The Corruption of Peter Petrelli - 7/? - Petlar
Character: Sylar and Peter
Genre: Slash
Author: sylar
Fandom: Heroes
Word count: 1266
Rating: R
Notes: Post series Petlar. As many of you know, I finally after waiting YEARS got the Sylar LJ and did the name change, so I may need some author tags changed. Sorry about that.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
The church was old, its bricks weathered and worn by more than sixty years of New York winters followed by quite a few scorching summers. I’d been to it before sort of when I was locked in my head. That version of the church didn’t look as old as the real thing. Going to places that I sought comfort in during my loneliness was always such a jarring experience.
I still hadn’t gone to my shop. I think part of me was hoping that it was gone, but I knew it wasn’t. I think the Company kept it there, hoping that I’d return to where I was spawned. I didn’t know if they were still waiting for my return. It wasn’t as if it was hard to find me now. All they had to do was follow Peter, and they’d find me. I wasn’t exactly in hiding.
Peter tilted is head back to take in the stained glass, and then reached for my hand to give it a gentle tug. “You’re coming with me, right?”
“Of course.” I returned the caress, rubbing my thumb along the pulse point in his wrist. “I should go to Confession too. Of course, I can’t tell them everything. If I did, we’d be here for years.”
“I know,” he said with a sad smile. “But we’ll both feel better, and then we can do it.”
I let out a snort of a laugh, remembering when doing it meant something very, very different. The Big It now would impact our lives in so many ways. I’d never take our relationship lightly, but sharing my power with him was much more intimate than sex. It would be a huge game changer for us. It was the final step, tying us together. We’d been though so much together and at each others’ throats, and all of that was about to change. I wasn’t only going inside with him to make my own peace with God. I was doing it to pray that we survived this. I had to pray that I could fight back my hunger, and that he wouldn’t be devoured by his own like he was before.
We walked through the doors together, crossing ourselves with fingers dampened with Holy Water. I knew there’d be no lightning bolts from God for what I’d done. Inside the church was closer to the one in my imagination where I’d spent weeks on my knees praying for death or a single voice to guide my way to my redemption. Peter’d come for me, and I do think God had a hand in that. I wished like hell that I’d be able to be good the way I’d promised him. I might have tried to convince him with logic that when I killed it was the right thing to do, but I knew it was bullshit. Peter did too.
“I haven’t been here since the beginning. I mean the real here.” The windows were as beautiful as I remembered them, and the smell of the incense and candle wax made me feel at home. My mother had been strict about church. We went every Sunday, and I still went after I’d moved away from her. I loved coming here and being closer to god. “I thought about becoming a priest once.”
“Really? You never told me that before.” Peter liked it when I shared tidbits about my past like that, and I liked sharing them with him. I could see him wondering what would have happened to me if I’d been a man of the cloth when I’d discovered what I could do.
“I wondered about that too,” I told him. We knew each other well enough that he wasn’t surprised that I knew what he was thinking.
“Gabriel?” I turned to see Father Anthony standing near the holy water font. “Gabriel Gray, it has been years!” His crows-feet deepened as he took in my measure. I wasn’t the meek watchmaker that used to take communion from him every Sunday. “It’s so good to see you.” He took my hand, and I was thankful that he didn’t offer me condolences about my mother. I hadn’t been here for her funeral, and that was yet another nagging bit of guilt to add to the strew churning in my gut.
“This is my…” I looked at Peter while I tried to decide what to call him. New York had legalized gay marriage, and I wasn’t ashamed of our relationship. But this was different. “My boyfriend, Peter Petrelli.” If God wasn’t going to smite me for being a serial killer, chances were I’d live through admitting to Father Anthony that I was gay. To give him credit Father Anthony didn’t even blink. He didn’t clutch his crucifix or tell me that my mother would be spinning in her grave, so that was a huge relief.
Peter wasn’t shy at all not that, that was a surprise. Peter didn’t do shy. He and Father Anthony chatted the entire way over to the Confessionals while I stayed behind to light a candle for my mother and then another for Peter. My fingers shook as I lit the match; the flame wavering as it finally took in the rack of tea light candles. I missed real votives, but I knew these were cheaper and easier to clean up. The flame was the same as was the sentiment attached. Once both candles were lit I sat in the same pew where I’d spent so many Sundays at Mass with my mother to wait for Peter.
I still wanted God to show me that what I was doing was wrong. I wished that the lack of thunder, lightning and the sound of the Four Horsemen’s hoof beats would make me feel better. It would be arrogant of me to think that I was doing what God wanted, but I still clung to the slender thread that, that might be true. Real life isn’t like the Bible. God gave us free will for a reason. I know that I’ve exploited that, and I’ll do it countless more times until this reality ended.
“Sylar.” I jerked when Peter put his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me out of my thoughts. He sat next to me and laced his fingers with mine. “You’re not going to solve the riddles of the universe. Let it go. I want to do this, and it’ll be all right. No changing your mind now, OK?”
“I won’t change my mind.” I gave his hand a squeeze and then pulled Peter up besides me. “It’s just hard to know if it’s the right decision or not.”
“That’s life, Sylar. Come on.” Peter led me out into the daylight where I squinted while he put on his sunglasses. I wanted to kiss him and hold him, needing the physical connection to quash the fears that were gnawing at me, but standing in front of my childhood church wasn’t the place for that. If he’d been a girl, it still wouldn’t have been proper to do that here. “Let’s eat, and then we can do it. I’m ready.”
“You’re always hungry,” I teased as I started down the sidewalk. “There’s a nice coffee shop down the block where we used to have lunch after church when I was little. They had the best meatloaf sandwiches.”
“That sounds great.” Peter was walking so close to me that our hands kept brushing against each others. It was going to be all right. I had to believe that. “Do they have ice cream?”
***
I know it's been a very long time. Sorry for the wait, and thank you for your comments.
Genre: Slash
Author: sylar
Fandom: Heroes
Word count: 1266
Rating: R
Notes: Post series Petlar. As many of you know, I finally after waiting YEARS got the Sylar LJ and did the name change, so I may need some author tags changed. Sorry about that.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
The church was old, its bricks weathered and worn by more than sixty years of New York winters followed by quite a few scorching summers. I’d been to it before sort of when I was locked in my head. That version of the church didn’t look as old as the real thing. Going to places that I sought comfort in during my loneliness was always such a jarring experience.
I still hadn’t gone to my shop. I think part of me was hoping that it was gone, but I knew it wasn’t. I think the Company kept it there, hoping that I’d return to where I was spawned. I didn’t know if they were still waiting for my return. It wasn’t as if it was hard to find me now. All they had to do was follow Peter, and they’d find me. I wasn’t exactly in hiding.
Peter tilted is head back to take in the stained glass, and then reached for my hand to give it a gentle tug. “You’re coming with me, right?”
“Of course.” I returned the caress, rubbing my thumb along the pulse point in his wrist. “I should go to Confession too. Of course, I can’t tell them everything. If I did, we’d be here for years.”
“I know,” he said with a sad smile. “But we’ll both feel better, and then we can do it.”
I let out a snort of a laugh, remembering when doing it meant something very, very different. The Big It now would impact our lives in so many ways. I’d never take our relationship lightly, but sharing my power with him was much more intimate than sex. It would be a huge game changer for us. It was the final step, tying us together. We’d been though so much together and at each others’ throats, and all of that was about to change. I wasn’t only going inside with him to make my own peace with God. I was doing it to pray that we survived this. I had to pray that I could fight back my hunger, and that he wouldn’t be devoured by his own like he was before.
We walked through the doors together, crossing ourselves with fingers dampened with Holy Water. I knew there’d be no lightning bolts from God for what I’d done. Inside the church was closer to the one in my imagination where I’d spent weeks on my knees praying for death or a single voice to guide my way to my redemption. Peter’d come for me, and I do think God had a hand in that. I wished like hell that I’d be able to be good the way I’d promised him. I might have tried to convince him with logic that when I killed it was the right thing to do, but I knew it was bullshit. Peter did too.
“I haven’t been here since the beginning. I mean the real here.” The windows were as beautiful as I remembered them, and the smell of the incense and candle wax made me feel at home. My mother had been strict about church. We went every Sunday, and I still went after I’d moved away from her. I loved coming here and being closer to god. “I thought about becoming a priest once.”
“Really? You never told me that before.” Peter liked it when I shared tidbits about my past like that, and I liked sharing them with him. I could see him wondering what would have happened to me if I’d been a man of the cloth when I’d discovered what I could do.
“I wondered about that too,” I told him. We knew each other well enough that he wasn’t surprised that I knew what he was thinking.
“Gabriel?” I turned to see Father Anthony standing near the holy water font. “Gabriel Gray, it has been years!” His crows-feet deepened as he took in my measure. I wasn’t the meek watchmaker that used to take communion from him every Sunday. “It’s so good to see you.” He took my hand, and I was thankful that he didn’t offer me condolences about my mother. I hadn’t been here for her funeral, and that was yet another nagging bit of guilt to add to the strew churning in my gut.
“This is my…” I looked at Peter while I tried to decide what to call him. New York had legalized gay marriage, and I wasn’t ashamed of our relationship. But this was different. “My boyfriend, Peter Petrelli.” If God wasn’t going to smite me for being a serial killer, chances were I’d live through admitting to Father Anthony that I was gay. To give him credit Father Anthony didn’t even blink. He didn’t clutch his crucifix or tell me that my mother would be spinning in her grave, so that was a huge relief.
Peter wasn’t shy at all not that, that was a surprise. Peter didn’t do shy. He and Father Anthony chatted the entire way over to the Confessionals while I stayed behind to light a candle for my mother and then another for Peter. My fingers shook as I lit the match; the flame wavering as it finally took in the rack of tea light candles. I missed real votives, but I knew these were cheaper and easier to clean up. The flame was the same as was the sentiment attached. Once both candles were lit I sat in the same pew where I’d spent so many Sundays at Mass with my mother to wait for Peter.
I still wanted God to show me that what I was doing was wrong. I wished that the lack of thunder, lightning and the sound of the Four Horsemen’s hoof beats would make me feel better. It would be arrogant of me to think that I was doing what God wanted, but I still clung to the slender thread that, that might be true. Real life isn’t like the Bible. God gave us free will for a reason. I know that I’ve exploited that, and I’ll do it countless more times until this reality ended.
“Sylar.” I jerked when Peter put his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me out of my thoughts. He sat next to me and laced his fingers with mine. “You’re not going to solve the riddles of the universe. Let it go. I want to do this, and it’ll be all right. No changing your mind now, OK?”
“I won’t change my mind.” I gave his hand a squeeze and then pulled Peter up besides me. “It’s just hard to know if it’s the right decision or not.”
“That’s life, Sylar. Come on.” Peter led me out into the daylight where I squinted while he put on his sunglasses. I wanted to kiss him and hold him, needing the physical connection to quash the fears that were gnawing at me, but standing in front of my childhood church wasn’t the place for that. If he’d been a girl, it still wouldn’t have been proper to do that here. “Let’s eat, and then we can do it. I’m ready.”
“You’re always hungry,” I teased as I started down the sidewalk. “There’s a nice coffee shop down the block where we used to have lunch after church when I was little. They had the best meatloaf sandwiches.”
“That sounds great.” Peter was walking so close to me that our hands kept brushing against each others. It was going to be all right. I had to believe that. “Do they have ice cream?”
***
I know it's been a very long time. Sorry for the wait, and thank you for your comments.