"Why not?" Sylar asked, his voice torn between raw and angry. He'd never expected to get into this sort of conversation with Peter, even though he'd thought about the parts after often enough. He wasn't sure at all where he stood or how to pursue it. Somehow he needed to get past this if he ever wanted a chance to getting to those parts.
"Because of exactly what you said," Peter growled, throwing Sylar's own words back at him. "You're just lonely. It's just an outlet. I don't want to be … an 'outlet' for someone!"
Sylar chewed at his lip, dipping his head but still glaring up at Peter from under his brows. Okay, poor choice of words. Fair enough. He'd thought that casting it as inconsequential would make it easier for Peter to … to do it. Apparently not. Sylar still had a lot to learn about what worked with Peter and what didn't. He wished, not for the first time, that Nathan had paid more attention to Peter's love life. Instead, the man had pointedly ignored it, which left Sylar floundering. "Then … what do you want?" He felt like that old joke of asking what women wanted - though really the question had nothing to do with women and everything to do with trying to figure out how to satisfy someone when people, male or female, were essentially unsatisfiable.
"I want …" Peter waved his hand vaguely and Sylar tilted his head. Sylar's own mind filled in 'to be special' without him even trying to guess Peter's words. Sylar blinked. Yes, that's it. The rest of what Peter said confirmed it, even if he wasn't using those particular words. "I want it to matter. I don't want to be someone's last resort. I want someone to really feel …" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You're just lonely. I could be anyone. It doesn't matter."
Sylar's head tilted a little further, because what he was interpreting out of that was Peter's fear that he didn't matter and Sylar had never empathized so strongly with the younger Petrelli as he did at that moment. Maybe that was what prompted his action, because if he'd been thinking rationally, he'd have never had the courage to do what he did next – something that flowed simply and directly from his feelings, without pausing to consult his thoughts. Sylar stood and walked closer to Peter in a steady, unhurried pace, stopping directly in front of him.
Peter had not backed off or even questioned, though he looked up at Sylar now a little sullenly. Sylar raised his left hand deliberately and slipped it behind Peter's head, feathering through his hair. Peter's eyes narrowed a little, but the important part was that he made no objection. At the realization that he was touching Peter intimately and (oh my God!) not being rejected out of hand, Sylar felt a surge of nerves. Please don't hit me in the face. Please don't hit me at all. He cradled the back of Peter's skull and applied a slight pressure with his fingertips, urging but not requiring Peter to turn his head.
Peter did it. Sylar felt another jolt at the cooperation. This might be going somewhere! His heart started beating faster and he had to make an effort to keep breathing normally. Before he chickened out completely, he leaned forward tentatively, awkwardly, and touched his lips to Peter's just briefly. He couldn't stop the small moan that slipped from his throat at the sensation. He opened his eyes, not even aware of when he'd shut them (thank God Peter didn't slug me for that – I'd have not even seen it coming). Peter was studying him intently, lids a little drooped, pupils dilated.
Oh my God. Maybe … maybe he wants this? Maybe that's what I need to do is just do it and stop asking him if he'll let me? He has to want it. If he didn't he wouldn't be doing this. Sylar kissed him again, a chaste, careful pressing together of their lips. Peter's hands rose to rest on Sylar's hips, making Sylar suck in a breath a little faster – not quite a gasp. Stop that. All he's doing is touching you, was a thought followed immediately by, oh my God he's touching me. On purpose. Him. Touching me. Sylar shifted his weight in agitation, his body trying to find the exact right position to be in. Everything in him was alive and awake suddenly, his groin as well. Hopefully Peter would be too busy with his face to notice that.
Peter's fingers traveled up his waist slowly, snagging at his shirt and then slipping higher, leaving a trail of fire behind them. Goosebumps broke out across Sylar's flesh and there was no way he could 'breathe normally' anymore. He shifted again, weight going back and forth between feet as he opened his mouth a little and moved it against Peter's, which welcomed and matched him, taking it just as slow. Sylar moaned again, not trying to stop it this time.
Peter pulled back a few seconds later and Sylar so, so wanted to throw him down and ravish him right here, right now. His breath caught in his throat and he gulped heavily. "I like that," Peter murmured, putting his hands flat on Sylar's chest. Sylar glanced down and leaned against those hands aggressively, which … was the wrong thing to do. Peter's expression shifted – just a slight shift, a small thing, a tiny flicker of difference – but Sylar knew he'd just made a mistake. He froze. Peter pushed him back a step and then backed up himself, getting some distance between them.
The Italian gave him a smile that wasn't unwelcoming, wiping his mouth and looking down. But at the same time, he took a few more steps away, while Sylar kicked himself inside, trying to decide if he needed to pursue or just stand here, hands hanging at his sides, feeling too big, clumsy, and wrong. Too much? Was I doing too much? I thought he wanted me to do it? Should we talk about it then? Was I supposed to be talking? The urge to be angry about this rose up, to blame Peter and maybe even lash out. Sylar's eyes narrowed and he dipped his head. The expression on Peter's face was still pleased. Not smug or condescending, Sylar noted and raised his chin a little, trying to smooth his own expression before Peter caught sight of it again. No, Peter was happy about things. All was not lost.
He racked his brain trying to think of what to say, going over what Peter had said and what he thought he'd meant by it. Various lines that he'd heard worked to get girls in bed ran through his brain, as well as the ones Nathan used that really did work. None of them seemed appropriate. Honesty, maybe? "I am lonely." He swallowed and looked away, noting that he definitely had Peter's attention. "But you're not just anyone. You're Peter." He left off the 'Petrelli'. He used that too often to mock the man and that probably wasn't a good thing to remind Peter of at the moment.
Peter gave Sylar a warm, lop-sided smile that made his gut clench. Oh yes, all was not lost at all. Patience. Be patient, was accompanied by, I don't want to be patient! Peter nodded and said, "Thank you. Listen, I'll …" Sylar recognized the tone – it was the 'I'm saying good-bye' tone. No, no, no! "I'll see you tomorrow." NO! "Thank you," the man repeated, backing away again, reaching up to touch his lips and looking touched, pleased, thrilled before turning away, still touching himself where they'd kissed. Sylar swallowed again and blinked, that gesture doing funny things to his midsection and silencing the voice inside of his head that had been telling him to do something, anything, to keep Peter from walking away.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Just let him go. He liked that. Don't ruin it. He even thanked you. He really liked it. He'll let you do more tomorrow, but only if you let him go.