A/N: It's been at least five years since this was written. I *think* the first part was written by means2bhuman and I wrote the second, but ... that's only a guess.
Embarrassment was his first reaction to waking up in bed with Peter. Of course, the little man felt wonderful, a warm, naked body wrapped around him; but what was he supposed to feel about this?
His elevated heartbeat and sudden tension woke his…bedmate. Was it wrong to have fallen asleep here afterwards? Peter stirred, hugging him closer with a pleased hum, "How did you sleep?"
"Good- great," Sylar croaked, surprised and wary of what Peter's true reaction would be. He briefly patted Peter's arm, longing to do more.
"You were so good," Peter purred, nuzzling into his shoulder as he caressed Sylar's lower abdomen, just above his pubic hair.
Sylar blushed red and he exhaled, aroused despite himself at the mere memory and uncertain about the compliment. It had been better than good, there was no denying – more like fucking amazing, out-of-this-world, mind-blowing sex. Years of foreplay would do that. Or perhaps, this was just Peter's expertise. It had been such a relief, a bonding, success, conquering and consummation and now…now it was terrifying again. This was not the social script he knew.
His body (and parts of his mind) desperately wanted an encore performance. Morning-after sex, just like in the movies. That would be far too close to 'relationship' territory, he knew, but he'd always been curious. He didn't know how to feel about those desires. "Um…Thanks."
"How are you feeling?" Somehow Peter always knew the most accurate and uncomfortable questions to ask. Even with Peter's empathy somewhat dulled, barely functioning for a creature like him, the medic had his moments where he…forgot who he was dealing with. "Was it good for you?"
Sylar gulped, nervously rubbing at Peter's arm, now still against his waist. He wanted to answer honestly – tell Peter that the sex had been more than he'd ever expected, but was that rude? Insulting? Usually talking about or around fucking was prohibited. He was fairly certain that lying was bad, too; he wanted to repeat what they'd done, so how to facilitate that? He chose honesty even if his word choice and tone fell far short of the praise he could have sung, "It was…um…really great. Do you want some breakfast?"
"Hmm," Peter chuckled, "Later…?" he asked as his hand slid downwards, through pubic hair until that hand grasped Sylar's penis, forcing a gasp. At the same time, Peter's pelvis pushed forward, so Sylar could feel that growing erection.
"Oh…" Sylar breathed. The sensuality was short-circuiting his brain. Rolling around in a bed, with Peter Petrelli, doing extremely forbidden things like touching, grabbing, kissing, and tasting. He was hard in Peter's hand within seconds, flushed, quivering, and hot with eagerness. It was a frightening thrill to be aroused so vulnerably.
Gently, Peter's hand slid down, then back up his shaft, his grip loose. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'"
Sylar couldn't help the noise that slipped from him, wanton and needy. He just didn't want Peter to stop. He couldn't bear it if Peter stopped now or humiliated him by saying it was all a joke or a plot. Equal to that was if Peter didn't stop…because he didn't know what that meant, not like this.
"Uhh, fuck, yeah…" Peter murmured, so dominant and pleased. "How's that?" he asked just as he twisted his fist around Sylar's leaking crown.
Oh, God. It felt like he wanted to thrust forever. He didn't know if he made another sound, but he reached back to slide a hand into Peter's hair and grip its silkiness. He wanted the gesture to say 'fuck me!' but it wasn't a well-considered action.
Peter growled and bit his throat, causing Sylar's hips to buck as he whined. He could feel the other man's teeth in his flesh and that animalistic element was so good. He needed Peter to bring him off and he wasn't picky about how it happened. His lust was white-hot and achingly sharp.
Peter snaked an arm over Sylar's shoulder, hooking it so his palm grazed Sylar's chest. Sylar could feel the entire muscular line of the compact, little man's body pressed into his back as Peter snugged them together. Thus braced, the pace on Sylar's dick began to pick up. Sylar panted, facing forward, one hand tangled in Peter's hair and tugging with every stroke on his dick. The other hand … he thought about involving it somehow. He wanted to, but he also didn't want to interfere. He wanted exactly what he was getting. Peter was gripping him, holding him, the hot brand of Petrelli's erection jammed between them at the small of his back. Peter was jerking him off, mouthing and biting at Sylar's neck like he wanted to eat him alive. Sylar felt gloriously helpless. He could be selfish. He could be shameless about it. And so his other hand came to rest on the sheets as he allowed himself to be played like an instrument. He moaned wantonly, the sound rewarded by Peter growling in his ear and biting harder. Sylar bent backwards against him, thrusting into the man's fist.
It wasn't going to take long. Sylar knew that; could feel it. He wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed by how easy he was or if it was a compliment to Peter's prowess. He'd find out later, he was sure. For now, the delicious tension was spiking him higher. He had no idea how any of this would turn out. The anticipation, the hope, the almost-fear, thrilled him.
Peter's arm, over Sylar's chest from above, swung upward so Peter's forearm was under Sylar's chin. It pushed his head backward and up, forcing Sylar to arch further backwards. His hips were thrust forward, ass cheeks clenched. Peter's fist was working him hard and fast. The arm under his chin held him fixed in place for Petrelli's expert ministrations. The man was inches away from choking him, yet Sylar could breathe perfectly fine. It was that proximity to danger that took him one extra step higher – both the danger itself, and that Peter wasn't doing it, was only threatening … or promising. His partner in sex, this man who had fucked him and was pleasuring him, had the capability and more than enough reason to hurt him. Yet he wasn't doing it. Instead, Peter redoubled his rate on Sylar's dick, pulling a wanton moan from Sylar's exposed throat. He came in a huffing, choking gasp, spurting forward to soil the sheets of their love nest. Sylar's eyes rolled up as his hips jutted forward in an involuntary, bestial fashion, carrying out the motions of breeding even if it was only Peter's fist he was fucking.
As soon as Sylar's body went slack, Peter pulled him flush against him with a grunt like the noise of a rutting animal. He continued to milk Sylar's fading erection, gathering up the spunk in his hand. Sylar finally loosed Peter's mop of hair, slowly trying to gather his scattered wits as he looked down at what Peter was doing. Thoughts of reciprocation tried to form in his head. It felt like he had a duty, but on the other hand he was spent, thoughts still foggy from the strength of his orgasm.
What was clear was that Peter's lust had not yet been sated. The empath backed up enough to get space between them and brought the hand to his mouth that had Sylar's come in it. He spit. Sylar blinked and let his head loll on the pillow, expecting to be fucked next. Peter's clean hand gripped Sylar's shoulder and he dipped his head down so his forehead or crown (Sylar wasn't sure which) pressed to the base of Sylar's head. It was odd, but oddly comforting, too, like a reversed version of touching foreheads together. Sylar had expected to feel the combination of ejaculate and expectorate between his cheeks, but he surmised instead that Peter was using the impromptu lube to jerk himself off.
Sylar could feel the hot huffs of breath against his back, along with the subtle shaking of Petrelli's furious masturbation. It was only a matter of brief seconds before Peter became vocal: "Oh! Oh! Oh!" The grip on his shoulder tightened as though to fix him in place and prevent escape. Peter's motions became irregular, then ceased. His grip relaxed. "Ohhh," Peter crooned softly. Sylar felt the disgustingly warm, wet edge of Peter's emission seep against his lower back. Peter was obviously a dribbler, or else he'd have shot directly onto his partner.
The filth. The carnality. It was so brutishly honest and yet so completely forbidden. What they had done both last night and this morning was so salacious and prurient, the sort of dark perversion it was wrong to even imagine. What they'd done was depraved even without the fact that Sylar was a murderer and had taken Peter's brother's life with a smile on his face and a laugh in his throat. That Peter would have him anyway was all kinds of twisted. Sylar felt himself flush all over, panting with appetite even though he wasn't able to perform again quite yet. He rolled over, directly and intentionally into the cooling pool of Peter's come. "Next time, you should put that thing in me," he said, taking Peter's mouth as his to kiss and plunder with his tongue.
Peter hiked a leg over his, curled his arms under Sylar's and around his back, and pressed into him. "Next time, I will," Peter said when they finally parted.