Wall Verse Chapter 9, Practice Makes Perfect
Peter walked out of his apartment building to an empty street. Just a few minutes earlier, he had looked down from the window at the end of the hall to see Sylar pacing outside, head down, chewing his thumbnail like he did when he was particularly stressed. Now he was gone. Peter frowned and peered up and down the street, but there was no sign of him. Where did he go? He wouldn't leave. He was waiting for me. That last made Peter feel very wanted. Just the day before they'd kissed for the first time. Peter didn't think either one of them had any plans for today other than continuing that exploration of one another … so where had Sylar run off to?
As he stood there fighting off disappointment, he heard the sound of the piano in the apartment building across the street. Many times Peter had played to settle his own emotions - usually when he was angry at Sylar, but also when he was missing Nathan or upset at the nature of the world or simply lonely and trying to call out to his companion. It was a passive aggressive way to say 'hey Sylar, I'm over here, but I'm not about to tell you I'd like your company.' He smiled in soft amusement. So Sylar was pulling Peter's tricks on him in turn.
He walked inside, hearing Sylar miss a note when the lobby door shut loudly behind him and announced his presence. That made Peter smile more. The man continuing playing, which was pleasing. It was a song Peter had shown him only a few days before, one they'd worked on together a little. It was nice that he was practicing and nicer still that he didn't quit as soon as he knew the sound had lured Peter in.
Peter walked into the room and over to lean on the corner of the upright piano, facing forward into the big room. The back of the piano was against the wall, so he and Sylar were roughly facing one another now. Peter listened to the melody with a more neutral expression, drawn by his own personal pied piper. He stared off into the middle distance for while, just enjoying the sound, but then let his eyes shift to the side without moving his head. He wanted to enjoy the scenery in addition to the music, and with the kissing of the day before, Peter suspected he could risk getting caught ogling with a lot less repercussion than normal.
Sylar was really an outstandingly handsome man. More than once, Peter had reflected that this was certainly Sylar's hell and not Peter's. It wasn't Peter's idea of heaven by any means, but his hell would not include devastatingly handsome men who wanted to get into his pants. Of course it wasn't that simple (or else this might really be Peter's version of heaven). He'd turned Sylar down pretty flatly the day before, but when the man had walked up to Peter with such an expression of understanding and kindness, Peter had stood his ground and allowed things to go … where they did. He was so glad he had, because Sylar had shown him a completely different side of himself, one he usually kept so carefully hidden.
Peter gazed at those lips that Sylar had pressed to him so softly and hesitantly, like a blushing virgin, shy and diffident. He was a serial killer! And yet here was a totally different person underneath all the sarcasm and braggadocio; a person who was tender and careful and yearning - so vulnerable and sweet. It made Peter's heart ache. He wanted to pull Sylar to him and show him everything.
Peter had said no to Sylar's advance the day before, because he didn't want to be used meaninglessly. Peter was far from being bored enough by being here that he'd fuck Sylar because the man had an itch, and that was pretty much how Sylar had offered it at first. Then when he'd walked over, Peter had figured out that no, those were just words, another layer of obfuscation and defense hiding Sylar's real feelings. Peter wanted someone to be into him. He wanted them to want him, not just what he could do for them. He hadn't realized before how much Sylar did want him. Him - Peter - his responses, his thoughts, his actions, his engagement and feeling and everything Peter was willing to give him. Sylar didn't want to just touch him and get off. He wanted to connect with Peter and that was what he was trying to do, albeit a bit clumsily at times.
It came to Peter then that this was why this was Sylar's hell - all alone, no one to connect with. Sylar had said that several times, variations of those words, but Peter hadn't understood until this moment. He'd been thinking that yeah, the loneliness must be rough, but he couldn't see why that in particular would upset Sylar, the killer. All of Sylar's demeanor indicated such a disdain for people that Peter had been perplexed as to why this had manifested as the worst torture Matt could inflict on him. Now that he saw the person Sylar was inside, Peter understood.
That person had noticed Peter staring at his lips, as Peter had become open about it during his contemplations, watching those lovely, plush edges to his mouth, slightly pursed with concentration as Sylar coaxed music from the piano. He was leaned over the instrument, intent on making music for Peter to hear. The music was Peter's project - he was doing this for him. Peter watched the man's lips raptly, thinking about those two kisses they'd shared, full of barely restrained intensity. Oh yes, he wanted more of that. Peter realized Sylar had finally noticed he was being checked out. Peter's eyes darted up to his. Sylar blushed a little and looked down at the piano keys, stroking them nervously.
Peter sighed happily and leaned more on the piano, appreciating what he saw. Lips - lips were one of Peter's big turn-ons - those and eyes. Outside of mirrors, there was only one set of each in the whole world right now and they were lovely ones to look upon. He'd never taken the opportunity to look at them this intently before, always concerned about offending, or starting something he didn't want to finish. (He wouldn't mind finishing something today … he'd have to see where things went.) Sylar's lips were full and symmetrical and Peter knew they were sensitive all the way across rather than having his own numb patch on one side. He thought about what that must feel like, to kiss someone and feel their mouth fully against your own, rather than just three-quarters with nothing but a faint pressure on the last part to tell you were touching.
Sylar squirmed now at Peter's continued and obviously interested scrutiny. The man scooted to the end of the bench closest to Peter and stood, taking a small, unnecessary step in the action that crowded close to Peter. Sylar did that kind of thing a lot, testing the boundaries, finding out how close he could get before a glance from Peter or a tensing or a turned shoulder warded him off. Sometimes not even that worked and he'd provoke a fight - yes, Peter had figured out the reason for the violence. Sylar played all of these games, trying to figure out how to win what really mattered - attention, response, an emotional connection. The only game Peter was interested in playing today was win-win.
Peter smirked up at Sylar, who was looming over him as if trying to be intimidating with his height. The man's expression went from superior to uncertain at Peter's self-assured one. Peter hooked his hand behind the man's neck and pulled him down abruptly into a hard press of lips, bypassing the game and heading straight for the goal posts. Sylar tensed and made a small, surprised noise. Peter held his mouth against Sylar's, feeling those lips with his own, holding the man's face to his until Sylar's brain caught up with his body and he relaxed into it, the panicked lines around his eyes smoothing.
Peter moved his lips against Sylar's, feeling them warm and soft, getting softer as Sylar began to move his mouth in response. He made another small sound - this time more a moan. Peter pulled on the man's neck and stepped backwards, putting his shoulder blades against the wall a few feet from the piano and leaning back, inviting Sylar to trap him there and have him.
Sylar glanced between Peter and the wall, putting his hand on it palm down. His other hand he wrapped around Peter and then turned them both to the side, putting himself in the corner made by the boxy shape of the piano and the wall it was against, with Peter on the outside. Sylar was even more hemmed in now than Peter had been offering for himself. The taller man slouched so as to overcome their height difference and make himself more accessible. He put his elbow on the top of the piano and looked hopeful that Peter would accept the new arrangement. Sylar smiled a little and put his free hand out to the side, palm towards Peter as if in invitation for him to get as close as they'd been before.
Peter accepted it. He leaned in, forward over Sylar's body and gave him a small peck on the lips in approval. He put his hands on Sylar's waist and ran them up his sides, not missing how Sylar breathed faster and even made a shallow nod to him. Sylar licked his lips and reached out to touch Peter's shoulder - so tentative, eyes darting to Peter's face as if asking if he was allowed to touch.
"I like that," Peter murmured, letting his own hands stroke up over Sylar's chest, feeling the pectoral muscles flat beneath his palms. His hands traveled up Sylar's neck, provoking Sylar to straighten a little, swallow and make a quick intake of breath. Oh my God, he is so responsive. Peter leaned in and offered a kiss, which Sylar tilted his head immediately and accepted. Sylar's hand drifted from Peter's shoulder to the back of his neck, then up to cradle his head, pausing to position Peter just a little differently so it was better for him. Peter appreciated that Sylar wasn't completely without initiative here. He wasn't unwilling to act; he was just afraid of fucking things up.
Peter put a hand on the wall to hold himself up as he kept his lips against Sylar's, moving them gently and reveling in the feeling of Sylar's larger lips wrapping around his own. The kiss prolonged and gradually grew more in-depth. He settled his body against Sylar's, letting him support his weight as he leaned against him, trapping him into the corner and pushing him back a little. It freed Peter's hands so he could bring them both up on either side of the man's face. Sylar shut his eyes in bliss as Peter stroked his fresh-shaven cheeks and gave feather-light touches to his temples and brows before letting his fingers sink into the man's gelled hair. Clearly, Sylar had made an effort this morning to clean and scrub and shave so he was as presentable as possible … without going overboard. Peter groaned, kissing harder. He appreciated that someone wanted him enough to do that. Sylar's mouth opened before him and the other man let his head fall back, submissive to whatever Peter wanted to do with him.
What Peter wanted was taste. He let his tongue brush Sylar's lip, pulling a soft keening moan from the man. Peter bit his own lower lip at that, feeling himself harden. He loved the sound; he loved the responsiveness; he loved the submission and the preparation and the thought and the passion he could feel burning under Sylar's skin. Oh, this is good. This is so good. So fucking good. It was stealing Peter's breath away, making him high with desire. He licked Sylar again as Sylar's eyes opened now and he watched Peter with heavy lids. Sylar ran his hand up through the back of Peter's hair, mussing it, while his other, the hand of the arm that was propped on the piano, touched Peter's shoulder and plucked restlessly at the cloth. He wanted to do more with that hand, but it was supporting his weight, and anyway, Sylar was still hesitant to express how much he wanted Peter.
Peter could feel it anyway. He pressed against the man, noticing he wasn't the only one hard. His own arousal was at full flame and every signal of want he was getting from Sylar only fanned him higher. He kissed Sylar with his mouth fully open for the first time. His tongue stroked along the inside of the upper and then lower lip, feeling the even edges of Sylar's teeth behind them, tasting his unique flavor. And then, there was a tiny answering touch as the very tip of Sylar's tongue teased Peter's. Peter stopped to grin happily, dipping his head to rest their foreheads together, his face flushed with joy. "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, please. I like that. Do that. Please, Sylar."
Sylar straightened a little, confidence bolstered, and urged Peter's head back to where they could resume kissing. Peter complied with enthusiasm. Sylar's tongue brushed firmly against Peter's, making the empath moan in pleasure. Peter ground against him with a groan, but it was cut short as Sylar's face jerked back, his mouth snapped shut and he flattened himself against the wall, getting space between their groins and dropping his hand from the back of Peter's neck to the front of his shoulder, ready to push him away.
Peter froze, eyes wide, but not as wide as Sylar's. A moment later Sylar began to lick his lips nervously as his eyes darted around uncomfortably, clearly aware his reaction was … unusual and trying to figure out how to cover it. Peter waited until he saw anger beginning to form and then he took action. Peter had suffered at Sylar's hands several weeks before because the man had been trying, after their camping trip, to say something and Peter guessed he had smiled at the wrong moment. Sylar had become embarrassed and vented his emotion through rage instead. Peter had no interest in being hurt again.
Peter said quickly and softly, "It's okay, it's okay. Hey, hey? Okay?" Peter lifted his hands off the man and held them out to the sides, empty and inoffensive.
Sylar still glanced between the hands uneasily and looked down, upset and continuing to look angry, or maybe frustrated because his eyes kept jumping to Peter's like there was something he wanted, then away like he wasn't finding what he was looking for. Sylar swallowed and began to hold himself very still, finally looking away and to the side like he was shutting down or waiting for Peter to go away.
Thinking he'd give him some space, Peter backed up a half step. A pang of intense pain and disappointment shot across Sylar's face - his lips thinned, his brows drew together and down and his face scrunched inward. Giving him space wasn't the answer. Before that too could translate into anger, Peter put his hand on Sylar's arm on the piano. The arm twitched but Sylar didn't throw him off. Sylar wasn't going to get himself out of the emotional spot he was in, probably feeling penned in by his outburst and embarrassed. Peter had to lead him out and show him everything was still fine. He gestured down at Sylar's legs with his other hand. "Here, move your legs apart."
Now Sylar looked up at him, blinking and uncertain, but he was listening and Peter could see hope there in his face. It warred with suspicion and what looked like resentment. "Why?"
Peter softened his tone further and said, "Go on. It's okay. I'll show you." He looked up at Sylar as sincerely as he could and the expression seemed to work. The resentment faded on the other man's face and hope grew. Sylar did as he was asked. He took instruction well, which was something Peter didn't do, but he'd recognized it in Sylar. Peter said, "Now slouch down like you were before. Put your legs out here, on either side of me." Sylar's eyes widened again, but he seemed to be calming down. He followed directions and let Peter position him. "Now I'm going to lean on you just like I was doing before. I won't move against you. I'm just going to lie on you. Is that okay?"
Sylar blushed furiously. "Peter, I'm … um …" He made a gesture at the obvious bulge of his groin and Peter resisted staring at it as best he could. Staring would not make matters better, he suspected. He'd never run into someone so ashamed about a simple boner.
Peter smiled. "I know. And I'm really happy about that." Peter put one hand on the wall and leaned in, not touching any part of Sylar. Sylar glanced up and down Peter's body apprehensively as if not quite sure how to take that lack of contact. Peter turned his head and kissed him softly. To his joy, Sylar responded to it strongly. Peter had begun to wonder if the man really had become overwhelmed by it all and they were done for the day. "I'm really happy about that," Peter whispered. "Let me feel you?" Oh baby, please let me feel you. Let me feel you wanting me. I want some of that for myself.
Sylar looked away self-consciously and nodded. He glanced back at Peter with a nervous smile, his face flushing yet again. He is so worked up about this. I love that. This really matters to him. It ran all through Peter and tingled against his skin, making his own face warm and then hot. When he got close to someone, Peter's emotions echoed theirs and sometimes he even felt what they felt physically. It had been far stronger when he'd had his original power, but it was still there even now - it just took a more intense level of contact to activate it. He was really feeling it today.
Peter stepped further in between Sylar's legs and settled very slowly against him, hips first, then his stomach. Sylar wrapped an arm around him at that point, his face relaxing and his breathing deepening. He hugged Peter to him chest to chest and pressed his face against the side of Peter's head, breathing hotly into his hair. Peter wanted to fuck him so bad and he was absolutely sure Sylar felt the same way.
Peter could feel Sylar's stiff length between them. Surprisingly, the man had stayed hard throughout that tense moment. Peter had lost his erection for a while, but it was racing back to fullness. Peter drew back and kissed him lightly and Sylar, panting, gave him a faint whine for his actions. Peter's hands came up to caress Sylar's face as Sylar's hand, resting lightly between his shoulder blades, dropped down his spine. Sylar pulled back to study Peter's face as his hand came to the top of his jeans and paused there, fingers toying with a belt loop, tugging at it experimentally. Peter smiled and stroked his cheek, letting his fingers roam over to touch the man's nose and then up between his brows, tracing over one and then the other. Sylar's eyes rolled upwards and his head lolled back against the wall as he panted hard. He bit his lip, trying to quiet a wild surge of desire that Peter heard as clearly as if Sylar had shouted it.
Peter leaned in, raising himself up on his tiptoes and thereby shifting his whole body a couple inches against Sylar's. The man shuddered and whimpered at that. Peter put his lips over Sylar's and sucked his lower lip from between the man's teeth, worrying it with his own. He felt Sylar's whole body tighten and tense. There was a quiver deep inside the man, resonating in Peter's muscles as well, creating a harmony.
Peter licked and sucked and groaned, wanting so badly to grind against him, but even though he knew Sylar wanted it, he didn't know how he'd react. Sylar's hand at the small of his back pressed him in just a little and Peter took that as a signal. He lowered himself a bit, flexing his feet and no longer standing on tiptoes, then raised himself back up, rubbing his whole body against Sylar and getting another shudder and moan for his efforts. Sylar was being pulled tight like a bowstring, pressure seeking release. Peter wanted to grant that.
He grunted with a forceful exhalation, putting his mouth over Sylar's more aggressively, plunging his tongue inside as passion took him. The man was on the edge of orgasm - Peter could feel it and he had every intention of putting Sylar over and making him burst. It was working Peter up immensely, so much so that he could hardly think. His heart was pounding in his chest, in sync with Sylar's, both breathing hard. Nothing existed but Sylar and what he was feeling, and what he was feeling was ready. Peter gave up the slow up and down motion and began to thrust against him.
And once more, Sylar freaked out. One second Peter was humping against him, drenched in desire and the next he was getting nothing but terror and panic and shame from his partner. Sylar yanked his hand from behind Peter and pushed him away, struggling upright. He jerked himself out of the corner between piano and wall and circled to get some space, which was easy enough because Peter was standing where Sylar had shoved him, hands up in surrender, still trying to recover from being rudely snatched from the cusp of orgasm and booted aside. Sylar touched his own forehead, then his chest, then his hand hovered uneasily over his taut groin. He bared his teeth in what looked like fear, not anger, and looked at the open doorway.
"Please don't leave," Peter begged. He didn't know what was going on with Sylar, but he didn't want it to end this way - not more fighting, or shame or embarrassment or weeks of not talking to each other or dancing around the subject again. He had felt what Sylar wanted and Peter wanted that too. He knew the man's feelings were genuine. There was so much between them and so much fucked up about the whole situation that Peter didn't blame Sylar in the least for being confused or overwhelmed. Maybe I'm just taking this too fast. Way too fast. Slow down … quit being selfish, Peter.
"What … I'm …" Sylar panted out, shaking his head. He gestured at the spot next to the piano, where they'd been cleaved together only a few moments before. "I can't."
Can't what? Peter tilted his head, raising his brows, but Sylar didn't see. He was touching his forehead again, looking lost and miserable now. Peter deepened his breathing and tried to relax. We need to stop. No third try right away. Just stop and let both of us calm down - all the way down.
Sylar shook his head again. "I should go."
"Please don't," Peter said, his tone making it a question and a plea. Don't run out on me - don't, don't, please don't. You won't be able to look me in the eye again until you've beat the crap out of me. I know you. I know how you are with that big ego of yours. Stay here, please. It's okay.
Teeth clenched in anger, Sylar shot back, "Why the hell not? I can't do this right! I'm fucking things up!"
Very calmly, Peter offered, "Why don't you sit at the piano and play, and I'll use the guitar?" Sylar looked at the piano like he was angry at it too, but his jaw eased and then he blinked at it a few times and dropped his gaze to the floor.
Peter dipped his head, taking a step toward the guitar and watching Sylar's face the whole time, trying to track his emotions. "Just like always," Peter soothed. "Everything's fine. Nothing's fucked up." Sylar looked up at Peter, his face calming and moving towards neutral. Peter smiled a little and shrugged, glancing off to the side and then back. "I'd like to be near you." I'd like to go back to what we were doing, but I don't think that's in the cards. I'll take second best. I like you. Come on. You've got to feel that - it's okay. Calm down.
Sylar swallowed noisily, breathing heavily as he began to relax and wind down. He opened his mouth to speak, but discarded the words. He nodded instead and forced a tense smile that didn't reach his narrowed, suspicious eyes. Peter nodded back anyway and went over to lift the guitar and dig out the pick. Sylar watched him for a long moment before going to the piano and accepting the new task. Gingerly, he sat down, wincing as he adjusted his jeans. He coughed and cleared his throat, saying, "What … what do you want me to play?"
"What you were playing when I came in was fine." Peter sat down and set the guitar across his knee. His own arousal had faded a lot faster once he wasn't touching Sylar. "We'll just take it from the top … and practice as much as we need to, to get it right." He smiled warmly at the other man, trying to smooth things over with an easy manner and acceptance.
Sylar stared back at him for a moment, clearly getting the double meaning of Peter's words. Sylar blinked a few times and looked at the white and black keys, blowing out air and trying to relax. "Practice?" he said with a tone of hope and disbelief.
"As much as we need to," Peter repeated. "I like practicing." I want to get to practice more with you. He started picking out the first notes of the melody, taking it slow. Sylar joined him a few moments later.