Fic: Teachable Moment
I said it was kinky puppy-play weekend, and I did not lie. I am a sick and twisted individual.
Title: A Teachable Moment
Author: brighteyed_jill
Word Count: 3000
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Peter/Sylar
Warnings: non-con, kink, d/s, angst, notverynice!Peter
Summary: Sylar crosses Peter one time too many, and Peter decides to teach him a lesson.
Author’s Note: Written for a prompt at the Heroes Kink Meme by the creative genius morelen, and inspired by the un_love_you challenge prompt 01: You were right about me.
“You touched my brother.” Peter’s voice was dangerously soft.
Sylar, standing with a beam at his back, hands tied behind him with wire, smiled his confident smile. “And next time, you won’t be there to stop me.”
“I won’t need to be there. You’re not going to go near him ever again.” Peter’s voice held none of the naive passion Sylar had come to expect from his adversary. Instead, he seemed calm and confident.
Sylar’s smile faded a fraction. “Murder, Peter Petrelli?”
“No.” Peter paced around Sylar, slowly. “What you did to Nathan… It got me thinking. I understand what you’re after.” His eyes flicked momentarily to Sylar’s crotch, and Sylar felt his heart stutter. “You’re a lonely man. Lonely and pathetic.”
“Like you, Peter?” Sylar challenged. He needed to turn the tables again, put Peter on the defensive. “So special that-.”
“I’m still talking.”
Sylar shut his mouth. Peter’s assertiveness was disconcerting. It wasn’t supposed to be happening this way.
“You’re so damn smug,” Peter went on. “Thinking I’m the villain. Trying to bring out my dark side. Well congratulations, Sylar. You were right about me. I’m not all sunshine and light.”
Sylar sneered at him. “What, your mommy didn’t love you enough? Now you just want to take care of everyone, make it all better like dear Angela never could.”
“All right. Let’s talk mommy issues.” Peter coldness was unnerving. “I heard you killed your mother. What, she didn’t want to have sex with you either?”
Sylar saw red momentarily, and struggled wildly against the makeshift handcuffs. Peter stood a few feet away, watching impassively. Sylar’s head was spinning: insulting the memory of his mother hurt, yes, but if Peter could say something like that, the game really had changed. Sylar had definitely underestimated him. When he had himself back under control, he said quietly, “I am going to kill you, you know.”
Peter ignored him, instead circling around the beam where Sylar was tied. “I know why you couldn’t leave Mohinder alone. It’s the same reason why you keep coming after me. You’re desperate.” Peter ran his hand gently down Sylar’s chest, the lightest ghost of a touch. “How long has it been, Sylar? Since someone touched you?”
“Fuck you.” It wasn’t his cleverest comeback, but it made him feel brave to say it.
“I know that’s what you want,” Peter whispered, leaning close to Sylar’s ear. “Be patient.”
Panic and desire warred within Sylar with that declaration. He began to struggle again; the wire cut into his wrists.
“So you want to play rough now?” Peter asked. He brought his elbow up, hitting Sylar under the chin and sending his head slamming back against the steel beam. Momentarily stunned, Sylar slumped in his bonds. Peter grabbed him by the jaw to make him meet his eyes. “Here’s how this is going to work. I don’t plan on killing you. You can leave when I know that you’ll never come after Nathan again.”
“Then we may be here a while.”
“Oh Sylar. You don’t know yourself as well as you think.”
“If you think I’m ever going to leave your precious brother alone-.” Sylar yanked his hands against his bonds and felt the wire give a little.
Stop struggling. Peter’s voice echoed in his head, and suddenly Sylar found himself unable to move.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, striving to stay calm. “Did someone get a new toy?”
Peter just smiled. Then the wire tightened around Sylar’s wrists, pulled by telekinesis. He felt a drop of blood well up, and a growled in the back of his throat.
“You’re an animal, Sylar,” Peter said. “I can’t reason with you. Animals only understand punishment and rewards. Are you ready to be a good little doggie?”
“When I kill you, I’m going to take my time, Peter.”
“Bad boy.” Peter placed a hand on Sylar’s chest and sent a jolt of electricity through him. Sylar bit back a cry as agony ripped through him, followed by sharp aftershocks. The wire on his wrists, heated by the charge, continued to burn into his flesh.
“Big bad Sylar.” Peter’s hand snaked down Sylar’s chest, and he stepped closer. His hand came to rest at the front of Sylar’s jeans. “You love being tied up. You get off on this. Am I right?” He pressed the palm of his hand into Sylar’s erection. “You want someone to teach you a lesson. You’re practically begging for it.”
Peter leaned in close, and Sylar snapped at him. Peter shook his head in disapproval. “If you wanted a kiss, you just had to ask.” He pressed his lips to Sylar’s. Sylar opened his mouth, feeling Peter’s tongue slip inside, and he bit down hard.
To his surprise, Peter pressed closer in, wrapping a hand around the back of Sylar’s neck to deepen the kiss. Then Sylar gasped, releasing his bite as a sudden sharp pain slashed across his belly. Peter pulled away smiling, and Sylar looked down to see a long cut across his abdomen, sluggishly oozing blood. Peter pulled up Sylar’s shirt and knelt down, licking across the line that he’d cut with telekinesis.
Sylar wanted to scream in frustration. Telekinesis was his ability, his first and most beloved: Peter had no right to use it against him. Peter must have heard that thought, because he straightened up to look Sylar in the eye with an infuriating smirk. Then he stuck out his tongue: healed. No lasting effect at all from Sylar’s petty defiance. Sylar wanted to offer some clever quip to convince Peter he wasn’t cowed, not in the least, but nothing came to mind. He settled for glaring, but his confidence was somewhat pricked by Peter’s unhurried, almost pitying smile.
“Isn’t that what you like?” Peter asked pleasantly. “Blood and pain? Let me know-I need some feedback here.”
Sylar scowled. Even if that was what he enjoyed, he didn’t appreciate being the one tied up. Still, Peter’s tongue on his skin had felt good. If his hands were free, he’d certainly return the favor, but apparently that wasn’t what Peter had in mind.
When it was clear Sylar wasn’t going to answer, Peter pulled Sylar’s shirt off, ripping it to get past the improvised handcuffs. Sylar couldn’t suppress a shiver at the cold air. He wanted Peter to touch him again: hands, tongue, anything, but no-He hoped Peter hadn’t pick up on that thought, but he feared, from Peter’s slow wink, that he had overheard him. Keeping his eyes locked with Sylar, Peter reached down to undo his victim’s belt, unbuttoning the fly and pushing Sylar’s pants down to his knees. Sylar looked away, knowing that his erection was straining against his belly, but unable to stop his body from reacting.
Peter, fully clothed, looked him up and down appraisingly. Sylar felt a flush spread over his cheeks and down the back of his neck. “Look at that,” Peter said. He touched one finger delicately to the tip of Sylar’s weeping cock. “You’re getting off on this. Whore,” Peter whispered in his ear.
Peter stepped back, dropping bonelessly into the folding chair that was the room’s only furniture. “Come here.”
“You’re joking,” Sylar said. He couldn’t deny that he was aroused, but Peter was dreaming if he thought Sylar would give in to him this easily. There were so many ways he wanted to hurt Peter, and if only he could hold on to control, he might still be able to turn this situation to his advantage
The wire uncoiled off Sylar’s wrists, powered by the invisible force of Peter’s mind. “I said come here.”
Growling, Sylar got one angry step forward on his way to strangle Peter when the empath’s voice echoed in his mind. Crawl. Sylar dropped to his hands and knees before he could stop himself.
Marshalling all his strength, he managed to keep still, resisting the compulsion to crawl forward. Get out of my head, he screamed, but it was like battering against a brick wall.
Crawl, Peter repeated. Sylar started to crawl, and it was then that he began to panic.
It only took a few steps to reach Peter’s feet. “Good boy,” Peter said, and patted him on the head. No more talking.
Sylar tried to speak, to tell Peter how much he was going to enjoy torturing Nathan as soon as he found him again, but he couldn’t open his mouth. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. Peter had never been like this before, never had the strength, the will to use his powers this way. Except that now he did. Sylar’s cock was achingly hard at the thought of what he would do to Peter after this-just let the empath’s control slip, even a little, and he’d see. An impatient growl escaped Sylar.
“Now what do you want?” Peter asked.
Sylar tried again to speak, and found that he physically could not. He had no idea whose power this was, but he wanted it very badly. For the thousandth time he cursed pretty little Eden McCain for denying him her gift. Stop it, he shouted inside his mind, aiming the thought at Peter. His tormentor’s smile grew.
“This?” Peter placed his hand on the bulge in his pants. “Is this what you want?”
Sylar’s cock jerked, and Peter smiled his crooked smile. “Then ask me.”
“I don’t want anything from you.” Sylar’s eyes burned with hate. Peter should be the one on his knees, begging to be touched. Sylar cursed his own weakness as the blood pulsed through his cock, demanding attention. If only Peter would touch him, or he could touch Peter. But he would not give his enemy that satisfaction, no matter how much his body wanted it.
Peter watched Sylar with evident amusement as he stroked himself through the fabric of his pants. “Don’t lie to me, Sylar. I can hear what you’re thinking.”
This is not the way it’s supposed to be. You should be kneeling for me, Sylar thought furiously.
Peter scooted forward on the chair. Sylar jerked away, but Peter grabbed him by the hair, and the voice in Sylar’s head commanded, Stay. He stopped trying to pull away.
Peter began to stroke Sylar’s hair, almost affectionately. “It’s hard to let go. I know. You’re used to doing whatever you want. That’s over now. It’s easier if you just do what I say. I’ll even let you have some things you want. Isn’t that nice? Now, ask for what you want.”
Sylar was trembling. No one should be able to do this to him, least of all Peter Petrelli. And yet, why did Peter petting him feel good? Why was he hard now, kneeling in front of his enemy?
“Come on, baby,” Peter prompted. “How does puppy ask for what he wants?”
Sylar wanted to say something defiant, but his body made a different decision; he whined deep in his throat: a lost, pitiful sound.
“Good boy,” Peter said ruffling his hair. “You get a treat.” Sylar watched in detached fascination as Peter unzipped his pants “Suck.”
Sylar hesitated only a moment. Obviously Peter could force him to do whatever he wanted with those mental commands. At least this way, he was in control. Would it be so bad just to play into his hands this once? If he started to play along, Peter would certainly let his guard down, and Sylar would have a chance to turn the tables. He could sacrifice a little pride for that. For that, and for a little relief-he wanted, wanted so much it hurt. Sylar opened his mouth.
Peter shoved his cock in, and Sylar gagged on it. “Yeah. Good boy.” Peter grabbed a handful of Sylar’s hair again to hold him still. “If I feel teeth, we’ll have to start playing rough. You don’t want that.”
He began to thrust into Sylar’s mouth, knocking into the back of his throat. Tears sprung to Sylar’s eyes as he gagged. He knew it was a simple physical reaction, but still he cursed himself for appearing weak in front of Peter.
“I’m fucking your mouth and you’re worried I won’t respect you if you cry?” Peter taunted.
Get out of my head, Sylar screamed mentally, trying to pull away from Peter’s assault and finding that he couldn’t control his body. Peter pulled Sylar’s face onto his crotch and held it there while Sylar struggled, his throat convulsing, fighting for air as wiry hairs tickled his nose.
When Sylar thought he might pass out from lack of oxygen, Peter shoved him away, sending him sprawling on his back. “I’ve got news, friend. I have no respect for you. You’re nothing but an animal, and if I have to break you to get you to leave us alone, I’ll do it.”
Sylar growled again, trying to lash out with telekinesis, but Peter was on top of him again, holding him down, his knee pressed between Sylar’s legs. “Look at that. Still hard. No shame. Just like an animal.”
Peter grabbed Sylar’s legs and flipped him over, pushing his head down and his ass up, presenting an obscene spread. Stay. Again, Sylar found himself trapped, and Peter began to play with his body. He pulled off the pants that had bunched around Sylar’s ankles, then gently ran his hands down Sylar’s bare flanks, causing him to shiver. Firmly grabbing the globes of Sylar’s ass, he spread his cheeks.
Sylar tensed up in panic; his cock was weeping for Peter, but he couldn’t surrender like this, couldn’t. Blood roared in his ears in anticipation; he wanted, needed Peter to take him, but if he did, if he allowed this, it was over. If Sylar gave up this, than Peter had won. Sylar tried desperately to remember why that mattered, as his body screamed at him for touch, for release, and Peter’s command held him still.
Peter chuckled. “You know, I thought about videotaping this. You kneeling for me, crawling for me. Down on the floor with your ass in the air like a whore, begging to be fucked. I was going to show it to Nathan, to Mohinder. To anyone you’ve hurt. So they’d know how pathetic you are.” Peter circled the exposed pucker with a finger. “There’s still time. Snap some pictures, at least. What do you think?”
Sylar flinched as another pathetic whine escaped him. Peter gave a satisfied chuckle before sliding the tip of his finger into Sylar’s ass. He jerked at the invasion, but couldn’t move more than that. The roaring in his ears increased, his whole body humming in anticipation.
“Have you even done this before?” Peter asked casually. “Anyone ever put up with you long enough to get this far?” Peter shoved the finger further inside. “Thought not. Rape’s the only way you can get any. I’m not surprised you’ve turned out this way. But Sylar?” He crooked his finger, and Sylar thrust his hips forward desperately as a wave of unexpected pleasure shook him. “You’re all mine now. My pet.”
Sylar whined again as Peter gently teased that place inside him. His breath hitched, his balls drew up in preparation, and then Peter’s voice echoed in his head again.
Don’t come until I say so.
It hurt, being so close to the edge. He’d never felt this before, not this way: not so deep and high and sharp. His cock throbbed painfully, and he knew if he could just go a little further, he would experience the best moment of his entire life. Peter pulled his finger out, but Sylar stayed, dangling over the edge of a high precipice, aching in a way both profoundly good and exceedingly painful.
It hurt when Peter shoved his cock in, and the pain piled on top of the pleasure that wouldn’t go away. When Peter began to thrust, hitting that wonderful spot inside of Sylar with every stroke, he thought he might go mad. Madder. He howled, incapable for words but needing an outlet for the sensations assaulting him.
“You’re doing good. Good boy,” Peter soothed. He wrapped a hand around Sylar’s cock, scratching his fingernails painfully across the underside. “Do you want to come?”
Sylar tried to speak, but he could only pant. Please.
“Has my little pet learned his lesson?”
The thrusts continued, building the pain/pleasure feeling inside of Sylar until he was beyond rational thought. His cock throbbed in agony. He’d already gone this far-what could it hurt to debase himself further? Make it stop make it stop make it stop.
“I told you it stops when I get what I want. Has my pet learned his lesson?”
Sylar threw back his head, wishing he could move, to push back onto Peter’s cock, to add his hand to Peter’s and stroke himself, to run away, anything but this knife-edge of sensation. I swear I swear I swear I’m sorry I won’t do it again whatever you want.
“Good. Now do you want to come?” Peter ran his thumb over the head of Sylar’s cock, and he shuddered in agony. “How does puppy ask for what he wants?”
All it took from Sylar was series of high-pitched whimpers, like a bitch in heat, and Peter was saying, “Good boy,” and stroking his hair. Come.
Sylar screamed as he came, incredible pain and relief and pleasure, like his whole self, all his power, was gushing out of him. He clamped down on Peter’s cock and felt a warm spurt inside of him as Peter filled him.
As soon as it was over, too soon, Peter pulled out roughly, causing a cry of pain from Sylar at the loss. Sylar collapsed on the floor: empty, spent, and just beginning to realize the enormity of what he’d allowed to happen.
“Now listen, bitch,” Peter said softly. He stood over Sylar and zipped up his pants impatiently, like Sylar was a five-dollar whore who was wasting his time. “If you ever come near my brother again.” Peter kicked out viciously, catching Sylar in the side and leaving him gasping. “Then next time I won’t play nice. Got it?”
As Peter walked away, Sylar tried to catch his breath, coming down from his high of pain and pleasure. To Peter’s retreating back, he whispered, “It might be worth it.”
Title: A Teachable Moment
Author: brighteyed_jill
Word Count: 3000
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Peter/Sylar
Warnings: non-con, kink, d/s, angst, notverynice!Peter
Summary: Sylar crosses Peter one time too many, and Peter decides to teach him a lesson.
Author’s Note: Written for a prompt at the Heroes Kink Meme by the creative genius morelen, and inspired by the un_love_you challenge prompt 01: You were right about me.
“You touched my brother.” Peter’s voice was dangerously soft.
Sylar, standing with a beam at his back, hands tied behind him with wire, smiled his confident smile. “And next time, you won’t be there to stop me.”
“I won’t need to be there. You’re not going to go near him ever again.” Peter’s voice held none of the naive passion Sylar had come to expect from his adversary. Instead, he seemed calm and confident.
Sylar’s smile faded a fraction. “Murder, Peter Petrelli?”
“No.” Peter paced around Sylar, slowly. “What you did to Nathan… It got me thinking. I understand what you’re after.” His eyes flicked momentarily to Sylar’s crotch, and Sylar felt his heart stutter. “You’re a lonely man. Lonely and pathetic.”
“Like you, Peter?” Sylar challenged. He needed to turn the tables again, put Peter on the defensive. “So special that-.”
“I’m still talking.”
Sylar shut his mouth. Peter’s assertiveness was disconcerting. It wasn’t supposed to be happening this way.
“You’re so damn smug,” Peter went on. “Thinking I’m the villain. Trying to bring out my dark side. Well congratulations, Sylar. You were right about me. I’m not all sunshine and light.”
Sylar sneered at him. “What, your mommy didn’t love you enough? Now you just want to take care of everyone, make it all better like dear Angela never could.”
“All right. Let’s talk mommy issues.” Peter coldness was unnerving. “I heard you killed your mother. What, she didn’t want to have sex with you either?”
Sylar saw red momentarily, and struggled wildly against the makeshift handcuffs. Peter stood a few feet away, watching impassively. Sylar’s head was spinning: insulting the memory of his mother hurt, yes, but if Peter could say something like that, the game really had changed. Sylar had definitely underestimated him. When he had himself back under control, he said quietly, “I am going to kill you, you know.”
Peter ignored him, instead circling around the beam where Sylar was tied. “I know why you couldn’t leave Mohinder alone. It’s the same reason why you keep coming after me. You’re desperate.” Peter ran his hand gently down Sylar’s chest, the lightest ghost of a touch. “How long has it been, Sylar? Since someone touched you?”
“Fuck you.” It wasn’t his cleverest comeback, but it made him feel brave to say it.
“I know that’s what you want,” Peter whispered, leaning close to Sylar’s ear. “Be patient.”
Panic and desire warred within Sylar with that declaration. He began to struggle again; the wire cut into his wrists.
“So you want to play rough now?” Peter asked. He brought his elbow up, hitting Sylar under the chin and sending his head slamming back against the steel beam. Momentarily stunned, Sylar slumped in his bonds. Peter grabbed him by the jaw to make him meet his eyes. “Here’s how this is going to work. I don’t plan on killing you. You can leave when I know that you’ll never come after Nathan again.”
“Then we may be here a while.”
“Oh Sylar. You don’t know yourself as well as you think.”
“If you think I’m ever going to leave your precious brother alone-.” Sylar yanked his hands against his bonds and felt the wire give a little.
Stop struggling. Peter’s voice echoed in his head, and suddenly Sylar found himself unable to move.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, striving to stay calm. “Did someone get a new toy?”
Peter just smiled. Then the wire tightened around Sylar’s wrists, pulled by telekinesis. He felt a drop of blood well up, and a growled in the back of his throat.
“You’re an animal, Sylar,” Peter said. “I can’t reason with you. Animals only understand punishment and rewards. Are you ready to be a good little doggie?”
“When I kill you, I’m going to take my time, Peter.”
“Bad boy.” Peter placed a hand on Sylar’s chest and sent a jolt of electricity through him. Sylar bit back a cry as agony ripped through him, followed by sharp aftershocks. The wire on his wrists, heated by the charge, continued to burn into his flesh.
“Big bad Sylar.” Peter’s hand snaked down Sylar’s chest, and he stepped closer. His hand came to rest at the front of Sylar’s jeans. “You love being tied up. You get off on this. Am I right?” He pressed the palm of his hand into Sylar’s erection. “You want someone to teach you a lesson. You’re practically begging for it.”
Peter leaned in close, and Sylar snapped at him. Peter shook his head in disapproval. “If you wanted a kiss, you just had to ask.” He pressed his lips to Sylar’s. Sylar opened his mouth, feeling Peter’s tongue slip inside, and he bit down hard.
To his surprise, Peter pressed closer in, wrapping a hand around the back of Sylar’s neck to deepen the kiss. Then Sylar gasped, releasing his bite as a sudden sharp pain slashed across his belly. Peter pulled away smiling, and Sylar looked down to see a long cut across his abdomen, sluggishly oozing blood. Peter pulled up Sylar’s shirt and knelt down, licking across the line that he’d cut with telekinesis.
Sylar wanted to scream in frustration. Telekinesis was his ability, his first and most beloved: Peter had no right to use it against him. Peter must have heard that thought, because he straightened up to look Sylar in the eye with an infuriating smirk. Then he stuck out his tongue: healed. No lasting effect at all from Sylar’s petty defiance. Sylar wanted to offer some clever quip to convince Peter he wasn’t cowed, not in the least, but nothing came to mind. He settled for glaring, but his confidence was somewhat pricked by Peter’s unhurried, almost pitying smile.
“Isn’t that what you like?” Peter asked pleasantly. “Blood and pain? Let me know-I need some feedback here.”
Sylar scowled. Even if that was what he enjoyed, he didn’t appreciate being the one tied up. Still, Peter’s tongue on his skin had felt good. If his hands were free, he’d certainly return the favor, but apparently that wasn’t what Peter had in mind.
When it was clear Sylar wasn’t going to answer, Peter pulled Sylar’s shirt off, ripping it to get past the improvised handcuffs. Sylar couldn’t suppress a shiver at the cold air. He wanted Peter to touch him again: hands, tongue, anything, but no-He hoped Peter hadn’t pick up on that thought, but he feared, from Peter’s slow wink, that he had overheard him. Keeping his eyes locked with Sylar, Peter reached down to undo his victim’s belt, unbuttoning the fly and pushing Sylar’s pants down to his knees. Sylar looked away, knowing that his erection was straining against his belly, but unable to stop his body from reacting.
Peter, fully clothed, looked him up and down appraisingly. Sylar felt a flush spread over his cheeks and down the back of his neck. “Look at that,” Peter said. He touched one finger delicately to the tip of Sylar’s weeping cock. “You’re getting off on this. Whore,” Peter whispered in his ear.
Peter stepped back, dropping bonelessly into the folding chair that was the room’s only furniture. “Come here.”
“You’re joking,” Sylar said. He couldn’t deny that he was aroused, but Peter was dreaming if he thought Sylar would give in to him this easily. There were so many ways he wanted to hurt Peter, and if only he could hold on to control, he might still be able to turn this situation to his advantage
The wire uncoiled off Sylar’s wrists, powered by the invisible force of Peter’s mind. “I said come here.”
Growling, Sylar got one angry step forward on his way to strangle Peter when the empath’s voice echoed in his mind. Crawl. Sylar dropped to his hands and knees before he could stop himself.
Marshalling all his strength, he managed to keep still, resisting the compulsion to crawl forward. Get out of my head, he screamed, but it was like battering against a brick wall.
Crawl, Peter repeated. Sylar started to crawl, and it was then that he began to panic.
It only took a few steps to reach Peter’s feet. “Good boy,” Peter said, and patted him on the head. No more talking.
Sylar tried to speak, to tell Peter how much he was going to enjoy torturing Nathan as soon as he found him again, but he couldn’t open his mouth. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. Peter had never been like this before, never had the strength, the will to use his powers this way. Except that now he did. Sylar’s cock was achingly hard at the thought of what he would do to Peter after this-just let the empath’s control slip, even a little, and he’d see. An impatient growl escaped Sylar.
“Now what do you want?” Peter asked.
Sylar tried again to speak, and found that he physically could not. He had no idea whose power this was, but he wanted it very badly. For the thousandth time he cursed pretty little Eden McCain for denying him her gift. Stop it, he shouted inside his mind, aiming the thought at Peter. His tormentor’s smile grew.
“This?” Peter placed his hand on the bulge in his pants. “Is this what you want?”
Sylar’s cock jerked, and Peter smiled his crooked smile. “Then ask me.”
“I don’t want anything from you.” Sylar’s eyes burned with hate. Peter should be the one on his knees, begging to be touched. Sylar cursed his own weakness as the blood pulsed through his cock, demanding attention. If only Peter would touch him, or he could touch Peter. But he would not give his enemy that satisfaction, no matter how much his body wanted it.
Peter watched Sylar with evident amusement as he stroked himself through the fabric of his pants. “Don’t lie to me, Sylar. I can hear what you’re thinking.”
This is not the way it’s supposed to be. You should be kneeling for me, Sylar thought furiously.
Peter scooted forward on the chair. Sylar jerked away, but Peter grabbed him by the hair, and the voice in Sylar’s head commanded, Stay. He stopped trying to pull away.
Peter began to stroke Sylar’s hair, almost affectionately. “It’s hard to let go. I know. You’re used to doing whatever you want. That’s over now. It’s easier if you just do what I say. I’ll even let you have some things you want. Isn’t that nice? Now, ask for what you want.”
Sylar was trembling. No one should be able to do this to him, least of all Peter Petrelli. And yet, why did Peter petting him feel good? Why was he hard now, kneeling in front of his enemy?
“Come on, baby,” Peter prompted. “How does puppy ask for what he wants?”
Sylar wanted to say something defiant, but his body made a different decision; he whined deep in his throat: a lost, pitiful sound.
“Good boy,” Peter said ruffling his hair. “You get a treat.” Sylar watched in detached fascination as Peter unzipped his pants “Suck.”
Sylar hesitated only a moment. Obviously Peter could force him to do whatever he wanted with those mental commands. At least this way, he was in control. Would it be so bad just to play into his hands this once? If he started to play along, Peter would certainly let his guard down, and Sylar would have a chance to turn the tables. He could sacrifice a little pride for that. For that, and for a little relief-he wanted, wanted so much it hurt. Sylar opened his mouth.
Peter shoved his cock in, and Sylar gagged on it. “Yeah. Good boy.” Peter grabbed a handful of Sylar’s hair again to hold him still. “If I feel teeth, we’ll have to start playing rough. You don’t want that.”
He began to thrust into Sylar’s mouth, knocking into the back of his throat. Tears sprung to Sylar’s eyes as he gagged. He knew it was a simple physical reaction, but still he cursed himself for appearing weak in front of Peter.
“I’m fucking your mouth and you’re worried I won’t respect you if you cry?” Peter taunted.
Get out of my head, Sylar screamed mentally, trying to pull away from Peter’s assault and finding that he couldn’t control his body. Peter pulled Sylar’s face onto his crotch and held it there while Sylar struggled, his throat convulsing, fighting for air as wiry hairs tickled his nose.
When Sylar thought he might pass out from lack of oxygen, Peter shoved him away, sending him sprawling on his back. “I’ve got news, friend. I have no respect for you. You’re nothing but an animal, and if I have to break you to get you to leave us alone, I’ll do it.”
Sylar growled again, trying to lash out with telekinesis, but Peter was on top of him again, holding him down, his knee pressed between Sylar’s legs. “Look at that. Still hard. No shame. Just like an animal.”
Peter grabbed Sylar’s legs and flipped him over, pushing his head down and his ass up, presenting an obscene spread. Stay. Again, Sylar found himself trapped, and Peter began to play with his body. He pulled off the pants that had bunched around Sylar’s ankles, then gently ran his hands down Sylar’s bare flanks, causing him to shiver. Firmly grabbing the globes of Sylar’s ass, he spread his cheeks.
Sylar tensed up in panic; his cock was weeping for Peter, but he couldn’t surrender like this, couldn’t. Blood roared in his ears in anticipation; he wanted, needed Peter to take him, but if he did, if he allowed this, it was over. If Sylar gave up this, than Peter had won. Sylar tried desperately to remember why that mattered, as his body screamed at him for touch, for release, and Peter’s command held him still.
Peter chuckled. “You know, I thought about videotaping this. You kneeling for me, crawling for me. Down on the floor with your ass in the air like a whore, begging to be fucked. I was going to show it to Nathan, to Mohinder. To anyone you’ve hurt. So they’d know how pathetic you are.” Peter circled the exposed pucker with a finger. “There’s still time. Snap some pictures, at least. What do you think?”
Sylar flinched as another pathetic whine escaped him. Peter gave a satisfied chuckle before sliding the tip of his finger into Sylar’s ass. He jerked at the invasion, but couldn’t move more than that. The roaring in his ears increased, his whole body humming in anticipation.
“Have you even done this before?” Peter asked casually. “Anyone ever put up with you long enough to get this far?” Peter shoved the finger further inside. “Thought not. Rape’s the only way you can get any. I’m not surprised you’ve turned out this way. But Sylar?” He crooked his finger, and Sylar thrust his hips forward desperately as a wave of unexpected pleasure shook him. “You’re all mine now. My pet.”
Sylar whined again as Peter gently teased that place inside him. His breath hitched, his balls drew up in preparation, and then Peter’s voice echoed in his head again.
Don’t come until I say so.
It hurt, being so close to the edge. He’d never felt this before, not this way: not so deep and high and sharp. His cock throbbed painfully, and he knew if he could just go a little further, he would experience the best moment of his entire life. Peter pulled his finger out, but Sylar stayed, dangling over the edge of a high precipice, aching in a way both profoundly good and exceedingly painful.
It hurt when Peter shoved his cock in, and the pain piled on top of the pleasure that wouldn’t go away. When Peter began to thrust, hitting that wonderful spot inside of Sylar with every stroke, he thought he might go mad. Madder. He howled, incapable for words but needing an outlet for the sensations assaulting him.
“You’re doing good. Good boy,” Peter soothed. He wrapped a hand around Sylar’s cock, scratching his fingernails painfully across the underside. “Do you want to come?”
Sylar tried to speak, but he could only pant. Please.
“Has my little pet learned his lesson?”
The thrusts continued, building the pain/pleasure feeling inside of Sylar until he was beyond rational thought. His cock throbbed in agony. He’d already gone this far-what could it hurt to debase himself further? Make it stop make it stop make it stop.
“I told you it stops when I get what I want. Has my pet learned his lesson?”
Sylar threw back his head, wishing he could move, to push back onto Peter’s cock, to add his hand to Peter’s and stroke himself, to run away, anything but this knife-edge of sensation. I swear I swear I swear I’m sorry I won’t do it again whatever you want.
“Good. Now do you want to come?” Peter ran his thumb over the head of Sylar’s cock, and he shuddered in agony. “How does puppy ask for what he wants?”
All it took from Sylar was series of high-pitched whimpers, like a bitch in heat, and Peter was saying, “Good boy,” and stroking his hair. Come.
Sylar screamed as he came, incredible pain and relief and pleasure, like his whole self, all his power, was gushing out of him. He clamped down on Peter’s cock and felt a warm spurt inside of him as Peter filled him.
As soon as it was over, too soon, Peter pulled out roughly, causing a cry of pain from Sylar at the loss. Sylar collapsed on the floor: empty, spent, and just beginning to realize the enormity of what he’d allowed to happen.
“Now listen, bitch,” Peter said softly. He stood over Sylar and zipped up his pants impatiently, like Sylar was a five-dollar whore who was wasting his time. “If you ever come near my brother again.” Peter kicked out viciously, catching Sylar in the side and leaving him gasping. “Then next time I won’t play nice. Got it?”
As Peter walked away, Sylar tried to catch his breath, coming down from his high of pain and pleasure. To Peter’s retreating back, he whispered, “It might be worth it.”