Day 76, February 24, Evening
Peter wound down gently enough. Sylar pulled off, carefully extracting to prevent any dripping. When he glanced at a sated, lightly sweaty Peter he saw the man was lost in his own orgasm or thoughts. He can't say anything yet. (I can't-!) and Sylar made what he hoped was a dignified rush for the bathroom, spitting immediately and turning on the sink as quietly and quickly as he could. There was gagging and heaving, but the spitting helped. With shaky, disbelieving hands, he prepared his toothbrush. (I want to shower! He'll know!) After a rinse, he brushed his teeth, being thorough while wondering if he should discard his toothbrush afterwards. (It's contaminated!)
He couldn't look at himself in the mirror, instead remaining hunched over the sink, clutching it and using it for balance. The cold porcelain was grounding and comforting as his emotions flew everywhere and back, cycling through reactions with frightening speed. (Now I'm here! What do I do? Do I go back? What if he says no? Like I can't sleep with him tonight? Or ever?) You came back for your book. (Yes! My book. My book. My book. What if he wants me to stay? Do it again? Do ME?!) You can't stay here. You've already been in here too long. (I can't go back out there. What do I do? What do I say?) Nothing! You pathetic idiot! Nothing even happened, remember? Nothing happened. (…Right. Nothing happened. That's why it's okay. He can't say anything either, right? What if he wants to talk about it?) He can't.
Sylar scrubbed at his face, risking a glance at the mirror long enough to see that he looked like shit. How fitting. (I bet he already regrets it. He'll change his mind.) He replaced his toothbrush to avoid suspicion later (he could keep a dummy and use clean ones or toss the current one at a later time). He straightened his boxers over his very confused partial erection he hoped Peter wouldn't notice – a useless but calming and necessary gesture – and emerged with a stoic expression he in no way felt.
XXX
Peter pulled his boxers on and laid on the bed quietly, trying to make sense of what had happened and was happening now – with Sylar, in the bathroom, between them, with himself. That was not good. I got off, but that's beside the point. He's upset. Is he throwing up in there? I don't think he's into men. He's not into getting hurt either, but he wanted me to beat him because he thought I was into it. So now he's giving me blow jobs because he thinks I'm into that? (Well, he's right. I said so, and I am.) But he's not into them.
But he kissed me! Today! And other times. And he wants me sleeping with him. Is that just because he's lonely? The kissing can't be because he's lonely. He's said he thinks I'm sexy. Maybe he just doesn't like giving head? Should I go in the bathroom with him? Offer to help? I don't think there's any help I can do here. I can help by letting him do what he needs to do and not freaking out about it. He was definitely turned on before, when we were facing and he rolled me over…and that was when I was the one freaking out. Peter frowned. He rolled over on his back, mentally dissatisfied after what had been a very physically satisfying act.
XXX
It wasn't until he returned that Sylar realized just how rude it was to hog the bathroom merely to spit and brush his teeth when Peter might have wanted to make use of the facilities. He was grateful for the momentary privacy to piece himself back together. He glanced at the large, covered window, relieved it was shut and safer that way. The briefest glance at Peter showed he was frowning, but more or less where Sylar had left him. The next few tense breaths were filled will silence. No humiliation, no gloating, no rejection. Not yet. His knees felt watery as he climbed carefully into bed. And I did that on a bed. That has to be against the rules. Ruining the 'safe' space.
Sylar slipped under the sheets and lay on his back with the covers pulled around his waist. He's not asleep yet and that's not a good sign.
XXX
Peter studied Sylar's approach. Like Sylar, he repeated his earlier pattern – he rolled on his side facing Sylar and touched a few questioning fingertips to the man's forearm. Sylar almost flinched. Even if he didn't, quite, Peter still saw the tension, the change in breathing, and the subtle flex of body as muscles tightened. He withdrew his touch. Sylar was watching him in his peripheral vision, no doubt. The smallest dart of eyes towards Peter and then away was the only approach to making eye contact. It spoke of shame.
XXX
He saw as well as felt Peter rolling over to face him. Here it comes. He knows I fucked up – of course he does. It's all my fault. Then Peter touched him and it was almost too much on top of everything else. What now?! I know it was wrong. I know I'm sick.
XXX
Peter breathed in steadily, then out. He considered. He's trying to make this work. But he's back in his shell now. Is he one of those guys who thinks once the sex is done that we should ignore each other until we're horny again? Did he flinch because he thinks I'm saying I'm horny again and asking for a second round that he doesn't want to give? Is it because he thinks I'll reciprocate and he doesn't want it? Is it something about Nathan's memories? Or something about him feeling like he just gave his brother head?
Peter dropped his eyes to Sylar's forearm, the hairs mussed from their interactions this evening. Does any of that matter? I'm not hurting him. And I want this – I want to touch him. We just had sex. I don't want to have sex with someone who walls me off after, like they're done with me, or like they've done what they think I wanted and so I should be satisfied and roll over and leave them the hell alone and quit being high-maintenance and annoying. God, Peter had heard so many variations of that in his tumultuous love life. This is like him sleeping in the same bed with me – if he wants that, then he has to handle that I'm going to touch him. And if he wants to have sex with me, then he has to deal with me wanting more than getting off. If he thinks he's doing this for me, then I'm not going to be shut out like this. Not anymore. Peter raised his hand, then his brows, and slowly put his palm down on Sylar's forearm – no hesitant fingertips this time, but his entire hand. If he can't deal with this, then I'd rather know now. He watched Sylar intently.
XXX
Peter's insistence was a sweet relief and a conflicting scare. Unable to help himself, Sylar swallowed and exhaled, but he was more accepting of whatever happened next. Just get it over with. I won't break.
XXX
He looks afraid. How fucked up are things between us? (Well, given I just got sucked off by my brother's killer who used to be my brother and has killed me a few times, and wants to fuck me over so he can have revenge against my mom, and yet I still got off in his mouth…That's pretty fucked up.) He's human. I'm human. This all hurts. "Come here," Peter said softly. He didn't know how to fix the problem, but he knew what he wanted. He reached across Sylar, a slow, telegraphed gesture to touch his far side and press lightly. "I want to hug you."
XXX
Sylar tensed on the inside at that quiet tone. He knew something was coming and it wasn't likely to hurt. He knew he wanted whatever it was, but hadn't earned it and knew he should reject it out of hand. Peter's hands were kind, gesturing for proximity and the best kind of intimacy. A hug. It might be some kind of mutual apology or ritual he didn't know about and Sylar didn't care. Peter wanted it so Peter would get what he wanted – it was the perfect excuse.
He rolled over as carefully as Peter had reached for him, going where Peter led, not even interested in pushing for more. He could feel the chaos welling up deep in his chest again, different from before and he hoped he wouldn't cry.
XXX
Peter wanted close. He wanted contact and touch and reassurance that things were okay. He hooked one arm over Sylar's shoulder so the man's head was on Peter's bicep, while his other arm laid over Sylar's bare side and back. One leg rested atop Sylar's. He positioned himself matter-of-factly rather than sensuously. Although he watched for Sylar's response, he scooted in and put himself where he wanted to be without asking permission or waiting for accommodation. He still half-expected rejection, and if that was coming, then he wanted to know it.
XXX
Within seconds, just thinking about the contact, hearing the command for contact, Sylar's breathing began to deepen. He couldn't explain that reaction. Rarely had he experienced anything that had so thoroughly and quickly popped the taut bubble of anxiety he always carried. The rest was familiar enough that he assumed it was a position for sleep. Once Peter was finished, with minimal wiggling, Sylar felt his tension dissipate, leaving him boneless and practically catatonic with relief. He didn't care if it was safe. There was nothing to be done about it if it wasn't. The struggle was over for the night. His last motion was to lay his topmost hand against Peter's side, just around the curve of his back.
XXX
He's okay with this. It's okay. We're okay. Peter sighed at that small sign that Sylar was good with the embrace. He could feel Sylar slowly relaxing into it and that further cooperation drained the last of Peter's tension from him, the faint tingle at the edge of his senses becoming a soothing hum of white noise in his head. His thoughts turned fuzzy as it all faded to black.
XXX
Feeling Peter breathe and sigh with satisfaction was wonderful. He'd done that much right, a few accomplishments completed, whatever the fallout tomorrow. His guilt, discomfort, and selfishness at holding back his best efforts and faked enthusiasm was only a minor throb against the hug and Peter's relaxation. Nightmares were still a concern, but he hoped with Peter here so close it wouldn't be an issue. Sylar's lids were heavy and he was able to zone out until he couldn't remember anything.
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Day 77, February 25, Morning
In the dream, Peter was lying in bed with Nathan. They'd just made love. The bed was in the holding cell in Odessa, the one with the transparent wall and door. There were police outside who had watched the whole thing. Peter was confused about why he and Nathan had had sex right out in the open, and also confused about why the incest angle didn't bother him. He tried to ask Nathan, but the words wouldn't come out. His eyelids were so heavy. I'm asleep! Wake up! I can ask him then. With an effort, Peter got his eyes open, but it wasn't Nathan in his arms, but Sylar. He tensed all over, bared his teeth and hissed in a breath.
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Sylar had been somewhat pleasantly dozing, daydreaming really, pretending his problems away. The morning after was looming even as Peter overslept, but yesterday had been a big day for the empath. He had no idea what to expect. He'd been cuddled after. Cuddled! He's concussed…He's so needy he doesn't care anymore. He's pretending I'm someone else. That's also normal. He can't kiss me. He is going to freak out. He cuddled me so there is no way this ends well. There is always fallout. How do I make this okay for him? His well-considered plan extended to: say and do whatever to get the job done.
He hadn't needed to stir during the night and so he was still wrapped in Peter's arms. It was a little sweaty, but he endured it. Peter still smelled great even if they were both filthy from the night before. It was easy to daydream of more pleasant things this way, though that was distracting from the real issues he needed to focus on. He felt when Peter woke up – it was hard to miss.
XXX
Memories of another waking reality that involved a Nathan-to-Sylar transition, in that particular holding cell, flashed through Peter's mind. "You're not him," he blurted out, then started to walk it back with, "Not-" He shut his eyes and tried to relax, feeling Sylar's skin under his fingers. He flexed them slightly to feel it better. He breathed. "It was just a dream." He opened his eyes again. "Not a bad one. Just weird. But you - you're real." What we did was real. We had sex last night.He sighed softly, letting the air out as the relaxation became authentic and not forced.Also, I kicked his ass earlier yesterday. He ran his tongue over his teeth, noting they still hurt some. Peter lifted his hand towards Sylar's face, pausing to ask, "Can I touch your face? Your jaw?"
XXX
Sylar fought off a cringe. Him? Him who? Peter was still grasping him, confusing him as to what the man wanted – get the fuck out or stay? He can't mean Nathan. (He thinks of his brother right after…?) You're one to talk. Probably just thinking of some other guy he can actually kiss. A dream? Right. I'm real. I think. I'm real if you say so. Peter was breathing, not aggressing, and definitely not scrambling to get away. Sylar nodded to the questions. What was there to say?
XXX
Peter touched very lightly along the bruises, now clearly visible. He supposed his own were as well. He could feel the sore spots on his face, but he traced out the ones on Sylar's instead. His explorations brought him near the edge of Sylar's lips. My dick was here. He took me in his mouth. That felt so good. That was so hot.He wanted to touch those lips, press across them, and see if Sylar would receive his fingers as generously as he had his penis, but it seemed like too much presumption.
XXX
Peter was being so gentle. For now. It was still lovely to experience. It was soft and sweet, curious and nearly innocent. He was being explored. Sylar felt only a flutter of worry when Peter's fingers came near his mouth – otherwise, it was kind of sexy or some other reaction he couldn't name.
XXX
Instead, he looked into Sylar's eyes for a moment, then merely athis eyes, studying their shape and the way Sylar was looking at him. It was intriguing. The man was apprehensive and guarded yet still so genuine. Peter's lips turned up slightly with warm pleasure. He looked away, at Sylar's shoulder, where he moved his hand. It seemed wrong to stare too much and he suspected Sylar would be more at ease if his hand wasn't on his head.
I don't know how he feels about last night. Or anything, really. What would it tell me if I could feel all his emotions, radiating out from him like I used to be able to? Peter's fingertips skimmed across the bare, nearly hairless skin at the top of Sylar's arm. He made no attempt to move from where he was. Lying in bed and touching each other sounded fabulous, even if it was a little short on verbal communication. They were definitely saying things to each other – just not with words.
XXX
This part is nice. It would be easy to relax into it because it was almost platonic. And I don't have to do anything. Yet. Peter gets to do what he wants and everyone wins. It was difficult to believe this was the height of Peter's desires the morning after.
XXX
Peter turned his head to follow the course of his hand, teasing softer and softer over Sylar's deltoid and bicep, continuing in a practiced fashion until he roused the gooseflesh he was seeking. He'd made Sylar respond, even if involuntarily. It amused and pleased Peter, petty as it was. He sighed again, smoothing his hand over Sylar's upper arm more firmly, dispelling the sensation he'd just as intentionally caused. He was thinking of nothing but the sensation and the moment, so far doing a good job of ignoring all the other pressing thoughts inhabiting the back of his mind.
XXX
Is he trying to tickle me? Sylar thought as his skin shivered. There seemed to be no point behind it beyond Peter's own amusement – easily given in this case. He wanted some direction, and to see if Peter really was as satisfied as he appeared. (There was no way he was happy with that blowjob.) "How did you sleep, besides the dream? What do you have planned for the day?" he asked just above a whisper.
XXX
Peter shifted, flexing his body and stretching as much as he could without leaving the ongoing embrace. He liked it here. It felt safe. For now. Sylar's invitation to consider both the past and future felt dangerous, but he couldn't refuse to answer. "I slept great." He tried to think of what he might do today, other than completely rude solicitations for sex which were so not happening, regardless of the events of the previous night or his current morning wood – it was far more presumptuous than wanting to touch Sylar's lips. "Maybe play piano. Or puzzles – one of those puzzles." Keeping his mind off boinking Sylar on the couch was tough.
Just because we did one thing doesn't mean everything's cool all of a sudden. Come on, Peter. I'm not even sure he liked it. Actually, I'm pretty sure he didn't. And there are other things I need to be thinking about – Nathan, Sylar's past, all the other killings, my mother…me. Am I safe with him? And if I am, why? Those thoughts certainly made it easier to shut down the porn factory in his head. Peter's expression turned serious.
XXX
Sylar felt the other man's erection just as he was wishing Peter wasn't wearing a shirt so he could better appreciate that stretch. Oh, he wondered. He stopped listening to whatever Peter said. His hand slid down from Peter's side, over his hip and up over the empath's penis, caressing there lightly. "Are you sure you only want pancakes for breakfast?" Yesss! I want you to want it. I hope you're hungry. Sylar wanted this much more than he wanted to give a blowjob, something about being more hands-on was appealing.
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Peter looked at him wide-eyed, his body tensing abruptly as his momentary resolve tumbled into the gutter. I must have rubbed on him when I stretched.It was all he could think of with Sylar teasing along the front of his boxers, no more than a thin layer of cotton between himself and Sylar's hand. His heart was pounding too fast. We did it yesterday. There is no reason not to take him up on something again. That feels so good. He asked! He's being gentle. He's looking at me…oh fuck. Peter bowed forward, pressing his forehead to the join of Sylar's shoulder and neck. The arm he'd been partly lying on, the one on the bed, pulled back so he could hook his hand firmly around the back of Sylar's neck. He made a very low moan as he began to slowly move his hips, rocking forward against Sylar's hand, being so careful as he did it. Just let it happen.
XXX
Oh, yes! Peter was all over it – all over him. Somewhat submissive, but grabby and involved and so close. Fuck that was hot. Sylar could smell him, feel his heat, and within a second or two, he was breathing harder and exhaling his own interest. The moan spurred him on and he wanted Peter in his hand – in both hands, firm, throbbing, aching for what Sylar would provide. His own dick was quickly swelling, but he kept that part to himself because it was probably a turn off or at least forbidden. Sylar yanked the man's boxers down to get his hands on the eager flesh. That's it. Give it to me. He hadn't expected this to be arousing at all, let alone spiraling internally out of control. Peter was humping his hand and making delicious little noises. Sylar gripped and shifted his wrist a few times. This was a new experience, manual stimulation. The penis was warm, stiffening further in his hand, so much more intriguing in his hand instead of his mouth because this was something he wanted to explore.
XXX
Peter kissed Sylar's collarbone, keeping the pressure with his forehead and hand on the muscular portion of Sylar's neck. It kept him pinned only in a loose fashion, but it was enough to give Peter the illusion he needed of control. He pumped forward, greedy for more sensation, feeling his body light up with that extraordinary sense he'd previously classed as 'tingling'. It seemed like so much more, something profound. His free hand skimmed down Sylar's bare side, smoothing over his ass and then gripping it as Peter made a soft grunt and a more pronounced thrust, thinking about how delicious it would be to take everything Sylar had implied was available. Does he want mutual? I know he's doing this for me, but I'd love to get him off. His hand slid up, eager to map out what Sylar would allow him. He stroked across the front of Sylar's underwear.
XXX
Peter couldn't see him this time. It gave him freedom of expression and he took advantage because his eyes were since rolled shut and he was biting his lip. Peter kissed him for no reason. Apparently only mouth kissing or face-to-face kissing was an issue. Whatever the reasons, Sylar enjoyed it and Peter's wandering hands, not doing much but touching and grabbing at him possessively. The aggression was sexy. If he wasn't allowed to aggress on Peter, then he could hope, sometime soon, that Peter would aggress on him and this was just the start. Peter was thrusting gently enough into his hand and Sylar set an easy pace, stroking the whole length of Peter's shaft.
Then Peter strayed from the script, inputting some kind of code that didn't compute. Sylar felt something purposefully touching against his rampant erection and it startled him into immobility for a moment. He blinked, pulled from the moment because, of course, he wanted to get some but at the same time, allowing that could have consequences or a price to be paid in addition to being distracting.
Maybe that was a signal? Sylar pushed against the mattress and began to slide down Peter's body as a precursor to another round of fellatio. He was confused and disappointed, but perhaps he had to make up for his poor performance the night before. (We haven't showered…)
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As soon as he realized Sylar's motion wasn't an impending kiss to the chest or some other readjustment of bodies, Peter clutched at him to stop him - one hand on Sylar's side and the other on his shoulder. "No," he said soft and rushed as he scooted down to return their alignment to what it had been. "Stay here, like this." Peter pressed himself to Sylar's hand again, settling his face once more into Sylar's neck. He inhaled deeply and rubbed the back of Sylar's neck - soothingly, encouragingly, or so Peter hoped. I want this, like this, just like this. He did not put his hand back on Sylar's groin, not sure if that was what had precipitated the move, but it sure looked that way. That Sylar might have issues as unspoken and deeply entrenched as Peter's seemed likely. Instead, Peter petted Sylar's side and then snaked his hand around to the small of Sylar's back as they became more involved.
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Sylar nearly cringed with conflicting waves of shame and relief when Peter called a halt. Peter didn't want a blowjob. Maybe he knew, or was taking unnecessary pity on him, or maybe he didn't want to bother with another attempt. The bottom line was Peter wasn't satisfied the blowjob last night. Peter's fantasy and all his promises of rocking the man's world and Peter didn't want it again. He felt tremendous guilt and powerlessness because what did that actually mean? Was he supposed to insist and continue on down to apply his mouth? Or was he supposed to listen to these instructions and comply?
Then the relief he couldn't contain. Sylar wanted to have Peter's organ in his hands and get him off that way. It was safer, more comfortable, and so far, even erotic and intimate. He wanted this and felt more shame – different shame – for wanting it and being selfish. Peter resumed the same position as before, perhaps…ignoring the mistake? (Was it a mistake to have offered?) Peter wound up even more thoroughly wrapped around him than before, massaging his neck in a hypnotic way.
Peter's erection was in his hand again and Sylar got to work, doing his best to focus on the moment. If he thought about how badly he'd screwed up and what that meant for his future of servicing Peter, he knew he'd likely fall to pieces. It was very difficult to focus: being terrified of the future and aroused by the present.
His own penis had never wavered, now with a low pulsing throb of arousal, he could feel Peter's continued excitement. Sylar jerked at Peter's dick, measured and faster than before. Cursing the angle a little because he couldn't masturbate Peter the way he wanted, Sylar was still thrilled to feel the expansion of chest with each breathy gasp and the air breath puff against his neck – Peter's hair was nearly shoved under his nose and it smelled like product, which reminded him of the man himself. Every instinct was dying to grab Peter and dominate him, be all over him, but he kept the pace – about two full strokes for every breath.
XXX
This was fantastic – the stuff of fantasies, something he'd never expected, would never have asked for – not from Sylar, no matter what inappropriate flirting they'd done. There was just too much negative history – but he didn't have to ask. Sylar's hands were on him, firm but careful, measured and attentive. Peter mouthed loosely at Sylar's neck a few times, tentative kisses, grateful for what he was getting and so, so turned on by it. He was with someone! He'd been with Sylar the night before, but this time he was getting to hold, touch, hug, and cling. He was getting to thrust and move. He was getting to relax, because last night had gone well and Sylar had shown he was willing to do this to completion without an outburst or an attack. Likewise, Peter had (with difficulty) been able to allow it. It was so much easier the second time.
He could feel Sylar's pulse through his neck, pressed against Peter's face. Peter held him, speeding up his tempo, wishing he was inside, wishing he had lube, but not caring too much about either because he was about to come anyway. Aside from the night before, it had been years since he'd been with someone. His panting turned noisy (not that he hadn't been already making noise). This time, he didn't need to give a warning. He didn't need to do anything – not even bother with extending his performance for the benefit of his partner, because it wasn't necessary. Nothing was necessary; Peter could enjoy this purely selfishly, which was staggeringly different than sex with anyone else, always trying to please others. His fingers tightened as his body tensed, seeking release. He leaned away, tilting his head back for better leverage, thrusting faster and harder into Sylar's fist.
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Sylar exhaled when Peter kissed him. Everything about this was doing it for him – and for Peter, apparently. They were both completely erect and breathing hard. Having Peter's dick in his hands, intimate, sweating, gasping, squirming for it was driving him crazy. He could feel Peter getting close and he almost didn't want it to end. Then the empath rolled his head away, focused on being stroked off. Sylar followed a few inches and leaned down to take a bite from the man's neck, his hand intentionally keeping the same pace on Peter's organ. It was a risk, but he wanted it – he wanted Peter to want it, too. That's it. Come for me. Give it to me. Do it again, Peter.
XXX
Sylar's teeth sent him over the edge hard. First, it was the final stimulation he needed – pain, fear, adrenaline – all combined to give him hyper-focus on what was happening with his body at that exact moment. It brought him back to himself, shut off his ever-present awareness of everyone else, and made him come. It wasn't that he couldn't come without it, but it sure hurried things along – the peak higher, the trough afterward deeper and more satisfying. Second, it showed once again that Sylar had listened to him, heard what he liked, and was doing things to deliver. It also showed impeccable timing and rare sensitivity in a lover. That sense inside made him almost feel like he used to, open and aware, back when he had his real ability.
Peter submitted entirely to it, putting himself in Sylar's hands and trusting as much as he was able. He groaned. He clung and leaned into Sylar's embrace. His breathing was choppy and gasping as he came, spurting between them. His dick finally had the lube he'd wanted – his last rapid thrusts had smeared the stuff on himself and Sylar's hand, what of it didn't end up on the sheets. Peter's hips kept shoving forward as though of their own accord. He didn't have to stop, be polite, or careful like with a blow job. He could let the spasmodic aftershocks move him as they would. Peter kissed Sylar's neck again once he was released from the man's teeth. He smoothed his hand up and down the back of Sylar's neck, then over his shoulder, and repeated the stroking as he breathed deeply between them, getting his breath back.
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It worked perfectly. Peter was making noise and then Sylar felt the wet, warm, stickiness in his hand, slicking up the other man's penis as he continued thrusting and getting off with it. Sylar released his teeth at that point, working with the continued sex motions Peter wanted. (What about the…stuff? Sylar worried. On himself, perhaps on Peter, fine. But the sheets were a legitimate concern. Would Peter care? If so, how much?) Shortly after, Peter was petting him and that was lovely. Sylar's erection was still rampant, aching now from the sensual display, the audible sex in his face, being in control of the other man's orgasm, and the success.
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"Mmm," Peter hummed, rolling his forehead against Sylar's shoulder and then kissing his shoulder. Normally, he would have been kissing his partner's lips, or at least their face. He wasn't ready for that, though. Not with Sylar. Not yet. Instead, he smooshed his nose experimentally into Sylar's deltoid, as much as he could, given it was still somewhat sore from the fight the day before.
He finally withdrew his hips, pulling back from Sylar's grasp and tugging up his boxers to cover himself. He was softening, something that didn't happen as soon as he orgasmed, but within a few minutes. Peter wasn't in a hurry. He kept petting Sylar, not able to get enough of touching him. He stuck to bare skin, which meant he avoided hips-and-down, but that left a lot of back, side, arms, chest, and neck to touch. He felt warm and fulfilled.
He pushed back enough to see Sylar's face, the post-orgasmic fugue lifting slowly. Peter looked him over, looking back and forth between his eyes. Completely deliberately, the hand that was on Sylar's waist retraced the path it had used earlier, down to Sylar's ass, over his hip, and across to the center of his groin. This time, his full attention was on Sylar's response.
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Sylar was almost painfully erect after Peter finished. And Peter didn't hit-it-and-quit-it at all, instead he kept stroking over him. Then Peter was looking at him and he repeated the cycle that included stroking over his dick. It was a severe test of his self-control (he knew he'd have to consider at a later time just how intentional that was on Peter's part); he was a hair's breath away from ravaging the man to fulfill his own needs. But more importantly – was Peter…offering? Sylar quickly shuttered his lustful reaction after expelling a pent up lungful of air. If Peter wasn't offering or if he thought Sylar's arousal was disgusting or shameful (it probably was), then it wouldn't do to eye-fuck Petrelli.
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Oh, yes.Peter saw that flash of desire, even if it didn't make any sense that Sylar would try to hide it. He raised his brows disbelievingly at Sylar's assumed indifference. Peter slid his fingers up and down either side of the shaft, shifting so he could get his other hand in front of him, hooking it into the elastic band. He paused then, looking back up to Sylar. I'm not doing this with someone who's going to pretend he isn't interested, no matter that his body is screaming that it is."Do you want this?" Peter ran his fingers back and forth under the elastic, teasing.
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Peter's expression and failure to run away was terrifying. The empath's hand did something that added more stimulation to his engorged member and the other hand was plucking at his waistband and wriggling underneath it. Part of him was animalistic, instinctive. He wanted to grab at Petrelli and force him to carry through what he appeared to be offering – and more. He wanted to snarl in his face that teasing him was a very bad idea. Sylar's fingers were clenching and releasing to prevent himself from acting on it. The rest of him was uncomfortable and questioning. Why would he ask me that? I already told him he can do what he wants. But what does he get out of this part? Nothing. Nothing except…my help with Emma. It made sense. Whether it was true or not, it made sense and answered one of the most pertinent questions and allowed him some understanding. He wanted so many things he was unlikely to receive and certainly didn't deserve. It would be wrong to accept, but he wanted it so badly he felt like breaking apart inside. What do I say? Obviously, I want some. Or is he teasing me? He couldn't imagine what he would do or feel if Peter was just…joking around, humiliating him. Sylar swallowed and nodded.
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"Mm," Peter hummed again, scooting down lower in the bed so he could stick out his elbows and get a better angle. He peeled down the underwear carefully, exposing his partner's beautiful, rock-hard member. This was, he realized, the moment when he'd usually slide right on down and get a face (and mouth) full of dick. But this was Sylar's dick. He felt a gut-wrenching aversion just from contemplating the act. It put a serious damper on his enthusiasm, sending it into an unexpected, jagged tailspin not that dissimilar from when he'd jerked his head away the day before.
What lingering erection he had shrank into nothingness. Peter paused, his hand movement slowing as he focused on breathing. But I'm already here. Give him the hand job anyway. Fuck, I was so excited about this a few minutes ago. Peter spat in his hands, mostly to give himself cover for the hesitation. Sure, like I was working up spit. Right. He ran his hands alternatingly up and down Sylar's shaft, having done this enough times (with other people, people who weren't Sylar) to get through it without thinking too much.
Peter pressed his face to Sylar's chest, hearing the rapid thump of heartbeat, sensing his breathing, feeling the wiry hairs scratching against his skin. I can do this. (But why am I doing this? Fuck.) He's human. He wants this. He's sexy. He killed Nathan. Peter adjusted his grip, speeding up, staying in tune with Sylar's responses, giving it to him at the rate he seemed to want it.He's not killing anyone at the moment. (Ha.)Bitterness and anger welled up inside of him. He tightened his grip. I need to get him off fast before something really fucked up happens here. Fuck. Why did I think I could do this? Why did I offer? I hate him! I knew that! Why am I doing any of this?
XXX
Once again, Peter provided him with privacy and Sylar needed it even more. He was forced to bite his lip to keep himself from groaning. Any little thing could ruin this for Peter – especially the part where Sylar was likely going to ejaculate on him at some point. He'll stop, right? Peter Petrelli used both hands and it was so fucking good. It was nearly a new experience, being manually masturbated by someone else. Giving up any manner of control was so frightening it pumped up his adrenaline to the point where he couldn't freak out any more and had to endure the incredible sensations. Peter Petrelli was holding his dick in both hands, intentionally stroking at his masculinity with the apparent intent to pleasure him to orgasm. It was too crazy to be believed.
It wasn't a long process. Peter did everything just right, increasing the pace, gripping tighter
and Sylar had no time to plan what to do about his messy release. It built up inside him, spiking up and up until he felt his climax might break him from the compounded tension he should have found a healthy way to release years ago. He needed to touch Peter, hold him, but that was wrong. The entire thing was wrong and he was sick to be turned on by that perversity. It felt unrealistically good.
With a shudder and choked gasp, Sylar came in Peter's hands, bursting open in such a grateful, raw way he'd forgotten what it felt like. He wanted to mark more than Peter's hands – easily washed and forgotten about. He wanted his orgasm to have some kind of ownership and, of course, the promise of continued pleasures in future – but it didn't and wouldn't. His brain was frozen, dangerously, blissfully blank and caught up in the physical world. He was nearly heaving for breath and twitching and shivering, desperate to thrust into Peter's hand and hold himself still because it was over and this was the worst part.
XXX
Peter panted, keeping his head down and against Sylar's chest. His nostrils were full of the thick scent of ejaculate and sweat. I made him come. The guy who killed my brother. I just gave him a hand job. Are those the sounds he made when he was fighting people? Killing them? Did he ever get off on it like serial killers sometimes do? Was it exciting to him? Shit. I amseething. This is stupid. I am so stupid. Peter put as good an expression as he could on his face as he straightened, but it still ended up somewhere around 'glowering'. "I'm going to clean up," he said carefully, voice tense. He climbed out of the bed and escaped to the bathroom before he did anything worse than he already had.