Heroes drabbles--15 of them
15 Petlar drabbles for the Save Heroes Drabble-a-thon!
1.) bell--100 words (Sylar pov)
Ding-Ding-Ding! It was infuriating. All day long, nothing but that damn 'ding-ding-ding'. I want to snatch that bell and chuck it out the window. I stomp in there, again, and cross my arms in the doorway.
Ding!
I grit my teeth and grunt. Peter is so startled he drops the bell and it clangs to the floor, jingling as it rolls. His face turns my way and my jaw relaxes. He looks pathetic. His nose and cheeks are pink, and there's rheum in the corner of his eyes.
"Sylar..."
Now I remember why I gave him that bell.
"Need something?"
2.) again--100 words (Peter pov)
I love how this feels. It's almost like flying, almost. Sylar's hands dig into my back for just a second and then I'm off. I kick my feet out and toss my head back. I want to swing higher go faster. I want the wind to rush past my ears until I can't hear anything but myself. This was the closest I ever got to flying as a kid, the closest I could get to Nathan. It's been too long since I've done this. Way too long.
I pretend I'm five and it's Nathan's hands pushing me faster.
"Again, again!"
3.) waste--100 words (Sylar pov)
These people, these pathetic people. They think they're so special, but they're not. I'm special. I'm evolution. I am Sylar. All these other 'specials' around me, they're a joke. They don't know what's been given to them. They don't know what they're capable of. But I do, and I had the sense to do something about it; to become something, to become someone. People know my name and they know what I'm capable of.
I'm capable of amazing things, Earth shattering things. Me, Sylar, I'm special. And Peter too, there's something there. But those other people, they're just a waste.
4.) warm--100 words (Peter pov)
Mmm, yeah. This, I don't get to feel this enough. Sylar has the tightest, warmest ass I have ever had the pleasure of being in. And I love it. I love the way spreads his legs. I love the way he wriggles his hips up and back against me. I love they way he tries to hide his gasps and mewls. But most of all I love his ass. Nothing else compares to the feeling of sinking in to that warm, tight ass. I don't get to do it nearly enough, he's too proud.
So warm, feels just like home.
5.) sleep--100 words (Sylar pov)
I swear to God, that Peter sleeps like the dead. To date I have written on him, shaved him, moved him, and even molested him. He just rolls over or mumbles a string of incoherent syllables. The only thing that seems to wake him is his alarm clock. It would be down right infuriating if it wasn't so damn cute.
But sometimes I feel like it's a ploy. How can Peter 'always-wanted' Petrelli sleep so heavily? It flies in the face of logic. Peter should wake at the drop of a pin. But I'll be damned if it isn't useful.
6.) still--100 words (Peter pov)
Every time, every single time, my heart stops. I swear it. Even though I know he'll be okay I just can't help it. I rage and cry and plead. 'Please, please, no! Not now, not ever! Not anymore!', every single time. And every time he gets up and he holds me and tells me to stop crying. We kiss and hold eachother and rock back and forth. And every time he's okay, just like he was before.
But I still cry, because when I see Sylar lying there, completely still, I feel like it's the end. Every single time.
7.) mark--100 words (Sylar pov)
It's fucking fascinating. There's this little mark, this little scar, on Peter's upper lip. It's a little to the left of his 'cupid's bow' and I just can't figure it out. But still, it's there. It's just this tiny white line of a scar, tilted just so, barely visible. It's clean and solitary, and the most mysterious feature on his face.
I like to imagine that he got it from something exciting like schrapnel. Or maybe something refined like a snapped piano wire. But sometimes when I'm feeling snarky I imagine he got it from something stupid like a toothpick.
8.) flower--100 words (Peter pov)
Sylar is a a Daffodil. No, seriously, a daffodil. It stands for chivalry. Now I know that is pretty hard to believe, but before he went all psycho crazy he was an upstanding citizen. He went to church and held doors for old ladies and put quarters in other people's parking meters. And now that he's off the killing spree he's trying to head back that way. He may not be holding any doors, but he always offers up the comfy seat after he's reamed me into the matress. And besides, Daffodils always looked like men in sweaters to me.
9.) shoe--100 words (Sylar pov)
I own a pair of black brogues. It's a classic shoe that serves two purposes: function and fashion. I do own a couple pairs of converse and some penny loafers, but the brogues are my favorite. I like how they look with my skinny jeans. I like how they look with my dress slacks. I like how they look on Mama Petrelli's entryway tile. And most of all I like how they look stacked next to Peter's Merona Ramiro's.
Peter thinks they're old fashioned. He just doesn't have the eye for fashion I do. I should get him a pair.
10.) crime--100 words (Peter pov)
In 1980 the Anti-Sodomy law in New York was ruled unconstitutional. Thank God...I mean...you know. It's one of those things they don't really enforce but still. I'm already dating an ex-serial killer, I've been on the run from the law because of my genetics, and I'm related to a family of lawyers practically dedicated to helping mobsters. Deceased or not, that kind of thing lingers in paper.
It's a relief to know that I can't be dragged bare ass naked with a screaming boyfriend into a holding cell where I'll become the resident eye candy. Such a relief.
11.) sheep--100 words (3rd person pov)
One, two, three, four, five..."Peter! Peteeeeerrrrr!"
"What?"
"Why am I counting sheep? Are they suppose to be white...or black...mixed maybe? Are they suppose to jump? Do they baa or is it suppose to be like a silent movie? I like those. It's all...grayscale and...pretty. Hmmmm..."
Peter laughed and smoothed his hand through Sylar's hair.
"You know what baby, just count backwards from one hundred."
Sylar nodded and started his count. Peter watched as the morphine worked it's way through Sylar's system, making him loopy.
"I like sheep Peter, they feel like sweaters."
Peter just laughed.
12.) color--100 words (Sylar pov)
Fashion scarves are pointless accessories. They're all flimsy and made of shimmery nylon. They aren't even sturdy enough to tie Peter up with. And they look ridiculous. Who wants something like that on their neck?
I scan the selection for a bit longer, waiting for Peter to come back. Soon enough I hear him cough and look up. Peter has the most ridiculous scarf wound around his neck. It's red, pink, green, orange, yellow...damn, it's every color.
"So what do you think?"
"You look ridiculous!"
Peter started to take the scarf off.
"I didn't say I wouldn't buy it."
13.) with--100 words (Peter pov)
Sylar likes old fashioned things, like gramophones and clawfooted bathtubs. He has dozens of sweater vests and those antique glasses, not to mention those horrible brouges. I thought I had caught onto a real trend. Not all those things are circa the same era, but I still thought I had something.
So one night I dressed in old fashioned clothes, complete with suspenders. Then I sat on his lap and whispered 'Will you go with me?' I expected him to tell me how much he loved me, not for him to laugh so hard he snorted. Totally uncalled for.
14.) screw--100 words (Sylar pov)
Screw is the perfect word. It's not as vulgar as fuck, not as girly as 'make love', and not as clinical as intercourse. 'Sex' is only fun to say in public or in casual conversation. So my favorite word for it is screw. Peter prefers 'make love' when he's in his intimate moments, and fuck when he's in his passionate ones. He doesn't really like that I always call it screw. But I would bet my brainstem that he loves the way it rolls off my tongue. I bet there's a little tingle in his groin when I say ss-kr-ooh.
15.) sticky--100 words (Peter pov)
Mmmm, what is that? It's....it's all sticky...and stuff. God, I'm not awake yet. Uh...I'll just ignore it. Sleep, sleep, sleep. Come on Peter, goooo baaaackkkk toooo sleeeeeppp! Mmmm, maybe if I wriggle this way. Oh, yeah, that's it. So comfy. Oh, foot itches. Yeah, that's nice. Oh God, what is that? Oh, oh, oh! Oh God! Is that the wet spot? Did he come in his sleep? How long have I been laying in that?! Please God, please, tell me that's fresh. Let me check...mmm...nope, not mine. Definatly Sylar's. Gross, I've been snuggling in that.
1.) bell--100 words (Sylar pov)
Ding-Ding-Ding! It was infuriating. All day long, nothing but that damn 'ding-ding-ding'. I want to snatch that bell and chuck it out the window. I stomp in there, again, and cross my arms in the doorway.
Ding!
I grit my teeth and grunt. Peter is so startled he drops the bell and it clangs to the floor, jingling as it rolls. His face turns my way and my jaw relaxes. He looks pathetic. His nose and cheeks are pink, and there's rheum in the corner of his eyes.
"Sylar..."
Now I remember why I gave him that bell.
"Need something?"
2.) again--100 words (Peter pov)
I love how this feels. It's almost like flying, almost. Sylar's hands dig into my back for just a second and then I'm off. I kick my feet out and toss my head back. I want to swing higher go faster. I want the wind to rush past my ears until I can't hear anything but myself. This was the closest I ever got to flying as a kid, the closest I could get to Nathan. It's been too long since I've done this. Way too long.
I pretend I'm five and it's Nathan's hands pushing me faster.
"Again, again!"
3.) waste--100 words (Sylar pov)
These people, these pathetic people. They think they're so special, but they're not. I'm special. I'm evolution. I am Sylar. All these other 'specials' around me, they're a joke. They don't know what's been given to them. They don't know what they're capable of. But I do, and I had the sense to do something about it; to become something, to become someone. People know my name and they know what I'm capable of.
I'm capable of amazing things, Earth shattering things. Me, Sylar, I'm special. And Peter too, there's something there. But those other people, they're just a waste.
4.) warm--100 words (Peter pov)
Mmm, yeah. This, I don't get to feel this enough. Sylar has the tightest, warmest ass I have ever had the pleasure of being in. And I love it. I love the way spreads his legs. I love the way he wriggles his hips up and back against me. I love they way he tries to hide his gasps and mewls. But most of all I love his ass. Nothing else compares to the feeling of sinking in to that warm, tight ass. I don't get to do it nearly enough, he's too proud.
So warm, feels just like home.
5.) sleep--100 words (Sylar pov)
I swear to God, that Peter sleeps like the dead. To date I have written on him, shaved him, moved him, and even molested him. He just rolls over or mumbles a string of incoherent syllables. The only thing that seems to wake him is his alarm clock. It would be down right infuriating if it wasn't so damn cute.
But sometimes I feel like it's a ploy. How can Peter 'always-wanted' Petrelli sleep so heavily? It flies in the face of logic. Peter should wake at the drop of a pin. But I'll be damned if it isn't useful.
6.) still--100 words (Peter pov)
Every time, every single time, my heart stops. I swear it. Even though I know he'll be okay I just can't help it. I rage and cry and plead. 'Please, please, no! Not now, not ever! Not anymore!', every single time. And every time he gets up and he holds me and tells me to stop crying. We kiss and hold eachother and rock back and forth. And every time he's okay, just like he was before.
But I still cry, because when I see Sylar lying there, completely still, I feel like it's the end. Every single time.
7.) mark--100 words (Sylar pov)
It's fucking fascinating. There's this little mark, this little scar, on Peter's upper lip. It's a little to the left of his 'cupid's bow' and I just can't figure it out. But still, it's there. It's just this tiny white line of a scar, tilted just so, barely visible. It's clean and solitary, and the most mysterious feature on his face.
I like to imagine that he got it from something exciting like schrapnel. Or maybe something refined like a snapped piano wire. But sometimes when I'm feeling snarky I imagine he got it from something stupid like a toothpick.
8.) flower--100 words (Peter pov)
Sylar is a a Daffodil. No, seriously, a daffodil. It stands for chivalry. Now I know that is pretty hard to believe, but before he went all psycho crazy he was an upstanding citizen. He went to church and held doors for old ladies and put quarters in other people's parking meters. And now that he's off the killing spree he's trying to head back that way. He may not be holding any doors, but he always offers up the comfy seat after he's reamed me into the matress. And besides, Daffodils always looked like men in sweaters to me.
9.) shoe--100 words (Sylar pov)
I own a pair of black brogues. It's a classic shoe that serves two purposes: function and fashion. I do own a couple pairs of converse and some penny loafers, but the brogues are my favorite. I like how they look with my skinny jeans. I like how they look with my dress slacks. I like how they look on Mama Petrelli's entryway tile. And most of all I like how they look stacked next to Peter's Merona Ramiro's.
Peter thinks they're old fashioned. He just doesn't have the eye for fashion I do. I should get him a pair.
10.) crime--100 words (Peter pov)
In 1980 the Anti-Sodomy law in New York was ruled unconstitutional. Thank God...I mean...you know. It's one of those things they don't really enforce but still. I'm already dating an ex-serial killer, I've been on the run from the law because of my genetics, and I'm related to a family of lawyers practically dedicated to helping mobsters. Deceased or not, that kind of thing lingers in paper.
It's a relief to know that I can't be dragged bare ass naked with a screaming boyfriend into a holding cell where I'll become the resident eye candy. Such a relief.
11.) sheep--100 words (3rd person pov)
One, two, three, four, five..."Peter! Peteeeeerrrrr!"
"What?"
"Why am I counting sheep? Are they suppose to be white...or black...mixed maybe? Are they suppose to jump? Do they baa or is it suppose to be like a silent movie? I like those. It's all...grayscale and...pretty. Hmmmm..."
Peter laughed and smoothed his hand through Sylar's hair.
"You know what baby, just count backwards from one hundred."
Sylar nodded and started his count. Peter watched as the morphine worked it's way through Sylar's system, making him loopy.
"I like sheep Peter, they feel like sweaters."
Peter just laughed.
12.) color--100 words (Sylar pov)
Fashion scarves are pointless accessories. They're all flimsy and made of shimmery nylon. They aren't even sturdy enough to tie Peter up with. And they look ridiculous. Who wants something like that on their neck?
I scan the selection for a bit longer, waiting for Peter to come back. Soon enough I hear him cough and look up. Peter has the most ridiculous scarf wound around his neck. It's red, pink, green, orange, yellow...damn, it's every color.
"So what do you think?"
"You look ridiculous!"
Peter started to take the scarf off.
"I didn't say I wouldn't buy it."
13.) with--100 words (Peter pov)
Sylar likes old fashioned things, like gramophones and clawfooted bathtubs. He has dozens of sweater vests and those antique glasses, not to mention those horrible brouges. I thought I had caught onto a real trend. Not all those things are circa the same era, but I still thought I had something.
So one night I dressed in old fashioned clothes, complete with suspenders. Then I sat on his lap and whispered 'Will you go with me?' I expected him to tell me how much he loved me, not for him to laugh so hard he snorted. Totally uncalled for.
14.) screw--100 words (Sylar pov)
Screw is the perfect word. It's not as vulgar as fuck, not as girly as 'make love', and not as clinical as intercourse. 'Sex' is only fun to say in public or in casual conversation. So my favorite word for it is screw. Peter prefers 'make love' when he's in his intimate moments, and fuck when he's in his passionate ones. He doesn't really like that I always call it screw. But I would bet my brainstem that he loves the way it rolls off my tongue. I bet there's a little tingle in his groin when I say ss-kr-ooh.
15.) sticky--100 words (Peter pov)
Mmmm, what is that? It's....it's all sticky...and stuff. God, I'm not awake yet. Uh...I'll just ignore it. Sleep, sleep, sleep. Come on Peter, goooo baaaackkkk toooo sleeeeeppp! Mmmm, maybe if I wriggle this way. Oh, yeah, that's it. So comfy. Oh, foot itches. Yeah, that's nice. Oh God, what is that? Oh, oh, oh! Oh God! Is that the wet spot? Did he come in his sleep? How long have I been laying in that?! Please God, please, tell me that's fresh. Let me check...mmm...nope, not mine. Definatly Sylar's. Gross, I've been snuggling in that.