Attack of the Pr0n! and Fic: New Wounds, Part III
My muse has been filthy, filthy dirty this week. First she makes me write a couple things for the Heroes Kink Meme (which, by the way, is delicious dirtybadwrong!fun, and you should go check it out), and then she makes me flesh out some ideas I've been kicking around for this. I decided to go ahead and call it a series, since there have been two previous parts, and the last part (which is already written, yes) should be out in a few days. In the meantime, I'll brush up my stuff from the Kink Meme and post it here. Look out for the ridiculously dirty pr0n clearninghouse that my journal has become. Anyway, on to the fic.
Title: New Wounds, Part III of IV
Rating: NC-17… More like NC-21, really
Warnings: Danger, danger Will Robinson. Non-con, angst, evil, evil actions, angst, bad things happening, more angst. Dark. Spoilers for 5YG.
Word Count: 1800
Summary: Sylar continues to use the Petrelli brothers against one another.
Author’s Note: For the un_love_you challenge, Prompt 07: Prove It. This (and the next part) were shamelessly encouraged by jaune_chat
And if you missed them the first time around: Part I - Part II
Nathan grunted when Sylar’s fist connected with his cheek. He let himself fall to his knees, and readied his hands to deflect a kick. Sometimes Sylar wanted him to defend himself, to struggle against the inevitable defeat, but today Nathan got the impression that Sylar wasn’t looking for resistance. Sylar wanted to hurt him, and he wanted to do it personally: no telekinesis, no burning, just his bare hands. Still, Nathan didn’t want to spend the afternoon pissing blood, so when Sylar’s foot came flying at him, he pushed it aside.
“Bad Petrelli.” Sylar’s voice was a warning grumble. He snapped his knee up into Nathan’s chin, sending him sprawling, dazed, to the floor.
Sylar flipped Nathan over onto his stomach and straddled his legs. “I give you one little compliment, and you think you can walk all over me.” Sylar shoved two dry fingers into Nathan up to the second knuckle. Nathan’s body jerked at the intrusion, but he was trapped under Sylar.
“I don’t have to be gentle with you anymore, since I have my new toy.” Sylar twisted his fingers, boring deeper. Nathan tried to push up, hoping he could unseat the man who was hurting him, but with his free hand, Sylar grabbed Nathan’s hair and pushed his head down. “At least you still have some spine. Peter just lays there and takes it.” He shoved a third finger in beside the others.
Nathan made a pained sound, a strangled exhalation, and Sylar stopped. “Did you say something?”
Nathan shook his head. Sylar’s hand, the one that had been holding his hair, snaked around Nathan’s neck, tracing the marks there. Nathan held very still. Each scar on his neck marked a time he’d talked back to Sylar. Sylar had choked him, throttled him, slit his throat and knit it back together cell by cell until Nathan’s voice was beyond use. In some ways, Nathan was grateful. He could tell himself that he’d stopped talking back because he couldn’t, not because he was a coward.
“No? Nothing?” Sylar tightened a hand around Nathan’s throat for a moment, then relented. “I didn’t think so.” He twisted the hand inside of Nathan, adding a last finger and his thumb as well. Nathan concentrated on not making any noise at all. It wasn’t easy. He’d become accustomed to pain, but this was too much. He tried to picture himself somewhere else: getting roaring drunk with Peter, naked on the couch in his apartment. No, not that one; he couldn’t think of Peter right now. On his father’s yacht sipping a gin and coke. Golfing at the Langston Legacy course with his Secretary of State. Dancing with Heidi at the Time Hotel on New Year's Eve. Nothing worked. Each safe place was shot through with angry red dots as the pain penetrated everywhere.
Nathan couldn’t escape the sensations: the concrete cold against his cheek, the strain in his knee from the awkward way it was twisted, the wetness of blood dripping from where he was being torn, and Sylar’s cock hard against his naked leg.
“We can try some new things now that I don’t have to worry about keeping you in good shape,” Sylar said pleasantly. He reached under Nathan where his soft cock was pressed painfully into the floor. “Not enjoying yourself?”
Sylar scratched his fingernails against Nathan’s dick, that pain piling on top of the other agony. “Of course, you’re not used to being on the bottom. It’s time you know how this feels.” He pushed his arm further in, and Nathan felt a dull bloom of pain overwhelm the rest for a moment. He wondered what Sylar would do if he passed out, and decided he didn’t want to know, so he gritted his teeth and concentrated on staying silent.
“Does your brother like this? Hm?” Sylar asked, leaning in close to Nathan’s ear. “You would know. You ever shove your fist inside him, see how much he can take? He wouldn’t tell you no. He’d let you use his body however you wanted. Don’t tell me you never did this.” He curled his hand into a loose fist inside Nathan. His knuckles brushed the prostate, but the sparks of pleasure were overwhelmed by the blinding red pain.
“Maybe I’ll try it on him when I’m done here. Make him beg for it.” His voice became high, mocking. “Nathan! Nathan!” He shoved his fist in further. “Hear him moan like a whore. Make him come with my fist inside him. What do you think?” Sylar twisted his arm inside Nathan, and a broken moan finally escaped. Nathan felt warm wetness splash against the back of his leg as the sound took Sylar over the edge.
“Now I remember why I keep you around.” He pulled his arm out of Nathan with a sick, wet noise.
On his way out, Sylar called to the guards, “Clean him up.”
********
Peter lay on the cold floor of his cell, staring up at the ceiling. Sylar, looking like himself for once, lay beside him, tracing patterns on Peter’s chest with one finger.
“Tell me something, Pete,” Sylar said. “When I visit, would you rather I come as Nathan or as myself?”
“Don’t come at all,” Peter said weakly.
Suddenly Sylar’s finger split the skin of Peter’s chest like a delicate telekinetic scalpel. Peter hissed in pain.
“That wasn’t one of the choices, Peter.” Sylar’s voice was calm, almost bored. “Do you want to see Nathan fucking you, or me?”
“You’re not Nathan.”
The skin split again in another spot. “You miss him?”
Peter didn’t want to answer that. Of course he missed Nathan. He’d missed him all the years they’d been apart. Now that he knew Sylar had stolen his brother’s life, that Nathan was gone forever, Peter missed him with a desperation that bordered on hysteria.
Sylar traced a hand over Peter’s belly, leaving a shallow cut in its wake. “I asked if you missed him, Peter.”
“Yeah.” Peter hated himself for the trembling in his voice.
Sylar ran his finger back over one of the bleeding cuts on Peter’s chest. He felt a tingling as Sylar did something to knit the skin back together. Peter wondered idly if it was a new healing power, a refined application of telekinesis, or something else entirely. Peter wondered how many new abilities Sylar had acquired in his guise as Nathan. He wondered if Sylar took the same secret pleasure in flying as Nathan had.
“He’s here,” Sylar said suddenly.
“What?” Peter held absolutely still, certain he hadn’t understood correctly.
“Nathan’s here,” Sylar said. “I keep him around to play with. Same as you, except he’s more fun.”
Peter turned his head away. He hadn’t thought it was possible to feel worse than he had a moment ago, but now he did. He didn’t believe for a moment that Sylar was telling the truth, but even the thought made himm sick. Nathan was blessedly out of Sylar’s reach, beyond anyone’s ability to hurt him. This was just another game. It had to be.
“You don’t believe me?” Sylar took Peter’s chin in his hand to make him meet his eyes. “Come on.” Sylar stood, pulling Peter with him. “We’re going on a field trip.” He led Peter toward the door, but Peter dug his heels in stubbornly. He didn’t want any more lies. He didn’t want any more pain.
“Come on,” Sylar said soothingly, morphing back into Nathan again. He ran a hand through Peter’s short-cropped hair and scratched gently behind his ear. “It’ll be nice.”
Peter began to wonder at that point why he was bothering to resist. Sylar would hurt him if he refused, but Peter seriously doubted that anything Sylar had to show him could break him further. He just had to remember not to hope. He ducked his head and followed Sylar.
If the guards were surprised by the sight of the President leading a naked man down the hallway, they didn’t show it. Sylar opened the second door on the left and waved Peter through.
The room was small and dark with two folding chairs shoved into a corner, but what caught Peter’s attention was the large window. Beyond the glass was a brightly-lit room where two guards had turned a hose on a figure crouched miserably against the wall. Peter found himself drawn to the glass as if by a magnet. One of the guards shut the hose off, and the crouching man lifted his head. He had a wild beard. The skin around his left eye was swollen and blackish-blue, and the eyes themselves seemed dead. It was Nathan.
Peter flung himself at the glass, pounding and shouting. “Nathan!”
“No use.” Sylar grabbed Peter's hips and pulled him away from the window. “Soundproof.”
Peter reached out anyway, touching his fingertips to the window. “Please,” he said.
Sylar wrapped his arms tighter around Peter. “Please what?”
“Let me see him. Let me talk to him.”
“No.”
“He’s alive.”
“I know. If I turned on the light in here, he could see us. Shall I?”
Peter took in his own appearance, Sylar’s possessive hands around his waist, and looked again at the miserable man in the other room. Sylar reached for the light switch, and Peter reached out a hand to stop him. “I don’t want him to see me… with you,” Peter said softly.
“Then you can’t see him.” Sylar’s tone was matter-of-fact, final.
“Let me go in there.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“What’s it worth to you?”
Peter tried to think of something that Sylar hadn’t already taken, and came up blank. “Anything.” He knew it was a stupid thing to say, knew it was exactly what Sylar wanted, but he didn’t care. What could Sylar do that would hurt more than losing the chance to see Nathan?
“Prove it.”
“How?”
“I want you.”
“You’ve had me,” Peter said dully.
“No. I want you to enjoy it. Next time I come to see you, I want you to prove to me that you want it.”
Peter felt sick. It was one thing to lay still and grit his teeth while Sylar used him. It was quite another to actively participate in his own debauchery.
Sylar’s hands loosened around his waist. “If you think you’re too weak to handle that, we can leave now.”
“No.” Peter placed his hands over Sylar’s, and was rewarded by feeling Sylar relax behind him. Peter stared into the other room where Nathan was curled up on the floor, shivering. “I’ll do it."
Next Part
Title: New Wounds, Part III of IV
Rating: NC-17… More like NC-21, really
Warnings: Danger, danger Will Robinson. Non-con, angst, evil, evil actions, angst, bad things happening, more angst. Dark. Spoilers for 5YG.
Word Count: 1800
Summary: Sylar continues to use the Petrelli brothers against one another.
Author’s Note: For the un_love_you challenge, Prompt 07: Prove It. This (and the next part) were shamelessly encouraged by jaune_chat
And if you missed them the first time around: Part I - Part II
Nathan grunted when Sylar’s fist connected with his cheek. He let himself fall to his knees, and readied his hands to deflect a kick. Sometimes Sylar wanted him to defend himself, to struggle against the inevitable defeat, but today Nathan got the impression that Sylar wasn’t looking for resistance. Sylar wanted to hurt him, and he wanted to do it personally: no telekinesis, no burning, just his bare hands. Still, Nathan didn’t want to spend the afternoon pissing blood, so when Sylar’s foot came flying at him, he pushed it aside.
“Bad Petrelli.” Sylar’s voice was a warning grumble. He snapped his knee up into Nathan’s chin, sending him sprawling, dazed, to the floor.
Sylar flipped Nathan over onto his stomach and straddled his legs. “I give you one little compliment, and you think you can walk all over me.” Sylar shoved two dry fingers into Nathan up to the second knuckle. Nathan’s body jerked at the intrusion, but he was trapped under Sylar.
“I don’t have to be gentle with you anymore, since I have my new toy.” Sylar twisted his fingers, boring deeper. Nathan tried to push up, hoping he could unseat the man who was hurting him, but with his free hand, Sylar grabbed Nathan’s hair and pushed his head down. “At least you still have some spine. Peter just lays there and takes it.” He shoved a third finger in beside the others.
Nathan made a pained sound, a strangled exhalation, and Sylar stopped. “Did you say something?”
Nathan shook his head. Sylar’s hand, the one that had been holding his hair, snaked around Nathan’s neck, tracing the marks there. Nathan held very still. Each scar on his neck marked a time he’d talked back to Sylar. Sylar had choked him, throttled him, slit his throat and knit it back together cell by cell until Nathan’s voice was beyond use. In some ways, Nathan was grateful. He could tell himself that he’d stopped talking back because he couldn’t, not because he was a coward.
“No? Nothing?” Sylar tightened a hand around Nathan’s throat for a moment, then relented. “I didn’t think so.” He twisted the hand inside of Nathan, adding a last finger and his thumb as well. Nathan concentrated on not making any noise at all. It wasn’t easy. He’d become accustomed to pain, but this was too much. He tried to picture himself somewhere else: getting roaring drunk with Peter, naked on the couch in his apartment. No, not that one; he couldn’t think of Peter right now. On his father’s yacht sipping a gin and coke. Golfing at the Langston Legacy course with his Secretary of State. Dancing with Heidi at the Time Hotel on New Year's Eve. Nothing worked. Each safe place was shot through with angry red dots as the pain penetrated everywhere.
Nathan couldn’t escape the sensations: the concrete cold against his cheek, the strain in his knee from the awkward way it was twisted, the wetness of blood dripping from where he was being torn, and Sylar’s cock hard against his naked leg.
“We can try some new things now that I don’t have to worry about keeping you in good shape,” Sylar said pleasantly. He reached under Nathan where his soft cock was pressed painfully into the floor. “Not enjoying yourself?”
Sylar scratched his fingernails against Nathan’s dick, that pain piling on top of the other agony. “Of course, you’re not used to being on the bottom. It’s time you know how this feels.” He pushed his arm further in, and Nathan felt a dull bloom of pain overwhelm the rest for a moment. He wondered what Sylar would do if he passed out, and decided he didn’t want to know, so he gritted his teeth and concentrated on staying silent.
“Does your brother like this? Hm?” Sylar asked, leaning in close to Nathan’s ear. “You would know. You ever shove your fist inside him, see how much he can take? He wouldn’t tell you no. He’d let you use his body however you wanted. Don’t tell me you never did this.” He curled his hand into a loose fist inside Nathan. His knuckles brushed the prostate, but the sparks of pleasure were overwhelmed by the blinding red pain.
“Maybe I’ll try it on him when I’m done here. Make him beg for it.” His voice became high, mocking. “Nathan! Nathan!” He shoved his fist in further. “Hear him moan like a whore. Make him come with my fist inside him. What do you think?” Sylar twisted his arm inside Nathan, and a broken moan finally escaped. Nathan felt warm wetness splash against the back of his leg as the sound took Sylar over the edge.
“Now I remember why I keep you around.” He pulled his arm out of Nathan with a sick, wet noise.
On his way out, Sylar called to the guards, “Clean him up.”
********
Peter lay on the cold floor of his cell, staring up at the ceiling. Sylar, looking like himself for once, lay beside him, tracing patterns on Peter’s chest with one finger.
“Tell me something, Pete,” Sylar said. “When I visit, would you rather I come as Nathan or as myself?”
“Don’t come at all,” Peter said weakly.
Suddenly Sylar’s finger split the skin of Peter’s chest like a delicate telekinetic scalpel. Peter hissed in pain.
“That wasn’t one of the choices, Peter.” Sylar’s voice was calm, almost bored. “Do you want to see Nathan fucking you, or me?”
“You’re not Nathan.”
The skin split again in another spot. “You miss him?”
Peter didn’t want to answer that. Of course he missed Nathan. He’d missed him all the years they’d been apart. Now that he knew Sylar had stolen his brother’s life, that Nathan was gone forever, Peter missed him with a desperation that bordered on hysteria.
Sylar traced a hand over Peter’s belly, leaving a shallow cut in its wake. “I asked if you missed him, Peter.”
“Yeah.” Peter hated himself for the trembling in his voice.
Sylar ran his finger back over one of the bleeding cuts on Peter’s chest. He felt a tingling as Sylar did something to knit the skin back together. Peter wondered idly if it was a new healing power, a refined application of telekinesis, or something else entirely. Peter wondered how many new abilities Sylar had acquired in his guise as Nathan. He wondered if Sylar took the same secret pleasure in flying as Nathan had.
“He’s here,” Sylar said suddenly.
“What?” Peter held absolutely still, certain he hadn’t understood correctly.
“Nathan’s here,” Sylar said. “I keep him around to play with. Same as you, except he’s more fun.”
Peter turned his head away. He hadn’t thought it was possible to feel worse than he had a moment ago, but now he did. He didn’t believe for a moment that Sylar was telling the truth, but even the thought made himm sick. Nathan was blessedly out of Sylar’s reach, beyond anyone’s ability to hurt him. This was just another game. It had to be.
“You don’t believe me?” Sylar took Peter’s chin in his hand to make him meet his eyes. “Come on.” Sylar stood, pulling Peter with him. “We’re going on a field trip.” He led Peter toward the door, but Peter dug his heels in stubbornly. He didn’t want any more lies. He didn’t want any more pain.
“Come on,” Sylar said soothingly, morphing back into Nathan again. He ran a hand through Peter’s short-cropped hair and scratched gently behind his ear. “It’ll be nice.”
Peter began to wonder at that point why he was bothering to resist. Sylar would hurt him if he refused, but Peter seriously doubted that anything Sylar had to show him could break him further. He just had to remember not to hope. He ducked his head and followed Sylar.
If the guards were surprised by the sight of the President leading a naked man down the hallway, they didn’t show it. Sylar opened the second door on the left and waved Peter through.
The room was small and dark with two folding chairs shoved into a corner, but what caught Peter’s attention was the large window. Beyond the glass was a brightly-lit room where two guards had turned a hose on a figure crouched miserably against the wall. Peter found himself drawn to the glass as if by a magnet. One of the guards shut the hose off, and the crouching man lifted his head. He had a wild beard. The skin around his left eye was swollen and blackish-blue, and the eyes themselves seemed dead. It was Nathan.
Peter flung himself at the glass, pounding and shouting. “Nathan!”
“No use.” Sylar grabbed Peter's hips and pulled him away from the window. “Soundproof.”
Peter reached out anyway, touching his fingertips to the window. “Please,” he said.
Sylar wrapped his arms tighter around Peter. “Please what?”
“Let me see him. Let me talk to him.”
“No.”
“He’s alive.”
“I know. If I turned on the light in here, he could see us. Shall I?”
Peter took in his own appearance, Sylar’s possessive hands around his waist, and looked again at the miserable man in the other room. Sylar reached for the light switch, and Peter reached out a hand to stop him. “I don’t want him to see me… with you,” Peter said softly.
“Then you can’t see him.” Sylar’s tone was matter-of-fact, final.
“Let me go in there.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“What’s it worth to you?”
Peter tried to think of something that Sylar hadn’t already taken, and came up blank. “Anything.” He knew it was a stupid thing to say, knew it was exactly what Sylar wanted, but he didn’t care. What could Sylar do that would hurt more than losing the chance to see Nathan?
“Prove it.”
“How?”
“I want you.”
“You’ve had me,” Peter said dully.
“No. I want you to enjoy it. Next time I come to see you, I want you to prove to me that you want it.”
Peter felt sick. It was one thing to lay still and grit his teeth while Sylar used him. It was quite another to actively participate in his own debauchery.
Sylar’s hands loosened around his waist. “If you think you’re too weak to handle that, we can leave now.”
“No.” Peter placed his hands over Sylar’s, and was rewarded by feeling Sylar relax behind him. Peter stared into the other room where Nathan was curled up on the floor, shivering. “I’ll do it."
Next Part