As You Were
Pairing: Peter/Sylar
Warning: possible dub!con
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes
Sometimes Peter wondered whether he would prefer returning to the time when he and Sylar were merely enemies. It had been so much simpler back then. Even the time when he'd believed Sylar was his brother looked attractive at times. Certainly much more attractive than the weird, twisted relationship they had now.
And at other times he merely wanted to wrap himself around Sylar and feel his heart beat beneath his fingers, wishing the world would just go away. Moments like those kept him going.
He also wondered whether he'd done the right thing when Sylar had come to him that first time. The despair filled whisper of his name could so easily have been a trap. And yet...and yet. The thought of turning him away hadn't even crossed his mind.
It was night, almost midnight in fact. Sylar had been floating just outside his window. He'd become very good at that but then he'd always been a fast learner. The memory of that whisper still haunted Peter. He'd heard it even though he'd been in a deep sleep.
He'd stumbled to the window, blinking sleep out of his eyes, and opened it. Sylar flew in, landing gently on the floor. He hadn't really been surprised it was him. In fact, deep down he knew he'd been expecting it.
He had waited for Sylar to attack him and he did, although not in the way he'd imagined he would. His kiss had been desperate, bittersweet. It had, much to Peter's surprise, felt right.
He knew Sylar had pressed him against the wall, his face pushed into the rather tasteless wallpaper. He remembered thinking he'd been meaning to change it. He'd felt Sylar enter him and it had hurt and felt fucking wonderful at the same time. He had heard Sylar sobbing against him and, wanting to comfort him, had taken the hand pressed against his thigh and twined their fingers together.
Sylar had continued to sob although he'd thought he'd heard a hint of pleasure in the sound. And he knew he hadn't imagined the slight squeeze Sylar had given their entwined fingers.
They had come simultaneously and, as they had shuddered against each other, he had felt a soft kiss on his shoulder. He'd tilted his head back onto Sylar's waiting shoulder and panted for a moment. And then there was a sudden emptiness behind him. He'd turned to find Sylar sitting on his bed, head buried in his hands.
Really, sometimes he just did not understand himself. What he should have done was throw the bastard out, even if said bastard was sobbing on his bed. That was really no excuse. What he'd done instead was lower himself down beside Sylar and, taking him into his arms, rock him gently. It was really the only thing he could have done, now that he thought about it.
Now it was almost a weekly occurrence. Not exactly like the first time – Peter grew to anticipate his arrival. He wouldn't be surprised a third time (since he'd at first believed it was only a one-time thing).
Sometimes he wished it could continue indefinitely. Sometimes he wished there could be more. Sometimes he wished that Sylar would never leave. Sometimes he wished he had the courage – or the brutality – to ask certain questions.
And at other times, in those perfect moments that only ever happened when he was with Sylar, he simply was.
"Peter?"
Sylar lay on his side and gazed at him. He deemed this time – when Peter was asleep across from him – the only time he could truly just look, examine, caress. He knew he didn't deserve Peter or his many kindnesses. And yet he couldn't help himself; he had to come back for more.
"Peter?"
He'd tried to give him up once. He'd stayed away for an entire month. But it was just so hard. He'd never been very good at denying himself, especially after he'd learnt how good it felt to give in.
"Peter?"
So he'd returned. Peter had not been very happy with him. It was then that he realised that he wasn't the only one getting something out of these 'encounters'; Peter liked them too, actually looked forward to them. He'd always thought it was a type of pity sex...but the strange thing was that it wasn't. It wasn't.
"Peter?"
Sometimes Sylar thought about trying to give him up again. He knew he wasn't a very healthy person to be around. People, more often than not, ended up dying, usually by his hand. He didn't want that to happen to Peter. He didn't want anything to happen to Peter. He knew, with a certainty that scared the shit out of him, that he would die for him. And the weirdest, craziest thing of all was that he knew Peter would do the same for him.
"Peter?"
He'd never had that before. No one had ever been willing to die for him. Okay, it did help that Peter was able to regenerate again but somehow, even if he hadn't, he knew that Peter still would give up his life.
"Peter?"
He was crazy, he knew that. He had to be imagining this. Someone like him, who had committed the atrocities he had, could never have the happiness he experienced with Peter. It just wasn't possible. But then Angel had had Buffy – maybe Peter was his chance at perfect happiness before the shit really hit the fan. That wasn't actually a pleasant thought but it made more sense than the crazy idea that maybe, just maybe, this was it, things weren't going to go pear shaped, everything was going to stay this good and this right forever.
"Peter?"
He stroked his face gently with one delicate finger. That finger had done a lot of damage in its day. It had even hurt Peter once, maybe twice. Now it was never going to hurt anyone, ever again. He'd make sure of that. Because if he did harm someone, if he harmed Peter, he'd never forgive himself. And he knew with absolute certainty what he'd do next.
"Peter..."
He breathed it this time. His name. His Peter. His everything.
Peter blinked, opened his eyes and smiled.
"Good morning, baby."