A/N: This would be the shaving scene mentioned in chapter 6. There's another scene from chapter 6 I'll post tomorrow.

Sylar dabbed on the shaving cream in a thick layer on Peter's face. His pet had become a bit scruffy. Sylar didn't care for "scruffy." He set the bowl aside and picked up the blade. He'd become something of a fan of old style bladed shaving, especially since he could regenerate any nicks. It had taken him a while to get the hang of it, but once he did, there was no closer shave. Now he glorified in having Peter's neck under a knife, knowing that Peter was mortal and human and couldn't heal if he slipped. It was a very sharp blade.

He started a little tentatively. Peter's head was leaned back, his eyes steady on Sylar's face. His expression was one of total trust and faith. Sylar had never shaved another man's face. He'd never even thought of trying it, but when he'd presented the tools to Peter for him to use on himself, Peter had looked apprehensive and questioning. He had no experience with it. And so, fearing his slave might inadvertently put an end to himself, Sylar had volunteered to groom him. Though he had to admit there was a certain ridiculousness in the idea that Peter Petrelli might die in a self-inflicted shaving accident.

He slid up the blade in a smooth stroke from Peter's neck to his jawline. Peter remained utterly relaxed. Sylar wiped off the blade and made another clean sweep. On the third, he was over his windpipe. Perhaps he had the wrong angle. Peter's eyes twitched, but no other part of him did. Sylar pulled back. There was a spot of blood. He wiped the blade. Peter's expression had not change a whit. Sylar swallowed and tried again, taking the different topography into account more. He finished out the neck without another nick.

He leaned down and tongued that mark on impulse. Peter made a soft sigh and shifted a little like it aroused him. Encouraged, Sylar bit his neck lightly and kissed the smooth, shaving-cream-flavored skin. If I don't watch it, he thought, I'm going to end up servicing him. He stood up. Peter had a beatific smile on his face that made Sylar wonder if doing that would be such a bad thing after all. He shook the thought away and bent to work on Peter's face, standing directly in front of him, straddling Peter's knees.

It was weird to work directly over another person and have them watch you so raptly. Sylar understood, distantly, why dentists and hairstylists always tried to talk to their clients while working on them. There was a basic human urge to communicate, to share, and to be intimate when this close to one another. The expression on Peter's face was totally devoted. That certainly didn't hurt anything.

Sylar nicked him again and again Peter had no reaction to it other than an awareness that it had happened. There was no blame, no reticence. It was hard to handle that anyone would look at him this way after what he'd done to Peter over the last couple of days. He wasn't quite finished, but he couldn't stop himself from leaning in and kissing those pinked lips once they were cleared of shaving cream and baby-smooth all around them. He kissed him gently and tenderly and this time Peter definitely reacted physically. He moaned softly into Sylar's mouth and brought up his hand to stroke along Sylar's pants at the hip, curling his hand slightly to grip his buttock.

The kiss was long, slow and unhurried. Sylar was hard at the end of it. A glance down confirmed he wasn't alone in that condition. He straightened and turned away a little, understanding that this must be what people felt that made them declare their love to others. It was a silly feeling. But oh, how he wanted to kiss him again like that. As if he could read his mind, Peter languidly stroked his ass, cupping the nearer butt cheek, still looking up at him worshipfully.

Sylar looked down at him and groaned in lust and other, less familiar emotions. He opened his slacks hurriedly. Maybe if he just got off again, he'd feel normal and the knot that was in his stomach would ease. He jerked down his underwear as Peter swallowed several times, obviously working up saliva, and shifted forward in his seat. He's so accommodating, Sylar thought. I haven't even asked him.

And he didn't ask him. He just pulled himself out and looked at Peter, who took Sylar's hips in his hands and went to his knees before him. He looked up. Whatever he saw wasn't denial and so he began sucking at the tip of Sylar's penis like it was the end of a popsicle. He pulled back, a thin loop of precum dangling between them. Peter looked up at him and worked his tongue out, lapping it up and making a show of pulling it into his mouth.

Sylar groaned again in inarticulate pleasure. Peter moved in, swirling his tongue around the head, exploring every groove and cleft. He stretched his neck a little and took Sylar's full length in a single, graceful bob. Good God, Sylar thought. I never imagined anyone could make giving head look pretty. Where the fuck did he learn to do this? Sucking Nathan's cock? Christ.

He pulled off a few seconds later, sucking hard all the way back, his tongue working the underside of the shaft with quick jerks. Sylar's thighs tensed and his eyes watered. Whatever it was Peter was doing made him feel he might come from that alone. "Oh CHRIST!" he shouted, his fingers scrabbling across Peter's head. One hand dug in and the other was against the side of his face as he started fucking Peter's face enthusiastically.

Peter shifted and moved, changing position so he was crouched and a little to the side instead of directly in front. He didn't move his head though, except to angle it. Sylar could feel himself going all the way in with every thrust. He could feel Peter gagging on him and see the muscles bunch and jump on his naked back each time. It didn't matter. Peter was gamely hanging in there and Sylar was coming already, so hard that he staggered and had to catch himself on the chair, knocking Peter on his rear end in the process.

Peter took time for a single breath and was back at him, gentle and careful, sucking at the end his member with a steady suction that felt like it was pulling the marrow right out of his bones. "Oh, Peter… Peter… Peter…" Sylar sounded like he was begging and…well… he was. He reached down and feebly pushed his slave away. He slumped and more or less fell into the chair, tugging up his pants. "Oh my God. Oh my-" Sylar shut his mouth. He was making a fool of himself. It was just a blow job, after all. But oh God, the blow jobs Peter could give…

Peter came forward, folded his hands neatly over Sylar's knee and rested his chin on them, looking up at him so sweetly that it was hard to stay embarrassed. No, it was impossible. Sylar felt tears come to his eyes again as he reached out and petted Peter's hair and stroked the side of his face. Peter rose suddenly and shuffled forward on his knees next to Sylar, putting himself between his arm and body. He put his forehead down on Sylar's chest. It was like he was bowing to him. Sylar hooked his arm around him and tilted his head back. Peter kept his down and in the absence of his gaze, Sylar felt a single tear escape his eye and fall down his cheek.

Okay. Getting off did not stop the weird feelings. If anything, they were worse. After a minute, he lifted the towel from his shoulder and wiped his eyes. Peter had still not moved. He pushed him away a little and called the blade to his hand. Peter looked from it to Sylar, who caught his chin and turned it. He finished shaving Peter's face, doing a sloppy job of the sideburns and nicking him twice more, but Peter didn't complain. When his face was clean, he hugged Sylar in wordless thanks and backed off.

Sylar swallowed and stood up, leaving Peter on his knees on the floor. He washed his face and the blade, then turned to Peter and set the towel on his slave's shoulder. Peter looked alarmed at that. "Now you, pet." Sylar presented him with the razor.

"You… Sir?" Peter squeaked.

Sylar took up the shaving cream and worked up lather. He dabbed it on himself. Then he sat down, rolled his shoulders a little to relax them, and leaned back, shutting his eyes. After most of a minute passed in silence, Sylar cracked an eye and smiled. "Relax, pet. Do your best. I won't hurt you if you slip." He reached out and touched Peter's arm. "I trust you."

Of course, it helped that he could heal quickly, but with a blade that sharp, a strong, skilled and determined man could cut his throat and probably even detach his head faster than regeneration could put him back together. Peter could, theoretically, kill him. Of course, since he didn't know about regeneration, he'd probably cut his throat and stop there. Probably.

Peter got to his feet and stepped closer, but said, "Master… I shouldn't do this. I might hurt you."

Sylar shut his eyes. "Peter, your hands have saved hundreds of lives and taken few. It wouldn't matter if you sliced my jugular. I'm not going to hold it against you. You have my word. I know this is your first time." He opened his eyes and met Peter's. "It doesn't matter how hard your hands are shaking – I'm going to make you do this. So please. For my sake – take a deep breath, relax, and do your best."

Peter did. He cut him no less than eight times and Sylar refrained from healing because he wanted to make a point. Peter had tears in his eyes too by the end, but it wasn't due to love, per se. He seemed wracked that he'd hurt him and perhaps terrified of what would happen next. Sylar toweled off his face vigorously after Peter's tentative, fearful dabbing was doing more harm than good. He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. Peter cringed behind him. Sylar looked back at that. Peter was genuinely upset. Five thin trails of blood crept down Sylar's face. A couple more flowed from his neck.

He turned to Peter, who was clearly on the verge of falling to his knees and begging forgiveness. While it would have been amusing to let him, Sylar… didn't want to see that. It seemed inappropriate somehow. Or at least unnecessary. He'd let the joke go on long enough now.

"Come here, Peter. Look at me. You know I can lift things with my mind?" Peter just stared at him, watching the blood creep further down his face and curl under his jaw. "Peter?"

"Yes sir?"

"Watch." The cuts healed. Peter blinked. It didn't take away the blood already on his skin, but the source was gone and they stopped flowing. Peter reached out and touched Sylar's face, rubbing his thumb over one of the spots. A small, hopeful smile played across his lips.

"I've seen that before," Peter said wonderingly. "Somewhere."

"Yes, you have." Sylar kissed him, a brief, loving kiss, before saying, "You didn't hurt me. You can't hurt me. I'm fine."

Peter smiled more broadly and relaxed in relief. "Oh… master." He bowed his head to him again and pressed it to Sylar's chest.

Sylar put his arms around him indulgently. "You are a good slave," he murmured to him. "A good man. My trust was not misplaced." He turned Peter's face up and kissed the side of it, then gave him a light, playful slap. "Now, go brush your teeth. I've laid things out for you over there."