Title: Pool Table Peccadillos
Characters: Peter Petrelli, Sylar
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Word count: 900
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Sylar is tempting. Peter gives in, but only an inch.
"What do you think, Sylar?" Peter leaned against the pool table, regarding his unnecessarily flirty companion with a sour look.
Sylar strolled over to him, putting hands on the pool table on either side of Peter. He held himself stiffly at that distance, a good six inches between the two of them. Peter leaned back to get just a little more distance between their faces, but otherwise remained still. Sylar didn't rattle him and he wanted Sylar to see that. Sylar tilted his head to the side with a small smile. "It doesn't matter what I think, Peter. It's all you. It has been since you came here." Peter tilted his head in the opposite direction, eyes narrowing slightly but obviously listening. Sylar added, "My whole universe has come to revolve around you."
Sylar still wore the same smile. It was equal parts annoyingly condescending and charmingly genuine. Only Sylar could achieve both in such a delicate mix. Peter pressed his lips together to stall his own smile at the flattery. But he liked it. He let go of his pool stick, heedless as it slid a few inches to the side where it caught on Sylar's wrist. Peter put his hand on Sylar's forearm, giving the touch a lingering glance before looking back to Sylar's face. Sylar's brows rose a tiny fraction, then his gaze tracked the same path in an obvious manner. "Mmm," Sylar rumbled so softly Peter could barely hear it, but hear it he did.
Peter's heart sped up. He felt warm and alive with everything looking just a bit more vivid. He wondered how far Sylar would let him push it. He wondered how far he should push it. It was wrong, of course, to flirt with Sylar – his brother's killer, a serial killer, a murderer, and the sole other occupant of this world. Sylar was right – their mutual existences here each revolved around the other. Anything that might upset the equilibrium was dangerous, best to be avoided. But Peter was not very good at following the rules, especially not when one of the most physically attractive people he'd ever met was inches away, teasing him and daring him to do more.
Peter's other hand went to Sylar's hip. With a look that left no question that Peter thought he was in charge here, Peter tugged Sylar's shirt from where it was tucked into his jeans and slid his hand under it. The warm skin was soft and delicious. Peter inhaled deeply, reveling in the touch. He leaned back a few inches more so his hips were the closest part of his body to Sylar.
Sylar was staring straight into his eyes, slowly, gradually moving closer with the steady flex of his elbows. Peter could feel the angle changing under the hand that rested on Sylar's forearm. He could sense the increasing proximity tingling along his entire body. He could see it in how Sylar's eyes grew larger, his face coming closer, feeling the man's breath faint against Peter's skin. The hand on the skin of Sylar's hip slipped gently around the man's lower back, so close were they that it was easy to do.
Peter stiffened (in more than one way) and twitched when Sylar's groin touched his. Sylar stopped precisely where he was, continuing not a single millimeter. Peter exhaled shakily, his eyes darting over Sylar's face. They settled on the man's lips. They were slightly parted, a tiny opening showing at the center. Peter stared for a moment, overcome with desire. Then his eyes went back and forth between lips and eyes. Sylar tilted his head a fraction in invitation, lips opening more, and a second later, Peter snatched at what he hungered for. He stole a kiss, lips pressing to Sylar's in a brief, ill-considered peck that was so far from the entirety of what Peter wanted to do to the man (what he wasn't allowed to do with the man; what was wrong to do with him).
No more had Peter's lips pressed home than his sense overcame his impulsiveness. "No!" He jerked his head away and to the side, awash in guilt. Sylar flinched back and then froze, face wary. The pool stick clattered to the floor. Peter glanced at him and shook his head, keeping his hands low (both having left contact with Sylar) and face turned mostly away. "No," he said in a calmer tone.
Sylar backed off a full, graceful step, leaving Peter exhaling in heavy breaths, his head spinning a little from the break in the tension. Sylar's smile broadened to a knowing smirk as he reached up and touched his lips. "You kissed me," he said softly, both wonder and dark promise in his tone.
Peter scowled, or tried to. "What am I supposed to do here, be pissed off at you, at me, or laugh at myself for being an idiot?"
"Mmm, Petrelli," Sylar crooned as he moved away to lean on the arm of the nearby couch. "You're not an idiot. But whatever helps you accept reality faster, the better off you'll be. I know a few things about temptation … and hunger." He looked Peter up and down with a ravishing gaze that gave Peter goosebumps all by itself. "And you're in deep, Petey. Very deep."
Peter shook his head, bending to collect his pool stick. "We can't. We shouldn't. It's wrong."
"We can, we just did, and the world didn't end," Sylar replied. "But whatever you say, Peter. Like I said before – it's all you."