The next day Sylar showed up with a cordless razor and a packet of water. Peter hopped off the platform immediately, on Sylar's side, and presented himself more or less, standing at what semblance of attention he could manage without being mocking. He'd never been in the military. Neither had Sylar, if you didn't count the default of being president. Peter was trying to show some modicum of respect, thinking that might be a good idea, since he'd smarted off to his captor the day before.
A little while after Sylar had left yesterday, Peter had become worried about letting the man leave in a snit like that. He suspected it would be best for both of them if he didn't force Sylar to make a habit of that. Peter had pondered how Sylar might not leave and instead remain and vent his frustrations in some other fashion – or worse yet, he might not come back. The silent, empty room was no distraction from his thoughts.
Sylar stopped in front of him and looked him up and down. Peter met his eyes uncertainly, looking away before it could seem like a challenge. This was the only human being he'd seen in more than a week. He was beginning to wonder if Sylar was the only human being he'd ever see. His abilities still weren't coming back. Sylar hadn't bothered to ask him about the Resistance or for inside information about anything. He didn't seem to care. The only thing he seemed to care about was access to Peter's body, the illusion of cooperation … and maybe about Peter himself, crazy as that seemed.
Sylar nodded slightly and exhaled, looking away. His eye contact and his body language fairly shouted an apology, although of course Peter's did as well. Peter's though, was calculated. He didn't think Sylar's was.
Sylar lifted the razor. "Do you want me to do this?"
"No," Peter shook his head. "No. " He reached out and took the device, checking it over briefly. He turned it on. He looked at Sylar for a moment, feeling oddly like he didn't want the other man watching him grooming. So Peter turned and walked off to the side a little, keeping his back to the other man. He started on his neck and worked his way up with the buzzing instrument. He looked over once to see that Sylar was leaning against the platform, hands stuffed in his pockets, staring off at the far wall, giving him the privacy he wanted.
It was odd. Peter kept expecting Sylar to insist. He'd done enough of that right off the bat. But the more time passed, the less pushy the other man got. Peter didn't exactly have a lot of experience being the prisoner of crazy serial killers, but this seemed like the opposite pattern than it was supposed to be. He'd think that Sylar should be getting more and more impatient that he wasn't getting whatever it was he wanted out of Peter - information, cooperation, whatever. Okay, yeah, he was kind of demanding more in the way of cooperation, but he was also letting Peter push back a lot.
He walked back over, flipping the device off, and offered it to him. Sylar took it. Peter turned and looked at the extra pouch of water. That was appreciated. Sylar's hand on his butt wasn't, even though, and probably because, it made him breathe faster immediately. He stiffened and looked back.
"Pull your pants down. I'm going to shave you down there."
"You're … what?"
"Your crack is hairy. I don't like that. As for your front - do you have a preference?"
"Ah …" Peter looked down. He didn't know what he'd look like without hair. Like a kid, maybe? A bit of an overendowed kid. Or maybe he'd look like a porn star. All the associations that came to mind were negative. "Um … I'd rather you didn't?"
Sylar nodded agreeably. "Okay. Just the back then." He patted Peter on the side of the butt again, just as he had before. "Get your pants off."
Peter nodded and pulled them off, kicking them aside so they didn't get hairs in them and be itchy later. This was just phenomenally weird. Sylar told him, "I'll handle your cheeks, but you need to spread your legs." Peter complied. Sylar used telekinesis to pull him open. Peter grunted unhappily and gripped the edge of the platform. It was a little unsettling to have a buzzing, whirring set of miniature blades operating just inches from your equipment, skimming over some pretty sensitive territory right where they were at.
Sylar finished and set aside the razor, but didn't rise from where he was squatting on the floor. He brushed over the area in a businesslike fashion, getting any stray hair bits off. That was fine. Peter understood that. A moment later he blew on him though, and Peter didn't understand that at all. It made him jump, which was difficult when you have telekinesis holding you open. Until that moment, Peter hadn't realized how vulnerable the position made him. Sylar put a hand firmly on the side of his ass and blew on him again, a full breath this time. Peter tried to shift away, but the telekinesis was not allowing it.
"Please don't do that," Peter said.
"Does it feel good?"
Yes, it did. But that wasn't the point. "I don't want you to do it."
"Hm." Sylar leaned forward and chewed at one side of Peter's butt, taking the liberty as long as it was right there at face level.
"Please don't," Peter said more emphatically. "Sylar?" He didn't like this. He couldn't get away. It was disturbing and it was starting to trigger him.
The telekinesis faded and Peter got away from him immediately. He picked up his pants and underwear, looking at Sylar for a moment as the other man stood. Was he allowed to get dressed? Or did he have to submit to sex again? Sylar looked disappointed, but that was it. Peter put his clothes on.
When he was done, Sylar said, "Come here."
Peter swallowed and nodded, remembering Sylar's 'threat' from the day before. He'd been told there would be kissing. He pursed his lips, let out a short sigh and moved up in front of the taller man. Sylar bent his head to him. Peter pressed his lips pretty unimaginatively against Sylar's. It wasn't really a kiss and he knew it. Sylar's lips moved slightly and Peter jerked away. He frowned and set his teeth, glancing back. Sylar looked very disapproving, but that was all, for now.
Peter took a moment to take a deep breath and let it out, pleased inside that he was being given the opportunity to do this at his own pace, though he had no illusions about whether doing it at all was optional. He set himself and this time ran one hand up behind Sylar's head, earning him a pleasantly surprised raise of brows and softening of features. He pulled the man down and this time met his lips more properly, moving his gently against Sylar's. He got an immediate sound of encouragement.
For long moments, all they did was stand there and kiss chastely. Peter kept his eyes and mouth shut, trying not to think about who he was doing this with. It had been a long time since he'd kissed a man. Sylar's lips were fuller than he'd expected and he kept making these small happy noises that would have been endearing under other circumstances. Actually … they were kind of endearing anyway and Peter softened a little inside. He finally decided to hell with it. He might as well take the plunge and do this all the way, even though he'd been sort of waiting to see if Sylar's 'requirements' went that far. He parted his lips and let his tongue touch the other man's upper lip.
Sylar's breathing had been coming faster and harder and now it hitched suddenly. He shifted a foot and pressed forward, letting Peter find out that he was fully erect. Peter jerked away, glancing down apprehensively. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"I'm sorry," Sylar said, which struck Peter as asinine and a little rage-worthy given the situation, but he put it aside. Sylar leaned forward, not moving his feet this time, deliberately keeping his groin back. Peter thought about how, the day before, all he'd had to deal with was kissing - no sex. Maybe … he wouldn't have to today either?
He didn't know what to think of that, because his emotions were strangely mixed. So he ran his hand back up into Sylar's hair and leaned forward as well to kiss him, their bodies making an A shape, keeping a healthy space between them. Peter opened his mouth again, much sooner this time, and slipped his tongue within the other man's lips. Sylar groaned, his tongue touching back tentatively, very hesitantly, whining a little in the back of his throat like he was desperate for the affection. Peter brought his other hand up to cup the man's cheek. Actors managed this all the time. It wasn't that hard, he told himself, and really - it wasn't. Sylar's sounds were gratifying. Peter just kept his mind blank and … what the hell was Sylar doing?
He broke off for just a moment to look down. He'd opened his pants and was jerking himself off. Peter kissed him again immediately - not because he was trying not to think about that, but because Sylar was jerking himself off and Peter sure as hell didn't want to interrupt him. He wasn't fucking Peter. He wasn't demanding Peter let him fuck him. Okay, sure, in context he'd pretty much demanded Peter kiss him, but Peter would damn well rather kiss him than get penetrated without his consent. He kissed him hard and madly, feeling it as Sylar picked up the pace. The other man brought his free hand to Peter's face, but Peter twitched away from it so he dropped it to his shoulder. He crooned lightly into Peter's mouth and a few moments later his huffing turned to gasps as he came.
Peter fell back a little, letting his hand slide down Sylar's arm, not ending the contact immediately. He thought about how abruptly the other man had reacted the day before when Peter had touched him willingly. The kissing - if what he wanted was an illusion of willingness, well, Peter had just given him that and with a lot more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. He wasn't real sure why he'd been so enthusiastic, just that it hadn't seemed that tough to get into it, it felt especially nice to have Sylar respond to him like that, and he thought he could get Sylar off rapidly. Whaddaya know - he could.
Sylar tucked himself away with the hand he'd used on himself. The other was very loosely wrapped around Peter's elbow, a mirror image of how Peter was holding him. When he was done, Sylar raised his eyes to Peter, looking oddly vulnerable, like he'd been caught doing something he knew he shouldn't.
Peter looked down - not at Sylar, or at his crotch, but sort of off to the side. He leaned in and then took a small step closer. Sylar sucked in air. Without looking at him, Peter slowly moved against him. He turned his head to the side and swallowed, then just let the line of his body press against Sylar's. Still winding down from his orgasm, Sylar put his hands very lightly around Peter, on his sides at first, then when that didn't get a flinch or ill reaction he moved them to his back in an actual, if very weak, hug.
Peter slowly let himself relax. He recalled a study - a cruel, inhumane experiment - that had been recounted in one of his university texts. A baby monkey had been taken from its mother and was offered two possible surrogates. One was a wire frame with a bottle and nipple. The other had no food, but was covered with a thick, terrycloth that simulated the fur of the mother monkey. The baby spent nearly all its time clinging to the cloth-covered surrogate, visiting the wire-frame one to nurse briefly before scrambling back to 'safety', where it was warm and comforted by what seemed like the touch of another of its kind.
He shut his eyes and let himself enjoy the embrace. Sick though the whole situation was, it had been a horrible, traumatic week and Peter wanted comfort very badly. More and more, Sylar had been acting like a human being and this - jacking himself off instead of forcing himself on Peter, when he clearly could and had forced himself on him before - Peter knew it was Stockholm syndrome or something, but he was stupidly grateful for the gesture.
It made him so bold that he turned his head a little bit and asked, "Can we … next time … just play Scrabble, or cards or give me a book to read and we can talk about it or something?"
Sylar started forward as if to kiss him on the side of the head, then refrained. "You don't want me touching you. I revolt you." He sounded miserable.
Peter sighed against him and leaned back so he could see his face. "This whole situation is bad." Sylar looked so despondent that Peter kissed him gently and of his own accord. It was tough to code Sylar as 'enemy' when Peter was standing there holding him, drawing succor from him and offering him comfort. He'd always been an empath, even before he got his ability.
The other man's eyes came up to his and a little light came back into his features. "Scrabble, huh?" Sylar asked.
"Yeah. I like Scrabble. Used to play it with Nathan a lot, when I was a kid and he was trying to figure out how to get me to do better in English. Used to play a lot with Ma, just because she liked it. It was her favorite game. Chess would be fine too, but I was never any good at it. Dad liked it." His voice had trailed off about halfway through until he was just muttering at the end. Sylar almost certainly did not care, even though he was standing there listening attentively. Peter was just rambling, wanting someone to listen to him while he talked. That was stupid, so he shut up.
Sylar nodded. "Scrabble it is."
Scrabble it was. Sylar showed up with a box tucked under his arm and even though he'd asked for it, Peter still blinked in surprise. Then he scrambled off the platform, trying to read if a game was a before or after intimacy deal. By the way Sylar paused and started opening the box, he guessed before. Peter threw his blanket down on the floor in one spot and the pillow across from it a ways. Too eager, he reached in the box and took out the board before the other man could sit down.
Sylar smiled slightly at Peter's enthusiasm and settled down on the blanket. He didn't seem put off. Peter sat on the pillow and set things up. "You've played Scrabble before, right?"
"Yes. My mother liked it a lot too." Sylar said quietly, proving he'd been paying attention. "That and Yahtzee."
"Really?" Peter gave half a smile. "What was she like?"
"My mother?" Sylar blinked at him, startled by the question.
"Yeah," Peter said, mixing the letter tiles. "We gotta talk about something, right? You don't have to answer. I could-" Peter looked up at his companion, wondering what was allowed and acceptable here. He decided to forge ahead. Sylar had been very accommodating, actually, of boldness. "I could talk about stuff if you don't want to. I just … You know, I'm lonely in here, and bored. Really, really bored." More lonely than bored, to be honest, but he didn't want to admit how soul-crushing it was to be all alone for at least twenty-three hours of every day, without even the sound of other life or anything interesting to look at. He pushed over the box top, which held the tiles. "Okay, pick a letter."
Sylar did. Peter took one. They compared. Peter went first. While he picked out his tiles and examined them, Sylar began to speak in a low, uncertain voice. "I liked my mother. She raised me alone for a while. She loved me. She was …" He laughed nervously, "She was a little crazy, but who isn't?" He looked at Peter penetratingly.
Peter nodded supportively. "My mother was, is, a certifiable nut case. She was always obsessing with Nathan and ignoring me. I loved her, and she loved me, but …" He shrugged.
"Yeah," Sylar nodded, getting the feel for the conversation. "Yeah. That's … that's how it was." He smiled for a moment, then started picking out his own tiles. "Minus the part about obsessing about Nathan, but she found other things to obsess over. She worked as a secretary for a while and she was really active in the church. Every spare moment was spent on volunteer work."
"Yeah? My mom volunteered some too, with the church. You guys were Catholic?"
Sylar nodded, examining his options on the game. "Yes. Irish Catholic." They discussed churches and schools and teachers and childhoods, staying carefully away from any topics that might spark disagreement or remind either of the current setting. Sylar trounced him pretty firmly in the game, which Peter didn't mind at all. He was sorry when Sylar declined to go best two out of three. He wasn't as upset as he thought he should have been when he contemplated the probable after-game activity. Peter replaced his blanket and pillow on the platform, lost in thought about the shift in his attitude.
Sylar was offering him something. Peter blinked, came back to himself and looked. It was a deck of cards in a paper sleeve. Sylar said, "I have to leave, but maybe you can play solitaire or something. Don't do anything wrong with these cards, Peter, or I'll have to take them away."
"I won't," Peter promised, taking the pack and shaking his head firmly. What the hell could he do with a pack of cards, anyway? Stop up the toilet? "Thank you." He was genuinely grateful even if he was a lot confused about his disappointment that Sylar was leaving immediately. Maybe it was just the looming specter of being alone – or maybe it was that he wouldn't be held and touched. That last reason scared him.
Sylar nodded and stood there awkwardly, Scrabble box in hand. "Can I kiss you good-bye? Please?" he asked so hesitantly and softly that it made Peter feel weird – obligated, sorry for him, and a little pleased, if he was honest with himself.
"Yeah." Sylar leaned in and kissed Peter's cheek for a long moment, then ducked his head a little and nuzzled him. Peter blinked and moved into it. He felt an odd twist of emotion in his gut and he put his hand on Sylar's side, thinking there had to be something wrong with him for responding to this.
Sylar gave his cheek another kiss – just a quick peck this time – and said, "Thank you." He left.
Peter shut his eyes and leaned back against the platform, feeling very, very unsettled. The situation was doing really strange things to his emotions, tangling him up. He almost felt like he missed the asshole.