A/N: This is Slave Verse 3, picking up directly after Slave Verse 2. It seems that Slave Verse has consumed my mind. These chapters (4 or 5 of them) recount Peter and Sylar's adventures on the island, recovering from the trauma of the end of Slave Verse 2. Because in my universes, when horrible things happen to people, they're actually a bit messed up by it, as opposed to the TV show, where they tend to get over it almost instantly.

The only plot here is the recovery of the characters, who get to know one another, decide if it's love or lust and if their kind of hastily conceived plan to right the world can really get off the ground.

They parted. Peter made a soft sigh and didn't bother to wipe away his tears. Sylar rolled over on his back and shut his eyes. Peter stayed on his side, facing Sylar and when the taller man wasn't looking, Peter watched him through nearly closed eyes. The sun warmed them and a pleasant sea breeze ruffled their hair. Sylar tried to relax, but he really couldn't. His mind kept replaying events however much he told it to cut it out.

Oddly, it most replayed the parts from yesterday where Peter had told him he'd need to trust him and that he wanted to be with him. He'd planned on betraying him from the start. Sylar kept his thoughts to himself about this though. Nathan was dead and he was with Peter. Bitching about how this had come to pass would be stupid. Well… Nathan was probably dead. He wasn't really sure. He looked away from Peter, down the beach, and tried to think about other things.

After a long period left alone to his thoughts, a soft nasal sound caught his attention. Peter was snoring. A slow smile covered Sylar's face. He wondered if Peter had slept at all last night. Now that he considered it, he didn't think so. Peter had been awake when Sylar had woken. Now he was sleeping, comfortable enough with Sylar to let down his defenses. Or at least, Sylar hoped he was. Peter was complex and he didn't pretend to understand him. It was part of his charm.

He sat up, forearms on knees and watched the sunlight dance on the water, watched the surf roll into the shore in steady swells. There was really nothing to do here except think and come to terms with things. Obviously Peter had thought this through as well. Sylar stood up. He felt restless. Peter stirred.

He glanced back at him and said, "Go back to sleep, Peter. I'm just going to walk around the island. I'm not leaving."

Peter blinked a few times in way of reply and shut his eyes, but his body didn't relax and he didn't go back to sleep. Sylar left him to the faux-slumber and did what he'd said he was going to do. He walked.

It wasn't a big place, hardly more than a few acres, and the beach wasn't all that long. The island was roughly crescent shaped, with the outermost side to the east and the protected inside of the crescent to the west. Sylar supposed that said something about local storm patterns, but he didn't bother to think about it much.

What he thought about was what had happened and how deeply that had upset him. He thought about kissing Peter and how he, Sylar, had unintentionally flinched from him more than once. He thought about Peter's patience with him, moving slower, reaching out to him, accepting the sudden distance between them and making careful but steady steps to close it. Peter was doing all the work in the relationship at the moment. Sylar couldn't have that.

He snorted at his own ego, but there it was. Now that he was away from Peter, he could think a little more freely as he trudged through the sand, letting it abrade his bare feet. He was upset that he couldn't touch Peter without thinking about Nathan's hands. Sylar had always had a thing about first times, but this was a lot deeper than the knowledge Peter had had a lot more partners before himself. It was more like seeing what he'd seen had made Peter filthy to him, dirty, soiled and used.

He stopped and kicked the sand. It was unsatisfying. He wished there was a can or something more substantial to kick around. He wandered up to where the sand stopped and the vegetation began, found a piece of driftwood and lobbed it into the ocean. That made him feel a little better.

He'd been traumatized to see what he'd seen. He was honest enough with himself to admit it. Most people talked of brain bleach jokingly. It occurred to him he could ask Peter to remove the memories. He shivered. While he wanted them gone, what did that say of his relationship with Peter? How could he understand and deal with what had happened to Peter if he couldn't remember it?

If it had traumatized him to see it, what was it like for Peter, who had actually had it happen to him? What was it like for Peter, who had had it happen to him not just last night, but apparently frequently enough for it to be a pattern? No one had been surprised by what had occurred, except himself. It was a script. They'd played these roles often. He closed his eyes, shook his head and rubbed his forehead. He suspected it would have bothered him less to have it happen to him than to have to helplessly watch it happen to someone he cared about.

He paused and looked up at the bungalow. He'd made it halfway. He continued on his walkabout.

Peter wanted to be with him - that was clear. He wanted to be with Peter - that was also clear, despite recent events. Peter had given him back not only his own abilities, but every ability he had as well and the power to pick up new ones as easily as Peter did. He'd made them equals. Nathan had stolen from him the capacity to be intimate and comfortable with Peter. That was wrong. He'd been cheated. He clenched his fists restlessly and walked faster.

He wondered what had happened to Nathan. He hadn't been dead when Sylar had suicided and he'd been gone when he was resurrected. He walked for a little while with his mind blank, unable to process, his mind running in Nathan-patterned loops.

In the distance, he could see Peter, still rolled on his side and facing the direction Sylar had walked away. Even with enhanced hearing, the constant noise of the ocean would let him get pretty close without his footsteps giving him away. Hopefully Peter had gone back to sleep, because a wakeful Peter was one who would want to be intimate with him, even if it was only eye contact. Another surge of anger ran through him at what Nathan had despoiled for him. Peter belonged to him. It wasn't right that he couldn't be with him without having these unwelcome thoughts. He was going to do something about that.

Peter rolled over as he approached, confirming that he'd been lying awake waiting for his return. This was also unsatisfactory. Peter shouldn't be so worried about him that he was on alert. He should be relaxed and confident, content that if Sylar said he wanted to take a walk and think, that this wasn't a big deal and Peter wouldn't be silently wound up about it.

He stood at the end of the cushion Peter was laying on, looking down at him. Sylar's fists were on his hips. It didn't occur to him what kind of image he cut, with an angry, determined mien and backlit so starkly by the newly risen sun that Peter could barely see his face. Peter blinked up at him very, very uncertainly. Sylar looked really pissed, and he was, just not at Peter.

"Stay here," he said roughly and teleported out. It didn't take him long to find what he wanted - a bottle of suntan lotion. He'd seen the welcoming basket on the kitchen counter, stuffed with papers and products for the use of the resort guests. He hadn't specifically seen the bottle of sunscreen, but it was reasonable for it to be there. He popped back to Peter, who was sitting up and looking a little desolate.

Sylar knelt on his own cushion and showed the bottle to Peter, who let out a tense breath he'd been holding and blinked, eyes dodging in obvious relief. "Lay down on your stomach," Sylar directed, his tone still rough. In his mind's eye, every spot on Peter's skin that Nathan had touched was bright red and off limits. He was going to take care of that. Nathan couldn't have him. He wasn't Nathan's. Peter belonged to Sylar.

He squirted the lotion liberally across Peter's back. Peter twitched at the cool gel hitting him. Sylar paused to admire the sexual imagery of Peter having creamy, whitish ribbons of liquid across him. He chuckled and let out some of his tension, lacing his fingers together and stretching them, popping his knuckles. He reached out with his hands and held them above where Nathan had stroked Peter's back, where he'd scratched him and left red marks only hours before. It was time to exorcize some demons.

He put his hands to Peter's skin and smeared the coconut-scented lotion over his back, covering every inch. Initially, when it smeared, it was white and opaque. This was helpful, as it showed Sylar where it was and wasn't and let him be sure that he was touching every part. The map of Peter's body in his head began to break up. These parts didn't belong to Nathan anymore. He was reclaiming them. They were Sylar's. With that in mind, he dabbed out a little more lotion, smeared it thickly across Peter's back and wrote "Property of Sylar" on him. He grinned at that and moved on to shoulders and sides, leaving that there.

"What did you just write on me?" Peter said after a bit. Sylar told him. It wasn't like he wanted it to be a secret. Peter turned his face down and laughed. "God, I love you, Sylar."

"Now don't you heal that. Let it tan on there. I want that there." His tone was mostly teasing, but partly serious. He wondered if Peter would let him mark him like that. Peter seemed pretty permissive about that stuff.

He was only a little surprised and a lot gratified when Peter said, "Okay, master. I'll leave it there."

Sylar sat there with his hands on the small of Peter's back for a moment, trying to think and failing, and then stirred himself on. He rubbed under the waistband of Peter's shorts, but confined himself to a few finger widths under them, then skipped down to his thighs and worked down his legs. He added more lotion and rubbed at the muscles, massaging while he was at it. When he ran his hands across the back of Peter's knees, the darker-haired man tensed a little. When he did it with more pressure, Peter's whole body tightened. So of course Sylar did it again. And again.

Peter started breathing harder. "That's… um… kind of erogenous… Sylar."

Sylar cupped Peter's knee in one hand and pressed his thumb hard into the underside with the other, rubbing it back and forth. Peter moaned and suppressed the urge to writhe. His muscles tightened beautifully, tensing with every stroke. Sylar reflected that it was a good thing he'd done this - a thorough exploration of Peter's body was long overdue, especially if he'd missed something like this. He switched legs so he could work the other one. Peter put his hands on either side of his head, palms flat to the ground. He was panting and rubbing himself back and forth just a little on the cushion.

"Can I make you come just from this alone?" Sylar asked.

"Yeah," Peter breathed out in a whine.

"Huh. Good to know." Sylar stopped and went down Peter's calves. He was immensely pleased to hear Peter's frustrated whimper.

He rubbed his feet, which were sadly not nearly as stimulating for Peter, but he did still respond. And of course they were ticklish. Peter lay there and enjoyed his torture, making stifled noises and choked laughter, squirming but not actually yanking his feet out of Sylar's grip. It made Sylar very happy to see him react to his touch. He finally took pity on him and let him go.

"Roll over. And be careful not to smear your label."

Peter barked a short laugh and rolled over with care. Sylar worked back up his front. His legs were unremarkable, but his eyes were drawn repeatedly to Peter's groin. He was erect under his shorts. Sylar reached up once and stroked him - a single rub through the fabric as if to confirm what his eyes had told him. Peter lifted his hips into the gesture wordlessly but said nothing when Sylar went back to covering him with lotion. He skipped over his shorts and went to his chest.

Peter kept his eyes shut as Sylar covered every bit of his torso. As with his back, he slipped his fingers under the waistband of his shorts but, at least initially, didn't go further. It occurred to Sylar that his mental map of where Nathan had touched Peter did not include his groin. Nathan had never touched Peter there last night. His fingers probed under the waistband a bit further. Peter shifted his hips again and made a soft sound of need.

"Don't move your back. I'm serious about not smearing that." He squirted more lotion into his hand and sent it into Peter's shorts.

Peter put his head back immediately and started breathing harder. "I love you, Sylar."

"Yeah? Love you too." He pulled back the shorts so he could work him more easily. Peter was already very aroused, still turned on from the teasing of the backs of his knees and his feet. Sylar's even strokes made him twitch and moan. He knelt beside Peter on the beach, out in the open in the light of a new day, and brought him off. He thought about how this too was something Peter didn't have with Nathan, or at least hadn't had recently. Peter couldn't get it up with Nathan - or he suspected, even while Nathan was around. Sylar smiled at the semen on his hand now - proof that he had something from Peter that Nathan couldn't get.

Peter's breathing slowed and his lids were heavy. After a few moments, he carefully rolled over so the sun was on his back. Sylar did a little touch up on him. Peter put his head down and went to sleep. Sylar lay down next to him, but again, his mind wouldn't let himself go. He gave up trying to put it in any order and let it run in endless circles.

He went swimming again, which caused Peter to stir once more, sitting up to watch him like he might drown. That was silly. He could breathe underwater. Even though drowning wasn't a danger, for Peter's sake he came up to the surface frequently and came back to shore after a much shorter dip than he'd planned. Peter lay back down when he returned, confirming for him, just in case he wasn't sure, that yes, Peter wouldn't rest unless he was right there next to him. Sylar put his hand on Peter's calf and it occurred to him he was no longer so bothered by touching him. Sylar smiled at his victory. He patted Peter's leg and just sat next to him, watching the sea and letting Peter sleep.

Time passed. The ocean was creeping closer to them. Peter was snoring again. Rather than break his rest, Sylar started constructing a berm of sand around them to hold back the tide. It didn't stop it, but it delayed the waters. When it was clear the cushions would get wet within the next score of waves, Sylar picked his up. The motion woke Peter, who blinked up at him. "Let's go back to the bungalow." The sun was beating down directly on them now. For some time Sylar had felt his regeneration working on his skin, a faint tingle that let him know that without it he'd have had a ferocious sunburn.

Peter stood up and picked up his cushion. In the shifting perspective, Sylar could see the outline of red letters on Peter's back. He grinned and laughed to himself. He snagged the bottle of suntan lotion. Regeneration had held off his own burn, but Peter had obediently taken that ability off-line to allow Sylar's message to sink in. Sylar was tickled to see that.

They teleported back. Peter put his cushion back out on the chair and stumbled to the bedroom. He fell on the bed and stayed there. Gabriel got out a pineapple, remembering that Peter had picked it to eat first the day before, from the fruit tray. He cut it up carefully and cubed it. He filled a bowl with precut chunks, but Peter seemed truly asleep again and not just resting.

He suspected Peter's sleep would end the moment he left the place, so he didn't. He pulled out the papers from the welcome basket, found a beer inside the icebox (which had no ice and was therefore just a set of insulated shelves - but it had two different kinds of beer in it) and retired to the balcony. He used a frost ability to chill the beer. Ah, that's better.

He kicked up his heels and sorted through the material. There was a menu or a grocery list where he could prioritize their wishes for foods and sundry products. Sylar went through and checked things off. Peter could make changes to it later if he wished, but he seemed sort of out of it.

Sylar set the list aside when he was done and thought about that. Peter had lost his brother, a man who had had an enormous impact on his life, who'd used him, abused him and generally been a bastard of the highest order. Quite aside from the lack of sleep last night, it occurred to Sylar that maybe Peter was depressed or at least suffering some emotional issues related to this. Huh. He wasn't sure what to do about it, but it was something to keep in mind.

He was sure a psychologist would have a field day with Peter. Speaking of field days, he took a deep swig of beer and sorted through the other papers, flipping past the ones detailing the rules for open fires or first aid or where the gun for signal flares was located or how to identify dangerous local critters like scorpions and certain jellyfish. His eye had caught on something else earlier and he found it, predictably, at the bottom of the pile. It was a map of the underwater topography near the island along with a brightly colored brochure extolling the wonders of snorkeling and scuba diving. There was also a little soft-back book full of illustrations of local fish and reef life.

Peter came out of the bedroom, stretching and yawning. Sylar rolled his head back to look at him. Peter walked forward to the kitchen bar that separated the kitchen from the dining area. Or breakfast nook. Or whatever these spaces were called. He picked up the bowl of pineapple chunks and carried it out. "Feeling better?" Sylar asked.

"Yeah. Is this for me?"

"Yes, it is," Sylar said fondly, his voice soft.

Peter smiled at him and blushed a little. He came out and sat down on the other recliner. "Whatcha looking at?" he said, popping a chunk in his mouth.

Sylar handed him the map. "I thought we might go diving. Look at the fish."

"Mm. Might eat one. I'm starved." Peter put the map across his knees and kept eating the fruit.

"You really think with your stomach a lot, don't you?"

Peter gave him a dirty look.

"What's that for?" Sylar asked of the look.

Peter frowned. "It's either my stomach or my dick, is that it?"

Sylar blinked at him. He hadn't been thinking that at all, but now that Peter mentioned it… He gave himself a little shake. Peter had a lot more going on with him than base instincts. Even if Sylar happened to be very partial to Peter's base instincts. They were easy to gratify, for one thing. He could fuck him or feed him and the thing was done - everybody was happy. More complicated issues like saving the world or freeing the slaves or helping him handle the fact that he'd been fucked over by his brother for the worst part of two decades and then had to kill the guy seconds after having his cock in his mouth - well, Sylar was a bit at a loss there. And he thought his childhood had been messed up.

Peter shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm just… grumpy, okay? I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Peter." Sylar looked away. "It was a kind of rough night."

"Yeah," Peter said glumly, folding the map back up.

"And about that," Sylar sighed. He didn't really want to ask this, but he wanted to get past it and get it behind him. "What did you do with Nathan? He wasn't dead."

Peter got up and stalked off into the kitchen, not answering. "Where did you get that beer?"

"In the refrigerator." Sylar felt a pang of tension at Peter's evasion. "Bring me another one, would you?"

"Sure." Peter came back, handing it over. He opened his own and sipped it, frowning. "Warm beer. Yay," he said unenthusiastically.

Sylar smiled a little and said, "That's what you have me around for." He extended a single finger and frosted Peter's bottle for him.

"Oh! I didn't think of that."

Sylar smiled more. "Pleased to be of service." He let the smile slip and picked up his first beer, finishing it off. He was wondering if he should ask the question again, or accept that Nathan was still alive somewhere and teleport away because it was all a botched job and he couldn't trust Peter but at least he had his abilities back…, or just leave it alone.

He was going for 'leave it alone' when Peter finally answered. "I teleported out over the Atlantic and disintegrated him. Dropped the ashes into the water. They can't bring him back."

Sylar blinked at Peter steadily for a bit. Then he asked, "Wasn't he still alive?"

"Yes." Peter's voice was utterly frozen.

"Oh," Sylar said, imagining the agony involved with being disintegrated to death. "Well. That's nice."