Title: Peripety

Rating: NC-17

Characters: Peter, Sylar (both Season One, immediately following Landslide.

Warnings: Explicit, consensual sex; a little rough-housing; first time.

Summary: In Boom Boom, Sylar was approached by Future!Peter and lured into having sex with him. Future!Peter left, making ambiguous comments about how he hoped things would be different now. Sylar, blown away by it all and full of unanswered questions, seeks out the Peter Petrelli of his timeline, hoping to find answers.

Notes: Italics are thoughts, except for the Wikipedia quote.

"Peripety is a sudden reversal dependent on intellect and logic… a reversal of circumstances, or turning point. The term is primarily used with reference to works of literature." - Wikipedia

It wasn't hard to find Peter's apartment. The young man had never had any reason to hide and Sylar had become fairly skilled recently at finding people. When no one answered to his knock, he plied the locks with telekinesis. It took longer than he wanted, but no one disturbed him in the hall. He slipped into Peter's home, locking the door behind himself.

The place was empty, as he'd expected from the lack of answer. He prowled around, looking it over. He'd been in a few people's homes recently and it was intriguing to see how other people lived. Some were sloppy, disgustingly slovenly to the point that Sylar didn't mind killing them and he did so quickly so as to get out of there faster. Others were cleanly and met with his approval.

Peter was somewhere in between. He left a lot of things out rather than putting them away, like leaving his toothbrush on the counter with the toothpaste. Sylar brushed his fingers across them, resisting the urge to put the toothbrush in the holder or the tube of paste in the drawer.

The main reason Peter's place wasn't a mess was because he didn't have much stuff in it. He had a dozen CDs (which Sylar perused with interest – they had similar tastes) and a player, but no stacks of scores or hundreds like most music aficionados would. He didn't have a DVD player or even a television and as such no entertainment center or devices. He didn't even have a computer, which Sylar found sort of astonishing. He had some books, but about half of them were boring medical texts. There was a Bible and a few well-worn science fiction books. There were no magazines, no newspaper, although he did have a small stack of unpaid bills in a basket under the mail slot. Sylar flipped through them and put them down on the counter.

Sylar wondered what the guy did for a good time. He seemed kind of tightly wound and that was coming from Sylar. He didn't find anything in the nightstands – no toys, no condoms, no lube… not even lotion. There was at least a box of tissues. He knelt next to the bed and looked under it. Surely Peter had some sort of guilty pleasure. Ah-hah! A box. He pulled it out. The creases of the cardboard lid told him it had been opened many times. He pulled it off, expecting porn.

It was comic books. Well, maybe they were just on top, he reasoned and sorted through them. Nope. Comic books all the way down. This was Peter's dirty secret, what he kept in a well-used box under his bed, right at the edge and up near the front, where they'd be easy to snag when he was laying down? Sylar wondered what that said about him, but his musings were interrupted by the sound of keys in the locks.

He replaced the box and stepped to the side so he couldn't be seen. He heard Peter come in, a few steps, a whump, a clatter and the sound of falling paper. A muffled curse. Sylar leaned out just enough to see. Sometimes enhanced hearing was annoying in that he heard things, but couldn't divine what had caused it. His curiosity overcame him.

Peter had thrown his satchel on the counter and knocked off the bills. They hadn't been there before. Sylar recalled with perfect clarity that he hadn't set them down where he'd picked them up. Now Peter frowned at them, a puzzled expression on his face. After a moment he shrugged and tossed them back in the basket and relocked the door. He walked over and pulled out the phone book, flipping through it while he got out his cell. Sylar listened as he called a rental car company and made arrangements. Then he called Claire and told her he'd pick her up in an hour and a half. He called Nathan and told him he'd meet him in two hours at a parking garage.

After that was done, Peter turned around and leaned against the counter. His shoulders slumped and he put a hand to his face, covering it as his body sagged inward. His hand was shaking. Peter looked at that and grimaced, balling up his fist. He put his hands on the counter on either side of him and sighed. He looked the very picture of exhaustion and worry.

Just three days before, Sylar had killed this man – held him against the wall, hand to his throat and cut his head open only to see it heal before his very eyes. And just hours earlier someone very like this person had sought him out, provoked him and let himself be taken, before vanishing back to wherever he'd come from. Sylar had to have this.

He stepped out of the bedroom. Peter's head snapped up and he suddenly came alert. Sylar didn't give him a chance to do anything but plaster a shocked look on his face before seizing him with telekinesis and throwing him against his own door, hard. It was probably the sturdiest thing in the place. Peter tried to leap to his feet and escape, but Sylar drug him back against the door and up the wall slightly. This time he was careful to lock down Peter's hands, preventing a counter attack from telekinesis like what had happened last time.

He waited a beat, cautious. That last time had been far too close. He had been lucky Mohinder had taken Peter and fled, without sparing the time to finish him off. Peter's eyes flashed, his head whipping back and forth as he struggled in vain to free his hands. Sylar waited, studying him. He wasn't a bad looking man. In fact, most people, Sylar included, would have found such a face attractive.

Mentally Sylar compared it with and without scar, but it wasn't just the scar that was different. This Peter was angry, afraid, and open. His emotions rode near the surface and he had no reticence about letting them show. He wasn't the closed book the other man had been. There was no sardonic mockery here and far less self-assurance. This Peter's nostrils were flaring, his lips set together in determination, his skin slightly flushed from the excitement. He had stopped trying actively to get away, accepting that for the moment, that was futile. He was staring at the killer instead.

Sylar stepped forward, closing the distance between them to an unusual proximity. Peter's eyes dropped briefly when Sylar got that close, noting the positions of his hands and his posture before going back to his face. Concern and worry flitted across Peter's face, along with confusion and fear.

Sylar smiled. "So we meet again, for the fourth time."

Peter blinked. "Third."

"No. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" He reached out and laid his hand on Peter's shoulder very deliberately. It was wonderful to be this in control of someone – to have them at his disposal to touch or not touch as he wished. Peter's head and eyes jerked down to that hand with an angry curl of his lip. Sylar rubbed him gently, thrilled at the so-clear play of emotions as Peter's expression changed to confusion again.

He thought about those comic books – heroes, villains, tragedy and victory. It was all so black and white, but Sylar had never lived in a world like that. He'd never had the luxury of seeing things so clearly. He supposed it was fitting that his last name had been Grey. He moved his hand from the shoulder to Peter's cheek, provoking more than confusion. Peter's breath sped up admirably and his mouth opened. He swallowed and tensed, eyes darting between that hand and Sylar's face, trying to fathom his intent.

Sylar leaned forward slightly and Peter's brows climbed his forehead. Sylar paused halfway to kissing him. "May I?"

"Y-y-you're asking?" Peter stammered, flummoxed. "No!" He started struggling against his bonds again. Sylar sighed and leaned back, dropping his hand and standing at rest until Peter calmed down a little. His eyes were running up and down Sylar's body, alarm etched in his features.

Sylar hadn't really been expecting that. He asked, "What should I do with you?" It wasn't rhetorical. He was honestly asking.

Peter looked back and forth between his eyes, gaze dancing over Sylar's face, trying to take in his meaning. "L-l-let me go?"

Sylar's brows drew together as he considered that. "Only if you stay here."

"O… kay."

Sylar took a step back and chewed his lip indecisively, which was very unlike him, but he really didn't know what he was doing here. Maybe Peter could tell him. "And you can't attack me."

"I… 'kay." Peter looked incredulous and hopeful about where this was going.

Comic books. Peter detected that thought and the intent and uncertainty behind it, but Sylar didn't know that. He said, "You have to promise me. Give me your word."

Peter's breathing slowed and calmed even more as he regarded Sylar with slightly narrowed eyes. He took a few deep breaths and seemed to get his bearings. Sylar cocked his head at that. Asking for his word would have meant nothing to Sylar, except that whoever was asking it was an idiot. Obviously, it meant something to Peter and he was taking it seriously.

Peter swallowed and said, "Okay. I'll stay here while you're here and I won't attack you, if you don't attack me." He pressed his lips together and gave an angry jerk against the telekinesis, but he finished, saying, "You have my word."

"Okay then." Sylar nodded and let him down gradually, waiting for Peter to slam him back into something like he had before. Peter looked angry, really angry, but he merely rubbed his hands together to get the circulation going in them again. He edged around Sylar so he was a bit further away from him.

"What do you want?" Peter asked.

Sylar looked away from him at that, almost embarrassed. Sex? Explanations? That guy with the scar was you

Peter tilted his head. The thoughts he was unable to shut out made no sense at all, so he moved along to the most important thing: "You were going to blow up New York."

"No, I was going to stop you from blowing up New York."

Peter looked down at his hands, then up at Sylar. "I'm…"

"I saw it with that painter's ability. It's the future." A Peter from the future who had a scar across his face and came back through time so he could have sex with me… What the hell does that mean? He said he was trying to change things.

"Change things? Change what things?"

Sylar's expression jerked to surprised, but he made sense instantly of the fact that Peter could hear his thoughts. "How can you do that? You're not like me. I can see that." I've never run into anyone else who had more than one ability.

"It's what I do." Peter drew himself up slightly. Then he said, "And you came here to have sex with me?"

"Well…" Sylar looked around, feeling some gesture of violence was necessary because Peter had turned him down and he needed to assert his masculinity.

Peter interrupted him before he could make that thought a reality. "Please! No. Don't." He held up a hand at Sylar, who looked at Peter and then looked down, features relaxing, becoming uncertain, almost timid. If he couldn't lash out, he wasn't sure what to do. A whole lifetime of submission flashed in his mind, but now that he had this ability, that was over. Or… it should be. Peter said softly, "It's okay."

When it seemed like Sylar wasn't going to do anything rash, Peter sat down on the couch and ran his hand through his hair, combing it out of his face. "You… Let me… Can I go back a little here to something you thought earlier?"

"Okay." Sylar stood there in the middle of Peter's living room, feeling ill at ease and like he didn't belong there.

"I… someone who said they were me, from the future, came to you to…" He made a general gesture, making it clear there was a word or even a phrase on the end of that sentence that he wasn't willing to verbalize.


"And… you did?"

"Yes." Sylar smiled suddenly, even as he tried to fight the expression off his face. It was good. I'd never... The weird connection he'd felt was in his mind, like there was someone else out there for him, like someone else mattered in the world, that someone else would reach out to him, wanted him, had sought him out… but left him. It was confusing.

"And you came here for me because…?"

A variety of insecure responses ran through Sylar's mind, each more violent than the next: telling Peter to go fuck himself, hitting him with telekinesis, taking him by force, cutting his head open and taking his abilities, or some combination. Peter stood from the couch and closed the distance to him immediately, pressing his lips to Sylar's surprised mouth. His eyes were open and the two men watched each other, otherwise still.

Sylar remembered the feel of Future Peter pushing back into him, free from the telekinesis and how Sylar had felt when he realized the man was there because he wanted to be, not because he was forcing him. He didn't deny the frisson of holding him against his will, but the other was even more delicious, warmer, like the heat he'd felt from Peter's body as they'd fought and wrestled. He knew now the man had been playing with him. He moved his mouth gently against this Peter's, feeling awkward and uncomfortable about it, but wanting it.

As if he realized his thoughts, which Sylar figured he probably did, Peter brought a hand up Sylar's side and stroked him encouragingly. Peter tilted his head a little and their lips pressed into one another. Sylar moved his hand up to the back of Peter's head, touching it tentatively. Peter shut his eyes. His tongue touched Sylar's lip, causing him to jerk back. After a moment, and at exactly the right moment, Peter leaned in and renewed the kiss.

Sylar relaxed into it, trying to let the moment happen, cradling Peter's head with one hand while his other rested on his hip. He hadn't exchanged this sort of intimacy with the other Peter (hell, he'd never done it with another man). He wasn't real sure why this Peter was extending it to him. On the heels of that thought, Peter broke from him and whispered against his mouth, "Because you need it."

One of Peter's hands came up to touch his cheek fleetingly, carefully – small touches that Sylar wasn't sure what to do about. They felt good. Peter touched him more confidently as he thought that and he smiled. You hear me.

"Yeah, I do."

I wish I had that ability.

"If you attack me, this is going to go bad really fast and you'll never get this moment back." Peter kissed him again, softening what might otherwise sound like a threat.

I know. Sylar's kisses trailed off across Peter's cheek, his hand turning Peter's head so he could lip down to where his jawbone met his ear. His tongue flicked out and tasted Peter's earlobe and he was gratified to hear Peter's breath catch. He did it again, then sucked the bit of flesh into his mouth and worried it between his lips.

"Oh!" Peter breathed and pressed against him. Sylar slipped his other hand, almost instinctively, up from Peter's hip and around his back, holding him to him. He enjoyed that feeling. It was like the girls he'd hugged and held to himself, except that Peter's body was much firmer. It was a sort of touch he hadn't had in years, though he'd been tempted a few times since he'd gained his ability. He'd never carried through though.

So much had been happening and for so long now it seemed like he'd been a slave to his Hunger. This… this was something that would supplant that. He knew it now that he had it. He couldn't put words to his understanding, but intuitively he knew it was true. Peter began to move shift his hips against him slowly, rubbing himself.

Sylar moved his attentions down Peter's neck, slowly, carefully following the line of muscle. In his mind he tried to express his inexperience with this, hoping Peter would hear his thoughts and spare him the embarrassment of saying it out loud. He hadn't even been with very many girls – never with a man, except Future Peter and that… it hadn't started out as something where he'd cared about Peter's pleasure. And if you laugh at me, I'll kill you.

Peter's rubbing missed a beat for a moment, then continued as Sylar nibbled on his collarbone, reaching up to delicately move his shirt out of the way. Peter said, "Then I suppose it would make you feel better to know I haven't either."

You haven't been with a man? His mind went to the absence of sexual paraphernalia and he wondered if Peter meant he'd never been with a woman either.

"No, I've been with women. And I've given men blow jobs a few times. But never… what you want to do."

"Oh," Sylar said, straightening. His lips quirked nervously and he ran his fingers through Peter's hair, brushing it back restlessly. "Heh." He laughed a little, uncertain and awkward. I hardly know you.

"That's never stopped me in the past. And it didn't stop you earlier with that other me."

Oh. Um. His mind stuttered, unable to continue.

Peter chuckled a little. "I don't want to stop now either." He reached up and started unbuttoning Sylar's shirt.

We're… really going to…?

"You already did, didn't you?"

Well, yeah, but that was different.

"Okay, but unless Future Me shows up and gives some advice, I think you and I are going to have to figure it out ourselves." Peter shrugged as he pulled Sylar's shirt off him and admired a surprisingly fit chest and stomach. "Besides, maybe this is how you stop me from blowing up the city."

He thought about the quiet desperation that had been in Peter's body language after he got off the phone. His intuitive aptitude turned over the problem. He gave a single nod, needing to say nothing else. Both saw this would solve Peter's issue as clearly as it would salve Sylar's.

Peter pulled his t-shirt off over his head. Sylar ran his fingers up the nurse's body, tracing his skin and thinking about how scarred the other Peter had been, how unblemished this one was. Maybe if we do this, it will be the change the other was trying to make and… I don't know. Maybe everything will be better. I sort of had the impression I was the one who gave him those scars – some future version of me.

"Maybe. We can change the future." Peter put his arms around Sylar's neck and pulled him down into another long, slow kiss. Sylar ran his fingers up and down Peter's smooth back, touching and exploring. Peter began his own exploration, touching his tongue to Sylar's lips again. This time Sylar didn't pull away. He opened his mouth and hesitated. With a woman he'd been more certain of his role. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do here and while he considered that, Peter's tongue slid ticklishly past his lips, flicking over the top and then the bottom, touching against his teeth.

Sylar held Peter tighter. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable in the front of his jeans, unnecessarily constrained. He was also getting more and more aware of Peter's hardness in the same area. He considered this issue, but he didn't want to stop kissing to do anything about it. He was happy with where his hands were, so he directed his ability address it. Peter grunted, but was unsurprised when his jeans opened themselves and slid down. Sylar's followed suit and they had to break apart at least for a moment to step free.

Sylar looked down almost shyly. He'd had no look at the other Peter. It had been dark and he hadn't cared. Now he did, remembering the feel of the other man's balls in his hand. This Peter blushed and looked away, then back in his own momentary examination. When he seemed to think Sylar had seen enough, he moved back to him, sliding his hands upwards from hips to just below Sylar's armpits, then moving them inward to stroke across his chest. He ran a thumb across Sylar's nipple, making him twitch. It was a good twitch. Peter smiled faintly and repeated.

We should… should we? Is this when? Or do we wait? He thought about Peter's bedroom and the bed.

"How the hell should I know, Sylar?" He looked up from his chest to his face. "Do you want to?"

"Yes." It's what I came here for. And… more… you… I don't know. He thought about that tenuous connection he'd felt. This Peter could snap that thread in an instant. Instead, he led Sylar to his bedroom.

Peter sat on the bed. It was a little low to the floor for leaning over it, but fine for what Peter was more familiar with doing. He drew Sylar forward and lowered his face towards his groin. Sylar pulled away suddenly. Wait! "What are you doing?" Oral sex probably… maybe… sensitive there… need to know.

Peter smiled up at him disarmingly. "Do you want a blow job?"

"Maybe." Kind of rather have sex.

"You can have both."

"Hm." Already came once tonight. No way I'll make it three times. Twice maybe.

Peter leaned in again. He hesitated, though the reason for that was unclear. He sat back up. "Okay, don't take this wrong, alright?"

Wrong? What? Is there something wrong with me? What is it?

"You need to go clean up. You were with him just a few hours ago."

Oh. "Erm." Sylar hooked a thumb at Peter's bathroom and Peter nodded. Sylar went, wet a washcloth and cleaned himself – thoroughly. When he came out, he apologized, "Sorry. Really. I should have thought…" I don't know. I didn't think. What a way to have a first time. Dirty.

"It's okay. Now you're fresh and clean. That's great. But I still want a condom."

You have condoms?

Peter walked past him into the bathroom, got into the medicine cabinet and came back with a packet. The running commentary of Sylar's thoughts was intriguing and kind of funny.


Peter returned and took his seat on the bed again. He reached out slowly, looking up, watching Sylar's face. Sylar was watching Peter's hand. Even so, he jerked a little when Peter touched him, but Peter didn't draw back. Sylar didn't want him to. The brushing, barely-there touch was exquisite. Peter smiled, slowly stroking him with only his fingertips, his eyes still locked on Sylar's face, exploring by touch. He moved his hand in a little, putting more fingertips on him and around him, pressing slightly, squeezing and rubbing.

That's nice, I like that, thank you, oh god you're reading my mind, what the fuck am I supposed to think while you do this?

"What you're thinking is perfectly fine."

Is there a way for you to stop that? It's embarrassing.

Peter grinned. "I could try, but honestly, why would I?"

Sylar's mouth opened and shut. Peter slid his hand around his member and moved it up and down in easy, regular motions. Oh god that feels good, stroke me, harder, yes, perfect, that's great, soft, your hands are soft, you're handsome, your eyes… brown? Hazel? Nice eyes. Nice eyes. Oooh that feels good, up and down, more. More. Yes, more, damnit, I know you're… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that, thought that. I'm sorry?

Peter reached up with his free hand and petted Sylar's thigh reassuringly, then reached for the condom and opened the foil packet carefully. He unrolled it over Sylar's penis in textbook-perfect form.

Oh… feels… muffled. Good enough though. Oh wait… his mouth. Yes! Oh hot! Warm! Wet-ish. Sort of. Damn condoms. Better than not though. Peter?


Oh wow, that's good. Do that again.


Oh yes, please.


Thank you, thank you, thank you good… What the hell was I going to ask him? Doesn't matter. Good, that's good. Oh wow, good.

Peter pulled back and Sylar noticed he'd been stroking himself most of the time with his free hand. "You want in me?"

"Yes." Please. Of course. Duh. Sorry, reading my mind, right? Damn. Sorry.

"Okay." Peter grinned, relaxed and comfortable and it had the intended effect of putting Sylar a little more at ease.

Then there began the jockeying for position. First Peter turned around and bent over, hands on the bed. Sylar was a little too tall and anyway, as soon as he'd bent his knees to compensate Peter was climbing on the bed, hands and knees. "How's this?"

Sylar followed him. Now he was a little low. Peter kept presenting him with variations of doggy-style until Sylar pushed Peter over onto his back. Here. Like this. Just… Give me that pillow. Peter handed it to him and he stuffed it under Peter's rump. I don't want to do it with you like I did it with him. This is different. I want to see you.


He pressed the head of his cock against Peter, who spread himself awkwardly and incompletely. Sylar spat on his hand and tried to prepare himself. The idea of preparing Peter didn't occur to either of them. He tried to push in and it wasn't nearly as easy as it had been with the other, more experienced Peter.

"That hurts," Peter said. "Stop it." Sylar stopped. "We need lube or something."

"All I used last time was spit."

"Well, it's not enough."

You're not doing it right.

Peter frowned at him. "It's probably the rubber."

I could take it off.

"Stay here. I'll go get something."


Peter went to the kitchen and came back a moment later with an aerosol can of cooking spray.


Peter handed it to him. "Just… use this. It's all I've got without getting really weird."

Does this degrade latex? Does that matter? What do I… just like spray paint or canned air?

Peter got back in position and spread himself. "Me first."

"Okay." Sylar examined the can, managed to spray his hand first anyway, then turned it with his now oily, slicked hand, dropped it, picked it up, accidentally smeared oil around on it, then slipped again as he tried to spray it on Peter, spraying his leg. Um… sorry.

Peter laughed.

Don't laugh at me. I'll lose my erection.

"At least you're not thinking of killing me anymore for it."

I… yeah. Not now. You're kind of nice. Sylar entertained a silly, warm feeling for his partner.

Peter made a pleased, agreeable sound and Sylar finally managed to spray him where it counted. Peter grunted at the sensation.

Sylar sprayed himself profusely and dropped the can off to the side. It immediately rolled back against his leg where the cool metal was off-putting. He pushed it away. It rolled back. Goddamnit! He threw the can off the bed. Peter laughed again. Sylar tried to rub himself because his erection was really faltering and nearly pulled the condom off. Damnit to hell!

Peter sat up, reached over and lifted Sylar's chin. He kissed him, the pillow he was sitting on now putting his face even with the other man's. Sylar slid the condom back down over his now-oily member and stroked himself more gently and carefully, trying to restore his faded erection. Peter breathed against him and kissed along his cheek and up to his temple, then peppered him with light, tiny brushes of his lips as he cross Sylar's forehead. When he got to the middle, he rubbed those thick, fascinating eyebrows with his nose, to one side and then the other.

I'm ready. I think. This is good. You're really good. Fun. Thank you. Thank you. Sorry I killed you. Twice. Um… forget I thought that.

Peter hesitated, opened his mouth, then shook his head and got back in position. Sylar leaned over him, trying to aim without being able to see. Peter said, "Lower. Those are my balls."

Fine. Backseat sexer. He changed his aim. How's that?

"Good." Peter was smiling at him. His expression changed rapidly when Sylar pressed into him, all the oil making him slick and Sylar's ham-handedness meaning he pushed in steady and hard, despite the resistance. "Aaaah! Agh!" Peter cried out and clenched his teeth.

? …Maybe if I just move a lot.


Sylar started thrusting and Peter's expression went straight over to pained. He reached out and grabbed Sylar's forearms, then up to grip his shoulders. He panted, breathing in hard huffs through his teeth. He held onto Sylar tightly.

That hurts, Peter.

"Hurts… yeah."

Are you hurting? Am I hurting you?


? …Should I stop?

"Ah… no… getting better. Ow… ow…"


Sylar kept going, a wordless confusion in his mind. Peter was tight around him like a hot band of pressure, like a fist squeezing his member as it pumped in and out. It felt incredible.

"Better. Getting better. Ow, god."


"No, just… I don't know. I don't have a fucking clue how to do this part! It just hurts. Keep fucking me."

Okay. That's easy enough to do. The other you said pretty much the same thing.

Peter found the capacity to snort at that thought.

I suppose that means we're doing it right. Feels weird though.

"Yeah, I know. I think I'm relaxing."

No, feels like… I don't know. I feel you more all of a sudden.

"It's better. That's good. Thank you god, that was awful for a little while."

Sylar missed a beat.

"Um… sorry," Peter said, realizing that telling his lover it had been awful wasn't the best idea. "You're doing good. This is great. Keep going," Peter encouraged.

Okay, Sylar thought, his voice a bit small in his head.

"It's okay, baby, I love this. I've just never done it before."

Sylar grinned at this Peter calling him 'baby' just like the other one had. Déjà vu. It restored his confidence. He had done this before, after all. At least… once. He started thrusting harder, thinking about that time before, thinking about the man under him now. He was suddenly sure he preferred this one. The other… he'd been a little scary.

Peter pulled up his legs and said, "Oh!" as Sylar slid in deeper in the new angle. There was more fumbling for the right position, but they got it down and Sylar was ramming himself all the way in, Peter's head thrown back in passion, feeling himself being filled and having the dual joy of feeling an echo of sensation through Sylar's mind. Yeah, he could definitely stop that, but he had no intention of doing it. It was awesome and with as silent and self-conscious as Sylar was otherwise, the mental contact helped Peter stay in the moment and know that Sylar was right there with him despite his quiet.

Peter reached down and brought himself off while getting hammered. It was hard to find the rhythm because he'd never had reason to try to jerk off during sex. If he was having sex, then he was in someone and so wasn't touching himself, but he thought of what was happening now as being like giving head. Except that it felt a lot better. Way better.

He grinned up at his clumsy, well-intentioned lover. It was bizarre to think they'd been at odds only a few days before. Hell, only an hour before he'd thought the city was going to get blown up because of one of them. Who knew they just needed to let off steam with each other?

When he came, he knew there was no way he was going to explode in any other fashion. He felt relaxed, drained and satisfied as Sylar kept slamming into his body. Sylar was fucking him hard, almost desperate, his thoughts a jumble of want and need and insecurity and is he looking at me and what's going to happen after this and I really haven't thought this through and oh my god it feels so good I'm coming…!

Ug. Sylar rolled off him and laid there panting. You smell like a man.

Peter laughed. It was easy and relaxed.

Sylar sniffed himself. Might be me. Yeah, I think it is.

Peter laughed harder. Sylar sat up after a while and looked down at himself, brows furrowed. "Hey, where'd the condom go?"

Peter stopped laughing. "Wut?"