Sexual Tension Part XI: 'Sexual Tension, Resolved'
Title: Sexual Tension XI: 'Sexual Tension, Resolved'
Characters: Sylar (Gabriel Gray)/Peter Petrelli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, bondage, dominance/submission, implied torture.
Word count: 4,506
Setting: Inside the Wall
Summary: The World's Most Effed Up Gift RP expansion with game_byrd (writing for Peter). After years of unresolved sexual tension, Sylar finally can't take it anymore. He creates a situation where he gives himself to Peter to do with as Peter wishes - torture, sex, death - doesn't matter. Sylar just wants resolution.
Sylar’s brain was fuzzy with hormones and unnamed emotions, the haze of sex and newness, trying to recall what he'd liked when Peter had touched him before so he could make things enjoyable for him. Slowly he stroked his hands down the insides of Peter's thighs, rippling with muscle, not very hairy, aiming for the man's genitals. Finally, this was Peter Petrelli. His dick bumped against a shapely buttock as he brushed over Peter's balls, darker than his cock - I've got him by the balls, he thought as he cupped them. They didn't move much, held tight to Peter's body in their natural position it seemed, not tight solely because of arousal. He ran his palm flat over the orbs until his hand covered the other's erection. It was warm and stiff, covered in soft, malleable skin. Sylar squeezed it as Peter had done earlier to him, then moving the whole shaft about to look it over. Colored tan and pink, Peter was both long and thick. Sylar didn't know what to think about this part other than relief that it wasn't a monstrosity he would have to swallow or ride. Yes, he'd been a little worried about genetics, having been the man's brother for months.
Strange to think that there was a naked man awaiting his touch. It felt weird to be touching a cock whose nerves didn't attach to his own brain - the feeling of the organ was much the same; he only received feedback from his hand, though.
He touched at the head with his fingertips, feeling micro-soft, moist flesh. Hmmm...It brought Peter plenty of pleasure, obviously. That sparked many more ideas of how he could play with Peter. For now he gently ringed the organ and jerked it off, loving the control he was being given and the reactions he was getting. Grinning lecherously, he pumped harder, twisting his wrist a little to change the pressure pattern and contact points. Getting Peter off was hot. He could foresee a very entertaining future just in handling Peter's body.
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Peter squirmed when Sylar touched his dick, looking vulnerable and uncertain, but definitely not stopping the man. He reached out to stroke Sylar's forearm with short, solicitous motions, Peter's other hand slightly gripping his own thigh. He was excited, tense, aroused, and exposed all at once, putting his pleasure and himself in someone else's hands, someone who had never done this with him before.
Trust. He found himself breathing faster, nerves spiraling up as he shut his eyes and let himself be stroked and manipulated. His mind started free-associating images of violence with Sylar, things that had really happened in their past - being choked at Kirby Plaza (head pounding, throat closed), punching the man in the hallway at Pinehearst (the smell of Sylar's blood on his hands contrasting with the sterile atmosphere of the place), crouching over him at Mercy Heights (feeling Sylar surge against him when he rammed another nail into the man's thigh). A sick feeling of apprehension built in his gut as he tensed and twitched a few times in sympathetic memory of the violence and pain, both received and inflicted. “Please,” he whined, not sure what he was asking for.
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Sylar smirked and hummed at the verbal acknowledgment - the empath’s desire and Sylar’s control. He had the man in the palm of his hand, controlling him with mere fingers.
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Peter brought his feet in to touch the outsides of Sylar's folded legs where he knelt. It was like poison being drawn from a wound, to let this man whom he'd exchanged so much pain with bring him pleasure now. “Oh, please,” he said again, an edge of genuine begging entering his voice. He felt jittery and tense and yet his cock was rock hard.
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Aware that he probably looked a little slutty himself, jacking Peter off so eagerly and not wanting to make Peter come (yet) for reasons he didn't really examine, Sylar dropped the dick and slid his hands back to a slightly more interesting part of Peter's body. He wrapped his hands around a pair of ass cheeks to die for, squeezing these gently as well, getting a feel for the muscle underneath, shifting even as Peter moved his legs. Wow, that's....Great ass. He'd never been much for this part of the body - very likely to change in light of new evidence - but it wasn't as if he'd ever stared at one, felt one up, or had any kind of play with one. He wondered how it would feel around him - too tight or something like a vagina just without the wetness? Hell, he didn't even know how much control Peter had over...things down there during sex. He massaged and parted the globes, wishing for a better angle to do this.
Sylar gently thumbed down into the spread crevice, noting the state of male hairiness there - very little overall, but that wasn't what he was focused on. Very much he hoped this wasn't gross but he didn't think Peter would do it if it was. He touched over the wrinkled opening, checking in once more with a glance to Peter’s face as he had many times throughout his explorations. It looked clean and normal, peeking open and closed slightly as he played with it causing him to swallow at the thought of fitting his hard-on into that apparently tiny space.
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When Sylar let go of his cock, Peter's hand took over instead, stroking lightly and more slowly than Sylar had. He was incredibly turned on, alternately looking away and at Sylar, keyed up to a fever pitch. That's why he didn't go to town with himself. Easy … easy … let him look. First time. Yeah. Let him look … oh, God, he's touching me … Peter fidgeted, squeezing the top of his dick a couple times and grunting before putting both hands on the back of his thighs. He couldn't stand it anymore and said, “Lube me up. Put your fingers in me, please.”
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"Yeah, that's it," Sylar rumbled gruffly at being begged. This - he is easier than I thought. Sylar popped the cap of the lubricant and spread the cool jelly over Peter's dick, palming the erection until it glistened all over.
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He's lubing my cock? What the hell? I thought he was fucking me. Is he going to get on top of me? Then Sylar started stroking it and Peter abandoned the questions immediately. He put his head back and moaned, moving his hips in time with Sylar's hand. Even though Sylar didn't stroke him very much after that, it felt fantastic.
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Geez, it looks like I've already sucked him...Strangely that, and the begging and squirming, had Sylar rubbing his cock on Peter's hamstring, once, twice, no more. He could get himself off with ease. Control was harder yet given the pressure building already, it was going to be one hell of a good orgasm when he got there. He didn't worry about that; had things been different, he might have. Sylar didn't wait, he pointed two fingers from the hand that had handled the lube and began to steadily push into Peter's asshole. He was careful about his fingernails and didn't rush, but he didn't give much time for adjustment, thinking that muscles needed to be forced and kept open, similar to a vagina when tensed. Like all muscles, it would eventually relax. The hole was tight, he could feel it trying to reject him, moving against him rather than spreading to welcome him in. Sylar stared at the juncture, watching his fingers disappear. This was filthy, forbidden in so many ways and it was making his dick ooze and twitch against Peter's leg, so close and ready.
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Ow, that hurts. Peter shifted away an inch as soon as Sylar's fingers pushed into him - two fingers at once, straight, steady, and without teasing or preamble. Ow, dammit. Irritation marred the moment. He tensed, and then made a determined effort to flex and open, an effort that his own body resisted. “Sylar, be gentle … just … hold on.” He panted, managing to relax while Sylar held still for a moment, watching him intently. Peter licked his lips and wiggled his ass a little on Sylar's hand. “Okay. It's okay. I just … needed a moment. You can … please ...” Peter thrust back at Sylar a few times as Sylar got the message and started moving again.
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Sylar began a metronomic tempo seconds after burying his digits to the knuckle, in and out, tilting his hand up, down, side to side a bit to assist in opening Peter. It seemed to help with vaginas, so what worked there, probably worked here. In doing that, Peter jerked, lifting his hips onto his hand, gasping so prettily, looking kind of sweaty now with his eyes shut. Fuck! Sylar turned his head to mouth fiercely at Peter's raised knee near his face. Wanna bite you! Didn't say anything about biting! He repeated the maneuver, or tried to, with limited success.
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Peter's emotions were knotting him up. Hate that he'd felt for so long was bubbling to the surface. It was a bitter draught that had sapped his powers, confused his heart, and left him weak and envenomed. And now the focus of all that energy was pushing slick fingers inside of him. It made him tremble with the intensity. He wanted Sylar inside of him, desperately, as though instinctively knowing that would wash away the darkness, letting the one he'd hated and feared the most show him kindness and love. He gasped and squirmed on Sylar's fingers, his toes digging in under Sylar's shins as his knees started incrementally spreading apart. It was a clear, though mostly unconscious, indication of his receptivity, as much as the flush and light sweat that showed his arousal.
“More lube. There, on my ass, your hand …,” Peter panted, putting his hand back to his greased up cock to start stroking gently again. He didn't know if he was making much sense. He didn't care much either, as long as it worked out.
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Erm...Okay. Removing his fingers, Sylar followed the request. He slicked and replaced his fingers, intently watching the inward slide of parts of his body into Peter's. The opening accepted his digits more readily, looking wet around them now, too. Ah! Okay. He felt his cock lightly rubbing against his partner, slowly stimulating him.
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“Oh God, Sylar … I want you in me. I want you. Hold me, kiss me, fuck me … Please.” There was so much pressure built up inside of him and he wanted it gone. He wanted to be plowed and filled - by Sylar! - so that it was irrevocable, done, settled, finalized, released. He wanted to be fucked so hard he couldn't think, so that the images still troubling his brain of Sylar hitting him, sneering at him, Ted Sprague's opened skull, flying locker doors … so those memories would stop. So that the judgmental, imagined voices of Nathan, his mother, his father, Claire, anyone, would be silenced. So his guilt would be lost in a sea of fulfillment. He wanted it over so that he could stop being dragged down by the miseries of the past and instead, make a better future.
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Sylar grunted, removing his fingers to crawl over Peter, nipping the man's chest on his way up. "My pleasure," he replied around heavy breathing, his voice rough. That's right. You know what I want. He laved his tongue over Peter's neck once more, kissing and rubbing his bristled face there as he guided his cock in.
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Peter brought his knees up as Sylar climbed up him, tilting his hips and angling his body to ease entry. Did he lube himself? He hadn't been paying attention. Peter reached down between them with the hand that had been on his own slicked organ, wiping it off across his ass cheeks as he felt Sylar moving into position. He got his hand out of the way and gave it a last wipe on an edge of towel sticking out from under him before wrapping both arms around the other man. He put his heels on the small of Sylar's back and arched as he felt the pressure build against the right spot. He bore down and tried to open, finding Sylar's ear and murmuring, “Go slow, Sylar, please.”
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Sylar nodded, though he probably should have vocalized his reply. It took a moment, the opening wasn't so obvious to his dick or his hands without sight, but Sylar eventually poked the right spot, feeling give, breathing harder then holding his breath, then breathing again. He was aching, hard and hot, his hips primed to thrust and keep thrusting.
Sylar felt his tip pop inside and he groaned and panted, lifting himself off Peter to better get inside. Yes! This is it! Get inside! Get inside him! Fuck! Sylar held himself up and pushed himself in, a long, smooth stroke, feeling the heat of putting his dick inside another body, feeling it wrap around him, snug and welcoming - the man himself begging and inviting him. He closed his eyes briefly, taking it in.
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“Ahh!” Peter groaned, making a choked sound at getting it all at once, realizing that 'go slow' wasn't specific enough to communicate 'do it in stages and let me adjust between them'. Compared to active fucking, Sylar's penetration of him had been slow. He shut his eyes, too, shaking a little with a whine deep in his throat as he submitted and took it. First time, first time, first time, he found himself repeating inside his head as he put himself at Sylar's mercy.
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His hand ran out of room, so Sylar squeezed Peter's ass cheek, pulling it away from its partner until he could seat himself fully with a small moan. Sylar threw his head back to snarl at the ceiling, finally claiming this man, being on top and inside and in control. The body he lay on was definitely different from a woman’s - for one thing, Peter’s dick was poking his stomach. When he looked down, first at their joining, what little he could see of it (most he saw Peter's cock and balls), and then he gazed at Peter's face. He saw grimaces of discomfort, petting the man's face and hair to try to sooth, his own hair in his face as he held still for the moment - partly for Peter's sake, partly for his own arousal.
It was practically a religious experience, fucking a saint like this. The gorgeous specimen below him looked positively orgasmic, eyes blown wide, lids drooping, mouth open, panting hard, face flushed and sweaty. You beautiful little slut. Look at you...Fucked out on my dick and I haven't even started moving yet. Sylar pressed down the faulty left side of Peter's lower lip before giving it a messy, completely possessive kiss, hardly moving his finger. Licking into Peter's mouth, uncaring if he got a response, he lingered there to breathe a moment, pulling back with both heads, feeling the drag of Peter's asshole on the way out. He waited until he had Peter's attention before pushing back in, more gently than he wanted - the thrust making his breath catch anyway as he passed by every available inch of Peter's insides. How fast can I go? How hard? When? Who's giving the orders now, Peter, huh? I could fuck you up from here...but I won't.
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Oh God, oh God, oh God, Peter mentally chanted, clinging and feeling his body adjust to having a full length inside of him and Sylar -Sylar! - so close over him and inside him. It was a man who'd killed him more than once, murdered Nathan and dozens of others … and Peter was letting the guy have a trial run with his body. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten to this point, not that it mattered. He was shivering hard, finding himself impossibly keyed up with desire, fear, and guilt, creating a cocktail of anxiety so intense that he felt stunned. He whimpered when Sylar petted him, pushing his face into the hand and looking up at him with an entirely sex-dazed expression. He met the kiss with complete submission, tingling like he might come immediately. He arched again, but there wasn't quite enough stimulation at the right spots. “More lube. Lots of it. Just get ridiculous with it.” As Sylar went to pull back, Peter bit his shoulder on impulse - a hard nip that would leave a bruise, but Peter found he just didn't care. Pain was part of the program.
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Any mental protest he had was obliterated by the bite. Fucking...delicious. Peter couldn't know what that did to him, but he wanted to pound Peter into immobility and then some (not that he'd last that long). It made him want to utterly use the pretty body before him. He growled, sucking hard at Peter's collarbone, hoping to make a mark himself. Pulling out, he covered himself in lube, finding Peter's entrance faster than before and plunging in with a groan. Oh...Oh, wow. God...
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As Sylar sank back inside of him, slipping in easily now, Peter undulated his body under the man, bringing up one hand to tangle in his hair. He pulled him down for a kiss, feeling Sylar moving inside of him. “Fuck me, hard as you want now.” Remembering vaguely what Sylar had told him when he'd first come in the room, he added huskily, “Give it to me.” Peter braced himself, one hand on the back of Sylar's neck and the other helping hold up one of his knees. His legs cinched around Sylar's waist, tightening and releasing to push him into the thrusts.
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The empath came alive under him. It was wonderful that he wasn't passive - ha, not after that bite! Sylar felt himself yanked down to Peter's face to kiss. It half-startled him, eyes wide for a moment until they slid shut with pleasure at the touch of Peter's lips, Peter’s hands woven into his hair. He lay on Peter, covering him fully, sliding against their combined sweat. Sylar rested his cheek against Peter's, mouthing and breathing against his jaw. He heard permission and went for it without question, "Oh, yeah," he agreed, lifting up a little. Eyes met and held for a small eternity, brown and hazel locking souls as they were about to be in body. It was powerful, knowing the mind that lay behind those eyes, knowing that it held desire for him.
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Peter met Sylar's eyes, falling into their depths and feeling hypnotized by them. Peripherally, he took in Sylar's other features - brows, nose, lips, the way his hair fell around his face and framed it. Stunningly handsome, but it was the history and the person Peter knew behind that appearance that made the biggest impact. To have someone who had hurt him so unforgivably and so deeply being kind to him, considerate, bringing him pleasure … it boggled his mind and made it impossible to think. That was okay. He'd always been better at feeling anyway.
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Planting elbows, hands and knees, Sylar surged his whole body forward until he could go no further, slapping rudely into Peter as he did, buried balls deep. It felt like fucking destiny alright. Pulling back only as far as nature pushed him, he repeated the bodily thrust, once, twice, three times, expending too much energy and a few grunts, not getting enough of what he wanted. His hand ran from Peter's face to his chest, ending up somewhere around his ribs, holding him there and touching him at the same time. Peter's legs around him were counterpoint to each thrust, offering leverage; a tangible weight of a lover around him.
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“Oh, God,” Peter groaned. Sylar was fucking him hard, jarring his insides, realigning his feelings and erasing the past, or at least overwriting it. It felt good. It felt good and it felt right, like he was being broken inside and put back together correctly. Every forceful shove and violent thrust was a blow against the walls Peter had erected around his heart. All of the emotions swirling around inside of him were lighting him on fire. He gave into it completely - to Sylar, to his body's desires, to the situation - and took pleasure of it. He let himself feel ecstasy. He let himself feel overwhelmed. He let it be okay. “Ooh!” he moaned as Sylar's pumping took on a more frantic pace, drawing mewls and whimpers from him with every shove inside him.
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His hips took a straight-line course, jack-hammering himself as hard as he could into Peter and loving every minute of it. He wasn't thinking; he barely felt, it was too much, it practically hurt but he was driven to continue and finish them both. There was no way he could stop. Sylar struggled for air, feeling it burning up within his lungs. He could hear Peter's pleasure. Whatever he was doing must be working great and if it worked, more must be better.
He humped Peter full of his cock again and again, blissed out on such a wonderful, willing partner whom he was miraculously pleasing - a competition he'd won, a prize he'd received, more than he could have ever anticipated. He was right and this was good; he felt like an animal. He was ravaging Peter Petrelli's body and the man was moaning about it, holding him close, accepting it. He couldn't get Peter onto his dick fast enough, his arousal far ahead of him, needing a pace he couldn't physically provide himself or Peter. The asshole around him was perfection, tight and soft, wet with lube, rubbing along his heavy length just right. The head of his dick was more sensitive then he'd ever experienced. "Uh! Uh! Uh!" he voiced with each glorious thrust, willing himself to hold on somehow yet having little desire to do it. He stared at the man he was fucking, projecting possession and lust as he watched for signs of submission, approval, and desire reciprocated.
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Peter was about to go; brows drawn together and mouth open for desperate gasps of air. Sylar pulled back to look at him - Peter was completely his, drowning in their combined desire, feeling it pulling him under like the strongest of undertows. He reached between them to squeeze the tip of his cock, rubbing his thumb over it with rough pressure, back and forth, with each swipe and painful pinch almost being enough to send him over. Frantic for one last intimacy, he pulled Sylar back to him for another deep, passionate kiss that he had to break from almost immediately, his body tensing and locking, mouth hanging open and his eyes rolling back in his head as his peak hit. Sylar's scent was heavy in his nostrils, the man's taste on his tongue, the abrasive scratch of chest hair against Peter's, the feel of Sylar's damp hair against his face … and above all, the knowledge that Sylar wanted him, wanted him badly enough to be good to him, gentle, passionate, obedient, maybe even caring. Come pulsed over his fingers as Sylar continued to hammer his hole, rocking his whole body and making the room spin. Peter clenched and shuddered, breath coming in gasps as he sucked in the lust-drenched atmosphere between them. The fear, the guilt, and the tension fell away as one, leaving him wrung out, limp, and empty of the darker emotions that plagued him with Sylar - only the light remained. Eyes wide and body entirely relaxed, he stared at Sylar, drinking in the man's face and imprinting it on his brain as a lover rather than an enemy.
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Sylar moaned loudly at being manhandled for a mere kiss, the dichotomy thrilling him and he responded as enthusiastically as was possible. He felt uncoordinated and sloppy, but Peter didn't seem to be much better. He went with it, licking and kissing lazily over the man's mouth and face, wherever he could touch as their rhythm allowed. Through the bestial claiming he laid into Peter, he suddenly felt a few sharp clenches around his swollen member. Sylar's back arched then he looked down at his partner in slight question. With every constriction, his breathing stopped and restarted with an expulsion of air, "Oh!" He didn't know what was going on but he knew he wouldn't outlast this, feeling a deep, warm throb from his groin. It was so quick, rushing over him, he was weak and lost, being pulled ever inwards. He glanced up and away for control that fled him, his face twisted into a pained frown as he cried out, releasing himself into Peter. Hips on drunken autopilot, they raggedly thrust him inside precious few times more. Discord and foreplay led to sweet consummation. He began to feel his muscles protesting his pace, feeling colder and relaxed, buzzing and so alive. He shut dizzy, unseeing eyes against the attack of endorphins to his system, recovering his breath and sanity, prolonging his calm and the moment.
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When Sylar began to wind down and settle on him, pulling out and separating, Peter shoved him to the side and immediately burrowed against the man's body, forehead to his chest, one arm wormed under his to wrap around his back. His leg was slung over Sylar's hip, but not placed so high as before - it wasn't sexual, it was just close. Peter repeated the burrowing motion with his head and shoulders, eyes shut, breathing in his new lover's essence. “Hold me,” he said, half a pleading whimper, half an order. He panted anxiously until Sylar's arms firmed around him, then eased rapidly. “Don't leave me. Don't fuck me over. Please don't let this be for nothing. Don't make fun of me tomorrow. Be okay with me.”
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Too slowly, Sylar jerked at being pushed away, his reactions dulled and his mind unable to comprehend the distance or the act behind it. But Peter followed him; once more they lay side by side. Sylar managed sluggishly get his the lower left arm under Peter's neck so the man's head could partly rest on the bicep, also so Sylar could touch his head and back this way. He was doing this as Peter spoke, glad he'd done so. He pulled the smaller, warm body against him, stroking Peter's back with long motions. Sylar didn't know if Peter had come or not; he assumed so. He would check soon, but...later.
He breathed out, ruffling Peter's hair, breathing in to smell him with Sylar's chin resting against his forehead, fondling Peter's plastered hair (already swept away from his face) back repeatedly, toying with it. He noticed he couldn't see clearly, the hot haze of something in his eyes and the tickle of something wet on his nose and temple. He was relieved Peter couldn't see that, freaked out by what that could mean because he himself didn't know. "No, no, no..." he whispered to soothe until he had to clear his throat. He felt crushing pain from his chest and head that Peter had given him that and still feared retaliation of any sort, especially the kind that sounded horrible, truly diabolically cruel even to Sylar. There wasn't anything he could do to mend the past or be deserving of the gift he'd received. Peter couldn't have hit him harder with the fact that he'd done so much wrong - not that he needed assistance coming to that conclusion as he had to swipe at his eyes. He didn't have the guts to hurt Peter now, the idea made him feel sick. I'm so grateful; I hope I can make you understand. "Thank you. For everything, Peter, for letting me stay."
Characters: Sylar (Gabriel Gray)/Peter Petrelli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, bondage, dominance/submission, implied torture.
Word count: 4,506
Setting: Inside the Wall
Summary: The World's Most Effed Up Gift RP expansion with game_byrd (writing for Peter). After years of unresolved sexual tension, Sylar finally can't take it anymore. He creates a situation where he gives himself to Peter to do with as Peter wishes - torture, sex, death - doesn't matter. Sylar just wants resolution.
Sylar’s brain was fuzzy with hormones and unnamed emotions, the haze of sex and newness, trying to recall what he'd liked when Peter had touched him before so he could make things enjoyable for him. Slowly he stroked his hands down the insides of Peter's thighs, rippling with muscle, not very hairy, aiming for the man's genitals. Finally, this was Peter Petrelli. His dick bumped against a shapely buttock as he brushed over Peter's balls, darker than his cock - I've got him by the balls, he thought as he cupped them. They didn't move much, held tight to Peter's body in their natural position it seemed, not tight solely because of arousal. He ran his palm flat over the orbs until his hand covered the other's erection. It was warm and stiff, covered in soft, malleable skin. Sylar squeezed it as Peter had done earlier to him, then moving the whole shaft about to look it over. Colored tan and pink, Peter was both long and thick. Sylar didn't know what to think about this part other than relief that it wasn't a monstrosity he would have to swallow or ride. Yes, he'd been a little worried about genetics, having been the man's brother for months.
Strange to think that there was a naked man awaiting his touch. It felt weird to be touching a cock whose nerves didn't attach to his own brain - the feeling of the organ was much the same; he only received feedback from his hand, though.
He touched at the head with his fingertips, feeling micro-soft, moist flesh. Hmmm...It brought Peter plenty of pleasure, obviously. That sparked many more ideas of how he could play with Peter. For now he gently ringed the organ and jerked it off, loving the control he was being given and the reactions he was getting. Grinning lecherously, he pumped harder, twisting his wrist a little to change the pressure pattern and contact points. Getting Peter off was hot. He could foresee a very entertaining future just in handling Peter's body.
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Peter squirmed when Sylar touched his dick, looking vulnerable and uncertain, but definitely not stopping the man. He reached out to stroke Sylar's forearm with short, solicitous motions, Peter's other hand slightly gripping his own thigh. He was excited, tense, aroused, and exposed all at once, putting his pleasure and himself in someone else's hands, someone who had never done this with him before.
Trust. He found himself breathing faster, nerves spiraling up as he shut his eyes and let himself be stroked and manipulated. His mind started free-associating images of violence with Sylar, things that had really happened in their past - being choked at Kirby Plaza (head pounding, throat closed), punching the man in the hallway at Pinehearst (the smell of Sylar's blood on his hands contrasting with the sterile atmosphere of the place), crouching over him at Mercy Heights (feeling Sylar surge against him when he rammed another nail into the man's thigh). A sick feeling of apprehension built in his gut as he tensed and twitched a few times in sympathetic memory of the violence and pain, both received and inflicted. “Please,” he whined, not sure what he was asking for.
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Sylar smirked and hummed at the verbal acknowledgment - the empath’s desire and Sylar’s control. He had the man in the palm of his hand, controlling him with mere fingers.
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Peter brought his feet in to touch the outsides of Sylar's folded legs where he knelt. It was like poison being drawn from a wound, to let this man whom he'd exchanged so much pain with bring him pleasure now. “Oh, please,” he said again, an edge of genuine begging entering his voice. He felt jittery and tense and yet his cock was rock hard.
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Aware that he probably looked a little slutty himself, jacking Peter off so eagerly and not wanting to make Peter come (yet) for reasons he didn't really examine, Sylar dropped the dick and slid his hands back to a slightly more interesting part of Peter's body. He wrapped his hands around a pair of ass cheeks to die for, squeezing these gently as well, getting a feel for the muscle underneath, shifting even as Peter moved his legs. Wow, that's....Great ass. He'd never been much for this part of the body - very likely to change in light of new evidence - but it wasn't as if he'd ever stared at one, felt one up, or had any kind of play with one. He wondered how it would feel around him - too tight or something like a vagina just without the wetness? Hell, he didn't even know how much control Peter had over...things down there during sex. He massaged and parted the globes, wishing for a better angle to do this.
Sylar gently thumbed down into the spread crevice, noting the state of male hairiness there - very little overall, but that wasn't what he was focused on. Very much he hoped this wasn't gross but he didn't think Peter would do it if it was. He touched over the wrinkled opening, checking in once more with a glance to Peter’s face as he had many times throughout his explorations. It looked clean and normal, peeking open and closed slightly as he played with it causing him to swallow at the thought of fitting his hard-on into that apparently tiny space.
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When Sylar let go of his cock, Peter's hand took over instead, stroking lightly and more slowly than Sylar had. He was incredibly turned on, alternately looking away and at Sylar, keyed up to a fever pitch. That's why he didn't go to town with himself. Easy … easy … let him look. First time. Yeah. Let him look … oh, God, he's touching me … Peter fidgeted, squeezing the top of his dick a couple times and grunting before putting both hands on the back of his thighs. He couldn't stand it anymore and said, “Lube me up. Put your fingers in me, please.”
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"Yeah, that's it," Sylar rumbled gruffly at being begged. This - he is easier than I thought. Sylar popped the cap of the lubricant and spread the cool jelly over Peter's dick, palming the erection until it glistened all over.
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He's lubing my cock? What the hell? I thought he was fucking me. Is he going to get on top of me? Then Sylar started stroking it and Peter abandoned the questions immediately. He put his head back and moaned, moving his hips in time with Sylar's hand. Even though Sylar didn't stroke him very much after that, it felt fantastic.
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Geez, it looks like I've already sucked him...Strangely that, and the begging and squirming, had Sylar rubbing his cock on Peter's hamstring, once, twice, no more. He could get himself off with ease. Control was harder yet given the pressure building already, it was going to be one hell of a good orgasm when he got there. He didn't worry about that; had things been different, he might have. Sylar didn't wait, he pointed two fingers from the hand that had handled the lube and began to steadily push into Peter's asshole. He was careful about his fingernails and didn't rush, but he didn't give much time for adjustment, thinking that muscles needed to be forced and kept open, similar to a vagina when tensed. Like all muscles, it would eventually relax. The hole was tight, he could feel it trying to reject him, moving against him rather than spreading to welcome him in. Sylar stared at the juncture, watching his fingers disappear. This was filthy, forbidden in so many ways and it was making his dick ooze and twitch against Peter's leg, so close and ready.
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Ow, that hurts. Peter shifted away an inch as soon as Sylar's fingers pushed into him - two fingers at once, straight, steady, and without teasing or preamble. Ow, dammit. Irritation marred the moment. He tensed, and then made a determined effort to flex and open, an effort that his own body resisted. “Sylar, be gentle … just … hold on.” He panted, managing to relax while Sylar held still for a moment, watching him intently. Peter licked his lips and wiggled his ass a little on Sylar's hand. “Okay. It's okay. I just … needed a moment. You can … please ...” Peter thrust back at Sylar a few times as Sylar got the message and started moving again.
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Sylar began a metronomic tempo seconds after burying his digits to the knuckle, in and out, tilting his hand up, down, side to side a bit to assist in opening Peter. It seemed to help with vaginas, so what worked there, probably worked here. In doing that, Peter jerked, lifting his hips onto his hand, gasping so prettily, looking kind of sweaty now with his eyes shut. Fuck! Sylar turned his head to mouth fiercely at Peter's raised knee near his face. Wanna bite you! Didn't say anything about biting! He repeated the maneuver, or tried to, with limited success.
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Peter's emotions were knotting him up. Hate that he'd felt for so long was bubbling to the surface. It was a bitter draught that had sapped his powers, confused his heart, and left him weak and envenomed. And now the focus of all that energy was pushing slick fingers inside of him. It made him tremble with the intensity. He wanted Sylar inside of him, desperately, as though instinctively knowing that would wash away the darkness, letting the one he'd hated and feared the most show him kindness and love. He gasped and squirmed on Sylar's fingers, his toes digging in under Sylar's shins as his knees started incrementally spreading apart. It was a clear, though mostly unconscious, indication of his receptivity, as much as the flush and light sweat that showed his arousal.
“More lube. There, on my ass, your hand …,” Peter panted, putting his hand back to his greased up cock to start stroking gently again. He didn't know if he was making much sense. He didn't care much either, as long as it worked out.
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Erm...Okay. Removing his fingers, Sylar followed the request. He slicked and replaced his fingers, intently watching the inward slide of parts of his body into Peter's. The opening accepted his digits more readily, looking wet around them now, too. Ah! Okay. He felt his cock lightly rubbing against his partner, slowly stimulating him.
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“Oh God, Sylar … I want you in me. I want you. Hold me, kiss me, fuck me … Please.” There was so much pressure built up inside of him and he wanted it gone. He wanted to be plowed and filled - by Sylar! - so that it was irrevocable, done, settled, finalized, released. He wanted to be fucked so hard he couldn't think, so that the images still troubling his brain of Sylar hitting him, sneering at him, Ted Sprague's opened skull, flying locker doors … so those memories would stop. So that the judgmental, imagined voices of Nathan, his mother, his father, Claire, anyone, would be silenced. So his guilt would be lost in a sea of fulfillment. He wanted it over so that he could stop being dragged down by the miseries of the past and instead, make a better future.
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Sylar grunted, removing his fingers to crawl over Peter, nipping the man's chest on his way up. "My pleasure," he replied around heavy breathing, his voice rough. That's right. You know what I want. He laved his tongue over Peter's neck once more, kissing and rubbing his bristled face there as he guided his cock in.
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Peter brought his knees up as Sylar climbed up him, tilting his hips and angling his body to ease entry. Did he lube himself? He hadn't been paying attention. Peter reached down between them with the hand that had been on his own slicked organ, wiping it off across his ass cheeks as he felt Sylar moving into position. He got his hand out of the way and gave it a last wipe on an edge of towel sticking out from under him before wrapping both arms around the other man. He put his heels on the small of Sylar's back and arched as he felt the pressure build against the right spot. He bore down and tried to open, finding Sylar's ear and murmuring, “Go slow, Sylar, please.”
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Sylar nodded, though he probably should have vocalized his reply. It took a moment, the opening wasn't so obvious to his dick or his hands without sight, but Sylar eventually poked the right spot, feeling give, breathing harder then holding his breath, then breathing again. He was aching, hard and hot, his hips primed to thrust and keep thrusting.
Sylar felt his tip pop inside and he groaned and panted, lifting himself off Peter to better get inside. Yes! This is it! Get inside! Get inside him! Fuck! Sylar held himself up and pushed himself in, a long, smooth stroke, feeling the heat of putting his dick inside another body, feeling it wrap around him, snug and welcoming - the man himself begging and inviting him. He closed his eyes briefly, taking it in.
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“Ahh!” Peter groaned, making a choked sound at getting it all at once, realizing that 'go slow' wasn't specific enough to communicate 'do it in stages and let me adjust between them'. Compared to active fucking, Sylar's penetration of him had been slow. He shut his eyes, too, shaking a little with a whine deep in his throat as he submitted and took it. First time, first time, first time, he found himself repeating inside his head as he put himself at Sylar's mercy.
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His hand ran out of room, so Sylar squeezed Peter's ass cheek, pulling it away from its partner until he could seat himself fully with a small moan. Sylar threw his head back to snarl at the ceiling, finally claiming this man, being on top and inside and in control. The body he lay on was definitely different from a woman’s - for one thing, Peter’s dick was poking his stomach. When he looked down, first at their joining, what little he could see of it (most he saw Peter's cock and balls), and then he gazed at Peter's face. He saw grimaces of discomfort, petting the man's face and hair to try to sooth, his own hair in his face as he held still for the moment - partly for Peter's sake, partly for his own arousal.
It was practically a religious experience, fucking a saint like this. The gorgeous specimen below him looked positively orgasmic, eyes blown wide, lids drooping, mouth open, panting hard, face flushed and sweaty. You beautiful little slut. Look at you...Fucked out on my dick and I haven't even started moving yet. Sylar pressed down the faulty left side of Peter's lower lip before giving it a messy, completely possessive kiss, hardly moving his finger. Licking into Peter's mouth, uncaring if he got a response, he lingered there to breathe a moment, pulling back with both heads, feeling the drag of Peter's asshole on the way out. He waited until he had Peter's attention before pushing back in, more gently than he wanted - the thrust making his breath catch anyway as he passed by every available inch of Peter's insides. How fast can I go? How hard? When? Who's giving the orders now, Peter, huh? I could fuck you up from here...but I won't.
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Oh God, oh God, oh God, Peter mentally chanted, clinging and feeling his body adjust to having a full length inside of him and Sylar -Sylar! - so close over him and inside him. It was a man who'd killed him more than once, murdered Nathan and dozens of others … and Peter was letting the guy have a trial run with his body. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten to this point, not that it mattered. He was shivering hard, finding himself impossibly keyed up with desire, fear, and guilt, creating a cocktail of anxiety so intense that he felt stunned. He whimpered when Sylar petted him, pushing his face into the hand and looking up at him with an entirely sex-dazed expression. He met the kiss with complete submission, tingling like he might come immediately. He arched again, but there wasn't quite enough stimulation at the right spots. “More lube. Lots of it. Just get ridiculous with it.” As Sylar went to pull back, Peter bit his shoulder on impulse - a hard nip that would leave a bruise, but Peter found he just didn't care. Pain was part of the program.
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Any mental protest he had was obliterated by the bite. Fucking...delicious. Peter couldn't know what that did to him, but he wanted to pound Peter into immobility and then some (not that he'd last that long). It made him want to utterly use the pretty body before him. He growled, sucking hard at Peter's collarbone, hoping to make a mark himself. Pulling out, he covered himself in lube, finding Peter's entrance faster than before and plunging in with a groan. Oh...Oh, wow. God...
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As Sylar sank back inside of him, slipping in easily now, Peter undulated his body under the man, bringing up one hand to tangle in his hair. He pulled him down for a kiss, feeling Sylar moving inside of him. “Fuck me, hard as you want now.” Remembering vaguely what Sylar had told him when he'd first come in the room, he added huskily, “Give it to me.” Peter braced himself, one hand on the back of Sylar's neck and the other helping hold up one of his knees. His legs cinched around Sylar's waist, tightening and releasing to push him into the thrusts.
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The empath came alive under him. It was wonderful that he wasn't passive - ha, not after that bite! Sylar felt himself yanked down to Peter's face to kiss. It half-startled him, eyes wide for a moment until they slid shut with pleasure at the touch of Peter's lips, Peter’s hands woven into his hair. He lay on Peter, covering him fully, sliding against their combined sweat. Sylar rested his cheek against Peter's, mouthing and breathing against his jaw. He heard permission and went for it without question, "Oh, yeah," he agreed, lifting up a little. Eyes met and held for a small eternity, brown and hazel locking souls as they were about to be in body. It was powerful, knowing the mind that lay behind those eyes, knowing that it held desire for him.
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Peter met Sylar's eyes, falling into their depths and feeling hypnotized by them. Peripherally, he took in Sylar's other features - brows, nose, lips, the way his hair fell around his face and framed it. Stunningly handsome, but it was the history and the person Peter knew behind that appearance that made the biggest impact. To have someone who had hurt him so unforgivably and so deeply being kind to him, considerate, bringing him pleasure … it boggled his mind and made it impossible to think. That was okay. He'd always been better at feeling anyway.
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Planting elbows, hands and knees, Sylar surged his whole body forward until he could go no further, slapping rudely into Peter as he did, buried balls deep. It felt like fucking destiny alright. Pulling back only as far as nature pushed him, he repeated the bodily thrust, once, twice, three times, expending too much energy and a few grunts, not getting enough of what he wanted. His hand ran from Peter's face to his chest, ending up somewhere around his ribs, holding him there and touching him at the same time. Peter's legs around him were counterpoint to each thrust, offering leverage; a tangible weight of a lover around him.
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“Oh, God,” Peter groaned. Sylar was fucking him hard, jarring his insides, realigning his feelings and erasing the past, or at least overwriting it. It felt good. It felt good and it felt right, like he was being broken inside and put back together correctly. Every forceful shove and violent thrust was a blow against the walls Peter had erected around his heart. All of the emotions swirling around inside of him were lighting him on fire. He gave into it completely - to Sylar, to his body's desires, to the situation - and took pleasure of it. He let himself feel ecstasy. He let himself feel overwhelmed. He let it be okay. “Ooh!” he moaned as Sylar's pumping took on a more frantic pace, drawing mewls and whimpers from him with every shove inside him.
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His hips took a straight-line course, jack-hammering himself as hard as he could into Peter and loving every minute of it. He wasn't thinking; he barely felt, it was too much, it practically hurt but he was driven to continue and finish them both. There was no way he could stop. Sylar struggled for air, feeling it burning up within his lungs. He could hear Peter's pleasure. Whatever he was doing must be working great and if it worked, more must be better.
He humped Peter full of his cock again and again, blissed out on such a wonderful, willing partner whom he was miraculously pleasing - a competition he'd won, a prize he'd received, more than he could have ever anticipated. He was right and this was good; he felt like an animal. He was ravaging Peter Petrelli's body and the man was moaning about it, holding him close, accepting it. He couldn't get Peter onto his dick fast enough, his arousal far ahead of him, needing a pace he couldn't physically provide himself or Peter. The asshole around him was perfection, tight and soft, wet with lube, rubbing along his heavy length just right. The head of his dick was more sensitive then he'd ever experienced. "Uh! Uh! Uh!" he voiced with each glorious thrust, willing himself to hold on somehow yet having little desire to do it. He stared at the man he was fucking, projecting possession and lust as he watched for signs of submission, approval, and desire reciprocated.
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Peter was about to go; brows drawn together and mouth open for desperate gasps of air. Sylar pulled back to look at him - Peter was completely his, drowning in their combined desire, feeling it pulling him under like the strongest of undertows. He reached between them to squeeze the tip of his cock, rubbing his thumb over it with rough pressure, back and forth, with each swipe and painful pinch almost being enough to send him over. Frantic for one last intimacy, he pulled Sylar back to him for another deep, passionate kiss that he had to break from almost immediately, his body tensing and locking, mouth hanging open and his eyes rolling back in his head as his peak hit. Sylar's scent was heavy in his nostrils, the man's taste on his tongue, the abrasive scratch of chest hair against Peter's, the feel of Sylar's damp hair against his face … and above all, the knowledge that Sylar wanted him, wanted him badly enough to be good to him, gentle, passionate, obedient, maybe even caring. Come pulsed over his fingers as Sylar continued to hammer his hole, rocking his whole body and making the room spin. Peter clenched and shuddered, breath coming in gasps as he sucked in the lust-drenched atmosphere between them. The fear, the guilt, and the tension fell away as one, leaving him wrung out, limp, and empty of the darker emotions that plagued him with Sylar - only the light remained. Eyes wide and body entirely relaxed, he stared at Sylar, drinking in the man's face and imprinting it on his brain as a lover rather than an enemy.
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Sylar moaned loudly at being manhandled for a mere kiss, the dichotomy thrilling him and he responded as enthusiastically as was possible. He felt uncoordinated and sloppy, but Peter didn't seem to be much better. He went with it, licking and kissing lazily over the man's mouth and face, wherever he could touch as their rhythm allowed. Through the bestial claiming he laid into Peter, he suddenly felt a few sharp clenches around his swollen member. Sylar's back arched then he looked down at his partner in slight question. With every constriction, his breathing stopped and restarted with an expulsion of air, "Oh!" He didn't know what was going on but he knew he wouldn't outlast this, feeling a deep, warm throb from his groin. It was so quick, rushing over him, he was weak and lost, being pulled ever inwards. He glanced up and away for control that fled him, his face twisted into a pained frown as he cried out, releasing himself into Peter. Hips on drunken autopilot, they raggedly thrust him inside precious few times more. Discord and foreplay led to sweet consummation. He began to feel his muscles protesting his pace, feeling colder and relaxed, buzzing and so alive. He shut dizzy, unseeing eyes against the attack of endorphins to his system, recovering his breath and sanity, prolonging his calm and the moment.
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When Sylar began to wind down and settle on him, pulling out and separating, Peter shoved him to the side and immediately burrowed against the man's body, forehead to his chest, one arm wormed under his to wrap around his back. His leg was slung over Sylar's hip, but not placed so high as before - it wasn't sexual, it was just close. Peter repeated the burrowing motion with his head and shoulders, eyes shut, breathing in his new lover's essence. “Hold me,” he said, half a pleading whimper, half an order. He panted anxiously until Sylar's arms firmed around him, then eased rapidly. “Don't leave me. Don't fuck me over. Please don't let this be for nothing. Don't make fun of me tomorrow. Be okay with me.”
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Too slowly, Sylar jerked at being pushed away, his reactions dulled and his mind unable to comprehend the distance or the act behind it. But Peter followed him; once more they lay side by side. Sylar managed sluggishly get his the lower left arm under Peter's neck so the man's head could partly rest on the bicep, also so Sylar could touch his head and back this way. He was doing this as Peter spoke, glad he'd done so. He pulled the smaller, warm body against him, stroking Peter's back with long motions. Sylar didn't know if Peter had come or not; he assumed so. He would check soon, but...later.
He breathed out, ruffling Peter's hair, breathing in to smell him with Sylar's chin resting against his forehead, fondling Peter's plastered hair (already swept away from his face) back repeatedly, toying with it. He noticed he couldn't see clearly, the hot haze of something in his eyes and the tickle of something wet on his nose and temple. He was relieved Peter couldn't see that, freaked out by what that could mean because he himself didn't know. "No, no, no..." he whispered to soothe until he had to clear his throat. He felt crushing pain from his chest and head that Peter had given him that and still feared retaliation of any sort, especially the kind that sounded horrible, truly diabolically cruel even to Sylar. There wasn't anything he could do to mend the past or be deserving of the gift he'd received. Peter couldn't have hit him harder with the fact that he'd done so much wrong - not that he needed assistance coming to that conclusion as he had to swipe at his eyes. He didn't have the guts to hurt Peter now, the idea made him feel sick. I'm so grateful; I hope I can make you understand. "Thank you. For everything, Peter, for letting me stay."