Title: Attractants
Characters: Peter, Sylar
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Words: 5,700
Setting: Any of my various Wall settings
Summary: Sylar has begun to feel … something for Peter. It leads him to ask some questions about what makes for love and attraction between people as he tries to sort out what those feelings mean for him.
Notes: I wrote this two years ago, wasn't happy with the ending, and never published it. I'm still not thrilled with the ending, but it's okay, so I'm putting it out there. Better late than never. Plus there's not exactly loads of Heroes fic being published these days.

Enjoying the afternoon had been Peter's idea. It was the first warm day of spring and Sylar had found himself trooping along behind his companion to the top floor of an upscale apartment complex. They were sitting on deck chairs in front of a tarp-covered pool, with a bottle of Scotch between them and a couple of glasses, still full. It was definitely fancier than anything Sylar had personal experience with. Nathan knew more of this kind of life, but he didn't want to think about Nathan – Peter didn't like the subject and besides, such a removed life was largely meaningless to Sylar. Nathan was boring. He focused his thoughts elsewhere, trying to pick out what of the situation he had a personal frame of reference for.

He thought briefly about the crowded nightclub he'd frequented with Danko. It was swanky and expensive, but not the same. More similar was the time he'd woke up to find himself reclining on the beach with Candace. It wasn't a good memory. He glanced over at the untouched Scotch. It was no fruity drink with an umbrella, so there was at least that. And the skyline that Peter was staring off at was no ocean vista. Sylar turned to regard it himself, smiling a little at the humor that Peter was the one who thought all this was fake, and yet it was still Peter who wanted to see it. Languidly, Sylar reached to the table between them, retrieving his drink to take a tiny sip of it. Sharp, cutting liquid burned across his tongue, filling the roof of his mouth and his nose with the alcoholic vapor. The subtleties of the flavor were largely lost on him, although he was sure Peter had picked out a premium product. The easy way Peter had taken a single glance at the label had assured him of that. It was a high enough alcohol content to relax him straight away. That was nice.

He settled his shoulders against the chair and let his thoughts wander to the rest of that twisted episode with the illusionist in Mexico. He remembered how she'd tried to lure him and satisfy him by catering to his imagined appetites. Each thing she'd offered had struck him as more repugnant than the last. It was the presentation that was offensive, because the choices themselves weren't all that bad, if lacking in creativity. He set down his glass, taking the opportunity to run his eyes from Peter's heavily-shoed feet, neatly crossed at the ankles, up his jean-clad thighs, over his waist where the fabric of his shirt bunched and wrinkled, begging to be smoothed, across his chest which filled out the cloth so nicely, then to his corded neck and the utterly fascinating way it joined with his jaw, ear, and skull … Sylar's gaze lingered there longer than the rest before going on to admire the wave of hair and the set of his head … Peter glanced over.

Sylar dropped his eyes, withdrew his hand from the drink, and went back to looking at the skyline like he hadn't just been ogling his companion. Peter, just sitting there doing nothing, was far more appealing than all of Candace's forced seductions. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter take a sip from his own drink and then replace it, going on with absorbing the sunlight, surveying the landscape, and not making an issue of Sylar's probably inappropriate interest. It was comforting for Sylar not to be pushed or questioned. It wasn't like he had any answers, anyway, and that was what made it a stressful subject. It was unsettling enough just to realize that he was attracted to Peter, much less to be called on to explain it.

"What-" Sylar started, the words dying as soon as Peter turned to look his way. He pursed his lips and tried again. "When-" He tensed, still lying perfectly still as he ran through several degrees of internal tension without moving.

"Yeah?" Peter asked casually, picking up his drink for another small sip, turning to look at the city instead of watching Sylar.

Sylar breathed out slowly in relief. Peter's nonchalance helped him pull his thoughts together. "What do people … see in other people?" Peter looked at him blankly. Sylar avoided meeting his eyes and made a small wave at the world to explain. "When I went to them for abilities, it was the power I wanted. Everyone wants power. I understand that. But …" He tensed again, this time not able to stop how it drew his head in and shrunk his posture. Peter was still watching without interrupting, letting him get it all out. "There are other things people want from each other, things that aren't power. Or aren't power, exactly. Like …" He shrugged helplessly.

"You mean love?"

"Yes. Sort of. And … other things." He had to work to keep breathing evenly. He wasn't sure now why he'd even broached this topic with Peter. It was stupid. He felt like he was an ignorant teenager asking questions of a parent. It wasn't like he was a virgin and he certainly knew how it worked, but the whole 'feeling' side of things was difficult to understand. It just happened to him and then stopped happening and he didn't know why or how to manage it. Like how he felt about Peter, now, all of a sudden. Or maybe he'd felt that way all along and just hadn't realized it?

"Other things, like sex?"

Sylar nodded, glad he didn't have to verbalize that. "Uh-Attraction. Why are people attracted to each other? What … about them, is attractive?" He turned to Peter, wide-eyed, as if sure Peter had the answer to that. Peter Petrelli had had enough dalliances and affairs, girlfriends and boyfriends, to be in a better position to answer than Sylar was.

Peter blinked at him several times and gave him an uncertain smile. He cleared his throat. "Um. I don't know that we get a lot of choice in what we're attracted to. It's sort of … biological. It's part of who we are."

Sylar's expression settled into a small frown. That sounded like a non-answer, a dodge. "That's too simple."

"What?"

"What you said is too simplistic to explain what I've seen." And felt.

Peter sighed. "Okay. It is. I'll agree with that. Who someone's attracted to is pretty complicated."

Sylar loosened up a little. Peter seemed to be taking him seriously, even if he wasn't giving the perfect solution Sylar wanted to hear. Since Peter wasn't continuing, though, Sylar probed again with a hypothetical. "Like … in the stereotypical example of a singles bar, a man might have … several different people to choose from. Why does one appeal to him more than the others? Why do some not attract at all?"

Peter sighed again, taking a sip of his drink and looking over Sylar's face. "I don't know. Of course there's some things about attractiveness that are common across most people – fitness, symmetry, hygiene, nice clothes, smiling, that sort of thing."

"Smiling's not necessary."

Peter raised his brows at Sylar and said nothing.

"Okay. I suppose it could be. I mean, I think of it more as a sign of cooperation, compliance maybe." He tried to explain, as otherwise it sounded serial-killer creepy. As he reflected on his words, he suspected they still sounded creepy. "Maybe that's … attractive, I guess …" Sylar trailed off uneasily, realizing that was part of the problem with Candace, and part of the appeal of Peter. If it was too easy, he wasn't as interested.

Peter waited a long beat, then shrugged one shoulder, setting down his glass and putting his hands on the armrests of the deck chair. "I can see that. Some people like it easy, some like a challenge."

"Yes. That's what I meant," Sylar said quickly, too quickly. He snapped his mouth shut, not sure how to deal with the snarl of emotions he was having about this. But he was relieved Peter didn't disapprove too much about the smiling thing.

"Okay," Peter agreed easily. A few minutes passed quietly. The breeze ruffled Peter's hair and Sylar's as well. If Peter noticed the occasional sidelong glances he was getting, he didn't do anything to show it.

Peter was pretty, in his own way, Sylar mused. Healthy, symmetrical, fit, and clean – yes, he had all that. He also had an inner beauty that manifested not as smiling compliance with the world, but a defiant desire to oppose those who would ruin the happiness of others. He wanted to protect; to lift people up; to make things and people greater and better than they had been. Peter saw people as special – every one of them – and somehow the broad application didn't diminish how desirable Sylar found that to be. "What about you? Specifically?"

"What about me, what?" Peter asked with a calm innocence that under other circumstances might have fooled Sylar into thinking he didn't know exactly what Sylar was asking.

Sylar smiled slightly at that feigned ignorance. Since Peter wouldn't be doing that if he was willing to answer about himself, Sylar obliged by taking the topic general again. "You said there were things that were common across people for attractiveness, but that doesn't mean every guy I describe at the theoretical singles bar will always pick the same person. Maybe he has a certain type that's different for him than it is for other guys. You say that's … biological, like hair color, but … from what I've seen … people have choices. They make choices. Right?"

"Right."

"Then how do they make those choices?"

"That's … really broad."

Perfect, he thought. Peter had walked right into this one: "Then tell me about you. You know your own preferences, right?"

"Yeah." Peter eyed him suspiciously. Sylar was the very model of innocence. Apparently it worked, because Peter answered. "Well … I choose people based on eye contact, mostly. How they're looking at me. Or if they're not, depending."

"Depending on what?"

"Well, if they're not looking at anyone at all, I might try to draw them out, talk to them. I like getting people to open up, relax, have a good time. Not necessarily to have a good time with me, but I guess what I'm doing is imagining I'm that guy you're describing at a singles bar – what would I do?" He paused for a moment, staring off into the distance as if visualizing it. "I'd see who was checking me out, then go talk to them."

"Regardless of what they looked like?"

"Yeah, maybe. Sort of. I mean, I …" Peter shrugged. "Really, back in college, I was usually looking to hook up and get laid. There's a certain kind of look people give when they're interested. I was good at picking that up." Oh shit, Sylar thought, worrying over his own 'looks'. Peter went on, "So that's where I'd go."

Sylar sat there for a moment and stressed over how transparent he'd been, then asked the obvious question, "Were there ever people interested in you whom you didn't go to?"

"Yeah," Peter said, drawing it out as his eyes slid over to Sylar slowly enough to make it crystal clear he knew what the subtext was here.

Sylar sighed, but didn't back off. While it was disappointing, he found it wasn't the core of what he wanted to know. Leaning forward, he said, "Tell me how you made that decision."

"Um. " Peter pulled his head back a little in mild consternation, double-checking with Sylar a few times. "Well, I … I don't know what you mean."

"Imagine two people. Both give you the same 'come hither' eye contact you want. How do you pick between them?"

"I go to whichever one's alone."

"Okay," Sylar nodded. "They're both alone. Now what?"

"I'm in a singles bar, right?" Sylar nodded again. "Which one has a drink?"

Sylar blinked. "Why is that important?"

"Which one can I buy a drink for?"

"Ah." That made sense. "Neither."

"Okay. If I'm just looking to get laid, then which one is dressed most revealingly?"

"Woman?"

"Or man. But that depends on what kind of singles bar I'm in." Peter shrugged a little. "We've already said whoever it is is making eyes at me, right?" Sylar nodded. "Then regardless of gender, there's ways people dress that say how confident they feel about themselves and how interested they are with getting with someone else."

"Isn't that … stereotyping? Like … can't a woman wear a short skirt without you thinking she's easy?"

Peter rolled his eyes briefly. "I'm not saying she's easy. 'Easy' is the shy person in the corner who doesn't think anyone will ever pay attention to them. What I'm saying is that someone who's advertising is advertising. They're out for a good time, they feel good about themselves, they look good, and they know it. If they're already looking me up and down, then I'm going to go to the one who's being the most out-there with their outfit, trying to attract attention. She's, or he's, already looking at me like they want to get to know me. We've established that. I'll go over, try to introduce myself, and ask if I can buy them their next drink. If they say no, then I go on my way."

Sylar pursed his lips. "So it's not the clothes; it's the attitude."

"Right."

"It sounds like you've cherry-picked characteristics for who will put out."

"Well … that's the point of this scenario, right?" Peter's brows drew together a little. He took another sip of his drink, making a small gesture towards Sylar's.

We're drinking together? While talking about sex? Sylar picked his glass up and took a bigger gulp than he should have, struggling for a moment not to cough as the surplus liquid burned at the back of his throat. Choking it down, he cleared his throat a little and set the glass back. "Yes, that was the point. So attractiveness is based on who will have sex with you?"

"No, no … well … not …" Peter pressed his lips together and looked away. "That's not really true, because who will have sex with me isn't necessarily … Okay, I think I see what you're getting at." He put down his glass. "There are things I like in a person that keep me interested, that mean I want to be with them more, I'll call them back, want to talk to them more than to anyone else, that sort of thing. That's … that's really what you're aiming at, isn't it?"

"Yes, exactly."

Peter eyed him, a tiny frown on his face. "Why do you want to know all this?"

Sylar sagged a little, looking down. While yes, he wanted to know Peter's preferences, it was broader than that. "I want to know if I'm … normal."

"Normal?"

Sylar hunched a little, tensing back up. He stared down at his overly hairy arm on the armrest, expecting at any moment to be told he was asking for 'too much information' or that this was an inappropriate topic of conversation. He'd found Peter to be extraordinarily open with him so far, though.

"Okay," Peter said agreeably, looking away and breathing out. Sylar relaxed a little, hoping the answer passed muster and didn't reveal too much. A lot of people wanted to be normal, right? While he wanted to be special, he didn't want to be a freak. He definitely didn't want to be so much of a deviant that Peter would never be with him. Or anyone, rather. His mind fingered gently over why his first instinct had been Peter's interest alone, because it seemed rather deeper than the fact that Peter was the only one here. Peter said, "You seem pretty normal."

"I don't want to talk about me, though," he complained, trying to steer the conversation away immediately. He thought he was pretty inoffensive, bland even – he'd take anything, anyone, no preference mattered, he just wanted … anything. And it was an 'anything' he wasn't getting. Despite Peter's politeness, the boundaries were observed fairly closely – intimate touching was strictly off-limits and more casual touches had a frequency and intensity threshold beyond which Peter would pull away and discourage further contact. Clearly, Sylar wasn't attractive (or attractive enough) to Peter. "Tell me about you. You seem 'pretty normal' yourself."

Peter gave him an unhappy, level look, along with a huff, but settled back to think about it. "I … have to think people respect me, that I mean something to them. If it's just a quick fuck, that's great, but I probably won't call them back later. That's okay, but it's not … attractive. You know what I mean?" Sylar nodded. This was what he really wanted to know. He wanted to know why he'd killed Elle and why Lydia had turned him off and why Candace had been repulsive even while she offered up his wildest fantasies on a platter. And especially why Peter was now the wildest fantasy of all. "I gotta think it will work between us. That they care for me. There's got to be a connection. That's what keeps me coming back."

"You could have that with anyone." It seemed so basic and dismissible. It hardly counted as real criteria. It was practically normal interaction for people who weren't monstrous serial killers.

"Yeah."

Sylar frowned. If it was that easy to achieve … then why hadn't Peter achieved it? Why didn't everyone achieve it (other than himself, of course)? There had to be something else. "But … you don't have it with anyone. There's a selection process, right?" Peter nodded hesitantly. "What's the appeal of being with a … a man? Or a woman? The way you've said you are, you can pick. I understand if someone is one way or the other, they don't get to pick, but that's not the case for you."

"You think you're like me?"

Sylar set his lips together and said nothing. He didn't know his own 'orientation', which was embarrassing to admit. He just knew that he hadn't been getting what he needed so far in his paltry love life.

"You ever been in love with a man?"

This was getting way too personal. "Have you?" Sylar's voice was challenging and irritated. How was he to answer that when he wasn't even sure what love was? He'd felt things towards people – was feeling them now, towards Peter – but the emotion didn't come with a label. He didn't know what other people felt when they called something love.

Peter glanced over pointedly, obviously noticing Sylar's shift in mood. Then he looked away quietly for a while. "Nothing long term, no."

Sylar blinked. "Never?"

Peter shrugged. "I've crushed on guys, hard. Never …" Peter held out his hand like he was waiting for the universe to drop something into his palm. "It never really worked out. But that's probably because I never thought it could."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "My dad. My mom. Nathan. Everyone."

"Being gay?"

"Not that I am, but yeah, it would be a gay relationship and I didn't think that was allowed. I thought if my dad had to choose between having a son in a gay relationship and not having a son, that he'd choose not to have a son. It's not like he'd be losing Nathan, after all."

Sylar frowned, hearing echoes of Virginia claiming he wasn't her son, that by being different from how she'd wanted him to be, he'd lost her love. Sylar hadn't known he'd lose her by gaining abilities. Peter knew his father would reject him for deviance from the Petrelli ideal, and so despite his rebelliousness, he'd never gone quite that far. Clearly, he wanted to. He had to resent being forced to keep that side of himself closeted. Sylar turned in his seat to face him more fully.

Peter went on, "I already knew what happened when I brought around a girl who wasn't from the right family. She dumped me. And I always thought, even not knowing about abilities, that my dad had something to do with that. Then there was how he reacted to me being a nurse. It was like it was the end of the world. He almost fucking disowned me over that." Peter snorted and looked over at Sylar. "Now how do you think he'd react if I brought home a guy?"

"He's dead now. You don't have to worry about what he thinks." His eyes were steady on the handsome profile of Peter's face, seeing the frustration there, imagining the hurt he'd feel if his mother had known about abilities and preached against them, forcing him to choose between her and his own happiness. Was that something Peter had been living with all this time? No wonder he'd shot the bastard.

Peter exhaled huffily. "Yeah."

Since it seemed like Peter wasn't going to continue, Sylar prompted, "If you were in love with … someone … what about them would you love?"

Peter gave him an odd look. "Whatever about them is loveable."

Sylar tried a more poetic approach. "What makes love stay? Or grow?" When Peter still hesitated, Sylar said, "Why didn't I love the people I wanted to love?" Peter's sympathetic eyes on him made him blurt out, "I should have. I wanted to. But then I didn't and it …" Sylar's breath came harder. What if it was because Elle wouldn't let him be the person he wanted to be? What if she was like Virginia, wanting him to be something he wasn't; or like Arthur with Peter, wanting him to fit an ideal that he didn't? What Elle wanted Sylar to be and what Sylar wanted himself to be weren't the same. She, none of them, saw him as himself as special. Not the way Peter seemed to see him even now … sometimes, at least. "Then it was too late. And I didn't want to go back. It was over. It hadn't worked. I didn't want to try again. It …" He shook his head and finally shut his runaway mouth.

"Sometimes it doesn't work," Peter said softly. "Was it a man?"

"No." Sylar stewed, retracing what he'd blurted out and trying to see if there was anything he needed to do damage control for. It seemed okay – not like he was confessing to a murder, after all. "Is it different for a man?"

"No, I don't think so." Peter was quiet for a moment. "I don't know what makes love work sometimes and not others. People have to be compatible; they have to be friendly; they have to be willing. It helps to be kind and patient and accepting. And then circumstances have to be right. It's one thing if you're Romeo and Juliet, and you're fourteen or whatever and willing to do anything to be with someone, but most people try not to get too involved if it's not something you're going to be able to act on."

"Like you and … men. Before your dad died, you mean."

"Before I had abilities, yeah."

"What difference do they make?" Sylar knew they made a lot of difference, but he wanted to hear Peter's reasons.

He chuckled lightly. "They changed everything. My family … already wasn't accepting me for who I was. They lied to me about abilities. People could have died. Some people did. My family's opinion on who I'm with became meaningless after that."

Sylar glanced over, noting Peter's use of present tense for that. Not that Peter thought he was 'with' Sylar, but it meant Peter didn't see his romantic possibilities entirely in the past tense. But if his family's opinion didn't matter, then why was he still alone? "Do you think you'll be in love with someone again, sometime?"

Peter shook his head. "Now that I have abilities, it wouldn't be fair to anyone I tried to be with. It's too dangerous."

Sylar tilted his head slightly, settling back in his seat to face the irregular skyline again. It would be just his luck to be trapped here, falling for a guy who thought 'it wouldn't be fair' to give him a chance. "Life isn't fair for anyone, Peter," he murmured.

XXX

"So what do you like, physically, about men? What's their appeal to you?"

They were now leaning against the edge of the building, or at least as close as they could get without climbing over planters and other design features there to keep people from perching on dangerous ledges. Peter had been disappointed at how little he could make out of the flight of their previously released paper airplanes. The breeze wasn't right for it, but no matter how much Sylar had pointed that out, Peter had to find out for himself. Then they'd run out of notebook paper. Sylar didn't like the way Peter was eyeing the patio rooftop and speculating it would support his weight if he climbed up there. (Seriously, it was a marvel the guy hadn't gotten into base jumping as a hobby.) It was time for a change of topic and Sylar's question certainly brought Peter's attention around.

"Tell me you're not asking just to better your chances of getting in bed with me."

"I'm not asking just to better my chances of getting in bed with you," Sylar answered flatly. Not 'just'.

Peter frowned at him anyway.

Annoyed that Peter was probably on to him, Sylar tried to throw him off with, "You should at least entertain the possibility that somewhere, there is someone who doesn't want to bed you, or be bedded by you." Even if that someone doesn't happen to be me.

The frown broke. Peter snorted and laughed. "Yeah, I sound like an asshole who's really stuck on myself, don't I?"

"It's a serious question."

"What, if I sound like an asshole?" Now it was Sylar's turn to make a face at Peter being a smart-ass. Peter's smile broadened and he pushed off from the planter he was leaning against. He strolled over to the pool they'd uncovered and sat next to it, unlacing his shoes. "Okay, what is it about men that I like?"

"As opposed to women." Sylar pulled over a deck chair to join him, sitting on the end portion of it, forearms resting on his knees as he watched Peter. At least he wasn't endangering himself with heights anymore.

Peter nodded, pulling off a shoe and following it with a sock. "Men are stronger. They're more straightforward."

"You value strength?"

Peter shrugged. "It's masculine. I like that. Women are easier to talk to, or at least that's how I've found them to be. I'm making some really, really broad generalizations here." Sylar nodded and made a brief, dismissive roll of his eyes at Peter's attempt to reconcile his very human mass mental aggregation of people's traits versus the fact that everyone was different. "Women expect me to initiate more. That means I have a lot more control over what happens."

"You like control?"

Peter shrugged. "Honestly, if I could have more control with men or women, I'd rather it be with the men, but I don't get to pick."

"Why not pick men who are willing to let you be in control?"

"Um." Peter blinked at him, thrown by that for a moment. "Well, I … Yeah, well, I just don't. I mean, I end up with who I end up with, if we click and it works for us, and sometimes that means I top and sometimes I don't."

"Top?" From the context, Sylar could derive the obvious meaning of dominance, but there were a lot of possible, implied meanings – did it mean those, too?

"Yeah."

Sylar exhaled forcefully. He didn't like having to ask these sorts of questions, because it illustrated an ignorance he'd rather not advertise. But Peter didn't seem to judge. "What does that mean?"

"Topping?" Sylar nodded. "Usually the one who's 'on top' is in control. Between two men, that's the one who's penetrating as opposed to penetrated, assuming you're doing that. If you're not, then it's just kind of generally the one who's calling the shots, picking positions, that sort of thing." Peter finished taking off his other shoe and sock, setting them aside before rolling up his jeans up to his knees. "It doesn't mean literally on top."

"What happens when you … top?"

Peter turned and put his feet in the water, back partly to Sylar. He looked over his shoulder at him. "I don't want to answer that."

Sylar huffed and nodded. "Too personal," he murmured. "Then … do you prefer to top?"

Peter shrugged, turned away, and looked down in the water where he was kicking his feet back and forth. "I dunno. Sometimes. Depends on the guy."

Sylar pursed his lips. Peter was being coy, so he suspected the answer wasn't the truth. But he wasn't sure why Peter would lie and why be so ambiguous if he did. If he didn't want to answer, he had no problem with saying so … Peter was weird, that's what it came down to. "Aside from control issues," that you're not willing to answer, "what else do you like about men as opposed to women?"

Peter shifted back and forth, kind of squirming in place and rocking on his butt cheeks. "Why are you asking about all this?"

Sylar frowned at the whining tone. Peter didn't like the questions – fine. He didn't have to like them. He just had to answer them. Or rather, Sylar just wanted him to answer them, as he knew he couldn't force Peter to do it, which meant he needed to think of a reason to make Peter happy enough to keep talking. "You have a choice, Peter – men, or women. It's much easier to be with women. That's natural." He held up a hand to stop Peter's burgeoning objection. "Okay, not 'natural', then – 'normal', the majority is that way." He waited a beat while Peter shut his mouth and settled down, watching attentively for Sylar to go on. "You're not choosing what's easier, so there must be things that particularly attract you, that make it worth it."

"I've been with a lot of women." Sylar tilted his head slightly with a 'so?' expression. Peter sighed. "Sure, well. I-" He shrugged. "I don't know. Some men are really sexy."

"In a way women aren't?"

"Nn … Women are sexy differently."

"How so?"

Peter leaned back, putting his arms out behind to prop him up. "I don't know, Sylar! They're women!" Sylar was silent, not knowing what to say to that non-answer. Then Peter elaborated, "I like feminine and masculine – extremes maybe? Ideals? Just … clear. I don't like flat-chested women or twinky guys."

"Twinky?"

"Twinky or effeminate. Either."

"What's 'twinky'?"

Peter glanced back at him. "Me, ten years ago. Young guys, no hair – I mean no body hair, or not much – slender, maybe immature-looking."

"You like men who are," hairy, like me?, "more mature-looking?"

"Yeah. I'd prefer they didn't look actually old, though. You know, within five or ten years of my age."

Sylar pooched out his lips briefly and raised his brows in a considering way. No one would ever confuse him with a woman, so it sounded like he fit Peter's admittedly broad preference category. That was good. "Tell me about … attraction."

"What about it?"

Sylar rolled his eyes slightly and shrugged. He didn't know how to put into words what he was trying to ask. At least not in a way that he was willing to.

Peter sighed, kicking his feet slowly in what must have been pretty cold water. "So I see a guy, or a woman, and I want to be with them. Kind of like how I would rather go talk to people than …" he shrugged, "be by myself. You know how sometimes you see a person walking a dog and you want to go up and say hi to the dog?"

Um, no.

Peter was looking forward, talking out loud. But Sylar had seen the phenomenon Peter was referring to. Certainly there were dogs more interesting to talk to than some people. Peter continued, "When I'm attracted to someone, I want to talk to them. And maybe I'll talk about their dog, but it's them I'm interested in. When I'm not, I want to talk to their dog. I like dogs. Dogs are friendly. I'll talk to the dog's owner to get permission to pet the dog and that's all."

"It's just something that happens," Sylar said slowly.

Peter shrugged. "Yeah. There's things that influence it. Like I said before, eye contact, interest, what's going on – that sort of thing – but the spark's either there or it isn't."

"You'd tell me … if that spark wasn't there, wouldn't you?"

Peter prided himself on being honest, but instead of answering, he snorted and shifted forward. He reached into the cold water and splashed some haphazardly back at Sylar.

Sylar sputtered at the unexpected attack, even though all he suffered was a few drops hitting one lower pant leg. That's not a no. But what does it mean? He was being coy before … "Are you saying you're attracted to me?"

"I'm saying you're attractive, that's different."

"How?" Peter splashed him again and this time Sylar accepted it stoically even as more than a cup of water hit his legs, shirt, and arms in a much better aimed spray. More important matters were afoot than getting wet. "How is it different, Peter? Is the spark there, or not?"

Peter got to his feet and stood over him threateningly. "I will throw you in the water if you don't shut up."

Sylar hesitated, giving one slow glance between the frigid water and Peter's glowering face. Peter's answer was clear enough – he wouldn't be this defensive if he didn't have something to hide. "That would be one way to top me."