Leverage (Fic, Sylar/Peter)
Title: Leverage
Pairing: Sylar/Peter, heavily implied Nathan/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Implied Incest, Sexual Contact, Dub-con, AU/AR, Violence, PWP
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or its characters; I make no money from the writing of this story.
Spoilers: Anything up to 3x13, “Dual”.
Summary: Peter is abducted by Sylar and torment turns to something even worse…
A/N: Peter has recovered his original empathic ability somehow. This is an AU future fic where Peter and Nathan are estranged from one another because Building 26 and the government program to capture people with abilities was almost a complete success. This is really just an excuse for some twisted Sylar/Peter porn for your time as CEO, brighteyed_jill. It was a bit rushed; I hope you like it.
Peter opened his eyes, awakened by the sensation of cold steel against his back. The dizziness and slight headache cleared somewhat, and he raised his head to look around. Whoever had brought him here, they must have drugged him with a powerful sedative: his healing ability was slow in clearing the drug from his system. Or perhaps the drug was interfering with his healing in general. He didn’t know which. But he had other abilities he could rely on, and he had to get himself out of here. He blinked a few more times, and let his eyes adjust to the very dimly lit surroundings.
He was in a small windowless room, all four walls made of the institutional stainless steel used in morgues. The air was pumped in from a vent high on the wall across from him, and Peter thought vaguely that maybe the drug was coming in through the ventilation system. The room was uncomfortably cold, too. Peter looked down at himself and realized he was completely naked, and his clothes were nowhere in sight. There was nothing else in the room, in fact.
Peter tried to step forward, and he fell to his knees; his ankles were chained together, his wrists attached to a longer chain that was anchored to the wall over his head. The chains would ordinarily be nothing to break, and he tried desperately, but his fear was confirmed: the air was laced with some substance that rendered him unable to use his abilities.
“God damn it,” he said aloud. The sound of his voice almost scared him as it cut through the oppressive silence. Who the hell was behind this? Who could have possibly wanted to abduct him? His first thought was his brother Nathan. He hadn’t seen him in years, not since all of them had been captured by his brother’s clandestine government program. He and his mother had narrowly escaped, and Angela had located his niece Claire and arranged for them both to disappear into anonymity, leaving him alone. Alone to lie awake most nights missing his family, his old life, his normal life. Or maybe the life he could have had if Nathan just hadn’t sided with their father at Pinehearst. Or the life he might have had if he had killed Nathan, considering all the times he’d had the chance.
Don’t, Peter warned himself. Don’t do this. You were in love with him your whole life, you could have never killed him, much as you think you could have.
Peter was almost sure of it now. This was Nathan’s doing. It now seemed that Nathan had never given up the search for him, and now he finally had his little brother where he wanted him. So where was he?
Peter got to his feet and opened his mouth to call out his brother’s name, when a door that he had failed to notice, built into the steel wall to his left, opened slowly.
The man that stepped into the room was definitely not Nathan, but Peter wasn’t really surprised. Sylar, after all, would have been his second choice.
“What the hell is this, Sylar?” Peter demanded, pulling on the chains. He could feel his brain clearing up somewhat; Sylar must have cut the supply of the drug coming in the air vent. What, are you afraid of me without your own abilities? Peter hoped he’d regain use of his soon, figure a way out of this.
Sylar just laughed softly, and waited to speak until after the door slammed shut behind him. “Nothing nice to say to me after all this time, Peter? Even after I saved your life? After I spared you from having to kill your father?”
“I suppose I should thank you for helping to destroy my family?” Peter said, pulling harder on the chains, but he still couldn’t break them.
Sylar came closer to him, a wide, predatory grin spreading across his face. “Oh, please, Peter. Your beloved brother did that,” he hissed. Before Peter could even retort, Sylar laughed, “Let’s see if you’ve got your healing ability back, Peter. I wouldn’t want to accidentally kill you. Let’s start slow.” Sylar lifted his hand and motioned sideways, and Peter felt an unseen blade cut deep into his cheek, from his temple to his jaw. He felt the blood run down his neck, over his shoulder. The flow stopped, and the pain faded.
“That’s a good boy,” Sylar said approvingly. He raised a hand to Peter’s face to wipe the blood away, and Peter angrily threw his whole weight forward, trying to slam into Sylar, but only succeeded to trip himself over his bonds and fall at Sylar’s feet.
“Let me go,” Peter demanded. “This is pointless. You can’t keep me here--”
His words were cut short as Sylar waved his hand again, the power of Sylar’s mind opening another wound on his face. The room was still cold, but Peter had broken out in a sweat, more from the fear that steadily built in him. He knew because of his healing ability, Sylar couldn’t kill him, not without a weapon of some sort. And that was just what Sylar was, a killer, taking abilities, pursuing power. There was nothing Peter had that Sylar didn’t have already.
What did he want, then?
Sylar traced his fingers over Peter’s bloody face and painted it almost delicately over Peter’s chest. Peter felt his abilities finally return, and then was held fast instead by Sylar’s telekinesis. He backed away and slammed Peter back up against the freezing metal wall.
“I know I can’t keep you here with restraints, Peter,” he sighed, almost regretfully. “I have other ways of making sure you’ll stay. The chains are just…for decoration. Imagine they’re…jewelry. I like you all dressed up for me.”
“Fuck you,” Peter spat. He felt another incredibly deep slice in his skin, this time over his right hip, and the invisible blade scraped against his hipbone; Peter willed himself not to scream. He wouldn’t give Sylar the pleasure of hearing it.
It won’t last long, he thought desperately. Blood ran down his thigh, a hot rivulet swirling over his knee, around his calf to drip off his foot and onto the concrete floor. The wound had closed, but he could still feel the memory of the pain; it seemed to take a moment for his nerves to stop sending their signals of injury.
As soon as each cut would heal, Sylar waved his hand again, leaving a new, fresh wound on Peter's body, each one deeper than the last.
After a few agonizing moments of this, Sylar came closer, and Peter felt his hold release just enough; Peter snapped the chains from his wrists and his ankles, but before he could even make his next move, Sylar’s hand twitched. Suddenly there was a piercing agony in his side, and for a terrifying five seconds, Peter could not breathe. He dropped to the floor, falling in the pool of his own blood.
“You have to realize something. You’re not afraid of dying; you shouldn’t be afraid of pain, either. Pain itself won’t kill you. Nothing will. You and I will never die, Peter.”
“I’ll find a way to kill you,” Peter promised. His body shook from Sylar’s repeated inflictions; it was taking longer and longer for the phantom sensations of the cuts to fade. The false input from his nerves finally interfered with his coordination, and he failed at an attempt to get up. He looked up finally, and Sylar was standing above him, a twisted smile on his face.
“Then you and I are going to be having quite a bit of fun together over the next thousand years.”
“You’re sick,” Peter said. “You and I both will live forever, so what’s the point of this? Why do this? Since you can’t kill me, you’re just going to torture me?”
Sylar frowned. “You really don’t understand yet?” Sylar forced him back up against the wall again, and lifted his hand once more. He motioned sideways, opening a wound from the side of Peter’s neck down to his pectoral muscle. When the invisible blade slashed through the muscle, Peter couldn’t help the desperate scream that finally left his lungs. His chin dropped to his chest, and he was momentarily stunned by the extent of how covered he was in his own blood. “I’m not torturing you,” Sylar chuckled. “Is that what you thought this was? This is something else.”
“What--what do you want from me?” Peter asked weakly.
Sylar cradled Peter’s chin in his hand, and Peter couldn’t jerk away. A feeling like crawling insects started at Peter’s shoulder and traveled with Sylar’s touch, down his chest, his ribs, over his stomach.
“I want you,” he answered. “This is foreplay.”
His hand slid lower, and revulsion made Peter’s stomach turn. “No!” he cried. The first time tonight Sylar had touched him and not caused him pain, and surprisingly, the feeling was so different that Peter’s next protest died on his lips. He could feel himself growing hard, and his body, so confused by all the pain it had taken, craved this simple pleasure badly.
“No,” Peter moaned. Why was his body betraying him like this? Peter struggled against Sylar’s mental hold, but it was no use; soon his cock was fully hard in Sylar’s fist. His grip was tight but not uncomfortably so, and he began to slide his hand back and forth over him.
Sylar leaned in close to Peter’s ear and whispered, “That doesn’t hurt, now does it?”
“Stop,” Peter choked. “Please--stop.”
“Now, Peter. You wouldn’t beg when I was hurting you, but now it feels good and you don’t like it? I don’t know how your brother ever put up with you, you spoiled little brat,” Sylar taunted. “Nathan never had to slap any sense into you before he fucked you?”
Peter cringed visibly at the mention of Nathan, and at Sylar’s nerve to even speak of what he and Nathan had used to share.
“Don’t talk about him!” Peter screamed. He used all his mental strength to pick Sylar up and throw him across the short span of the room, his body making a thoroughly satisfying sound, flesh impacting steel. He swore he might have heard bones breaking. Fueled by anger, Peter advanced toward him with murderous intent.
“That’s more like it,” Sylar said, getting up, resetting his fractured collarbone. Peter’s body collided with Sylar’s, and unexpectedly, his mouth met Sylar’s, the taste of him strange and enticing all at once, Sylar’s large hands then groping roughly, possessively at Peter’s body.
Peter could hardly think straight now. He hadn’t been touched in this way by anyone in a long time, and again he thought of Nathan, of the last time he’d been with him. He could hardly remember as Sylar’s fist pumped him faster, and a strangled groan escaped his throat, muffled against Sylar’s mouth. “Stop,” Peter repeated once more, his voice barely audible, not even convincing himself this time. He soon forgot why he wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this.
“You don’t really want me to stop, do you, Peter,” Sylar laughed, as he stripped down to nothing. “You’re just a little slut. You want your brother, and if you can’t have him, I’ll do just as well. Then maybe I’ll even let you go.”
“Stop talking about him. I’ll enjoy this more if you do,” Peter said, surprising himself. But if the only way to get out of this was to give himself to Sylar, then he had to at least try. He slipped in the blood on the floor, and pulled Sylar’s naked form down on top of him.
Breathing hard, he moaned, “Come on. You’re right. You’ll do just as well.”
Sylar wasted no time; he took Peter right then and there, and Peter couldn’t stop a low, pained groan at the initial penetration. Soon, though, all the pain was forgotten. Nothing hurt now. There was nothing but the vibration of his heart crashing into his ribs, nothing but his own groans and Sylar’s mouth on his, nothing but the deep pressure of Sylar’s cock as he slammed repeatedly into him.
“Yeah. Yeah. Fuck,” Peter swore, surprised at the shakiness of his voice. God, he’d missed this. Peter pushed the guilty thoughts of Nathan away once more as he enjoyed the feeling of Sylar deep in him, his full weight behind each thrust.
Sylar still had that wicked smile on his face, but he said nothing while he drove into him, worked his cock faster, the rough, relentless movements bringing Peter quickly to his peak. Peter’s eyes blurred and stung from the sweat dripping down his face, the metallic tang of blood in his nostrils, but he could feel his release coming on. As Peter finally came apart, gasping and moaning, Sylar hissed, “Make sure you’re loud enough so Nathan can hear you.”
Peter’s body froze, his eyes flew open, and he pushed Sylar off him, sweat and blood and now his own semen sticky on his skin. When the rush of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears slowed, he heard it: repeated banging on the right hand wall. He could hear something else through the wall: Nathan was in the room next to them, screaming Peter’s name, and cursing, possibly even crying. He couldn’t tell. Panic filled him.
“What did you do to him?” Peter demanded.
“Oh, he’s fine,” Sylar cackled, getting to his feet, looking down at himself, equally covered in Peter’s blood. “Probably just a bit upset about what he just watched. I just wanted to show him it wasn’t worth all the time and effort he spent trying to find you,” Sylar explained. “He asked me to help him find you, that I was the only one powerful enough to do it. Nathan told me everything about you and him.”
Peter started to shake. A wave of shameful disgust swept over him, and he couldn’t get up, not yet. This was sick. Sylar had made Nathan watch while he tormented him, then virtually forced himself on him.
Sylar’s voice seemed as if it were coming from further and further away. “I fulfilled my part of the bargain, didn’t I? I just wanted to amuse myself in the meantime. I wanted to see what it was about you that gets his dick hard. And now you’re going to finish. Or I’ll kill him. He’s right next to us, Peter. All it would take is a thought,” he said, snapping his fingers threateningly.
Peter closed his eyes and got to his knees, knowing exactly what Sylar wanted. The final insult. But if Nathan was watching, he really hoped he could hear too.
Peter moaned, “I’m sorry, Nathan.” He refused to let the angry tears come as he took Sylar in his mouth and tried to finish this as quickly as he could. He tried not to think about Nathan watching this, and he especially tried not to think about the fact that Sylar could easily change his mind and kill Nathan anyway.
When it was finished, Peter spat on the floor and turned away, his face burning in shame. Sylar patted his cheek condescendingly. “You be a good boy now, and just maybe I’ll let Nathan live,” Sylar directed. He then left without another word.
Peter crawled to the wall where he could still hear Nathan banging. The noise stopped when Peter pressed his hands to the wall, and fear lanced through his insides. “Nathan?” he cried. No. Sylar couldn’t have. Not after all that.
“Nathan!”
“Peter?” The response was hoarse, but it was Nathan’s voice.
An identical door in this wall opened, and Nathan, looking a little rumpled but uninjured, virtually fell through it. He dropped to his knees and gathered Peter in his arms, and Peter didn’t resist.
“Oh, God. Oh, Peter. It was the only way to get you back,” he said. “I didn’t know how bad it would be,” Nathan whispered into Peter’s hair. “I have you back now; it’s all I wanted, ever since you left me. I had to trust him. It was the only way.”
Peter hoped at least Nathan thought it had all been worth it as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Pairing: Sylar/Peter, heavily implied Nathan/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Implied Incest, Sexual Contact, Dub-con, AU/AR, Violence, PWP
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or its characters; I make no money from the writing of this story.
Spoilers: Anything up to 3x13, “Dual”.
Summary: Peter is abducted by Sylar and torment turns to something even worse…
A/N: Peter has recovered his original empathic ability somehow. This is an AU future fic where Peter and Nathan are estranged from one another because Building 26 and the government program to capture people with abilities was almost a complete success. This is really just an excuse for some twisted Sylar/Peter porn for your time as CEO, brighteyed_jill. It was a bit rushed; I hope you like it.
Peter opened his eyes, awakened by the sensation of cold steel against his back. The dizziness and slight headache cleared somewhat, and he raised his head to look around. Whoever had brought him here, they must have drugged him with a powerful sedative: his healing ability was slow in clearing the drug from his system. Or perhaps the drug was interfering with his healing in general. He didn’t know which. But he had other abilities he could rely on, and he had to get himself out of here. He blinked a few more times, and let his eyes adjust to the very dimly lit surroundings.
He was in a small windowless room, all four walls made of the institutional stainless steel used in morgues. The air was pumped in from a vent high on the wall across from him, and Peter thought vaguely that maybe the drug was coming in through the ventilation system. The room was uncomfortably cold, too. Peter looked down at himself and realized he was completely naked, and his clothes were nowhere in sight. There was nothing else in the room, in fact.
Peter tried to step forward, and he fell to his knees; his ankles were chained together, his wrists attached to a longer chain that was anchored to the wall over his head. The chains would ordinarily be nothing to break, and he tried desperately, but his fear was confirmed: the air was laced with some substance that rendered him unable to use his abilities.
“God damn it,” he said aloud. The sound of his voice almost scared him as it cut through the oppressive silence. Who the hell was behind this? Who could have possibly wanted to abduct him? His first thought was his brother Nathan. He hadn’t seen him in years, not since all of them had been captured by his brother’s clandestine government program. He and his mother had narrowly escaped, and Angela had located his niece Claire and arranged for them both to disappear into anonymity, leaving him alone. Alone to lie awake most nights missing his family, his old life, his normal life. Or maybe the life he could have had if Nathan just hadn’t sided with their father at Pinehearst. Or the life he might have had if he had killed Nathan, considering all the times he’d had the chance.
Don’t, Peter warned himself. Don’t do this. You were in love with him your whole life, you could have never killed him, much as you think you could have.
Peter was almost sure of it now. This was Nathan’s doing. It now seemed that Nathan had never given up the search for him, and now he finally had his little brother where he wanted him. So where was he?
Peter got to his feet and opened his mouth to call out his brother’s name, when a door that he had failed to notice, built into the steel wall to his left, opened slowly.
The man that stepped into the room was definitely not Nathan, but Peter wasn’t really surprised. Sylar, after all, would have been his second choice.
“What the hell is this, Sylar?” Peter demanded, pulling on the chains. He could feel his brain clearing up somewhat; Sylar must have cut the supply of the drug coming in the air vent. What, are you afraid of me without your own abilities? Peter hoped he’d regain use of his soon, figure a way out of this.
Sylar just laughed softly, and waited to speak until after the door slammed shut behind him. “Nothing nice to say to me after all this time, Peter? Even after I saved your life? After I spared you from having to kill your father?”
“I suppose I should thank you for helping to destroy my family?” Peter said, pulling harder on the chains, but he still couldn’t break them.
Sylar came closer to him, a wide, predatory grin spreading across his face. “Oh, please, Peter. Your beloved brother did that,” he hissed. Before Peter could even retort, Sylar laughed, “Let’s see if you’ve got your healing ability back, Peter. I wouldn’t want to accidentally kill you. Let’s start slow.” Sylar lifted his hand and motioned sideways, and Peter felt an unseen blade cut deep into his cheek, from his temple to his jaw. He felt the blood run down his neck, over his shoulder. The flow stopped, and the pain faded.
“That’s a good boy,” Sylar said approvingly. He raised a hand to Peter’s face to wipe the blood away, and Peter angrily threw his whole weight forward, trying to slam into Sylar, but only succeeded to trip himself over his bonds and fall at Sylar’s feet.
“Let me go,” Peter demanded. “This is pointless. You can’t keep me here--”
His words were cut short as Sylar waved his hand again, the power of Sylar’s mind opening another wound on his face. The room was still cold, but Peter had broken out in a sweat, more from the fear that steadily built in him. He knew because of his healing ability, Sylar couldn’t kill him, not without a weapon of some sort. And that was just what Sylar was, a killer, taking abilities, pursuing power. There was nothing Peter had that Sylar didn’t have already.
What did he want, then?
Sylar traced his fingers over Peter’s bloody face and painted it almost delicately over Peter’s chest. Peter felt his abilities finally return, and then was held fast instead by Sylar’s telekinesis. He backed away and slammed Peter back up against the freezing metal wall.
“I know I can’t keep you here with restraints, Peter,” he sighed, almost regretfully. “I have other ways of making sure you’ll stay. The chains are just…for decoration. Imagine they’re…jewelry. I like you all dressed up for me.”
“Fuck you,” Peter spat. He felt another incredibly deep slice in his skin, this time over his right hip, and the invisible blade scraped against his hipbone; Peter willed himself not to scream. He wouldn’t give Sylar the pleasure of hearing it.
It won’t last long, he thought desperately. Blood ran down his thigh, a hot rivulet swirling over his knee, around his calf to drip off his foot and onto the concrete floor. The wound had closed, but he could still feel the memory of the pain; it seemed to take a moment for his nerves to stop sending their signals of injury.
As soon as each cut would heal, Sylar waved his hand again, leaving a new, fresh wound on Peter's body, each one deeper than the last.
After a few agonizing moments of this, Sylar came closer, and Peter felt his hold release just enough; Peter snapped the chains from his wrists and his ankles, but before he could even make his next move, Sylar’s hand twitched. Suddenly there was a piercing agony in his side, and for a terrifying five seconds, Peter could not breathe. He dropped to the floor, falling in the pool of his own blood.
“You have to realize something. You’re not afraid of dying; you shouldn’t be afraid of pain, either. Pain itself won’t kill you. Nothing will. You and I will never die, Peter.”
“I’ll find a way to kill you,” Peter promised. His body shook from Sylar’s repeated inflictions; it was taking longer and longer for the phantom sensations of the cuts to fade. The false input from his nerves finally interfered with his coordination, and he failed at an attempt to get up. He looked up finally, and Sylar was standing above him, a twisted smile on his face.
“Then you and I are going to be having quite a bit of fun together over the next thousand years.”
“You’re sick,” Peter said. “You and I both will live forever, so what’s the point of this? Why do this? Since you can’t kill me, you’re just going to torture me?”
Sylar frowned. “You really don’t understand yet?” Sylar forced him back up against the wall again, and lifted his hand once more. He motioned sideways, opening a wound from the side of Peter’s neck down to his pectoral muscle. When the invisible blade slashed through the muscle, Peter couldn’t help the desperate scream that finally left his lungs. His chin dropped to his chest, and he was momentarily stunned by the extent of how covered he was in his own blood. “I’m not torturing you,” Sylar chuckled. “Is that what you thought this was? This is something else.”
“What--what do you want from me?” Peter asked weakly.
Sylar cradled Peter’s chin in his hand, and Peter couldn’t jerk away. A feeling like crawling insects started at Peter’s shoulder and traveled with Sylar’s touch, down his chest, his ribs, over his stomach.
“I want you,” he answered. “This is foreplay.”
His hand slid lower, and revulsion made Peter’s stomach turn. “No!” he cried. The first time tonight Sylar had touched him and not caused him pain, and surprisingly, the feeling was so different that Peter’s next protest died on his lips. He could feel himself growing hard, and his body, so confused by all the pain it had taken, craved this simple pleasure badly.
“No,” Peter moaned. Why was his body betraying him like this? Peter struggled against Sylar’s mental hold, but it was no use; soon his cock was fully hard in Sylar’s fist. His grip was tight but not uncomfortably so, and he began to slide his hand back and forth over him.
Sylar leaned in close to Peter’s ear and whispered, “That doesn’t hurt, now does it?”
“Stop,” Peter choked. “Please--stop.”
“Now, Peter. You wouldn’t beg when I was hurting you, but now it feels good and you don’t like it? I don’t know how your brother ever put up with you, you spoiled little brat,” Sylar taunted. “Nathan never had to slap any sense into you before he fucked you?”
Peter cringed visibly at the mention of Nathan, and at Sylar’s nerve to even speak of what he and Nathan had used to share.
“Don’t talk about him!” Peter screamed. He used all his mental strength to pick Sylar up and throw him across the short span of the room, his body making a thoroughly satisfying sound, flesh impacting steel. He swore he might have heard bones breaking. Fueled by anger, Peter advanced toward him with murderous intent.
“That’s more like it,” Sylar said, getting up, resetting his fractured collarbone. Peter’s body collided with Sylar’s, and unexpectedly, his mouth met Sylar’s, the taste of him strange and enticing all at once, Sylar’s large hands then groping roughly, possessively at Peter’s body.
Peter could hardly think straight now. He hadn’t been touched in this way by anyone in a long time, and again he thought of Nathan, of the last time he’d been with him. He could hardly remember as Sylar’s fist pumped him faster, and a strangled groan escaped his throat, muffled against Sylar’s mouth. “Stop,” Peter repeated once more, his voice barely audible, not even convincing himself this time. He soon forgot why he wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this.
“You don’t really want me to stop, do you, Peter,” Sylar laughed, as he stripped down to nothing. “You’re just a little slut. You want your brother, and if you can’t have him, I’ll do just as well. Then maybe I’ll even let you go.”
“Stop talking about him. I’ll enjoy this more if you do,” Peter said, surprising himself. But if the only way to get out of this was to give himself to Sylar, then he had to at least try. He slipped in the blood on the floor, and pulled Sylar’s naked form down on top of him.
Breathing hard, he moaned, “Come on. You’re right. You’ll do just as well.”
Sylar wasted no time; he took Peter right then and there, and Peter couldn’t stop a low, pained groan at the initial penetration. Soon, though, all the pain was forgotten. Nothing hurt now. There was nothing but the vibration of his heart crashing into his ribs, nothing but his own groans and Sylar’s mouth on his, nothing but the deep pressure of Sylar’s cock as he slammed repeatedly into him.
“Yeah. Yeah. Fuck,” Peter swore, surprised at the shakiness of his voice. God, he’d missed this. Peter pushed the guilty thoughts of Nathan away once more as he enjoyed the feeling of Sylar deep in him, his full weight behind each thrust.
Sylar still had that wicked smile on his face, but he said nothing while he drove into him, worked his cock faster, the rough, relentless movements bringing Peter quickly to his peak. Peter’s eyes blurred and stung from the sweat dripping down his face, the metallic tang of blood in his nostrils, but he could feel his release coming on. As Peter finally came apart, gasping and moaning, Sylar hissed, “Make sure you’re loud enough so Nathan can hear you.”
Peter’s body froze, his eyes flew open, and he pushed Sylar off him, sweat and blood and now his own semen sticky on his skin. When the rush of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears slowed, he heard it: repeated banging on the right hand wall. He could hear something else through the wall: Nathan was in the room next to them, screaming Peter’s name, and cursing, possibly even crying. He couldn’t tell. Panic filled him.
“What did you do to him?” Peter demanded.
“Oh, he’s fine,” Sylar cackled, getting to his feet, looking down at himself, equally covered in Peter’s blood. “Probably just a bit upset about what he just watched. I just wanted to show him it wasn’t worth all the time and effort he spent trying to find you,” Sylar explained. “He asked me to help him find you, that I was the only one powerful enough to do it. Nathan told me everything about you and him.”
Peter started to shake. A wave of shameful disgust swept over him, and he couldn’t get up, not yet. This was sick. Sylar had made Nathan watch while he tormented him, then virtually forced himself on him.
Sylar’s voice seemed as if it were coming from further and further away. “I fulfilled my part of the bargain, didn’t I? I just wanted to amuse myself in the meantime. I wanted to see what it was about you that gets his dick hard. And now you’re going to finish. Or I’ll kill him. He’s right next to us, Peter. All it would take is a thought,” he said, snapping his fingers threateningly.
Peter closed his eyes and got to his knees, knowing exactly what Sylar wanted. The final insult. But if Nathan was watching, he really hoped he could hear too.
Peter moaned, “I’m sorry, Nathan.” He refused to let the angry tears come as he took Sylar in his mouth and tried to finish this as quickly as he could. He tried not to think about Nathan watching this, and he especially tried not to think about the fact that Sylar could easily change his mind and kill Nathan anyway.
When it was finished, Peter spat on the floor and turned away, his face burning in shame. Sylar patted his cheek condescendingly. “You be a good boy now, and just maybe I’ll let Nathan live,” Sylar directed. He then left without another word.
Peter crawled to the wall where he could still hear Nathan banging. The noise stopped when Peter pressed his hands to the wall, and fear lanced through his insides. “Nathan?” he cried. No. Sylar couldn’t have. Not after all that.
“Nathan!”
“Peter?” The response was hoarse, but it was Nathan’s voice.
An identical door in this wall opened, and Nathan, looking a little rumpled but uninjured, virtually fell through it. He dropped to his knees and gathered Peter in his arms, and Peter didn’t resist.
“Oh, God. Oh, Peter. It was the only way to get you back,” he said. “I didn’t know how bad it would be,” Nathan whispered into Peter’s hair. “I have you back now; it’s all I wanted, ever since you left me. I had to trust him. It was the only way.”
Peter hoped at least Nathan thought it had all been worth it as he slipped into unconsciousness.