Title: After Wall
Characters: Peter Petrelli, Sylar
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None that aren't expressed by an NC-17 rating
Word count: 4,800
Summary: Peter helps Sylar sort out his new role in life. Sylar points out that he's a sex god.
Notes: Yeah, well, it's not technically a Brick because it's set after they get out. Oh well.

"That's that," Peter said as the last of the carnies packed up for the night. A few members of the police and other agencies still loitered in Central Park, watching, but the show was over. Peter didn't feel he needed to be part of the clean-up. "I guess I should check and see if I have work tomorrow," he muttered.

"Mm," Sylar hummed in assent from beside him, eyes lingering warily on the various members of law enforcement.

Peter followed the man's sight line, wondering what warrants were out for Sylar's arrest. "You have somewhere to go tonight?"

"Your place," Sylar answered. He looked to Peter, brows raised in question.

Peter turned away, looking around the city. He licked his lips, thinking over Sylar inviting himself back to Peter's apartment. They'd spent a really long time together behind the wall, trapped in Sylar's head. Peter had forgiven him as much as such a thing were possible. His mother's words of warning rattled around in his head: 'One isolated act doesn't make him a savior.'

Quietly, Sylar said, "I need an anchor, Peter. I need a connection. You trusted me with Emma's life." He reached out and put his hand lightly on Peter's forearm. "Can you trust me with more?"

It was an interesting question – ambiguous in meaning. Could be a literal question. Or could be pointing out Peter had already trusted him with the thing he valued most. But Sylar probably had no other place to go – certainly not where he'd be basically safe. Peter sighed and jerked his head in the direction of the nearest subway outlet. "Let's get going, then."

The trip back was quiet. Peter watched Sylar as Sylar watched out the window or stared at his hands. It seemed surreal to walk inside his apartment after such a feeling of years gone by. He chuckled as he tossed his keys on the counter. "I almost expected dust and cobwebs and all the furniture moved out again."

"You do seem a little light on the furniture. I remember when this place was crammed to the-" He cut off, pursing his lips, brows drawing together.

"I understand," Peter said gently. Sylar's memories of Peter's apartment from before it had been cleaned out were not truly Sylar's. Peter had finally realized Sylar might never be able to tell the difference.

Recovering, Sylar took a seat at the dining room table, the same one he'd sat at to consume an entire pumpkin pie while Peter and Angela, trapped, had looked on. His fingers stroked the surface of the table, ignoring the pile of bills on the corner. His face was pensive.

Peter took up the chair he'd sat in before, refusing to be cowed by memories. "What are you thinking?"

Sylar swallowed, glancing up. "How do I go on from here?" He glanced down, then back up. "There must be a way."

There was hope in Sylar's face – and faith, faith that Peter could help him. "You said you needed an anchor. What do you mean?" Sylar shrugged and looked aside, a little exasperated. Peter asked, "Do you mean you need someone to keep you in place? Like … tie you down and keep you from hurting people?"

Sylar smiled and gave Peter a side-eye. "Kinky, Petrelli. I like the way your mind works."

Peter chuckled again, leaning back in the chair and relaxing. "Seriously."

Sylar nodded. His gaze was distant. "Someone who would know told me that people who live a lot of different lives needed to find something that acted as a foundation for them, an anchor for their self-identity. I've been a lot of different people, Peter. I need someone to help me find myself." He looked up at Peter with that same expression of hope and faith.

This time, it was Peter who nodded. "Let's work on that then. Who do you want to be?"

The man looked surprised to be asked, or maybe he just hadn't expected Peter to launch right into it. "Gabriel … Sylar," he said after some hesitation. It was as though he'd settled on the name only right then.

"Gabriel?"

"Yes." Sylar made an uncertain face. "It's the name I grew up with."

"Okay. And Sylar?"

This time the other man's expression was slightly more predatory. "You know why."

Peter elaborated. "I mean, is that your legal last name right now, or will we need to get you identification?"

"I'd need … identification," Sylar said, again having trouble putting together the words.

Peter nodded. "Okay. What do you want me to call you?"

"Either." Sylar swallowed.

"Works for me." Peter rose. "Let's start on that tomorrow, after I see what tours work has me scheduled for." He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair.

Sylar's brows drew together slightly. "You don't have to work, Peter." He picked up one of the envelopes, turning it to gold sheets that slowly crumpled under their own weight. "See?"

"Hey!" Peter pulled the metal from him, trying to lay it out flat again. "That's my electric bill. How do I pay it now?"

"With that." Sylar gestured to the envelope.

Peter stared at the ounce or so of gold. Even if a pawn shop or metals broker took a ridiculous margin, he would still have enough to keep the lights on for a year. "That's … thank you." He sat back down. "But that's not who I am. I use my abilities to help people, others, not for me to get ahead in the world. I'm ahead already, just by having the choice." He thought a moment, then said, "I work because that's my anchor. It's how I connect with people. It gives me purpose – a place to go, people who want my help, people I can save and make a difference for. That's what matters to me. You need to work out what matters to you."

Sylar looked at him steadily for a while, then said, "Very well. You have one bed. May I sleep with you?"

"Uh," Peter looked in the direction of the mentioned furniture. When they'd been here last and faux-Nathan had passed out, Peter had stayed up all night. There had been no need to share. "Sleep with me …?"

"In whatever capacity you wish."

Peter's head snapped around and he blinked. Shit was getting serious. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"You're not straight," Sylar said blandly. "You said I need to work out what matters to me. I have. I need to establish a connection who won't turn on me and who will help me through this process of finding myself. As Nathan knew and entirely underappreciated," Sylar dipped his head, "you are loyal to a fault. I will do whatever I need to do to secure that loyalty." Peter's eyes were big. Sylar said softly, "If you allow it."

"Um …" He stared at the bed again. "I don't think I've ever had someone proposition me quite like that."

"I promise you - my lovers have always been satisfied."

Peter laughed, loudly, the spell broken somewhat. "Yeah, yeah, okay, I get it. Years alone. You're kind of hard up. Got it." He stood up.

"It's more than that - so much more."

Peter turned to give him a piercing look. "I know. It's been a long day. Especially for you. Let's get some sleep. We can work out," he waved his hand restlessly, "the rest later."

Sylar didn't argue.

T-shirts and boxer shorts served for both of them as bedclothes. Peter settled in, but couldn't stay facing away. Turning, he saw Sylar was facing him, eyes open. Peter smiled a little. He shut his eyes and tried to sleep, but a few minutes later, he opened his eyes again. Sylar was still awake, gazing blankly at the mattress between them. Peter put out his hand, open. Sylar reached out his own a moment later, touching delicately. Fingertips stroked one another softly. It was ticklish and soothing at the same time – an innocent pleasure.

"If," Peter said slowly, quietly, "I was with you somehow, it wouldn't be a condition of helping you on other things. You know that, right?"

Sylar made a tiny nod. "I know that. I know you." He waited a beat before continuing, "And I know it would help us both, if we had someone to hold."

"You make it sound so practical." His fingers moved on to petting Sylar's palm and allowing the same in turn.

Sylar's brow twitched. "It can be. I know how things work, Peter. Some things are more complicated than others. This doesn't have to be complicated."

"I hardly know you."

"Then let me fix that." Sylar scooted closer, one hand going to Peter's hip as the other found his face. He stilled there for a moment as Peter made up his mind and disregarded the insanity of what he was doing. Peter leaned forward and kissed him lightly. Sylar kissed back just as carefully. Peter shifted, one knee sliding forward to nudge against Sylar's, then lifting it to slide over the top of it. They kissed again, a little more involved. Sylar's hands went to the small of Peter's back and the side of his head. Peter pushed, slowly rolling Sylar to his back and climbing on him, still kissing, inhaling Sylar's scent, running his hands through the man's hair. He sat over him, knees on either side of Sylar's hips. Sylar's hands ran up and down his thighs, then to his rear, gripping and kneading through the thin cloth of the boxer shorts. Peter moaned against his lips.

"Oh yes," Sylar whispered, nibbling down Peter's stubbled cheek to his throat. Peter reached down between them and rubbed Sylar's shaft through the shorts, up and down, cupping it and caressing. Sylar rocked his hips with the motions, biting and sucking with his mouth at the tender skin of Peter's neck. He pushed at Peter's boxers, so Peter took them down as much as possible, snagging them under the curve of his ass in back and his balls in front. Sylar's fingers danced up and down his exposed penis immediately, drawing a hiss and another moan from Peter. He cupped Sylar's head to his neck and upper chest, thrusting into that hand.

A few moments later, Sylar adjusted himself and his clothing so his dick rode up between Peter's butt cheeks. His fingers probed at the seam of Peter's ass, opening him bit by bit.

"Oh fuck," Peter groaned. "You're going all the way, aren't you?"

"I will fuck you into oblivion, Peter Petrelli," Sylar said in a deep, seductive growl. He bit Peter's pec hard enough to leave a bite mark, hard enough that Peter arched away from him with a pained yet pleasured sound.

Peter scrambled off of him for a moment, shucking his boxers and shirt entirely and retrieving a bottle of lotion from next to the bed. It wasn't the best for their purposes, but it would work fine. He squirted it out and applied it liberally, first to himself and then to Sylar. He climbed on to straddle Sylar's thighs, slicking him up and giving him a brief hand job.

"Yes," Sylar said simply, looking down his body at Peter, naked and pumping at him.

A few moments later, Peter moved up Sylar's body, pausing to stroke their cocks together in both his hands. Sylar's hands trembled on his thighs, urging him on. Peter moved up further and finally, Sylar's hands could reach his buttocks again. They snaked around and curled into him, fingers probing immediately, made slippery by the lotion. Peter was entered without hesitation, stretched and opened as he laid flat on Sylar's chest and let the man finger-fuck his ass with progressively more digits. Finally, two fingers on either side crowded his opening and pulled him as wide as he would go. He groaned and squirmed, begging to be entered. He could feel Sylar's cock rubbing and bumping against him, but for now it was only fingers tugging him wide. Peter sat up, leaning back into the pressure and trying to spear himself on Sylar's cock. It felt so good to be so open and vulnerable. It was a relief when the fingers pulled out and he felt Sylar's flesh penetrating his. Peter sat back and down, feeling the slicked organ sheath itself within him. "Ah!"

Sylar grunted, shifting his hips to thrust, holding Peter at thigh and waist. Peter held his forearms, letting the man pound him from below. "Fuck," he whimpered as the man surged in and out of him. One of Sylar's hands went to Peter's dick, stroking it fast and furious. It lit him up inside, like he was going to pop only seconds into being fucked. "Ah!" he repeated, his knees tightening against Sylar's sides as his toes curled. Sylar kept hammering him hard, his fist and hips matching pace so that Peter felt like he was being fucked and fucking at the same time. He was swept up in the sensation, his sense of self flying apart and leaving nothing but the overwhelming awareness of sex and arousal. He caught Sylar's free hand, twining their fingers together as he felt his peak coming. A stroke later, Sylar rammed into him even deeper than before, balls deep and pushing Peter back on him. He was skewered so tightly and thoroughly that he felt the base of the man's cock as it throbbed, pulsing semen inside him in orgasm. Peter shuddered in shared ecstasy. His own fluids spurted and spilled over Sylar's belly and hand.

"Guh, huh," Peter panted, frozen in place as Sylar emptied inside of him. It felt fucking magical. It took a while for his sense of reality to settle. "Oh, fuck. Okay."

He watched as Sylar released his hand and dragged a thumb through Peter's ejaculate on his hairy stomach. Sylar had Peter's full attention as he put his thumb in his mouth and sucked it clean. "Whenever you want more …? Next time I'll make it last longer."

"Yeah, yeah," Peter said, climbing off and using his discarded t-shirt to clean up his ass, then Sylar's junk, followed by his stomach. With several breaks in the process for a surprising amount of kissing and nuzzling. "I didn't know you were like this," Peter said once they were both somewhat clean and lying together.

"This is what I would like to be."

Peter stroked Sylar's forearm. "You're right. This doesn't have to be complicated."

XXX

It was a kiss that woke him. Time, space, and his sense of self were all blurred together, but the physical sensation was clear as crystal. Sylar jerked back, eyes wide. A bright light was directed straight at his face, so startling and brilliant that he couldn't even see who had woken him. A glimmering of understanding came over him in the span of his first inhalation – he was still in his shop. He'd come here, today. Now. It had been empty. It was empty. But then who were these people?

He lashed out, an instant's internal debate between electricity and telekinesis going on as he raised his hand, half confused that he even had abilities. It didn't seem normal. In light of the uncertainty, his old favorite won out. He snagged the source of the light and flung it away. The room was dim without it, but not impenetrable. For now his eyes were still dazzled. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to adjust.

Noah's voice called out: "Peter, get out of the way!" Noah was here? And Peter? Was that who had kissed him? Peter was kissing him in front of Noah? He sorely wished he had time to understand and evaluate. At the sound of a scuffle, Sylar's hand lit up with electricity. Someone yelled "No!" and a shot rang out, but before the sound had even finished processing, Sylar had instinctively grabbed at the projectile with his ability, using his free hand. It hung in midair, less than a foot away from the person in front of him (Peter?), who'd interposed himself between Sylar and the gunshot, facing the shooter (Noah?)

Sylar's eyes widened even further as more pieces of his present state of reality fell together. Peter was not bulletproof. And yet, Peter had just tried to protect him. His vision had cleared enough to make out Noah and Claire fifteen feet away behind a counter, Noah with a gun out, with Claire looking every bit like she would spoil Noah's next attempt at a shot. Slowly so as not to provoke anything rash, Sylar snaked an arm around Peter and pulled him flush back against him. Even if it looked like he was using Peter as a human shield, it gave him a better view of the threats and the best option for defending his defender. He kept one hand upraised, Elle's electricity arcing between his fingertips. The bullet wavered in the air as he split his concentration. Peter stared at it and helpfully didn't complicate things by resisting. That told Sylar a great deal, mostly that Peter was on his side.

"Let's go," Claire told her father insistently. Noah gave her a questioning look, but he lowered his gun. He looked pointedly at Peter, who said and did nothing. Yes, definitely on his side. Noah went. Claire retrieved the flashlight and sent Peter, or maybe both of them, an apologetic look before following him. Sylar heard the back door shut behind them. Only then did he let the electricity die from his hand, vanishing with a dull snap. The bullet pinged to the floor. Sylar buried his face against the side of Peter's neck – not to kiss, but merely to press against him and feel another human being, maybe wordlessly express his gratitude that someone had stood up for him.

"You were willing to take a bullet for me," Sylar murmured against Peter's skin.

Peter reached up and touched at Sylar's hair, then turned in place slowly to wrap his arms around Sylar. "I should have tried harder to make sure they didn't come. They were worried about me. We didn't know what we were going to find."

"Here?" Sylar pulled back, glancing around his old shop, Grey & Sons. There was enough sunlight filtering in around the plywood covering the windows to make it possible for them to see each other and the general outlines of the store. Nearly everything was still intact. Even the windows, boarded up as they were. Now that Noah and Claire were gone, he didn't see anything that would cause worry.

Peter nodded. "We didn't know if people had jumped you, if you were in danger, or what was going on. Didn't know. Are you okay now?" He stroked a finger along Sylar's jawline.

The touch drew Sylar's attention, reminding him of the relationship he was trying so hard to build. He slid off the shop stool he'd been sitting on all this time, cradled Peter's face with both hands, and kissed him hungrily and thoroughly, plundering Petrelli's mouth for himself. Peter's hands laced around the small of his back, then curled up his back as the kiss went on and Sylar's passion increased. The idea of gratefully fucking Peter on one of the counters came to mind, but even the workbench in the back room might not be sturdy enough for both of them. He pushed the tall chair out of the way and took Peter to the dusty floor, rubbing against him firmly enough to feel Peter's hardness through his jeans. "It feels like it's been years … again." Sylar paused, gazing down at Peter's face and looking for answers to all the memories of this place that seemed so fresh in his head.

"My mother said you were lost in the past. Noah said your family owned this place. You worked here before your abilities." Peter's voice was breathy. His eyes were searching. His hands gripped Sylar's shirt as he waited to see what would happen next. "Are you going to fuck me on the floor here?" It was half surprised and half hopeful.

A grin split Sylar's face at how much Peter must have enjoyed their previous episode of sex to ask such a question (or was he making a request?) He kissed Peter fiercely in answer. His telekinesis popped Peter's fly and took down his zipper in the same motion as Sylar reaching for him. Peter moaned and arched against him, hands fisting in his shirt so hard two of the buttons popped. After only a beat of hesitation, Peter tore the ruined shirt off of him. Sylar took him in hand and jerked him off while Peter buried his face in Sylar's chest hair, then his neck, then lay flat to pull Sylar in for more kissing.

Sylar pumped Peter until his toy was squeaking, Peter's head was thrown back, his back bridging up from the floor, his legs tight around the one of Sylar's that was knee-down on the floor between them. That was when Sylar stopped, relaxing his grip to the gentlest and not moving it at all. Peter panted, chest heaving, and then his back flattening against the floor as he progressively eased off from the brink of orgasm. He looked up at Sylar in a daze and moved his hips. Sylar's hand moved with him, giving Peter not the least friction to get himself off.

"You want me to fuck you?" Sylar asked softly.

"Yes!"

Sylar let go of Peter's dick so he could tug down Peter's jeans and expose that lovely ass. Peter lifted his butt and shoved down his underwear with them. Sylar pulled everything to Peter's ankles and then looped it over the back of his head so Peter's rear sat in Sylar's lap. "How much does she know about us?" Sylar asked. "Claire, that is. Noah was surprised, but she wasn't."

"Everything."

Sylar lifted his hand, calling to it the most suitable lubricant the shop had. It was a better choice than lotion – definitely slicker, but probably harder to clean. They could worry about that later. What was important now was lubing Peter up for a good, long fuck. "I don't have to be a secret," Sylar mused at the novel idea, letting the fingers of one hand trail down Peter's still-engorged shaft, tickling over his balls. Peter shifted and arched, his feet pulling on the fabric bunched across the back of Sylar's neck.

"You're not going to be hidden away."

Sylar opened his fly, releasing himself for the first time from cramped confines. With his erection leaning against the back of Peter's thigh, he ran his thumb down Peter's crack, stirring the hairs and eliciting the smallest gasp. He dribbled oil and smeared it up and down, pressing in with his thumb until the found the exact spot where Peter's body would accept him. He pushed, greased, and pushed again. Peter put his hand to his own dick and squeezed, stroking slowly as he was probed. Sylar rumbled at him, "You don't get to come yet."

"Not until you're inside me?"

Sylar chuckled with a deep, amused sound. "Not until I'm coming with you."

"Oh yeah?" Peter laughed. His hand sped up on his dick. "You better hurry up then!"

Sylar smirked. He oiled himself quickly and thrust against Peter. The man's pained grunt and gasp almost made Sylar pause to see if he'd misstepped, but Peter's hand was still stroking himself, if slower. "Just imagine me," Sylar said to distract him, "fucking you forever. Every night. Every morning. Every day. That's what we should have been doing in Matt's head all that time." He could feel Peter's hot hole yielding before him as he forced entry. Peter's head was flung back again, mouth open and askew. "I will fill you. I will take you. I will keep you satisfied. Whatever it takes." Sylar pulled Peter's hips back against him, his length entering Peter as far as the position allowed. Peter's hands left his dick to lay over Sylar's, clenching at him. Peter was biting his lip now and Sylar smiled again as he realized why. He might talk about going it alone, but he was waiting for Sylar to catch up.

Sylar leaned forward, bending Peter up and adjusting their position so he could fuck him harder. Peter's knees were to his chest, feet over Sylar's shoulders. Sylar plowed him deep and thoroughly. The slick oil kept Peter wet and open, making it easy to slide inside all the way, over and over. He watched as Peter's face gradually contorted with the effort of holding off the orgasm that had to be on the edge of tearing him apart. "I will fuck you every chance I get," Sylar said hoarsely, watching as Peter's eyes rolled upwards. "Now, and always."

"Ah! Please," Peter whimpered. His feet turned to curl behind Sylar's head and his hands gripped Sylar's bare shoulders, digging in.

The euphoria of that much obedience, so willingly and easily granted, made Sylar snarl in glee. He felt the build inside of himself as he pounded Peter a few more times, watching the delicious torment on Peter's features as he struggled not to come. One of these days Sylar knew he'd have to find out just how much control Peter had, but for now he was already to bursting himself. "Now, Peter. Now!"

"Ah, ah!" Peter came almost immediately, his body jerking with the release. He called out with every spurt of semen across his belly. With every spasm that racked Peter, Sylar slammed his seed home inside of him. It was the darkest, most delightful fantasy-come-true Sylar had ever imagined.

Both spent, the disentangled themselves and pulled up their pants, which was more of a struggle for Peter than for Sylar. Not only did Peter's pants start out wadded around his ankles, but he seemed genuinely disoriented from being fucked silly. It was flattering and endearing. Sylar laid himself down on the dirty floor next to Peter, curled towards him. He smiled softly and smugly to himself as he inhaled the curiously mixed scents of sweat, sex, Peter, watch oil, and dust. Peter swabbed off his belly with the remains of Sylar's shirt. Their hands entwined.

"Your mother," Sylar said slowly after a while, his forehead pressed to Peter's shoulder and one arm crooked under his head to pillow it, "said I was lost in the past?" Peter gave his hand a squeeze in confirmation. "You went to her about me?" Sylar asked.

"She found you before," Peter said.

"She knew where I was?"

"Not really. That's all she really said – you were lost in the past. I couldn't get a location from her. I was starting to think you'd been thrown back in time or something."

"Ah." Sylar slowly crept his leg over Peter's, quietly marveling at how much intimacy Peter allowed, and how wonderful it was to experience it. He thought about what Peter had said earlier, trying to put together the story that had brought Peter to the store. "You told Claire, but not Noah, but Noah was the one who knew about this place."

"Yes." Peter gave his hand a squeeze again. "Somewhere around here is some motion detector from years ago. Noah said he got an alert yesterday from one of the Company's automatic systems."

"Yesterday?"

"Yeah." Peter turned his head to look in Sylar's direction. Sylar raised his head to look back. Peter said, "It's Monday."

Sylar's face blanked. The carnival had happened Saturday night. Sunday, Peter had gone off to work and Sylar had come here, since there was no way he could make progress on legal identification until a business day. Plus, he'd promised to get groceries and dinner. "No wonder it felt like years. I've been drowning in memories for more than a day." It felt like he'd relived his whole life up to the point where he became Sylar.

Peter chuckled. "I came home and you weren't there. I got worried."

Wonderingly, Sylar said, "You came looking for me. And only for me. Not for Nathan, not to save thousands, not to save Emma. Just for me? After," Sylar hesitated for a moment, imagining Peter's situation the evening before, "after you must have thought I'd abandoned you."

Peter turned on his side and kissed Sylar on the forehead. "Loyalty is not a fault," he said quietly.