Passion
Author's Note: Strangely this came to me while waiting for the elevator, getting frustrated at the slowness of said elevator, being forced into taking the stairs and then having dinner. One-shot, really. Yeah, I know – my brain = weird
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, Ain't that just the weirdest thing you ever did hear?
__________________________________________________________________________________
Sylar couldn't remember when he'd last felt passionate about something. Oh, wait. Yes, he could. It had been just 10 seconds ago, when he'd been shouting at that insufferable hero, Peter Petrelli. He remembered feeling that undeniable twinge of pure hatred. He remembered wanting to grasp that idiot's neck and feel it crack between his willing fingers. He'd have to then rip it off, of course. It was the only way to be sure.
He never wondered why it was that he only felt truly passionate around Peter. Okay, fine. He'd thought about it once. Fine, fine. Twice. Okay, would you just stop it? Three times then. He'd wondered three times. That was it. He swore. Okay, there may have been a slight fourth occurrence. But that was it.
He watched Peter circle him with wary eyes. He wondered absently how Peter felt during their battles, which were increasing in frequency the more time passed. He cursed softly at the fact that he'd never looked for a telepath to head slice.
But that was the thing, see. Even head slicing and so forth had grown incredibly boring. He'd started it as way to prove he was special. Well, he was certainly special now. Not many people can telekinetically push Peter Petrelli up against a wall and...anyway, the point was that the passion he once had for what he did had died. He couldn't remember when it had but he knew it had.
Oh. The freak was talking. Not that he was listening. Okay, fine, he was. The freak was saying something about...how he didn't want to hurt him...and blah de blah. The guy was pathetic. Actually, now that he came to think about it, the fact that Sylar hated him with something that closely resembled passion was far more pathetic. He shook his head at his own folly.
"Are you even listening to me?" the idiot said crossly, interrupting Sylar's (very important) train of thought.
He looked over at Peter...ahem, the freak. He looked almost sad. Sylar frowned. Sad? Why was he sad? He'd been cross just seconds before. Had time sped up or something?
"Give me something, Sylar," Peter...um, oops...the moron said, his voice throbbing for some reason unknown to Sylar. "Give me something that will stop me from killing you."
Okay, this was definitely weird. Obviously he'd missed something. He felt that he should be getting bored right about now but all he could feel was the urge to push him against the wall directly behind him and...uh, obviously head slice him. Obviously.
Then Peter was kissing him (he said later this was because Sylar had just looked so adorably clueless) and, for reasons as yet unknown, Sylar was kissing him back.
Passion wasn't really an unknown emotion after that.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Is it just me or are Sylar's thoughts really weird? Ah well. We're back to the whole my brain = weird thing again. Fine and dandy I'm sure.
Review please.