Fic: Wedding Present
Title: Wedding Present
Pairing: Sylar/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-con. And uh, a Paire wedding, I guess. *shrugs*
Author’s note: Written for Yet Another Heroes Anonymous Kink Meme. As per usual for such things, written at speed and unbeta’d.
Summary: On Peter and Claire’s wedding day, Peter gets an unexpected, unwelcome visitor.
"I love you," Claire whispered, and kissed Peter once more. "Husband."
He kissed her back. "We have to go change, or we'll never make it to the reception."
"Can't we just...?" She leaned up to kiss Peter again, but he laughed and stopped her with a finger to her lips.
"Come on, Claire. Nathan will kill me if he has to keep the family and the rest of the guests entertained at the reception for too long."
"Okay, let's go." Claire pulled at his hand.
"If we go together, we will never make it back out," Peter said reasonably. "You go to the bridal suite, I'll go back to Nathan’s room. My clothes are there anyway from getting ready this morning."
"Fine," Claire said, with only a slight pout. "But hurry back. The sooner we get to the reception, the sooner we can leave. And I am really looking forward to tonight."
"Me too. Love you." Peter kissed her once more, and then fled upstairs to change into something a little more comfortable for the reception.
Everything had gone perfectly so far. Nathan, as his best man, had really helped keep the family drama to a minimum. Angela hadn’t gotten belligerent. Noah hadn’t shot anyone. Peter couldn't have hoped for anything more on this special day. He was singing under his breath when he made it to the suite. He spotted his outfit in its hanging bag across the back of a chair. "Thanks Nathan," he said with a smile.
Then the door to the suite banged shut, and Peter flew through the air to smash against the far wall.
Sylar stood leaning against the door, his hand stretched out in front of him to pin Peter in place with telekinesis.
"You," Peter whispered.
"Hello Peter." Sylar said. "Funny thing. I heard you were getting married, but I never got an invitation."
"Please don't," Peter says. He knew if they fought, he’d lose. He knew he was really no match for Sylar, so he had to appeal to Sylar's sense of decency. He knew Sylar has one; he'd seen it. "Please, not today. Don't do this today."
"It's a special day, right?" Sylar kept Peter pinned to the wall and walked closer. "You and little Claire pledging your devotion to each other. I'm disappointed in you."
"Sylar, I'm begging you, don't do this."
"Begging. I like that," Sylar said. He let Peter go, and Peter fell to his knees on the floor. Immediately, Sylar was behind him, pressing his neck down to pin him to the floor. "You were supposed to be mine, Peter. I left you alive because I thought we had a connection."
"Sylar, I--."
"Shut up. You never cared about me. You think I'm nothing. But I want you to know." He leaned down and whispered in Peter's ear, "You belong to me. I own you. And I can have you whenever I want."
Peter tried to lash out with his own telekinesis, but of course Sylar was faster, more practiced. He tore Peter's pants down, stripping them off along with his shoes and his underwear, and pinned him to the floor. He straddled Peter's waist, and reached around to shove two fingers in his mouth. "Suck," he said.
For a moment, Peter thought about biting. Then he thought about Claire coming up to find him and seeing his bloody corpse lying on the floor. He had to cooperate, so that Sylar would leave him alive. He sucked.
"Good boy," Sylar purred. "Is this how you pictured it? Your special day? You always were a romantic, Peter." Sylar snatched his fingers away and shoved them into Peter's ass. He twisted them roughly. "Oh Peter. Maybe you are a little sentimental. You're so tight... Haven't you been letting anyone else have you like this? Well, I guess unless the missus likes strap-on action, you might have to go without from now on, so I'll try to make this good."
"Please don't do this," Peter tried again.
"Oh, this is happening, Peter," Sylar said happily. "And it's going to be the highlight of your day."
He pulled his fingers out of Peter's ass. The snap of a bottle being opened preceded a renewed invasion by Sylar’s fingers, this time slicked with lube. “A little wedding present,” Sylar said. “Just to show I care.”
The sharp sound of a zipper tore the air air, and Peter gulped in frantic breaths, trying to calm himself, to relax. This was going to happen, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Sylar petted Peter's hair, gently, as he slid his cock along the crack of Peter's ass. "Shhh, it's okay lover," he said. His voice was obscenely gentle. "You'll like this, I promise. Thanks for saving yourself for me."
He pushed his cock in at an agonizingly slow pace. Peter tried to breathe through the pain, nearly hyperventilating as the bulbous head of Sylar's cock popped in past the first tight resistance. Sylar was relentless: he kept moving forward, feeding inch after inch of his cock in until Peter was sure he must be in all the way, and then he kept on going.
"You're doing so good, baby," Sylar said, petting Peter's hair.
Peter snarled and batted Sylar's hand away, and Sylar laughed. "What? I thought you'd want some tenderness, seeing as how you wanted today to be so special."
"You're delusional, Sylar," Peter ground out. "I don't want this."
"Fine," Sylar huffed. He abandoned all pretense of gentleness, and snapped his hips into Peter hard, knocking the air out of him. He screwed Peter into the floor mercilessly while Peter held back his sobs. The sight and sound and feel of Peter were intoxicating; Sylar knew he wouldn't last long. He pulled out and grabbed Peter's shoulder to flip him over onto his back.
Sylar knelt astride Peter's chest and jerked himself furiously to finish it off. When he came, he shot stripes across Peter's face and in his hair. He wrenched Peter's jaw open so that some come landed in his open mouth. When he'd milked his cock of every last drop, he stroked Peter's face tenderly, rubbing in his come, mixing it with Peter's tears.
Finally, he stood and looked down at his handiwork. "Oh Peter," he said fondly. "You'd better get cleaned up before you get back to the party." He walked to the door, but turned back once more. "And just remember when your wife touches you tonight that I had you first."
Pairing: Sylar/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-con. And uh, a Paire wedding, I guess. *shrugs*
Author’s note: Written for Yet Another Heroes Anonymous Kink Meme. As per usual for such things, written at speed and unbeta’d.
Summary: On Peter and Claire’s wedding day, Peter gets an unexpected, unwelcome visitor.
"I love you," Claire whispered, and kissed Peter once more. "Husband."
He kissed her back. "We have to go change, or we'll never make it to the reception."
"Can't we just...?" She leaned up to kiss Peter again, but he laughed and stopped her with a finger to her lips.
"Come on, Claire. Nathan will kill me if he has to keep the family and the rest of the guests entertained at the reception for too long."
"Okay, let's go." Claire pulled at his hand.
"If we go together, we will never make it back out," Peter said reasonably. "You go to the bridal suite, I'll go back to Nathan’s room. My clothes are there anyway from getting ready this morning."
"Fine," Claire said, with only a slight pout. "But hurry back. The sooner we get to the reception, the sooner we can leave. And I am really looking forward to tonight."
"Me too. Love you." Peter kissed her once more, and then fled upstairs to change into something a little more comfortable for the reception.
Everything had gone perfectly so far. Nathan, as his best man, had really helped keep the family drama to a minimum. Angela hadn’t gotten belligerent. Noah hadn’t shot anyone. Peter couldn't have hoped for anything more on this special day. He was singing under his breath when he made it to the suite. He spotted his outfit in its hanging bag across the back of a chair. "Thanks Nathan," he said with a smile.
Then the door to the suite banged shut, and Peter flew through the air to smash against the far wall.
Sylar stood leaning against the door, his hand stretched out in front of him to pin Peter in place with telekinesis.
"You," Peter whispered.
"Hello Peter." Sylar said. "Funny thing. I heard you were getting married, but I never got an invitation."
"Please don't," Peter says. He knew if they fought, he’d lose. He knew he was really no match for Sylar, so he had to appeal to Sylar's sense of decency. He knew Sylar has one; he'd seen it. "Please, not today. Don't do this today."
"It's a special day, right?" Sylar kept Peter pinned to the wall and walked closer. "You and little Claire pledging your devotion to each other. I'm disappointed in you."
"Sylar, I'm begging you, don't do this."
"Begging. I like that," Sylar said. He let Peter go, and Peter fell to his knees on the floor. Immediately, Sylar was behind him, pressing his neck down to pin him to the floor. "You were supposed to be mine, Peter. I left you alive because I thought we had a connection."
"Sylar, I--."
"Shut up. You never cared about me. You think I'm nothing. But I want you to know." He leaned down and whispered in Peter's ear, "You belong to me. I own you. And I can have you whenever I want."
Peter tried to lash out with his own telekinesis, but of course Sylar was faster, more practiced. He tore Peter's pants down, stripping them off along with his shoes and his underwear, and pinned him to the floor. He straddled Peter's waist, and reached around to shove two fingers in his mouth. "Suck," he said.
For a moment, Peter thought about biting. Then he thought about Claire coming up to find him and seeing his bloody corpse lying on the floor. He had to cooperate, so that Sylar would leave him alive. He sucked.
"Good boy," Sylar purred. "Is this how you pictured it? Your special day? You always were a romantic, Peter." Sylar snatched his fingers away and shoved them into Peter's ass. He twisted them roughly. "Oh Peter. Maybe you are a little sentimental. You're so tight... Haven't you been letting anyone else have you like this? Well, I guess unless the missus likes strap-on action, you might have to go without from now on, so I'll try to make this good."
"Please don't do this," Peter tried again.
"Oh, this is happening, Peter," Sylar said happily. "And it's going to be the highlight of your day."
He pulled his fingers out of Peter's ass. The snap of a bottle being opened preceded a renewed invasion by Sylar’s fingers, this time slicked with lube. “A little wedding present,” Sylar said. “Just to show I care.”
The sharp sound of a zipper tore the air air, and Peter gulped in frantic breaths, trying to calm himself, to relax. This was going to happen, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Sylar petted Peter's hair, gently, as he slid his cock along the crack of Peter's ass. "Shhh, it's okay lover," he said. His voice was obscenely gentle. "You'll like this, I promise. Thanks for saving yourself for me."
He pushed his cock in at an agonizingly slow pace. Peter tried to breathe through the pain, nearly hyperventilating as the bulbous head of Sylar's cock popped in past the first tight resistance. Sylar was relentless: he kept moving forward, feeding inch after inch of his cock in until Peter was sure he must be in all the way, and then he kept on going.
"You're doing so good, baby," Sylar said, petting Peter's hair.
Peter snarled and batted Sylar's hand away, and Sylar laughed. "What? I thought you'd want some tenderness, seeing as how you wanted today to be so special."
"You're delusional, Sylar," Peter ground out. "I don't want this."
"Fine," Sylar huffed. He abandoned all pretense of gentleness, and snapped his hips into Peter hard, knocking the air out of him. He screwed Peter into the floor mercilessly while Peter held back his sobs. The sight and sound and feel of Peter were intoxicating; Sylar knew he wouldn't last long. He pulled out and grabbed Peter's shoulder to flip him over onto his back.
Sylar knelt astride Peter's chest and jerked himself furiously to finish it off. When he came, he shot stripes across Peter's face and in his hair. He wrenched Peter's jaw open so that some come landed in his open mouth. When he'd milked his cock of every last drop, he stroked Peter's face tenderly, rubbing in his come, mixing it with Peter's tears.
Finally, he stood and looked down at his handiwork. "Oh Peter," he said fondly. "You'd better get cleaned up before you get back to the party." He walked to the door, but turned back once more. "And just remember when your wife touches you tonight that I had you first."