Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, Peter, or Sylar (or his eyebrows of epicness).
Warning: If you don't like slash, don't read.
A/N: This isn't really set at any particular time or anything, just something that ran through my head as I was falling asleep last night. Hope you like
"Peter, stop denying yourself what you really want!" Sylar yelled, inches away from Peter's twisted face. Peter refused to meet his eyes. "Look at me."
Peter still would not look at him. Infuriated, Sylar yelled, "Look at me!" and struck him across the cheek. Peter shut his eyes as they watered from the sting. Sylar was breathing heavily, and his eyes softened as he looked at Peter's red skin.
"I'm sorry, Peter I didn't mean to..." he said quietly, as he stroked Peter's cheek with his fingertips. Peter shivered slightly at the touch, first so angry and now so tender.
"You want this Peter, I can tell. Stop denying what you need." He whispered roughly.
Finally Peter spoke. "It's wrong. You think that you know me, but you don't. I don't want this, and I certainly don't need it."
His eyes wandered up and came to rest on Sylar's shoulder, but he still refused to meet his gaze.
"It's wrong," he said again, "I would never do that."
Sylar's mouth twitched in anger, he resisted the urge to strike Peter again and calmed himself.
"Oh Peter, poor little moral Peter. I think that you're lying to yourself. That beautiful, crooked little mouth is lying." As he spoke, he ran a fingertip gently along Peter's mouth, Peter screwed his face up slightly, but didn't pull away.
"Does the rest of your body agree with your mouth?" Sylar asked, tauntingly.
Peter clenched his jaw. There was nowhere to turn, his back was against the wall and Sylar could pin him with his telekinesis if he tried to escape. So far though, he seemed to be allowing Peter free will, pinning him only with his intoxicating presence.
"Sylar," Peter started to say, but all his words were lost when Sylar suddenly struck. One hand was laid gently against Peter's throat, the other at his waist. Peter thought he might start choking him, but Sylar intended no harm, merely enjoying the feeling of Peter's racing pulse against his skin.
Sylar moved closer, pressing himself lightly against Peter's body, breathing in his scent. Peter was startled by the closeness, and finally lifted his gaze to meet the eyes of his captor. He saw there a hunger, not for murder or blood, but for contact. A hunger for Peter himself.
Peter's mouth opened as he tried to contemplate what was happening, that was all that Sylar needed. He moved until his mouth was almost touching Peter's and paused, savouring the quickening of his pulse. His fingers snaked down Peter's waist, had barely made their way under the waistband of his jeans and underwear when he felt Peter harden against him.
His eyebrows of epicness rose as he stared into Peter's eyes. "I told you that pretty mouth was lying," he whispered huskily. Peter's lip quivered and he found that his hands had moved, gripping Sylar's arm and lower back, not pushing him away but pulling him closer. He had no control over his limbs, his knees trembled even as he pulled Sylar more firmly against him.
Sylar grinned and at last pressed his mouth against Peter's. His kiss was very light and very brief. As he went to pull away, Peter suddenly moved forward, capturing his mouth, knowing for the first time the feel of Sylar's tongue, his taste. It felt wrong, twisted, but so deliciously right.
Sylar could feel Peter's hands shaking against his back, his pulse racing against his fingers, his body warming against his touch. He knew that this was exactly what Peter wanted, no matter how hard he had tried to deny it to himself.
The reality of what was happening hit Peter and he pulled out of the kiss. He opened his mouth to speak but it was then that Sylar moved his hand into Peter's underwear, instead of just resting inside his waistband, waiting, teasing.
Whatever Peter had been going to say was lost on a low drawn out moan. His head tilted back and his face could not hide his pleasure. Sylar bit at his neck, first it was tender, then rough as Peter's fingers twisted in his hair.
When Sylar knew it was almost too much for Peter to bear, he paused and said, "I should stop, it's 'wrong' and not what you want." His eyes glinted as he saw Peter's jaw clench. "Don't stop..." he whispered, almost inaudibly. Sylar didn't respond and didn't continue what he had been doing. "Sylar, please..."
Peter looked questioningly into Sylar's eyes, and he grinned in return, delighted that he had made Peter admit it. Peter's eyes narrowed as he realised that Sylar had been toying with him. He firmly gripped both of Sylar's arms and said, "I won't deny myself."
In the blink of an eye, they were standing in Peter's bedroom. Peter pushed Sylar backwards until he hit the end of the bed. "Yes Peter," Sylar purred, "Yes."
Hehe. Reviews? I suppose if anyone really wanted I could add a little more to the end there...
