To the prompt: 'Sylar Waking up, lying in bed, playing with Peter's hair…or maybe his ass…'

Sylar woke before Peter, an unusual occurrence. He stretched, enjoying the comforting feeling of a warm body next to his, of the depression in the mattress caused by another. He felt good. Sleep was so restful now that they were actually sleeping … together. Not just in the same bed, but relaxed with one another. Peter was practically on top of him at times, or wrapped around him. Not at the moment, though.

This morning, Peter was on his side, facing away, but still very close. Sylar studied him for a long time – minutes, maybe. He listened to the man's breathing, looked at his hair, brushed his fingers along Peter's back. Peter dozed through it. Finally, temptation overtook him. It was morning anyway. There was no reason to make special accommodation to his bedmate.

Sylar leaned over and pressed his face into Peter's unruly mane. He moved it back and forth, inhaling as though he could draw this intimacy within himself and keep it there. Peter sighed and made a soft moan. It was a nice sound, obviously half (or more) asleep. Sylar pulled back and sank his fingers into the hair, starting at the base of the skull and combing up, cupping Peter's head.

Peter was obviously awake now. "Oh," he said breathily. "Yeah?"

"Yes," Sylar said decisively. It was probably unwise. Too pushy. Too dominant for what Peter had allowed in other settings. But it felt right and Peter's response wasn't an objection. Instead, Peter rocked his head back and forth, sighing noisily. He was breathing harder, Sylar noticed.

Sylar's other hand skimmed down Peter's back – he was wearing a t-shirt as he usually did to bed – to the waistband of his boxers. Sylar paused there, considering how forward he should be. Peter squirmed under his hand, saying, "Yeah, yeah," with growing excitement.

"Ah," Sylar purred, "you woke up in a good mood, didn't you?" His hand slipped under the waistband and he caressed that hot, muscular ass. It was smooth and in motion as Peter continued to move. He was rubbing himself on the mattress, Sylar was fairly sure. He gripped Peter's hair, tugging on it lightly. "Such a dirty boy," he whispered, running his hand back and forth over the twin globes of Peter's posterior.

"Umpf, yeah," Peter panted, shifting his hips faster. "More. More."

"More of this?" Sylar ran his hand straight down the cleft of Peter's ass, palm flat and fingers straight.

"Yes!"

Well, that was definite. Peter spread his legs, the one nearer to Sylar sliding between Sylar's shins and then hooking him behind the ankle. The other went over the edge of the bed, as though he liked that sensation of being unable to close his legs. Sylar stroked the seam of Peter's rear end again, but this time, a single finger pressed down the whole way. Peter gasped a little and stiffened.

"More!"

Sylar did it again, but when he got to the end, the ends of his fingers played with the back of Peter's scrotum. Peter huffed and panted happily. Sylar kneaded and grasped one butt cheek and then the other, mauling Peter's hair at the same time. He leaned in, further, and lifted away Peter's hair so he could put his mouth on the back of Peter's neck. Sylar pressed his teeth into the flesh.

"Ah! Ah, ah," Peter panted, outright humping the mattress by now. Sylar reached down to curl his fingers into Peter's inner thigh, lifting it to part Peter's legs even further. Peter whined with unrestrained lust.

"You are so easy," Sylar whispered to him. He wondered if Peter would stop him if he climbed on and started fucking him. "You want it so bad."

"Yes, yes," Peter said hoarsely.

Sylar could barely restrain himself. Peter was so available. His for the taking. Peter was ready. Hot. Bothered. Squirming and wriggling on the bed like he couldn't get enough. But penetration was a step too far for now. Instead, he reached around Peter's hips and found his erection. Peter immediately went to his side to make it easier.

Sylar arranged himself behind Peter to make the motion more natural. He also repositioned his arm – the one that had been toying with Peter's hair – so it was under Peter's head and wrapping around his front. In a second, Sylar saw another possibility. He raised that arm so Peter's neck fit in the crook of it, in the V of his elbow.

"Oh, oh, oh," Peter moaned loudly. His hips strained as he bucked into Sylar's pumping fist. Sylar tightened his arm until Peter's breathing became noisy. The dick in his hand was rock hard. Sylar's own erection was gleefully trapped between and against Peter's flexing buttocks, two layers of thin cloth between them. One of Peter's hands was on his hip and the other touching his elbow, but there was no interference.

With a delightful, full-body shudder and a choked whimper, Peter came undone in his arms. He spurted on the mattress in front of himself and over Sylar's hand. Sylar kept pumping, just slower. Peter kept twitching, his cock still mostly hard, his breath coming in orgasmic gasps. Sylar bit him on the shoulder and Peter arched suddenly, as though coming anew.

"Please, oh …"

"Such sweet begging." Sylar found a different spot to bite, closer to the join of neck and shoulder. Peter's cry was louder this time. One of his legs kicked. He shuddered again.

"Please, please nnn …" Peter tried to roll forward as though to escape him as Sylar continued, but only his lower body was free enough to do it.

Sylar released with his mouth and loosened the arm folded around Peter's throat. It wasn't choking him much, just providing a little pressure, but that had sounded a lot like an attempt to tell him 'no'. There was no doubt in Sylar's mind that Peter could physically speak well enough to tell him no, but mentally? He was less sure. Peter seemed lost in arousal and post-coital bliss. He let go of the man's cock. Peter panted heavily now, deep breaths as he recovered. Sylar watched and listened carefully, but there was no further rejection or hint of it.

After a moment, Peter reached back fumblingly, finding Sylar's dick. Sylar pushed the hand away, wanting to show Peter didn't have to do anything. Peter didn't understand it that way. "Yeah," Peter said, "you do it then? Jerk off. Come on my back. Fuck."

Sylar's brows rose as he thought about what Peter was directing him to do. "That's disgusting." His hand was in his underwear immediately, pulling himself out and pistoning rapidly. Peter's hips were already mostly flat to the bed, boxers pulled half-down. Sylar pressed against him, half climbing on. The fantasy of fucking him like this was easy to conjure.

He was already aching for release, one he hadn't thought he'd be allowed, but here Peter was telling him to do it! He growled. Peter looked back over his shoulder and up at Sylar, like he wanted to see him when he came, wanted to see who was marking him with their semen. Sylar was coming within seconds, hot fluid jetting onto the exposed top of Peter's ass. The possibility of getting to come inside that ass didn't seem so far-fetched all of a sudden.

"Oh," Peter breathed out softly after Sylar had finished. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." His voice was soft, tired. Maybe sleepy, so the words that might have otherwise been alarming were just more of Peter's noises. Sylar slumped down on the bed again, pulling his boxers over himself. Peter was lying in his own come, with Sylar's on him.

Sylar sighed, trying and failing to rouse himself so he could clean Peter up. He was still trying to work himself up to moving when Peter gave one of those odd falling asleep twitches, followed by the deeper breathing of sleep. Sylar raised his brows at the man. Then he pulled up the sheet a little and let it be. If Peter wanted to sleep covered in Sylar's come … well, at the moment, Sylar was too bonelessly pleased to do anything about it.