Sexual Tension Part VIII: 'Dates to Remember'
Title: Sexual Tension Part VIII: 'Dates to Remember'
Characters: Sylar (Gabriel Gray)/Peter Petrelli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, bondage, dominance/submission, implied torture.
Word count: 5,078
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.
Shit. Sylar grimaced to himself as Peter jerked. "Sorry," he mumbled, I forgot. Nathan knew his ears were ticklish. It was a stupid mistake, easily avoided if he'd been thinking but he had the sense not to mention that he knew the lick was a bad move.
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Peter's breath started coming shallower as his insecurity spiked so high and fast that his hands shook. “What are we testing?” he asked, breathy and fast, wrapping his arms around Sylar's back, holding him close and not letting him go, while baring his neck even further for Sylar's continuing attentions. Those motions on Sylar's part were the only thing keeping Peter from plunging right back into upset. Maybe I misunderstood. It … it probably doesn't matter. Just misunderstood. He put more focus into grinding against Sylar, scooting down a little and readjusting his angle. One leg was hooked over Sylar's back and held by the man's kneading hand; Peter's other leg was crooked behind the man with his foot on the mattress between Sylar's knees, giving him leverage. He brought a hand up to cup the back of Sylar's head, subconsciously still afraid that Sylar might try to get away and Peter had fucked everything up by doing something he didn't even know what but it might be terrible and-
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O-kay...Not the answer I need... It was a simple enough question that Peter failed to grasp. Sylar noted Peter baring his neck even more and he took the invitation, kissing and tasting it while he could, wondering if he could even trust the emotionally-horned-up compromised answer he was going to get either way. He knew he should probably stop. Peter was unable, historically speaking, to handle emotional upset without immediate action. The answer was bound to be just as void as 'What are we testing?' But I don't want to stop. I finally have him. He feels so good... His cock was raging at him, crying out for more stimulation to be taken from Peter's flesh.
Sylar could only feel his own need pulsing through him, nearly carrying him away in more ways than one. He wants it! He's hard! What if...what if this is my only chance to fuck him and I turn it down? (You know his answer won't be solid). Damnit! (Don't be greedy. He just got you off! He was caring and polite-) And sexy as all hell, he argued with his own logic or something while munching on the subject's throat, humming to himself at the dilemma and temptation presented. Meanwhile his rotating pelvis began to slow, needing to calm himself down first to be able to think before acting. His cock continued to throb, pressed against Peter since he was lying on the guy. This is a test. To see if you can be the good guy. Or...to see if you can just be 'good.' He doesn't...have anyone else. (You break it, you buy it, you fix it. He needs fixing, not fucking). It's the same thing! Right now, anyway. I can take what I want - he can't stop me. (That's the point). Fuck.
That didn't abate Sylar's partly-dormant desire for revenge after that stupid agreement. Who does he think he is? He wants that then he cries? What the hell? Who is he to deny me? Peter cried over his own stupidity and when he was vulnerable Sylar could use him, maybe fuck him if things worked out that way. He doubted it would. If Peter changed his mind about consenting he wasn't in any position to fight back. Peter was weak and helpless and Sylar was on top of him. Wait...how did that happen? He allowed that? How...Do I really want to force this? I know it's not worth it. One time over the chance to get this more than once? Contamination. Pressuring. That's what you're doing now, technically. (I hope I stopped...in time). He'd hold that against me forever and it would never be the same again. I'm just looking out for my own interests; his just...happen to coincide.
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Sylar’s slowing gyrations made Peter uncertain, feeding his insecurity that he’d screwed something up. He was trying to apologize, he was trying to bury himself in the moment rather than face what he’d done, what he was doing. It was crazy, half-baked, over-emotional - the idea that if he gave himself enough to Sylar right now, it would make up for whatever would come next. If Sylar didn’t go along with that, if Peter wasn’t good enough … Had he done something so wrong that even Sylar didn’t want him? He’s still kissing me, though … Peter ground himself up firmly, trying to match Sylar’s decreasing pace. His hand dropped from Sylar’s head to his collar, where both hands clenched uneasily in the fabric of the man’s shirt. Am I not enough? What am I doing wrong?
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Sylar ceased his salivating on Peter's neck, instead switching to kissing gently at his temple for a start, running his hand continually through his hair. What was he to do now? Being the hero, the rock, someone's comfort, hadn't been his thing for some years now - he was out of practice. If...I was upset, I'd want something like this. Nathan used to kiss his forehead and hair sometimes - Peter kissed my face. Nathan would hug him, too. Slowly, so-damn regretfully, Sylar peeled his hand away from clutching Peter's leg, slowly rubbing the length of it with a softer touch. He tried to slow things down to a standstill without looking in any way disinterested. If he thinks that, he's an idiot. I'm so hard...It's just a biological function. Ignore it, just ignore...Done this before, I'll do it again. (Yeah, but that never paid off before...) This has to come back in good karma. It just has to. My life - this situation - cannot be this fucked up. Look, Fate! I'm doing a good deed. Do not let this come back to bite me. Oh my God, he whined to himself, inhaling the scent of Peter's skin, My control is not what it used to be...I can't...say no to this, it's insane!
Sylar wanted to grope and bite and rub himself off, just feel-touch-taste-use. But...if I'm nice to him...he'll...like me and want sex again? Well, I know he doesn't want me but....He liked me making a play room; I did that for him. He tried to think of what else he had to offer, coming up with the usual limited options; sex was off the table until Peter could give a decent answer. Sylar refused to play the Petrelli blame game with sex and consent.
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Peter made a grunting growl at Sylar lightening his touch on Peter’s leg. Peter shifted restlessly, briefly bringing up his other leg to twine both around the man, Peter’s thighs hugging Sylar’s lean hips. It felt so good, but when that didn’t elicit any particular approval, he dropped the leg back to its original position. Apparently they were toning things down rather than the breakneck rush to completion that Peter had been hurrying them to. Peter moved the hand that had gone to Sylar’s collar back to his hair with a sigh. He relaxed a little, heart rate slowing as he faded from being on high alert. Peter wasn’t getting quite enough stimulation to stay that wound up.
I’m acting ridiculous, Peter thought as his brain came back online. Running too high, too fragile, still upset. Fuck. I’m no good. What the fuck am I even doing? I’m holding Sylar of all people!? Despite his desire to feel outraged, what he remembered instead was the taste of the man’s lips, the feel of his flesh hot in Peter’s hand, and then the painful wince on Sylar’s face that had stilled Peter’s tongue and derailed his … offer. Request, really, that Peter be allowed some escape from thinking about how much he had transgressed against what he held dear - morals, honor, codes of conduct, common decency ... As his emotions started crashing back down, heading past equilibrium and into depression, his breathing caught with a spasm that wanted to be a sob. He tried to cover it with a cough and clearing his throat, readjusting himself immediately so he was still holding the man tightly. I’m such a hypocrite. Everything he’s always said about me - a weak, stupid hypocrite who hurts people. Tears leaked out of his eyes and he desperately reached for something else to think about, losing himself as fast as possible in Sylar’s warmth and solidity - so much more tangible and supportive than ephemeral principles.
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Sylar hoped maybe Peter wouldn't even notice the shift in gears. I'm just taking it slow now, that's all. He'll calm down and...Sylar exhaled into the empath's hair. I guess I'll figure something out. Since when am I the responsible one? Big brother. Ugh. How...platonic. "It's okay," he said in general, aloud, between pecks after all his internalizing, aiming to sooth. I guess I need one of those 'important conversations' after all. Peter's hand on the back of his head, the other around his back, holding him as close as could be was a comfort for Sylar as well, unlooked for as it was, ensuring that he didn't feel that Peter would leap away from him any second. He swallowed and took a deep breath, willing his erection to fade at least for the time being, stroking a wide swath up Peter's side and hip chastely. "It's okay." I hope it is.
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Peter’s chest spasmed again at Sylar’s words. Okay, so he knows I’m completely messed up. Way to go, Peter. Even the guy who’s wild to get in your pants can tell you’re not right. No wonder he’s backing off. Too clingy and moody and ... He took a deep breath, echoing Sylar’s, and pulled his head up to press his forehead against Sylar’s shoulder, trying to discreetly blot the moisture from his eyes on Sylar’s shirt. He hasn’t stopped, though, so I can't be too bad. What was that question he asked? A test? He thinks I’m testing him? Peter stopped holding Sylar so firmly and stroked his right hand up and down his back instead, feeling the smooth, very human expanse. His left hand bunched gently at Sylar’s hair, feeling of it and just being in the moment - looking, feeling, being - as he got his bearings.
His hysteria passed. He was tired, with his emotional roller coaster having taken a lot of energy out of him, but the expected plunge had been buffered by having someone with him, holding him, catching him before he hit bottom. Peter appreciated that as he marveled at how Sylar had not taken what Peter had offered - sex on a platter, however Sylar wanted it. The willpower, empathy, or both that must have taken was not inconsiderable. That Sylar would do that for him forced Peter to reassess a lot of assumptions. He moved his hand up Sylar’s back in a few more sedate sweeps before shifting himself a few inches to the side. He looked Sylar in the face, intent on understanding why they were lying together quietly instead of Sylar taking his opportunity to fuck Peter's brains out.
“I'm not testing you,” he said softly, dropping his eyes briefly before coming back up. “At least not intentionally. I thought I was giving you what you wanted: me. I was being sincere, even if I was pretty upset.” His eyes flitted down to Sylar's lips and then away, trying not to consider what those lips felt like. They were incredibly intimate to be having this conversation, but Peter didn't move except to add a few more slow strokes along Sylar's back. The hand that had been on the man's head slid down until his elbow was level, just as he eased his leg from where it was hooked over Sylar's ass so it was crooked next to his hip, Peter's foot on the mattress.
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Sylar stared back at Peter, surprising himself with his patience, given the erection that was only now beginning to fade since they were exchanging words (not so sexy) instead of kisses (sexy). Uh...I do want you. That hasn't changed. He allowed himself to be placated with positive strokes - no test; Peter was genuine. Sylar was calm, too, despite being worried earlier. He did his best to ignore the glances to his mouth. It would be so easy to arouse him to the blaze of passion again if he dwelt on the fact that Peter Petrelli kept staring at him, touching him and, apparently, thinking about kissing him. He reveled in Peter's continued contact, the back rubbing was delicious and soothing; it made his head feel fuzzy and weightless, similar to what it had been moments before, humping away at each other. I'm sure that will be really interesting when I think about the connection later. I've only had those feelings with....Elle; that's it. And Sylar knew what he'd felt for her, during and after sex.
Sylar shifted down so his cock wasn't quite so pinched between his body weight and Peter's pelvis, hoping that would help the blood drain away even though it placed him nearer to Peter's ass...It also helped the eye contact because he was some inches taller than Peter. The conversation was going to kill his boner before nature did. Oh well. It was definitely close to be talking but Peter liked to do that - be in people's space. Nathan grew up with it and so didn't notice, but Sylar did - it was odd for him, but not necessarily bad. If anything, Peter's hand on his back was keeping him relaxed and present.
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“What I was trying to say earlier was that … this is really hard for me - what … what I think you're asking me to do here.” Peter shut his eyes for a moment, willing away any resurgence of tears. “I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to be with you after everything that's … that's happened.” Peter was silent for a moment before adding, “Thank you for helping me, for not leaving. That would have messed me up even more - try to do what you wanted and then get dumped because I couldn't control my emotions.” Peter swallowed, pursing his lips uneasily. It was the usual reason why he got dumped. Over-emoting was who he was. If Sylar intended to be with him, it was something they were going to have to deal with. But Sylar hadn't run off. He hadn't even stayed to take advantage of him. He'd stayed to comfort. “What is it that you want from me?”
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I'm not asking you to do any- Wait. Sylar quickly reviewed the event, the dialogue. Oh. I kind of am asking him to do something. That's...selfish. Crap. He didn't really want to before. Did I...make him do anything? (God, I hope not). I made him the room and he...picked a fight but then he...talked a lot and I had to work him up to it - shit! That's what he meant about this being my fantasy! (Is it?) Not now; he's talking. Sylar felt a slight shock run through him. He doesn't know how to do this? I told him the rules and he still doesn't know? But that means....No. No way...A...relationship? That's what I think he means, 'be with you.' Oh, wow. I don't even know what to think about that. That's....unexpected. I hope he doesn't think I know how to do this because I know even less than he does - I have no experience at all.
He impressed himself once more in actually considering what Peter meant in a few places. He's...trying to deal with this but doesn't know how. So he isn't even focused on revenge. Huh. Weirdo, Sylar thought with affection and amusement, petting the back of Peter's neck, partly to extend the same courtesy as Peter rubbing his back, but also to touch and show a few things himself. His other hand made circles over Peter's side, wishing that the shirt between them was gone. That makes perfect sense, actually; he wants revenge but he doesn't at the same time? He merely nodded a 'you're welcome' while musing over that: I didn't plan it. I'm not that good (won't tell him that though. Ever. Yet. Maybe). He thought I was...turning him down? How? I agreed, didn't I? But Peter's rationale made sense, in an emotional way, which explained why it hadn't occurred to Sylar. Wait, he likes me around when he's upset? You're so weird! He's the opposite of everyone else, then. Usually I'm the cause of the upset and people want me gone. Admittedly lost in thought, Sylar snapped to for the relevant question, his face a large, startled question mark.
Everything? was his instantaneous subconscious reply that he nearly blurted. Sylar swallowed and shifted uncomfortably for the first time. An odd question... "This. This is good," he replied vaguely - his answer meaning either the hand job and handcuffs or this pseudo mattress interruptus romp (or both). And it was true; either was fine with him because both were good for different reasons. He wasn't used to being played and brought off nor had he ever had a lover or a relationship; and someone reciprocating and interested was new.
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Peter's voice got a little firmer. “That's not good enough. I need a real answer.”
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An eyebrow quirked at his prey below. Oh, he's real serious. He's good, too; he's onto me. While I'm on him - ha! Sylar's mouth worked at a kind of momentary pout before answering. What the hell. The worst he'll do is mock me and not give me what I'm barely getting right now, right? Assuming he believes me at all... "I want everything," he said simply, his face somewhat blank as a requirement for honesty, looking into the barrel of the gun that was Peter Petrelli's lovely hazel eyes. Sylar tried to keep his lust from leaking out, 'I want to fuck you right now.' Now can we get back to be rubbing my dick on you and you...doing all that great stuff again?
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Peter put on his thinking face - brows slightly drawn together, eyes intent and a little narrowed, lips pressed together. Everything? Everything as in 'everything you can give me, I want you totally'? That's kind of romantic. Is he romantic? Or does he mean everything as in 'everything I've mentioned and implied through this room and all our other interactions'? That's … I don't think I'm smart enough for that. That's like game-playing, like people thinking you don't really love them unless you show it in the exact way they want, by noticing little details and spending all your time obsessing over them. He could be like that. That could be what he means. Or maybe it's everything as in 'I'm a megalomaniac in the real world, Peter, and I quite literally want everything'? Nah, I don't think so. Huh, wait. I am sort of the 'everything' that's here in this place. Because it's all either him or me here and he's already him. So if he got me, he'd have everything.
He puzzled over it, eyes drifting down to Sylar's thoroughly mauled collar as he thought. As often happened when faced with something difficult to think over, Peter's brain wanted to toss out the contemplation and go for action. With the intent of demanding a better answer, he looked up, lips parting for that short inhalation characteristic of being about to speak. But Sylar was doing the same thing.
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Since the floor (or mattress rather) was somewhat open and the question had just been posed to him, Sylar hedged back, "What do you want from me?" Think he'll answer that? Probably a really obvious answer, I bet, knowing Peter. He always makes me feel like I missed a glaringly obvious step and I have to back-track and rethink everything. It's probably something...simple, too; like...basic. Ah, fuck. I don't know what he wants - I'll stop guessing. Be great to know, though - finally!
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Peter let out his breath. Well, uh … yeah. Kind of hard to pin him down on a question that undefined. How does a person answer something that broad? He looked off to the side, letting his eyes slide out of focus. His fingers found the dip between Sylar’s erector muscles, the valley made by his spine. He absently stroked back and forth laterally across a spot a few inches above Sylar’s waist, mindlessly enjoying the opportunity to touch a part of Sylar he'd found fascinatingly sexy the few times he'd seen it. His gaze tracked back slowly as he processed what he was feeling and how much he liked that. “I want you to be nice. Safe … for me to be around.” So I can touch you like this. “I don't want you to hurt me. I don't like feeling like I have to be on my guard all the time and that I need to … overreact to you.” Such as beating the crap out of you. He drew his hand from behind Sylar's back, maneuvering it around Sylar's arm so that he could touch the man's face, skimming lightly over what would eventually be bruises.
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Sylar was beginning to get the feeling that he needed to adjust his pre-lie detecting function because Peter had already said as much before - Sylar had just dismissed it. Manipulation, Petrelli, lying, using...Either Peter lied constantly or he barely lied at all and Sylar had no idea which seemed more probable. Why would he be honest with me? He can lie his ass off and- Does he think I know when he's lying because of Nathan's memories? Does that keep him honest? He might...be honest?
He had to reevaluate things, definitely; they were looking up. He hadn't dared to hope, how could he, with Peter? He likes it when I'm nice. I'll need to know if that means....strung up for his amusement or making him a play room or....well, I don't know what 'nice' means for him. I could guess, but...Sylar hadn't known what to do when Peter didn't respond to his answer. Having his back felt up was practically a professional massage, every fingertip of Peter's almost a brand of sensation, directly hooked into his spinal column; electric. Having his face petted...thawed him a bit. Angela did that to Peter and Virginia had always done that to him if she felt lonely. And yes, Peter did that with Nathan, too, sometimes. Sylar coded that as affection, pure and simple. Caring, legitimate, familial affection. He felt his expression loosen from its somewhat blank state. You're going to melt me, Petrelli. Damned if I don't mind a bit.
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Peter thought about what he wanted in a bigger sense, what his own 'everything' answer would be. It wouldn't be 'everything'. Peter didn't want everything or even much of it. He didn't have Sylar's hunger to have it all, be it all. No, Peter wanted different things - support, validation, respect. He swallowed nervously and looked away, embarrassed to even think about asking for that. His hand returned to Sylar's back, holding him for comfort. He'd internalized all those canards about it being earned, not given - and that asking for respect was stupid and pointless. You either had it or you didn't. His father, and to a lesser extent Nathan, had been pretty firm that his overly dramatic, rebellious ways earned him the opposite. He was treated like a dysfunctional child who was too immature to play with the big boys and he knew his earlier weepy display gained him no points. But it's still what I want. If he can't give that to me … I'd rather know. Besides, I'm not asking for it or saying I deserve it, I'm just … saying what I want. “I want your respect,” he whispered, ashamed to even be saying that much, still looking over Sylar's shoulder with his gaze fixed on where the walls met the ceiling. Unconsciously, his fingers clenched in the fabric of Sylar's shirt, tightening and hanging on.
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Then Peter wouldn't look at him, obviously embarrassed over....Really? Wanting respect? So does everyone, Peter. It rarely happens. Some buried, rather dusty, grey-flavored morality twisted in him. What makes him so special that he can ask for respect and I can't? That's unfair. It took him a moment to force down the emotion behind that idea or conundrum because it wouldn't be answered today or probably in a day. What does respect have to do with sex, though? It means something to him - he's embarrassed about it. I'm missing something. How do you...give respect anyway? What happens if my way of showing respect doesn't work for him? Assuming I can show respect at all. His attempts at showing awe (and jealousy) and respect usually came across as him having a crush, acting like an unshakable shadow or puppy that wouldn't leave the person alone. It was overkill. Or maybe the concept was just that fuzzy to him and needed clarification so it didn't get mixed in with other things.
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Peter blinked a few times and shook it off, releasing his grip on the shirt as he looked back to Sylar. He firmed up his voice as though he'd said nothing of import and switched the topic back to Sylar. “'Everything' is too vague. I need some specifics. You did this room. Are you expecting … no, are you wanting a … “ He swallowed uneasily again, but not so much from being shy. It was just an awkward subject, something he'd never expected to discuss with Sylar. “A situation where we come in here on Sundays and Wednesdays and fuck each other into oblivion? And that's what it would be - just having an outlet? Or … are you wanting to … date?” Peter was hyper-focused on Sylar now, head dipped just a little and eyes not wavering from the man's face, trying to take in every reaction to that question.
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Not really, Sylar thought about 'everything being too vague'. It's just not Peter-speak. That amused him. He went still, at first listening then not moving became his reaction when Peter listed out the options - so black or white, no grey or mid-ground, not that he'd expected it. He'd expected either getting fucked whenever Peter was horny or nothing at all - the same old verbal viciousness and frustration between them. Getting fucked had obviously been the better option, but now...it was the lesser one? There was something better to be had? He didn't know what to say to that, rendered completely speechless for long seconds while his thoughts raced to produce words, stopping-and-starting, "D- you mean-? You and....? Bu-...um..." He straightened his elbows and his back, leaning away slightly in discomfort at being so close and on the spot, looking away above Peter's head now, licking his lips and swallowing down panic. He could feel Peter's eyes on him, feeling the pressure they were emitting into him. He said this isn't a test, so there....isn't a right answer? No right answer? Just...say what...Oh, boy, um...Dating a guy? Dating him?
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That is so cute, Peter thought of Sylar's reaction, tickled by it. Dude, you're lying on top of me and I'm pretty happy about it. Maybe not telegraphing it as obviously as earlier, but I'm certainly not pushing you away. We had sex and were about to do it again. Actually, I think it's pretty damn clear we're going to do it again. At some point. I'm just trying to figure out what it means to you. Peter smiled. Seems to mean a lot.
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Nervously, his voice a little strained from intensity, wanting to laugh and cry and vent anger and joy at the same time, Sylar asked, "Doesn't 'dating' mean there's other alternatives to date?" It's more of a choice rather than....you know, you stuck with someone you can barely stand? It's prison rules, does that make it real or not real? (I've never done this before, I don't know! Can he even feel that for me? Can I feel that for him? What happens if I can't feel things right?) "Is that even an option or is it like an example or...?" How can that be an option? Since when is it an option?! How long has it been that way? I'd have done things different if I'd have known that!
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Peter tilted his head, his hand making short, calming strokes on Sylar's side. “We have alternatives. It's an option. And it's an example. I'm trying to find out what you want so we can work towards that and I'm not having to guess so much. What dating means to me is that we're trying to see if we can have more of a relationship than, uh, otherwise.” And given how obviously Sylar was reacting to this, Peter couldn't help but add, “You know, if that's what you want.” That Peter hadn't had the fortune to be on the other end of someone acting so smitten towards him didn't mean he didn't recognize it. It made his chest feel funny, warm and tight. He knew his heart was speeding up - nerves and arousal, not a good combination, but he tried to keep it under wraps.
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Peter misunderstood and it was Sylar’s turn not to grasp the answer but other things were more important. "I mean, I..." Sylar glanced down at him. Boyfriend? His? Me? Sounds so weird. Feels weird, too. Jittery, butterflies - holy fuck, I have butterflies. Butterflies! That answers it, I think. I'll screw it up, but I wanna try it. Wow, that'd be incredible. Clearing his throat, steeling himself, he looked back to Peter who was still staring at him, intimidating. His voice was steadier now, considerably more convicted, "I like that second option." A lot. He avoided saying the D-word aloud, he didn't feel that he could just yet. Oh, please don't be joking! Just don't punch me for saying that; I told the truth...Anxiety had his hand sneaking down then under Peter's shirt, but not too far, to stroke the skin of his hip.
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Characters: Sylar (Gabriel Gray)/Peter Petrelli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, bondage, dominance/submission, implied torture.
Word count: 5,078
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.
Shit. Sylar grimaced to himself as Peter jerked. "Sorry," he mumbled, I forgot. Nathan knew his ears were ticklish. It was a stupid mistake, easily avoided if he'd been thinking but he had the sense not to mention that he knew the lick was a bad move.
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Peter's breath started coming shallower as his insecurity spiked so high and fast that his hands shook. “What are we testing?” he asked, breathy and fast, wrapping his arms around Sylar's back, holding him close and not letting him go, while baring his neck even further for Sylar's continuing attentions. Those motions on Sylar's part were the only thing keeping Peter from plunging right back into upset. Maybe I misunderstood. It … it probably doesn't matter. Just misunderstood. He put more focus into grinding against Sylar, scooting down a little and readjusting his angle. One leg was hooked over Sylar's back and held by the man's kneading hand; Peter's other leg was crooked behind the man with his foot on the mattress between Sylar's knees, giving him leverage. He brought a hand up to cup the back of Sylar's head, subconsciously still afraid that Sylar might try to get away and Peter had fucked everything up by doing something he didn't even know what but it might be terrible and-
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O-kay...Not the answer I need... It was a simple enough question that Peter failed to grasp. Sylar noted Peter baring his neck even more and he took the invitation, kissing and tasting it while he could, wondering if he could even trust the emotionally-horned-up compromised answer he was going to get either way. He knew he should probably stop. Peter was unable, historically speaking, to handle emotional upset without immediate action. The answer was bound to be just as void as 'What are we testing?' But I don't want to stop. I finally have him. He feels so good... His cock was raging at him, crying out for more stimulation to be taken from Peter's flesh.
Sylar could only feel his own need pulsing through him, nearly carrying him away in more ways than one. He wants it! He's hard! What if...what if this is my only chance to fuck him and I turn it down? (You know his answer won't be solid). Damnit! (Don't be greedy. He just got you off! He was caring and polite-) And sexy as all hell, he argued with his own logic or something while munching on the subject's throat, humming to himself at the dilemma and temptation presented. Meanwhile his rotating pelvis began to slow, needing to calm himself down first to be able to think before acting. His cock continued to throb, pressed against Peter since he was lying on the guy. This is a test. To see if you can be the good guy. Or...to see if you can just be 'good.' He doesn't...have anyone else. (You break it, you buy it, you fix it. He needs fixing, not fucking). It's the same thing! Right now, anyway. I can take what I want - he can't stop me. (That's the point). Fuck.
That didn't abate Sylar's partly-dormant desire for revenge after that stupid agreement. Who does he think he is? He wants that then he cries? What the hell? Who is he to deny me? Peter cried over his own stupidity and when he was vulnerable Sylar could use him, maybe fuck him if things worked out that way. He doubted it would. If Peter changed his mind about consenting he wasn't in any position to fight back. Peter was weak and helpless and Sylar was on top of him. Wait...how did that happen? He allowed that? How...Do I really want to force this? I know it's not worth it. One time over the chance to get this more than once? Contamination. Pressuring. That's what you're doing now, technically. (I hope I stopped...in time). He'd hold that against me forever and it would never be the same again. I'm just looking out for my own interests; his just...happen to coincide.
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Sylar’s slowing gyrations made Peter uncertain, feeding his insecurity that he’d screwed something up. He was trying to apologize, he was trying to bury himself in the moment rather than face what he’d done, what he was doing. It was crazy, half-baked, over-emotional - the idea that if he gave himself enough to Sylar right now, it would make up for whatever would come next. If Sylar didn’t go along with that, if Peter wasn’t good enough … Had he done something so wrong that even Sylar didn’t want him? He’s still kissing me, though … Peter ground himself up firmly, trying to match Sylar’s decreasing pace. His hand dropped from Sylar’s head to his collar, where both hands clenched uneasily in the fabric of the man’s shirt. Am I not enough? What am I doing wrong?
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Sylar ceased his salivating on Peter's neck, instead switching to kissing gently at his temple for a start, running his hand continually through his hair. What was he to do now? Being the hero, the rock, someone's comfort, hadn't been his thing for some years now - he was out of practice. If...I was upset, I'd want something like this. Nathan used to kiss his forehead and hair sometimes - Peter kissed my face. Nathan would hug him, too. Slowly, so-damn regretfully, Sylar peeled his hand away from clutching Peter's leg, slowly rubbing the length of it with a softer touch. He tried to slow things down to a standstill without looking in any way disinterested. If he thinks that, he's an idiot. I'm so hard...It's just a biological function. Ignore it, just ignore...Done this before, I'll do it again. (Yeah, but that never paid off before...) This has to come back in good karma. It just has to. My life - this situation - cannot be this fucked up. Look, Fate! I'm doing a good deed. Do not let this come back to bite me. Oh my God, he whined to himself, inhaling the scent of Peter's skin, My control is not what it used to be...I can't...say no to this, it's insane!
Sylar wanted to grope and bite and rub himself off, just feel-touch-taste-use. But...if I'm nice to him...he'll...like me and want sex again? Well, I know he doesn't want me but....He liked me making a play room; I did that for him. He tried to think of what else he had to offer, coming up with the usual limited options; sex was off the table until Peter could give a decent answer. Sylar refused to play the Petrelli blame game with sex and consent.
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Peter made a grunting growl at Sylar lightening his touch on Peter’s leg. Peter shifted restlessly, briefly bringing up his other leg to twine both around the man, Peter’s thighs hugging Sylar’s lean hips. It felt so good, but when that didn’t elicit any particular approval, he dropped the leg back to its original position. Apparently they were toning things down rather than the breakneck rush to completion that Peter had been hurrying them to. Peter moved the hand that had gone to Sylar’s collar back to his hair with a sigh. He relaxed a little, heart rate slowing as he faded from being on high alert. Peter wasn’t getting quite enough stimulation to stay that wound up.
I’m acting ridiculous, Peter thought as his brain came back online. Running too high, too fragile, still upset. Fuck. I’m no good. What the fuck am I even doing? I’m holding Sylar of all people!? Despite his desire to feel outraged, what he remembered instead was the taste of the man’s lips, the feel of his flesh hot in Peter’s hand, and then the painful wince on Sylar’s face that had stilled Peter’s tongue and derailed his … offer. Request, really, that Peter be allowed some escape from thinking about how much he had transgressed against what he held dear - morals, honor, codes of conduct, common decency ... As his emotions started crashing back down, heading past equilibrium and into depression, his breathing caught with a spasm that wanted to be a sob. He tried to cover it with a cough and clearing his throat, readjusting himself immediately so he was still holding the man tightly. I’m such a hypocrite. Everything he’s always said about me - a weak, stupid hypocrite who hurts people. Tears leaked out of his eyes and he desperately reached for something else to think about, losing himself as fast as possible in Sylar’s warmth and solidity - so much more tangible and supportive than ephemeral principles.
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Sylar hoped maybe Peter wouldn't even notice the shift in gears. I'm just taking it slow now, that's all. He'll calm down and...Sylar exhaled into the empath's hair. I guess I'll figure something out. Since when am I the responsible one? Big brother. Ugh. How...platonic. "It's okay," he said in general, aloud, between pecks after all his internalizing, aiming to sooth. I guess I need one of those 'important conversations' after all. Peter's hand on the back of his head, the other around his back, holding him as close as could be was a comfort for Sylar as well, unlooked for as it was, ensuring that he didn't feel that Peter would leap away from him any second. He swallowed and took a deep breath, willing his erection to fade at least for the time being, stroking a wide swath up Peter's side and hip chastely. "It's okay." I hope it is.
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Peter’s chest spasmed again at Sylar’s words. Okay, so he knows I’m completely messed up. Way to go, Peter. Even the guy who’s wild to get in your pants can tell you’re not right. No wonder he’s backing off. Too clingy and moody and ... He took a deep breath, echoing Sylar’s, and pulled his head up to press his forehead against Sylar’s shoulder, trying to discreetly blot the moisture from his eyes on Sylar’s shirt. He hasn’t stopped, though, so I can't be too bad. What was that question he asked? A test? He thinks I’m testing him? Peter stopped holding Sylar so firmly and stroked his right hand up and down his back instead, feeling the smooth, very human expanse. His left hand bunched gently at Sylar’s hair, feeling of it and just being in the moment - looking, feeling, being - as he got his bearings.
His hysteria passed. He was tired, with his emotional roller coaster having taken a lot of energy out of him, but the expected plunge had been buffered by having someone with him, holding him, catching him before he hit bottom. Peter appreciated that as he marveled at how Sylar had not taken what Peter had offered - sex on a platter, however Sylar wanted it. The willpower, empathy, or both that must have taken was not inconsiderable. That Sylar would do that for him forced Peter to reassess a lot of assumptions. He moved his hand up Sylar’s back in a few more sedate sweeps before shifting himself a few inches to the side. He looked Sylar in the face, intent on understanding why they were lying together quietly instead of Sylar taking his opportunity to fuck Peter's brains out.
“I'm not testing you,” he said softly, dropping his eyes briefly before coming back up. “At least not intentionally. I thought I was giving you what you wanted: me. I was being sincere, even if I was pretty upset.” His eyes flitted down to Sylar's lips and then away, trying not to consider what those lips felt like. They were incredibly intimate to be having this conversation, but Peter didn't move except to add a few more slow strokes along Sylar's back. The hand that had been on the man's head slid down until his elbow was level, just as he eased his leg from where it was hooked over Sylar's ass so it was crooked next to his hip, Peter's foot on the mattress.
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Sylar stared back at Peter, surprising himself with his patience, given the erection that was only now beginning to fade since they were exchanging words (not so sexy) instead of kisses (sexy). Uh...I do want you. That hasn't changed. He allowed himself to be placated with positive strokes - no test; Peter was genuine. Sylar was calm, too, despite being worried earlier. He did his best to ignore the glances to his mouth. It would be so easy to arouse him to the blaze of passion again if he dwelt on the fact that Peter Petrelli kept staring at him, touching him and, apparently, thinking about kissing him. He reveled in Peter's continued contact, the back rubbing was delicious and soothing; it made his head feel fuzzy and weightless, similar to what it had been moments before, humping away at each other. I'm sure that will be really interesting when I think about the connection later. I've only had those feelings with....Elle; that's it. And Sylar knew what he'd felt for her, during and after sex.
Sylar shifted down so his cock wasn't quite so pinched between his body weight and Peter's pelvis, hoping that would help the blood drain away even though it placed him nearer to Peter's ass...It also helped the eye contact because he was some inches taller than Peter. The conversation was going to kill his boner before nature did. Oh well. It was definitely close to be talking but Peter liked to do that - be in people's space. Nathan grew up with it and so didn't notice, but Sylar did - it was odd for him, but not necessarily bad. If anything, Peter's hand on his back was keeping him relaxed and present.
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“What I was trying to say earlier was that … this is really hard for me - what … what I think you're asking me to do here.” Peter shut his eyes for a moment, willing away any resurgence of tears. “I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to be with you after everything that's … that's happened.” Peter was silent for a moment before adding, “Thank you for helping me, for not leaving. That would have messed me up even more - try to do what you wanted and then get dumped because I couldn't control my emotions.” Peter swallowed, pursing his lips uneasily. It was the usual reason why he got dumped. Over-emoting was who he was. If Sylar intended to be with him, it was something they were going to have to deal with. But Sylar hadn't run off. He hadn't even stayed to take advantage of him. He'd stayed to comfort. “What is it that you want from me?”
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I'm not asking you to do any- Wait. Sylar quickly reviewed the event, the dialogue. Oh. I kind of am asking him to do something. That's...selfish. Crap. He didn't really want to before. Did I...make him do anything? (God, I hope not). I made him the room and he...picked a fight but then he...talked a lot and I had to work him up to it - shit! That's what he meant about this being my fantasy! (Is it?) Not now; he's talking. Sylar felt a slight shock run through him. He doesn't know how to do this? I told him the rules and he still doesn't know? But that means....No. No way...A...relationship? That's what I think he means, 'be with you.' Oh, wow. I don't even know what to think about that. That's....unexpected. I hope he doesn't think I know how to do this because I know even less than he does - I have no experience at all.
He impressed himself once more in actually considering what Peter meant in a few places. He's...trying to deal with this but doesn't know how. So he isn't even focused on revenge. Huh. Weirdo, Sylar thought with affection and amusement, petting the back of Peter's neck, partly to extend the same courtesy as Peter rubbing his back, but also to touch and show a few things himself. His other hand made circles over Peter's side, wishing that the shirt between them was gone. That makes perfect sense, actually; he wants revenge but he doesn't at the same time? He merely nodded a 'you're welcome' while musing over that: I didn't plan it. I'm not that good (won't tell him that though. Ever. Yet. Maybe). He thought I was...turning him down? How? I agreed, didn't I? But Peter's rationale made sense, in an emotional way, which explained why it hadn't occurred to Sylar. Wait, he likes me around when he's upset? You're so weird! He's the opposite of everyone else, then. Usually I'm the cause of the upset and people want me gone. Admittedly lost in thought, Sylar snapped to for the relevant question, his face a large, startled question mark.
Everything? was his instantaneous subconscious reply that he nearly blurted. Sylar swallowed and shifted uncomfortably for the first time. An odd question... "This. This is good," he replied vaguely - his answer meaning either the hand job and handcuffs or this pseudo mattress interruptus romp (or both). And it was true; either was fine with him because both were good for different reasons. He wasn't used to being played and brought off nor had he ever had a lover or a relationship; and someone reciprocating and interested was new.
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Peter's voice got a little firmer. “That's not good enough. I need a real answer.”
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An eyebrow quirked at his prey below. Oh, he's real serious. He's good, too; he's onto me. While I'm on him - ha! Sylar's mouth worked at a kind of momentary pout before answering. What the hell. The worst he'll do is mock me and not give me what I'm barely getting right now, right? Assuming he believes me at all... "I want everything," he said simply, his face somewhat blank as a requirement for honesty, looking into the barrel of the gun that was Peter Petrelli's lovely hazel eyes. Sylar tried to keep his lust from leaking out, 'I want to fuck you right now.' Now can we get back to be rubbing my dick on you and you...doing all that great stuff again?
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Peter put on his thinking face - brows slightly drawn together, eyes intent and a little narrowed, lips pressed together. Everything? Everything as in 'everything you can give me, I want you totally'? That's kind of romantic. Is he romantic? Or does he mean everything as in 'everything I've mentioned and implied through this room and all our other interactions'? That's … I don't think I'm smart enough for that. That's like game-playing, like people thinking you don't really love them unless you show it in the exact way they want, by noticing little details and spending all your time obsessing over them. He could be like that. That could be what he means. Or maybe it's everything as in 'I'm a megalomaniac in the real world, Peter, and I quite literally want everything'? Nah, I don't think so. Huh, wait. I am sort of the 'everything' that's here in this place. Because it's all either him or me here and he's already him. So if he got me, he'd have everything.
He puzzled over it, eyes drifting down to Sylar's thoroughly mauled collar as he thought. As often happened when faced with something difficult to think over, Peter's brain wanted to toss out the contemplation and go for action. With the intent of demanding a better answer, he looked up, lips parting for that short inhalation characteristic of being about to speak. But Sylar was doing the same thing.
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Since the floor (or mattress rather) was somewhat open and the question had just been posed to him, Sylar hedged back, "What do you want from me?" Think he'll answer that? Probably a really obvious answer, I bet, knowing Peter. He always makes me feel like I missed a glaringly obvious step and I have to back-track and rethink everything. It's probably something...simple, too; like...basic. Ah, fuck. I don't know what he wants - I'll stop guessing. Be great to know, though - finally!
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Peter let out his breath. Well, uh … yeah. Kind of hard to pin him down on a question that undefined. How does a person answer something that broad? He looked off to the side, letting his eyes slide out of focus. His fingers found the dip between Sylar’s erector muscles, the valley made by his spine. He absently stroked back and forth laterally across a spot a few inches above Sylar’s waist, mindlessly enjoying the opportunity to touch a part of Sylar he'd found fascinatingly sexy the few times he'd seen it. His gaze tracked back slowly as he processed what he was feeling and how much he liked that. “I want you to be nice. Safe … for me to be around.” So I can touch you like this. “I don't want you to hurt me. I don't like feeling like I have to be on my guard all the time and that I need to … overreact to you.” Such as beating the crap out of you. He drew his hand from behind Sylar's back, maneuvering it around Sylar's arm so that he could touch the man's face, skimming lightly over what would eventually be bruises.
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Sylar was beginning to get the feeling that he needed to adjust his pre-lie detecting function because Peter had already said as much before - Sylar had just dismissed it. Manipulation, Petrelli, lying, using...Either Peter lied constantly or he barely lied at all and Sylar had no idea which seemed more probable. Why would he be honest with me? He can lie his ass off and- Does he think I know when he's lying because of Nathan's memories? Does that keep him honest? He might...be honest?
He had to reevaluate things, definitely; they were looking up. He hadn't dared to hope, how could he, with Peter? He likes it when I'm nice. I'll need to know if that means....strung up for his amusement or making him a play room or....well, I don't know what 'nice' means for him. I could guess, but...Sylar hadn't known what to do when Peter didn't respond to his answer. Having his back felt up was practically a professional massage, every fingertip of Peter's almost a brand of sensation, directly hooked into his spinal column; electric. Having his face petted...thawed him a bit. Angela did that to Peter and Virginia had always done that to him if she felt lonely. And yes, Peter did that with Nathan, too, sometimes. Sylar coded that as affection, pure and simple. Caring, legitimate, familial affection. He felt his expression loosen from its somewhat blank state. You're going to melt me, Petrelli. Damned if I don't mind a bit.
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Peter thought about what he wanted in a bigger sense, what his own 'everything' answer would be. It wouldn't be 'everything'. Peter didn't want everything or even much of it. He didn't have Sylar's hunger to have it all, be it all. No, Peter wanted different things - support, validation, respect. He swallowed nervously and looked away, embarrassed to even think about asking for that. His hand returned to Sylar's back, holding him for comfort. He'd internalized all those canards about it being earned, not given - and that asking for respect was stupid and pointless. You either had it or you didn't. His father, and to a lesser extent Nathan, had been pretty firm that his overly dramatic, rebellious ways earned him the opposite. He was treated like a dysfunctional child who was too immature to play with the big boys and he knew his earlier weepy display gained him no points. But it's still what I want. If he can't give that to me … I'd rather know. Besides, I'm not asking for it or saying I deserve it, I'm just … saying what I want. “I want your respect,” he whispered, ashamed to even be saying that much, still looking over Sylar's shoulder with his gaze fixed on where the walls met the ceiling. Unconsciously, his fingers clenched in the fabric of Sylar's shirt, tightening and hanging on.
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Then Peter wouldn't look at him, obviously embarrassed over....Really? Wanting respect? So does everyone, Peter. It rarely happens. Some buried, rather dusty, grey-flavored morality twisted in him. What makes him so special that he can ask for respect and I can't? That's unfair. It took him a moment to force down the emotion behind that idea or conundrum because it wouldn't be answered today or probably in a day. What does respect have to do with sex, though? It means something to him - he's embarrassed about it. I'm missing something. How do you...give respect anyway? What happens if my way of showing respect doesn't work for him? Assuming I can show respect at all. His attempts at showing awe (and jealousy) and respect usually came across as him having a crush, acting like an unshakable shadow or puppy that wouldn't leave the person alone. It was overkill. Or maybe the concept was just that fuzzy to him and needed clarification so it didn't get mixed in with other things.
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Peter blinked a few times and shook it off, releasing his grip on the shirt as he looked back to Sylar. He firmed up his voice as though he'd said nothing of import and switched the topic back to Sylar. “'Everything' is too vague. I need some specifics. You did this room. Are you expecting … no, are you wanting a … “ He swallowed uneasily again, but not so much from being shy. It was just an awkward subject, something he'd never expected to discuss with Sylar. “A situation where we come in here on Sundays and Wednesdays and fuck each other into oblivion? And that's what it would be - just having an outlet? Or … are you wanting to … date?” Peter was hyper-focused on Sylar now, head dipped just a little and eyes not wavering from the man's face, trying to take in every reaction to that question.
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Not really, Sylar thought about 'everything being too vague'. It's just not Peter-speak. That amused him. He went still, at first listening then not moving became his reaction when Peter listed out the options - so black or white, no grey or mid-ground, not that he'd expected it. He'd expected either getting fucked whenever Peter was horny or nothing at all - the same old verbal viciousness and frustration between them. Getting fucked had obviously been the better option, but now...it was the lesser one? There was something better to be had? He didn't know what to say to that, rendered completely speechless for long seconds while his thoughts raced to produce words, stopping-and-starting, "D- you mean-? You and....? Bu-...um..." He straightened his elbows and his back, leaning away slightly in discomfort at being so close and on the spot, looking away above Peter's head now, licking his lips and swallowing down panic. He could feel Peter's eyes on him, feeling the pressure they were emitting into him. He said this isn't a test, so there....isn't a right answer? No right answer? Just...say what...Oh, boy, um...Dating a guy? Dating him?
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That is so cute, Peter thought of Sylar's reaction, tickled by it. Dude, you're lying on top of me and I'm pretty happy about it. Maybe not telegraphing it as obviously as earlier, but I'm certainly not pushing you away. We had sex and were about to do it again. Actually, I think it's pretty damn clear we're going to do it again. At some point. I'm just trying to figure out what it means to you. Peter smiled. Seems to mean a lot.
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Nervously, his voice a little strained from intensity, wanting to laugh and cry and vent anger and joy at the same time, Sylar asked, "Doesn't 'dating' mean there's other alternatives to date?" It's more of a choice rather than....you know, you stuck with someone you can barely stand? It's prison rules, does that make it real or not real? (I've never done this before, I don't know! Can he even feel that for me? Can I feel that for him? What happens if I can't feel things right?) "Is that even an option or is it like an example or...?" How can that be an option? Since when is it an option?! How long has it been that way? I'd have done things different if I'd have known that!
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Peter tilted his head, his hand making short, calming strokes on Sylar's side. “We have alternatives. It's an option. And it's an example. I'm trying to find out what you want so we can work towards that and I'm not having to guess so much. What dating means to me is that we're trying to see if we can have more of a relationship than, uh, otherwise.” And given how obviously Sylar was reacting to this, Peter couldn't help but add, “You know, if that's what you want.” That Peter hadn't had the fortune to be on the other end of someone acting so smitten towards him didn't mean he didn't recognize it. It made his chest feel funny, warm and tight. He knew his heart was speeding up - nerves and arousal, not a good combination, but he tried to keep it under wraps.
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Peter misunderstood and it was Sylar’s turn not to grasp the answer but other things were more important. "I mean, I..." Sylar glanced down at him. Boyfriend? His? Me? Sounds so weird. Feels weird, too. Jittery, butterflies - holy fuck, I have butterflies. Butterflies! That answers it, I think. I'll screw it up, but I wanna try it. Wow, that'd be incredible. Clearing his throat, steeling himself, he looked back to Peter who was still staring at him, intimidating. His voice was steadier now, considerably more convicted, "I like that second option." A lot. He avoided saying the D-word aloud, he didn't feel that he could just yet. Oh, please don't be joking! Just don't punch me for saying that; I told the truth...Anxiety had his hand sneaking down then under Peter's shirt, but not too far, to stroke the skin of his hip.
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