You're Here, And So Am I
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Sylar
Author's Note: First of all, my brain apparently likes the present tense (no clue as to when this will change, but it probably will). Second, I tend to be a big fan of telepathy (it's probably why the Star Trek fandom appeals to me, although this doesn't have much to do with the subject at hand). And seriously, people, they spend five hours in each other's mind and expect no consequences? Ha! Thirdly...well, one and two should be enough. Heh, obscure reference is obscure.
Author's Note #2: I intended to write a different sort of fic – longer, for one thing, and much more in-depth, but then I started drowning in the angst that accompanies infidelity, and so I said to my laptop: "You know, Scotty, changing directions is sometimes good." So I did. Hmm.
Warnings/Spoilers: This is slash, so don't like, don't read. Vague spoilers for the end of volume 5. Really vagues one. Um. Sexual references. I...think that's all. Hmm.
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes. Or the references I made to the song The Bad Touch by Bloodhound Gang. This was written for entertainment, not profit.
There's a part of him that asks, what if?
It's small, and he can ignore it whenever he wants, really, he can. But sometimes, like now, looking over the city of Amsterdam, he indulges that part of him, imagines what if. He'd be back in New York City, a lovely woman by his side. But it wouldn't stay that way for long – he'd come along, the man he chose instead, and there would be no question, although he'd try to ignore the attraction and the need. The desire to touch. The hunger. People would get hurt, and he realises that for once he's chosen the path of least resistance, a path that surprisingly means minimal damage to the people around him.
He feels familiar arms wrap around him from behind and smiles. He knows who it is, who else would it be? It's not as though he doesn't recognise the man's touch instantly – the touch of his hands, or of his mind – and he glances up, his smile growing just the tiniest inch.
"You're thinking again," Sylar remarks.
Peter grips the arms encircling his waist and stares over the railing and out across the city. "Contrary to popular belief, I do think occasionally," he says in reply, the annoyance in his voice enough to make Sylar laugh against his ear.
"Could have fooled me," Sylar whispers, and then turns Peter around to face him. He presses their foreheads together and breathes out slowly. Peter smiles, closes his eyes, and leans in closer.
The moment is broken when Sylar sings under his breath, "You and me, baby, we ain't nothing but mammals..."
Peter pushes him away, unable to hide the grin threatening to break through but nevertheless making the effort to appear exasperated. He leans against the railing, pushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. "You're the one who doesn't think," he says, and then smirks. "At least, not with your brain."
"Au contraire, " Sylar says with an almost identical smirk, slinking forward to press his body flush against Peter's, the feel of his breath against Peter's skin sending a shiver down his spine. "My thoughts tend to go off in other directions, is all."
"Like what?" Peter murmurs against his mouth before closing the remaining distance, kissing him deeply.
Sylar has to take a deep breath before he is able to remember what exactly they were talking about. "Well, you tend to think what if." Sylar's quiet for a moment, and Peter thinks that maybe his thoughts have gone off in those mysterious directions again. "While I think more of what's happened to both of us, and how it's brought us to this moment. I don't think I'd change a thing."
It's Peter's turn to be silent because, yeah, there's things he'd like to be different – it's why the what if type questions have always intrigued him. He now has the power to change things in the past again, and sometimes he wonders why he hasn't. He knows it's because some part of him won't let him – it tells him to weigh this present against a different one, and then to really look, examine both under a metaphorical microscope. He sighs, because he's thought about this a lot and sometimes doesn't know if he's made the right choice.
"Noah thinks I'm here to keep an eye on you," Peter says instead, because Sylar already knows exactly what he's thinking. He should have known there'd be consequences to spending five hours in another man's mind, but at the time he'd only thought of one thing, and it hadn't been about consequences. Truth be told, he rarely thought about the consequences of his actions, except when they came back to bite him in the ass (which, sadly, happens far too frequently).
"I know," Sylar replies, and Peter finds he's not too surprised that Sylar does. "And you are." Sylar smiles wryly and Peter can't resist pulling him into another kiss. "It's just not the only reason," Sylar murmurs against his mouth as they break apart.
Peter grins and presses back against the railing, leaning over the edge. He looks down at the streets belong, his body positioned awkwardly, but he's not complaining – the view's kind of spectacular, and anyway Sylar's hands are everywhere, managing to tip him slightly over the railing while keeping him safe and secure. He's high off the feeling of almost falling, but knows that Sylar would never let him. His grin widens and he wraps his legs around Sylar's waist, pulling himself up into a kiss.
Sylar pulls him away from the railing and carries him back into their hotel room, dropping him on the bed and pulling away, much to Peter's confusion and disappointment. Arms outstretched before he's really thinking coherently, he reaches out and drags Sylar back, and Sylar's smiling so he knows he's not doing anything other than what is expected of him. He has to admit this is very annoying, just as the feeling of knowing what Sylar is about to do before he does it. Surprises are few and far between, but they manage. Peter's never realised how much he liked surprises before this relationship.
"Let's try something different tonight," Peter says, and now there's a slight hint of bemusement in Sylar's smile. He manages to turn the tables so that he's now the one on top, leaving Sylar staring up at him, surprised and very interested. It's not as though Peter's never topped before, and Sylar is the first to admit – albeit only to Peter, he has his reputation to protect after all, even if it's been in tatters for a while now – that he likes being the bottom every now and then. It's just that Peter's behaviour up until now has been leading to something other than what is happening, and Sylar has to admit this is very intriguing since Peter has never actively tried to deceive him before, at least not after they embarked on this strange, oddly compelling relationship of theirs. He doubts this is the case now anyway – Peter has the tendency to change his mind swiftly and without reason.
"What do you have in mind?" Sylar frowns suddenly as a thought occurs to him. "I'm not going to do it, if that's what you're thinking about. Remember what happened last time you..." Peter leans down and silences him with a kiss.
"You and me, baby, we ain't nothing but mammals," Peter mumbles against his mouth as he breaks the kiss. "So let's do like they do..."
Sylar grins and, his hand cupping the back of Peter's neck, pulls him back down, kissing him, hot and sweet. There's something in this kiss, a promise for things to come, and Peter's kind of okay with being interrupted if it means experiencing all the things the kiss promises.
And then he pulls back, sits up, because there's a black thread winding its way around and through the link between their minds. He frowns. "You're jealous," he says.
Sylar breathes out, a huff of disappointment, his bottom lip pushing out unwittingly. Peter's distracted by that but manages to get his mind back on track, although it's a close call. "You're jealous," he repeats, a bit more firmly this time.
"And?" Sylar replies eventually. "There's nothing either of us can do about it."
Peter glares down at him. "You know how I feel about you."
"Yeah." Sylar sighs, his hand coming up stroke Peter's face, one finger tracing over his forehead, along his nose, over his lips. "I know."
"I chose you." Peter grabs his hand before it begins wandering down his throat, his chest. He pulls it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the palm.
"You did," Sylar agrees."But sometimes I think you might regret it."
Peter looks at him, his expression unreadable. And then he leans down and kisses him, whispers fiercely against Sylar's mouth, "Never think that." He kisses Sylar again, and again. Sylar sighs and wraps his arms around Peter, pulling them flush against one another, just the way he likes it.
Peter settles down and rests his head against Sylar's shoulder. "I like it here," he says finally, quietly.
"Here here, or here in Amsterdam?"
He smiles. "Both." Peter turns and kisses the nearest skin he can find. "But the former especially."
"What a strange person you are," Sylar murmurs, and Peter glances up to see the other man's eyes are closed. He licks up Sylar's throat and into his mouth. Sylar's eyes open and they look at each other, kissing all the while. Peter kind of likes when they do this and can't help a small sigh of disappointment when, despite his feelings on the subject, he pulls away.
"It takes one to know one," he says. Sylar rolls his eyes.
"Sometimes I don't think you truly understand the magnitude of the choice you made," Sylar remarks, his fingers absently pushing a strand of Peter's hair out of his eyes.
"Every day," Peter says. "Every day I understand."
Sylar looks like he doesn't believe him, but Peter's telling the truth. Sylar can feel it, and not just because of an ability. Eventually he relaxes, sighs a little and brings their mouths together again.
There's a part of Peter that wonders, what if?
It's small and he can ignore it whenever he wants, but sometimes it's nice to have it there, just so he knows what he has. In case he forgets, it's there, a reminder of what could have been, something he isn't afraid to admit always pales in comparison to what he has now. True, what he has now isn't perfect, and that's just the way he likes it.
Perfection's overrated anyway.
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