Title: Trust
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Snuff sex, graphic sexual content, blood play, dark
Word Count: 550
Summary: Post-BNW, Sylar and Peter have a very dark pact.
Notes: Written for the 2011 Kinkmeme and originally published anonymously.
This was what Sylar loved most about Peter having all of his powers back - the trust. That, and Peter had a kill spot. He nuzzled at that spot, licking around the enormous bowie knife jammed into dear, sweet, trusting Peter's skull. He teased his tongue across the blood and then up the blade itself, slicing into his own flesh. He felt his tongue part before the razor sharp edge and his own blood mingled with Peter's. Blood brothers, they were, in oh-so-many ways.
He leaned away, pushing himself up with his hands while his groin remained cupped around Peter's buttocks, his cock rammed deep within the unresisting man. He couldn't resist - not like this, and even though Peter knew this was what Sylar wanted when he brought out the big knife, Peter submitted to it. At first Sylar had wondered why. Now he didn't care. He just knew that something about this provided Peter with jack-off material for a month - just about long enough that Sylar started coming back around, asking, suggesting, flirting. He hadn't been turned away yet.
His thrusts began coming harder and faster so that he had to pin Peter's body in place so he didn't shag him across the carpet of the sleazy motel they'd met in to do it this time - their dirty little ritual. Sylar wasn't sure they were actually having a relationship. Did it count if one of them was unconscious for most of it, then the other was absent for the rest? They hardly even saw each other. Outside of this, they were almost enemies. Almost.
Peter's ass was always so slack, so open, so inviting. He hardly had to use lube at all, but he did, because the first time (and every time), Peter set a packet of lube next to a condom on the nightstand, then turned and presented the back of his skull without comment or question. He'd just trusted. And so Sylar played by those rules, even though he thought the condom was ridiculous between them. Maybe Peter was just worried about his other partners.
None of them got to ride Peter Petrelli like this - total acquiescence, total submission, total trust. Sylar's ramming thrusts became irregular, his breaths ragged. He bent his forehead down until it rested on the handle of the knife and through it he could feel the rocking vibrations his motions made through Peter's somnolent flesh. Totally relaxed, Peter's body jiggled. With one final great push Sylar had his release. A moment later, a small aftershock moved him and he twitched, panting above the other man.
He pulled out, tossed away his condom and cleaned up his "victim." He dressed. He looked at Peter's perfect body, lying there on the floor. He could do anything with him right now - from as juvenile as writing rude things on him with a Sharpie to as final as killing him permanently. He walked to the door and opened it, putting out his hand. With a telekinetic tug, the knife came free. Peter made a small noise, but it was lost in the sound of the door shutting. By the time Peter looked up, the room was empty.