Story Info

Title: Of Waffles and Love

Author: Del Rion

Fandom: Heroes

Era: Post season 4

Genre: Genral, drama

Rating: M / FRM

Characters: Claire Bennet, Peter Petrelli, Sylar (, Noah Bennet, Nathan Petrelli)

Pairing: Peter/Sylar

Summary: Peter and Sylar are living together, and things are slowly starting to change between them.
Complete.

Written for: Heroes_Contest's One-shot Challenge 31: Spoil.

Warnings: Language, slash (male/male -action).

Disclaimer: The show, its characters, the places, and everything else belong to Tim Kring, NBC, and the other respective creators and owners of the TV show 'Heroes'. I have made no profit by writing this story, and make no claim over the show.

Beta: Mythra (big thanks, once again!)

Feedback: Welcome, hoped for, and worshipped in a non-religious fashion.


About Of Waffles and Love:Obviously I have a fondness towards the idea of Peter and Sylar living together after the ending of the show, playing heroes together, saving the world. This is not my first fic with that setting.

Also, I have to admit the story in this one is a bit aimless, most likely because I wrote this off the top of my head without an actual direction.


Story and status:Below you see the writing process of the story. If there is no text after the title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.

Of Waffles and Love


Written for Heroes_Contest's One-shot Challenge 31 (Spoil).


Of Waffles and Love


People see God every day, they just don't recognize him.
Pearl Bailey

God-syndrome, Peter called it. Something they needed to stay away from; the way he made it sound, he was glad his powers had been reduced to this clingy affair with just one ability at a time.

Sylar didn't buy it. Not for a second. He had seen Peter, back in the day, capable of almost anything. To say he was happier now was just a huge load of crap.

But Peter had a point, of course, when saying that he and Sylar – that all specials needed to keep their feet on the ground – figuratively rather than literally since many of them could fly – and remember that they were not that different from normal people.

Even when called 'specials'.

After Claire's less-than-graceful attempt at exposing herself, the world was teetering between options. If they actually believed she was real, they didn't see her as a threat. Not with that pretty face and a cheerleader's background. They didn't see her as some manifestation of God's power.

If only they knew what the others could do.

What Sylar could do.

He kept his thoughts in check, however. Heroes did not have a God-complex, and he wanted to be a hero, very much. After a lifetime of evil… How good it sounded, being able to say that, and mean it more or less; he had not been an evil child, of course, but after that, many things he did were questionable at best. Whether he had been simply misguided or downright mad, it was hard to say, but he had left it all behind, regardless of what it had been and what kind of label some trained professional wanted to stick on it.

Peter, regardless of his good faith and blind trust, was keeping a weather eye on him – though not as wary as some said he should be. But he and Sylar had spent a lot of time together in Nightmareland, while the others had not. What they had shared there… The kind of strange intimacy that had formed an unspoken bond between them.

Sylar had done horrible things, including killing Nathan Petrelli, yet Peter had forgiven him. He wondered if it felt the same as when those in faith were convinced that God had forgiven them for their sins; absolution.

The others didn't understand it, and Peter had never felt like explaining it at length. Perhaps he knew, like Sylar, that all those who had not been with them could never grasp the truthfulness of Sylar's new conviction. They would not believe him, after all he had done in the past, and trying to convince them of it would be much harder than just shrugging at their concerns and telling them it was under control.

It was interesting to watch that happen. Peter had some kind of relationship with most of the people they had met – some kind of connection – and while things had changed, everyone always seemed to come to the same conclusion: Peter was a good guy, and he should be given the benefit of the doubt even when he seemed to be on the wrong track. Sylar had to respect that – especially when he was said 'wrong track'.

That also made him reminisce about the moment when they had first met, and faced off against each other. Peter's ability had been something Sylar coveted and envied, yet was unwilling to take it as his own. Back in the day, he had liked doing things his way, but was that the only reason he never cut Peter's head open to understand his ability? He had mocked Peter for being too weak to control his abilities, for being unable to use them perfectly, unable to understand them, but between the two of them… Peter had gained them without bloodshed, and that made him more of a God than Sylar could ever be.

So what did that make Arthur Petrelli when he stole Peter's power?

"What's up?" Peter asked as he walked in. His apartment was kind of small for the two of them, but Peter spent so much time at work it almost made Sylar feel lonely sometimes. "Bible study?" Peter raised an eyebrow, nodding at the heavy book in Sylar's hands.

"Just… weighing options," Sylar said, putting the book aside, leaning forward eagerly. "How was your day?"

Peter looked at him, then down at the table where Sylar had sorted the mail for him. "Just like any other day I guess. Saved some people."

"Good, good," Sylar nodded, then rose. "Would you like something to eat?"

Peter looked up at him, still sort of frowning. "You know, we could try to find you a job."

"That's nice, but you like legitimate work, and I know I'm still flagged as a dangerous criminal in more than one government database," Sylar told him. "I'm happy to just…"

"Sit at home and wait on me," Peter snorted.

"And do some crime-fighting with you," Sylar added. "Glide over the rooftops, save people from crime."

Peter stretched a bit, the uniform hugging his body tight across the chest. Sylar was starting to notice things like that. Maybe it was some sort of cabin fever.

"Nice as that is," Peter said after a bit, "I think I need more sleep. I need to stay sharp for the actual job."

It sometimes disappointed Sylar that Peter regarded his paramedic job as the real one. What a waste of his abilities.

"Claire sent a message today," Peter said as Sylar took some food from the fridge; he was learning to cook, which Peter seemed to appreciate since he never had time to make any kind of gourmet meal.

"What is she up to now?" Sylar asked.

"Making a deal with several universities so that they can test the uses of her blood in human medicine. Only on the condition that everyone is welcome to do the tests," Peter said. Sylar could tell he had wanted to argue with his niece, but knowing Claire, she would not listen, and Noah Bennet had probably already had that conversation with her.

"Well, if they find they can use it… It's a good thing, right?" Sylar ventured, trying to see her goal.

"If they don't cut her to pieces, then yeah," Peter said, sitting down.

"I think cutting her to pieces would be bad for further experiments," Sylar said, trying to cheer him up, and set a plate in front of him.

Peter nodded, then looked at him dishing the food and couldn't do anything but smile. "I should get you an apron," he noted.

"I have one already, actually," Sylar said brightly, and Peter's smile faltered momentarily. Sylar knew something was up, and he walked to him around the table, pulled up a chair and sat down, placing his hand on Peter's. "Talk," he said. "Don't just… freeze like that."

Peter blinked at him, then looked down at Sylar's hand. It felt like he wanted to jerk away from the touch, but in the end chose not to. "Did I ever tell you of that time when I went into the future – with a future me – and I met you there?" he mused. "When I… got your ability?"

"I recall it happening," Sylar frowned.

Peter looked up at him, a slightly haunted look on his face. "That other you, in that future… Gabriel… He wore an apron and was making waffles when I entered his house in Costa Verde," Peter finally said.

The image that scenario created was a bit odd, but Sylar took it for what it was, as with so many other things in their lives. The future had a funny way of creating people and places that seemed ridiculous or impossible in the present. However, some route had to lead there, and if Peter had seen him, with an apron, making waffles… "What kind of apron?" he asked.

Peter laughed – really laughed – and Sylar waited until he was done and wiping tears from his eyes. "I cannot remember," Peter confessed. "And I can't remember the boy's name either…"

"The boy?"

"Your son, I think," Peter frowned again. "Noah. It could have been Noah. It felt kind of odd, but…"

Sylar guessed that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. And any future Peter had visited wasn't a good one, so he guessed it wasn't a loss. Not that he could claim he wasn't interested in this Gabriel who had a son named Noah and liked to make waffles for him, wearing an apron…

They both sat silently at the table, until Sylar recalled the food and Peter got up to put his portion into the microwave. Sylar did the same after he was done, and they ate, still deep in thought, musing about lives they'd never had, and the possibilities still ahead of them

Sylar's eyes kept drifting towards the apron hanging on the wall, and he wondered if it was the same one Peter had seen him wear in that alternate future.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Either way, it was a sign of something…


Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.
Epicurus

"You're not still thinking of that future 'you', are you?" Peter asked one night.

"What makes you think that?" Sylar inquired.

"Well, for one, we've had waffles thrice this week already," Peter noted, jabbing at the pile of waffles on his plate with his fork.

Sylar frowned. "I found these neat recipes, and… Don't you like them?"

"I've been eating them willingly enough, have I not?" Peter mused. "I'm just… I don't want you to get caught up in the idea that you need to be someone you're not. Because you're doing just fine right now."

Sylar looked at him. "I'm not trying to become some version of myself I've never even met," he reassured Peter.

"Good," the other man said, putting another slice of waffle in his mouth. "I don't want to worry about you stealing some kid off the street and calling him 'Noah'."

Sylar didn't think it was a valid fear. What would he do with a kid? Did he even want a kid? A pet, maybe, but a child? He thought not.

Peter finished eating and halfheartedly washed his dishes, then stopped as the feeling of Sylar glaring at his back became too much. "Fine, do it yourself," Peter told him and got out of the way. "You've become such a Martha Stewart," he noted as he headed out to take a shower.

Sylar paid him no heed, and after putting away the dishes, he made to go into the living room, then stopped to listen to the sound of the shower. In his head, he understood how it worked: water coming through the pipes, the pressure, the function of the showerhead, the way the water would slide across the skin, not penetrating it, and going all the way down the drain again, to another pipe, down to the sewers…

He was not interested in that. Not nearly as interested as he was when Peter stepped out, a towel around his hips, his hair wet, droplets of water still on his skin, waiting for gravity to tug them down. "Don't we have shampoo?" Peter asked.

Sylar just blinked. "I think so."

"I can't find it."

"Well then maybe we don't have any," Sylar said. It was logical.

Peter sighed and returned to the shower, then came out a moment later. He smelled clean, although not shampoo-clean. The smell was his own, not some chemical odor that would cling to him long after he was done showering.

"Are you sniffing me?" Peter gave him a weird look – but not as weird as it could have been.

"No," Sylar said. It was a good thing he was the one with the lie detecting ability.

"Okay," Peter simply said, looking at the TV. Nothing important was on.

Sylar wondered how Peter's reply might have been different if he'd said he had been sniffing him. Would he have been upset? Or perhaps… aroused? What were the odds? He tried to count them in his head, to see every outcome.

A commercial came on, about some new fragrance for men and women by some über-expensive designer that was bound to make both sides crazy about each other. It showed a lot of skin, sensual touches, and played a certain kind of music. Sylar glanced at Peter, wondering if it was working; he had read that a human body responded in a certain way when it discovered something it liked, or found something arousing. Clearly the marketing brains behind the ad had wanted to make that sort of impact, to associate their product with sexual success.

Peter's eyes moved to look at him. Sylar hadn't even noticed he was leaning closer to the other man. "Now you're staring," Peter told him. "What is up with you?"

For a man being approached in such a way by another male of his species, Peter wasn't as uncomfortable with it as he could have been. Maybe because he and Nathan had always been close. Or maybe he and Sylar were compatible, on some level. Maybe because they shared an apartment and spent so much time together.

"Sylar?" Peter asked again.

"Just… looking."

"At what?"

Sylar knew better than to tell him. He had a good thing going, staying at Peter's. No reason to ruin it by getting weird – and it was weird, he could admit as much. Perhaps it was the result of their shared dream, the time they had spent there. But he hadn't felt any more drawn to him there than he felt to any other man. Which made Sylar question himself: was he drawn to him now?

"Perhaps we should go… outside," Peter finally said. "Get you out of the house for a bit."

"Good idea," Sylar said. He knew that Peter meant they could go out to look for crime, maybe save a few innocents. To make them feel like big damn heroes. It usually worked.

Peter got up to get dressed.

Sylar remained on the couch, breathing in, wondering if that cologne would actually do the trick as promised.


Hunger knows no friend but its feeder.
Aristophanes

With the amount of social life they had – or rather, didn't have – Sylar was amazed when Peter announced he was going out on a date.

He wasn't sure what kind of reply was appropriate.

'Good for you.'

'Way to go, man.'

'Up yours, pal.'

"Okay," was all he said while Peter got dressed. He assumed that if Peter was planning on bringing his date back here, he would have said so, hinting that Sylar ought to make himself scarce for the night. From the very few bits of information he gathered, it didn't seem like Peter wanted that to happen, and Sylar was very good at quick exits anyway.

There was no need for that, though; Peter returned alone. Late, but not late enough for any kind of real action to take place, and the way he sank down on the couch and opened the top buttons of his shirt told Sylar it hadn't gone as he hoped.

"Why do they keep giving me the 'You're cute an all' -speech," Peter mused. "Can't you date the cute guy?"

"I think it is the polite way of saying that you're nice, but that's it," Sylar observed.

"I know that," Peter said sourly.

"But it's better than them saying they have a headache; the 'cute' comment is rather nice compared to that."

Peter tapped his knee with one hand, then sighed and stopped. "You know what one of the guys at the station said today, when I told him I was going out on a date?" he asked, then went on before Sylar could even guess. "'You're way too gay to score any, Petrelli.' Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Other than the obvious?" Sylar frowned.

Peter threw him a look.

"It might explain the 'cute' comment," Sylar tried to back-pedal, but knew he was probably making it worse.

An angry purse of lips was the only reply he got, and Sylar was glad he could not read Peter's thoughts. Instead he noticed how Peter smelled. "I like the cologne," he offered.

Peter looked at him. "And that's not gay at all," he huffed.

Sylar shrugged. "You always could have impressed the lady by telling her how many times you've saved the world – or at least managed not to blow up New York City."

Peter seemed to think about that, then shook his head.

Sylar looked at him, turning the situation around in his head. The pulse in Peter's neck, like a ticking clock. The right touch, at the right moment, complimented by the right words to set the mood… A golden thread to follow to his desired goal. A distraction.

"I think I'm feeling the hunger again," Sylar started.

Peter clearly tried to clear his head of his recent failure to score and turned his attention to the present matter. "Is it bad?"

"I'm trying to direct it towards something I can manage," Sylar ventured. He could see this would work.

"Like?" Peter said. "You have to be careful…"

"I have it under control – for now," Sylar said. "But I could use your help."

"Of course."

"I have a rather… unconventional plan. But I think it might help."

Peter nodded eagerly, always so willing to help. Suggestible. No wonder people had managed to lead him astray so many times; he was almost too easy, even after all this time.

"It might help if I have something to focus on. Something to distract me, and to put my energy into," Sylar went on, trying to gauge whether that was enough to get the desired effect.

Peter looked a bit skeptical. "Okay, what's your idea?"

"You don't like how it sounds?" Sylar guessed, trying to see where he had gone wrong.

"Well, you're the one who knows how to make things… tick." Peter still sounded hesitant, like he was trying to see past the words, to judge whether Sylar was reverting back to his old ways.

"Peter," Sylar started, dropping his voice a few notches. Seductive. Intimate. Personal. That ought to work. Peter liked attention, liked being able to help, for people to confide in him. "We both know that I… respect you. I want to learn from you. You're my best – and only – friend."

Peter sat there, looking a bit flattered, his bad date a thing of the past.

"I could never ask anyone else for this. Frankly because it involves certain feelings…" Playing coy about it might work. Straightforward and calculated would give the wrong impression, although it had stopped being 'cold' a long time ago. Sylar had just put two and two together, considering his feelings and the way he behaved, and all he needed to add to the equation was how to get Peter on board.

"What is it?" Peter asked, leaning a bit closer. He smelled just a bit like wine, and Sylar knew that a slight dose of alcohol in his blood would not hurt – as long as he wasn't drunk, which he wasn't. That would just ruin any long-term plans he had.

Deciding that just the right amount of boldness was going to win Peter over for sure, seeing as that was how Nathan had been – self-assured – Sylar reached up, touched Peter's face with his hand, then leaned in to kiss him.

Whether it was the wine, the lack of success on his date just an hour ago, or some sort of attraction they both felt, Sylar didn't know. He just knew it was working.

Peter didn't pull back, didn't strike him – didn't take one of his powers to pound him through the wall. He was moderately shocked, then kissed Sylar back, trying to find a rhythm, and didn't inch away when Sylar's hands dropped past his waist to rest between his legs.

That they ended up more or less naked on the couch, Sylar between Peter's sweaty legs, was somewhat past the point of his expectations, but he had been feeling the tickle of the hunger, to tell the truth, and this was a perfect way to re-direct it and his attention. To replace one hunger with another. It was not the same, but might do the trick for the time being.

"Well, that was…" Peter started.

"Very gay," Sylar finished the sentence.

Peter laughed, and Sylar decided it was much better than crying – which may have occurred had Peter been allowed to wallow in self-pity for much longer.

After he stopped laughing, Peter simply looked at Sylar, as if trying to arrive at some kind of reasonable conclusion as to why this had happened. "Is this going to turn weird?" Peter asked, surprisingly.

"No," Sylar told him.

"Okay," Peter said, then a blink later, he spoke again: "Is this going to keep happening?"

"The sex, or your lousy dates – or sex after your lousy dates?" Sylar shot back at him.

Peter frowned, looking like he was getting offended, and Sylar's lips twitched with a ghost of a smile.

"This is going to keep happening," he finally said, and leaned down to kiss him again.

While the fucking had been a bit awkward – even with Sylar instinctively knowing how it was supposed to work – this didn't feel weird at all. Lying there, kissing Peter, still sort of wrapped around him, or maybe that was just the illusion a few tangled clothes created…

After a while Peter pushed up, muttering something about a shower, and Sylar mused that it might be a tad too bold to join him – until Peter looked back at him, clearly expecting him to follow – and with a smile, Sylar did.


Our love is a secret, our love is a word, something so silenced, but perfectly heard.
Dance Of The Vampires -musical

"Things are going well, Peter," Claire said as she sat on the couch, a cup of hot chocolate in front of her – marshmallows floating at the surface.

Peter, seated at the table across from the couch, still did not look convinced.

Sylar took that moment to waltz in with a plate of hot waffles on it, and Claire gave him a rather quizzical look.

"They are not poisoned," Peter told her.

"It wouldn't matter if they were," Claire pointed out, spearing one with a fork and dragging it over to her plate. She sniffed the waffle, though, before taking a bite, "These are pretty good," she decided after a bit.

"I've been trying different recipes," Sylar said simply and sat down – after folding the apron.

As he and Peter sat there, Claire kept studying them with her eyes. Sylar wondered what she saw.

A serial killer and her uncle?

Or two men, who were – not so obviously – in love?

Sylar wondered if they even looked like they were in love, or if they were even there yet. Sure, he and Peter had been quite actively involved since the first time, probably because it was convenient. Peter no longer had to endure the dance of charm to get laid, and frankly, it had been a long time coming if anyone asked Sylar.

Ever since the Wall, it had been there…

"I knew you kept him around for something," Claire finally remarked to Peter and kept eating waffles.

Peter gave Sylar a very brief look from the corner of his eye. There was no way to know what exactly he was thinking, but Sylar knew it was something he would rather not share with his niece. Like what he really liked to keep Sylar around for.

He knew better than to hint it out loud; Peter hadn't said outright that their growing affair was a secret, but he rarely spoke of it. If they had to speak of it, Peter often acted coy and made it appear as if it was all to keep Sylar's hunger in check. Sylar was willing to play it like that – especially when he knew that Peter knew exactly what it was about, and in the end the hunger had very little if anything to do with how their relationship had been growing as of late.

Sylar was content not to tell Claire. It wasn't really her business, and if it made Peter more comfortable for the time being, it would all play in his favor. After all, Peter could get quite moody, and Sylar had long since chosen not to bring up that side of him if he could avoid it.

They spoke very little while they ate, but when Claire finally rose to leave, Peter opened his mouth. "Just be careful, okay?" he told her.

"Don't worry so much," Claire said, so stubborn, and sounding even younger because of that; a willful child, making her elders worry even more. "I made my choice. I know what I'm getting into."

If only the rest of the world knew as much, Sylar mused.

Claire hugged Peter, long and hard, then looked at Sylar, almost uncertain of what she should do about him. Things were still strained between them, due to past events. Sylar knew he might have to try to mend things, for Peter's sake, but there was no hurry since Claire came and went in their lives, depending on which cause she was promoting, and whom she was allowing to cut pieces out of her so that the world could heal itself…

"Take care," Claire finally said, and left.

Peter stared at the door after she was gone, sighing once, then staring again, and sighing a second time.

Sylar didn't wait for the third, but instead stepped up behind Peter, slid his arms around him, and bowed his head to roughly kiss and nuzzle his neck.

"We should clean up," Peter said a bit faintly.

"It can wait," Sylar decided.

Peter still stood there, but he was starting to relax a bit in places – and harden in others.

Sylar smiled against his neck, and finally Peter smiled as well. "Tease," he told him.

"You're so easy," Sylar accused him softly.

"She's going to get herself into so much trouble…" Peter mused, his thoughts still on Claire.

"She has her daddy looking after her, and I'm sure you'll be there for her in her time of need. Now… time for dessert," Sylar demanded and picked Peter off the floor and dumped him on the couch then laid on top of him.

Peter laughed. "I thought waffles were dessert?"

"Compared to you, they're the main course," Sylar said.

"How mushy of you."

Sylar could admit it was a bit too sweet even for him. But he also knew that Peter liked compliments, like a puppy begging for more treats and kind words, and he couldn't help giving them to him – especially when they made his own life so much more pleasurable in return.

He kissed Peter to shut him up and to give him something else to grin about.

The End