Show Me
Title: Show Me
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Sylar (Gabriel Gray)/Peter Petrelli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: M/M, masturbation, explicitly sexual dirty talk (slightly degrading terminology/labeling), language
Word count: 4,263 Woo hoo
Setting: Inside The Wall/S4. See below.
Written for: game_byrd’s Wall Verse (somewhere between chapters 23 and 24) and for mmom’s Month of Masturbation in May.
Beta’d by game_byrd
A/N: See game_byrd's sequel "Easy is as Easy Does"
A/N #2: This is not my best work by far.
Peter’s breathing took a hike and Sylar felt more blood rush from his brain to fill his previously stiff cock. Peter didn’t have to say anything, with his ass cushioned against Sylar’s groin, that lovely back being tickled with his chest hair. Sylar’s hands had been stroking down Peter’s pelvis, curving past his dick to feel up his hips and inner thighs in a giant tease.
Sylar, with his wonderful vantage point from Mount Olympus over Peter’s shoulder, saw the man’s erection twitch, already leaking delightfully. Oh, this was going to be the best time ever. Sylar had noticed Peter’s shivering and panting whenever his voice dropped decibels and octaves.
To goad Peter further into actually doing it, “I want to see how you do it.” Then, icing on the cake, something he would never tire of, “Peter…” it was a low, pleading tone for that one.
The man’s name was built for sexual use. How convenient.
Perfectly spaced and spelled, the ideal amount of syllables, those three consonants, would snap and roll of his tongue with far too much speed an eagerness. Eagerness Sylar didn’t allow himself to voice during sex, but he badly wanted to, especially the way Peter…worked him.
Aside from everything else they’d done up to this point (which, for Sylar, was a magnificently significant amount), this was going to be the kinkiest thing he’d ever done in his life. And it was going to be with another person. He was going to get to see someone else do themselves in person: their own hands, their own speed, pressing each individual arousal button, big or small, labeled or hidden. Each and every touch would be purposeful, the timing perfected, slotting together in the framework of lust to make a whole experience - it was almost like horology. It was also like watching an expression of their mental fantasy enacted on their own body, in this case, Peter’s body.
Sylar’s interest was digging into Peter’s lower back, practically throbbing for the show. There was no way Peter couldn’t feel it, probably feeding off it like the little sex fiend he was.
“Show me.”
That was Sylar’s growl. His lips brushing Peter’s ear and neck and hair.
Peter went about running his hands over his body, shifting his hips, scooting around, arching his back. Those all-knowing fingers lingered on face, neck, broad chest and tempting nipples. They glided down his firm, ripped abdomen to rub up and down over his pelvis and into his pubes. Peter made pleasuring him almost too easy and very enjoyable to watch.
Sylar reached out and took hold of the lotion on his bedstand. He squirted the goo onto the man’s rod, watching it inch down the upthrust member. It looked like Peter had been backed up for some time and had just now found release, thick and white-ish, ejaculating three or four times what he was capable of. It looked nasty, filthy and hot. Peter was going to rub that into himself now, slick himself up until his hand made lewd sounds when he stroked. Sylar couldn’t help images of an oiled-up Peter Petrelli, namely images of the man’s ass in such a state.
“Yeah, yeah…” was Peter’s response, lifting that alluring pelvis into the air in invitation as he accepted the lubricant, hands sneaking around to caress Sylar’s hairy legs once again. Sylar shook that off. The man’s disappointment was obvious, when Sylar didn’t take up his companion’s erection. Peter slumped and exhaled.
“Show me,” he instructed in a more threatening, demanding voice, gripping Peter’s inner thighs in warning, parting them a little more. “Show me what gets you off, hero. C’mon…”
Peter did, exhaling swiftly at the touch, at being spread.
That small, square, totally masculine hand made contact with Peter’s penis - straight, tan and dull pink, slick, solid. It was enough of a handful to give Peter’s hand a run for his money, the hand doing the cupping overfilled as they would say. Sylar didn’t know a whole lot about dicks, but this one belonged to Peter Petrelli, an extension of himself (or the definition of himself, the epitome of his manhood and existence, depending on which way you looked at it). That’s what made it as hot as it was: that it was part of Peter.
Peter settled into it. The left hand slid around the base, massaging there as his breathing began to deepen, the right hand was idly working in the lotion. It was sloppy, as Sylar had anticipated, and utterly sexual, like Peter was playing with an erection he had even after an orgasm with lazy motions. He could see extra lotion piling up in between Peter’s fingers and it just looked gratuitously lewd.
Sylar grunted in his ear on seeing it - he had a vivid enough imagination that he could feel the phantom touches of those same hands on his own body. Peter's body was fit and made for great eye-candy. It was a test of his own will not to reach out and touch as he wanted to - touch what was being wantonly offered up on a silver platter.
Peter’s primary hand became faster, the lotion louder making wonderful slip-and-slide, ‘slick-slick-slick-slick!’ sounds at every pull and tug. He still wasn’t completely in his zone yet, not hitting his stride, finding his rhythm. It grew quiet with only Peter’s somewhat controlled exhalations, purposeful motions and Sylar’s overly-abundant thoughts. This wasn’t what he had in mind - he wanted to see Peter pleasuring himself into moaning, twisting states, he wanted to see the height of the man’s lust or as close as he could get while perving in on an otherwise private moment.
So Sylar spoke again: “This is the best kind of homework, watching you fuck your fist,” he remarked. He watched said fist milk over Peter’s cock, busy picturing and remembering how that hand felt on his own organ. Peter had unlocked the secrets of a fantastic handjob; he’d had Sylar writhing and whining for it. He’d figured out what Sylar wanted without being told and that was half the magic as it saved him the embarrassment of having to voice his desires: Hard, rough pumps and strokes from the base, waiting for the cue when Sylar needed more, then the shift to viciousness and speed at the tip, grinding and rotating until he was drenched in sweat and precome. Peter, goddamn him, had learned to tease him - backing him down from the edge until he wanted to beg, until he did beg. And Peter would give him everything he needed, allowing him, prodding him to finish with twice the force.
“More, Peter. Jerk it harder for me, such a dirty dick. Looks like you’ve already spunked yourself,” were Sylar’s commanding comments.
A shaky exhale was all the response he got. That and the jacking hand’s pace increasing as ordered. Peter was so obedient. The little slut.
“Yeah, that’s it. You follow orders like a good boy. Is this what good boys do? Grind their ass back on guys like me and jack their cock like there’s no tomorrow? I think that makes you a dirty whore, Peter. I think your cock agrees…Look at it, doing all the begging for you.”
“Touch me!” Peter pleaded, suddenly anxious, wrapping his feet around and over Sylar’s legs, shoving them under his calves, his body now completely exposed.
“You want these, Peter?” Sylar showed off his big paws, the fingers thin and somewhat squared, not spindly or weak fingers by far, built soft enough to handle a penis, but calloused enough to need a lubricant. Those hands were made for subtle operations; fine dexterity, teasing. The size of his hands would have an eager lover quivering; the skin covering his fingers and palms meant translated into more nerve endings…and higher coverage area when he touched or grabbed his bedmate. Once caught, positioned and pinned, they would not be moving as he alternately took what he needed from them or pleasured them. It turned out he didn’t need his favorite power, telekinesis, for everything…
Peter nodded eagerly, a breathy, “Yeah! Yeah. Oh, yeah,” escaping him as that torturous bubble butt massaged and slid over Sylar’s dick. It was keeping his focus on a short, short leash.
“Aww, I bet you do. Think your hand is gonna cut it, big boy?” Sylar lightly prodded. His tone was of sincerest sarcastic sympathy, mimicking the ‘oh, you poor baby’ phrase in spirit. Then switched to ‘show me what you’ve got’ all the while whispering this challenging filth into Peter’s ear. With Peter’s ass waltzing over his cock, Sylar dug his mobile, spread fingers into the empath’s hair right around his hairline, sinking in further until he had the perfect hold of head and hair. It dragged his head back onto Sylar’s shoulder where he held it in place, right where he desired it.
“Mmmmoh! Fuck.” Sylar knew Peter didn’t like being moved by his hair, but Sylar liked it. That hair was sexy and begging to be fisted. He’d been gentle with it, even though Peter might not have been sufficiently turned on for that move.
In consolation, Sylar’s cheek came around to sandpaper Peter’s softer one as he pressed his nose and mouth just under Peter’s chin, against his bared, gasping throat.
“Fuck, yes….Sylar…” was Peter’s whimper at the contact. Such a slut.
His breath was warm, puffing over his partner; his grip ungentle and firm. This was all incredibly kinky. “How’s that there? Feel better, baby?” he crooned supportively.
“Oh! S’good, yeah,” The man’s voice was slurred and tangled and that was awesome. Peter’s fist was passing quicker, wetter, louder over his cock. Sylar could see it getting stiffer with arousal while Peter worked it as more blood rushed to that excited area. Sylar kept an eye on the man’s erection, noticing that it fluctuated based on how much touch Sylar gave him. Apparently breathing lust on the guy’s throat did it for him.
“I know, you want them all over you…” Here Sylar kicked his voice into high gear. Octaves fell away and his chest rumbled against Peter’s neck and shoulders, the purring motion of his throat vibrating into Peter’s body as his lips barely brushed the nurse. His voice was nearly distorted from the lust he allowed to pour from himself; almost as if it came through some phone-sex radio.
Rough as rubbed-half-wrong velvet over steel wool, he let Peter have it, “Stroking all over that cock. Pushing my fingers inside you…Groping this fantastic ass of yours, hmm…” Sylar murmured in true gratitude and appreciation, pecking the bared throat. “It’s a work of art.” He leaned back a little, holding Peter forwards with a hand to the back of his neck. The free hand reached under to wriggle a finger at Peter’s crack without touching anything vital, partaking in the moans and writhes Peter made just for him. Sylar then lightly scratched at a buttock, allowing Peter to lean back once again. “So beautiful to see you stretched around my fingers…or yours…” Sylar plucked up Peter’s left hand, rubbing said digits between his own, nearly suggestive. He made a mental note to have Peter play with his ass for show sometime in the very near future.
“Uughn, oh, yeah, please…” Peter repositioned his left leg, shifting his weight to the right to lift his ass somewhat off the bed, opening himself for something, anything. It brushed firm cheeks repeatedly against Sylar’s cock.
“I know, I want them in you, too. I want my dick in you,” he hissed ravenously for Peter’s benefit, gripping the solid, muscular hips in front of him, tilting them and hauling them closer. The motion put pressure on his neglected shaft and rubbed Peter’s soft skin all over his groin. He took a moment to grind himself against Peter, humming and sucking on a shoulder as he did. “But we’re going to do this first, don’t fret.”
“Oh, right there, yes…Sylar…!”
He sat Peter back down on the mattress, his cock an aching mess for more of that same friction, or better yet, being inside Peter’s tight warmth, but for now he refused them both the pleasure.
Sylar took notice of Peter running his mouth and begging, using his name, “I bet you’d suck me to gagging right now if I let you; drooling like a filthy cocksl-” His fingers were curling up Peter’s chin, forcing it back as Sylar’s head drew back to mouth around the medic’s ear once more, puffing his moist breath into the ear canal. Peter darted his head down and swallowed a pair of his fingers. The shock of hot, soaked suction on something vaguely phallic and just as sensitive had his hips bucking, a gasp forced into Peter’s ear. “Oh…!”
Momentarily he was stunned and continually pleasured as his partner delighted in teasing his digits, humming and moaning about it exactly like Sylar had insinuated about his cocksucking skills. Peter Petrelli, one of the most powerful human beings on the planet, swallowing down the same two fingers that had inflicted murder (and fixed countless clocks) was somehow painfully, sickeningly arousing in intensity. It was an absolute head rush.
He was more lost than he wanted to be in memories of Peter’s oral talents: teasing and sucking, sliding him in with gusto, taking Sylar so deep he choked and spit, but he kept swallowing. The empath would suck him past his breaking point and slurp up everything he had to give, no mercy shown. All that came to mind was being inside Peter’s soft, warm, endless, tight and smooth oral cavity, having someone’s fucking mouth on him, feeling those panted breaths. Peter’s mouth was an unhealthy obsession, but it was amazing stress relief and it was so, so hot.
Sylar got a pair of brain cells to rub together and yanked his hand away, leaving Peter to whimper after the vulgar slurping pop his lips made at being swiftly vacant. As hot as that was (and it had him throbbing), it wasn’t the plan and Peter was certainly not in control here. Peter whined at the loss and the sound did nothing to help Sylar’s already fraying self-control. He smeared the little slut’s saliva around those swollen, pink lips, grasping him by the jaw to prevent any other sexy accidents of the fellatio variety. Then he gave the morsel that was Peter an equally wet, firm and engaging kiss, twisting his mouth over Peter’s until they both tasted like the other.
Peter panted, making desirous noises in the back of his throat, kissing back with interest. Sylar drew away shortly after feeling the empath’s tongue trying to flick out at his teeth and upper lip. The dirty boy. He knew Peter would continue kissing him and probably forget about the task literally at hand.
“Show me what makes you moan, Peter,” Sylar purred his plea into his victim’s willing ear.
Peter’s left hand left his cock and slid down to cup and tug at his testicles, moaning on cue. But he took it a step further, arching his back, throwing his head backwards into Sylar’s shoulder in a needy squirm.
“You must make the most amazing sounds when you’re alone…slicking yourself up like this…Tell me, Peter, do you tease yourself?” Again, he gripped Peter’s thighs, urging the man on, unable to keep his hands to himself. Then again, he wasn’t really trying to.
“Ye-aah…” Peter moaned in reply, enjoying the hands grasping him, unfocused on responding in detail, not that it mattered - the moaning was great.
Sylar wanted between Peter’s legs right now; his cock was screaming that the sexy indents of Peter’s lower back just weren’t giving him any form of release. “Do you wake up in the morning…hard…like this, aching for a body to use?” Of course Sylar badly wanted to know, truthfully, who or what Peter thought of when he jerked himself - that he might actually get the unfortunate, honest truth kept his mouth shut on the question. He settled for happily being that body which Peter used. And, boy, did Peter use it.
“God, yes-“
“My body?” Sylar demanded harshly, snarling it into Peter’s ear through a face-full of the man’s hair.
“Yes! Uhmm! Wanna fuck it and suck you down…touch you all over…Sylar.”
Sylar was abundantly pleased with that response. He was desired and he had Peter crawling all over himself to fellate and touch and fuck him. He’d invaded Peter’s subconscious, his dreams and tormented Peter to waking, unfulfilled hardness. That was delicious, both the image and the reality.
“Do you know the definition of sexual frustration, Peter?” Sylar breathed in his ear.
Peter grunted a negative, probably beyond caring much about the actual words. Sylar knew he was listening as much as he was able.
Sylar was pleased that his catch was beyond words. It earned the victim a warm, wet, brief, kiss to his neck before Sylar enlightened him, savoring the pleased hum Peter made. “It’s not that sweet consummation, finally pushing into another person’s body. Or even taking someone inside of you. It isn’t getting that climax. It involves getting hard and wet, throbbing like you are now, begging…being teased to the point of completion. But they just…won’t…give it to you.” Peter’s chest was rising and falling quickly, his panting loud in the room. That panting alone was incredibly sexy, but instead of speeding up, Peter’s hand slowed down, the lack of touch becoming too much.
“Sylar…please?” Peter was begging, extending a hand to rub at Sylar’s leg.
Sylar shook him off once more, but pinched the man’s nipples, “Since you asked so nicely,” he purred.
“Uuh!”
“Now show me,” he growled once again, thumbing at the buds on Peter’s chest, his own cock hungry and in need of friction, play. Yet, at the same time, teasing Peter, pulling noises from him, was totally doing him in, his cock tapping against Peter’s cleft, his spine as it wept, sticking somewhat to Peter’s skin.
Peter whined, still panting, always panting, his hand slipping up and down over the top half of his cock, gaining explosive momentum. Sylar began to gently move his groin against his companion, hinting for Peter to do the same with his grip on the man’s nipples. “That’s it. I bet you want these teased and tugged. Needy little nipples you have here, Peter. Crying out to be sucked and bit. I just wish I could reach. They sure taste nice.”
“Ye-ah…” Peter sighed a whimper, completely eager now, working himself. His left hand coming up to fondle and flit over Sylar’s hands on his nipples, probably trying to trap him there or increase the action.
“You like my fingers? I see you looking at them, probably day-dreaming. Is that what you wake up hard from - wet-dreaming about my fingers pulling you open?” Sylar tweeked and tugged on the available nubs, molesting them and making them harder and pinker if that were possible.
“Ugn! Nngn!” was the lustful, incoherent response.
“Yeah, I thought so. You think of my cock in you, too? Wake up hard and aching thinking about it inside you?” His hands switched from teasing to grabbing, massaging Peter’s pectorals. They were nice pecs.
That sent Peter’s legs kicking out, sliding his ass away, unintentionally, but that was unacceptable. Sylar hauled him back, parking those cheeks around his drooling shaft where they belonged. Both men made nearly identical moans, Peter continuing to pant, Sylar nipping into his victim’s shoulder, partly to silence himself, partly to taste.
“Me, too,” he whispered roughly and decided letting some of his inner-animal out was acceptable. Sylar extended his tongue and licked a long, warm-but-cooling stripe from the base of Peter’s tall neck, over his throat and jaw to his cheekbone, thoroughly marking his territory, animalistic in his triumph about it.
“Fuck!” Peter’s voice was deepening and he wouldn’t be long now. The man’s arm position had shifted to get the best grip possible for the finale, the body before him sticky and shining in sweat. That arm was working overtime and Sylar was hypnotized by the swiftly bunching bicep and the quick stroke of Peter’s masturbation.
“So hot that you get off on my stiff cock in your tight ass, Peter. You should hear yourself, you slut. Moaning and writhing around for me to shove it in you and then you’re so damn happy when I do…” Sylar’s hands were wandering with his words, parts of his brain shutting down from arousal, the same as Peter’s. He touched the offered and exposed throat, feeling Peter swallow, his voicebox vibrating with noise. A light squeeze just to see Peter’s eyes widen and his face take on a strained look before he ran his palm down the fit torso. Sylar was so into telling Peter exactly what he thought of him - it was like honesty and therapy and smutty language all wrapped into one, maybe also giving the guy a reality check but Sylar enjoyed him just the way he was.
“You are a filthy…little…slut, Peter. And it’s gorgeous.”
“Uhgng-“
“Such a fucking horny ass, grinding it on me, always so eager and open…”
“Huuuh!...”
“Want to fuck your ass cheeks so bad…”
“HmmMmmmM!”
“Pound it against you and come all over your juicy ass…”
“D-Do-it-yeah-uhh…”
His control snapped then, but it was according to plan so he went with it. He gripped the nurse’s hips and began to slide him back and forth over his hot and throbbing member. It was something he’d wanted to do for a long time now - humping Peter’s ass like this. The flesh was warm and supple, plump, hiding plenty of muscle. It was slightly sticky where he was trapped between his own stomach and Peter’s pair of encompassing globes. “Oh, God…” his voice was one of whispered wonderment, eyeing his carnal cage where he poked out from between the empath’s glutes before throwing his head back to stare at he ceiling as if begging for relief or release. Now would have been a good time to start praying if he was so inclined. He was flushed and hot, the slightest motion feeling like a breeze across his enflamed, soaked skin. Peter aided his motions as best he could and that just added fuel to the fire that Peter was into this, allowing it and probably as rigid as Sylar at the idea. His orgasm started to burn low in his gut and tingle up and down his spine, warning him that climax was imminent. He was breathing just as hard as Peter now, their noises similar, harmonious yet unique in octave.
Sylar’s hands went to Peter’s throat, locking the empath's head and chest in place, the other hand taking a snug grip of the struggling man’s balls. He needed to hold those life-giving parts of Peter’s body, keep his sexy prize vulnerable when he forced him to crash - he wanted to feel it in those intimate places when Peter gasped for breath and called out, when his balls finally erupted and spouted forth.
“That’s it! Come for me, let me feel it, Peter…give it to me…”
“Uhuhyeahfuck!!” Peter groaned loudly, writhing a moment before going still with regular jerks at the swollen head of his cock. He felt Peter’s balls tighten and he massaged them to encourage the process. Sylar looked on in aching sympathy, pride and perverted interest as Peter’s semen flowed over his hand and onto Sylar’s.
“Yesss…thatta boy…oh, God…Peter…” Sylar cock needed but seconds more friction and he roughly grabbed his pet, using his body shamelessly, molding the body in front of him against his strained organ. He was panting and grunting to reach climax, biting the succulent shoulder in front of him (with mild protest from the after-shocking, twitching owner which only made him harder). A long moan slid from him when his stiff erection finally spurted out to cream Peter’s back, his balls tucked against Peter’s ass. “Uuhm!! Peter….fuck…” Sylar continued at first to wickedly hump him before his thrusts turned languid, working out the last of his release, greedily smearing it on his own slut, enjoying the pretty picture it made - his sperm sliding down Peter’s soft buttocks.
Heart still racing, his hips jerked from the stimulation as Peter, halfway recovered, continued to tease him until his leg began to spasm whereupon he halted the torture with firm hands to the nurse’s hips. Peter made a satisfied hum - typical slut.
“Uuhn…” he sighed return, contented and cooling down, feeling soaked in the sheets.
Of course, Peter twisted and puckered up for kissing. Sylar licked his lips, unhurried and sloppy, eyes closed, feeling Peter open to him a second later. So pliant and eager. “Hmm.” Peter wasn’t keeping it clean and neat, so Sylar allowed his lips to wander where they would in Peter’s mouth, sucking his pouty lower lip wetly, licking over his teeth and batting his tongue around. His cock ached to be used again just from kissing, so soon after orgasm. It was softening against Peter as his hands ran over the empath’s chest while Peter rubbed both sets of legs. Finally, they had to break for air, a stupid thing to end a kiss for - Sylar mouthing along Peter’s tenderized shoulder as the Peter reached behind to play his fingers in Sylar’s hair. Quiet moments of mutual, contented delight passed.
“You always fuck yourself like that when you’re alone?” Sylar had to ask.
Peter just chuckled.