Originally published: 12/27/09 on Livejournal. (See profile for links.)
Title: How Sylar Saved Christmas
Summary: Sylar needs a little gentle persuasion to be helpful at Christmas…
Spoilers: Up to and including The Fifth Stage in Season Four.
A/N: Complete and total Christmas porn!fluff. It was clawing its way out of me and I could not resist… And don't ask me how Sylar and Peter came to be permanent residents of the Carnival, much less how they got together. Didn't think that far ahead, it was just screaming to be written and I could not fight the fluff. Hope it is enjoyed anyway. (I tried so hard to get this written and posted by Christmas. Obviously did not happen, despite my efforts. In time for Boxing Day at least!)
It was official. The generator was broken. Sylar leaned against the doorjamb of their trailer as he watched half the carnival leaning over it, some fiddling with tools, other rearranging wires, and others just scratching their heads in puzzlement.
On the other end of the broken generator was a Christmas tree. It was huge, standing at least twenty feet tall and completely decked out in all the usual holiday swagger. Ornaments of every shape, size and color, strings of beads and popcorn, tinsel, and, of course, dozens of strings of tiny white lights.
It would look spectacular. If the generator worked.
"You could fix it."
It wasn't a question.
Sylar turned his head with a raised eyebrow as Peter came to stand beside him at the door.
It was Peter's turn to raise an eyebrow.
"But you're not going to?"
Sylar barely contained his amusement at Peter's irritated look.
"Why?" he demanded.
"No one's asked me to," Sylar replied with a shrug.
He couldn't help but grin cheekily at Peter's aghast expression.
Finally he just rolled his eyes and shook his head exasperatingly.
"And if I asked you to fix it?" he prompted.
"Hm… maybe," Sylar hummed thoughtfully, turning to face Peter fully now, back leaning against the doorframe casually.
"You mean to tell me," Peter replied with arched eyebrows, reaching us and leaning his hand on the doorframe beside Sylar's head, "that you would let all those poor, sweet children out there, who have poured their little hearts into decorating that tree, go disappointed on Christmas?"
"Everyone learns to live with disappointment," Sylar quipped as he let himself slide a little lower against the doorframe, legs splayed open slightly to shift his balance.
"You mean to tell me," Peter said, stepping closer between Sylar's open legs, forearm on the doorframe now, "that you would let those fine gentlemen out there continue to struggle with a piece of machinery that you could fix with practically a wave of your hand?"
"Maybe Santa will bring them a new one," Sylar shrugged, angling his head down slightly in order to more fully meet Peter's intent gaze.
"You mean to tell me," Peter began for a third time, tilting his head up farther toward Sylar's, their faces only inches apart, "that you'd let me be disappointed that you refused to help our family in its time of need, and at Christmas?" he whispered.
"Hm… well, now, I don't think I can allow that," Sylar murmured thoughtfully, "but I am curious if I will be somehow rewarded for this act of valor I will be performing…"
Peter grinned with a glint in his eye, "How about paid in advance?" he offered as he leaned up on his toes to press his lips against Sylar's.
Sylar hummed appreciatively as he wrapped his arms around Peter's waist and pulled him close, their kiss gentle and warm.
Peter in turn sank his fingers into Sylar's thick, soft hair as the other rested feather-light on Sylar's chest.
Sylar's hand slid up Peter's back until he was cradling his head gently, keeping the empath pressed close against him as their kiss deepened.
"We really should be a little more private about this," Peter pulled away enough to murmur, even as his fingertips traced Sylar's collarbones gently.
Sylar chucked as his hand slid downward from Peter's waist to slip into one of his back pockets, "Always the modest one," he grinned as he pulled Peter's hips forward into his with a suggestive grind.
"Sylar," Peter chastised quietly, pulling back enough to look him in the eyes with raised eyebrows, palm pressed more firmly against his chest in a gentle attempt to detach them.
Sylar just smiled that Cheshire cat grin of his again before straightening against the doorframe and letting Peter step away from him.
Peter grinned sweetly and casually stuffed his hands in his pockets as he knowingly sauntered toward their bedroom. Sylar enjoyed the sight of watching him go for a moment before following, the door sliding shut and the curtain falling closed telekinetically behind him.
Peter crawled onto the bed and stretched out comfortably on his back across it, still fully clothed, fingers sliding through his long bangs to brush them away from his face.
Sylar stopped just short of the bed to look down at him for a moment, take in the small, elegant angles of his delicate chest and narrow hips; the angelic face that was looking so warmly up at him, expectant, waiting. His.
"Coming?" Peter asked with a gentle smile.
Sylar smiled affectionately back as he crawled onto the bed after him, immediately pulling him close and kissing his mouth lovingly.
"Just admiring you," he murmured as he traced his thumb across Peter's jaw to his mouth, gentling sliding the pad across his bottom lip tenderly.
"Kiss now, admire later," Peter replied sweetly.
Sylar grinned as he obliged, pressing his lips gently back to Peter's as their hands explored lazily.
Peter hands slipped under Sylar's shirt, tracing the planes of his stomach and chest sensually. Sylar's chest hair prickled against his palms and Peter smiled into Sylar's kiss.
He traveled lower, until he hit the top of Sylar's jeans. He splayed his hands on his hips and hooked his thumbs just under the waistband, pressing gently on the spot just inside each of his hipbones.
Sylar's gave a shuttering gasp and a choked sound as his hands grabbed Peter's in a tight grip.
"I hate it when you do that," Sylar growled and Peter just grinned as he threw one leg over him and used his weight to push the taller man onto his back and straddle his hips.
"Can't help myself," he smirked in reply, "I love how you react."
Sylar just harrumphed in response, even as he brought Peter's hands up to his mouth, laying a kiss across each knuckle. He placed Peter's hands against his chest, palms down as his own hands covered them, his thumb caressing the backs gently.
Peter leaned down to kiss him before letting his mouth travel lower, down Sylar's neck and between their splayed hands.
"You're wearing too many clothes," Sylar declared before promptly grabbing the hem of Peter's shirt and pulling it up.
Peter was more than happy to help him wrestle it over his head and toss it to the floor. Sylar wasted no time running his palms up Peter's smooth chest, fingers tracing every dip and curve of muscle and skin, watching the empath's eyes fall closed in pleasure.
His finger ghosted over Peter's throat, tracing the delicate air passage from the small hollow between his collarbones, over his Adams apple and to the underside of his chin.
"So beautiful," Sylar breathed, sliding his hand behind Peter's head to slip through the silky hair.
Peter blushed prettily, tracing the back of his knuckles down Sylar's arm, following the veins only just visible under his skin before leaning down to kiss him again, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt with practiced ease.
He pushed it open, hands sliding over the broad chest and lower, deftly undoing the button and zipper of Sylar's jeans and slipping inside.
Sylar gave a breathy moan when Peter's hand wrapped around him and began stroking with a tight, slow rhythm.
"Clothes off," he demanded, and Peter chuckled.
"Yes sir," he replied cheekily as he slid to the side to undo his own jeans and watch Sylar slip out of his, before all the garments were pushed off the bed and into a heap on the floor.
Peter slid over him again and reached for the lubricant on the shelf above their bed. Sylar watched with shallow breath as Peter poured some of the slick lube into his hand and reached between them to prepare himself.
Sylar's breath left him with a trembling sigh when Peter looked at him with lust blown eyes, lids heavy and panting shallow.
"Peter," he breathed as his palms pressed to Peter's thighs and traveled up to his hips, holding him steady when Peter began to tremble.
He reached for the lube again and filled his palm a second time to slick Sylar up, making him pant and bite his lip in anticipation. Finally Peter reached for a tissue and cleaned his hand before pressing the tip of Sylar's hard length at his entrance.
"Ready?" he murmured heatedly as he braced one hand against the wall and the other on Sylar's firm shoulder.
"Please," was all he needed to reply before Peter began his slow slide down onto Sylar's cock, taking his time, making them both feel every tight inch.
"Fuck," Sylar groaned, grip tightening on Peter's hips and all he wanted to do was to pull him down, thrust his hips up and take. Instead he gripped Peter's hips tighter and grit his teeth and just let himself feel.
Finally their bodies met and Peter held still, shuddering and panting above him as his body involuntarily tightened and spasmed around the hot shaft buried inside him.
He started rocking his hips slowly, slowly, angling his body just so until he was rubbing right there. Where pleasure burst like a supernova and it was almost too much and not enough.
Sylar groaned and panted and just held on, jerking tight little thrusts up into him until he fully began to move, raising his hips and sinking back down again as his head fell back in pleasure and a pink flush began to creep across his chest.
Sylar watched with heavy lidded eyes as Peter began to come undone, his grip on his shoulder tightening and breathy moans escaping his lips.
"Peter," he said hoarsely and Peter looked down at him heatedly.
"Peter," he breathed again. Peter smiled and leaned down to kiss him, tongue thrusting sweetly into his mouth like a sinful mimicry of the thrusts of their hips.
Sylar moaned as he released his grip on Peter's hip and reached for his cock instead, pumping him tightly in rhythm with their increasingly harder thrusts.
Peter breathed a delicate, high-pitched sound of pleasure and it nearly undid him, hips thrusting almost frantically up into Peter's tight opening and he was thrusting down just as desperately, riding the knife's edge of pleasure and pain.
"I can't… uh! Go fast enough…" he breathed against Sylar's lips and in an instant Peter was on his back under him, Sylar jerking roughly between his thighs and gripping him almost too tight, but it was too, too good…
"Sylar. Gabriel," Peter breathed his name like it was beautiful and sacred and it was the final push over the edge into oblivion. He came with a panted cry that sent Peter flying after him into bliss, holding him tight as his back arched and white spilled between their bodies.
Peter trembled in the afterglow, Sylar's body hot and heavy on top of his, forehead resting against the pillow right beside him, breath panting warm in his ear.
Finally Sylar found the strength to slide to the side and curl against the smaller man among the rumbled sheets. They let themselves drift in the post-coital slumber as their breathing returned to normal and their heart rates finally came down.
Peter eventually turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and finally to his lips as Sylar let out a contented sigh and pulled him closer.
"The generator," Peter quietly reminded him and Sylar gave a little groan.
"Please," Peter pleaded sweetly in just the right tone, accompanied by another gentle kiss.
Sylar sighed heavily but hauled himself out of bed anyway to clean up and redress.
"Love you," Peter sing-songed at him with a silly grin and Sylar couldn't help but return the gesture before ruffling the empath's hair fondly.
"You're lucky you're cute Petrelli."
Peter watched with amusement as Sylar grumbled and tsked about the mess they'd made of the generator, even as the parts gracefully began to rearrange and repair themselves with a flick of Sylar's hand.
They were alone beside the dark Christmas tree, the other's having given up over an hour ago.
Suddenly the generator sprang to life, humming efficiently as gears started turning and mechanisms whirling and the tree illuminated brightly, filling up the entire site with its white, beautiful glow. Sylar stoop up and shut the door of the generator before stepping back with Peter to admire the glowing branches.
All around them their fellow Carnival folk started to emerge, "ooos" and "ahhs" filling the air with wonder.
Peter slid his arm around Sylar's waist and looked up at him, face seeming even more angelic in the tree's illumination.
"You did good, love," he smiled, "you did good."
Sylar swallowed hard at the lump in his throat from Peter's look of glowing adoration and his heart tightened. He put his arm protectively around his shoulders in return and leaned in to kiss him.
"Merry Christmas Peter," he whispered quietly against his lips.
"Merry Christmas Gabriel," Peter replied just as softly.