A moment of silence passed. Nathan's eyes turned from Sylar to Peter, who smiled coyly for him. Peter walked forward to his former lover and knelt in front of him. Sylar kicked him again, having no interest in this. "Get away from me," he hissed. Peter reached out and snagged the leg of his pajamas, then moved back in. When Sylar tried to kick him away once more, Peter fell back, pulling hard on the cloth and jerking the pants off. "Shit!" Sylar exclaimed. They were just pajama bottoms, with nothing but an elastic band to hold them on.
Peter smirked at him, balled up the fabric and tossed it aside.
"I will kick your fucking teeth in," Sylar ground out. He'd lost track of how much of this might be an act and how much wasn't. He didn't give much of a shit anyway. "There are some things I'd rather not live without and my dignity's one of them." Apparently, obviously, Peter did not share this opinion.
Nathan stood holding one elbow in one hand as the other hand caressed the corners of his mouth. He seemed intrigued and pleased by the dynamic. "We could always chain his legs down."
"No," Peter said, locking eyes with Sylar. "Let him kick me. I deserve it." Sylar exhaled sharply and looked away as Peter's words ran all through him. Peter reached out and touched his knee experimentally. Sylar didn't move. He wasn't sure if Peter deserved to be kicked or not, but when Peter put it that way, he couldn't do it. Peter scooted forward and pushed Sylar's knees apart.
"Peter, don't do this, please," Sylar said, low and quiet. He was fairly sure Nathan could hear him anyway, but he wasn't talking to him. He was talking to Peter.
"Nathan's asked me to. You know I have to. That's how it is," Peter replied, looking over at Nathan. One corner of Nathan's mouth curled upwards. Peter turned back. He reached up and caressed the side of Sylar's face and for a moment, it was like there was no one else in the room except one another. Sylar shut his eyes and Peter moved closer, his body against the chair. He gingerly unbuttoned the pajama top and neatly spread it to the sides, minimizing the mess.
He stroked Sylar's face again and leaned in to kiss him. Sylar shook his head, breathing harder. He was getting aroused despite himself and he hated it. Peter chased his mouth determinedly. Sylar considered head butting him. The only thing that stopped him was the impression that Peter would continue no matter what he did to hurt him.
"Let me. Let me, Sylar." Peter whispered.
"My mouth is nasty. I don't think you have any idea how much I'd just rather die." Sylar kept avoiding him.
"You don't get to die until Nathan lets you. That's how it is. Remember I mentioned the serum from Claire's blood? They'll just keep bringing you back."
Sylar stared at Peter, wondering how many times he'd been brought back. How many times do you have to die before you give up on trying to escape that way? Peter's lips closed over his. Sylar blinked and looked away, but he let Peter kiss him, lips shut. He looked past him, to see Nathan drop his hands to his sides, moving them restlessly and adjusting his pants.
Nathan said breathily, "Yeah, kiss him, Pete. You're always so sweet with them. So sweet."
Sylar twisted his head away as he realized the meaning of Nathan's words. How many people had Peter screwed on his brother's orders? His face was a mask as he regarded Peter, who began to work his way down. Peter spoke softly as he went, saying, "This is the easiest torture you're going to get. If you're lucky, it's the only one you'll get. Think about me, Sylar. Just me. No one else is in here. Just us. This is a game. The more you can put yourself in the game, the faster you'll come. And the faster you're done, the faster this is over. Do you understand?" He licked lightly at a nipple. "I'm trying to help you here."
Sylar groaned, caught between standing his metaphorical ground and doing what Peter was asking. Because he was right. He was going to come and then they were going to kill him. If he wanted to do anything meaningful with what was left of his life, then he needed to get loose and strike back at them.
He jerked his hands against the chair, rattling the chain noisily. He twisted his hand, trying to figure out how to unlock the cuffs without being obvious, using Peter's body as a shield, using his restless squirming as a cover. Peter's mouth had dropped to his groin, but his hands were still on the arms of the chair, laid over Sylar's, obscuring what Sylar was doing.
Peter's head bobbed up and down and Sylar found his concentration blown. "Peter… God… slower," he ground out and Peter obliged, though the thing that helped most was that Peter was trying to help. And he did what Sylar told him to, which, given the situation, was much more appreciated than normal. Sylar's ego had taken a bit of a beating lately and getting even a cooperative motion from Peter made him feel better.
Sylar turned one hand and wrapped it around Peter's arm, struggling against everything - the arousal, his frustration, the pain still surging in his gut and head and the distressing fact that his loins reacted to mechanical stimulation without his consent. He tried to block out everything and focus on just two things: how good it felt to have Peter with him, no matter what else was going on; and how to unlock these damn handcuffs.
Sylar gasped as Nathan startled him by walking up behind Peter. Truthfully, Sylar had more or less forgotten they were there. Certainly the things Peter was doing to him were distracting. Now he palmed the key quickly and hoped Nathan thought his shock was from something Peter did. Nathan dropped to his knees behind Peter and urged him to raise his rump. He stroked Peter's back, making him moan around Sylar's cock. To Sylar's embarrassment, his dick surged to full life at that.
He locked eyes with Nathan, who still had that infuriating smile on his face. He rubbed Peter's back, then pulled back with his nails, biting them in hard enough to leave marks. Peter made a stifled, but receptive-sounding cry. Adrenaline shot through Sylar hard enough to make him shake, but there was nothing to be done about it.
"This is my baby brother," Nathan said, watching Sylar's impotent fury. "He's sucking you because I told him to. If I tell him to bite your cock off, he'll do that too." He dropped one hand to Peter's ass and began to work it in that slow, steady manner of his. Peter made a noise and wiggled his ass. Sylar wanted to be losing his erection, but his body had other ideas as long as Peter's mouth was working him. Nathan went on, "He lets anyone fuck him that I tell him to let fuck him, but I didn't tell him to let you do it."
Peter moaned again and Sylar winced at the surge of arousal that sound provoked. He could care less for what Nathan was saying, but hearing it turn on Peter - or at least sound like it turned him on, went straight to him. Seeing the subtle motions of Peter's butt as it swayed in time with Nathan's fingers wasn't helping either. He could have done without having Nathan there, though.
Peter moved a hand to Sylar's cock and stroked as he lifted his head. Nathan didn't see the apologetic look he sent to Sylar. Then he looked back over his shoulder and said, "You know what Nate? I topped him last night."
Nathan jerked slightly, obviously startled by the news. "What?" He recovered his impassive demeanor quickly, but his breathing sped up.
"I fucked him in the shower."
"You…" Anger crept into Nathan's tone. "You said you couldn't, you little slut. All those therapists said you couldn't get it up anymore." Sylar blinked. Peter hadn't had the least problem with that – at least… not with him. He thought about saying this, just to piss Nathan off more, but decided to keep his mouth shut and leave the manipulation of Nathan Petrelli to the expert.
Peter gaped a grin at his brother. "Yeah. But I could for him. He was a virgin, Nate. I popped his cherry. And that was after I had my memories back." That apparently meant something to Nathan, because his features darkened and twisted. He opened his trousers and pulled out a disturbingly thick member. Sylar didn't get to see much of it though before he was burying it inside of Peter, who put his hands on Sylar's hips and arched his back, an expression of pain or concentration or both on his face. He braced himself against Sylar's body and let Nathan ride him hard.
Sylar watched Peter's face. He wasn't enjoying this. He was focused on it; he was working, but he wasn't enjoying it. Sylar had seen him enjoying sex and this wasn't it. Something eased in his chest at that.
After most of a minute passed, Peter started talking, telling Nathan how good it had been, how eager Sylar was, and how thorough a job he'd done in fucking him. Sylar, for his part, finally lost his erection and was grateful for that. He looked off to the side and watched a spot on the floor. Voyeurism had never done it for him. It was bad enough having Peter rocking into him with every thrust and grunting when Nathan was especially vigorous.
While he wanted to be pissed at Peter, everything Peter was saying was highly complimentary to him. Nathan was clearly enraged by it and he pounded Peter's ass with a singular attention. Sylar wished very hard he didn't have to be involved so intimately in this. He wanted to scrub off the skin where Peter was touching him - not so much because Peter was touching him, but because another man was having sex with him while he touched him.
Peter pulled back a little and looked down at Sylar's wilted member. "He's spent," he announced. "And I want more. Blake?" He looked back at the man, who had been standing there staring, lightly rubbing his groin, for some time.
"You insatiable wretch," Nathan said, pulling out roughly and jerking Peter around by the shoulder. "You never get enough, do you?" He shoved him in the direction of the couch and moved to it, giving some quick directions. Peter shuffled around, not going quite where he was supposed to the first time. Nathan slapped him for his misunderstanding. Peter accidentally kicked over the nitrous canister. It rolled over towards Sylar and bumped up against his foot. He blinked at it, remembering that look Peter had given him earlier - what seemed like hours before, but was probably only thirty minutes ago.
When he looked up, Peter was bent over the arm of the couch with Blake beginning to screw him from behind and Nathan standing on the couch on his knees, putting his dick in Peter's mouth. Which was pretty gross, given that said organ had been in Peter's ass moments before. Of course, Peter had kissed Sylar and Sylar had vomited less than an hour previously. He could understand why Peter might have some performance issues. If he ever got together with Peter again, he would have performance issues. Of course, he was planning on killing himself, so that wasn't much of a problem. That was so certain in his mind that he didn't even dwell on it.
He shuddered at the sight though. One thing was for sure, both men were thoroughly distracted now and Peter had managed to move them away from Sylar. He looked over at Trevor, who was entirely facing away, earphones installed, head bobbing slightly to music. Sylar was vaguely relieved that not everyone around here was into this. He twisted his hand back and nearly fumbled the key.
It felt like his heart stopped. It started beating again as he got a better grip on the slender key. He was not going to end his life like this - shackled to a chair and listening to his… (he finally decided that lover wasn't an inappropriate term) lover be virtually raped by a pair of sadistic brutes. He was going to do something with the rest of his life. He unlocked the cuff and slowly worked it open.
He looked at Trevor again. He'd have one chance at this – just one. He looked back at Blake, who had merely opened his pants, not dropped them. His weapons were still easy to hand and Nathan might be packing too. He wished he'd paid more attention when Nathan had been so close, fucking Peter. Of course, he hadn't been all that interested in watching. But did it even matter? Well, given that according to Peter, Nathan would just have him revived if he tried to suicide… then yeah, it did matter. They had to carry through.
He picked up the canister with an easy, unhurried motion, then sprinted towards Trevor with the cylinder held high. There was a shout behind him, but Trevor didn't stir. He had the music cranked enough that he wouldn't hear a single cry of passion - or a yell of warning. When the heavy metal object hit him, it made a sickening crunch. Sylar'd smashed enough skulls to know that was instantly fatal. Probably a better death than Trevor deserved, if this is the sort of thing he's been turning a blind eye and deaf ear to.
He turned back to see that Peter was already struggling with Blake, a gun in his hand. Nathan grabbed Peter from behind, getting a half-Nelson on him. Sylar charged and Nathan failed to disentangle himself fast enough to dodge. Sylar slammed the canister into him and felt a satisfying crack of Nathan's upper arm breaking. Nathan fell back, stumbling on the couch and falling. The gun went off between Peter and Blake.
Sylar didn't bother to look. It didn't really matter. He swung the canister into Nathan twice more, crushing part of his face and hitting a more glancing blow off his shoulder. He probably wasn't dead, but he was out of the fight for good. There was another gunshot and a grunt, then two more shots in quick succession. Sylar spun. For a moment it was difficult to tell who'd been hit, then Blake crumpled and fell. Peter staggered back, blood running down his leg from being shot in the thigh. It was coming out fast. It must have hit the artery.
Sylar stared at him blankly, unsure of what to do now. There were shouts from the hallway outside, but for the moment, no one opened the door. Peter clawed at the back of his head. "Help me. Noah won't hold them for long. Get his knife." He pointed at Blake. Sylar complied. Peter glanced back at Nathan to make sure he wasn't an issue, then pointed at the back of his own head. "Pry that thing out. It's going to hurt like hell and tear me up. Do it anyway. I'll heal. Cut it out if you have to." Peter was pale and starting to shake. Blood surged from his body.
Sylar pushed Peter's head down and put the tip of the knife to edge of the device. He hesitated. If he did it, Peter would get his powers back. Sylar's would still be gone. He'd been used. Peter had manipulated him like a tool, a weapon, or maybe just a distraction, to get his brother. And now he was done. It was over, once Peter had his powers back. Peter was shaking harder, slipping rapidly into shock. Sweat broke out across his skin.
"I love you, Sylar," he hissed out, fully aware that Sylar was standing there doing absolutely nothing, probably also aware that Sylar was considering that he didn't have to do this. If he wanted to make a murder-suicide, this was his chance.
It had been nice while it lasted, Sylar reflected. Even if 'while it lasted' had only been a few days. He made up his mind. "I love you too, Peter."
He tore out the inhibitor. Peter fell forward, clutching at the back of his head. It would take him a handful of seconds, maybe even half a minute, to heal. Sylar looked at the knife and felt almost like he wasn't in his own body. He was watching himself from the outside.
Everything was surreal and distant. The knife was sharp. It had Peter's blood on it. He tasted it. It tasted good. He shifted his grip on it, put the point of it to the side of his neck, and jammed it in. He jerked it forward in an almost convulsive action, and collapsed dead to the floor.