A/N: Yay! Two people giving me reviews. You should know - I'm publishing this stuff solely due to reviews. I would have stopped after Slave Verse 1 if it weren't for reviews and requests.

Peter looked back at Sylar and grinned after his comment, rocking back on his knees. Sylar pulled him over backwards into his arms, absolutely thrilled at the helpless, surprised noise Peter made. Sylar pressed his lips to Peter's and ran his tongue along them. Peter opened willingly and he breached his mouth a little at a time, playing with his lips with his tongue rather than plunging in his mouth. Peter relaxed in his arms, bringing up one hand to fist into Sylar's hair. When they came apart, Sylar kissed his chin and his cheek, making Peter smile lovingly at him. He pushed him back upright.

They took a dip in the ocean and then moved their building efforts down the beach a bit. Hours later, the sand castle was enormous and sprawling. They were arguing over whether Michael Jackson had ever been worthwhile as a musician when the supply boat showed up on the horizon. Peter caught sight of it first.

After pointing it out to Sylar he said, "These are just locals and it's unlikely they'll ever talk to anyone, but they probably have an idea what the president of the US looks like. He's supposed to be here." He stopped there, watching Sylar to see if the other man got it.

Sylar did. "You're saying… I should look like Nathan."

"If you would," Peter said evenly, not pushing it.

"Huh." Sylar thought about his impromptu, internal Nathan-bashing a few hours earlier while he was buried in Peter's ass. Yeah, that had been cathartic. Very much so. "Sure."

Peter looked surprised. A moment later, Sylar shifted and looked down at himself. He wiggled his toes, moved his knees, examined his hands and fingers. He suspected he was going to have to stay in this shape a lot. If he understood correctly, he was going to assume the role of Nathan Petrelli, President of the United States, upon their return from the vacation. Peter would still be Peter.

He looked at the darker haired man, who was regarding him with an oddly reserved expression. "So," Sylar said. "This is your plan for me ruling the world? I've got to look like this giant asshole and you get to look gorgeous like you normally do?"

Peter snorted and gave him a tight smile. "I think this might end up being easier for you than for me."

Sylar gave him a look of mock outrage. "Are you saying it's easy for me to be a walking douchebag?"

Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Sylar grinned, happy to have made him speechless. He pulled out the waistband of his shorts and examined Nathan's endowments shamelessly.

In a very tense voice, Peter said, "I'm not going to have sex with you looking like that."

Sylar let the waistband snap back. "Don't worry. I don't want to either. I'd be a little worried if you did. Since I only plan on having sex with you in private, it shouldn't be an issue what I look like."

Peter relaxed at that, like a weight had been lifted from him. Sylar thought that was a little weird, since Peter clearly didn't have any problems with being public, but whatever. Maybe it was just the no-sex-with-Nathan thing.

The boat arrived and they picked up their supplies. Sylar could tell his new face was recognized. No one said anything of it though, which was fine with him. They carried their stuff up to the bungalow and the boat headed off, not to return for two days. Sylar shed Nathan's face. They unloaded.

Their goods had come mainly in two large ice chests filled to capacity. In one the ice was in blocks, which they transferred to their icebox. As they sorted and put things away, they talked about wrestling. That led to talking about professional wrestling, which led to a discussion of sports as entertainment, which led to an argument about baseball.

Peter had strong feelings about baseball. It was a sport and a contest, played by rules and requiring coordination as a team, reliance on one another and frequent communication between the positions. Sylar saw it as just another kind of performance art and although the outcome might not be as staged as professional wrestling, the rules were there to keep people from actually testing their skills against one another in any direct fashion, making it meaningless as a contest. And he thought it was boring, though he supposed it achieved its purpose as entertainment for those who liked that kind of thing. He said as much.

He hadn't expected his point of view to set Peter off quite like it did.

Peter walked over and grabbed him by the hair, which was sort of out of the blue and it hurt. "So you think rules aren't a good idea, huh?" Before Sylar could answer, the world shifted around them and they were in the bedroom.

Sylar blinked, glanced around and knocked Peter away from him, losing some hair in the process. He was starting to get angry. Peter did not get to manhandle him. That wasn't allowed. Teleporting him around was not right, either, but this was probably what Peter was trying to get at. Peter grabbed at him again, just getting his shoulder for a moment before Sylar pulled away from that too. Peter followed up, "Do you think the only real contests people have are all-out fights? That it's somehow not real unless someone gets killed?"

Peter gave up on trying to get a hold of him and used telekinesis to pick Sylar up bodily and throw him on the bed, on his back. Sylar bared his teeth and only said, "Peter?" in a warning tone. He could retaliate, but he wasn't sure it was called for. Peter was skating next to that line, but he hadn't quite crossed it. Sylar looked back and forth across the bed, unsure of the subtext. Was this rough foreplay? Or was Peter really this pissed about that bread-and-circuses crack he'd made about the national pastime?

Apparently Peter just wanted to make his point. "It's an argument, Sylar." He came to the base of the bed and looked down on him, waiting a beat while his temper cooled. "It's an argument. Sports are like a big argument. And there are rules for that, just like there are rules for when people have an argument."

Peter reached down and touched Sylar's foot, stroking slowly across the top of it. He watched how that touch made Sylar lift his chin and relax his mouth and take a deeper breath - all signs of receptiveness, even if his face was otherwise still angry. Peter put his knee on the bed, using the telekinesis to spread Sylar's legs in front of him. Sylar blinked several times and his face lost the anger. So it's foreplay. It was working.

Peter said more softly, "We have to know how to disagree. We have to know how to argue and how far we can push each other. We have to be able to trust each other to follow the rules, because we're on a team, Sylar - you and me. You're not alone anymore." He climbed on the bed and released the telekinesis.

"Actually I kind of liked that, Peter. You want to do it that way?" Sylar asked in a completely different tone of voice, an eager passion making his voice deeper. He felt the unseen force creep over him again.

"You like that?" Peter asked, making sure it was the TK he was asking for.

Sylar nodded, making a mental note to save arguments about baseball for when he wanted really, really hot sex. Baseball. I would have never guessed. Peter reached up and pulled off his shorts, bringing his legs together enough to get them off, then spreading Sylar again. He shed his own clothes and climbed on the bed. Sylar jerked at his invisible restraints. Peter looked him over to be sure he was only testing and not freaking out, but Sylar seemed very happy about his situation.

"Now where was I?" Peter said, leaning over Sylar's stomach and licking the soft skin under his belly button. "Oh yeah. It's the principle of the thing. We don't exist on this world so we can beat each other up. We're here to be together." He ran his tongue into the divot of Sylar's navel, licking at it and enjoying how Sylar twitched with each probe of his tongue.

After a bit of that, he went on, "Sports are just like any other social interaction. We set up rules so we won't get hurt, so we," he licked down one side of Sylar's shaft, making him mewl with pleasure, "so we can do this over and over. So we're not killing each other, so we're not tearing each other up." He licked up the other side.

Peter raised himself and called the personal lubricant he'd added to the supplies list. Sylar had seen it when they'd unpacked and had been unsure whether to be embarrassed or pleased. He'd settled on both. Now Peter slicked his fingers and rubbed them into Sylar's ass, being a little sloppy with it as he watched his partner's face, watched him blink and shift and breathe faster. Peter pulled his fingers away without inserting anything. He smiled a little because Sylar looked disappointed.

Peter crawled up his body, starting at his navel again and working up, giving light kisses and tastes followed by nips. He nuzzled one nipple, teasing over it without quite touching it with his tongue or lips. Sylar pulled harder against the force that held him spread-eagled on the bed. He threw his head back and fought it with every muscle in his body, pulling for all he was worth in one hard effort after another. He wasn't squirming, just pulling. Peter leaned up and studied his face again, but Sylar was reveling in the confinement.

"It's not a performance art," Peter said, reaching up to roll Sylar's nipple between his thumb and forefinger, watching how it came erect and stood up from his chest like a tiny nub. "Or maybe it is, but it's an interaction. We're learning from each other. We're playing with each other. We don't have to hurt. I'm not saying there isn't a point to winning and the goal of the contest isn't for one side to win and the other lose, but there is a point that who wins and who loses isn't as important as the game itself." He kissed Sylar's chest and looked up at him. "Do you see that?"

"Peter, I agree with anything and everything you want me to agree with right now." Sylar's voice was thick, his breathing hard.

Peter gave an 'oh well' expression and abandoned the lecture. He'd lost his audience and he had no one to blame for that but himself. So he put his mouth to Sylar's nipple, pressing his body to him lower down so Sylar's cock was digging into his stomach. He rocked himself against him, sucking hard. When he switched to the other side, he put his hand down between them and gently stroked himself first, then Sylar.

"Oh God." Sylar started shifting his hips into Peter's hand, then suddenly found himself locked down there too so he couldn't move at all. He whined in shameless need. He could only lie there and be caressed far too tenderly and slowly for his tastes. "Oh Peter… Peter… Can't you go a little faster?" he begged.

Peter lifted himself up, still playing almost idly with Sylar's member, which was rock hard. "I could, but I don't think that's what my master really wants me to do. You wouldn't be this hard if you didn't like it this way."

"I do, but…" Sylar just put his head back and whimpered.

Peter grinned and moved himself up so he could lick along that neck, abrading his tongue on the stubble. Another thing he'd added to the list, and had delivered, was a shaving razor and cream. They hadn't used it yet. Since it wasn't kind on the tongue, he went to biting, softly pulling at the skin with his teeth and letting it slip between them when he pulled away. He humped his groin slowly, teasingly, against Sylar's, making him whimper again and make another set of full-body efforts to break free.

"Oh God, Peter, I can't move."

"I know," Peter purred. He moved over Sylar's face and jerked his head back when Sylar tried to force a kiss on him. "No." Peter raised his brows and waited until Sylar put his head back, panting and flushed. Then he said, "Lie there quietly and I'll kiss you. Otherwise, you go without."

Sylar keened again with lust and arousal. Peter waited a moment more, letting Sylar's eyes plead for him, before bending to caress his lips with a bare brush of his own. Sylar shivered under him, his muscles pulling unevenly against the force. Peter kissed him again, but only let their lips touch, no more. He pulled back for a moment. Sylar's breathing was ragged, his eyes focused on something only he could see.

Peter let his tongue slather over Sylar's lips, tasting him. Sylar's mouth was open for him, beseeching and gasping. Peter finally turned his head and placed his firmly over the other man's, letting his tongue slide across the other. Hot semen spurted between them.

Peter pulled back. The orgasm was kind of surprising, because there was no jerking of the hips or other motion to indicate Sylar's passion. His eyes were rolled back some and his mouth slack, every muscle tense and now slowly relaxing. "Guess you really like that."

Sylar didn't say anything articulate. He just kept saying, "oh" over and over, panting. Peter rocked back on his knees and lifted Sylar's legs. He pulled over a pillow and jammed it under the other man's buttocks.

"You're…?" Sylar said, his tone questioning even if he couldn't get the query out. After a moment to catch his breath, he answered himself too with, "Yeah, please. Go ahead."

Peter moved into position. He'd relaxed nearly all the telekinesis, but Sylar was too spent to move. Peter said, "I love you," not just because he meant it, but to hear Sylar's tone and judge his mood when he replied.

Sylar nodded. "You too. God that was good."

Peter smiled and heard what he wanted to hear. He began to push himself against the other man. He'd lubed his member too. It pressed in and Sylar's body yielded uncertainly before him, relaxed for a moment, then tense, a moment of attempted relaxation, then tense again. Peter moved himself back and forth against Sylar, being patient.

After a moment, Sylar's brows knit and he looked up. "You're not… um. Why aren't you doing it?"

"I was hoping you'd help me out. I can push into you, but it will hurt."

"I'm not made of glass, Peter."

"I know. I don't fuck you to hurt you. Push down." He waited a moment, nudging Sylar's body until the other man found the right muscles to flex and let him in.

"Oh! Yeah, that kind of burns. Didn't so much last time."

"It's okay. I'm in. It'll fade. I'd worked you more with my fingers last time."

Sylar panted and nodded. "Did you mean all those things you said to Nathan about me?"

Peter grinned. "Insecure about your first time?" He pushed into him a little harder, a little faster, in short, shallow jerks.

"Uh… yeah."

"You were wonderful, Sylar. Everything I said about being with you was the truth. You don't see me having any problems right now, do you?"

"No. Just… worry. Ung."

Peter had got his whole length into him, which provoked a series of helpless noises and squirms from the other man. "This position lets me in deeper than I was last time. You'll get used to it. Try to ride it out. Let me drive. And let me know if it's too much." Sylar nodded and Peter started flexing back and forth, pumping into him in steady strokes. He clasped one of Sylar's thighs to himself, turning his head to kiss the leg, then lick it and bite. Sylar made a pleased, surprised noise and Peter started going into him harder still.

Peter let the sensation wash over him as he fucked Sylar. He drug his teeth along the leg he held and let it fold down his lip as he licked him and sucked him. He loved the taste. It was Sylar. Only Sylar. Every person tasted unique and this… he tasted of salt and sea and sand and sun, but most of all he tasted of Sylar. Peter buried himself inside the man time after time until he spasmed and came.

He relaxed and pulled out slowly. Sylar shuddered.

"Oh, that's the best part, I think."

"What?" Peter said, still a bit fogged.

"When you pull out. That's… great." Sylar gave him a very satisfied smile. "You can keep that leg if you want." Peter looked at the limb he was still hugging to himself. "You seem to have fallen in love with it. I'm pretty sure you've been cheating on me with it. You can marry it if you want, but we'll need to have an open relationship. You can have it on the weekends." He laughed. "I think…" He was still breathing a little harder than normal. "I think the analogy ran out on me."

"Ha. I think the analogy divorced you." Peter grinned and put Sylar's leg down carefully. From Sylar's wince, as Peter had expected, it cramped up when he lowered it. "Sorry."

"S'okay."

Peter readjusted the pillows, then crawled up next to Sylar and cuddled up to him. "Can I sleep next to you tonight?"

"Sure. Why not?" Sylar bit his tongue right after he said it, remembering that just the night before he hadn't been able to stand having Peter on him in bed, thinking too much of how Peter had held him back for a moment when the goon squad had broken into his apartment. Peter was silent. Sylar bent and placed a kiss on the top of Peter's head. "I forgive you. It's okay." After a moment he chuckled and said in a whisper, "You're a good slave."

Peter smiled, but he still didn't speak. He just hugged Sylar more firmly and let that say more than words. Eventually, they fell asleep.