Sylar returned the next morning, regular as clockwork. He had with him an apple and an extra pouch of water. Peter slid off the platform immediately. He looked at the two objects, which Sylar set down on the far end of it. Peter snorted. "Is that what I get for having sex with you? A piece of fruit and some water?"

Sylar stared at him for a moment in disbelief and then snarled, backhanding him so hard Peter was knocked to the floor and his lip bloodied. "What you get for having sex with me is treated well! If that's not enough, I can take care of that."

Peter's moronic bravado, inflated by a whole day of feeling relatively good, vanished in a heartbeat and he broke. No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that was stupid, oh God please don't torture me again, just fuck me, I'll do anything… Peter said nothing though. He cowered and sniveled on the floor and said nothing at all. He was disgusted with himself, appalled at how only a single blow and a vague threat sent his inner monologue skittering in fear. Less than a week before he'd been a fighter and one of the roughest customers in the Resistance. Or, at least, he assumed it had only been a week.

Sylar's hand was extended towards him like the beginning of telekinesis. Peter shut his eyes and bowed his head, shaking and waiting for everything to start again. He was so relatively powerless than there was nothing to do but accept it. I am so sorry. He heard footsteps stalking away and looked up in time to see Sylar phase through the door.

He stayed frozen to the floor for some minutes, not sure what he should do, other than find some way to convince himself not to piss Sylar off next time, if there was a next time. Under the circumstances, smarting off to his captor had to rank in the top ten stupid things Peter had ever done, and considering that he'd tossed himself off a fifteen story building once just to prove a point, he had some doozies. Finally though, he got tired of kneeling on the floor, so he stood up. Sylar still hadn't come back. The apple and extra water pouch was still there.

Peter took the apple. It was delicious, except that his teeth were a little loose from being hit in the face. He crouched on the opposite side of the platform and ate it very slowly, even the core. There was nothing left but a one inch bit of stem when he was done. He drank the water. He hadn't been getting enough with the meals. He was getting dehydrated so it was appreciated. His lips hurt now. Compared to what could have happened, what Sylar had almost done to him, it was minor. Peter puzzled over what had stayed Sylar's hand there. It was a perfect opportunity to beat into his captive that Peter was not allowed to make observations like that. But no, he'd just stalked off. Huh.

To his surprise, Sylar didn't come back that day. He slept restlessly. When the man showed up (empty handed this time), Peter jumped to his feet and immediately cringed before him. This was intentional and deliberate. Peter had had a lot of time to consider his options and nothing to distract him from thinking. "I pick sex. How do you want me?" He glanced up to see a put off expression on Sylar's face. There was a very long pause, which made Peter think that he'd been right to offer himself immediately.

"Turn around."

Peter did, bending over and bracing his hands on the platform.

Sylar stood behind him and played with his buttocks idly. Peter shivered at the touch, but that was all. He was in a more stable frame of mind and he was hoping - hoping with some certainty - that this time would be similar to the last and not purely god-awful like the first. Sylar threatened, "You don't want me to bend you over that and hold you there again with telekinesis?"

"Please, no." Peter breathed harder just at the suggestion, but there was an edge of fight in his voice, some shred of defiance.

"Did you prefer it when I tried to make it better?"

"Yes." Peter hunched his shoulders. He didn't want to be saying yes to this monster.

"Do you want me to do that again?"

He swallowed roughly. What he wanted was for Sylar to quit talking and just do whatever it was he was going to do. That way Peter wasn't agreeing to it - he wasn't bargaining. It was just something that happened to him. Making him choose from options made him a party to it and even if it gave him some control, it also gave him a sense of responsibility and guilt he didn't want. He realized Sylar was waiting for an answer. He hung his head. "Yes."

Voice softer, Sylar said, "Okay." He hooked his thumbs into Peter's pajama bottoms and pulled them down, followed by stepping out of his own pants. A few moments later, he leaned forward, with his cock semi-erect against the crack of Peter's ass. He reached around for Peter's dick, finding it limp. "Think about whatever you need to think about. I'm going to jerk you off."

Peter nodded again. It took him a while to find a fantasy that worked for him, with the heat of Sylar's groin cupping his butt. It was distracting, to say the least, and disturbing because it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Sylar pulled patiently at him, tugging and manipulating with a fair degree of skill. Peter finally thought of something and ran with it. Long minutes later, he bucked slightly, his come hitting the side of the platform.

"Good." Sylar had him step out of one side of his bottoms and spread his legs. He lubed him heavily, leaning over to kiss his back again.

Peter flinched from that. "Please don't kiss me. Please don't." It makes me sick.

To Peter's surprise, Sylar straightened and didn't try again. He focused on Peter's rear end, worked him as thoroughly as before, and entered him eventually. He fucked him rather slowly, gripping his hips, massaging them a little, and lasting longer - not that Peter appreciated the duration at all. Sylar pulled out and wiped himself up, then Peter, with some handkerchief or other cloth he'd presumably brought for the purpose.

Sylar stood there quietly until Peter glanced back and then pulled his clothes back on. At a loss as to what to do, he got up on the platform and sat there. Sylar seemed to be staring at where he'd jizzed on the platform. Finally he said, "Next time, you're going to have to let me kiss you. Be ready for that."

Peter swallowed and nodded. He found his voice and said, "Thank you for letting me know." He felt stupid for saying it. 'Next time you're going to violate me a different way - oh, thank you for telling me sir!' It was a gross thing to express gratitude for. He said it anyway. He wondered if Sylar was actually trying to be nice somewhere in here, in this sick fantasy he was playing out with Peter's body. It was either that, or this was some perverse PsyOps that Peter couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around.

"You're welcome." Sylar was still staring at the come. The scrutiny was odd enough that Peter leaned over and looked at it too. Maybe he'd get some of his toilet paper later and wipe it up. He didn't have very much toilet paper though and it wasn't exactly a high fiber diet. Sylar said haltingly, "I am … willing to bribe you to make you act better. Food, things … I won't get you anything I think you'll cause problems with. Thank you for letting me fuck you today. What would you like for that?" He didn't make eye contact, seeming more humiliated than Peter was by the situation.

Peter blinked at him. Sylar was still staring down, shoulders a little hunched. Does the bastard actually feel guilty for raping me? Is that what this is about? Peter felt a surge of rage. He bottled it up immediately, before that got him into trouble.

If he could have anything … "Underwear and socks." Sylar nodded and started to leave. "Wait! A blanket, please? And, and make it warmer in here." He stopped there, worried he was asking for too much. Last time Sylar had thought an appropriate payment was an apple and water. Peter was asking for much more, but the constant coolness bothered him more than anything else. It kept him from sleeping properly, leaving him shivering when he tried to rest.

Sylar looked back at him with a blank expression, then nodded and left. It was very shortly that Peter felt the room warm to a comfortable temperature. A little while after that, he received socks and underwear, along with a thin blanket and, unasked for, a tiny pillow like the ones they provided on long airplane flights. Peter shook his head at how bizarrely grateful he felt. This was twisted - totally twisted.

Sylar brought him a candy bar, unwrapped, which made Peter wonder what the hell they thought he was going to do that was dangerous with a freaking candy wrapper. Obviously, he hadn't paid attention to the right TV shows or whatever to learn prison secrets. He couldn't imagine what he would do with a wrapper. Maybe MacGyver would know, but Peter didn't.

Still, the idea of eating the chocolate made him salivate. Just like he wasn't getting enough water, he didn't think he was getting enough calories either. It seemed like a simple enough psychological ploy - underfeed and underhydrate, making an inmate dependent on his captor to meet basic needs. But not so dependent that he wouldn't survive if support was withdrawn for a few days, from time to time. It was a built-in punishment for non-compliance. Peter could feel the tickling in the back of his head as the survival-oriented part of his brain was busily telling him which side of his bread was buttered.

For now though, he had to earn it. He was sitting on the platform with Sylar between his legs. They weren't having sex. Sylar was touching him softly, whispering demented nonsense ("Peter, you're good, thank you, is this good? I like fucking you, you like it? Good, that's good, Peter, I like touching you like this, kissing you, your skin is so smooth here …") and thankfully not requiring a response. Sylar was kissing him with light pecks over his forehead and cheeks. Peter had expected to feel nauseated. Instead he just felt put upon, and impatient for his candy bar. He wondered what the hell was happening to his mind that he was getting tolerant of this so fast.

"This isn't that bad, is it?" Sylar asked in a more direct tone than his psycho endearments (psycho because of the context - as endearments went they were fine, Peter supposed).

Peter looked at him, pulling his thoughts back from thinking about how he wouldn't even get to read and reread the ingredients listing for the sweet. "Are you… honestly asking?"

"Yes." Sylar was right in his face, studying him.

It occurred to Peter, not for the first time, that here was his captor, his worst enemy, Nathan's murderer and untold others … between his legs, caressing his face. And Peter was, at the moment, relaxed about it. Some part of him had given up fighting. He'd like to hope that he was just biding his time, waiting for an opportunity. He sure hoped that was the case, and he hadn't simply been beaten into submission. He hoped it would take more to turn him and that all that was going on right now was merely rational self-interest. Peter shook his head. "I can't imagine what you could do to make this whole thing worse."

Sylar's brows came together. "Then you have no imagination." At Peter's concerned look, Sylar cocked his head and said, "I could look like Nathan while I do you."

Peter swallowed suddenly to hold back the bile that threatened. Now he felt ill. "Okay," he said quickly. "Thank you for not doing that. You're right. I have no imagination at all for this kind of thing." And he was very, very glad he did not. He thought he might have nightmares just from that one, casual comment of Sylar's. What sort of crap went through that psycho's brain for him to even think of something like that?

"Can I kiss your lips?" Sylar took Peter's chin and tilted it up. Said lips were still swollen from being backhanded the day before.

Peter didn't resist him, but he immediately said, "I'd prefer not. I mean, if you're still actually asking me. You'll have to tell me when I need to pretend again."

Sylar eyed Peter's lips like he might kiss them anyway. Peter certainly wasn't going to stop him. If he had to pick his battles, then arguing over that wasn't where he was going to draw a line in the sand. At being fucked by the semblance of his brother - yes. Being kissed on the lips by Sylar, when he was already tolerating other kisses and quite a bit more - no. Sylar let go of his chin. "You need to be shaved anyway. I'll bring a cordless tomorrow and take care of that."

Oh boy. Peter sighed.

Sylar leaned in and kissed him on the tip of the nose. Peter allowed it. The other man lifted a single finger and touched Peter's mouth. "Hold still," he said when Peter jerked back. Peter huffed and did. He was getting more fearless, probably stupidly so, about displaying his displeasure with Sylar's proclivities. Sylar put his finger against Peter's lips and the lingering pain vanished, as did the swelling. "Is that better?" he asked softly.

Peter nodded.

Sylar ran his hands up Peter's sides and across his back. He leaned in and put his forehead on his shoulder. Peter considered, just for a moment, doing something rash like biting Sylar's ear off to prove that he wasn't defeated, that he still could fight. But it was pointless. It would regenerate and he would be punished for it - probably in some awful, imaginative manner Peter couldn't even think of. He sighed. Besides, what was Sylar really doing but hugging on him and being affectionate? It was just downright weird. Couldn't the man go find someone a little more receptive for this kind of thing?

Sylar straightened. "This is really all I need today. We don't have to have sex. But thank you for this." He reached up and traced the scar across Peter's face, making him frown severely at the serial killer. He didn't like having it touched, but again, this wasn't a battle he was going to pick to fight. Instead, Peter really studied the other man, hooking his feet abruptly behind Sylar's legs, preventing his easy departure. Sylar tilted his head at him. "What does this mean?" he asked of the unexpected entrapment.

"I'm just trying to figure you out." On a lark, he reached up and ran the back of one knuckle across Sylar's cheek. Sylar's expression cleared and his eyes widened. He kissed Peter soundly on the lips, but only for a moment because Peter shoved him away. "Stop that!" Peter felt suicidal enough to assert the boundary, realizing a second too late this might be a very, very bad idea.

Sylar scowled at him for the rejection and pointed at him threateningly. "Tomorrow you're going to kiss me. You're going to hug me. You're going to really act like you want it. I haven't been requiring that. I will tomorrow." He glared fiercely at Peter, who just watched him without judgment or change of expression. Sylar turned on his heel and stalked out.

Huh, Peter thought. He'd gotten away with pushing him away - that was surprising. Peter flopped down on the platform, snagging his candy bar. He'd lost the opportunity to ask for another bribe, so he supposed there was some punishment for it. The proposed act didn't bother him. Sylar seemed to think it was a great threat, but compared to having his skin blistered or cut to tatters, or being taken by force, some hugging, kissing and pretending wasn't going to prey on Peter's mind much.

No, what was preying on Peter's mind was the suspicion that Sylar was in love with him.