Fic: New Wounds, Part II
The next chapter of Forests is kicking me around a little, so I decided to take a short break and re-visit a different bunny. Apparently is was an angry, scary bunny. So if you're in the mood for something dark, enjoy, if you're not, you may want to put this on the shelf for a few days.
Title: New Wounds, Part II
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Nathan!Sylar/Peter, Nathan/Peter implied.
Warning: Spoilers for “Five Years Gone.” Angst, non-con. Dark and dirty! Did I mention dark?
Summary: Peter realizes who’s been playing with him.
Author’s note: Inspired by flwrpwr_vampyre’s comment, and written for the un_love_you challenge, prompt 02: “I was wrong about you”.
Part I (previously known as "Holding On," is here.
Peter had plenty of time to think. Masochistically, relentlessly, he replayed every moment of his interaction with not-Nathan, searching for clues as to the identity of the monster. When he thought about it, he was ashamed that he hadn’t seen the discrepancies sooner. It had been a long time since he’d last been with Nathan, but he should have known. Peter remembered the first time, the words “Always wondered what this’d be like,” and he thought he might have an idea.
Peter worried at the idea for days, testing his theory. Each time not-Nathan came to see him, Peter analyzed each word, each movement for clues to his identity. Nearly a week later, while on his knees with his mouth full of a dick that was too like Nathan’s-same weight, same smell-he looked up to see not-Nathan smiling down at him, and he nearly gagged when he recognized the expression: a cruel, gleeful grin he’d not seen in years. He managed to blank his mind, to hold out until not-Nathan unloaded down his throat. He waited until Sylar was gone to vomit.
Peter didn’t let his discovery slip the next time Sylar came to him. Or the next time. He let Sylar use his body, and he contemplated what he would do when the time came. After a while, Peter wondered if he was waiting for the right moment, or if he was really too broken to act.
The next time Sylar came, Peter found himself on all fours, ignoring concrete scraping at his knees while Sylar pounded into him from behind.
Peter had his eyes closed. This time, he told himself. End it. Say something.
Sylar fisted his hand in Peter’s hair and pulled back, forcing him to arch his back. “Do you like that?” he whispered. This was the newest torture in Peter’s life: Sylar had developed a taste for talking dirty. Peter shook his head no, and Sylar dropped the grip on Peter’s hair, instead reaching around to grab Peter’s half-hard cock. “Liar,” he hissed. “I know you love what I do to you.”
He slowed down his thrusts then, synching them with long, smooth pulls of Peter’s erection until Peter was biting his forearm to keep from crying out. Sensing that Peter was close, Sylar began to speed up again, his hand blurring up and down Peter’s length. “Say my name,” he gasped.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on holding back his orgasm, and what he shouted was, “Sylar!”
Sylar froze, lodged deep inside, and Peter held his breath. That’s it, he told himself. At least I’ve said it.
Then Sylar chuckled, a deep, rich sound that shook Peter’s body. “Oh Peter. How long have you known?”
It hadn’t been real until this moment. He could almost have believed he’d worked it all out wrong, that Nathan would reassure him that he was himself, however changed by the past few years. Peter couldn’t answer.
“I see,” Sylar said softly. “That’s what that little trip down memory lane was all about. A test. So clever, baby brother.”
“You’re not my brother,” Peter whispered.
“Good. Then this isn’t incest.” He punctuated that statement with a sharp jerk of his hips, and Peter grunted in pain. “You’re sick. Both of you. I mean, what you let him do to you…” Sylar licked a stripe up Peter’s back, and Peter shuddered. “You think I’m twisted?”
Peter felt his face flush, and his body slumped in defeat. He’d spent so long being indignant at Sylar, he hadn’t prepared himself for this reproach.
Sylar’s hand, still on his dick, tightened, and Peter’s whole body tensed. “What would he say if he knew you like to come with my dick inside you?” Sylar asked.
Peter hated himself for the whimper that escaped.
“I don’t think he’d mind, do you?” Sylar pulled Peter backward by the hips, so Peter ended up in his lap as Sylar braced his back against the wall. “You think he’d like to watch? Nathan always was kind of a narcissist. I bet he’d love seeing you fuck yourself on his cock like this. So eager.”
Sylar’s voice was hot and harsh in Peter’s ear, as inescapable as the hand that was again pumping his dick. Peter wanted to struggle, to rage, but he found himself trapped by Sylar’s hand on him, by words that poisoned and sex that burned and pulsed inside of him. Nathan’s face, Nathan’s voice, deep as the ocean, deep as the hole in Peter’s soul, were too much to fight against. Peter was too broken to try.
“Shhh. It’s okay, Peter,” Sylar said. “You can cry.” He rocked his hips gently up into Peter, like the motion of rocking a baby to sleep.
Peter cried as Sylar whispered soothing words in his ear and continued pumping his cock, in time with gentle thrusts. “It’s okay, Peter,” Sylar breathed. In Nathan’s voice, it sounded like it could be true. Peter came with Sylar’s hand around his cock.
******************
Sylar had only to walk a few steps down the hall to get to his destination. The guard on duty opened the door for him. Sylar stepped inside, grinning with anticipation. “I brought you a present,” he said.
The man in the cell was naked, and a bushy beard obscured part of his face. He glared at Sylar from a corner. Still smiling, Sylar closed the distance between them, kneeling beside the prisoner.
“Open up.” He grabbed the man by the chin, pressing his thumb and forefinger cruelly against the back of the jaw until he opened his mouth. Then Sylar stuck in the two spunk-covered fingers of his other hand. “Do you know what that is? I know it tastes familiar.”
The man knew enough not to bite, but he tried to pull his head back. Sylar held him in place. “That’s Peter’s,” Sylar said.
Nathan stopped pulling away, and after a second, Sylar felt his fingers being sucked gently as Nathan cleared off every last remnant of his brother’s semen. The cell wasn’t well lit, but Sylar could see well enough to appreciate the hate in Nathan’s eyes.
Sylar removed his clean fingers and sat back on his haunches, regarding the ragged man who bore little resemble to him anymore. “All it took was looking like you,” Sylar said thoughtfully. “All I had to do was show up, and he knelt for me, spread for me. I fucked him wide open, and he begged me for more. He really loves his brother.”
Nathan still had enough fight in him not to flinch, not to turn away, and Sylar’s grin widened. He thought he’d taken everything away from Nathan long ago, but Peter was a brand new weapon, and Sylar was eager to see how he could hurt Nathan with it.
“Today was special,” Sylar announced proudly. “You know why? The game’s up. He knew it was me.” For a moment, Sylar dropped his illusion, looking again like his old self. “He recognized his old enemy. Isn’t that sweet?” Sylar restored the illusion, looking at Nathan again with identical brown eyes. “But still, he came all over my hand, Nathan. What does that say about him?”
Nathan said nothing, but Sylar could see wounds opening up behind his eyes where he hadn’t been able to reach before. Such lovely pain in those eyes. Sylar wondered idly how far he could push the older Petrelli.
“I like keeping you around, Nathan, but if I ever decided I wanted to fly, I’d have to kill you,” he said casually. “I’d be sad about that, because I think it’s what you want.”
Nathan didn’t respond.
“But now there’s an alternative, isn’t there?” Sylar said slowly, as if the idea had just occurred to him. “If I had you brother’s ability, I wouldn’t need to kill you. I could keep you forever. What do you think?”
Nathan jumped at him, a move so fast and unexpected that Sylar was barely able to raise his hand in time to send the man slamming back into the wall with telekinesis. It was so desperately, futilely brave that Sylar couldn’t help an amused laugh.
“I was wrong about you, Nathan,” he said, kneeling next to the man where he was now slumped against the wall. “I think you are more fun than Peter.”
On to Part III.
Title: New Wounds, Part II
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Nathan!Sylar/Peter, Nathan/Peter implied.
Warning: Spoilers for “Five Years Gone.” Angst, non-con. Dark and dirty! Did I mention dark?
Summary: Peter realizes who’s been playing with him.
Author’s note: Inspired by flwrpwr_vampyre’s comment, and written for the un_love_you challenge, prompt 02: “I was wrong about you”.
Part I (previously known as "Holding On," is here.
Peter had plenty of time to think. Masochistically, relentlessly, he replayed every moment of his interaction with not-Nathan, searching for clues as to the identity of the monster. When he thought about it, he was ashamed that he hadn’t seen the discrepancies sooner. It had been a long time since he’d last been with Nathan, but he should have known. Peter remembered the first time, the words “Always wondered what this’d be like,” and he thought he might have an idea.
Peter worried at the idea for days, testing his theory. Each time not-Nathan came to see him, Peter analyzed each word, each movement for clues to his identity. Nearly a week later, while on his knees with his mouth full of a dick that was too like Nathan’s-same weight, same smell-he looked up to see not-Nathan smiling down at him, and he nearly gagged when he recognized the expression: a cruel, gleeful grin he’d not seen in years. He managed to blank his mind, to hold out until not-Nathan unloaded down his throat. He waited until Sylar was gone to vomit.
Peter didn’t let his discovery slip the next time Sylar came to him. Or the next time. He let Sylar use his body, and he contemplated what he would do when the time came. After a while, Peter wondered if he was waiting for the right moment, or if he was really too broken to act.
The next time Sylar came, Peter found himself on all fours, ignoring concrete scraping at his knees while Sylar pounded into him from behind.
Peter had his eyes closed. This time, he told himself. End it. Say something.
Sylar fisted his hand in Peter’s hair and pulled back, forcing him to arch his back. “Do you like that?” he whispered. This was the newest torture in Peter’s life: Sylar had developed a taste for talking dirty. Peter shook his head no, and Sylar dropped the grip on Peter’s hair, instead reaching around to grab Peter’s half-hard cock. “Liar,” he hissed. “I know you love what I do to you.”
He slowed down his thrusts then, synching them with long, smooth pulls of Peter’s erection until Peter was biting his forearm to keep from crying out. Sensing that Peter was close, Sylar began to speed up again, his hand blurring up and down Peter’s length. “Say my name,” he gasped.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on holding back his orgasm, and what he shouted was, “Sylar!”
Sylar froze, lodged deep inside, and Peter held his breath. That’s it, he told himself. At least I’ve said it.
Then Sylar chuckled, a deep, rich sound that shook Peter’s body. “Oh Peter. How long have you known?”
It hadn’t been real until this moment. He could almost have believed he’d worked it all out wrong, that Nathan would reassure him that he was himself, however changed by the past few years. Peter couldn’t answer.
“I see,” Sylar said softly. “That’s what that little trip down memory lane was all about. A test. So clever, baby brother.”
“You’re not my brother,” Peter whispered.
“Good. Then this isn’t incest.” He punctuated that statement with a sharp jerk of his hips, and Peter grunted in pain. “You’re sick. Both of you. I mean, what you let him do to you…” Sylar licked a stripe up Peter’s back, and Peter shuddered. “You think I’m twisted?”
Peter felt his face flush, and his body slumped in defeat. He’d spent so long being indignant at Sylar, he hadn’t prepared himself for this reproach.
Sylar’s hand, still on his dick, tightened, and Peter’s whole body tensed. “What would he say if he knew you like to come with my dick inside you?” Sylar asked.
Peter hated himself for the whimper that escaped.
“I don’t think he’d mind, do you?” Sylar pulled Peter backward by the hips, so Peter ended up in his lap as Sylar braced his back against the wall. “You think he’d like to watch? Nathan always was kind of a narcissist. I bet he’d love seeing you fuck yourself on his cock like this. So eager.”
Sylar’s voice was hot and harsh in Peter’s ear, as inescapable as the hand that was again pumping his dick. Peter wanted to struggle, to rage, but he found himself trapped by Sylar’s hand on him, by words that poisoned and sex that burned and pulsed inside of him. Nathan’s face, Nathan’s voice, deep as the ocean, deep as the hole in Peter’s soul, were too much to fight against. Peter was too broken to try.
“Shhh. It’s okay, Peter,” Sylar said. “You can cry.” He rocked his hips gently up into Peter, like the motion of rocking a baby to sleep.
Peter cried as Sylar whispered soothing words in his ear and continued pumping his cock, in time with gentle thrusts. “It’s okay, Peter,” Sylar breathed. In Nathan’s voice, it sounded like it could be true. Peter came with Sylar’s hand around his cock.
******************
Sylar had only to walk a few steps down the hall to get to his destination. The guard on duty opened the door for him. Sylar stepped inside, grinning with anticipation. “I brought you a present,” he said.
The man in the cell was naked, and a bushy beard obscured part of his face. He glared at Sylar from a corner. Still smiling, Sylar closed the distance between them, kneeling beside the prisoner.
“Open up.” He grabbed the man by the chin, pressing his thumb and forefinger cruelly against the back of the jaw until he opened his mouth. Then Sylar stuck in the two spunk-covered fingers of his other hand. “Do you know what that is? I know it tastes familiar.”
The man knew enough not to bite, but he tried to pull his head back. Sylar held him in place. “That’s Peter’s,” Sylar said.
Nathan stopped pulling away, and after a second, Sylar felt his fingers being sucked gently as Nathan cleared off every last remnant of his brother’s semen. The cell wasn’t well lit, but Sylar could see well enough to appreciate the hate in Nathan’s eyes.
Sylar removed his clean fingers and sat back on his haunches, regarding the ragged man who bore little resemble to him anymore. “All it took was looking like you,” Sylar said thoughtfully. “All I had to do was show up, and he knelt for me, spread for me. I fucked him wide open, and he begged me for more. He really loves his brother.”
Nathan still had enough fight in him not to flinch, not to turn away, and Sylar’s grin widened. He thought he’d taken everything away from Nathan long ago, but Peter was a brand new weapon, and Sylar was eager to see how he could hurt Nathan with it.
“Today was special,” Sylar announced proudly. “You know why? The game’s up. He knew it was me.” For a moment, Sylar dropped his illusion, looking again like his old self. “He recognized his old enemy. Isn’t that sweet?” Sylar restored the illusion, looking at Nathan again with identical brown eyes. “But still, he came all over my hand, Nathan. What does that say about him?”
Nathan said nothing, but Sylar could see wounds opening up behind his eyes where he hadn’t been able to reach before. Such lovely pain in those eyes. Sylar wondered idly how far he could push the older Petrelli.
“I like keeping you around, Nathan, but if I ever decided I wanted to fly, I’d have to kill you,” he said casually. “I’d be sad about that, because I think it’s what you want.”
Nathan didn’t respond.
“But now there’s an alternative, isn’t there?” Sylar said slowly, as if the idea had just occurred to him. “If I had you brother’s ability, I wouldn’t need to kill you. I could keep you forever. What do you think?”
Nathan jumped at him, a move so fast and unexpected that Sylar was barely able to raise his hand in time to send the man slamming back into the wall with telekinesis. It was so desperately, futilely brave that Sylar couldn’t help an amused laugh.
“I was wrong about you, Nathan,” he said, kneeling next to the man where he was now slumped against the wall. “I think you are more fun than Peter.”
On to Part III.