A/N: Dragontrybe - chapter 5 will address some of the history, written just for you.

Peter glared at him, then suddenly began laughing hysterically. A moment later he was crying and sobbing into his hands. Sylar blinked at him, uncertain of the rapid emotional shift. When the crying seemed likely to stay for a while, he got up and stood next to Peter, petting his hair. He told Peter, "He had it coming, you know?"

Peter nodded and didn't say anything. He slowly got himself under control again. Sylar stood there and rubbed back and forth across Peter's shoulders, still lost in contemplation of Nathan's possibly horrifically painful death. He hoped Peter had at least done it slowly. Very slowly. He sort of doubted it though.

"Come on, pet. Let's go put these abilities to good use. I've already figured out we can fly underwater so long as we don't go too fast."

Peter stood up and looked at Sylar gratefully for a while. He took a deep breath and let it out.

"You okay?" Sylar asked.

"Yeah. I like it when you call me 'pet.' That's nice." He kissed Sylar, who smirked at him. "It's just between us."

Sylar smiled. Maybe Peter was also looking for things in their relationship that didn't remind him of Nathan. He could hope. Because he sure as hell didn't want to have a threesome with a freaking ghost hovering over his shoulder every time he made out with Peter. Admittedly the guy had been offed only hours ago, so expecting Peter to move on already was probably a little impatient of him. Didn't Peter make a big deal about him needing to work on patience?

They consulted the map again, this time jointly, and agreed on where to go. They flew out over the ocean and went underwater, exploring the nooks and crannies of the seabed, presenting one another with things they'd found, playing hide and seek in a kelp patch they discovered and annoying the local marine life by chasing the larger members of it relentlessly. In other words, they played like a couple of little boys with superpowers and had a hell of a good time.

They came back when the sun began to set. Sylar tossed the food and goods list in front of Peter for his review while there was still some light. He walked off to open a cabinet, looking at what canned goods were stocked for them. He said, "As much as I enjoyed the last time I ordered groceries, this time I…" Sylar's voice ended, trailing abruptly off into silence. He thought about that last time. He thought about how it had made him feel - not just in a physical way, but emotionally.

He looked intently at Peter. He closed the two strides to him and took Peter's face in both his hands, being a little more careful than he wanted because Peter had a surprised, wary expression. Sylar bent in and kissed him, deeply, passionately and immediately. When his tongue touched Peter's lips, Peter inhaled sharply and immediately ran his hand behind Sylar's head to hold them together. Peter stood and breathed hard against Sylar's cheek, his breath puffing hotly against him. Twice Sylar started to pull back and twice Peter gave a little counter-tug to resist it without making it impossible for him to break away. After the second time, Sylar stayed with it until Peter finally sagged away from him.

"Liked that, huh?" Sylar said smugly.

Peter put his hands on the other man's hips and bowed his head against Sylar's chest. "Needed it. You haven't… not since… Thank you." He was quiet for a moment. Sylar ruffled his hair affectionately. Peter said, "I thought it would take you longer."

"Now, now, pet. Don't be insulting." He pulled away and went back to looking in the cabinets, feeling pleased with himself. "How do you feel about SPAM?"

"Sounds awesome. Is there bread?"

"There's crackers."

Peter laughed. "You know, we could teleport somewhere for din-"

"No." Sylar cut him off firmly. "I want to stay here. Alone. No one else. It's helping me. I'm fucked up and I have no idea how you're even able to walk and talk. I like this. We've only been here a day. They'll be by to take our order tomorrow a couple hours after dawn and back with it before evening. But from what that brochure says, they're kind of sloppy about time around here."

Peter smiled a little, encouraged by Sylar's statements even if he was disappointed about dinner. He hadn't come here for the food, after all. He didn't take offense to the sideways insult about his mental state. "I guess we'll have to find other ways to fill our time," Peter said quietly. Before Sylar could respond, he added, "I really liked diving today. That was good."

Sylar laid out crackers with squares of SPAM on them. They shared a can of mixed vegetables that neither of them bothered to heat up and washed it down with a couple more beers. By necessity, they were finishing the meal by candlelight.

"That is one of the most bizarre meals I've ever eaten," Peter said.

Sylar shrugged. "It's not ribeye and corn, I'll agree, but…" He shrugged. "It's here. Come on. Let's go out on the balcony. Do you know much about stars?"

"No, not really. New York, remember? Land of grey sky and light pollution."

Sylar nodded and blew out the candles with a single sweep of his hand and an ability that allowed him to manipulate air currents. "Yeah. Well, let me tell you about the Pleiades..."

Sylar sat on the recliner and had Peter lay in front of him, Peter's back to Sylar's chest. Sylar pointed out constellations and Saturn, discussed the rotation of the spheres and the dance of the sky. The universe was just a big clockwork device to him. Peter had a more romanticized and less clinical view of it, but their feelings on the subject weren't incompatible.

Peter spotted a falling star and they talked about it and the theory that part of the Caribbean had been formed by an ancient meteorite strike. They watched the sky revolve over them and waited to see if another meteor would be seen. Peter watched intently, Sylar's arms wrapped around him, keeping him warm. Sylar had been breathing heavily for a while now, but when he made a struggling snore, Peter was sure he'd lost the man to slumber.

"Oh, Sylar," he sighed, settling himself into a more comfortable position.

They only stayed that way for an hour or so before Sylar snapped awake, startled to have Peter on him and waking Peter too. His fingers seized on the other man in the dark.

"Easy, whoa, shh. It's okay," Peter soothed and at the sound of his voice Sylar calmed.

"Sorry." He let go his bruising grip.

"Nightmares are normal." Peter leaned in and kissed him. "So's broken sleep. Increased alertness. And difficulty relaxing. That's… part of why I wanted to be out here where nothing could distract us. Where we could unwind. And," he tilted his head a little - Sylar could see the gesture in the dim starlight even if he couldn't see Peter's face, "I wanted a chance to get to know you." He kissed him again.

Sylar got up and paced the kitchen restlessly for a while before Peter drug him into the bedroom and made him lie on the bed. When Peter tried to touch him he kicked him away with a savagery that was really not called for, but Peter didn't complain or even comment. He just retreated to the far side of the bed and stayed there.

Eventually Sylar got back to sleep, but as Peter had predicted, it was frequently broken. Unlike Peter, Sylar wasn't hyper-aware of where his partner was, nor was he overly concerned to wake up and find the bed empty. Maybe he should have been, given what happened last time he woke up and Peter was gone, but he trusted.

It meant he slept through the arrival of the boat, the handing over of their requests and the delivery of some staples and a satellite phone. The phone was sitting out conspicuously on the kitchen counter when Sylar walked out, like Peter had left it there for him to see. Peter was on a recliner on the balcony, flipping through the book on fish. Sylar went to him and tousled his hair. "Pet?"

"Master." Peter smiled up at him, closing his book, but slipping a finger into it to hold his place.

Sylar smiled back at what had become an endearment between them. "Why the phone?"

"Noah wanted to talk to me. And Jason. He's the head of staff. Well, Jason wanted to talk to Nathan, but he got me."

"Hmp." Sylar flopped into the other recliner. "Why didn't you just shift into Nathan and talk? I'm assuming you're saying you didn't do that."

"Yeah, you got it right. Being Nathan is your job." Peter opened the book again.

Sylar blinked at him. He tried to think of something to say about that, but couldn't. He'd just expected that Peter would act as Nathan and… well, then who would Sylar be? Peter? That didn't make a lot of sense. Finally he said, "Did I see some bread in there?"

"Yep." Peter was continuing to read the entry on that particular fish. It was one they'd speculated on the day before, but hadn't bothered to look it up.

"Have you eaten?"

Peter looked up and smiled sweetly at him. "You know the only food I eat comes from you, don't you?"

Sylar stared at him again, replaying the last week and all the times Peter had taken food from his hands or lips, or in the case of the steak, food he'd put directly in front of the other man. After a moment, he said, "The fruit tray. You went in and got some of it out for yourself. And… and… the alfredo. You were eating that when I woke up."

Peter chuckled. "Joking. I was joking. But I could always claim that since you ordered the fruit tray and paid for the alfredo that it still counts." He shook his head. "No, I haven't eaten. But I was waiting for you."

Sylar stood up and paused. "Well… it wouldn't exactly bother me if the only things you ate came from me."

Peter snorted, but kept reading. Sylar ran his hand through his hair again. Peter gave him a glance and half of a smile, which made Sylar feel better. If Peter ever started failing to react to him like Nathan had treated Peter, he thought he'd break. There was something really wrong about that. He went in and made toast, slathering half with honey and half with jam that came in tiny, single-serving pots. He carried it back out. "Come here, pet. Time for your feeding." He sat sideways on his recliner.

Peter smiled and dropped to his knees in front of him. Sylar didn't know what he'd expected, but seeing Peter kneel before him made him swallow and tense and have an unpleasant, unidentifiable emotional reaction. He was sure his face showed it, because Peter inched closer, putting a hand on his knee and said, "Master? This is only between us. No one else. You're my master. I'm yours." He turned, showing his back, where it clearly said, "Property of Sylar" in angry red letters.

That broke the tension and Sylar laughed. He bent forward and hugged Peter, putting their heads together ear to cheek. "You still haven't healed that? That's gotta hurt." He ran his hand down and could feel the increased heat coming from the sunburned skin.

Peter pulled back just enough to whisper in his ear, "You promised you would hurt me." It sounded like something Peter had begged for and was thrilled to have received. His tone turned more playful with, "Of course, you also said you'd fuck me." He licked Sylar's earlobe and all thoughts of toast were gone.

"Fuck," Sylar breathed, feeling his cock twitch and swell. When he didn't pull away, Peter nibbled on the ear, following the curve up and bringing his other hand to caress the opposite side of Sylar's face. Sylar swallowed and let him do it, let Peter nuzzle the skin behind his ear and then lick it, let him dig his nails into the back of his neck and pull him forward off the recliner and onto his knees, those knees having to spread to straddle Peter's, let him draw their bodies together and urge him up a little so Peter could mouth his chest while kneading his ass.

"Oh God, Peter. Why?" He wasn't even sure what he was asking, but his subconscious kept throwing a question at the forefront of his brain like it was important somehow.

Peter seemed to know what he was trying to find out. "Because I love you, and I want you, and this is an expression of love, no matter how much people try to pervert it. That's why they try - because this is pure, this is beautiful, and they're ugly people trying to hide their own evil behind a pretty veil. I love you. I want to give this to you. I want to give myself to you. I want to be yours. Will you have me?"

Sylar couldn't remember why he wouldn't. Maybe if he'd thought about it a little more he'd have come up with a good reason, but being with Peter seemed to drive all coherent thought out of his mind. At least, it did while Peter was running his hands up his back and biting the skin in the center of his chest. Sylar's shaft was begging for release from the confines of his shorts. He held Peter's head, flattening the man's nose against him and making Peter turn his head a little to avoid that.

"I… I don't know what to do," Sylar admitted. Suddenly sex with Peter was scary, frightening. He wasn't sure why and he didn't examine it.

Peter looked up at him with a determined expression. Sylar remembered how Peter had dealt with Sylar's hesitancy about entering him in the bathroom. He relaxed. Peter would take care of him. It sounded stupid to think of it that way, but it was true and it was what he needed at the moment. Peter reached down and rubbed his cock within his shorts, putting his other hand on the small of his back and watching Sylar's face carefully.

"I'm going to lean over that recliner on my knees. You're going to get behind me. You'll see your name written across my back and you'll know it's true. I'm your property." He felt a surge of lust at that and his hips bucked lightly. Peter smiled, his mouth hanging open crookedly. "Yeah," he breathed. "You've always wanted me." He stroked harder. "You got me. I'm yours now. And everyone can know it. I know it. I know my place. I'm yours, irrevocably."

Sylar put his head back, his hips rocking steadily now. "Peter, you're going to make me come."

Peter put his head to Sylar's nipple and sucked at it. When Sylar started grunting inarticulately, Peter pulled back even though he had to fight Sylar's hands that tried to trap his head against him. His hand stopped. Sylar felt like he was right at the brink. He made a frustrated, lip-biting noise. "Peter… please." He caught Peter's hand and tried to bring it back, but Peter twisted away from him, his eyes still so intent on Sylar's.

He backed up and shimmied out of his shorts in record time as Sylar leaned forward, hands on knees, trying to focus.

"Master?"

He looked up. Peter was leaning over the recliner, his ass in the air.

"Fuck me, master. Show your slave his place."

Sylar shivered. He rose up on his knees and shoved down his shorts enough to free himself. He was upright and so hard he ached. He panted and paused, his cockhead at the cleft of Peter's ass. He was pretty sure he was about to come… almost in seconds. He could just stand here and he would…

"Come on baby. Do it in me. Inside me. Please." Peter's voice was a soft pleading and Sylar followed the directions.

He spat in his hand, wiped it on his dick (he was so sensitive it made him jerk), and pushed himself down. He trusted Peter to manage the opening. He took his hips and slid into him, feeling that delicious heat squeeze around him, slick and perfect. He looked down at Peter's back, where he'd marked him, where Peter had let him mark him. He didn't even need to thrust. He just came right then. "Ah! OH!" He clenched, toes curling, holding Peter's ass to himself.

He pulled out slowly, a shudder running through him as he did. There was still some nagging thought about why he hadn't been expecting to do this… Nathan. It hit him and he jerked his shorts over himself, a vision of Nathan fucking Peter in the ass up against himself flashing behind his eyes.

"You okay?" Peter asked, no longer doing a come on. He sounded cautious.

"Yeah. You did that on purpose," he accused.

Peter laughed and it snapped Sylar out of it a little. "Yeah, of course I did. I want to have sex with you, Sylar. We gotta break the ice. Gotta give you other things to think about than what happened. I'm having sex with you, not with him. And I know I've got to get you to think of me instead of him."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?" he snapped defensively, getting back up on his seat.

"Because I've seen a lot of people messed up by my brother and I've had telepathy for a long time. I know what sort of things go through people's mind after that stuff."

Sylar chewed on his lip and looked off to the side. He huffed. He wanted to be angry. Peter shuffled over to him, naked. In a small voice, Peter asked, "Will you feed me, master?"

Sylar looked at him and said, "It's either your stomach or your dick, huh?"

Peter frowned. Sylar smiled a bit meanly, amused to have gotten under Peter's skin in return. He picked up a piece of toast and offered it in his own mouth. Peter leaned in and took it, letting his lips linger on Sylar's, meeting his eyes and then dropping his own gaze submissively. Sylar knew that Peter knew exactly what he was doing - it was a calculated act, but at the same time it didn't bother him much to know that. It was a language Peter was speaking to him, apologizing for manipulating him, maybe trying to tell him he needed him and wanted him and this was the best thing Peter could think of to try to get him.

Sylar gave him the bread from his own mouth, forgiving him. They ate quietly because everything that was being said between them didn't need words to be expressive. Sylar caressed Peter's shoulder at first, then the back of his neck and finally the back of his head, holding him to him for as long as he wanted, controlling exactly how long Peter's lips were on his own, when Peter came to him and when he parted. When the toast was gone, Peter leaned in and hugged him. Sylar allowed it, feeling indulgent and like an ass at the same time.

"Are you sure you can put up with me?" Sylar asked.

He felt Peter's face shift in a grin against his neck. "Yeah. You're great, really. It doesn't bother me. I'm pretty sure if I told you to cut it out, you would."

"And if I didn't?"

"Then I would still be yours."

Sylar snorted. He stroked Peter's hair. "Well, as long as my slave knows his place."