Sexual Tension Part IX: 'Virgin Territory'
Title: Sexual Tension Part IX: 'Virgin Territory'
Characters: Sylar (Gabriel Gray)/Peter Petrelli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, bondage, dominance/submission, implied torture.
Word count: 4,863
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.
Dating. Kay. Despite the incredibly good vibes, the yawning lurch in his stomach, and the vague feeling of floating, Peter had not really been intending to imply, 'Okay then, we're going steady!' He'd been honestly asking, trying to figure out what level of emotional commitment Sylar was offering. It was so much bigger than Peter had expected … and seemed possibly bigger than Peter was able to match. We have so many issues … both of us. Sylar was obviously taking just discussing the topic as though Peter was offering that. And it wasn't like he was not offering it, but Peter was afraid and uncertain of his own capacity. The enormity of the … responsibility this threw onto Peter intimidated him. What if he couldn't give Sylar a fair chance? (It wasn't like Sylar hadn't wasted plenty of those already. Why give him another, and in a way that would hit Peter so hard if it went bad?) What if he kept putting the man on trial for the past? (Because there was a lot of past to be on trial for and there was no question about the verdict, only the sentence.) What if he disappointed him and broke Sylar's heart? (Because … well, damnit, that actually mattered. A lot.) But … I said dating was 'trying'. That's what he agreed to. Can I agree to it? Can I try, sincerely? I … I think I can.
Sylar was staring at him with the same hyper-intent manner Peter had used on him moments before - and for the same reason. This whole evening had been Sylar putting himself on the line. Previously it had just been his body. Now he was offering his soul. Peter put his hand on Sylar's forearm and for a moment the other man froze, obviously thinking Peter was going to push him away or stay his hand from touching along his waist. Peter just stroked up and down, over the shirt sleeve. He curled his hand around Sylar's elbow, fingertips giving a few tiny nudges to encourage Sylar to continue. Peter didn't want to disappoint. “I'm going to try. Try to work something out. Us.” Peter smiled nervously at Sylar's softening expression. “You're very sexy. I've thought you were for a really long time.” If he hadn't, he wouldn't have been so tightly wound about everything. His fingers tightened along the back of Sylar's upper arm, a signal that drew Sylar to him for a kiss.
XXX
He wants to date me? Sylar was lost in his wonderment. I'm good enough; he likes me? I hope I can live up to that. Sylar smiled, his brain probably drowning in an unfamiliar cocktail of endorphins and emotions, even more thrilling because he thought he'd never experience them. "So are you; very, very sexy," But you knew that already. He nodded briefly and took Peter up on another offer, leaning down to kiss the other man. That was all he wanted at the moment, his goals blissfully basic and straightforward - and available.
XXX
Peter drew in his breath as their lips cushioned together. He opened his mouth somewhat, but not a lot. Gone was the desperate haste of earlier. It was like he was getting to know Sylar, and he was. His fingers curled playfully at the back of Sylar’s neck, Peter’s other hand moving to run slowly up and down his back. He kept his lower body still, not wanting to move this into more than just a kiss. His eyes were mostly, but not entirely, shut, enjoying the process with tiny, sighing moans and absorbing how the other man responded.
XXX
Sylar communicated his desire for his...partner through the kiss, or at least he tried to, still unfamiliar with how to go about doing that. He made a low hum in his throat and gave Peter something of a highly passionate, open-mouth-with-no-tongue, involved smooch that continued. It was fantastic, his for the taking. Peter was flexing his hands, parting his lips, touching Sylar's back, all signs of reciprocation as were the small sounds he made. The previous tension and emotion from earlier built in pressure until Sylar had to do something with it. His partner seemed willing enough, so Sylar shifted gears to be once more in groping and tasting territory. His hand made to slide up along the rippled muscles of Peter's abdomen, upwards towards his chest, simultaneously shifting his body up a little over Peter's to bring more of the other's mouth inside his.
XXX
“Uhn!” Peter groaned in response to Sylar's touches. He twisted his head away slightly, interrupting their lip lock, as his hand dropped to intercept Sylar's from being even more provocative under his shirt. “Sylar … hold on.” He swallowed. “I want to talk a little more. I want to know what you're about to do. I know it's not all that sexy and spontaneous but we … we need to be careful with each other if this is going to work.” He gave a quiet, nervous laugh. “You're not exactly tied up anymore, stud.” Peter shifted slightly, very aware that he wasn't in the best position to argue about things, but he was certainly willing to if he had to. That was his point - they didn't know each other well enough in bed (or anywhere else) for something this emotionally laden to go off well without some discussion. Otherwise, you ended up with unexpected debacles like how the first bout had ended. Or the second, if you counted the brief frotting on the mattress.
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Sylar paused, at first out of concern that he'd overstepped. 'Hold on' isn't 'stop,' he reasoned; it was both good and bad. 'Hold on' implied a pause in the action, while 'stop' would have indicated an actual problem, possibly without continuation. Sexy and spontaneous? As opposed to planned? Peter, you're...funny, he thought the last with great humor and some exasperation. He was frustrated, sexually. Unlike Peter, he seemed to have been waiting and wanting this for a hell of a lot longer and now he had it he didn't want to wait. He had to, though, and he would be alright with it. Just a little more time; even if its tomorrow or next week...next month (God, I hope not!); I'll be okay. Blue balls haven't killed me yet. And he's so hot when he wants it...Sylar repositioned his body back down, keeping his hand where Peter had trapped it, against the man's ribs, rubbing there now. Partly testing the waters to see if that new touch would be permitted, maybe see if Peter was ticklish (Nathan didn't remember him being horribly so, on his ribs at least).
His opposite hand was still behind the back of Peter's neck, tangled in the long dark hair, as lush against his fingertips as the skin of Peter's ribs was. It was seriously giving him a contact high, what with Peter's legs still open around him, if not as overtly sexual as before. The comment about bondage was worrisome. Sylar frowned. Dating me but still worried about fucking me when I can touch back? I've been good so far, haven't I? Or..."Do you want me to move?" he asked, very aware of Peter's smaller body squirming to get comfortable. Or out of nervousness. Sylar didn't even want to offer to move - seeing that he hadn't asked until now.
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“No,” Peter said immediately, without even thinking about it. A little more slowly, he said, “I, um, yeah. Kind of like you there. Here. Don't … pull away.” He raised his chin a little as well as his right knee, bringing it to half-mast along Sylar's hip - both signals of receptivity. Peter looked at Sylar's face, but the other man seemed unlikely to voice his expectations. Some things were really hard to put into words, he knew, so he did it himself. “Are we just going to kiss? Or make out really heavy with our clothes on? Or are we going to get some clothes off and take care of each other? Or to hell with the clothes and have sex - oral, anal, both? And who does what?” He made another uneasy chuckle.
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He was blushing, he was almost certain, at the turn of questioning. Sylar hoped it was a minor flush instead of a full-on, beet-red affair. Heart beating faster, his body was unable to decide if it was turned on by the new topic or...what else, he wasn't sure. His eyes dropped and he found himself eying Peter's clavicle where it was left exposed from his shirt. Very much he wanted to kiss it but he knew he was avoiding the inquiries, good ones, all of them. Yeah, what were you thinking of doing? Communication was a whole new world with sex; he'd never needed one with the other before, which was a sad state to consider. He just did; and did what he wanted, at that. It was a habit he knew needed to be undone then re-written. "You know for a guy who throws himself off buildings at the drop of a hat, winning awards for impulsive action of the year, I'm surprised you're thinking this much," Sylar quipped. Cause I wasn't...For once.
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Peter rubbed his thumb back and forth over Sylar's hand, a layer of shirt between them. “I think the latest award was for me stringing you up and jerking you off. I'm still, uh, kind of trying to figure out what to do next.”
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He's almost holding my hand like that..."Sylar's chuckle nearly bubbled into laughter, a bit nervous and tension-relieving, but it felt good nonetheless. Jerking me off is similar to leaping off a building? On thinking about it, it probably was - for Peter, anyway. In the recesses of his head, Sylar knew what he'd been going to do: take everything Peter might allow and try to make it good for him in return without putting his mouth or asshole anywhere near some things of Peter's he really wasn't sure about. "I don't know," he eventually admitted, emotion tingeing his voice with a frustrated, uncertain edge, for the most part kept under control. "I'm not used to...talking and....being asked all this," Sylar tried to explain. Getting to make choices and dealing with what the other person wants. It's kind of stressful. Please don't make me say all that stuff aloud.
"Whatever works for you will be fine. So what, um, what do you want?" If you tell me that, I can answer better. Please? Assuming you want anything at all right now.
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“I don't … usually talk it out like this with people either. But …” the stakes have never been so high. “Earlier, I wanted to get a lot more involved, but I didn't know what you liked, so I just kept it to a hand job. I know you said I could do whatever I wanted, but …” Too many buts. Too much qualification What do I really want? “Listen, I want to have sex with someone who's wild for me, not someone who's letting me have my way with them.” Peter looked into Sylar's eyes and over the man's face, aware that he, Peter, still hadn't answered the question the way he should. He's being so cooperative. Tells me I can do anything I want, lets me do it, tries to suck it up when I tell him I want to act like none of this ever happened, comes to comfort me when I'm upset, doesn't … take advantage of me, and I can tell he's trying to figure out how to tell me whatever I want to know. Can I trust him? Is this all an elaborate trick? Peter reached up and stroked Sylar's hair out of his so-expressive face, a face that was open and searching and earnest. It's not a trick. This is real: us. Probably the only thing here that's real.
Then tell him. “I'm not hung up on any particular act, but I like fucking - getting fucked more than topping.” He could not (and did not) stop a slight tensing of his buttocks that shifted his pelvis against Sylar's, with an accompanying small, pleased noise. Sylar looked like he was on the verge of responding to that when Peter went on, “I like oral, giving and receiving.” He lifted his hand to stroke Sylar's cheek. He had a rapt audience, that much was clear as Sylar held still now to listen and allow Peter to keep talking. “I like a lot of touching, playing, holding …” His hand pulled a few inches away as his expression clouded. “I've been with guys who didn't like that, wanted just the sex and then to be done … with me for a while … and then it was back to being really good friends.” Those relationships had been particularly painful because they were such a disconnect for how Peter's heart worked. “Wasn't, wasn't their fault, they just didn't want to be, um, affectionate.” Peter swallowed uneasily. One of them was even still pretending he was straight - and Peter had learned that level of denial was something he couldn't deal with. It made it all the more painful when he tried to pull it on Sylar. “Which is why I was trying to ask before we did anything. I don't want to find out you can't stand having your hair pulled or you don't want me kissing you after you come or ...” He shrugged, letting his hand fall away as he pondered the list of potential turn-offs he could run afoul of in the middle of sex.
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He found himself pressing his face into Peter's hand as it pushed his hair away, wanting more of that and letting that want be obvious. Wow, he's really...tender. Sylar couldn't help but gaze down at Peter as he took it in, trying to assimilate or notice any kind of inconsistency between presentation and words and finding none. He wants me eager? I get to participate. Oh, boy. That's- He's fantastic. At first his eyebrows arched a little then he gulped as Peter watched him closely. He's onto me. I don't understand why he's doing all this for me. It's nicer than I thought; better than I ever thought I'd get from anyone, let alone him. I want to know now why he's doing it but it can wait. I don't deserve this. (He knows that). I don't have to fake it with him. (Try to...speak up, then. No one else is around to hear and he's gay and he can't tell anyone. I really don't think he'll judge me. Much. At least on the sex stuff).
Another unconscious stress was lifted from his mind before a surge of territorial triumph swept over him because it mean he got to play with Peter's so-fine ass. Sylar probably looked ready to devour Peter given the teasing rubbing lower down but Peter desisted and he listened. Giving oral had not been a fun experience in the past but he could already tell this was completely different and he was grateful for that. Sylar knew he was very lucky. He kept touching on Peter's ribs, hoping to reciprocate equally or more than Peter was doing for him. If he's this touchy to me and he likes touching, he'll probably be thrilled if I touch him back - his face and neck and just...feel him up. When the time is right. Or even if it isn't! That would be heaven. Still, the demonstration of Peter touching him wiped away any doubt he'd had about Peter liking or disliking being touched.
Sylar blinked. Mentioning exes in bed? An odd choice but it was a useful example, he supposed. It made him angry, surprisingly so given its intensity. Who would dare do that to Peter? Why on earth...? And he could hear and see Peter practically wincing at the mere mention of the experiences - more than one, goddamnit! Sylar knew from Nathan how much the kid had partied in college so his numbers had to be pretty high; Peter was still single (not dating Emma, another serious relief) so none of those relationships had worked out. None. That was pretty ridiculous to Sylar. Maybe New York wasn't a good dating area. It didn't matter right now. I wonder if he's lonely, too.
The hand on Peter's ribs slid behind his back, forcing its way under while the other in Peter's hair moved under his head to lift it against Sylar's shoulder, hugging Peter upwards against himself. Sylar's face was squeezed between his own forearm and Peter's neck and shoulder join, inhaling a scent that made him crazy. "That is their fault, Peter," he assured and insisted in a firm, big-brother tone. Absolutely, 100% their fault. And I'd make them pay if I could but I can't so I'll just...be better than that. It won't be difficult. (Who'd have thought I'd be the vengeful type when it came to exes? Why would he be with jerks like- like- Oh). I don't want 'just sex' either, but I kind of had to make it available for obvious reasons, he thought at Peter, but didn't voice it. I've never been allowed the opportunity to really...touch someone. Always, always wanted to, just...
"You don't have to worry about that," he murmured below the man's ear. You don't know how happy that makes me. "I'll..." what he wanted to say next required some distance, so he lay Peter back to the mattress, removing the hand under his back for comfort's sake, placing it at Peter's muscled bicep so he could stroke it. "I'll probably do it so much you'll be pushing me away," he admitted with a nervous attempt at a grin. Happens more often than not, I'm afraid. Gonna take a while to get used to being able to; it's been so long living in 'look, don't touch!'
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Peter was still for a moment when Sylar embraced him, not automatically sure where that was going. Just a hug. He feels … sympathy? Peter didn't want to argue about fault - he'd wanted more than most of his partners had had to give. He accepted the comfort in the spirit it was offered, putting his arms around the other man's back and tipping his head to the side, pressing it against the side of Sylar's, pleased and amazed at how loving Sylar was being. Peter snorted softly in derision at how preposterous it was that he would push away someone for showing him too much affection. He smiled back to match Sylar's grin, but Peter's was relaxed rather than nervous.
Sylar seemed to have taken well that he had vulnerabilities. An insensitive lover wasn't the only thing Peter didn't want to deal with in bed, so he took a deep breath and put it out there, trusting Sylar wouldn't read this as a laundry list of things to do. “I don't want you pulling on my hair or messing with my ears. Don't slap me. Don't spank me. Don't hit me at all. Don't do anything that draws blood. Don't try to scare me. Don't tie me up or make me helpless - we have too many issues between us still. I think I can handle being held down, though, if you're into that.”
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Of course the first thing that was addressed was hair and hair-pulling. Obviously playing with Peter's hair was okay. Nathan had done it and better still, Sylar had been doing it throughout their talk. He had little need to haul on the man's hair. Especially if he already likes giving head, he thought with glee. He was genuinely sorry about the ear-incident earlier and wondered if he should interrupt and say so (again), but Peter continued. Sylar pursed his lips. No spanking? Has he seen his ass? That counts as hitting to him? Interesting...That was good to know because it gave him a line not to cross. Or at least one to try his damnedest to avoid.
I can't help it if I scare him accidentally! I'm tied up and he's still afraid and I didn't do or say a single thing towards him. Maybe that just means...approach with caution when making a move? Or let him make the moves? Either way. If Peter was the only one 'allowed' to initiate, Sylar would probably still be satisfied - Peter's libido would probably override all else now and he hoped it was a healthy appetite. Sylar nodded. He didn’t like that he was being given a list - and it was a list of don’ts. Overall, that was probably an easy list to follow even if he resented the lack of freedom implied and amount of violence Peter felt the need to cover. If it hadn't been historically accurate, he would have been insulted. He still was a little bit, but it couldn't be helped. Clearly he hadn't specified violence in offering up his body; the rack of toys spoke for his assumptions.
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Peter chuckled a little ruefully. “The thing I'm most nervous about is letting you make me feel good, and enjoying it. I know that's stupid. But ...” He shut his eyes tightly for a few seconds. “Please understand that I can't turn off my emotions … about everything. I'm going to try to stay in the moment. That's why I want to talk like this first - fewer surprises, easier for me to focus on you right now rather than you … other times.”
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Sylar frowned slightly, tilting his head in confusion. You didn't mind when I humped you; you seemed happy to respond. Must be an emotional - yeah, emotional thing. "Funny, that's the one thing I want to do," he said of making Peter feel good, again, speaking honestly if a bit suggestively. I get the feeling you are so much fun when you're horny. Just give me a chance. I want to get you off.
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Peter took a deep breath and turned the subject out of the dangerous waters of their history, doing what he'd said and focusing on the moment. “What's going to turn you off in the middle of things that I might need to know about? Are you going to get upset if I call you … stud, or baby, or something like that? One guy I was with told me about another who didn't want anyone touching his balls. Just tell me if there are things that are off-limits. I want this to work.” There was no going back to how things were. Peter had no idea if this was going to work out or not, but the alternative of open hostility, hurt feelings and personal betrayal was far worse than their previous angry, unresolved sexual tension-filled, repressed co-existence. Sylar had really upped the stakes, big time, for both of them.
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Once more that too-knowing stare focused on him. Sylar exhaled more anxious humor, "No, that's...probably okay." Truthfully, he didn't know. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around picturing Peter calling him stud or baby in the middle of things but it probably wouldn't turn him off. And he’d already noticed Peter calling him ‘stud.’ Might be hot, depending how he does it. I've don't think I've ever had a nice nickname that I liked before. 'Gabe' doesn't really count. "Ha. No, balls are fine." Just don't hit 'em.
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Two things - one, I'm stalling and we still haven't settled what we're doing; two, he's being really vague. There are two classes of people who are that unclear - the ones who are concealing their motives and the ones who don't know what they're doing. Peter turned his head a little, glancing at the tables behind them. He's not concealing anything. It's literally all out on the table. That leaves … “Have you ever had sex with a man?” Peter's tone was aiming for 'I'm just going to get this out in the open, let's be honest here, I need to know this,' which was pretty much how he felt.
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Almost on instinct, Sylar's 'Who me?' face plastered on. He felt himself choke on his own air, going still as a painting. How did he know? Was it that obvious? he self-criticized. That was one hell of a question. Sylar's eyes darted elsewhere while he frantically surveyed his options. On such a serious and direct question there were only two options. Truth or lie. He'd be called on his lie eventually, maybe in a few moments. Truth...Sylar had no reason not to tell it, other than embarrassment and male pride (even on this trend of topic). Peter wasn't interested in torturing him or using information as leverage or entertainment. Advertising his pseudo-virginity was still way more vulnerable than he ever wanted to be but if Peter was bottoming, the nurse would be just as vulnerable in theory. I've done other things with a guy, just not...sex sex. His own reactionary tension was strangling him, his body tense and heavy; the stress was make-or-break just like the situation. He didn't dare see the look on Peter's face for this. Sylar shook his head. No vagueness, no words, even. No way his gesture could be misinterpreted either.
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Peter thought about that. He'd been with two girls who were virgins and several guys who had not performed particular sex acts (had done oral, but not anal; or had given or received but not the converse). It had never mattered too much to Peter, but it underscored how serious and vulnerable Sylar must be right now and how much he was putting himself at Peter's mercy … for everything. That line about not retaliating meant so much more. Sylar … fuck, Peter thought with a flutter of nerves in his chest and a surge of life in his cock (because someone needing and trusting him this much was sexy as hell). He's giving himself to me. No reservations. Completely. “Do you want to?” He stroked Sylar's side slowly to reassure.
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Eventually, in the resulting silence, Sylar managed to glance down at his partner. The empath's face only spoke of internal thought. Sylar let his breath out slowly, feeling cooler, new oxygen in his body again. He didn't...say anything. God knows what he's thinking....probably re-thinking. A pang of doubt: I won't be trouble. I learn quickly, but he shoved it aside, awaiting Peter's response for better or worse. He felt like a wind-up doll with how his worry was fluctuating - wind up...release...wind up...release. Sylar felt his joints go a little weak at the invitation, his throat dry as parchment despite his swallowing, a body-length wave of growing warmth not unlike a blush filling him as his penis engorged. Getting the green light to sleep with someone he liked; someone who wanted at least his participation in return would do that to you, apparently. His lungs communicated the heat of the room, perceived or otherwise, and the lack of air causing him to breath harder (Already?). "May I?" Sylar couldn't help his purely predatory tone, deep and rumbling and rough as he eyed his potential mattress-mate.
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Peter nodded, rising to kiss, putting his hand on Sylar's cheek to encourage him to stay where he wanted him. “Yes. That's … we can do that.” Then he pulled Sylar into an embrace, evading the man's mouth and putting his head on Sylar's shoulder, holding them together for a moment and doing it tightly enough to dispel any image that he was being sensual. Far from it - he was scared by what he'd just agreed to. Jesus Christ. Am I okay with that? Am I safe with this? He isn't going to know what he's doing. What if he goes too fast and hurts me? Am I okay with him inside of me, literally? I don't have to do this. He'd probably be happy enough with a blow job.
But Peter wanted it. He even hungered for it, for that moment of togetherness not achieved any other way. A blow job might result in just as much of an orgasm, but it didn't have the feeling that Peter was meeting Sylar halfway and taking any risk of his own. Peter already felt miserable about his earlier rejection of Sylar, trying to turn him away just as Peter had been turned away by others too many times. Anything less than going all the way wouldn't let him feel like he'd opened himself to his partner, extended trust and, hopefully, had it affirmed. Peter turned his head slightly so he was whispering near the man's ear. “Sylar, you're going to have to be really gentle with me.” An inspiration hit him and he elaborated, “Like I'm one of those watches you work on. An antique clock. Something you can't find replacement parts for if you fuck it up. So you're going to go slow and make sure I'm okay with everything, alright? Can you do that?” Please? This is no time to surprise me with a torture-sex studio.
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Characters: Sylar (Gabriel Gray)/Peter Petrelli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, bondage, dominance/submission, implied torture.
Word count: 4,863
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.
Dating. Kay. Despite the incredibly good vibes, the yawning lurch in his stomach, and the vague feeling of floating, Peter had not really been intending to imply, 'Okay then, we're going steady!' He'd been honestly asking, trying to figure out what level of emotional commitment Sylar was offering. It was so much bigger than Peter had expected … and seemed possibly bigger than Peter was able to match. We have so many issues … both of us. Sylar was obviously taking just discussing the topic as though Peter was offering that. And it wasn't like he was not offering it, but Peter was afraid and uncertain of his own capacity. The enormity of the … responsibility this threw onto Peter intimidated him. What if he couldn't give Sylar a fair chance? (It wasn't like Sylar hadn't wasted plenty of those already. Why give him another, and in a way that would hit Peter so hard if it went bad?) What if he kept putting the man on trial for the past? (Because there was a lot of past to be on trial for and there was no question about the verdict, only the sentence.) What if he disappointed him and broke Sylar's heart? (Because … well, damnit, that actually mattered. A lot.) But … I said dating was 'trying'. That's what he agreed to. Can I agree to it? Can I try, sincerely? I … I think I can.
Sylar was staring at him with the same hyper-intent manner Peter had used on him moments before - and for the same reason. This whole evening had been Sylar putting himself on the line. Previously it had just been his body. Now he was offering his soul. Peter put his hand on Sylar's forearm and for a moment the other man froze, obviously thinking Peter was going to push him away or stay his hand from touching along his waist. Peter just stroked up and down, over the shirt sleeve. He curled his hand around Sylar's elbow, fingertips giving a few tiny nudges to encourage Sylar to continue. Peter didn't want to disappoint. “I'm going to try. Try to work something out. Us.” Peter smiled nervously at Sylar's softening expression. “You're very sexy. I've thought you were for a really long time.” If he hadn't, he wouldn't have been so tightly wound about everything. His fingers tightened along the back of Sylar's upper arm, a signal that drew Sylar to him for a kiss.
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He wants to date me? Sylar was lost in his wonderment. I'm good enough; he likes me? I hope I can live up to that. Sylar smiled, his brain probably drowning in an unfamiliar cocktail of endorphins and emotions, even more thrilling because he thought he'd never experience them. "So are you; very, very sexy," But you knew that already. He nodded briefly and took Peter up on another offer, leaning down to kiss the other man. That was all he wanted at the moment, his goals blissfully basic and straightforward - and available.
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Peter drew in his breath as their lips cushioned together. He opened his mouth somewhat, but not a lot. Gone was the desperate haste of earlier. It was like he was getting to know Sylar, and he was. His fingers curled playfully at the back of Sylar’s neck, Peter’s other hand moving to run slowly up and down his back. He kept his lower body still, not wanting to move this into more than just a kiss. His eyes were mostly, but not entirely, shut, enjoying the process with tiny, sighing moans and absorbing how the other man responded.
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Sylar communicated his desire for his...partner through the kiss, or at least he tried to, still unfamiliar with how to go about doing that. He made a low hum in his throat and gave Peter something of a highly passionate, open-mouth-with-no-tongue, involved smooch that continued. It was fantastic, his for the taking. Peter was flexing his hands, parting his lips, touching Sylar's back, all signs of reciprocation as were the small sounds he made. The previous tension and emotion from earlier built in pressure until Sylar had to do something with it. His partner seemed willing enough, so Sylar shifted gears to be once more in groping and tasting territory. His hand made to slide up along the rippled muscles of Peter's abdomen, upwards towards his chest, simultaneously shifting his body up a little over Peter's to bring more of the other's mouth inside his.
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“Uhn!” Peter groaned in response to Sylar's touches. He twisted his head away slightly, interrupting their lip lock, as his hand dropped to intercept Sylar's from being even more provocative under his shirt. “Sylar … hold on.” He swallowed. “I want to talk a little more. I want to know what you're about to do. I know it's not all that sexy and spontaneous but we … we need to be careful with each other if this is going to work.” He gave a quiet, nervous laugh. “You're not exactly tied up anymore, stud.” Peter shifted slightly, very aware that he wasn't in the best position to argue about things, but he was certainly willing to if he had to. That was his point - they didn't know each other well enough in bed (or anywhere else) for something this emotionally laden to go off well without some discussion. Otherwise, you ended up with unexpected debacles like how the first bout had ended. Or the second, if you counted the brief frotting on the mattress.
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Sylar paused, at first out of concern that he'd overstepped. 'Hold on' isn't 'stop,' he reasoned; it was both good and bad. 'Hold on' implied a pause in the action, while 'stop' would have indicated an actual problem, possibly without continuation. Sexy and spontaneous? As opposed to planned? Peter, you're...funny, he thought the last with great humor and some exasperation. He was frustrated, sexually. Unlike Peter, he seemed to have been waiting and wanting this for a hell of a lot longer and now he had it he didn't want to wait. He had to, though, and he would be alright with it. Just a little more time; even if its tomorrow or next week...next month (God, I hope not!); I'll be okay. Blue balls haven't killed me yet. And he's so hot when he wants it...Sylar repositioned his body back down, keeping his hand where Peter had trapped it, against the man's ribs, rubbing there now. Partly testing the waters to see if that new touch would be permitted, maybe see if Peter was ticklish (Nathan didn't remember him being horribly so, on his ribs at least).
His opposite hand was still behind the back of Peter's neck, tangled in the long dark hair, as lush against his fingertips as the skin of Peter's ribs was. It was seriously giving him a contact high, what with Peter's legs still open around him, if not as overtly sexual as before. The comment about bondage was worrisome. Sylar frowned. Dating me but still worried about fucking me when I can touch back? I've been good so far, haven't I? Or..."Do you want me to move?" he asked, very aware of Peter's smaller body squirming to get comfortable. Or out of nervousness. Sylar didn't even want to offer to move - seeing that he hadn't asked until now.
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“No,” Peter said immediately, without even thinking about it. A little more slowly, he said, “I, um, yeah. Kind of like you there. Here. Don't … pull away.” He raised his chin a little as well as his right knee, bringing it to half-mast along Sylar's hip - both signals of receptivity. Peter looked at Sylar's face, but the other man seemed unlikely to voice his expectations. Some things were really hard to put into words, he knew, so he did it himself. “Are we just going to kiss? Or make out really heavy with our clothes on? Or are we going to get some clothes off and take care of each other? Or to hell with the clothes and have sex - oral, anal, both? And who does what?” He made another uneasy chuckle.
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He was blushing, he was almost certain, at the turn of questioning. Sylar hoped it was a minor flush instead of a full-on, beet-red affair. Heart beating faster, his body was unable to decide if it was turned on by the new topic or...what else, he wasn't sure. His eyes dropped and he found himself eying Peter's clavicle where it was left exposed from his shirt. Very much he wanted to kiss it but he knew he was avoiding the inquiries, good ones, all of them. Yeah, what were you thinking of doing? Communication was a whole new world with sex; he'd never needed one with the other before, which was a sad state to consider. He just did; and did what he wanted, at that. It was a habit he knew needed to be undone then re-written. "You know for a guy who throws himself off buildings at the drop of a hat, winning awards for impulsive action of the year, I'm surprised you're thinking this much," Sylar quipped. Cause I wasn't...For once.
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Peter rubbed his thumb back and forth over Sylar's hand, a layer of shirt between them. “I think the latest award was for me stringing you up and jerking you off. I'm still, uh, kind of trying to figure out what to do next.”
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He's almost holding my hand like that..."Sylar's chuckle nearly bubbled into laughter, a bit nervous and tension-relieving, but it felt good nonetheless. Jerking me off is similar to leaping off a building? On thinking about it, it probably was - for Peter, anyway. In the recesses of his head, Sylar knew what he'd been going to do: take everything Peter might allow and try to make it good for him in return without putting his mouth or asshole anywhere near some things of Peter's he really wasn't sure about. "I don't know," he eventually admitted, emotion tingeing his voice with a frustrated, uncertain edge, for the most part kept under control. "I'm not used to...talking and....being asked all this," Sylar tried to explain. Getting to make choices and dealing with what the other person wants. It's kind of stressful. Please don't make me say all that stuff aloud.
"Whatever works for you will be fine. So what, um, what do you want?" If you tell me that, I can answer better. Please? Assuming you want anything at all right now.
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“I don't … usually talk it out like this with people either. But …” the stakes have never been so high. “Earlier, I wanted to get a lot more involved, but I didn't know what you liked, so I just kept it to a hand job. I know you said I could do whatever I wanted, but …” Too many buts. Too much qualification What do I really want? “Listen, I want to have sex with someone who's wild for me, not someone who's letting me have my way with them.” Peter looked into Sylar's eyes and over the man's face, aware that he, Peter, still hadn't answered the question the way he should. He's being so cooperative. Tells me I can do anything I want, lets me do it, tries to suck it up when I tell him I want to act like none of this ever happened, comes to comfort me when I'm upset, doesn't … take advantage of me, and I can tell he's trying to figure out how to tell me whatever I want to know. Can I trust him? Is this all an elaborate trick? Peter reached up and stroked Sylar's hair out of his so-expressive face, a face that was open and searching and earnest. It's not a trick. This is real: us. Probably the only thing here that's real.
Then tell him. “I'm not hung up on any particular act, but I like fucking - getting fucked more than topping.” He could not (and did not) stop a slight tensing of his buttocks that shifted his pelvis against Sylar's, with an accompanying small, pleased noise. Sylar looked like he was on the verge of responding to that when Peter went on, “I like oral, giving and receiving.” He lifted his hand to stroke Sylar's cheek. He had a rapt audience, that much was clear as Sylar held still now to listen and allow Peter to keep talking. “I like a lot of touching, playing, holding …” His hand pulled a few inches away as his expression clouded. “I've been with guys who didn't like that, wanted just the sex and then to be done … with me for a while … and then it was back to being really good friends.” Those relationships had been particularly painful because they were such a disconnect for how Peter's heart worked. “Wasn't, wasn't their fault, they just didn't want to be, um, affectionate.” Peter swallowed uneasily. One of them was even still pretending he was straight - and Peter had learned that level of denial was something he couldn't deal with. It made it all the more painful when he tried to pull it on Sylar. “Which is why I was trying to ask before we did anything. I don't want to find out you can't stand having your hair pulled or you don't want me kissing you after you come or ...” He shrugged, letting his hand fall away as he pondered the list of potential turn-offs he could run afoul of in the middle of sex.
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He found himself pressing his face into Peter's hand as it pushed his hair away, wanting more of that and letting that want be obvious. Wow, he's really...tender. Sylar couldn't help but gaze down at Peter as he took it in, trying to assimilate or notice any kind of inconsistency between presentation and words and finding none. He wants me eager? I get to participate. Oh, boy. That's- He's fantastic. At first his eyebrows arched a little then he gulped as Peter watched him closely. He's onto me. I don't understand why he's doing all this for me. It's nicer than I thought; better than I ever thought I'd get from anyone, let alone him. I want to know now why he's doing it but it can wait. I don't deserve this. (He knows that). I don't have to fake it with him. (Try to...speak up, then. No one else is around to hear and he's gay and he can't tell anyone. I really don't think he'll judge me. Much. At least on the sex stuff).
Another unconscious stress was lifted from his mind before a surge of territorial triumph swept over him because it mean he got to play with Peter's so-fine ass. Sylar probably looked ready to devour Peter given the teasing rubbing lower down but Peter desisted and he listened. Giving oral had not been a fun experience in the past but he could already tell this was completely different and he was grateful for that. Sylar knew he was very lucky. He kept touching on Peter's ribs, hoping to reciprocate equally or more than Peter was doing for him. If he's this touchy to me and he likes touching, he'll probably be thrilled if I touch him back - his face and neck and just...feel him up. When the time is right. Or even if it isn't! That would be heaven. Still, the demonstration of Peter touching him wiped away any doubt he'd had about Peter liking or disliking being touched.
Sylar blinked. Mentioning exes in bed? An odd choice but it was a useful example, he supposed. It made him angry, surprisingly so given its intensity. Who would dare do that to Peter? Why on earth...? And he could hear and see Peter practically wincing at the mere mention of the experiences - more than one, goddamnit! Sylar knew from Nathan how much the kid had partied in college so his numbers had to be pretty high; Peter was still single (not dating Emma, another serious relief) so none of those relationships had worked out. None. That was pretty ridiculous to Sylar. Maybe New York wasn't a good dating area. It didn't matter right now. I wonder if he's lonely, too.
The hand on Peter's ribs slid behind his back, forcing its way under while the other in Peter's hair moved under his head to lift it against Sylar's shoulder, hugging Peter upwards against himself. Sylar's face was squeezed between his own forearm and Peter's neck and shoulder join, inhaling a scent that made him crazy. "That is their fault, Peter," he assured and insisted in a firm, big-brother tone. Absolutely, 100% their fault. And I'd make them pay if I could but I can't so I'll just...be better than that. It won't be difficult. (Who'd have thought I'd be the vengeful type when it came to exes? Why would he be with jerks like- like- Oh). I don't want 'just sex' either, but I kind of had to make it available for obvious reasons, he thought at Peter, but didn't voice it. I've never been allowed the opportunity to really...touch someone. Always, always wanted to, just...
"You don't have to worry about that," he murmured below the man's ear. You don't know how happy that makes me. "I'll..." what he wanted to say next required some distance, so he lay Peter back to the mattress, removing the hand under his back for comfort's sake, placing it at Peter's muscled bicep so he could stroke it. "I'll probably do it so much you'll be pushing me away," he admitted with a nervous attempt at a grin. Happens more often than not, I'm afraid. Gonna take a while to get used to being able to; it's been so long living in 'look, don't touch!'
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Peter was still for a moment when Sylar embraced him, not automatically sure where that was going. Just a hug. He feels … sympathy? Peter didn't want to argue about fault - he'd wanted more than most of his partners had had to give. He accepted the comfort in the spirit it was offered, putting his arms around the other man's back and tipping his head to the side, pressing it against the side of Sylar's, pleased and amazed at how loving Sylar was being. Peter snorted softly in derision at how preposterous it was that he would push away someone for showing him too much affection. He smiled back to match Sylar's grin, but Peter's was relaxed rather than nervous.
Sylar seemed to have taken well that he had vulnerabilities. An insensitive lover wasn't the only thing Peter didn't want to deal with in bed, so he took a deep breath and put it out there, trusting Sylar wouldn't read this as a laundry list of things to do. “I don't want you pulling on my hair or messing with my ears. Don't slap me. Don't spank me. Don't hit me at all. Don't do anything that draws blood. Don't try to scare me. Don't tie me up or make me helpless - we have too many issues between us still. I think I can handle being held down, though, if you're into that.”
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Of course the first thing that was addressed was hair and hair-pulling. Obviously playing with Peter's hair was okay. Nathan had done it and better still, Sylar had been doing it throughout their talk. He had little need to haul on the man's hair. Especially if he already likes giving head, he thought with glee. He was genuinely sorry about the ear-incident earlier and wondered if he should interrupt and say so (again), but Peter continued. Sylar pursed his lips. No spanking? Has he seen his ass? That counts as hitting to him? Interesting...That was good to know because it gave him a line not to cross. Or at least one to try his damnedest to avoid.
I can't help it if I scare him accidentally! I'm tied up and he's still afraid and I didn't do or say a single thing towards him. Maybe that just means...approach with caution when making a move? Or let him make the moves? Either way. If Peter was the only one 'allowed' to initiate, Sylar would probably still be satisfied - Peter's libido would probably override all else now and he hoped it was a healthy appetite. Sylar nodded. He didn’t like that he was being given a list - and it was a list of don’ts. Overall, that was probably an easy list to follow even if he resented the lack of freedom implied and amount of violence Peter felt the need to cover. If it hadn't been historically accurate, he would have been insulted. He still was a little bit, but it couldn't be helped. Clearly he hadn't specified violence in offering up his body; the rack of toys spoke for his assumptions.
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Peter chuckled a little ruefully. “The thing I'm most nervous about is letting you make me feel good, and enjoying it. I know that's stupid. But ...” He shut his eyes tightly for a few seconds. “Please understand that I can't turn off my emotions … about everything. I'm going to try to stay in the moment. That's why I want to talk like this first - fewer surprises, easier for me to focus on you right now rather than you … other times.”
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Sylar frowned slightly, tilting his head in confusion. You didn't mind when I humped you; you seemed happy to respond. Must be an emotional - yeah, emotional thing. "Funny, that's the one thing I want to do," he said of making Peter feel good, again, speaking honestly if a bit suggestively. I get the feeling you are so much fun when you're horny. Just give me a chance. I want to get you off.
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Peter took a deep breath and turned the subject out of the dangerous waters of their history, doing what he'd said and focusing on the moment. “What's going to turn you off in the middle of things that I might need to know about? Are you going to get upset if I call you … stud, or baby, or something like that? One guy I was with told me about another who didn't want anyone touching his balls. Just tell me if there are things that are off-limits. I want this to work.” There was no going back to how things were. Peter had no idea if this was going to work out or not, but the alternative of open hostility, hurt feelings and personal betrayal was far worse than their previous angry, unresolved sexual tension-filled, repressed co-existence. Sylar had really upped the stakes, big time, for both of them.
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Once more that too-knowing stare focused on him. Sylar exhaled more anxious humor, "No, that's...probably okay." Truthfully, he didn't know. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around picturing Peter calling him stud or baby in the middle of things but it probably wouldn't turn him off. And he’d already noticed Peter calling him ‘stud.’ Might be hot, depending how he does it. I've don't think I've ever had a nice nickname that I liked before. 'Gabe' doesn't really count. "Ha. No, balls are fine." Just don't hit 'em.
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Two things - one, I'm stalling and we still haven't settled what we're doing; two, he's being really vague. There are two classes of people who are that unclear - the ones who are concealing their motives and the ones who don't know what they're doing. Peter turned his head a little, glancing at the tables behind them. He's not concealing anything. It's literally all out on the table. That leaves … “Have you ever had sex with a man?” Peter's tone was aiming for 'I'm just going to get this out in the open, let's be honest here, I need to know this,' which was pretty much how he felt.
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Almost on instinct, Sylar's 'Who me?' face plastered on. He felt himself choke on his own air, going still as a painting. How did he know? Was it that obvious? he self-criticized. That was one hell of a question. Sylar's eyes darted elsewhere while he frantically surveyed his options. On such a serious and direct question there were only two options. Truth or lie. He'd be called on his lie eventually, maybe in a few moments. Truth...Sylar had no reason not to tell it, other than embarrassment and male pride (even on this trend of topic). Peter wasn't interested in torturing him or using information as leverage or entertainment. Advertising his pseudo-virginity was still way more vulnerable than he ever wanted to be but if Peter was bottoming, the nurse would be just as vulnerable in theory. I've done other things with a guy, just not...sex sex. His own reactionary tension was strangling him, his body tense and heavy; the stress was make-or-break just like the situation. He didn't dare see the look on Peter's face for this. Sylar shook his head. No vagueness, no words, even. No way his gesture could be misinterpreted either.
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Peter thought about that. He'd been with two girls who were virgins and several guys who had not performed particular sex acts (had done oral, but not anal; or had given or received but not the converse). It had never mattered too much to Peter, but it underscored how serious and vulnerable Sylar must be right now and how much he was putting himself at Peter's mercy … for everything. That line about not retaliating meant so much more. Sylar … fuck, Peter thought with a flutter of nerves in his chest and a surge of life in his cock (because someone needing and trusting him this much was sexy as hell). He's giving himself to me. No reservations. Completely. “Do you want to?” He stroked Sylar's side slowly to reassure.
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Eventually, in the resulting silence, Sylar managed to glance down at his partner. The empath's face only spoke of internal thought. Sylar let his breath out slowly, feeling cooler, new oxygen in his body again. He didn't...say anything. God knows what he's thinking....probably re-thinking. A pang of doubt: I won't be trouble. I learn quickly, but he shoved it aside, awaiting Peter's response for better or worse. He felt like a wind-up doll with how his worry was fluctuating - wind up...release...wind up...release. Sylar felt his joints go a little weak at the invitation, his throat dry as parchment despite his swallowing, a body-length wave of growing warmth not unlike a blush filling him as his penis engorged. Getting the green light to sleep with someone he liked; someone who wanted at least his participation in return would do that to you, apparently. His lungs communicated the heat of the room, perceived or otherwise, and the lack of air causing him to breath harder (Already?). "May I?" Sylar couldn't help his purely predatory tone, deep and rumbling and rough as he eyed his potential mattress-mate.
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Peter nodded, rising to kiss, putting his hand on Sylar's cheek to encourage him to stay where he wanted him. “Yes. That's … we can do that.” Then he pulled Sylar into an embrace, evading the man's mouth and putting his head on Sylar's shoulder, holding them together for a moment and doing it tightly enough to dispel any image that he was being sensual. Far from it - he was scared by what he'd just agreed to. Jesus Christ. Am I okay with that? Am I safe with this? He isn't going to know what he's doing. What if he goes too fast and hurts me? Am I okay with him inside of me, literally? I don't have to do this. He'd probably be happy enough with a blow job.
But Peter wanted it. He even hungered for it, for that moment of togetherness not achieved any other way. A blow job might result in just as much of an orgasm, but it didn't have the feeling that Peter was meeting Sylar halfway and taking any risk of his own. Peter already felt miserable about his earlier rejection of Sylar, trying to turn him away just as Peter had been turned away by others too many times. Anything less than going all the way wouldn't let him feel like he'd opened himself to his partner, extended trust and, hopefully, had it affirmed. Peter turned his head slightly so he was whispering near the man's ear. “Sylar, you're going to have to be really gentle with me.” An inspiration hit him and he elaborated, “Like I'm one of those watches you work on. An antique clock. Something you can't find replacement parts for if you fuck it up. So you're going to go slow and make sure I'm okay with everything, alright? Can you do that?” Please? This is no time to surprise me with a torture-sex studio.
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