter, but you can’t stop me!” He would have struck immediately, but uncertainty washed through Sylar. There were too many factors here that didn’t add up: just how had Peter managed to sneak up on him given Sylar’s enhanced hearing? What was that scar doing on his face? Why didn’t he look in the least intimidated? And… ‘boom-boom, baby’?
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Peter said, looking Sylar up and down with unmistakable intent.
Sylar straightened a little. No… he had to be mistaken. Peter hadn’t just checked him out, did he? What the hell? “What are you doing here, Petrelli?” Sylar got off the edge of the roof and began to circle. Adrenalin was flushing through his system, making him breathe harder. Everything seemed crisp and surreal. He loved this feeling. He felt like he could do anything.
Peter spoke, saying, “There’s a lot of things I wish I’d done, in the past, when I had a chance, before everything happened. I don’t know if this will change anything, but…” Peter threw a blast of fire at him, hitting Sylar on the thigh even as he dodged to one side. Unable to do anything with finesse, Sylar hit him with a simple telekinetic shove in return, putting enough force into it to knock Peter clear off the roof.
Sylar put the fire out on his leg hastily with cryokinesis, looking up to see Peter diving back towards him, hands flaming. He jerked backwards, trying to roll with the tackle. He grabbed Peter’s hands with his own, trying to nullify the fiery power. Peter’s whole body was hot - not painfully so, but enough to make him strongly aware of every place they touched. Peter laughed, low and husky, making him aware of other things too.
“What the fuck?” Sylar exclaimed. He fought harder, rolling Peter over onto the pebbly surface of the roof, finding himself straddling the other man. He wasn’t entirely sure that was the position he wanted to be in. After seeing Peter's expression, he was certain it wasn't. Sylar pushed his power as much as he could, finally overwhelming the fire and spreading ice across Peter’s hands and down his arms.
Peter groaned, clenching his teeth and arching his back in pain. He brought his legs up and managed to unseat Sylar and then kick him away. Peter rolled in the opposite direction, coming up on his knees and elbows, arms curled inward, taking a moment to heal them. Sylar took that moment to lock Peter up with telekinesis, forcing his body to hold that position. He walked over to kick him and hesitated.
Peter could heal. Kicking him was entertaining, but it wasn’t permanent. Under other circumstances, it would have never entered Sylar’s mind, but Peter had already broached the subject with his obvious sexual interest. Sylar was no one’s bitch. And here Peter was, crouched with his ass in the air - it was practically an invitation. Sylar grinned. There was something he could do that Peter would remember for the rest of his unnaturally long life.
Keeping the other man still with telekinesis, Sylar reached around and opened his jeans, jerking them off of him roughly. He pulled down Peter’s briefs with similar efficiency and then leaned over him. He could feel Peter struggling against his power, but he was helpless.
This would be all the worse, all the more traumatizing, Sylar thought, if he could force Peter to enjoy it. He took a moment to run his hand up along the smooth skin of the small of Peter’s back, then under his shirt, along his spine. There were other scars there. He flipped the shirt up and looked at them. They were odd slashes, like those he made with his own telekinesis, when he turned it into a weapon.
He bent to lick along one of them and felt his telekinesis waver as Peter flexed against it. He bit down on one of the ridges of scar tissue. Peter panted with exertion. Sylar didn’t think he was going to have very long, so he positioned himself behind Peter and opened his pants. He couldn’t stop himself from toying with the other man just a bit more, grabbing his balls from behind and pulling them back. He didn’t want to do anything truly bizarre like castrate him, but he squeezed enough to let Peter know he had him. The darker haired man managed to get a whimper out of his throat.
Sylar shivered at that sound and selectively reduced the grip of his ability over Peter’s mouth and throat. He wanted to hear him cry out when he raped him. He let go of Peter’s testicles and began to stroke himself to hardness, one hand rubbing Peter’s butt cheek, listening as Peter breathed raggedly.
“Ssylar…”
Sylar laughed darkly. Oh yes, it had been a good idea to let Peter vocalize. “Beg me, Petrelli. Beg me not to do it.”
“Please… please Sylar… I’m begging you…”
Sylar spat on his hand and smeared the head of his cock, nudging it against Peter’s ass. This was wonderful. This was incredible. He’d never done this sort of thing. It was a rush as intense as murder and even more delicious because he knew this would stay with Peter forever.
“Oh!” Peter said at that contact, breathing harder and making a tense whine through clenched teeth.
“Yeah. Now see what good that did you.” Sylar pushed forward in a slow, methodical manner. It wouldn’t do to have it over with too soon. He pulled back and spat again, wetting himself so he’d slide in easier and Peter’s body couldn’t bar him access. It wasn’t as tough as he’d expected. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it was tight and hot and slick and he very nearly lost the telekinesis altogether at how god-damned good it felt.
“Oh, God, Peter. This is awesome. Peter Petrelli, I am going to fuck your beautiful ass and for the rest of your miserable life, you’re going to know that Sylar had you this night.” He shoved into him in an abrupt jerk, making Peter cry out. It was a rapturous sound to Sylar’s ears. His enhanced hearing let him perceive every catch and hitch in Peter’s breathing, every rapid beat of his heart and every subtle, stifled moan he made.
Sylar fucked him slowly, spreading his cheeks to get deeper, so that each stroke sent him all the way into that enveloping flesh, hugging his dick so closely, surrounding him with sensation. He growled, digging his fingers into Peter’s body, pulling him back into each motion. Peter was trying to stay quiet, but Sylar could hear him anyway. Those weren’t sounds of anger or fear or pain - it was lust, returned. What a fucking slut, Sylar thought in surprise. He’s enjoying this!
Sylar thought about what to do about it, keeping up his pace. It felt too good to stop. To hell with what Peter enjoyed. He could be a pervert for all Sylar cared. Maybe he even came here for this. Sylar was still the one with his penis riding back and forth within the other man, dominating him and topping him. So Peter liked it. Sylar decided to take that as a compliment and thrust into him harder.
“You feel my dick inside of you, Petrelli?”
When Peter didn’t answer immediately, Sylar slammed into him hard, forcing out an unintentional grunt.
“Answer me, Peter. Talk to me while I’m fucking you…” Sylar leaned down over him, wondering if his interpretation of Peter’s noises was correct. Time to find out, “…or I’ll stop.”
“Yes,” Peter answered immediately. “Yes, I feel it.”
Sylar actually missed a beat there as the encounter shifted from rape to sex in his head.
“I said I felt it!” Peter said, voice high pitched and needy, afraid because Sylar had stopped.
Sylar started fucking him again, slower than before, almost gentle. Peter whined, “Please fuck me. Please fuck me, Sylar, baby.”
“Don’t call me baby, damn you.” Sylar was still trying to figure out what he needed to be doing here. Peter Petrelli was begging him to fuck him. And… he was fucking him. And… it felt incredibly good.
“I’m sorry,” Peter murmured, pushing back slightly into the thrusts. That was when Sylar realized he’d been shocked enough to not only pause in the sex, but stutter and lose focus on the telekinesis too. It had already been long enough for Peter to do any number of things. He’d done nothing.
Sylar bent forward over him, hands sliding up Peter’s sides and ribs as he continued to move within him. Peter arched his back. There was nothing holding him there except his own will, his own desire to let Sylar take him. Sylar lowered his mouth to those other scars again, sucking at the end of one.
“Ah!” Peter panted, pushing back harder to meet Sylar’s hips, spearing himself on Sylar’s shaft.
“You want me?” Sylar asked, a whisper of uncertainty and confusion.
“Yes.”
Sylar felt a weird thrill at that. As if this evening could get anymore bizarre… “You came here for this? For me?”
“Yes.”
Sylar tried to process that. He failed. “Are you really Peter Petrelli?” Not that he could imagine anyone else being here, doing this, but there was just no reason for this to be that guy he’d run into twice now and killed each time.
“I’m from the future. Five years in the future. Please… just shut up and fuck me. I’ve always wanted this.”
Oh. Okay. That didn’t make sense either, but his body knew what was going on. He was kind of committed to the process anyway. He bit Peter on the back and curled his loins into him, humping. He straightened and when he did, Peter shifted to support his weight with one arm while the other reached back and stroked himself. Sylar took hold of him and screwed him in earnest, flesh slapping flesh in a fascinating, almost musical score of percussion and breath, voice and the exquisite, faint sound of his member sliding against the walls of Peter’s body.
The tension that built in his body had no sound to it but the rising beat of his heart and the surge of his pulse. It seemed like it should crash over him in noise and concussion, but there was nothing but the liquid surge as he consummated the act. It felt like his whole body throbbed with it. He called out, pushing as deeply as he could and holding Peter to him. He could hear Peter crooning softly, muffled like he was biting his lip. His hand worked himself frantically.
Sylar started to pull back, but Peter gasped out, “No! Wait. In me.”
He waited, pushing gently and rhythmically at Peter’s rump, not sure if that would help, but he imagined it might. Peter pulled in several sharply drawn breaths before his hips bucked forward slightly once, twice and a third time as he came. Sylar followed the motions. He waited until Peter’s breathing evened a little before stroking the small of his back tentatively and asking, “Now?”
He didn’t know why he asked. But somehow, there was a connection between them now. Sylar didn’t know what it was he was feeling, but it wasn’t anger or rage or even fear. He felt… uncertain. Peter nodded and shifted forward. They disengaged. Peter reached down and pulled his pants up. Sylar tucked himself away.
Peter got to his feet and turned to face him. Sylar tilted his head at him as his core ability tried to tackle this mystery. “You really are from the future,” he said.
“Yeah. Thank you. Thank you for this. I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ve already screwed up the timeline enough.” And with that, Peter vanished.
Sylar stood there silently, feeling oddly bereft. He turned and stared out over the city of New York, which no more than a half hour before he had been contemplating leveling. Now he had only one thing on his mind - finding Peter Petrelli in this time and having a little chat with him. Or maybe more than a little chat… if he was willing.