Sexual Tension Part V: 'All Hands On Dick'
Title: Sexual Tension Part V: 'All Hands On Dick'
Characters: Sylar (Gabriel Gray)/Peter Petrelli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, bondage, dominance/submission, implied torture.
Word count: 5,164
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.
Peter wiggled open the top button, leaning forward and tilting his head, pushing up Sylar's chin so Peter could plant his lips on the hollow of the man's neck in a single, light, wet kiss. Sylar made a small noise and arched his back, literally shoving himself at Peter. It earned him another kiss on the top of the chest, and then a third on the chest hair a few inches lower, as Peter opened two more buttons.
He paused, breathing fast, looking up at the man. Peter had every intention of getting quite a bit more intimate here … and he wanted something first, something that for Peter was just about mandatory for sex of any stripe - even with Sylar. Licking his lips, Peter's hands freed themselves from the task of unbuttoning Sylar's shirt and came up to hold either side of his face. He pulled him forward with light pressure as Peter lifted slightly on his toes, tilting his head. A few inches away, he murmured, “Here, easy,” more to sooth his own nerves than Sylar's, because this was more a betrayal of his brother's memory than giving Sylar a fucking blow job. For Peter, this sealed their interaction as friendly, affectionate, and it obliterated any deniability Peter might have wanted to keep about what he was doing here.
Lips pressed in softly - Peter moved slow because he was very aware he'd punched the guy in the mouth at least once. He didn't want this to hurt. He let Sylar set the pressure on the kiss - their first solid, actual kiss. He opened his mouth slightly for it, but didn't offer to deepen it with his tongue. None of that was necessary for what he was conveying, to himself if not to Sylar - this was someone he was making love to, and he would kiss their lips and share himself with them. His stomach clenched and his breath caught as his lips moved tenderly over Sylar's.
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Sylar was so needy and hard, wrapping his legs around Peter sounded better and better. At least I could get some friction...God...The smaller man held his head (and had Sylar been in any other position and still blind, he'd have expected Peter's penis to breach his mouth), drawing his face down, with which Sylar cooperated. Peter spoke close to his face again; there wasn't much time to think. The other man was careful with him. Blood was still strong in his nose, but this close he could smell Peter, knew it was his mouth. It started off tender, gentle pressure from Peter's thinner pout, pressed against his like it was something real. Sylar let it blank his mind completely - his mind splitting too many different directions in pure shock. It was bliss, but it got better. Peter opened his lips to take more of Sylar's in and he was left gasping, feeling a hunger that was far healthier (and far more dangerous) flood him.
It hurt his neck, the angle, Peter's height, but Sylar leaned into it as much as he thought he would be allowed, finally tasting, finally getting Peter on his lips. His dick was wild for it. Sylar whined at a shameful pitch. His face was hot, he knew his neck and upper chest would be flushed red, his mouth felt numb and super-sensitized at the same time; his tongue aching in his own mouth, wanting to plunge and twist and taste Peter's. He grasped lightly at Peter's mouth with his own lips, trying to suction the man in a bit, although he was beyond thinking for the moment; a tug to the cuffs signaled his desire to touch and grab Peter for the kiss.
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Peter pulled away after about thirty seconds, making a small sound of want in the back of his throat even though he was the one ending it. “Good,” he panted, because something needed to be said in the silence and his usual declaration of love was so out of place that it didn't even enter his mind. Yet there was still an empty spot there, where he knew he should say something, so he filled it with 'good'. His brain was drowning in thoughts carnal and base anyway. This was now sex and he was plunging ahead.
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"Fuck," Sylar growled in a tone close to breaking to indicate his high interest in the kiss. He was blind, so he'd kept leaning forward as Peter pulled away, putting his whole body into it, literally. His lips parted quickly as he waited for Peter's return, hoping it was not long in coming, meanwhile flexing his arms and wrists, hands fisted to indicate his sexual frustration in all its intensity.
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Peter dropped to kiss Sylar lingeringly on the neck, then the collarbone. Here, he did taste and let his teeth drag across Sylar's skin without nipping. He'd get to that later. Another button unfastened and Peter stepped around behind Sylar, reaching around to undo the last of them, parting the fabric. He ran his hands up Sylar's bared skin from waist to abdomen to chest, pressing against his upper chest as Peter buried his face in Sylar's back, breathing him in. “Oh,” he moaned softly, “so good.”
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"Uuhnn!" Sylar dropped his head to the side to expose his neck, uncaring if Peter bit him or not, partly desiring just that. His noise was significantly louder now, tortured by the press of teeth. He panted as his chest was exposed, feeling completely desired - after all, he was being systematically stripped. His nipples and flesh were aware of the open air now as he enjoyed momentary goosebumps, shivering as Peter caressed him again. "Yeah," he dared to whisper, loving the warm contact of Peter behind him, strong arms around him.
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Peter’s fingers found Sylar's nipples, tweaking lightly and oh-so-gratified by Sylar's squirm and high-pitched grunt. Peter cleaved his body to Sylar's, cupping against him, and tweaked them again. He loved the feeling of the other man shifting against him, especially his ass rubbing against the front of Peter's jeans. He stroked up and down Sylar's chest and stomach, biting lightly at his shoulder and pinching at those nubs a few more times. He ground himself against Sylar's ass in time with his motions.
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Sylar was so hard, he felt the light pinches on to his nipples echoed in his cock, but that wasn't what drew sound from him. The buds were stiff, just like the rest of him, almost painfully so, although Sylar had never taken much notice of his nipples before (except when shapeshifting). The pleasant abuse was startling and he went up on the balls of his feet in reaction, feeling his body rubbing against Peter. The cuffs jangled once more - he was the definition of helplessly aroused. "Eh!" That did not just happ- "Uh!" This time he went with it and determined what he thought he'd felt the first time. Peter was achingly hard as well so he made an effort to slide himself back against the straining organ, looking to speed Peter's pace. The nurse bought it, touching him more (not abandoning his nipples, oh no, not after the noises he'd made). Peter was giving him regular strokes now, pressing his erection at Sylar's cleft and it was so good, Sylar could feel his own cock throbbing in sympathy or...empathy, whichever, whatever. He pushed back as hard as possible, more taken with Peter's erection than he was with Peter's hands suddenly. His own digits were clenched to the poles to keep his balance as they both pushed, trying to spread his legs and stay upright at the same time with limited success although Peter held him steady. Peter was so close, only a few layers of cloth between them; it wouldn't be long now. Sylar groaned, nearly uninhibited, begging phrases on the tip of his tongue for this to continue or for Peter to finally take him, get inside and do the deed.
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Eventually … finally … Peter's hands dropped to the top of Sylar's pants. He ran a thumb under the waistband teasingly for a moment, then unfastened it. He took another moment just to be a bastard about it because he knew Sylar had to be turning blue by now. He pressed his hands over the man's groin, still covered with cloth, and outlined him, one hand on each side, feeling his heat and sighing in appreciation. And rising lust. Peter bit Sylar's shoulder harder - possibly enough to bruise, not enough to cut the skin (especially through the shirt as it was).
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A low-voiced, open-mouth whimper escaped Sylar, echoing in the room over their panting and grinding. Then a slutty whine at that tempting thumb, it practically tickled. "Uhn, God..." he expelled before his breath sucked in and he outright moaned. Peter was touching his cock through his jeans. He was going to burn through the jeans and singe Peter anyway, but god-damn. "Ooh...!" The hands alone were pressures he could barely withstand. That Peter used both hands was just...Sylar barely felt the impact on his shoulder, his hips already on the move with or without his permission, curving and attempting to rut against Peter's hands. "Peter..." he urged, unsure of what he even wanted besides fucking more.
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Peter pulled down the zipper, then took Sylar's pants at the hips and inched them down, then pushed them harder once the most sensitive areas were cleared. Peter shifted to look at what he'd bared to the world.
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Part of Sylar cried out 'Yes!' as the other half gulped at the realization that he was blind and Peter could, and would, see everything there was to see...and Sylar would be in the dark about the man's reaction. Reflexively he jerked at the cuffs, feeling air caressing his body now instead of Peter's warm hands. He would be judged; he wouldn't be able to see anything coming, assuming it came at all; this was probably the most vulnerable he'd ever been, almost naked and standing restrained. This could end so badly, he was reminded of this again in the instant he would be gratified or...or... Peter was again considerate, not ripping down his jeans which would have road-rashed his cock to no end. Sylar had come prepared - commando, no underwear.
His pants were then shoved down above his knees whereupon Sylar tried to shuffle them down, thinking he would need to spread better with Peter...still behind him. This was really happening. He breathed faster, but his arousal faded a healthy amount. He could be hurt or mocked so easily now, much easier than ever before. He was hard and bared and so fucking dependent. Sylar swallowed. At least his cock was free to throb at the world, no longer trapped in his pants and he still wanted more of Peter, almost any way he could get it. "Peter..." he said, this time open and wary, almost questioning.
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Beautifully, totally, definitely male. Not that Peter had had any doubts. Sylar was plenty masculine. His so-human doubt made Peter's heart flutter and his hands curl around the guy almost reflexively, wanting to defend him from his fears, because he knew what Sylar must be thinking. Humiliation was not a torture Peter was into. Nor was it at all what he was thinking. “You are so sexy,” Peter breathed, his voice nearly a whine. He gave the man's now-bare ass a slow, hard grind, letting him know Peter liked what he saw. “You could seduce a fucking stone, Sylar.”
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He didn't have long to wait. Sylar allowed his head to drop back at that delicious thrust; it was a positive reaction. He felt Peter's jeans roughly rubbing against his skin and that just added to the mood, though he would have preferred Peter to be naked as well. Of course he wanted to feel the man's skin, his heat. He moved with Peter, stress relief caused him to give a breathless laugh at Peter's tone, the words used. Later he would think back on the irony of 'seducing a stone' given Peter's full name, but right now he was flattered and thrilled beyond belief, living up the compliment. He was sexy; he was good enough - he was getting Peter off and that was like a drug to his system.
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The penis Peter surveyed had the slightest curve towards Sylar’s belly, otherwise standing proudly and straight. It was a ruddy shade of Sylar's skin with an even redder head to it. It looked to be a full handful and long enough for everything Peter might want it for, assuming he ever had the pleasure. He immediately wanted to put his mouth to it, but he was hesitant on that. He … wanted to know Sylar a little better. They'd hardly even talked about sex at all and definitely never in relation to one another. Until they did, Peter was going basic and simple with this. Less chance of someone getting hurt; less chance of a misunderstanding.
Instead, he satisfied his mouth by pulling up Sylar's shirt and biting him along the stretched muscle of his shoulder blade, groaning against the man's skin and continuing to grind against him. It was only a few seconds, though, before Peter was reaching for what he'd exposed. He wrapped his left arm around Sylar's chest, holding him tight, while his right skimmed over hip to groin, brushing over pubic hair with a few casual sweeps before running the pad of one finger up the outer edge of Sylar's straining organ. He stopped at the spot just short of the head, the frenulum, which tended to be the most sensitive part. He smoothed his finger in a tiny circle over and over that spot until Sylar's squirming dislodged him.
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A muted snarl was Sylar’s response to the bite; oh, he wanted more of that. The only contact he had was Peter's groin against him. Sylar didn't expect more than that, really, although he had expected Peter to be penetrating him, using him before now - yeah, he'd expected for Peter to open his pants and get in him. It left him hard and searching in the open air but he hadn't pictured his own needs would be tended. Sylar panted, his shoulders feeling like water, trying to brace against Peter's grinding pelvis (hell, that alone might get him off, given enough time). "Oh...wha-?" Once again he felt a warm palm moving over him, causing him to blush hard when his...captor felt up his pubic hair, but then he felt something small and human over his cock. Was that a finger? No way...Sylar was already arching his back, needy to that touch alone, anticipating more teasing as he whimpered. Peter touched under the head of his cock and it felt like a live-wire, electricity finally rushing through his veins to trigger his nerves. Heat exploded all over and his injuries throbbed, but so did his cock. His voice's pitch went high (so high he would later be embarrassed), "Oh my God...!" He found his hips were moving to avoid and get more of that contact at the same time and he wasn't moving in direct thrusts, either, circling and bucking against that single finger. It practically tickled and hurt it felt so good; he could barely hold himself up.
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“So fucking hot,” Peter rasped, leaning a little to the left so he could watch what he was doing. His own body was solidly flush with Sylar's, capturing every wriggle and squirm. Peter's cock was straining so hard it hurt, but Sylar's motions and sounds and the whole situation was driving Peter mad with desire. Maybe he should have teased Sylar more, but he gave it up and took the man's dick in his hand, gently sleeving it up and down. It felt so velvety smooth and hot in his hand.
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Sylar heard Peter's adulation, but it barely registered - the guy's hand was finally on his dick. He felt the deep tone of Peter's voice as it rumbled through his back, what with the empath's chest molded to his spine. That was so hot, Peter breathing lust on him. He felt like he could leave his skin at having someone, a good looking, gentle someone, who'd beaten him into submission, touching his manhood was making him quiver. The empath's erection was like a threatening brand as it tried to slide between his cheeks through Peter's jeans; it was also tantalizing him with dark promise of 'maybe later' if he could think that far ahead. Had Sylar had more brainpower, he would have tried more actively to rub back against Peter and try to work the guy off. Peter gripped him and Sylar gasped. Oh, God...He didn't know whether to panic or pop. "Uughnyeah...." he moaned, delighting in the savoring touch. Peter could be rough; he didn't have to do this at all, but he was doing it anyway and that had Sylar weak at the knees. He wondered what he would have to do as repayment and that was fuel to his fire. He began breathing mindless nonsense under his breath, busily fucking Peter's fist, "Yeahtouchmetouch...likethatyesuuh!"
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Peter wondered how Sylar liked it and would have loved to ask, but he didn't want to interrupt for a Q&A. Now seemed like a bad time. And yet another reason why the least invasive and involved sex act seemed like the best route. Instead, he fitted his groin against Sylar's ass as best he could and held the man's dick as if it were Peter's own and he were masturbating in the shower or the bedroom or the coat closet (yes, Peter had some weird habits - best not to contemplate them here). He started with a few long, sure strokes from base to tip, milking the cock for precome that he then slicked over the top, squeezing it a few times before making short pumps from tip to half-shaft and then back up. He wished he had his left hand free to help out, fondle balls, and the like, but he didn't want to leave Sylar unsupported. Peter wasn't sure how much weight Sylar had been putting on the cuffs, but they'd been making noise. He scooted his left hand up and over so that fingertip and thumb found Sylar's right nipple.
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Hopefully Peter did not expect Sylar to stand like a mummy and take this sensual torment. Such would be impossible. Instead of stroking away, Peter began by easing his hand down Sylar's swollen shaft. In the back of his mind, Sylar found that odd until it was explained, a few groan-inducing squeezes to test the heft of him before Peter smeared him with his own lubrications. He's been leaking badly for too long now, though the fluid wasn't enough and hand job was still rough. Sylar hardly minded, found he kind of liked it this way. He thinks of everything. Sylar's eyes were squeezed shut behind the blindfold. Peter found a fantastic grip and set something of a rhythm - fucking goddamn finally. "Ooh....Oh, fuck, Peter..." Sylar wasn't even the type to moan his sex partner's name or make much noise at all, but here he was doing just that; apparently he couldn't help it. This was completely kinky, erotic, even and he was loving every second of it. Badly he wanted to be inside something other than a fist, but this, after years of going untouched...He'd never had a hand job and this one was perfect aside from the pull on his shoulders from the cuffs and the potential to be unbalanced.
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“You are incredible,” Peter growled, holding tight and stroking harder, using more of a grip and sliding from top to bottom now, pausing every five or six strokes to milk upward, raising Sylar up on the balls of his feet. Peter paused to spit liberally in his right hand, returning it immediately to Sylar's shaft and smearing the extra lubrication.
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Another aroused, thoughtless sound in reply. Sylar worked himself between Peter's cock and fist, rolling his hips, moaning and whimpering gratuitously. He felt harder than he'd ever been and he was getting close. The rhythm making him weak - tighter, wetter, faster, harder. The slight sound of Peter spitting brought him back to reality because he'd heard that sound before during sex. His hips stilled for a moment until the nurse's hand returned to his dick feeling slick with saliva. Sylar relaxed back into it with too much ease. Was it supposed to be this easy? He was seconds from begging Peter to fuck him. Sylar knew he certainly isn't going to last, but that didn't factor in (he didn't have to be hard to get fucked).
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“Come on,” Peter whispered ardently. “Show me how hot this is making you. Show me how much you want me. Show me what you'll look like when you come inside of me.” Even though Peter said it, and passionately, that last line threw him out of it a little. It invited so much speculation about next/other times, positions, if he'd be safe with Sylar unbound, fucking him, thinking he had automatic sexual access maybe … Peter gave a brief shake of his head to shut that out and jerked Sylar faster. It wasn't like he didn't have the best distraction in the world here. “Come for me,” he said, and this time it was more akin to an order. He bit Sylar on the back, eyes rolling up in his head as he continued working him with his fist. “Come for me before I come in my pants. Jesus Christ ...” Peter virtually begged, voice wavering.
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Sylar cried out on cue. Peter was going to talk filth in his ear to get him off? He should have guessed the little pervert would be so dirty. The pace increased just as he needed it. Sylar was heaving for air, sensitive and flushed, sweating, but it was Peter's admission of being close that had him gushing. Peter's voice pleading for him to come was so sweet; the bite to his back to indicate passion; the thought of Peter jizzing his pants at all, before Sylar came, that this would get him off... That Peter wanted him to get off was just too much. Sylar spread his legs and thrust hard and erratic, Peter still holding him chest and cock, as his body began to numb, feeling the end of his dick erupt and overflow. His orgasm tore through him. He bit his lip to stifle his whine of ecstasy as he pulsed, spitting up what felt like loads of sperm. God, it had been too long. His eyes had squeezed shut and they stayed that way as he slumped, loose-limbed, balls aching from their expulsion. "Ohh..." he sighed.
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Peter bit him again, because even though Sylar might be spent, Peter was still straining for release and his desire was still pounding through him. The feel of Sylar’s hot fluid surging over his hand as he continued pumping through the orgasm made him tingle and for a moment, Peter thought that was it - he’d pop. Panting, so eager for completion that his focus was narrowed to only that, he left his partner and stumbled back to the chair he’d used to put the rope through the hook earlier. He raised his right hand to his face, inhaling the thick, enticing musk of Sylar’s sex where it coated his fingers. Another tingle shot through him - if he didn’t hurry, he really would come in his pants.
He shoved them down as much as he needed with his left hand, past caring if he hurt himself with haphazard yanking on his clothing. His left hand wrapped around himself as he couldn’t wait any longer, tongue swiping from knuckle to fingertip, lapping up the essence - salty, slippery, still warm. Peter found such a thing delicious most of the time when he was horny. Given his current state of aching, desperate need, it was fucking ambrosia - liquid proof that he turned them on and they at least lusted after him for the moment. It was the appreciation he craved, that he could do something for someone and they wanted it.
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Sylar was numb, his head fuzzy - his eyes, had they been open, would have been blurred and unfocused - useless. Sex and relief were still raging through his system, but it was bliss. He was safe enough for this; he'd been given this and it was fantastic, wonderful. He hadn't realized how much Peter had been holding him up because the instant the nurse left, Sylar was slumping, limbs heavy and loose with no dexterity. His breathing was now beyond mere panting excitation - something in his chest was fluttering and twisting close to panic or some kind of serious after-stress reaction, he didn't know what but it mimicked sobbing for air pretty well. Had he been more aware, he would have been embarrassed. He couldn't pin down an emotion or feeling, a direction, nothing. It felt so good, too good and it was scary. It felt like release surpassing ejaculation, but he couldn't tell.
Peter didn't...return. He didn't...leave, did he? Not with lube or condoms, no exploring fingers or forceful cock. He was left cooling, still strung up, standing and fairly naked, pants around his ankles after one hell of a fantastic hand job - not that he knew it if was a great hand job or not but it had been so far beyond 'adequate' for him. He'd never had one before and Having someone else's hand on his junk, while terrifying, was sublime and unparalleled. Someone wanted to touch him, so they did. He liked being wanted a lot, especially if hand jobs were part of it. Sylar thought he heard noises of the chair and felt a surge of unfairness about his blind situation. He wanted to see Peter, too. Peter got to see him, now Sylar wanted to see the nurse in all his glory (or close to it). It was sure to be another kind of blinding.
Acting out against Peter's "wishes" now, Sylar lifted a shoulder and dropped his head to the side, maneuvering the two together until he managed to raise the blindfold enough to peek under it, quickly looking behind to see where Peter was and what exactly he was doing, if he was so lucky to see that far back...Yes! Another rush of arousal went through him, jolting his still-aching, dangling, sticky, receding cock. Oh, Jesus...Peter was sitting on the chair, pants open, dick out. Sylar couldn't see a whole lot of detail, but he saw that Peter was a good handful in size and about the same color as the rest of Peter's soft skin. The nurse was holding himself in one strong hand and...If he hadn't felt weak already, he did now. Peter was licking his fingers clean of Sylar's spunk, moaning, eyes shut, and looking so pleased with himself.
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Peter twitched and jerked with another full body tingle and this time it didn’t fade. Point of no return passed … too bad, he’d wanted to savor this. He sucked his fingers into his mouth with a lewd slurping noise. Two fingers, then three, as his body felt like it lit up from the inside. His eyes were shut in rapture. Sucking faltered and there was just the taste lingering so lovely and satisfying on his tongue. He moaned in the back of his throat as his balls clenched and his peak crested, his legs stiffening and toes curling in his shoes. His left hand had hardly done anything but hold himself, pointed conveniently enough so he didn’t make a complete mess.
“Whuh, whuh, whuh,” he said inarticulately, trying to say, ‘whoa’ and failing as he struggled to get his breath. He shuddered with aftershocks and languidly, sensuously, cleaned his fingers with meticulous care. His shoulders slumped in relaxation as his eyes opened. He stared forward at Sylar’s ass, thinking barely-coherent fantasies about it. His gaze climbed up the man’s form, drinking him in with a lazy, fulfilled smile. Peter sighed with a mix of satisfaction and disappointment: glad of what they’d done, unhappy it was over. With that, the complexities of the situation threatened to flood over him and douse all the pleasure he’d had from this. Refusing to contemplate them, he stood, shrugging away the cloying thoughts as he popped his neck to one side and then the other with a couple cracking noises. He pulled his pants back up and fastened them, putting himself away and wiping his hands on his thighs.
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Sylar was struck quite dumb at the sight, surprised as could be. He...jerks me off and...He could barely think the words. He gets off on tasting my come? Holy fuck, I...It was horribly sexy. He hadn't known people...really did that, for fun, without being forced. What a kinky little pervert. I knew it! That presented so many other options he'd originally considered to be 'off the table'. He tried to watch Peter's mouth engulfing his fingers, darling crooked pink lips sliding up and down, his tongue wet and lewd over his own hand and enjoyed the knowledge of what Peter must be tasting...willingly, eagerly, knowing where the substance originated. As Sylar strained (in more ways than one) to watch, what with the angle of his neck and eye-socket, Peter's swollen erection twitched as he sucked on his filthy fingers - barely a stroke or squeeze with the hand grasping his shaft and he looked ready to come. Peter choked on his air as he came. Beautiful, Sylar assessed instantly with more than his rightful share of possessiveness. Mouth open, chest heaving, sweaty and fit with his hair stuck to his forehead, Peter spurted his release over the tarp. That's it...Come for me now, Peter. God, he's so easy!
And shameless! The empath still wasn't through with his fingers, taking his time with them now, post-orgasm. He noticed Peter staring and it was only a matter of seconds before he noticed Sylar's face turned back. Reluctantly, he faced forward and attempted to subtly reposition the towel over his eyes. He had no idea what the punishment would be for that and didn't care to find out. Let him look, maybe he'll come back for more...? It dawned on him then just how well things had gone (the foreplay of fists notwithstanding) - he hadn't been fucked. He didn't fuck me? Didn't even cop a feel. What does that mean? Sylar thought in trepidation, trying not to but beginning to worry. Was I not good enough? Did I not include some favorite, necessary toy? Was the position bad? He could have laid me down! Should I offer? Say something?
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