Title: We Are All Sinners
Summary: In time ruled by the strict passions of religion, Peter crosses a man possessed. Historical, demonic possession AU.
Pairing: Sylar/Peter
Warnings: Contains religious themes, dub-con, and it 13 pages long. Read at your own risk.
A/N: This is suppose to take place in the late 1600's in America. And as per the time and subject matter there's some religious themes. I've tried to be as careful as possible with the finer points of the Protestant faith, but I'm admittedly not very good. I'm not really religious at all, I'm more agnostic and sometimes these things escape me. But I hope I did alright. If there are any glaring errors let me know in a comment and I'll go back and fix it.
This is also the first fic of my 'Horray for Summer' fic-a-day-a-thon!
3rd person POV
In the dark, when the moon shows only as black, and stars' light seems sinister, demons come out to play. They creep out from the shadows and the under places and slink through the town, looking for a chance to play. But the humans are wary. They pray and scheme and cast out all those who would leave a window open for their games. And so the demons must be persistent. They must lurk around every corner and bid their time until a precious opportunity unfolds in their wake. And tonight, Sylar sees an opportunity.
Gabriel Gray is a timid man, at times afraid of his own shadow. His upbringing, while just as God fearing as those of his neighbors, was tainted with something other than the strict passions of the church. His mother was an avaricious woman. Her plight was loneliness and bitterness by a husband that turned away from God and his followers to live a life of sin in uncharted land. So her attentions focused on her only son. A son who spoke so much like her beloved husband, but was so different. Different in ways that lit her soul aflame and made her consider sin. But she dared not cross God when he could see her, so she was careful. In the end Gabriel became a man only in its loosest terms. He was unwanted by the village, but not cast out, as the sin was not his own. And still Virginia Gray sits in her home, around the corner from the grand church, and counts the hours until her son visits her again.
Sylar shadows the man. He has always been tempted by this mortal, so much so that he mirrored his appearance. There were alterations, as Sylar was unwilling to completely turn his back on his own more sinister form. But the resemblance is there and Sylar rather thinks it suits him. To him, Gabriel is a ticking clock, one that is ready to putter out and snap its springs. Others told Sylar that he was wasting his time following such a devout mortal, but Sylar knew better. And for something as sweet as him, he was willing to wait.
His patience was rewarded. Virginia had been too forward today, and in a moment of shear desperation, Gabriel lashed out and struck her across the face. It was a small gesture, one he immediately dropped to his knees and apologized for, but it was enough. Sylar slipped in and hid in the back of Gabriel's head, waiting for solitude. As Gabriel made his way home, a tiny place on the opposite side of the village, Sylar spread out. His shadowy limbs stretched and quivered, testing the feel of his new body. All around him Gabriel hurried along, head down, unaware.
Sylar's mind reeled and buzzed as Gabriel's home came closer and closer. He yearned to let loose and torment the man. But his patience would all be laid to waste if he struck too soon. A being such as Gabriel deserved a finer brand of torment, and Sylar was more than up for the challenge. He plotted his game, weighing mortal fears of the night against blatant possession in the day. He thought of phantom noises and wicked thoughts. To him it seemed the panic would be all the sweeter if Gabriel suffered alone, if he was left to his own devices and solitude to handle the wickedness.
With the thunk and click of a wooden door, Gabriel Gray had sealed his fate. Gabriel lit a series of candles and turned to face a large wooden cross hanging above his mantel. There was a whisper, almost a whine, and every flame flickered once before rising high and straight. Gabriel starts and eyes his candle warily before grabbing a book from the mantel. "The Fair Vow Breaker", Sylar knew little of mortal works, but felt it was more appropriate to their situation, less ironic than the Bible.
Sylar stirred in the back of Gabriel's mind, pulling and prodding at delicate gray matter. -tick, tick, tick- Shudder, whispers in his ear straight from the head. All shushed and garbled, ran together all to fast to distinguish. But the hiss of evil was clear. Gabriel's hands trembled over the pages of his book, shaking. His eyes clenched shut and his breath caught.
"I am safe in my own home. No demon shall find me here, for I am in God's good graces."
Don't be so sure!
It was an angry hiss, with all the finality of a Priest condemning a willful sinner. And with that there was silence. The building crescendo of demonic whispers were hushed and Gabriel was awarded peace. The candles burned down around him, the flick and dance of the flames casting his features into various states of anguish and relief. Sylar mused that the planes of shadows and light was a prefect foreshadowing for what was to come.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – –
The world is full of sin. The righteous and the depraved, they're all the same. They're all sinners, it's just a different brand of evil. Peter had discovered that the hard way. 'Father I have sinned.' 'Father the sinners should be cast out.' 'Father, demons have taken my daughter and so I have cast her out.' 'Father at what time do you start your prayers? Surely it is before I.' Father, Father, Father...all the worlds problems were his. Why solve your own problems when they were surely tests sent from God? Peter couldn't handle it anymore. He had turned to faith early in life, comforted by the warm hands of congregation. He had repented and prayed and vowed his life. And he had been fooled.
Faith came with a greater price than he had been told and he wasn't prepared to pay. The sins of his parishioners were too great for him to handle. The secrets were too much for him.
"If God loves all of his children, why does he make them suffer so?"
Peter rubbed his tired eyes and clasped his white collar on for the last time. He had decided to leave this village and start new somewhere else. In order to avoid whispers of a witch-hunt he would lie. Shameful yes, but he felt the ends justified the means. In all of his years here, he had seen little of God's graces, and even less of the joy it should have brought. So he would turn his back on the church and its followers to find his own salvation, perhaps in the eyes of something less omniscient.
Peter had told his fellow priest, Father Adam Monroe, that he was taking the word of God outward, into new places. Under Adam's stare he felt his lie branding his face. But for all the years he had known Adam, he knew that his mind was more suited to carrying the weight of confessed sin and righteous indignity. He agreed to one last sermon, the tail of Gabriel and the coming of the apocalypse.
– – – – – – – – – –
Shadows had taken a life of their own. In every corner, under every chair, and in the night, shadows were reaching out to him. They crept across his floor with spindly arms and winding claws. They reached out to take him, to drag him away for the sins of his mother. Gabriel stood in the light, a bright rectangle cast onto his living room floor from the thrown open window. He stood in the sun's warmth and prayed to the heavens above to keep him safe from those horrible shadows.
In the two weeks since he struck his mother, since he heard the voice, his life has been pulled apart. When he walks the streets the faces of his neighbors morph into other-worldly beasts. All with missing eyes and gnarled skin. They screech and rave at him but no one else takes notice. He hears whispers of lies against his ears when he goes to work. And in church, in church, he cries openly in the pews as screams of rage and pain echo through his skull. No one approaches him. No one wants anything to do with him. And so he suffers alone, and is confused.
In his heart he knows it is a demon, but he won't confess it. Confessing that a demon has taken hold of his soul will be the final strike. Gabriel would either be cast out of the town or burned at the stake while his Mother watched in tears. So he hides in the back of church and hurries home. He's taken to shutting himself indoors with only the illusions of the demon to keep him company.
The demon, Sylar, taunts him. His voice is low and smooth, sickly molasses that he shouldn't enjoy but is almost comforted by. The tricks and taunts Sylar levees at him are morbidly beautiful and some small part of Gabriel feels that he deserves it. But the pain does not lessen. Gabriel listens to Sylar's poisonous words and lets them wash over his body. He listens to them with apprehension, unable to make heads or tales of the riddles, but knowing it does not bode well.
With each day his body seems to weaken. His sleep comes earlier each night. And each night his dreams are plagued with visions of fire and a great beast that torments his flesh. He's slow to react and just recently it has been far too hot. His skin seems to burn from the inside and the cool March air does nothing sooth him. He has stopped going to his shop, instead opting to do what work he can in the solitude of his own home. But he has accomplished little. When the demon gives him a reprieve his mind whirls and swims, foggy like a man starved for oxygen. It has unsettled him to the point that even the concentration required to prepare a meal escapes him.
Though his muscles are weak and his concentration fleeting, though fatigue strikes at his body, and hunger gnaws at his stomach, and fire burns across his skin, his body is in no worse shape than before. He fears that the demon keeps him alive so that this torture can go on forever.
He hears a deep breath in and out.
...Sinner...
It is enough. Gabriel collapses in a heap on the floor, his arm thrown out of the light as if it were reaching for those cruel shadows. His breathing is harsh and shallow, quick and not nearly satisfying enough for his lungs.
– – – – – – – – – – –
Around him the woods woods were thick and cool. Peter tightened his grasp on his bag and took a deep breath. His own town was far behind him and ahead of him he could hear the faint sounds of civilization carried on the wind. The silence had been jarring at first. He had encountered no one on his travels and the change has been harder than he thought. Although he was glad for the break from troubled church goers, he found himself missing people in general.
He looked forward to the village that laid ahead. He knew that his appearance would not be welcomed warmly. In times such as these outsiders were seen as demon harbingers. He only hoped that his knowledge of the Bible and his charm would disarm their fears. He had no intention of becoming a priest again and hoped that he would be able to work as a medic.
Peter walked for several more days, his pace quickening with each passing day. Soon the sounds of the new village morphed from clangs carried on the wind to the babel of townsfolk and the trotting of horses. When finally he reached the outskirts of the town he hesitated. His possessions were meager, with only a few changes of clothes, a bible, and a box of medical supplies. He had another bag of food, but no money. He feared that the villagers would ask him to pay up front for a room, or pay to just be in the town. He had heard stories of towns that turned their back on religion and prospered on the exchange of money and goods. With very little to offer, and as a stranger, he feared being run out of town. He did not have the supplies to make a return trip.
"I realize now that I did not think this through thoroughly."
Peter drops his two bags momentarily to straighten his clothes. His black pants have seen better days but were a far cry from rags. His white shirt was skewed under his black vest and he loosens the ties to straighten the hem underneath. With that fixed he smooths his hair back and runs a hand across the stubble on his cheeks. It was barely there, just more than a shadow and Peter nodded, satisfied. He picked his bags up once more and walked towards the new town, head held high.
His presence was like Moses splitting the red sea. Although he smiled warmly to all those who passed, he received nothing but looks of fright in return. No one would come close to him, going so far as to trip over each other in an attempt to keep away. But Peter continued regardless. He looked towards the sky, his eyes skimming the tops of the buildings, and made his way towards a steeple.
As word spread of his arrival he received more and more distasteful looks. When he finally reached the front doors of the church he felt a wave of unease flow through his body. The doors seemed to loom over him, ominous. Peter took a deep breath and shook his head to rid himself of the foolish thoughts. He then opened the church doors and stepped inside.
A conversation was cut short by the creaking of the doors. Before a proper apology could leave his lips, a furious glare was faced in his direction.
"I do not believe I know you sir."
Peter straightened himself and closed the doors behind his back. With a smile he stepped forward.
"You do not. I am Peter Petrelli. I come from a village beyond the wood."
"Your name does not sound English."
"No sir, my family is from Italy."
There was a silence as the priest surveyed Peter's person and processed his words. Behind him a young blond girl fussed with her bonnet.
"What is your business here Peter?"
"I merely wished for a change in location Father. I am trained in medicine and would be more than happy to help around town if you'd allow me to stay."
"I am not the mayor."
"No, but I find that Mayor's tend to seek the advice of their priests. I am a well versed Christian sir. Would it not be poor form to dishonor a neighbor?"
The blond laughed, and with a single stern look from the priest, muffled it behind her hand.
"I suppose you are right Mr. Petrelli. I will inform him of your arrival and give him a good word. My name is Noah Bennet. Behind me is Miss Claire."
"Miss Claire..."
"Claire was an abandoned child. She is a ward of this church and of God. We are not aware of her surname."
Peter nodded and smiled to her in greeting, offering a small wave. His view of her was cut short as Noah stepped closer. His form crowded into Peter's space and posed a stern figure.
"We are a proper God fearing community. I will persuade Mayor Bishop to let you stay, but I make no promises that your stay will be what you are looking for. At the first sign of nonsense or depravity, you will be asked to leave."
Peter nodded once more and tightened his grip on his bag.
"I thank you Father for your consideration and your warning. I mean no harm and I will do well to heed your words."
"As you should child."
With that Father Bennet strode past him and to the doors of the church. They swung open and Peter hurried along after him. With a priest now in front of him Peter was met with less hostility, but it was still evident that he was unwelcome. He had figured this would be the case, but it still tore at his soul. In his own community he was actively sought out, a people person. He had never before been the subject of such fright.
The walk to the Mayors house was a blessedly short one. They were greeted at the door by yet another blond. Peter got the distinct sense that this girl had the urge to sin, that she would be one to strip off her black dress and head into the wild in search of natives. Her name was Elle and she was Mayor Bishop's daughter.
"Father Noah, stranger, welcome to our home."
Noah nodded to her and strode into the home, not bothering to properly introduce Peter. They walked together up a set of worn stairs and into a study. Books of all kinds lined the walls, among them was a large leather bound Bible. It's spine was crinkled and peeling from use. At the desk, writing, sat Mayor William Bishop. His eyes flicked up to Noah's face, and then to Peter's, but he made no move to stand or otherwise acknowledge them.
"William, this is Peter Petrelli. He wishes to live in our town and has graciously offered his medical talents."
"Petrelli, Italian then?"
"Yes sir."
"Your medical services are not needed at the moment."
Peter's mouth dropped open momentarily before he recovered face and straightened up.
"Then I am sure that I will be of some other use to your town."
He moved to speak on, but Noah held up a hand and stood closer to Bishop's desk.
"He came to the church and made an honest plea. He has given his word that he is devout and that he will cause no trouble."
Mayor Bishop scribbled some more before sighing and leaning back in his chair.
"You offer your word for him?"
"I do."
"Then he can stay. But Mr. Petrelli, you will stay where we tell you to. And you will abide by the laws of our town. I will think of something for you to do."
Peter nodded in thanks.
"Father, take him to Gabriel Gray's house. I believe his extra room is still empty, is it not?"
"It is empty William. I will take him there now."
They left the house promptly, not even sparing Elle a passing goodbye. Peter could almost feel the resentment pouring off of her for it. Peter also got the impression that Gabriel Gray was not well liked. However, Peter was thankful to be allowed to stay, and said nothing on the matter. It wouldn't due to make waves on his first day. They walked quickly, passing the church along the way and a rather harried looking woman in the yard across from it. They passed a fruits and vegetable stand and several houses. Their pace finally slowed when a relatively small home made it into their view. It was humble and well kept.
Peter waited patiently for Noah to cross the yard but he made no such move.
"Is this Gabriel Gray's home?"
"Yes. I feel that I should warn you Peter. Gabriel is a troubled man. He attends church regularly and knows every word of the Bible, but he is not always in the town's good graces."
"Why is that Father?"
There was an awkward pause during which Father Bennet tried to collect himself.
"The woman we passed along the way, the one across from the church, she is Virginia Gray. Her husband left her to join the Indians. Afterward her mind went. She became troubled and most believe that she turned her sights on Gabriel."
"In what manner Father?"
His look suggested fornication and Peter made no move to say it aloud.
"If so many of you believe her a sinner, why have you not cast her out?"
"She helped build the town into what it was today. She was also an avid speaker in the church and a helpful woman. And as it is, we have no proof of the rumors levied against her. Without proof we are wary to cast her out. She is sickly as it is and will most likely die within the next winter. I believe it is for the best."
Peter nodded in understanding, taken aback by the new information. He would say nothing of it to Gabriel and let the man believe he was unawares of the situation. Peter hoped it would be for the best. He stepped towards the house and looked back at Noah once again.
"Are you coming in Father?"
"No child, I have no business with Gabriel Gray."
With that Noah turned back toward the church and walked away. With one last glance in Noah's direction, Peter pushed forward and knocked on Gabriel's door. There was no answer. He waited for a few moments then tried again, thinking perhaps he was just busy. But again there was no answer. Peter dropped his bags on the porch and walked to the side of the house, looking for a window whose shades had not been drawn. He spotted an open window and hurried to it. Upon looking inside he gasped. On the floor in a crumpled heap was, who he presumed to be, Gabriel Gray. The man was pale and shaking. His breathing was troubled and Peter could see the sheen of perspiration on his brow.
Peter quickly heaved himself up and leapt through the open window. In seconds he was over Gabriel. He reached out to turn the taller man and was met with a guttural groan. He felt the man's skin quiver and burn beneath his fingers. And in a flash he saw a warp of dark color swell out from under his touch, only to vanish seconds later. He dismissed it as a trick of the light and set to work checking Gabriel's breathing.
"Help me...please...p...forgive me..."
Peter shushed him and pressed his ear to Gabriel's heart. His own clenched with every beat of Gabriel's.
– – – – – – – – – –
With the night, Gabriel's condition seemed to ease until the mans breathing evened and his sweating stopped. Peter battled with himself, unsure if the right thing to do was keep this a secret. Noah had made it clear that the townsfolk did not like Gabriel, but he hadn't the proper tools to help if the condition was serious. In the end he simply gathered his things from outside and sat beside the tired man.
Gabriel said nonsensical things, some ominous, others sad. Peter believed it was the work of his fever and took no stock of it. He was not aware however of Sylar. Inside of Gabriel's mind Sylar twisted and retched, repulsed by the sudden appearance of Peter. There had been no attempt of exorcism but Sylar could feel the religion in him, the light. It burned him and stressed his host. But as the day had given way to night Sylar had been soothed. There was light, yes, but it was tainted with something. It seemed similar to the darkness surrounding Gabriel. But he was still restless. Though he no longer feared this new man would rip him away from his prize, he felt that things would get worse before they got better. He also lamented that his work to keep Gabriel alone had been squandered away by this stranger.
Later into the night, when Peter was certain Gabriel would last until dawn, he searched out the empty room and slept. Now separated by the walls of the house, Sylar roused again. He took hold of Gabriel's limbs and stood. He rolled his neck in a circle, working out the cricks, and stalked out of the room in search of the visitor. He stood in the doorway, not wanting to risk a sudden wave of piety. From his vantage point the only skin he could see was the pale, heart-shaped face of the stranger. His cheeks were flushed bright pink, a trait he thought rare in mortals, and undeniably appealing. He spied a row of nearly perfectly white teeth and his mind automatically connected that with vegetarians; a strange group of mortals that insisted on eating like faun. The rest of the visitor's body was obscured by an itchy white blanket.
Sylar rotated his head from side to side and allowed a shiver to wrack his body. This visitor would be fun.
– – – – – – – – – – –
The dawn brought the chirping of birds and a symphony of bugs. Peter yawned and threw an arm over his eyes. As he became more aware he strained his ears for any sign of distress form Gabriel's room. He heard none, but over the noise of the outdoors he heard no breathing either. In a flash of panic Peter jumped from the bed and hurried to Gabriel's room. His worries were unfounded however, as the other man was fast asleep and sprawled comfortably. Peter breathed a sigh of relief and slumped against the door frame.
After a moments hesitation, Peter stepped forward and slowly eased towards the bed. Every step closer revealed more detail, until Peter was able to discern the small veins stretched across Gabriel's eyelids. He paid close attention to Gabriel's breathing. When he reached out to check his pulse, Gabriel's arm shot out. A hand clamped around his wrist, burning like a white hot wire. Peter gasped in pain and shock but did not move.
"I am Peter Petrelli. M...Mayor Bishop sent me here. You had collapsed..."
Sylar pulled Gabriel's face into a twisted grin. His new plaything had a beautiful name. Sylar watched Peter's face, eagerly cataloging the the emotions that flickered past. Most dominate was shock. Peter's gaze was locked on Sylar's hand where waves of dark, wine red and soot black were rolling back across the skin to his wrist. Sylar cocked his head to the side and loosened his grip. With that same hand he pressed a finger to the underside of Peter's chin and tilted his head up. Their eyes locked and Peter's thoughts froze.
A sense of overwhelming contentment flooded his being. Sylar's face broke into a twisted grin as he worked his spell over his new plaything. With Peter subdued, Sylar was able to freely examine him. It began with light fleeting touches and long burning gazes. Peter blinked owlishly and leaned into the touches, like a sickly child. He face turned slowly into Sylar's, a mere breath away from touching lips. Then an anguished scream roared through Peter's skull and out of Gabriel's mouth.
Noah, it seemed, was praying for him. Peter shook his head and stood. On the bed before him Gabriel was asleep once more, his eyes flicking fast back and forth beneath his lids. With a shaky breath Peter balled his fist and rested it against his heart.
"Dear God above, what ail's this man?"
– – – – – – – – – – –
Peter paced the length of the living room. Night was quick approaching and behind Gabriel's bedroom door he heard moans and words not of this Earth. He knew in his heart that this was the work of a demon. But he knew not what to do. To tell Father Bennet would surely result in Gabriel's death, but to do nothing would equate to the same. So he saw that it fell to himself to take action. He had barricaded Gabriel's door with a large oak chest and nailed a cross to the door. It was holding for now but Peter was not expecting it to last the night.
When, at last, Peter had left Gabriel's room the man had broken into a sweat once more. His whole body thrummed with energy and restlessness but his limbs were too weak to move properly. Beneath his white tunic there were mottled discolorations, and when his eyes opened, however briefly, they seemed to flash an angry red. The demon was taking over. Peter guessed that by the dawn Gabriel would be only a shadow and the demon would have total control. He paced and thought of what he could do. He had no proper tools, only Bible and his broken faith. Taking any action would put his own weakened soul in jeopardy. Peter battled within himself. Should he save himself and force Gabriel to face his demon alone, or should he risk his immortal soul and spare a man he did not know?
A dull thud shook Gabriel's bedroom door and drew Peter from his thoughts. A brief look outside told Peter that the sun was kissing the horizon goodnight. In minutes, the demon would come out for play. He looked from the door to his bags. On top of one was a single bible, the cover worn and cracking. It's lettering long gone on the cover. He strode towards it and heard angry rumbles at his back. As he bent to pick it up the door shook violently on its hinges. It quaked and shook as if the demon had dug his claws straight through the wood and was trying to yank the door free. Peter turned to face the door, clutching his bible and still unsure. There was a great deal of snarling and echoing moans. But amidst that, in a split-second reprieve, Peter heard a noise of pain. Gabriel.
"I shall do my best to save you from your demon."
Peter took a deep breath and made his way toward the bedroom. He heard the scuffle of Gabriel's body sliding back against the floor as he approached. He tucked the bible into the front of his pants, just long enough to crouch down and slide the chest away. With that done he straightened himself and held the bible in front of himself like a shield. Peter opened the door slowly, wary that the demon would lung at him. When fully in the room Peter clicked the door shut behind himself and stared at the demon.
Gabriel's form had been twisted. The man himself, now just a simple body, was seated on the floor, knees bent, and arms back. His palms were braced against the floor and Peter's eye was drawn to the man's nails, working grooves into the floor as his fingers grated back and forth. His chest heaved with every breath, bringing the glimmer of golden scales in and out of sight as they peeked from the top of his undone tunic. Those scales blossomed along his collarbones, and Peter suspected his flanks as well, in the same location as the mottled skin had been before. Gabriel's irises, once brown, were now a sickly red, the shade of curdled blood. Peter tried to quell the feeling of nausea that swept through him at the sight of the man before him. He turned his head down and shut his eyes to the blackened patches of skin and the talons that grew from Gabriel's nail-beds.
"Gabriel, I am here to free you from the demon."
He heard a rustle of cloth, and suddenly Gabriel, no the demon, was just before him.
"I am afraid, that Gabriel is not here little one."
"And your name demon?"
"Sylar."
The demon said his name with delight, obviously happy to be acknowledged. Before Peter had a chance to act the bible was ripped from his hands, with only a hiss from Sylar to show his pain. Peter gasped as he was thrown across the room. He landed in a heap on top of Gabriel's bed which was damp with sweat. He fought wildly for a moment, trying to escape from the chaotic tangle of sheets before he slid to the ground and cracked his chin against the floor. Above him Sylar laughed, deep and throaty. When Sylar reached down to grasp Peter's face he bit drawing blood.
"Ooh, such a pleasure it is to find a mortal with fight in it."
Sylar clamped a hand across Peter's jaw, loosening it, and drew him up. In the spirit of defiance Peter spit the blood into Sylar's face. Sylar's only reaction was to smile, his teeth cutting a white gash in the spray of blood. The smile promised sinister things and Peter fought wildly to escape. His thrashing limbs and racing heart did nothing however to set himself free. Instead Sylar wound his hand through Peter's hair and shushed him like a child. A few moments later all the fight had drained from Peter, his body going limp in Sylar's grasp. He was released, and like a puppet whose strings had been severed, he fell to the bed. His limbs were sprawled across the sheets, open and inviting, and his mouth was open just slightly.
"Your touch burns me like a man of the cloth, but your mind. It is something I have tasted only once before, in Gabriel. My what complex creatures you humans are, and beautiful too."
Within the cocoon of the spell the world was muffled. Above him he could see Sylar's mouth move but the words were hushed and made no sense to him. His limbs were too heavy to move and his skin seemed to burn.
Am I too, a victim of demonic possession?
He slid his eyes shut, and for the first time in months, prayed. Above him Sylar grit his teeth and fought the urge to lash out at the human beneath him. He had worked hard to procure his new body and would not pass up the fun now offered to him in this new body. He lowered himself to the bed and placed a burning hand on Peter's stomach. A sting of faith, then a dull throb. The prayer had been cut short. Sylar grinned again and slid his hand under the hem of Peter's tunic. His fingers spread and his talons prodded his delicate skin teasingly, testing the hold of his spell. When Peter made no move to throw him, Sylar continued.
The demon took his time skimming his nails across the skin of Peter's stomach and chest, peeling away the shirt as he did so. Once the shirt was thrown aside Sylar leaned in and studied Peter's skin closely. His nose a hair away from making contact. He strained his eyes and took in every angry red line his nails had made and the white between them.
"Such exquisite skin. A little dirty, but who isn't these days?"
Panic raged in Peter's skull, but his heavy limbs did nothing to obey him. He was at the mercy of the demon. And Sylar took full advantage. He blew a hot breath across one of Peter's nipples and smirked down at it.
"Oh what things I'll do to you."
Sylar stood from the bed and locked his eyes on Peter's glassy eyes while he stripped off his clothes. He dropped them to the floor and kicked them away before kneeling on the mattress, legs on either side of Peter's hips. He raked his talons down Peter's chest and stomach, reveling in the subdued spasms he got in return. Sylar took a deep breath and dropped his head back, his eyes closed. The skin of his thighs throbbed and burned where it came in contact with Peter. But the longer he clung, the more he grew use to it. The throb of his thighs began to burn pleasantly and the feelings rolled up to his groin.
Are you ready for the festivities Gabriel?
Inside Sylar's head Gabriel's consciousness sobbed and begged. He pleaded with Sylar, 'Do not make me a sodomite', 'I beg you demon anything else', 'Do not harm this stranger'. The pleases and deals were like sugar to Sylar's ears. They fueled his desire and encouraged him to do depraved things to the kind stranger. He rocked forward, rolling his hips over Peter's and delighting in the pleasure that sparked through his groin. The slight rise and fall of Sylar's body caught the dying rays of the sun and made his scales sparkle and gleam. Peter was enraptured by it, the hypnotic flash and glow. But he could not be distracted for long, soon enough his loins began to burn and swell with Sylar's attentions.
Sylar leaned forward and braced his palms on the bed, framing Peter's face, and rocked down hard. The itchy black fabric of Peter's pants scraped across Sylar's borrowed flesh and drove him wild. He panted and bucked down, uncaring of Peter's lack of response. Beneath him Peter's mouth fell open to let out quiet whimpers and soft moans. The more he struggled to get away the weaker he grew, until he could do nothing by lie there. His body slid up and down the mattress as Sylar rocked into his hips. The constricting cloth around his groin tugged and bit at him in the most uncomfortable of ways. Sylar noticed and stopped his motions.
"Well, it wouldn't due to have you uncomfortable would it?"
He raised himself up and dug his talons into the seams of Peter's pants, shredding them and casting them aside. He ran the tip of his nail gently along the length of Peter's grudging erection and smiled. A tear slid down Peter's cheek, to the bed, unnoticed.
Sylar gripped Peter's thighs tightly and yanked them apart and up. He whistled low and brought a hand down so he could graze his thumb across the seam of Peter's ass. In response Peter sobbed and quivered, but didn't jerk away, too weak. Sylar bent forward and dribbled spit onto his captive's body.
"That's as good as I can make it. Talons aren't good for tender flesh."
Sylar smirked at his own comment, seemingly proud of himself for the show of restraint. He pressed one of Peter's legs to the bed, bent at the knee, hand tight against the inside of his thigh. Sylar then hooked the other leg around his hip and guided himself into Peter. He closed his eyes and listened to the strangled gasp of pain that bubbled out of Peter's throat. Sylar hissed and eased himself in, stopping to breathe when his hips pressed flush against the well of Peters ass.
"You are in pain now, but some day you will grow to love it. And I will not need to tire you this way."
Sylar had a plan. He had worked hard to find the mortal of his dreams, and had then been lucky enough to stumble upon a spare. He would switch between the two, as the mood struck him, and take his turns defiling them. All too soon the burn he gets from Peter's wavering faith will fade. Then he will have two pliant bodies to possess and debauch. He spots the tears on Peter's face and licks a trail away with a hot tongue. He savors the salt, rolling it across his pallet before righting himself again. Sylar curled one hand around the bulk of Peter's thigh, against the bed, and with his other hand clutched Peter's hip unmindful of the painful prick of his talons.
The demon tossed his head back and smiled to the ceiling, knowing that no amount of wood in the world could hide his act from God. Then, he moved. He worked his hips in short jerks in and out of Peter's body. The build up of friction burned and tore at Peter's insides and he could do nothing to show his displeasure but whimper. The noises rose through the air and kissed Sylar's ears, making him work all the faster. He held tight to Peter's thighs and concentrated on the pleasure building up in his gut. Beneath him Peter's mind went fuzzy as he felt an odd tingling sensation spark across his groin and dance along his skin. A warm persistent pressure built up inside him. Pleasure was washing across his senses and drowning out all notions of thought.
"Ooh...delightful isn't it....little plaything?"
Peter's head lolled across the bed as Sylar's thrusts moved him about. The longer Sylar drew things out the farther Peter got drug under his spell. Sylar always saw humans as weak little things in regards to the pleasure of the flesh. Push the right buttons and they will completely unravel, and then they are yours for the taking. Sylar shifted Peter, lifting his hips just so with his hands. The demon adjusted his angle and searched for the magic spot, the little trigger that would make Peter his. One precise push later and Peter's whole body jerked lethargically, fighting the weariness Sylar cast over him.
"Mmmnooo...uhhhhh..."
Sylar smirked and curled a hand around Peter's erection. He was careful to keep his talons away, and worked a gentle rhythm over it. Up, down, up, down, twist, and tug. Peter was helpless to the onslaught and slid his eyes shut as he came. Sylar's hand slipped away and he tugged himself free of Peter's shivering body. The demon smiled as his seed splashed hot across Peter's lower body. The burn pulled a whimper from Peter, it went unnoticed. In Sylar's head Gabriel raged and screamed and Sylar cocked his head to the side.
"We are all sinners Gabriel. You too will have your turn. Both of you are mine now, my little playthings."
Just barely 13 pages. This thing truly is a beast! If the ending was unclear: Sylar intends to shift back and forth between Gabriel and Peter's body, sexing them up as he pleases. I may do a shorter, smuttier, companion piece to this some time in the future.
Thoughts? Comments?