Title: First Time
Characters: Peter Petrelli, Sylar
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Word count: 4,000
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Peter fucks everything up.
The couch was not where he wanted to be. Peter knew that even as he laid down on it and tugged his blanket over his shoulders. He'd exiled himself intentionally from the king-sized bed of the open-plan apartment, leaving Sylar to occupy the expansive mattress alone. The longer Peter had been in this world, the more fixated Sylar had become on not letting Peter out of his sight. The man didn't sleep at all if Peter tried to sleep elsewhere. Staying apart didn't help either of them, and so Peter had agreed to share the apartment. But not the bed.
Sharing the bed was dangerous and not because of Sylar. Peter had history of cuddling his bedmates, whether he had feelings for them or not. He was also prone to what had once been minor parasomnias – talking, touching or clutching others (or a stuffed animal), and occasional affectionate behaviors. In the last few years, though, what had once been minor had become the occasional 'wake up screaming' situation instead. He blamed the abilities for changing his sleep patterns even though the more medically logical source of his increased disturbances was the repeated death, torture, abandonment, isolation, and crushing responsibility he'd had to deal with alone, and often poorly. The only person he'd ever shared his burdens with, Sylar had taken from him. And so … the couch.
He laid there silently for most of an hour. Sleep would not claim him. His mind kept running over insoluble problems, like Sylar's anxiety and Peter's feeling of inadequacy for the tasks the world kept setting before him. The future-dream, for example. Sylar wouldn't save anyone, so what was the point? How was Peter supposed to solve this? He couldn't even get out of this mental trap and even if he could, what next? Sylar wouldn't stick close if released. Peter knew that. Sylar only wanted his company here, because there was no one else for him and Sylar was desperately lonely after years of solitude. Thinking about that brought back snatches of traumatized memory from the trip to Ireland – Peter so hollowed out that he didn't know his own name, chained up in the dark and cold without food, water, or light. He sat up in a cold sweat, trying to fight off the experience before it consumed him.
He tossed away the blanket and stood, stretching his limbs to shake off the phantom sensations of being handcuffed to the unforgiving metal wall of the cargo container for over a week. Peter moved away from the couch and stared outside. The expanse of the city was laid out before him, soothing to look at. It struck him as 'generic cityscape stock image #4', something cobbled together from his and Sylar's subconscious impressions of the urban landscape. But the falseness of it didn't make it any less engrossing. Peter stared at it in fascination like he might at a mesmerizing screensaver. It was not the unrelieved, pitching interior of that freezing metal box. That made it better.
He leaned his forehead against the thick glass as he stared out. There were few lights on out there and no signs of human life. Despite it, the empty city still kept his attention. His eyes roamed over the roads, up the buildings, and across the horizon. The sky above was hazy. Few stars were visible and no moon. It left the interior of the apartment darker than usual.
When his breath fogged the glass, he moved down a few feet and stared outward there, until it, too, clouded up. Tired of the view by then anyway, he stared in Sylar's direction. All he could make out was the lumpy form of blankets, so he leaned against the windowsill and occupied his mind imagining the geometry of Sylar's body under the covers that would result in that particular pattern of lumps. He took his time at it. Sylar had a nice body – long, lean, and attractively fit. Peter couldn't see the rise and fall of blankets. The man didn't snore so he heard nothing either. Peter wondered if Sylar could hear enough from him, while over on the couch, to be soothed by it. He hoped Sylar found peaceful sleep. Sleep deprivation was miserable.
Peter looked to the couch, knowing he needed to get rest himself. But he didn't want to lay down again on the stiff couch. He knew where he wanted to be instead. He sighed, shooting the bed a resentful glance before carefully navigating the dark into the kitchen. He hoped a glass of milk would make him drowsy enough to drop off. The light of the fridge was a glare that dazzled him and seemed to drive him into alertness instead of away from it. He poured up his glass and stood with his back to the counter as he sipped it. He faced the bed, just as he had earlier from the windowsill. He could make out Sylar's form a little better from this angle. The man was facing this direction. Peter wondered if the light from the refrigerator had woke him. Or the sound, even though Peter had tried to be quiet. He sighed again, drinking slowly, wishing the milk was warm so it might have more of a soporific effect. As it was, he didn't want to make more noise by trying to heat it.
He took his time in downing his drink, eventually setting the glass on the counter next to him with a soft clink. He headed to the bathroom next, his steps slowing as he passed near the bed, his eyes straining to see if Sylar was awake. He could make out the pale contours of his face and the dark lines of brows, but the other features were too indistinct for Peter to be certain. The face didn't move as he passed and Peter didn't quite stop. If he had, he was sure some sixth sense of danger would have woke Sylar – the man had been through too much trauma himself not to be just as hypervigilant, if not more, than Peter was.
Bathroom duties complete, Peter returned to the couch. He tried to sit, but was almost instantly back on his feet as a wave of physical revulsion ran through him at the thought of lying down. He did not want to. He flat did not want to. Peter stared out at the quiet city for several more minutes as he probed at the feelings. He couldn't make sense of the instinct, but what he knew for certain was where he wanted to sleep. With a final annoyed huff, he decided Sylar would just have to take his chances with him. Peter picked up the blanket and pillow. He moved to the bed.
Peter slipped in as quietly as he could. He lifted the blankets and sheets, sliding in on the same level as Sylar, no barrier between them. For a long minute, he waited motionless on the bed, listening. This close, he could hear Sylar's breathing. It was even, but lacked the relaxed, free cadence of actual sleep. Sylar was awake. Peter suspected he had been all evening. Peter relaxed, knowing he wasn't waking the man, and knowing that sleep would take them both soon now that he was where he'd wanted to be all along. He felt better here, close. He scooted closer. That was even better. He touched Sylar's arm and elbow with a light touch. Then he touched Sylar's waist. Sylar said nothing; he didn't react. Peter swallowed and moved right up next to him. This – this was what he wanted even more. He pushed his face against Sylar's back. He drew up his knees to the back of Sylar's thighs. Peter breathed him in and exhaled heavily. There was no way Sylar wasn't awake at all of this contact.
Peter moved his hand slowly around Sylar's waist, ending on his belly, on top of his t-shirt. Peter spooned against him, snuggled up to a warm, human form of comfort. He would have dropped off to sleep immediately had Sylar not finally moved. It was a small motion. Sylar rested his hand over Peter's, clasped it lightly, and raised his shirt with his other hand. He slid Peter's hand under and inside, against the warmth of his bare skin, hairs tickling against Peter's palm. Sylar let go and pulled the shirt down again, leaving Peter's hand unattended inside to do with as Peter pleased.
"Mmm," Peter hummed softly, hardly a sound at all. He stroked a small circle around Sylar's belly button – an innie as he had noticed before. He skimmed the indentation briefly. He let himself drowse as his fingertips explored the pattern of hair and the extraordinarily soft skin beyond it. He turned his head to the side, cheek against Sylar's back. His other hand was folded under himself, touching Sylar's lowermost shoulder.
Again, Peter might have dropped off had Sylar not acted. Sylar rolled towards him, brushing Peter's body firmly the whole way and making Peter scoot back to give him room. Peter left his hand on Sylar's shoulder, though, ending with it trapped behind Sylar's neck like half an embrace. They looked at each other in the darkness, light enough to make out faces, but no details of expression. Peter swallowed and adjusted himself upward, intending to put himself on a level with the taller man, since he'd previously been situated in a way that put Peter's face between Sylar's shoulder blades. Moving up would help him free his arm, too.
But the motion was misinterpreted. Or maybe not. Peter didn't know. He only knew that when he moved, Sylar lifted, met him mid-way, and kissed him. It left Peter inhaling sharply, very aware of his position – a hand on Sylar's bare belly and the other wrapped around his shoulders – and how it must appear to Sylar. Peter had climbed in bed with him, plastered himself to Sylar's body, accepted the invitation to caress him, and then moved up in a way that Sylar had obviously interpreted to mean Peter was about to kiss him. So Sylar was kissing back. It all made perfect sense, except for the part where it really wasn't what Peter had intended.
It was a nice kiss. They hadn't had that before. Sure, Sylar had shoved his lips onto Peter's a couple times before and Peter had knocked him away violently for it. He supposed he could do that now, but it seemed so unnecessary and inappropriate. Sylar's mistake was an honest one here. Were their positions switched, then it would have been Peter trying to kiss him instead. After a beat of surprise, Peter moved his lips gently in response. It was their first reciprocated kiss. Against his arm, wrapped under Sylar's neck, he felt a faint shudder. Sylar strained forward into him. Peter felt a lurch in his gut and a heaviness in his groin at Sylar's subtle but emphatic reaction. Against all propriety and good moral sense, Peter turned his head and parted his lips, tongue sweeping out to taste his partner in crime, because this was really as wrong for Sylar to be engaging in as it was for Peter. Sylar should be contrite, apologetic, and guilty for what he'd done to Peter's brother, or perhaps indifferent, if he truly was a sociopath. He should not have been sucking in sharp little inhalations between ever-deeper osculations, or rubbing his leg up and down against Peter's.
Peter raised his knee and slid it over Sylar's thighs, holding him down. He also came up on his elbow, laying Sylar flat on the bed. He was just … getting more control of the situation, right? Sylar took Peter's knee and pulled it up to hip level, where Peter could feel the prominent erection under Sylar's briefs. Sylar panted against his cheek, pulling and pushing Peter's thigh up and down over his bulge, rubbing himself on it. Peter could feel the moisture from pre-come faint against his leg. He dropped his leg out of Sylar's reach and used his hand instead, palming over Sylar's length, feeling him up through the cotton.
Sylar made another shudder, more pronounced this time, and nipped Peter's jawline.
"Oh!" Peter huffed out. He was so turned on. This was wrong. All of it was wrong. But it felt so perfect. It was going so fast. And one thing was leading to another so understandably. Peter burrowed his hand under the elastic waistband and curled his fingers around the real deal – Sylar's velvety shaft in his grip. Sylar put his head back against the pillow, breath catching roughly as Peter began to pump him. "Yeah," Peter whispered before leaning in to kiss Sylar's neck, putting his mouth wide over the man's bobbing Adam's apple, feeling the surging life within him and coiling tension. It was delicious. He'd seen this throat so many times in passing, never with a thought to doing something like this to it. But here he was doing it and he felt like he'd never wanted anything more. Sylar had one hand behind Peter's back and the other on his shoulder. Both held him tight, keeping him there like Sylar shared the feeling of urgent need. Peter threatened him briefly with teeth against his neck, feeling a wild jolt within himself as Sylar's breath hitched and his hips jutted upward. Peter sped up his hand, but hardly got more than a few strokes in before hot wetness surged over him. Trapped in the briefs Sylar was still wearing, it smeared over Peter's thumb and index finger as he pulled his hand out.
Sylar panted heavily, his breaths coming deep and loud now. Peter chuckled in a throaty, satisfied fashion, deeply pleased to have shaken Sylar so thoroughly with a simple hand job. He was also terribly, terribly aroused. It had been years since he'd been with a man. Hell, years since he'd been with anyone, but twice that for the male gender. He raised his hand to the level of his face, breathing in the scent of Sylar's emission. It was lovely – pure sex that touched something visceral and animalistic inside of him. He wanted that. He wanted to consume it and make it his. He licked the come off his thumb, sucking his fingers clean while Sylar watched gape-mouthed. Seeing enough of the man's expression to pick up that he was startled, Peter grinned and made quite the show of it, throwing in a few grinds against Sylar's hip with Peter's needy hard-on.
It got Sylar moving and fast. He peeled off his briefs and turned, stretching away, scrambling at something. Peter tried to see what Sylar was doing in the dark. It looked like he'd grabbed the bottle of lubricant off the nightstand, the one he'd picked up months ago as a prank (or wishful thinking). "Huh?" was all Peter got out before Sylar was presenting his bare ass inches away from Peter's body, Sylar crouching on the bed in obvious position for rear-entry anal sex. Peter sat up, simultaneously excited by the eagerness and cautious about the lack of communication. Sylar said nothing, adjusting his position slightly by pulling over a pillow under his head. He was comfortable and ready. Peter touched his naked posterior.
Like Sylar's belly, the skin was sublimely soft. What hairs were present were fine. Peter bent and trailed his lips along the bare skin, crooning lightly as he did. He knew he was going to Hell for this, but he couldn't bring himself to care with that taste in his mouth and this body so willingly put before him. His hands were on either of Sylar's hips. Peter moved so he was on his knees behind the man. Where he needed to be; where he wanted to be. Peter slid his hands up Sylar's sides, up his ribs, and smoothed them over his shoulder blades to his spine. He brought them back, spreading them at the small of Sylar's back, letting his thumbs rub the tense muscles as his fingers dug in just enough to get a grip. "Oh yeah, Sylar," he whispered, bending to lightly bite a butt cheek. Sylar's breathing was raspy and rough.
There was no condom. They hadn't really talked about it – sure, they'd joked a few times and Sylar had smugly offered to let Peter top him, but it had never been serious. Certainly not 'Sylar's ass in my face' serious. Peter mouthed closer to the man's crack and found the edge of the lube. He brought a hand down and his thumb and then fingers up and down the seam of Sylar's ass. He probed gently at the point of entry. Sylar pushed back against him and Peter let the motion push two fingers inside. Sylar gasped. He was so tight, so hot. With his other hand still on Sylar's lower back, he felt the man quiver, then do it again as Peter moved his fingers in and out. Sylar made half-swallowed, hungry noises.
Peter breathed out a laugh at how wonderful this was, how reactive Sylar was. Peter moved himself into position, rubbing the head of his dick up and down against Sylar's ass, grinding into him a few times to get at least a minimum covering of lube.
"Do it, Peter!" Sylar shuffled his knees wider and pushed his ass backward again.
"I will," Peter answered, putting the head of his dick to Sylar's opening. He pushed forward slowly, feeling Sylar's body flex tensely around him.
"Ah!" Sylar gave a high-pitched grunt as Peter breached him with something much larger than two fingers. The sound was muffled, though. It wasn't until Peter was halfway in and Sylar made another, similar noise, trembling slightly, that it suddenly hit Peter out of the blue that Sylar may have never done this before. A stunned second later of neurons firing rapidly, Peter leapt from 'may have never' to 'has definitely never', or maybe 'had definitely never before now', because Peter was certainly inside of him. A pillow-biting virgin. There were so many other things Peter would have done, said, required – if he'd known Sylar had no experience at all. And now, the worst possible thing Peter could think of to do was pull out and take Sylar to task about it, humiliating him by only consenting to have sex if his intentions were honorable enough for Peter's liking. At all points in his life, Sylar demanded respect; Peter saw no reason not to grant it, especially now.
"Give me the lube," Peter said, instead of any of the dozen other things that ran through his head. Sylar handed it back after a second of reaching around on the mattress to find it. Peter pulled out mostly and reapplied liberally, rather than the thin coating he'd had before. When he pressed in a second time, it was smoother. Sylar's gasp was more throaty and at the end of Peter's motion, Sylar shoved back the final inch or two until his backside was flush with Peter's groin. Peter wrapped his hands around Sylar's hips and kept them together as he rocked up and down, then side to side.
"Fuck," Sylar said. His voice was small, subdued. But he wasn't asking for Peter to stop.
"This is so good, Sylar. So good. Fuck, you're good. I want to come right now, but I want to take my time, okay? I'm gonna go slow." If Sylar replied in any way, Peter couldn't tell, but he was telling Sylar the plan and giving him a chance to say something. Peter pulled out an inch and then pushed back, repeating it and pulling out a little further each time. He watched Sylar as close as possible in the dark for signs of distress. He knew it was good when he saw Sylar lay his dark-haired head sideways on the pillow and breathe freely. "Oh yeah, you are so hot, Sylar. Faster now, huh?" This time, he saw Sylar nod. "A little harder?" Another nod, bigger. "Yeah, fuck!"
He picked up the pace with short, humping thrusts, balls slapping lightly against Sylar's body. He loved the feeling of being encased, sheathed inside Sylar's body over and over, his dick entirely inside of him at the end of each push. Sylar had loosened, so Peter sped up more, pounding into him and gripping his sides for leverage. Sylar whimpered, but it was not at all a pained sound this time. Peter saw the man reach down between his legs, his shoulder moving like he was jerking himself off down there. "Oh, oh, oh," Peter breathed, his excitement ratcheting up an impossible notch at seeing he'd done such a job that Sylar might come twice. He rammed into him with even more energy, gripping the narrow hipbones as his body made rapid, lewd slapping sounds against Sylar's.
Peter felt like he was about to explode, but he tried to ride the edge of it as long as possible. Sylar said, "Ah!" and gasped loudly, his arm making a few last, fitful jerks. Peter felt Sylar's asshole clench around him. Peter came immediately, releasing inside of Sylar with a few last ragged plunges, growling as he did.
Peter laid one hand, splayed, across the small of Sylar's back. Still deep inside the other man, he bent forward and kissed his back. Sylar shuddered slightly. There was a glint from his eye as he looked back at Peter. Peter wrapped his arms around Sylar and lifted, bring him upright with both of them on their knees. Peter kissed his back, hugging him from behind. Sylar stroked his hands and after a little bit, moved as though to disengage. Peter shifted, feeling his length withdraw from Sylar's body at last. He nuzzled Sylar's shoulder and guided him down on the bed, where they ended lying next to each other, facing.
For a long moment, they just looked at one another in the darkness. The enormity of what he'd just done was collapsing in on Peter like the walls of a pit. It drove him forward, closing the distance between them. His lips found Sylar's and he kissed the man tenderly. If Peter would never forgive himself for this, then at least he wouldn't add to his guilt by treating Sylar like crap. It hadn't been Sylar's fault. Peter knew he should have never gotten in bed with him to start with. Even knowing the cascade of events that stepping on that butterfly would cause, he still didn't see how he could have done differently. None of it made any sense.
Sylar was kissing him back with fervent but small pecks across his face, hands holding Peter's cheeks so Sylar could better dot his skin with little kisses. It made Peter chuckle, a sound that turned hollow and hopeless at how much he'd just fucked things up between them. They'd been complicated before. Now, though? They'd fucked, which was occasionally enough all by itself to blow up relationships; he'd taken Sylar's virginity (at least in respect to anal sex) and first partners always made quite an impression on people; Peter had just had sex with the man who killed Peter's brother, something he should never do on moral grounds; Sylar had just had sex with the brother of one of his victims, something that was depraved beyond just killing people; and to top it all off, Sylar still slipped from time to time and thought of himself as that brother, whom Sylar had said had had more than a few pervy thoughts about his little brother anyway. Peter felt like he'd mishandled things as thoroughly as when he'd mistakenly trusted Adam Monroe.
"What is it?" Sylar asked quietly at the odd timbre of Peter's laugh.
Peter sighed. He wanted to explain, but he couldn't think of how, and certainly not politely while still basking in the post-coital glow. Instead he said, "I think we'll finally be able to get some sleep."