Sexual Tension Part II: 'Wants'
Title: Sexual Tension Part II: 'Wants'
Characters: Sylar (Gabriel Gray)/Peter Petrelli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, bondage, dominance/submission, implied torture.
Word count: 3,350
Setting: Inside the Wall
Summary: The World's Most Effed Up Gift RP expansion with game_byrd (writing for Peter). After years of unresolved sexual tension, Sylar finally can't take it anymore. He creates a situation where he gives himself to Peter to do with as Peter wishes - torture, sex, death - doesn't matter. Sylar just wants resolution.
Sylar twisted his neck back and forth, blindly testing his limits. "Water boarding, huh? I didn't think that would be your first choice. Isn't torture used to get something that you want?"
“I 'want' you to shut up,” Peter said with some semblance of calmness. It was easier to be calm when the primary source of tension was restrained. Peter reached up and touched carefully at the spot on his cheek where his face had been slammed into the side of the nail gun. The skin was broken, but it wasn't bleeding much. He flexed his fingers and massaged his wrist where Sylar had forced him to release the hammer. At the moment, he wasn't thinking much of anything, just pulling himself back together as the stress level wound down for him.
Peter sighed and tilted his head, looking Sylar over. He started to take a step closer, then thought better of it. He walked back to the tables, browsing. Ah, there's the rope. He collected it, unraveled it, and walked over to Sylar. By the slight cock of the man's head, it was clear he was trying to make sense of the sounds. Peter knelt to Sylar's right side, measuring out the length he wanted. He looped it carefully around Sylar's leg, hanging on tight to the short end. As he'd expected, Sylar tried to kick, or at least jerk his leg away from the contact. Peter tugged the wayward leg back, provoking a hiss and more uneasy, uncooperative movement from Sylar. Sylar planted his foot firmly a couple inches from the chair leg, evidently thinking that was where he'd fight Peter over getting his leg flush to the chair.
That was fine. Peter tied it off where it was with a slip knot and moved around behind Sylar to crouch at his left. He pulled the rest of the rope through the legs of the chair as Sylar moved his right leg around, obviously trying to figure out what the point was of tying his leg so loosely. It gave Peter the moment to double an arm's length of rope back on itself and swing that around Sylar's remaining leg. After a few moments of unproductive fighting, Peter stood, moved around in front of Sylar, and stomped squarely on the front half of his foot the next time it strayed to approximately where Peter wanted it. Sylar grunted in pain and yanked at his trapped foot, but Peter still tied off his knot.
XXX
What was both horrible and wonderful; indecision. Wanting to be restrained and bound yet terrified of what that might bring instead. Peter had all the advantage, but that didn't stop Sylar from testing and provoking when he wasn't putting on a show. It wouldn't do to look too happy at his predicament (and he wasn't completely sure he was happy with it anyway). This is what you want, isn't it? This is what you've been working for. Well, now you've got it. Don't screw it up.
Peter got one leg successfully tied off. The thrill of knowing his free leg was next, that he'd be armed only with teeth and words (so long as his mouth went free), otherwise totally helpless was intoxicating and scary. He couldn't tell where Peter was - he wasn't hitting him with his legs. Sylar played keep-away with his free leg, literally in the dark with the blindfold - what was that for anyway? It was kinky, regardless, a very dirty move for a very dirty boy. Next his foot was crushed under Peter's boot, although it wasn't hard enough to break bones, he was grateful for that. Still, he made efforts to get it free (partly wanting it to be roped to the chair, as it was now). He wanted to know what he was working with.
XXX
Enraged, Sylar struggled in his bonds. There was a lot of play in them - all of them - yet none of them gave. Peter watched carefully, assessing. He thought back over the blows Sylar had received in the fight, his reaction time, and his behavior at the moment. There was no doubt the man was hurting, but Peter didn't think he had more than a mild concussion. Tough, Sylar had in spades and Peter knew he had to watch out for that. At the moment, though, he was glad of it but he wanted a closer look. Sylar's nose had finally stopped bleeding, yet there was blood all down the man's front, on his lips, chin, and down his throat. Another trip to the table saw Peter searching again. “You have any benzocaine here?” he asked casually as he examined vials and bottles.
Sylar was silent for a long moment before offering, “Novocain.”
“Yeah, I see that,” Peter responded, bemused. He walked back with an opened packet of gauze in hand. “That's injective. Not what I want.” It came as a topical application, but all Sylar had was the liquid. Everything else Peter had looked at on the table would inflict pain, not stop it. He was sure the Novocain was there only as a numbing agent, not for the sort of uses Peter would put it to.
Sylar snorted. “Sorry, Peter. I thought that's what you wanted.”
“Hm.” Peter put his hand on Sylar's shoulder, letting the man know where he was. Sylar inhaled and held his breath, stiffening slightly. Peter eyed him for a moment, trying to judge how difficult Sylar was going to be. He leaned in. “I'm not sure you have any idea what I want. Now hold still. I'm going to clean your face. Don't bite me.”
XXX
The taste and feel of blood was heavy in his nose and mouth; Sylar imagined it was elsewhere on his face either as a spray or drip pattern. He wants me to look clean? Or he doesn't want to taste my blood? His nose, lips, teeth, jaw, cheeks, forehead and sternum all ached from different impacts. He worked at getting his breathing under control. Any minute now his ability to breath might be taken away and a very twisted part of himself was eager for that to happen. Even more perverse was his desire for it to be, strange as it sounded, Peter's cock that choked him. I don't know how he'll get at anything else if I'm stuck to this chair...
The anticipation only fed his fear and his lust; he had no idea what would happen or what he'd say...what he was willing to say or do to get what he wanted and give what Peter so clearly wanted. He felt his body chanting with his heart rate as it pumped energized blood through him 'Here I am! I'm here! Take me! Use me! I'm ready! Give it to me!' He was needy and horny, keyed up and tired, cooling down and sweaty. He wanted to spread his legs and shove his groin at Peter, to finalize the deal, make his purpose known (like it wasn't already).
Peter began swiping away at his face; Sylar sat still through the process. Whatever he wants. I'll bite if you ask me nicely. "Won't it just get dirty again? My face?" The question seemed obvious.
XXX
“Maybe,” Peter answered honestly. “I hope not. I don't like to see blood on people.” He wiped off everything that was still wet, but Sylar was still a mess. Peter went back for a towel and wetted it with the hose from the bathroom, returning to give Sylar a proper cleaning. Sylar was still restless, pent up, and excited in more ways than one. Peter could see the bulge in the man's groin. This was intense - what was going on - but Peter had been in a lot of intense situations and sexual arousal tended to be one of the last things on his mind. His brain just didn't work that way. Apparently Sylar's did. Peter gave a long, steady exhale as he finished wiping off the blood. His brain might not get aroused by fighting, but it did get aroused by other people being aroused, especially if he thought they were aroused by him. And Sylar had certainly brought him here because of … well … him. His hand on Sylar's shoulder squeezed slightly and released, rubbing a little without Peter even thinking about it.
“Am I all prettied up now?” Sylar asked when Peter stopped, having worked his way down throat and over cheeks, getting everything but the marks themselves off.
“Yeah,” Peter answered, patting Sylar's shoulder intentionally, because he could and because he could get away with it. His thoughts were turning more and more to 'what he could get away with'. “Much more attractive like this,” he added, and although the words were flirty, his tone was flat. “Stay put,” he added more curtly, leaving the room entirely.
XXX
If he could have, Sylar would have rolled his eyes. But it hurt and he wore a blindfold - someone was obviously shy about
being watched. Is he going to jerk off or something that he needs privacy or is it a control thing? He found it difficult to concentrate, time spacing oddly with tension, fear, anticipation, the loss of Peter's presence (given the footsteps), and, of course, his erection. Good thing I included bleach and the hose then, if he likes me clean. Strange. I thought he'd enjoy making me filthy. His hearing sharpened with the loss of sight, awaiting whatever came next, after all, it could be anything from a tool, a toy to a blow or laceration, a deathblow even. That was half the fun and half the fear. Peter took his time, forcing him to wait it out - like he had a choice.
XXX
A quick search turned up what Peter wanted - a chair. This one was a simple, wooden, ladder back chair. He set it down a foot or so from the nearest pole, plopping himself down a few feet from Sylar.
“Settling in for the long haul, are we?” Sylar asked. The noises answered the question of what Peter had gone in search for.
“Yeah,” Peter said, tone clipped. He leaned forward, settling elbows onto knees. “You didn't hit me much.”
“I didn't think you liked it that way. But if I was wrong, you could let me go and I could take care of that for you.”
Peter snorted slightly and smiled, his expression much more true and relaxed given that it was unseen. “No, thanks. You were right - that doesn't do it for me.” He scratched at his chin. “What's your goal here?”
"Don't play dumb, Peter. You know what we're here for. I know you want this; I saw it every time we were alone when there were people in the world, and even after that. You can have it now."
“Have … you?” Sex? He means sex, right? How does he know I'm not going to hurt him? Well, given that I already have hurt him, like, worse?
Sylar didn't bother to reply. He tilted his head to one side, in an exaggerated 'really?' gesture.
Peter exhaled noisily and glanced over at the tables. “What's with all the torture equipment then?” That wasn't for me if I happened to lose?
“It's hard to play without toys. You're already,” he rattled his handcuffs against the metal chair, “finding them useful.”
“Yeah, that's true.” Peter relaxed a bit, reaching out his foot to nudge Sylar in the ankle - again, just because he could. It was a rude liberty to be taking, or so Peter thought of his own action. He was taking advantage and it wasn't really right, but it was hard for him to fault himself too strongly given that all he was doing was giving a small touch. Sylar shifted his foot away and then immediately back. Peter hadn't pulled back, so he was bumped in return. Peter nudged him again. Sylar raised his heel, rocking his leg up and down against the pressure. Peter brought his foot away. Sylar's shuffled to the extent it could given the loose tie, failing to find him in that small area. Sylar huffed. Peter smiled slyly, pleased by the frustration.
Peter was both worried and amused by the degree of power Sylar had put in his hands. He was amused because Sylar had clearly missed a few check-boxes on putting this scene together, one of which was making sure one's partner consented to the whole thing. He was worried because he wasn't sure where this was going. Peter was still a bit frightened and angry. He saw no reason to let Sylar out of his time-out until Peter was good and ready to let him out. He was getting a little (or not so little) thrill out of keeping the man there, minimizing the threat Sylar posed, and creating a space for Peter to relax and let down a few guards.
“Sylar, you're tied up in a chair and blindfolded. You seem to think I'm going to 'give it to you'? What motivation do I have to play along with your fantasy here?”
XXX
That touch...so slight, but it meant that Peter was gaining more understanding, taking more control as well he should. Hmm, yeah...Sylar ignored his usual frustration at Peter's own, enforced and unsubstantiated roadblocks to the process in favor of what was happening now. He breathed just a little bit faster. He would hear if Peter stood, so he otherwise waited in a fairly relaxed quiet moment. Sylar's eyebrows went up slightly. "My fantasy?" Who said it was mine, silly Peter? It might be...It might not be...Yet it secretly was, oh, yes it was. How much of a sick fuck was he that he wanted to please and be teased with promise in return? It was dark and dirty and filthy and delicious.
"I'm not the one who handcuffed me to a chair, Peter," he pointed out. Sylar slumped with a seductive wriggle, his legs inching open, hips making an oh-so-brief thrust upwards as he displayed his throat enough that he hoped it was tempting. Take someone's clothes off already! Again, he purred, "Who needs motivation anyway. I know you're horny, Peter." He didn't add about his own needs at the moment, knowing from past experience that the hint would have the opposite effect than desired. He wondered if he was overplaying his hand, but he'd been pushed to his limits, well past them actually. Action, of any kind, that's all he wanted. "Just...let it all out; that's all you have to do."
XXX
“Yeah, all *I* have to do. Sounds like I have all the work while you get all the fun. This is your fantasy, not mine. There’s a whole table over there of things to prove it.” Peter spoke dismissively, as if insulted by the proposal. He was quiet for a moment, considering his tone and how needy Sylar had to be to take things this far. It was really dangerous, as Sylar's current situation proved. Peter moved his foot back over to touch Sylar’s ankle. This time he left it there. In a gentler tone, soft and seductive, he said, “I like the handcuffs, though. And the rope.” He rubbed up and down very slowly with the point of his foot, reveling in the ability to keep Sylar where he wanted to, to neutralize the guy’s threat, and to make him … well, accessible.
XXX
What?! I've been trying to service you all this time and got nothing! This is so your fantasy - every time we're in the same room, he's beating me up and getting high off it. There is no way this isn't appealing to him. Never mind that he's too stuck up to admit it. Sylar kept his mouth shut, though, because he was attempting to appease the angry kink god that resided in
Peter's body. He stewed on it all the same, unhappy with being criticized for supposedly not doing something that he had, in fact, already tried. He was not the one being difficult here; Peter was. His lips twitched once over a response that he repressed, but otherwise he waited. What more could he do? Sylar was along for the- He likes something? His stomach flipped and partially melted at hearing those words voiced that way. He exhaled and hummed lowly in deep appreciation. Then I like them, too. Please do something with me...? He bumped his leg rhythmically against Peter's available foot as much as possible, hinting.
XXX
Peter’s eyes crawled over Sylar’s form, admiring and lusting. No one could see him, so why not? He was a good looking man … whom Peter hardly knew. “You know, it’s not very smart to get yourself into something like this without finding out if your partner is on board with it. You’ve made a lot of assumptions about me. I think some of them are wrong.” He shifted forward, pulling back his foot and almost immediately replacing the contact by scooting his chair closer and touching his fingertips - just three fingertips - to the back of Sylar’s right hand. “What kind of lover are you if you don’t even bother to find out what your partner likes?”
XXX
Sylar's head cocked swiftly. Did he just call me 'lover'? Or even 'a lover'? Meaning I might be...Oh man...What does that mean? Whatever it was, it sounded fantastic and leagues better than anything Sylar had envisioned or even hoped for. Better than 'that asshole I'm fucking' definitely. Can I even...do that? I've never had one, never been one...Can't feel love, does that matter to him? If not, I can probably pull it off...Sylar felt the disappearance of Peter's foot, withholding his whine, but it was replaced with something much sweeter - a soft touch of Peter's....hand, yes, hand to the back of his own. He twitched his hand ever-so slightly to indicate his acceptance and interest, otherwise holding still so as not to spook the man off. He hummed once more, more of a rumbling purr. Yes, come closer. Touch me...
To the annoying denial: I think my assumptions are dead-on, think whatever you want and lie about it, Peter. You just don't want to admit I'm right. That's okay. I'll let you play pretend. Sylar matched Peter's volume and tone when he responded, "One who knows how much you like rope and handcuffs." He lightly jangled the chains connecting his left hand to the chair. Did I just call myself his lover? Surely it was not that simple.
XXX
Point. But I just told you that. You have a lot of misses over there on that table. He liked the noises Sylar was making. He liked the posture. He liked that Sylar wasn’t fighting or arguing or demanding any more strongly than he was, although something opposite of a demand would probably stroke Peter’s ego a lot more. His fingertips ghosted up to those mentioned handcuffs, slipping between cuff and skin, then quickly ringing part of Sylar’s wrist. Oh yeah, he really liked the idea of Sylar … controlled. It was an illusion, he knew, but an illusion he liked.
XXX
Sylar inhaled at that innocently suggestive touch - against his skin...under the cuff. It was so subtle and soft; it was really driving him up the wall. He'd never had anything like that. He bit back his moan of approval and invitation, fearing it was inappropriate, that it would distract Peter or worse, cause the man to instigate torture instead of more lovely touching. Was Peter inviting him to ask about his preferences now? Before Sylar had been certain asking would make him look...inexperienced, lost and have the effect of insulting and driving his companion away. Talking was one of the last things the person fucking him wanted. "Tell me what else you like, Peter," his voice dripped with promise. Maybe take the blindfold off while you do it? I want to see this; you.
XXX