Title: Walled In
Words: ~10,000 in seven chapters
Warnings: Explicit sexual content
Setting: The Wall, about three years in.
Summary: Sylar's been flirting with Peter for some time. Peter's resistance finally crumbles, but he's never been one for half-measures.
Notes: Inspired by thegreyhawke on LJ, who did wonderful and much appreciated beta work for me, as well as providing such a fascinating take on Sylar that I write 'her' version of him here (as much as I can attempt to do so). This story is a flip of Seeing Stars, where Sylar was the initiator.
It started so innocently – a hand brushing against his as Sylar reached past him to point out a book. "No, it's this one," Sylar said. They'd touched before and Peter was well aware that Sylar went out of his way to 'innocently' touch him, just like he'd now crowded close to point at the book he was talking about. They were in the library. Sylar was talking about his favorite reads, giving summaries and highlights. Peter had been getting testy lately and he'd blamed it on boredom, so Sylar had suggested maybe he should put together a reading list. Reading was, after all, what Sylar did when he was bored. Boredom actually had little to do with Peter's problem and when Sylar touched him this time, he just couldn't stand it anymore - something had to give.
Sylar didn't withdraw his hand right away – leaving it resting casually on the shelf, leaning in and looming over the shorter man while still managing to keep two or three inches of space between every part of their bodies. Sylar had a lot of practice at this – it was much of why Peter was 'testy.' Of course, it would have probably helped if Peter had moved away or discouraged it, but instead he kept catching himself creating opportunities for their proximity and reveling in the moments when some 'inadvertent' motion brought them into contact. The conflict he was feeling inside about this, the cognitive dissonance between being attracted to and repulsed by the man who had murdered his brother, was what was making him jumpy and snappish - not boredom. Peter reached up and pointed at the spine of the book in question, saying, "Okay. That looks good. We can add it to the list." And then he set his hand down on top of Sylar's.
Sylar froze in place like a statute, just in case Peter had done that accidentally. But it was no accident and a moment later Peter confirmed that by rubbing his thumb across and over Sylar's. "Is this okay?" Peter asked with surprising calm. It wasn't like he hadn't been fantasizing about this for weeks now, but fantasies were one thing and once he'd finally given himself permission for thinking about Sylar that way, they'd come fast and furious. This wasn't a fantasy.
Sylar's voice, on the other hand, nearly squeaked. "Y-yeah," he said breathily as Peter started moving his whole hand in a caress of those long, slender, precise fingers. They felt even better than Peter had expected – softer. Somehow he'd expected Sylar's hands to be rougher, like his own. Not that Peter's hands were calloused, but Sylar's hands spent more time on delicate tasks, applying finesse. Peter was more of a brute force kind of guy.
He turned a little, looking up into Sylar's face, seeing hope there – so much hope and longing, yearning and wishing fervently that this wasn't a dream. He let his hand trail across Sylar's forearm. The taller man was wearing a long sleeved shirt rolled up to his elbows. He felt the wiry hairs against the back of his hand and watched the progress he made towards Sylar's elbow. He dropped his hand under Sylar's forearm and followed it back the other way, feeling the softer, smoother and nearly hairless underside. Sylar sucked in air and stood straighter, virtually at attention. Peter swallowed. He almost wished it was a dream where it wasn't him doing this. But no. This was him and before he went any further, he needed to stare that fact in the face and accept it.
Peter's breathing sped up as he took all the denial and abstinence he'd been letting his conscience inflict on himself and crushed it. He wasn't going to deny himself this. Not now. He wanted. He needed. It was being offered. He was going to take. He'd beat himself bloody for it later, metaphorically, but right now he was going to finally give in to temptation - consequences be damned.
He finished turning, leaning in and closing those few inches, so carefully maintained for so long that he was surprised Sylar didn't lean away to keep the distance. Sylar wasn't pulling away though. Peter eyed his lips and parted his own, stopping just short, the taste of Sylar's breath on his tongue, its warmth against his lips. The other man closed that last bit, staring wonderingly at his companion, moving his lips gently against Peter's for a moment in their first kiss – soft and chaste, surreal after all the violence that had passed between them over the years.
Peter parted from him before it became more. He smiled, slipping a hand around Sylar's waist and pulling the other man into more contact. Sylar's brows climbed and he started to grin in unrestrained delight. Peter came back to him, kissing his neck and nipping the stubble-covered skin one nibble at a time. He tasted him in little bites and short sucks. Sylar actually whimpered. He moved his hands to rest lightly on Peter's hips, obviously still unsure of what was happening and how far Peter was going to take it. Peter chuckled and for a moment he rested his forehead against Sylar's neck, as the taller man raised his hands and let his own arms begin to encircle Peter.
"Oh God," Peter said. The feeling of arms around him undid him more than the kiss. "Come here." He moved a hand behind Sylar's neck and pulled him down for a much more passionate kiss – harder, deeper and more demanding now that the ice had been broken. Things started moving much faster – hands roamed frantically, clothes became hurriedly unfastened, mouths traveled restlessly across skin and moans were pulled from eager throats.
Peter took Sylar in his hand as soon as he was free and leaned into him, stroking and looking up at the lost, bewildered expression on the other man's face. Sylar was staring off at the rack of books behind the empath. His mouth hung open and he panted. A subtle blush was fast coloring his features, the speed of which wasn't really surprising. The last time Sylar had shared sexual intimacy with anyone was a relative time of years ago. He'd been touching Peter because he wanted him, after all.
Peter knew that perfectly well. He stroked harder and faster, cupping his hand over the tip when Sylar throbbed under him and came. The other man made a high, breathless sound and he sagged. He looked down to see Peter take his come-slicked hand and begin to stroke himself, looking right at his partner, looking intently at his face while Peter bit his own lip. Peter wasn't going to let himself pretend this was anyone else. If he was going to do this, then he was going to give this man the respect he deserved during it. Sylar watched in return, wide-eyed and blown by all of this – it was so much all at once – while Peter jerked himself off, finishing with a hard grunt, nearly as quick at it as his companion and for much the same reason.
Breathing heavily, he leaned forward against Sylar, who embraced him again, still floored by how they'd gone from occasional, unreciprocated touches to this. It wasn't like Peter didn't have a history of leaping before he looked. They stood together for a long moment, processing what had happened. "Oh, Peter," Sylar sighed, but it wasn't the right thing.
There was no 'right thing' Sylar could have said at that moment, as what Peter had done was crashing around the empath's ears, hammering against his chest. Why? Why? Why? was all he could think. He knew the why – it was just at odds with so much else he was feeling. Now that it was over and he'd done it, all he could think of was what was going to happen next, what did this mean to Sylar and what was Peter doing to another human being by using him like this? He was torn up inside, because you didn't share intimacy like this with someone without feeling for them - or at least Peter didn't. He wouldn't. He wasn't going to let himself fall that far. And yet he couldn't let himself feel for Sylar because of what the bastard had done to his brother. Nathan, and a vision of Sylar killing him, loomed large in Peter's mind. He pulled away abruptly, straightening his clothes. He spun and stalked away, leaving Sylar gape-mouthed behind him.
A few moments later, he heard Sylar coming after him, calling out, "Peter! Peter?"
He wheeled on him, snatching up the nearest book and holding it preparatory to flinging it. Sylar stopped, eyes darting between the obvious, if not-terribly-dangerous threat and Peter's face. Peter snarled, "Stay the fuck away from me!" When Sylar just stood there as if stunned, Peter threw the book down and strode away, shaking his head at his own stupidity and desperation. What kind of an idiot am I? I've fucked everything up!
Behind him, he heard Sylar quip quietly, "You started it."