Sex in the Alley
Title: Sex in the Alley
Characters: Sylar/Future!Peter
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2500ish
Setting: End of season 2. No particular AU.
Summary: Future!Peter is trying to figure out what aspect of history he needs to change to make the future better. Porn with very little plot.
Notes: Per DD3's request for 'Pre-Wall, first time sex with each other, Peter tops, force and seduction, minimal dialogue, something fun.'
Sylar grinned at the empty spinach can in his hand. He put his other hand to the rough brick wall of the alley and levered himself upright. There was a faint popping noise nearby, or maybe a dull whump. In either case, he’d heard that sound before and it snapped his head up in alarm.
Before him stood a man clad in black, with a long-sleeved shirt that hugged a well-built body. More striking than that was the jagged scar across a face that was otherwise familiar. Sylar’s mind dredged up the name from months before - Peter Petrelli. His brain also reminded him that he was in possession of only one ability other than his core power, and that Peter had a multitude of them. He swallowed, immediately kicking over into negotiation.
“What are you doing here, Peter?” Sylar looked up and down the alley, but they were still alone. He’d picked the first secluded spot he’d found for his injection and apparently it had been a good choice.
Peter barked a single laugh. “Shooting Nathan didn’t work out. I’ve just got to find the right butterfly to step on.”
Shooting Nathan? Dimly he recalled the various election posters. Nathan and Peter shared a last name. He assumed they were related. Brothers maybe? Father and son? Regardless - ‘shooting Nathan’?
He would have loved to have puzzled that out, considered what it meant and found the answer in a leisurely fashion. But Peter closed with him, shoving him up against the wall. Sylar sucked in air, immediately considering how and if he should defend himself. A second later, Peter tilted his head up, rose on his tip toes, and kissed him firmly. Sylar’s eyes flew wide and he froze. Defending himself was still in his mind, but from what had changed radically. Peter’s hand went behind his head and Sylar didn’t fight it at all as his face was pulled down to make it easier for a second, much more involved lip lock.
Sylar gave a deep grunt, starting to breath again, and fast. What the hell? Do I fight him? Should I? He’s not hurting me. Feels kind of good. Why’s he doing this? Butterflies? What? He wasn’t responding yet to the kiss, but he let it happen uncontested while he tried to figure out what was going on.
Peter snaked his other hand between the wall and Sylar’s back, holding him close while his mouth worked against Sylar’s. He took a short break to say, “Come on. I know you. You like this,” and then kissed him again.
You know me? Sylar’s mind boggled, but a second later Peter’s hand fisted in his hair, jerking his head back and exposing his neck to questing, biting teeth. The majority of coherent thought stopped amid a hot surge of desire and arousal as he was handled, controlled and savaged.
“Ah!” Sylar wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s strong, lithe body, pulling him closer and finding himself responding to things he hadn’t even known he was turned on by. Okay, I guess he does know me. It didn’t make sense, but it didn’t have to. He was fast coming erect and Peter was starting to hump him into the wall with slow, but regular, shoves of his hips. Sylar stared upward, head pulled back by a firm, steady grip while Peter chewed and sucked at him hard enough to leave bruises. Sylar’s fingers began to curl into Peter’s shoulders and he moaned.
“Oh yeah,” Peter breathed against him, releasing his hair for a moment.
Sylar looked down at him, eyes still wide and now with pupils dilated with the beginnings of lust. He grabbed Peter’s head with both hands, his gaze lingering briefly on the man’s forehead before dropping to his lips. I’ll worry about abilities later. I want this more. He kissed him hard, crushing their lips together and working them open, plunging his tongue inside. Peter growled and rolled his own tongue across Sylar’s, picking up the pace with his grinding, running his hands up and down Sylar’s sides, lightly at first and then digging in with blunt nails.
The pain made Sylar kiss him even more energetically, catching his breath when he could as his mouth enveloped Peter’s over and over, sucking and chewing at his lips. One large hand mussed Peter’s hair, fisting into it and pulling just to do it, listening to Peter grunt with each tug, feeling Peter’s lips quirk in a grimace at it. Apparently Peter was not fond of pain. Sylar did it harder. His other hand fell to the man’s neck, his thumb stroking across Peter’s windpipe, then pressing, choking him a little, seeing what he could get away with.
Peter’s hands hooked into the top of Sylar’s jeans and a moment later he felt a brush of telekinesis at the front of them. He jerked back as they were yanked down and he was exposed. So much for getting away with things. “Uh …” was all he got out before Peter grabbed his shirt and threw him down. Sylar scuffed an ass cheek on the dirty concrete before he got his bearings. He reached down for his pants, not sure if he should pull them up and run for it or get them off and welcome what was about to happen. Peter was opening his pants and getting himself out - hard and dark and Sylar felt torn between want and fear, his eyes darting rapidly between what Peter was touching, stroking even, and his face.
Peter grabbed the crotch of Sylar’s jeans and lifted his feet with them, pushing back and making him fold his knees.
He knows what he’s doing. He’s done this before. He knows me. “Heh,” Sylar said in a high, nervous pitch, still kind of undecided on this.
Peter shuffled forward, positioning Sylar matter-of-factly so his ass would be in Peter’s lap. He reached down and brushed the dirt off Sylar’s rear end considerately. “First time?”
“Uh … “ How do I answer that? Fuck. “Y-yeah.” Real smooth. Real smooth, Sylar.
Peter nodded, cupping his body against Sylar without shame or hesitation, his hot, erect penis against Sylar’s balls. The curve of Peter’s lower abdomen was a continuous, warm contact on Sylar’s buttocks. Sylar’s legs were bent up above his torso - they had to be somewhere and he hadn’t figured out where to put them. His pants were still bunched at the ankles. He started trying to work a foot out, but Peter grabbed the jeans and pulled them and feet upwards, hooking the pants over his neck.
Sylar’s brows climbed. His feet were on either side of Peter’s head, calves resting on his shoulders. “Oh … fuck,” he breathed, not even bothering to hide his fear and uncertainty anymore. “This is how we do it?”
Peter grinned, producing something from a pocket and messing with it. “Yep, this is how we do it.” A moment later, he shifted Sylar’s body and put something wet and slick against Sylar’s bare, exposed asshole.
Sylar jumped and clenched. I’m about to get fucked. Oh my God, I’m about to get fucked in a god damn alley by Peter Petrelli. I think that needle was full of fucking hallucinogens. This is all a fantasy. It’s not happening. Oh, fuck! Peter slipped a finger into him, breaching his body and making his back arch up off the ground. His lungs forced his air out with a cry.
“You just keep telling yourself that, baby,” Peter smirked. He bent forward and down to kiss and then bite Sylar’s inner thigh. He bit him hard with a snarl and a grimace. Sylar howled, coming up off the pavement again as Peter pulled out and slipped in two fingers instead of one, rubbing them in and out, shoving the curled knuckles of his other fingers roughly against Sylar’s perineum. Sylar’s franticly searching hands found Peter’s knees and gripped them. He knew what it meant when Peter pulled his hand out of the way and adjusted Sylar’s hips. Peter leaned forward a little, looking down at what he was doing with an expression of uncommon concentration.
“I trust you,” Sylar blurted out, feeling a need for some sort of validation. His statement was a plea, a plea he couldn’t say outright. It was also a question - can I trust you? Do you trust me? What the hell are we doing here?
Peter looked up at him as Sylar felt him press against him. “It’s going to be okay,” Peter said in a soft, gentle voice, a moment of tenderness in what was otherwise nearly an assault. “It’s going to be all right.” He waited, poised and motionless except for his heavy breathing, watching Sylar’s face for what he needed to see.
It took several seconds for Sylar to realize Peter was truly waiting for him. Do I want to do this? He looked up at Peter’s face, at that curious, jagged scar … but the eyes were the same. At this moment they weren’t the hardened, jaded gaze Peter had had earlier. They were wide and soft and utterly focused on him. It was kind of sexy. No, it was definitely sexy. Sylar smiled. He nodded, panting.
Peter penetrated him.
He didn’t know what he’d expected, or if he’d even had expectations. Peter’s member was hot, it was slick, and it pressed inside of him despite the instinctive and reflexive resistance of his muscles. They spasmed painfully and his back arched again. His head went back against the concrete with a dull, aching thud that wasn’t nearly as awful as the clenching and tensing of his sphincter. He made a choked noise. Peter was moving constantly, both hands gripping his hips, not letting him get away.
“Fight if you need to,” Peter got out.
Sylar wasn’t sure what Peter meant, but he shook, struggled and writhed on top of that implacable object, that part of Peter’s body that was lodged within him. Peter pulled him flush against him. Amazingly, the moving seemed to help and it gave him something distracting to do. It got better - it got better steadily. He came back to himself holding Peter’s hand. He looked down at that and reflected that seemed very gay. As if having his dick in your ass isn’t?
Peter let go of his hand with a chuckle and a smirk, switching to caress Sylar’s cock with the tips of his fingers as his hips made short thrusts. Dazed by it all, Sylar laid back and let it happen. Peter’s slow touches shifted to a loose grip, then he began stroking up and down. Sylar rested his hands on Peter’s knees, brushing them lightly with each stroke, his body twitching slowly in time with it. His eyes were half hooded, but he kept them open to watch Peter’s face. It was either lost in the rapture of the moment, or watching him and responding. By now Sylar had realized Peter was coaxing him with more attention to Sylar’s pleasure than his own. How does he know? I think he’s reading my mind.
Peter leaned forward against Sylar’s legs, pushing him up a little and fucking him a bit faster. It didn’t keep him from talking though. “Yeah, I am. We’ve done this before. A lot. In the future. That’s where I’m from. We never told anyone though. Always denied it. And we fought a lot, too. Eventually that’s all we did. I want to change that. I want you to know what you can have. Reach out. Find Peter in your timeline. Change the future. Uh! Nrg.” Peter shifted him again, pumping Sylar’s cock faster and matching his own thrusts to it.
“You’re …” Peter was struggling to talk and fuck at the same time.
You came back in time to fuck me? Sylar felt … special.
“Yeah,” Peter said, laughing at that, which was not really a good thing to do in the middle of sex. He cut it out quickly. “You are. You’re, uh, I dunno. I was going to say something … you don’t have to … you can be better. Find Peter. He’ll show you. He’ll help.” Peter moved him again and suddenly Sylar couldn’t think, couldn’t process - he could only experience and feel. Peter had found some part inside of him to hit over and over with his cock and it was like pushing a button for cumulative doses of ecstasy.
It felt fantastic. Sylar’s fingers were starting to dig into Peter’s thighs and he was coming up off the pavement again. It felt even better than getting his power back - which was a fucking tough act to top. He felt filled with light, like he was glowing. The world seemed to shimmer. Peter bent him forward even more, pounding him harder and faster, but not leaving that spot alone. Sylar’s back, on his should blades, hurt. He suspected he was getting road rashed. The muscles in his legs were quivering from the odd position but he wouldn’t stop it for the world.
Peter’s hand worked him constantly, leaving every nerve alight. He bit Sylar’s calf, sucking at it. Sylar started to shake, fingers digging in like claws, trying to anchor himself as his nerves exploded in an intense orgasm that shook his very sense of reality. Peter went two, then three more thrusts, riding the aftershocks, then stopped, panting and gasping over him. He eased back slowly, sliding himself from Sylar’s body.
“Don’t leave!” Sylar said suddenly, grabbing at him in desperation.
Peter pushed his pants up carefully. “I’ve got to. I can’t stay long.”
Sylar yanked his clothes up, his back aching, his thighs sore, butthole feeling … whoa. He suspected been abraded to hell and back on the concrete. He was filthy. Having sex in an alley, on the ground? What was I thinking? The afterglow was confusing, leaving him disgusted, ashamed, and needy all at once. He struggled to his feet.
Peter caught his elbow and looked up at him. “Hey. You need love. You don’t think you do, but you do. Power is secondary. Find Peter. You’re going to scare the shit out of him, I know, but try. He can give you everything you need and want if you let him. He’s in a bad place right now anyway.” He hesitated, expression softening again. “I hope like hell I reached you.” Peter’s hand dropped away from him and Sylar’s mouth opened to speak, but before he could say anything, he was alone in the alley again.
Characters: Sylar/Future!Peter
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2500ish
Setting: End of season 2. No particular AU.
Summary: Future!Peter is trying to figure out what aspect of history he needs to change to make the future better. Porn with very little plot.
Notes: Per DD3's request for 'Pre-Wall, first time sex with each other, Peter tops, force and seduction, minimal dialogue, something fun.'
Sylar grinned at the empty spinach can in his hand. He put his other hand to the rough brick wall of the alley and levered himself upright. There was a faint popping noise nearby, or maybe a dull whump. In either case, he’d heard that sound before and it snapped his head up in alarm.
Before him stood a man clad in black, with a long-sleeved shirt that hugged a well-built body. More striking than that was the jagged scar across a face that was otherwise familiar. Sylar’s mind dredged up the name from months before - Peter Petrelli. His brain also reminded him that he was in possession of only one ability other than his core power, and that Peter had a multitude of them. He swallowed, immediately kicking over into negotiation.
“What are you doing here, Peter?” Sylar looked up and down the alley, but they were still alone. He’d picked the first secluded spot he’d found for his injection and apparently it had been a good choice.
Peter barked a single laugh. “Shooting Nathan didn’t work out. I’ve just got to find the right butterfly to step on.”
Shooting Nathan? Dimly he recalled the various election posters. Nathan and Peter shared a last name. He assumed they were related. Brothers maybe? Father and son? Regardless - ‘shooting Nathan’?
He would have loved to have puzzled that out, considered what it meant and found the answer in a leisurely fashion. But Peter closed with him, shoving him up against the wall. Sylar sucked in air, immediately considering how and if he should defend himself. A second later, Peter tilted his head up, rose on his tip toes, and kissed him firmly. Sylar’s eyes flew wide and he froze. Defending himself was still in his mind, but from what had changed radically. Peter’s hand went behind his head and Sylar didn’t fight it at all as his face was pulled down to make it easier for a second, much more involved lip lock.
Sylar gave a deep grunt, starting to breath again, and fast. What the hell? Do I fight him? Should I? He’s not hurting me. Feels kind of good. Why’s he doing this? Butterflies? What? He wasn’t responding yet to the kiss, but he let it happen uncontested while he tried to figure out what was going on.
Peter snaked his other hand between the wall and Sylar’s back, holding him close while his mouth worked against Sylar’s. He took a short break to say, “Come on. I know you. You like this,” and then kissed him again.
You know me? Sylar’s mind boggled, but a second later Peter’s hand fisted in his hair, jerking his head back and exposing his neck to questing, biting teeth. The majority of coherent thought stopped amid a hot surge of desire and arousal as he was handled, controlled and savaged.
“Ah!” Sylar wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s strong, lithe body, pulling him closer and finding himself responding to things he hadn’t even known he was turned on by. Okay, I guess he does know me. It didn’t make sense, but it didn’t have to. He was fast coming erect and Peter was starting to hump him into the wall with slow, but regular, shoves of his hips. Sylar stared upward, head pulled back by a firm, steady grip while Peter chewed and sucked at him hard enough to leave bruises. Sylar’s fingers began to curl into Peter’s shoulders and he moaned.
“Oh yeah,” Peter breathed against him, releasing his hair for a moment.
Sylar looked down at him, eyes still wide and now with pupils dilated with the beginnings of lust. He grabbed Peter’s head with both hands, his gaze lingering briefly on the man’s forehead before dropping to his lips. I’ll worry about abilities later. I want this more. He kissed him hard, crushing their lips together and working them open, plunging his tongue inside. Peter growled and rolled his own tongue across Sylar’s, picking up the pace with his grinding, running his hands up and down Sylar’s sides, lightly at first and then digging in with blunt nails.
The pain made Sylar kiss him even more energetically, catching his breath when he could as his mouth enveloped Peter’s over and over, sucking and chewing at his lips. One large hand mussed Peter’s hair, fisting into it and pulling just to do it, listening to Peter grunt with each tug, feeling Peter’s lips quirk in a grimace at it. Apparently Peter was not fond of pain. Sylar did it harder. His other hand fell to the man’s neck, his thumb stroking across Peter’s windpipe, then pressing, choking him a little, seeing what he could get away with.
Peter’s hands hooked into the top of Sylar’s jeans and a moment later he felt a brush of telekinesis at the front of them. He jerked back as they were yanked down and he was exposed. So much for getting away with things. “Uh …” was all he got out before Peter grabbed his shirt and threw him down. Sylar scuffed an ass cheek on the dirty concrete before he got his bearings. He reached down for his pants, not sure if he should pull them up and run for it or get them off and welcome what was about to happen. Peter was opening his pants and getting himself out - hard and dark and Sylar felt torn between want and fear, his eyes darting rapidly between what Peter was touching, stroking even, and his face.
Peter grabbed the crotch of Sylar’s jeans and lifted his feet with them, pushing back and making him fold his knees.
He knows what he’s doing. He’s done this before. He knows me. “Heh,” Sylar said in a high, nervous pitch, still kind of undecided on this.
Peter shuffled forward, positioning Sylar matter-of-factly so his ass would be in Peter’s lap. He reached down and brushed the dirt off Sylar’s rear end considerately. “First time?”
“Uh … “ How do I answer that? Fuck. “Y-yeah.” Real smooth. Real smooth, Sylar.
Peter nodded, cupping his body against Sylar without shame or hesitation, his hot, erect penis against Sylar’s balls. The curve of Peter’s lower abdomen was a continuous, warm contact on Sylar’s buttocks. Sylar’s legs were bent up above his torso - they had to be somewhere and he hadn’t figured out where to put them. His pants were still bunched at the ankles. He started trying to work a foot out, but Peter grabbed the jeans and pulled them and feet upwards, hooking the pants over his neck.
Sylar’s brows climbed. His feet were on either side of Peter’s head, calves resting on his shoulders. “Oh … fuck,” he breathed, not even bothering to hide his fear and uncertainty anymore. “This is how we do it?”
Peter grinned, producing something from a pocket and messing with it. “Yep, this is how we do it.” A moment later, he shifted Sylar’s body and put something wet and slick against Sylar’s bare, exposed asshole.
Sylar jumped and clenched. I’m about to get fucked. Oh my God, I’m about to get fucked in a god damn alley by Peter Petrelli. I think that needle was full of fucking hallucinogens. This is all a fantasy. It’s not happening. Oh, fuck! Peter slipped a finger into him, breaching his body and making his back arch up off the ground. His lungs forced his air out with a cry.
“You just keep telling yourself that, baby,” Peter smirked. He bent forward and down to kiss and then bite Sylar’s inner thigh. He bit him hard with a snarl and a grimace. Sylar howled, coming up off the pavement again as Peter pulled out and slipped in two fingers instead of one, rubbing them in and out, shoving the curled knuckles of his other fingers roughly against Sylar’s perineum. Sylar’s franticly searching hands found Peter’s knees and gripped them. He knew what it meant when Peter pulled his hand out of the way and adjusted Sylar’s hips. Peter leaned forward a little, looking down at what he was doing with an expression of uncommon concentration.
“I trust you,” Sylar blurted out, feeling a need for some sort of validation. His statement was a plea, a plea he couldn’t say outright. It was also a question - can I trust you? Do you trust me? What the hell are we doing here?
Peter looked up at him as Sylar felt him press against him. “It’s going to be okay,” Peter said in a soft, gentle voice, a moment of tenderness in what was otherwise nearly an assault. “It’s going to be all right.” He waited, poised and motionless except for his heavy breathing, watching Sylar’s face for what he needed to see.
It took several seconds for Sylar to realize Peter was truly waiting for him. Do I want to do this? He looked up at Peter’s face, at that curious, jagged scar … but the eyes were the same. At this moment they weren’t the hardened, jaded gaze Peter had had earlier. They were wide and soft and utterly focused on him. It was kind of sexy. No, it was definitely sexy. Sylar smiled. He nodded, panting.
Peter penetrated him.
He didn’t know what he’d expected, or if he’d even had expectations. Peter’s member was hot, it was slick, and it pressed inside of him despite the instinctive and reflexive resistance of his muscles. They spasmed painfully and his back arched again. His head went back against the concrete with a dull, aching thud that wasn’t nearly as awful as the clenching and tensing of his sphincter. He made a choked noise. Peter was moving constantly, both hands gripping his hips, not letting him get away.
“Fight if you need to,” Peter got out.
Sylar wasn’t sure what Peter meant, but he shook, struggled and writhed on top of that implacable object, that part of Peter’s body that was lodged within him. Peter pulled him flush against him. Amazingly, the moving seemed to help and it gave him something distracting to do. It got better - it got better steadily. He came back to himself holding Peter’s hand. He looked down at that and reflected that seemed very gay. As if having his dick in your ass isn’t?
Peter let go of his hand with a chuckle and a smirk, switching to caress Sylar’s cock with the tips of his fingers as his hips made short thrusts. Dazed by it all, Sylar laid back and let it happen. Peter’s slow touches shifted to a loose grip, then he began stroking up and down. Sylar rested his hands on Peter’s knees, brushing them lightly with each stroke, his body twitching slowly in time with it. His eyes were half hooded, but he kept them open to watch Peter’s face. It was either lost in the rapture of the moment, or watching him and responding. By now Sylar had realized Peter was coaxing him with more attention to Sylar’s pleasure than his own. How does he know? I think he’s reading my mind.
Peter leaned forward against Sylar’s legs, pushing him up a little and fucking him a bit faster. It didn’t keep him from talking though. “Yeah, I am. We’ve done this before. A lot. In the future. That’s where I’m from. We never told anyone though. Always denied it. And we fought a lot, too. Eventually that’s all we did. I want to change that. I want you to know what you can have. Reach out. Find Peter in your timeline. Change the future. Uh! Nrg.” Peter shifted him again, pumping Sylar’s cock faster and matching his own thrusts to it.
“You’re …” Peter was struggling to talk and fuck at the same time.
You came back in time to fuck me? Sylar felt … special.
“Yeah,” Peter said, laughing at that, which was not really a good thing to do in the middle of sex. He cut it out quickly. “You are. You’re, uh, I dunno. I was going to say something … you don’t have to … you can be better. Find Peter. He’ll show you. He’ll help.” Peter moved him again and suddenly Sylar couldn’t think, couldn’t process - he could only experience and feel. Peter had found some part inside of him to hit over and over with his cock and it was like pushing a button for cumulative doses of ecstasy.
It felt fantastic. Sylar’s fingers were starting to dig into Peter’s thighs and he was coming up off the pavement again. It felt even better than getting his power back - which was a fucking tough act to top. He felt filled with light, like he was glowing. The world seemed to shimmer. Peter bent him forward even more, pounding him harder and faster, but not leaving that spot alone. Sylar’s back, on his should blades, hurt. He suspected he was getting road rashed. The muscles in his legs were quivering from the odd position but he wouldn’t stop it for the world.
Peter’s hand worked him constantly, leaving every nerve alight. He bit Sylar’s calf, sucking at it. Sylar started to shake, fingers digging in like claws, trying to anchor himself as his nerves exploded in an intense orgasm that shook his very sense of reality. Peter went two, then three more thrusts, riding the aftershocks, then stopped, panting and gasping over him. He eased back slowly, sliding himself from Sylar’s body.
“Don’t leave!” Sylar said suddenly, grabbing at him in desperation.
Peter pushed his pants up carefully. “I’ve got to. I can’t stay long.”
Sylar yanked his clothes up, his back aching, his thighs sore, butthole feeling … whoa. He suspected been abraded to hell and back on the concrete. He was filthy. Having sex in an alley, on the ground? What was I thinking? The afterglow was confusing, leaving him disgusted, ashamed, and needy all at once. He struggled to his feet.
Peter caught his elbow and looked up at him. “Hey. You need love. You don’t think you do, but you do. Power is secondary. Find Peter. You’re going to scare the shit out of him, I know, but try. He can give you everything you need and want if you let him. He’s in a bad place right now anyway.” He hesitated, expression softening again. “I hope like hell I reached you.” Peter’s hand dropped away from him and Sylar’s mouth opened to speak, but before he could say anything, he was alone in the alley again.