Day 75, February 23, Evening

Sylar jumped at the sound of the knock in the middle of making soup and sandwiches. He'd had plenty of time to talk himself out of everything he thought he'd seen earlier. He'd completely misread the foot massage and casual conversation; he'd made Peter uncomfortable; and just because Peter wanted to fuck, that didn't mean anything – there was a difference. He needs space, like he says. I'm too needy. Then Peter interrupted all of that. He cleared his throat, "…Yeah?"

XXX

The enticing scent of food cooking filled Peter's nose as he came inside. He inhaled deeply as he shrugged out of his coat, identifying it as something tomato-based. "You're already cooking?" He was pleasantly surprised by that. It had been a while, if ever, that Sylar had prepared food ahead of time for Peter. He recalled the sandwich Sylar had brought him in the rec room to end a period where Peter was refusing to talk to him. Is giving me food his version of making up? Hm. It could be a pattern. Is he trying to make up? Like this is his version of me needing to touch him to relax and get okay with things between us?

XXX

Sylar looked him over, walking a few steps out of the kitchen and saw that Peter was apparently going to stay – for dinner at least. It was a strange, reluctant or nervous sense of relief. He gave a nod of greeting. "Why do you bother knocking?" he asked, both confused and superior. Then he returned to the kitchen, pretending he was busier with the food than was necessary. (Rude much?) Was I supposed to make dinner for both of us? What if he got hungry and ate? What if he wants something else? Of course he wants something else – he wants to be anywhere but here! "Um…dinner's-" almost ready – I'm not his fucking housewife! "Soup and sandwiches," he finished over his hunched shoulders.

XXX

Peter snorted lightly at the comment about knocking. He thinks I should just come in like I own the place? Maybe he thinks I do own the place. What would I do if I did – own the place, own him? He followed Sylar into the kitchen, his eyes on the man's backside. I would definitely admire the view a little more. He'd already tried the 'take charge' approach before, the attempt having included fiascos like Sylar openly laughing at him and goading Peter into a sadistic flogging. I need to do this differently. Somehow. Peter leaned around Sylar, closer than was strictly necessary, to see what he was assembling in the way of sandwiches. "Looks great!" He paused, glancing up at Sylar's profile. He saw the drawn-in, insecure body language calling out to him for some manner of reassurance. Peter reached out to the small of Sylar's back – it was right there in easy reach – and stroked lightly with his fingertips, his contact ending up mostly on the fabric rather than pressing that fabric firmly against Sylar's skin. He did it until the first sign that Sylar had noticed, then broke away as though he'd done nothing unusual. Peter said innocently, "I'll get the drinks."

XXX

It's just grilled cheese. You've made it before, Sylar initially thought, relieved all the same that Peter sounded interested. He noted the unnecessary proximity and dismissed it. Then it was followed by an unnecessary look…at close range. He saw that out of the corner of his eye, still focused on his task. It was followed by the lightest touch against his lower back – Peter's favorite spot. It surprised him because if he didn't know better…But I do know better. This is Peter Petrelli. Sylar didn't move and barely paused in the act of buttering the bread front and back. That seemed like such an obvious signal; surely he was overthinking something innocent. After Peter moved away, the brush of Peter's hand still tingling stupidly against his back, Sylar shifted his weight and glanced after the man. It was an unvoiced question of curiosity. He went back to placing the first sandwich on the grill.

XXX

Peter put out water for both of them and set the table. He watched Sylar as the other man tended the last sandwich at the stove. He looked at the way Sylar stood, the way he moved, and the way he held himself. Peter had seen it all before, but not with the frame of mind he had now. He wanted to really see Sylar and not just be aware of him. How did he feel? What kind of a person was he? What was going on for him? What was he into? Peter didn't try to answer the questions – the answer was right in front of him in the form of another human being. He just had to look for them. When Sylar brought the food over, Peter was still watching him with an absorbed expression. With an awareness that Sylar might not appreciate the attention, Peter snapped out of it somewhat to sit down to eat.

XXX

Sylar took a bite of his sandwich first with the logic that he could always reheat the soup, but a reheated grilled sandwich would be unappetizing. "Does any of that actually help you? Any of that stuff you're so desperate to ask me about?"

XXX

Peter smiled a little at how parallel Sylar's question was to what Peter was doing. "Yes, it does." He took a bite of perfectly grilled bread – crispy, salty, and hot, with warm, gooey cheese in the middle. "This is really good," he said, indicating the food before going on to Sylar's question. "It's important. People are important to me and they always have been. You," Peter made an offhand gesture at Sylar with the crusty half of sandwich still in his hand, "this isn't about survival for you – this thing of who you are, your identity. If you just wanted to survive, if that was your highest priority, most important thing for you, then you'd have stayed as Nathan. Fly under the radar. Money, career, people – you said it was okay, really, living his life. Little lonely, but okay. No threats, no Company knocking, no people chasing you down for revenge." Peter shrugged and glanced to the side, thinking about the number of specials Nathan had wronged in his brief stint with Homeland Security. "Probably. But my point is, you'd have been a lot safer as Nathan than as Sylar." Peter tilted his head forward, looking up at Sylar with raised brows for emphasis. "But that's not what you wanted. That's not the life you wanted. You wanted your own. You wanted to be you." Peter made an equivocal shift of his head. "I want to know who that person is."

XXX

As he listened, Sylar felt himself grow angry. Peter went on long enough for him to figure out how he felt in order to come up with a reply. Of course it's not about survival. It should be. It was for a long time. It isn't now. Obviously I should have stayed as Nathan – just let myself go and live a good life with a family. That was the easy thing to do. Why couldn't I do it? What's so great about my life that I keep hanging onto like it's so damn important? I keep shoving my importance in Peter's face but I don't know why I do it. The principle? Nathan was an asshole? Sylar stared down at the dull red tomato soup to hide his expression and buy time. Is this Peter's way of saying 'Good choice! Enjoy it! You could have been my brother and had it all'? That is…next level Petrelli mind-fucking. He was disturbed yet impressed by that.

He knew Peter's motivation though. Boredom and his little quest combined. "You want to know how useful I can be, what else I can do for you besides fucking you senseless. Reminding me I can still go back to being your brother is clever. And asking me if it was all worth it is just the cherry on top. But now I'm curious – what is it you really want to know?" He said it smooth and calm with his trademark undercurrent of sarcasm. With that, he took a bite of his sandwich, all attention on Peter.

XXX

Peter sighed, pursed his lips, and shook his head as he looked away. Then he looked back to Sylar to tell him, "You keep asking that question. I keep answering it. Then you ask it again like I didn't just answer it. You don't believe me. I get it. But then why do you ask me a second time, like I might say something different? Isn't that some police interrogation technique? Just keep asking someone until social pressure makes them cave and start telling you what you want to hear rather than the truth?" He was irritated that Sylar was obfuscating again, as always. In the face of 'I want to get to know you', Peter was getting accusations and what he thought were semi-deliberate misinterpretations. It was disappointing, but a pattern of defensiveness, and as much as Peter might want to complain about it, he knew that would get him nowhere. There's no way I can prove myself here! I don't have anything…there's nothing I can do to show him.

XXX

Sylar smirked because Peter was completely correct. Except for the part about Peter telling him what he wanted to hear rather than the truth. More like the other way around. "Okay. Are you asking for information to change something for yourself or are you asking for it in order to change me?" The smirk disappeared as he chewed on another bite, but mostly he was hiding his smugness at basically rewording the same question. It was still an important distinction.

XXX

Peter narrowed his eyes at Sylar, not happy about the way Sylar dangled the bait of knowledge as though offering to grant it if Peter's answers were sufficiently pleasing to him. The words seemed innocent enough, but the expression and tone was anything but. It made Peter's skin crawl, reminding him of some of the worst behavior of Nathan and his father. "I was asking, that's all," he said. He wanted no more to do with the conversation, sensing a trap. He set to his food, which had lost a lot of its savor given the sour turn of the conversation.

XXX

That…wasn't the response he had aimed for. Apparently pushing too hard would result in Peter tuning out. "What? I want to know. It's important to understand your motives." It felt like that was a page from Peter Petrelli's very own book and it was, that was the disturbing part. We both want to know what motivates the other. Great. We'll never get anywhere (unless I lie my ass off).

XXX

Peter sighed and set down his spoon harder than necessary, still clutching it in his hand even so. "Exactly. What I do with the information depends on what it is. I don't want to change you – I just want to know about you. That's it! That's my grand, underhanded motivation, Sylar! Congratulations," he added sarcastically, "you've figured me out!" He stopped himself there, trying to control the stifled anger and outrage he could feel bubbling up inside of him at the constant mistrust even over the most basic of things. I am so tired of having to prove myself to him! Peter snarled at his next spoonful of soup, keeping his head down as much as possible. He thought about touching Sylar's back earlier and how little Peter wanted to do with the man now. That was nice, then. And before, in the rec room. Why is it that he distrusts me so much and yet I still end up wanting him? 'Fucking me senseless'! Fuck him. He wishes. Like this is going to get him anywhere.

XXX

Sylar gave half a smirk at that. Until Peter could openly admit why he wanted to know so badly, 'situation dependent reaction' as an answer wasn't going to work. It was sad, but also true. That part was, anyway. Perhaps for the first time, he seriously considered the idea of giving in to Peter's desire. Even in his head it failed to work. He enjoyed the well-tailored, impossible fantasy, though. Eventually I'll have to make things up just to get him off my back. He knew he had nothing to gain by pushing Peter. He allowed his soup and Peter to cool off before they finished the meal in quiet order.

XXX

Peter readied himself for bed as usual, though with less conversation and no eye contact. He was still ticked off, but saw no reason to make himself miserable trying to sleep on the couch, or possibly escalate things by retreating to the other bedroom. Instead, he got in the shared bed like a normal person, not bothering with a barrier, or with sleeping on top of the covers, or leaving his jeans on. It was just t-shirt and boxers, under the sheets, like he would have had the bed been otherwise empty. He turned on his side away from Sylar and didn't touch him. It wasn't until a half hour later, when he was almost entirely asleep, that he rolled over and scooted closer.

XXX

Sylar was very relieved to see Peter sticking around and getting into bed. Is this 'our' bed or 'the' bed or what? Maybe just 'a' bed. After brushing his teeth, it was just boxer briefs for sleepwear as he slid onto the mattress. He saw Peter facing away in continued, prolonged silence. Maybe I should have had him check my back. Peter wouldn't notice his shirtlessness if Peter was facing away. Briefly he considered saying something apologetic until realizing that Peter was one of many who valued silence and it was probably best to go along with that lest he rock the boat too much. That stung a little but he understood it. He lay quietly on his back until his thoughts eventually let him doze.

A short time after, Sylar woke to something or someone touching him. His reflexes kicked in enough to wake him with a jolt only to remember that this was Peter and Peter did this kind of thing in bed. He wondered if it was sweet or intentional. Either way, it was a great icebreaker even if it involved sleep disturbance. Sylar hummed, touching the back of his hand against Peter for a second, perhaps testing if he was still asleep. Peter snuffled but had no other reaction. Tired and desperate, he decided to go with a plan he'd had months ago. As gracefully as he could with the intentional motions of someone performing a normal task – none of the sneaky, guilty movements that always gave it away, Sylar slipped his thumbs into his waistband and slid his briefs down to his ankles. He didn't want to lose them just in case.

When Peter didn't stir, he continued on a whim. Sylar took the empath's hand, holding it flat and loose, and dragged it softly across his uppermost shoulder and chest. It felt terribly good as far as mere sensation went. His nerves tingled even as he knew it was completely perverted and invasive to continue.

XXX

'Almost entirely asleep' did not mean completely asleep, although Sylar's first actions – a light touch, some shifting around – were nothing to rouse Peter's attention. He was happily continuing his drift into oblivion when Sylar took his hand. That, too, wasn't enough to set off any alarms for his conscious mind. But it was enough to keep him borderline awake. "Mmrm," Peter said, readjusting his body and splaying his fingers a little as he stretched his hand an inch further over the hairy part of Sylar's chest. Something nagged at his consciousness about why he shouldn't be doing that, but he ignored it for the moment.

XXX

It felt intentional. It was far too easy to imagine Peter was awake and molesting him. Or maybe that had been his intention. He knew when Peter woke up and he froze. Knowing Peter, he'll think this is a dream. He might even enjoy it if he thinks it's a dream. It's not like he wakes up completely every time. It was a poor excuse and he knew it, but in for a (very illegal) penny. Gradually, Sylar began moving that other hand on him, giving it plenty of time to explore across his chest. If it were possible, it felt even more filthy to think that Peter might be aware…and…allowing this. His breathing deepened. He really wasn't interested in this if Peter was asleep through it because he wanted the invitation to be clear; he craved the attention no matter how immoral. Plus, it was so wrong – one touching the other, in the dark, in a bed.

XXX

Should I be doing this? Peter thought muzzily about stroking his companion's chest. Wait, am I doing it at all? He realized he wasn't the one moving his hand – that was someone else's doing: Sylar's. Peter's breathing changed for a moment, his eyes blinking open. In the next moment, he quashed that reaction, trying to cover for the irregularity with a deeper, slumbering breath and an all-over relaxation. His eyes shut as he tried to fake sleeping. He had plenty of expert experience in telling sleep from unconsciousness from deception. Less in actually doing it himself, but he was a good actor. What is he doing? Is he awake?

XXX

If he's awake, he's going to punch me, then kill me for this. Sadly, that wasn't the deterrent it should have been. He led Peter's hand over his rib and side, teasing over his bare flank, listening intently like a predator to Peter's breathing, controlling his own as well. He didn't dare say anything that might break the spell. He sensed that Peter was awake to some degree. It wasn't arousing per se, rubbing Peter's questionably conscious hand over himself, essentially fondling himself with another's hand. But it was something; like supplicating himself: 'see, you can touch. It's yours,' it said. I want you to remember what this feels like. With that, Peter's hand was intentionally wrapped around his butt cheek, holding the man's hand against him with the sound of skin against skin and the rustle of bedcovers.

XXX

What Sylar was doing was now perfectly clear. Peter's head was as well – no fog of sleep clouded his thinking. The hardest part was staying relaxed, keeping his hand entirely loose, and continuing to breathe slowly as though resting. Has he done this with me other times and I didn't wake up or remember it? That was concerning, but not a lot – no harm done; it didn't trigger any of Peter's phobias despite being unsettling. Might explain why he wants me to sleep with him so badly, and not on the couch or just nearby. But I think I would have woke up if he did this before. Like I did this time.

Sylar's skin was so smooth over much of its surface, begging to be stroked. The hairs tickled under Peter's fingertips, joining a steadily increasing tingle of intimacy between them. He wanted to toy with those hairs – lay them one way, then another; muss them and straighten them. He wanted to do many things, but he did nothing, not even when Sylar pressed Peter's hand to the curve of his ass, a sensation Peter had fantasized about but never been so bold as to do – not even close. His control of his breathing failed him for a moment and he huffed out a breath in excitement.

Maybe he needs this…deniability, this distance? If it were me moving my hand, it would be another Petrelli doing things to him, manipulating him. He wouldn't be in control, and maybe he needs that? Of course, I hit him today for kissing me and walked out after the massage got to be too much. I haven't given him much of a chance. Every time he tries something I shut him down. I do have something he wants – I have me.

XXX

Sylar swallowed roughly. This was a cold, calculated maneuver yet it still managed to be erotic, all the more forbidden for his choice of timing and location. Fuck me and get it over with. He directed and smoothed Peter's hand over and around and somewhat into the curvature of his ass. It nearly gave him gooseflesh. Peter's hand felt rough and his own skin too soft in comparison. He moved the hand down the back of his thigh, then back up to the cheek. After several repetitions, he drifted the hand around his front, over his hairy lower abdomen and just barely over his penis. Don't wake up and grab me now. Just one ghosting caress over his dick, up and down.

XXX

He's got to be testing me! The temptation to act, to take control of the situation, to engage and participate was so strong. A curly brush of hair on Sylar's lower stomach gave way to the velvety skin of Sylar's penis under Peter's palm. Peter wanted to touch and explore so much more than the brief bit he was given. His breathing definitely changed as he pulled in a hiss between his teeth, letting it out slowly as Sylar moved on. No. Just stay still. Let him. If he wanted me doing things, he'd say so. He's got to know I'm awake. Take it slow. Just let him…take it slow, too. If I want to prove something to him, prove that he can do this and I'll let him – no flipping out, no nothing. Just 'Yeah, he did it, and it was okay'. This is very weird. Funny in a way. So this is how we do things. Peter accepted that. He smiled slightly, tilting his head forward so his forehead touched Sylar's shoulder.

XXX

Peter didn't grab him. The medic had needed to be shown how to take charge. So Sylar laid the previously well-used hand and forearm around his waist because Peter had placed himself so conveniently close. He relaxed his muscles as if he was back asleep, listening again for a response. After ten long, long minutes, he decided there was nothing even after Peter stirred and settled in slumber. He closed his eyes, confused about what he was or should be feeling and tried to return to sleep and await Peter's reaction to his nudity in the morning.

XXX

Day 76, February 24, Morning

Peter woke up with an urgent desire to bone his partner – the naked man, Sylar, whom he was wrapped around from behind. Maybe it was a dream, but he felt like he had to do it right now or else the opportunity would be forever gone. Although Peter didn't wake with an erection, one formed within seconds. He blinked at Sylar's back, trying to shake off the urgency of the dream and the strangeness of the reality of waking this close. He moved the hand that had been firmly holding Sylar's midsection to the man's bare hip. He stopped there as his fingers moved an inch or so across the warm skin, confirming there was no fabric there. When did he…? Did he get in bed like this? The events of the previous night came back to him in a jumbled rush, mixing in with his thoughts in his apartment the afternoon before about giving a relationship between them a chance and the irrational feeling of 'now or never' he'd had on waking. He…whoa. He felt himself up with…me. Um…? Peter backed up again and rose on one arm, another wave of desire crashing over him as the memories became clearer, recalling that he'd had his hand on Sylar's ass and even his dick, put there by Sylar. The invitation was as unmistakable as the tent in Peter's boxers.

"You're naked," he said, because he felt like he needed to say something. It was simply a statement of fact and not an accusation. Sylar was clearly awake and waiting for him to do something.

XXX

Sylar rolled onto his back, looking calmly into Peter's face. He didn't pay much attention to where the sheet fell around his hips – he left that up to Peter. He was expecting a lot more…drama in Peter's reaction: disgust, self-loathing and guilt, duty, blame-laying to name a few. "Yeah," he answered in a rough, low voice (due to just waking up more than any suave attempt). It put the play right back in Peter's reluctant hands.

XXX

Peter raised his brows slightly at Sylar's reply. He pulled his right arm free of the sheets, leaving the fabric to fall across Sylar's waist, giving the man a degree of modesty whether he wanted it or not. Peter drew in a breath, looking at Sylar's face as he reached out slowly towards the center of Sylar's chest to see what was allowed by the light of day.

His fingertips touched first, then the rest of his hand settled. Peter looked where he was touching and made a slow, small circular motion with his fingers while leaving his palm in place. There was a thatch of hair here, the base of the triangular pattern of hair that decorated Sylar's upper chest. Peter stirred the hairs lightly, then looked back up at Sylar to watch the man's expression. He could feel the heartbeat thudding quickly under his palm. "Last night was nice." He let his hand trail downward over barer skin until stopping just above Sylar's navel, where the darker hairs started again. It was just above the line of the sheet. His fingers flexed again, stroking and rubbing. "Really nice." With a reluctant sigh, Peter took his hand away and backed off the bed, making no special attempt to hide his body's arousal. A part of him wanted Sylar to see it even as the rest of him needed to get out before things went too far. "I'm going to the bathroom. You should put some clothes on."

XXX

That touch…Intentional. Intimate. Right to the core of him. He imagined or felt that his ice-cold dead heart was melting, the heat spreading until his bones warmed. It was the stupidest sentiment, but he couldn't help his body's reaction to something so gentle and unexpected. He hadn't asked for this. It must be a mistake or a joke, definitely an unearned tenderness; rationally he knew that. It was just a test. It soothed and terrified him, make him feel vulnerable and completely masculine because he couldn't understand it and had no frame of reference for it, except his mother's occasionally touching his face. It was and wasn't sexual arousal, mostly it was something else entirely. He inhaled once, deeper, then held his breath.

Then the hand touching him slid down and repeated the same finger-rubbing motion. He exhaled quickly in reaction, feeling a sexual thrill and even more terror because he wanted Peter to stop and go no further…and he wanted that hand to touch him down lower, too. Only after Peter removed his hand, leaving him colder, bereft, relieved, and shocked, did his words finally penetrate over the sound of his frantic heartbeat. Shouldn't it be relaxed? Could he feel that? And then, He was awake?! And he enjoyed it? He enjoyed feeling me? (Of course he did – that's why he just touched you now. And he really must enjoy touching men sexually, not just fucking them. I don't know what else I expected.)

Only with Peter's departure and distance did Sylar pull himself together. Enough to notice the empath's familiar self-denied erection. Just from that? His gaze turned predatory as he watched Pete and his stiff organ march in front of the bed on the way to the bathroom. "What if I don't want to?" he threw back, sprawling out, stretching contentedly as if they'd actually done something considerably more pleasurable. It helped with his more violent urges to jump on Peter and otherwise manhandle him.

XXX

"Then I won't look at you," Peter said in return, still walking. Quieter, to himself, he added, "And that would be a shame." He didn't look back even now, not wanting to be snared. He could feel Sylar's attention, if not his gaze, searing into his side and back. It made him stiff enough that he ceased to tent his boxers, his erection standing upright against his belly by the time Peter had the bathroom door shut (and locked) behind him. He shoved his boxers down in nearly the same motion, eyes half-shut as he leaned against the door. He moved to the shower as an afterthought, stroking fast, hard, and twisting. His mind was a mess of thoughts of Sylar listening, of Sylar moving Peter's hand over him, of Sylar making himself naked to better tempt him – Sylar, Sylar, Sylar. Oh, Peter was tempted. He didn't have any difficulty coming, a certainty in his gut that the next time, he wouldn't be alone.

Afterward, he panted as he slumped against the side of the shower, more than a little confused about how the guy who had killed his brother (and himself, more than once) could move him to such pent-up desire. It's that he wants me. He wants me so bad. He thought I was something special from the moment he saw me. Peter chuckled at how corny and questionable that was as he turned on the shower. 'Course, he wanted to kill me for it, but he seems to have sublimated that into wanting to fuck my brains out instead of cutting them out. That's an improvement, right? He snort-chuckled as the water sprayed over him, inhaling some of it accidentally and experiencing a fit of coughing as a result.

XXX

Sylar continued to lounge in bed by his lonesome. He couldn't pin down how he felt and was stuck between triumph and arousal; dread and disgust at himself (and possibly at Peter for taking the bait so soon and so easily); and just not giving a fuck. His body was equally confused – his erection only swollen, but not hard. It was no help to him. Rubbing at himself briefly to see if it solved anything garnered lack-luster results and he quickly gave up.

Sylar was tempted to lie in bed naked, or perhaps go about making breakfast for two in the nude just to call Peter's bluff…but pulling the naked stunt was his very last resort. If things continued this way, Peter would give in and he wouldn't need to use that trick. I'm avoiding feeling anything, he realized, admitting it to himself. He felt a few things for Peter, but the little hero couldn't withstand the evil and darkness within him if he shared it. Peter still believed he shouldn't exist or that he should be some do-good slave at other's whims. Peter couldn't accept him or heal him. Not to mention their past and how Nathan would always stand between them. It's just fucking. He knows that.

Sighing, he found his briefs and slid them up and on; in doing so, he sat up and landed his feet on the floor. That was about the time he heard Peter…coughing…in the shower. The combination was so incredulous that he stared in the direction of the bathroom, trying to picture what could have caused it and failing. Sometimes Peter was happy to be his own special brand of enigma.

XXX

Peter didn't really need the shower. Once he regained the ability to breathe, he turned the water off and got out to see to his more usual morning routine of teeth, facial hair, and general grooming. He was fairly sure Sylar would be attracted to him no matter what he looked like, but the idea that the guy was salivating over him prompted Peter to want to look worth it. There wasn't much he could do aside from shave closely and mess with his hair a lot. He dressed in the t-shirt and boxers again, leaving the bathroom to seek shorts so he could go work out after a short breakfast. "Bathroom's yours." He shot Sylar a cautious glance to see how much skin was on display.

XXX

Sylar was still perched at the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, hands beside his thighs, arms straight, supporting his torso when Peter emerged, glancing over him. He felt a small thrill of triumph that Peter had looked anyway (of course he did – he had to), failing the test Sylar hadn't had to provide. Mostly he felt cheap and disappointed with himself that he wasn't more proud to see his plans working to perfection. I'm so fucked up. I'm getting what I want. Soon, he'll be getting what he thinks he wants. Sylar acted the opposite for Peter's benefit; smiling and standing upright with unnecessary stretching, "Thanks."

Once in the shower, Sylar scrubbed himself thoroughly, telling himself he wanted to be prepared. The water helped calm him and gave him much needed focus. It felt good to be clean. Several other usual hygiene tasks completed, he returned to the kitchen in jeans and his customary black button-up. He hovered nearby for a moment to see what Peter was up to before joining in. "How did you sleep?" he asked smugly, knowingly; arms straight and hands flat on the counter.

XXX

Peter smiled a little, looking at Sylar out of the corner of his eye. Sylar was not technically in his way, but he bumped him aside anyway with shoulder and hip, taking a tone of bossing him around, flirting, and teasing all in one. "Good." He shot Sylar a smug look the equal of that of the other man and didn't bother to try to be innocent about it. 'You want me; I know it. I want you; you know it,' was heavy in Peter's body language. He felt flattered and playful – the way Sylar looked certainly didn't hurt anything. He reached across to snag the butter dish, even though he'd been planning on putting peanut butter on his toast. "Want some toast?"

XXX

Sylar smirked in reply. He felt accomplished despite his concerns. Peter was, in some ways, too easy. He had an intuition that they would be fucking hot together when they finally did it. One way or other. He realized that this courtship and flirting was unsettling because of its duration. It didn't diminish his desire for a challenge – or to dominate Peter and sate himself that way. Anything in between was still…confusing. But it was clearly working.

So, after weathering the unnecessary, gentle contact, Sylar took a move from Peter's well-played book. He laid a hand low on the other man's back, humming a pleased, sexual sound. I want something, Peter. He eyed the medic's throat like he wanted that for breakfast instead – indeed, he considered taking a bite again. "Sure," he said about the toast. "I'll even let you use your tongue…" He allowed that to hang in the air a moment before pretending to clarify, "On the butter knife."

XXX

Peter licked his lips in a long, slow manner, raising his brows slightly at the invitation. "Yeah?" he asked. He did nothing to dislodge Sylar's touch, noting that even though he'd shoved him aside, Sylar had understood the flirt and come right back. "Get out some drinks," Peter directed, changing the tone so things wouldn't get more heated. "I'll take care of the bread. And make sure you take your antibiotic." He continued with the toast, getting out the peanut butter and making his own slices with it. Sylar's toast ended up with the butter. Peter set the plates on the table and waited until Sylar was seated before digging in. He looked at Sylar's hair, still slicked back from the shower; the strong brows; dark, intelligent eyes; distinctive nose; generous lips framing a wide mouth. Peter blinked, pulling his attention away and putting it back on his food before the stuff got completely cold.

He tried to put his thoughts towards something more constructive than ogling Sylar's looks. Don't overthink it, but don't be stupid. Be careful; not too careful. Treat him with respect, but don't forget what he's done. This is all contradictory. I can't do that. Back to the basics - hell for him is being all alone. What he wants most is someone to be with. And he's going to let me flog him or whatever as long as that means I'll spend time with him. I don't know if sex is real with him or just another thing he's offering to keep me from taking off. But…it does keep me from taking off. I want to be with someone, too. I saw how he looked when I touched him – held his breath, his heart went wild – it was more of a reaction than when he was feeling himself up with my hand. I want him to look at me like that. I can't trust him, but I could give him what he needs. I think I'm the one who wants to get laid – maybe not so much him. Peter took in a deep breath as he finished his toast. Even if that's so, it doesn't mean I can't (get laid), or that there's anything wrong with it, right? Peter pursed his lips and gathered up his plate and glass, glancing across the table at the serial killer he'd shared both bed and breakfast with. He likes me on some level, doesn't he? Yeah, right, that's why he killed me a couple times, Nathan, wants revenge against my family, picks fights with me – that's what people do when they like someone. Pff. The thoughts made him sad and frustrated, so he rose and announced, "I'm going to go work out." He carried his things to the sink for a quick rinse.

XXX

Antibiotics and boring breakfast finished, Sylar asked, "Why don't you work out before you shower? Do you like being...sweaty or something?" I'll give you things to think about while you sweat. Or shower. Or try to distract yourself. He was a little surprised one of them wasn't playing footsie with the other beneath the table by the end of it.

XXX

"I-" Peter shrugged, looking embarrassed, "I did things a little out of order this morning." He rolled his eyes and smiled briefly, a return of warmth to a face that had become distant with introspection. "Something must have distracted me. But normally I do that – work out and then shower. And I'll probably shower again after the exercise. I don't mind working hard for something I want." He gave Sylar a suggestive look with a single nod. "Makes it feel honest." I hope I'm doing the right thing – giving him a chance. It feels right. Peter's expression turned hopeful and vulnerable for a moment before he turned away to hide it, drying his hands and then heading for the door. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in physical activity and find an escape from the uncertainty inside him.

XXX

Sylar smirked again at the compliment. And it was a compliment to have shaken the unshakeable focus of Peter Petrelli. (Unless that focus isn't there anymore and he's gone soft and weak…I didn't think it would be this easy. I'm sure he's desperate). He set about bringing his own dishes to the sink and starting up the warm water to begin to wash. He was nodding along to the plan: exercise, then shower again after when Peter threw a curveball. 'Working hard for something I want…Makes it feel honest.' Sylar caught the looks his way and Peter's…expression that made his gut flip-flop. He barely maintained his own expression of receptivity. What the hell does that mean? Either he is going to change me or I'm too much work? Then 'it feels honest'? Does that mean he's telling me what he wants or that I'm not being honest? Fuck! Either way, I'm in screwed. It's somehow not 'just' sex.

Sylar had planned to follow Peter and stalk his activities. Now he reconsidered even as it took him mere minutes to finish washing dishes. He was presented with even more uncertainty and puzzles. He wandered over to the couch, picking up his book. He sat and gazed unseeing at the pages, mentally turning over the problems Peter presented instead of pages. I bet he just wants relief. He wants something normal. (Does he know that will never work long-term? I'm anything but normal). And when he looks at me, all he'll see is Nathan's killer. I guess just give him what he wants and take the fallout as it comes. (I really thought he'd hold out longer. Like…years. Decades maybe). Sylar shifted against the armrest of the couch when a horrible thought struck him. Oh, God. What if he means we have to work things out for it to be honest, for us to fuck? He plans on interrogating me untilI give in. He wished, not for the first or last time, that he had some kind of answers to give to Peter, but that was even less probable than pretending to be normal.

XXX

Exercise gave Peter the distance he wanted, getting him recentered in the here and now, such as they were in this world. He returned to the penthouse apartment sweaty and tired. After gathering up the clothes he would change into after the shower, he headed for the bathroom.

XXX

Peter returned, looking damp and flushed, reinvigorated. Sylar's hungry gaze followed him as he walked by without a word. He had to ignore his own fantasies of pinning the medic down, stripping him, fucking him; taking him and making Peter enjoy it. He just…wanted. And he didn't want to try to explain it to himself or talk about it. Instead, he offered, "Want a hand?"

XXX

"With?" Peter looked confused for a moment. The expression on Sylar's face explained the offer, though, once he thought about it. Peter's features softened and warmed, thinking about having someone in the shower with him, attentive and loving. But while he might have Sylar's attention, he had no expectations of genuine affection or even a good facsimile of it. 'Loving' was right out. Showering with someone who wanted to arouse him but didn't understand the basics of being nice sounded like a disaster in the making. Peter smiled, charmed but rueful. "No. I think I've got it."

He showered, dried, and changed clothes, then moved on to the kitchen to pillage for a snack. The earlier breakfast of toast had been rather light, but it was all he'd found that could be made quickly. Another search of the fridge and pantry confirmed this. "We need to go grocery shopping. Most of the food's gone." He settled on opening a can of peaches, pouring them into a bowl and eating them plain. "The sun's out and it's only a few blocks, but you should still get a heavier coat. Getting the stuff back will be the issue. We'll have to do a lot of carrying. How's your back doing?"

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Sylar hummed in acknowledgment about needing more supplies. It was amusing to think that the last time they'd gone grocery shopping (together, no less), they'd returned with two bottles of lotion, barely used now. What might they bring back this time? If Peter didn't want to fuck this instant, then a supply run was an excellent way to kill the day and possibly procure other items for fucking. Sylar snorted at the advice. "I like my coat." That was reason enough to keep it. Maybe Peter doesn't? Or he's sick of playing nurse…Guess not. "My back feels better. But I didn't look at it when I had my shirt off."

XXX

"Let me take a look at it now." Peter finished his fruit quickly, then washed and scrubbed his hands. He dried them and walked over to Sylar. He touched the man's shoulder with a lingering contact, giving his profile a thoughtful look until Sylar glanced up at him. We didn't get okay with each other this fast. He used to be a lot more twitchy about me touching him. This 'accommodating thing' is an act. At Sylar's look, Peter put on his paramedic face and moved behind Sylar to get a better view. After touching around the injury sites, Peter observed, "These look good. The infection's gone. They've scabbed over well. Keep taking the antibiotics, though." He came back around to Sylar's front. "It worries me that you could even get an infection. I thought everything was sterile here. Do you have any theories on that?" Or was that my hate infecting you?