Title: Oral Sex
Characters: Sylar, Peter Petrelli
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Words: 2,100
Setting: The Wall
Summary: An impulsive kiss catapults the duo into a new stage in their relationship.

Whatever it was Peter said, it didn't stick in Sylar's mind. He couldn't remember it later. Words were trivial next to action, and that action was that Peter leaned in, tilted his head to the side, parted his lips, and canted his face up towards Sylar's. It was an obvious and classic kissing posture. But that was as far as Peter went. Sylar's eyes widened and he pulled back – an inch, no more, really. He was startled into immobility otherwise. That Peter would try to kiss him was more than he could wrap his head around at that instant; that Peter would only unmistakably begin the action and then pause without completing it was even more incomprehensible.

He didn't know how much time passed – a second, maybe more – before Peter looked away, dipped his head to one side in a shrug, pulled back, and put a little distance between them with a short step. At that point, Sylar was still confused about motivations, but what was happening made sense now. Peter had stopped because he was inviting reciprocation. Maybe he didn't want to force himself on Sylar (Peter was that eye-rollingly ridiculous sometimes). He'd been waiting for Sylar to take the next step in the dance. Declining to do so was a refusal. A refusal was the last thing Sylar wanted to issue in this situation.

Peter even seemed to be taking it gracefully, in what little time Sylar allowed to pass between Peter pulling away and Sylar acting. Peter's expression was turning into a wry, disappointed smile. Sylar seized the man's shoulder, turned him, and assaulted Peter's mouth with his own without waiting to see what Peter's expression would mature into. He kissed him solidly, passionately, mouth open and tongue questing. His body followed less than a heartbeat behind, molding himself to Peter's front. His hands rose to hold Peter's face to his, mouth yawning to consume him, to swallow down the startled noise Peter made as Sylar plunged his tongue into him, claiming everything he could reach. He felt the shudder run through the other man and the pressure in turn as Peter leaned into him so receptively.

Sylar growled. He'd waited so long for this, for this yielding, for this oral consummation of desire and lust. It was a proof that Peter had a use for him after all. He was relevant. He was worthy for Peter to extend affection to, or at least to be an object Peter was willing to use for gratification. It was hopeful that Peter had offered a kiss rather than demanding something one-sided; even more hopeful that it hadn't been a demand at all. Even if Sylar's traumatized, repressed past didn't equip him with the tools to know how to recognize or respond to a consensual advance, he knew this was better than most of the alternative scenarios he had imagined as likely. Peter was the only option he had as a partner, a companion, an anything. Without Peter, Sylar was worse than a nobody. He didn't even meaningfully exist.

And Peter was still kissing him! Sylar was so taken by the osculation that his head was spinning. He felt faint. He might have even wobbled because a moment later, Peter was moving him, turning him, and steering them to the couch. Sylar went, sitting on it where Peter pushed him down. Peter then climbed into his lap and resumed the kiss as fervently as before. This time, Sylar whimpered. Peter had kissed him this time and not the other way around. Sylar was being taken. He was being used. He was valuable this way. He mattered. He adored it.

He was not, however, sexually aroused. Maybe that stemmed from his expectation that Peter would fuck him imminently. Maybe it was because sex was only a vehicle to what he really wanted and he was virtually mainlining the attention, affection, and kind caresses he was already getting. He'd be turned on later, he assumed, either when it was required as a show of interest in the lover he was obviously in the process of gaining, or if he ever had the unlikely opportunity to take what he wanted, sexually, of Peter. Either way, that wasn't now. Peter wasn't even escalating things. It wasn't that he was withdrawing, but he was slowly ramping down the intensity. His touches were softer, fingers caressing Sylar's cheeks, neck, and upper chest. Peter's lips were less insistent, mouthing against Sylar one time after another, yet working in concert with Sylar's motions to allow the deeper tongue kisses Sylar was still probing the man with every chance he got. They were all the more delicious for the breaks. If Peter were this sensitive with a first kiss, then Sylar could only imagine how perfectly the man would fuck him. Peter's eyes had slid shut. That last gave Sylar a pang of insecurity that Peter might be imagining someone else, but the rational part of his brain insisted Peter had offered the kiss with eyes wide open. He knew who he was with, which was enough to hold off the demons of Sylar's paranoia.

Peter broke from the kiss to nuzzle him, rubbing his nose across what smooth, unstubbled skin of Sylar's cheek he could find. Sylar cradled Peter's head and trailed smaller kisses across Peter's cheek and down his jaw. They explored one another's skin with their mouths. It was so human-tasting. Sylar couldn't remember anything that had ever tasted so good. It put him so close, so absorbed with another human being that he could feel the thrumming rhythm of Peter's body. Peter's breathing was shifting to sound relieved, relaxed, maybe torpid as he wound down from their frenzied and prolonged sharing. Sylar pulled him into him, against him, and they remained that way, breathing and embracing. He still wasn't aroused, but he felt safer than he had at any other time here in this world – possibly safer than he ever had at all. He didn't know what to say of it – of how he felt or what they'd just done. He'd fucked Peter's mouth with his tongue – Peter had asked for it, allowed it, and was now hugging him for it. Sylar simply wanted to stay here, cuddled and held. He got his wish for long minutes, until he began to wonder if Peter might fall asleep on him.

Peter did, finally, straighten. He dismounted with a half-smile and an unnecessary but interesting brushing at Sylar's forearm as he moved to sit on the couch. For a moment, he sat parallel to Sylar's position, face forward. Sylar felt another pang of insecurity at that, having a few seconds to wonder if Peter was staring into the distance dissociating, trying to bury the memory or separate himself from it. That seemed like a reasonable reaction to Sylar's way of thinking. Then Peter bent and incongruously unlaced his shoes. Sylar's brows rose. He put his hands to his pants button, thinking this was Peter preparing to undress and fuck him now that foreplay was over. It would be a payment Sylar had no strong opinion of – it seemed fair, really. Assuming Peter wasn't too rough or careless with him, then he was fine with it. But once Peter's shoes were off, he turned sideways on the couch and stuck his toes under Sylar's nearer thigh. Peter sat now facing him, but he didn't lie back to be supported on the far arm of the couch. He leaned to his side against the back of the couch, still sitting upright. He curled and slouched a little, head settling on the couch cushion as he brazenly regarded Sylar's face.

Sylar had remained immobile as Peter had settled in. He was waiting for that indication of what he was expected to do next in the social script. Now it seemed the ball was in his court, up to him to write in his own part. He knew what he wanted all the way to his bones. He wanted more of this. Sylar left his pants still buttoned and reached over to slide his hand up Peter's ankle and past the top of his sock, pants leg riding up along the way. Sylar touched the skin beyond. It was warm and hairy. Not as hirsute as his own leg, but it felt like a normal amount of body hair. He cupped his hand over Peter's shin possessively and looked up at the man from under his brows. Peter smiled gently at him and sighed wistfully. It wasn't the engagement he wanted to cause.

Sylar drew in a deep breath and leaned back. He moved his tongue languidly in his mouth, savoring the flavor. "I can still taste you."

Peter said nothing, his eyes lingering on Sylar's mouth like he very much wanted it. Yet still, he didn't initiate.

Maybe he wasn't interested. Maybe Sylar had misunderstood. Time to get to the heart of the matter then: "Why did you do that?"

Peter stiffened slightly. His toes moved uneasily under Sylar's thigh. Sylar pressed lightly on Peter's shin, quietly urging the man not to leave, not to withdraw. He wanted an answer. Peter said, "I … I wanted to kiss you. I … thought you'd like it." It was an encouraging answer, but very shallow. Sylar said nothing and kept his face perfectly immobile. Peter raised his brows slightly at Sylar's lack of response. "I thought it would be a nice thing to do. And simple." Now Peter's eyes went to the side guiltily. "It wasn't simple."

Sylar understood. It wasn't that Peter hadn't liked it, it was that he'd liked it just as much as Sylar had thought, which to Peter's way of thinking was probably far too much. Sylar turned his head a fraction of an inch. "It can be." When Peter looked back, Sylar added, "Simple. If that's what you want."

"I don't know what I want," Peter mumbled, pulling back the leg that Sylar didn't have hold of. But he didn't even try to pull the other one away, as though content to leave it in Sylar's clutches. Peter, and Sylar, both looked at where Sylar was touching him. Sylar didn't let go. Peter huffed, shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably, and crossed his arms. He looked huddled. Sylar could empathize – to want something so badly, yet know it was utterly wrong to reach for it.

"You want to let me keep touching you," Sylar said gently, beginning to stroke the bare skin from Peter's knee to the top of his sock. Peter didn't disagree. Sylar turned to face him three-quarters way. He slid his other hand up Peter's pant leg and with both hands, bunched the pants over Peter's knee, then folded down his sock. He smoothed down the hairs and bent so his nose was over Peter's skin. He felt Peter tense – but again, he didn't pull away or disallow an intimacy that was entirely beyond the bounds of their relationship as it had stood only minutes earlier. Sylar openly inhaled his scent. He wasn't particularly attracted to legs. They weren't generally that erotic and although Peter had shown some interest in feet, all that was exposed now was shin and calf. So he didn't think this would stir either of them so far as their libidos went. He was instead showing Peter what it was the man wanted, giving it to him because he knew Peter couldn't bring himself to ask for it. Sylar breathed against Peter's skin, stirring hairs, then sat back up. He stroked. Then he kneaded the calf muscle.

"You want to do more than you've already done," Sylar's voice was quiet to start with, but then he dropped it to a whisper when he said, "or else you wouldn't be so upset about it." Peter's lips tightened and he fidgeted, toes clenching and releasing a few times. Sylar waited until he still, then leaned down to press his cheek against the side of Peter's leg. That was all he did for a few moments. He heard Peter swallow and sensed, with that sixth sense someone develops when they've been hurt too many times in their life, that Peter was about to leave. Sylar sat up, still holding Peter's leg for one last line: "But if it can't be simple, then know: I'm very good with complications." He let go and even scooted back a few inches so that when Peter pulled his leg back, Sylar had already ended the contact first. Peter nodded brokenly, put on his shoes, and left, leaving Sylar relieved that at least Peter hadn't felt so pressured that he'd taken his shoes and ran. Too much pressure and Sylar knew Peter would fight him; not enough and he'd blow him off. It was a delicate balance where all the gears had to mesh perfectly. It was something Sylar had experience in.