Title: Love is a Verb
Characters: Peter, Sylar
Words: 800
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Setting: The Wall
Summary: Sylar has been mocking and interfering with Peter's attempts to show him love. Peter has had enough of it.
He didn't want to be fighting. But he had to. This was important. Peter shoved Sylar down on the bed. His fist was in Sylar's hair. His knee was in the man's back. "Hey." Sylar tried to twist away. Peter ramped up the pressure. "Hey!" He demanded attention. Sylar hesitated, as though aware Peter wanted to say something.
Peter leaned closer, but avoided grinding his knee into Sylar's kidney. He didn't want to hurt him. That was, after all, what the entire fight was about. "If you don't let me love you," Peter snarled, "then I won't!"
Sylar went limp. Peter released him and backed off a couple steps, breathing hard and getting himself under control. Sylar turned and picked himself up to a sitting position. His eyes were bigger than Peter had ever seen them. He looked afraid and confused. "You don't love me!" There was a hint of a question and that made Peter's heart sing, because it meant Sylar wasn't certain – it was possible and the man knew it. "You can't," Sylar insisted.
Peter snorted, still upset something this basic had to involve violence. "Don't tell me what I'm not capable of." Sylar himself, as Nathan, had told him he could do anything. He didn't get to change his mind when things got uncomfortable for him. "This is about actions! What I do! And if you keep sabotaging that, then I walk!" Peter waved angrily at the door.
Eyes still wide, Sylar followed the gesture. He was speechless and pale. It was sweet, how lost he looked. If Sylar could only see himself, Peter thought, he'd see why Peter couldn't help but want to help him.
After moments of silence, Peter shook his head as he realized how threatening his declaration must have sounded. "I didn't mean that to be an ultimatum. I meant that I need there to be something loving between us or else there's nothing here for me."
Sylar was still floundering. He plucked at the bedspread without taking his eyes off Peter. "But I don't … deserve love."
"'Deserve'", Peter scoffed. He hated that word. But he put it to his own use this time. "Why don't you think about what someone else deserves for once?"
"You …" Sylar trailed off, unable to articulate further.
"Yes, me," Peter said. He didn't want to risk Sylar thinking he'd meant his victims. For once, Peter wanted this selfishly centered on himself. It seemed like the only way to make things better. Peter's needs were going unmet because Sylar wouldn't let Peter meet Sylar's needs. "You think I want to be alone?"
Sylar looked down and shrugged helplessly. "People throw themselves at you, Peter. You've always found people."
"Yeah. I had a whole world of people to pick from. And I came here, to find you." He looked pointedly at Sylar. Sylar looked up at him, then at the door. He frowned as though Peter's journey to find him made no sense. And really, it didn't, aside from how Peter had trusted the dream. He'd trusted fate. It had led him to this man and Peter wasn't going to ignore that. He added, "There's nobody out there for me, Sylar!" Peter sat down on the bed next to him. "There never has been. Not that would stay." With vulnerability in his voice, "Is there anyone here?"
Sylar looked physically pained by Peter's words. "What if I don't know how to love? What if it's not possible?" He wouldn't look Peter in the eye, opting instead to stare at his knees.
Peter wrapped his hand around Sylar's. He tilted his head sympathetically. He'd figured out how broken Sylar was, how shattered inside by the events of his life. Peter knew what he was asking was hard. "Love is something you do," he said gently. "You know what it looks like when I do it. That's what we were fighting about. Follow my lead."
Sylar raised his eyes slowly as though an idea was dawning on him. In a moment, he hooked his hand lightly behind Peter's head and guided him into a kiss. But it wasn't Sylar's usual face-swallowing, desperate osculation. It was a smooch, followed by another, then another, in varying levels of passion and engagement. Peter recognized his own pattern almost immediately. He started to lift his hand, but Sylar was already in motion doing the same. He caressed Peter's face, kissing him gently and thoroughly, just as Peter tended to kiss him. It wasn't what Peter had meant – for Sylar to copy him so closely – but it worked.