Mistletoe Greetings
Title: Mistletoe Greetings
Characters: Sylar/Peter Petrelli
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word count: ~1,200
Setting: A few weeks after Brave New World
Summary: Peter didn’t want Sylar to spend the holidays alone, so he invited Sylar over for Christmas Eve.
Notes: Written for the 2011 Advent Calendar, to the prompt, "Something Christmas-themed".
There was a hesitant knock at Peter’s door. Right on time, as always, he knew it was Sylar. Peter suspected this was going to be one of the strangest Christmas Eves he’d ever had. It had barely been a couple weeks after the nightmare of Matt’s mental prison. Peter’s birthday had come and gone a few days before. He’d refused to see his mother (actually, he declined an offer of dinner), but he’d talked to her on the phone. It did nothing to dispel the loneliness. At the end of the evening, he’d gotten tired of feeling sorry for himself and called up Sylar.
They’d been keeping in touch. Sylar was getting himself settled with a new apartment and had been applying for jobs. He could make gold, so it wasn’t for the money. He was trying to find his place in the new world. Peter had listened to some of Sylar’s surprisingly existential philosophical discourses about the subject over a few lunches. He was fascinating to listen to, even more interesting to just watch while he talked. With the past stripped away and behind them, Peter looked on Sylar with new eyes. He truly was a changed man.
Peter had a miserable birthday that no one, save his mother, had acknowledged, so he’d resolved not to repeat the experience for the holidays. He’d invited Sylar over, knowing that Sylar was probably even more lonely than Peter was. It was a fact Sylar had confirmed on the phone, expressing his awareness of Peter’s birthday and regret over … everything. Peter had had enough of that fast. He’d rather listen to Sylar expound on the meaning of life than wallow in the what-might-have-been.
Peter went to the door with an eager step. There was no one else, really, that he wanted to spend time with. It seemed insane that after five years trapped together that he still wanted Sylar’s company, but Sylar fell neatly into a unique category of knowing about abilities and the truth of Peter’s life, yet not having betrayed him. Nathan’s death remained a dull ache, but he’d moved past blaming Sylar for it. Unlike his feelings for his mother.
He pulled open the door to see Sylar slouching against the far wall. He was dressed nicely in a well-cut, charcoal wool jacket with dark jeans and loafers. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and he showed no sign of moving from where he was. Thinking perhaps Sylar wanted to go out, Peter stepped into the hall with him. A slow smile dawned over Sylar’s face, warming it like the summer sun over a field. Sylar sighed and just looked at Peter.
Peter felt a little dazzled by the attention. For the few times they’d visited since Matt’s, Peter had been the one looking at Sylar. Now he shifted uncomfortably, reaching up to rub nervously at his chin. “What’s up?” he said, hoping to inject some normalcy.
It worked, sort of. Sylar’s eyes stopped being so taken with Peter. Sylar glanced down for a moment, coloring slightly and hunching his shoulders. Peter’s brows drew together. Sylar glanced up then, but his gaze went higher than Peter, to look almost straight up.
Peter followed the look to see a volleyball-sized clump of twisted green branches with small fleshy leaves and white berries hanging in mid-air above the other man, suspended there by Sylar’s ability. For a second, Peter didn’t register what it was. His thoughts recently had been so … elsewhere. But now, all of a sudden, they were crushingly present and immediate. Right here, right now, was what mattered. Realization crashed over him in an instant - the looks, the loneliness salved by only one person, the longing he hadn’t put a name to - it all made sense. Eyes wide, he looked back to Sylar, who was regarding his face with an intensity Sylar had previously reserved for figuring out the mysteries of abilities. He was waiting for Peter’s reaction.
Peter looked back up at the mistletoe in wonder, a smile spreading across his face. The idea of just throwing himself on Sylar came to mind, but he had a little more cool than that. He stepped forward, which caused Sylar to straighten, then appear to regret it as he realized how uneven their heights were. Peter smiled at the awkwardness and reached up one exploring hand to touch Sylar’s cheek. He’d shaved, very recently. Peter could smell the cologne now that he was close. Sylar leaned back against the wall again, bending his knees a little as he bit and then licked his lips. He looked paler than he had earlier.
Peter stroked Sylar’s cheek slowly with his fingertips - three short brushes before letting them slide along his jaw line and under his ear, around to the back of his head. He could hear Sylar’s breathing pick up sharply and Peter gave a nervous-but-happy smile. His eyes danced from Sylar’s to his lips as he leaned in slowly, his other hand (the one not cradling the base of Sylar’s skull) coming to rest on the wall to brace him. Sylar smelled wonderful - very masculine, very clean and fresh scrubbed. Peter could feel his breath against him.
He puckered his lips slightly and turned his head a little so their noses didn’t bump. Peter kissed him with a light press of lips. Sylar sucked in a breath and kissed back more energetically than Peter was ready for. Peter grunted as his lip was pinched between their teeth. Sylar jerked back, looking concerned. Peter didn’t wait for an apology, kissing him again immediately with a generous smooch. Sylar pressed into it with him a second later, as they each learned how the other kissed. It was a tentative and mostly chaste education, touching lips over and again, working out the timing and pattern.
They were in no hurry. Nothing else was so important as this. Once more, they were the only people in the world, discovering each other all over again. Long minutes passed in growing fulfillment of a need Peter hadn’t even realized he had. A distant door slamming finally made them aware of other life. Peter pushed away from the wall so his arm was straight now. He looked off down the hall, then back at Sylar. “You, eh,” he smiled nervously, “you want to take this inside?”
“I’d love to,” came the deep, velvet-voiced reply. Sometime during their osculation, the mistletoe had fallen to the side. Sylar retrieved it now.
Peter suspected that ‘strange’ didn’t even begin to describe how his Christmas Eve was going to be.
Characters: Sylar/Peter Petrelli
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word count: ~1,200
Setting: A few weeks after Brave New World
Summary: Peter didn’t want Sylar to spend the holidays alone, so he invited Sylar over for Christmas Eve.
Notes: Written for the 2011 Advent Calendar, to the prompt, "Something Christmas-themed".
There was a hesitant knock at Peter’s door. Right on time, as always, he knew it was Sylar. Peter suspected this was going to be one of the strangest Christmas Eves he’d ever had. It had barely been a couple weeks after the nightmare of Matt’s mental prison. Peter’s birthday had come and gone a few days before. He’d refused to see his mother (actually, he declined an offer of dinner), but he’d talked to her on the phone. It did nothing to dispel the loneliness. At the end of the evening, he’d gotten tired of feeling sorry for himself and called up Sylar.
They’d been keeping in touch. Sylar was getting himself settled with a new apartment and had been applying for jobs. He could make gold, so it wasn’t for the money. He was trying to find his place in the new world. Peter had listened to some of Sylar’s surprisingly existential philosophical discourses about the subject over a few lunches. He was fascinating to listen to, even more interesting to just watch while he talked. With the past stripped away and behind them, Peter looked on Sylar with new eyes. He truly was a changed man.
Peter had a miserable birthday that no one, save his mother, had acknowledged, so he’d resolved not to repeat the experience for the holidays. He’d invited Sylar over, knowing that Sylar was probably even more lonely than Peter was. It was a fact Sylar had confirmed on the phone, expressing his awareness of Peter’s birthday and regret over … everything. Peter had had enough of that fast. He’d rather listen to Sylar expound on the meaning of life than wallow in the what-might-have-been.
Peter went to the door with an eager step. There was no one else, really, that he wanted to spend time with. It seemed insane that after five years trapped together that he still wanted Sylar’s company, but Sylar fell neatly into a unique category of knowing about abilities and the truth of Peter’s life, yet not having betrayed him. Nathan’s death remained a dull ache, but he’d moved past blaming Sylar for it. Unlike his feelings for his mother.
He pulled open the door to see Sylar slouching against the far wall. He was dressed nicely in a well-cut, charcoal wool jacket with dark jeans and loafers. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and he showed no sign of moving from where he was. Thinking perhaps Sylar wanted to go out, Peter stepped into the hall with him. A slow smile dawned over Sylar’s face, warming it like the summer sun over a field. Sylar sighed and just looked at Peter.
Peter felt a little dazzled by the attention. For the few times they’d visited since Matt’s, Peter had been the one looking at Sylar. Now he shifted uncomfortably, reaching up to rub nervously at his chin. “What’s up?” he said, hoping to inject some normalcy.
It worked, sort of. Sylar’s eyes stopped being so taken with Peter. Sylar glanced down for a moment, coloring slightly and hunching his shoulders. Peter’s brows drew together. Sylar glanced up then, but his gaze went higher than Peter, to look almost straight up.
Peter followed the look to see a volleyball-sized clump of twisted green branches with small fleshy leaves and white berries hanging in mid-air above the other man, suspended there by Sylar’s ability. For a second, Peter didn’t register what it was. His thoughts recently had been so … elsewhere. But now, all of a sudden, they were crushingly present and immediate. Right here, right now, was what mattered. Realization crashed over him in an instant - the looks, the loneliness salved by only one person, the longing he hadn’t put a name to - it all made sense. Eyes wide, he looked back to Sylar, who was regarding his face with an intensity Sylar had previously reserved for figuring out the mysteries of abilities. He was waiting for Peter’s reaction.
Peter looked back up at the mistletoe in wonder, a smile spreading across his face. The idea of just throwing himself on Sylar came to mind, but he had a little more cool than that. He stepped forward, which caused Sylar to straighten, then appear to regret it as he realized how uneven their heights were. Peter smiled at the awkwardness and reached up one exploring hand to touch Sylar’s cheek. He’d shaved, very recently. Peter could smell the cologne now that he was close. Sylar leaned back against the wall again, bending his knees a little as he bit and then licked his lips. He looked paler than he had earlier.
Peter stroked Sylar’s cheek slowly with his fingertips - three short brushes before letting them slide along his jaw line and under his ear, around to the back of his head. He could hear Sylar’s breathing pick up sharply and Peter gave a nervous-but-happy smile. His eyes danced from Sylar’s to his lips as he leaned in slowly, his other hand (the one not cradling the base of Sylar’s skull) coming to rest on the wall to brace him. Sylar smelled wonderful - very masculine, very clean and fresh scrubbed. Peter could feel his breath against him.
He puckered his lips slightly and turned his head a little so their noses didn’t bump. Peter kissed him with a light press of lips. Sylar sucked in a breath and kissed back more energetically than Peter was ready for. Peter grunted as his lip was pinched between their teeth. Sylar jerked back, looking concerned. Peter didn’t wait for an apology, kissing him again immediately with a generous smooch. Sylar pressed into it with him a second later, as they each learned how the other kissed. It was a tentative and mostly chaste education, touching lips over and again, working out the timing and pattern.
They were in no hurry. Nothing else was so important as this. Once more, they were the only people in the world, discovering each other all over again. Long minutes passed in growing fulfillment of a need Peter hadn’t even realized he had. A distant door slamming finally made them aware of other life. Peter pushed away from the wall so his arm was straight now. He looked off down the hall, then back at Sylar. “You, eh,” he smiled nervously, “you want to take this inside?”
“I’d love to,” came the deep, velvet-voiced reply. Sometime during their osculation, the mistletoe had fallen to the side. Sylar retrieved it now.
Peter suspected that ‘strange’ didn’t even begin to describe how his Christmas Eve was going to be.