Things Unsaid
Title: Things Unsaid
Characters: Peter Petrelli/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mild violence
Word count: ~2,800
Setting: The Wall. This is a companion piece to means2bhuman’s Last Man On Earth and happens immediately after it.
Summary: Peter reacts to Sylar’s tender kiss and the realization of Sylar’s true feelings that comes with it.
“You … You …” Peter couldn’t finish the sentence as he sat there on the couch trying to assimilate that very wonderful, gentle kiss Sylar had just given him. The words simply weren’t there. Yeah, he’d known Sylar was flirting with him; he’d known the man was making passes and in some cases outright offers. Peter had ignored them, blown them off, declined and sometimes rejected them angrily. It had never occurred to him that Sylar actually liked him. Never. Shock was coursing through his system so hard and fast that he couldn’t think, much less speak. All this time …?
When it had first happened, he hadn’t been sure what Sylar was getting at. Then he thought maybe the guy was just really poorly socialized. Or just unhinged by the idea that he’d been alone for three years. Or just really bored and looking for a diversion. And a lot of the time, Peter thought Sylar was flirting with him just to unnerve and upset him, intentionally setting Peter off because he thought it was funny. Just, just … just. It hadn’t occurred to him there was something else going on.
Peter felt like a mix of being punched in the gut and having the rug jerked out from under him, as his entire perception about Sylar’s motives and behavior shifted and changed. Everything looked different now - everything Sylar had done here in this world took on a new spin and Peter could sense puzzle pieces falling into place that he hadn’t even realized were missing. His eyes widened as he stared at Sylar’s face, unsaid, unspeakable words hovering silently on his lips.
The blood drained from Sylar’s face as he realized the game was over - Peter knew. And Peter did. Sylar’s involuntary physical response proved it, not that he needed any proof. Just the thought, the firm suspicion, was enough of a key to unlock all the mysteries and confusing, arbitrary and sometimes moody-seeming behaviors that Sylar took with him. The man was smitten, to use an old-fashioned term, and he acted like it. Peter just hadn’t recognized it - until now. Sylar’s face pinched in worry and he slowly retreated backwards on the couch until he was at the other end.
All of this … he’s crushing on me. He really … he really has a crush on me. He … he likes me. He really likes me! Like really likes me. Seriously likes me. Has liked me for a long time, apparently. Shit! What the hell do I do about that? Peter got to his feet, aghast, still trying to process. He ran a hand through his hair, looking away and blinking as though that would clear things up. How do I feel about that? How do I feel about him?
He felt uncertain. He felt scared. He felt flattered. He hadn’t realized that Sylar really liked him for himself. That was what had made it so easy to dismiss his interest and semi-permanently friendzone the guy. That and the complication of everything Sylar had done and been in his life recently. People of Sylar’s experiences weren’t what came to Peter’s mind when he considered backgrounds for possible lovers. But … can I get past that? Do I want to get past that?
Peter was lost at sea here, not least of which because he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel about this. How am I supposed to respond? What am I supposed to do? What’s Sylar going to do now that the cat is out of the bag? “I’ve … I’ve got to think about this,” he finally managed to say, the words halting and accurately conveying how pole-axed Peter felt by the whole thing. He knew it had to be nothing compared to how Sylar must feel right now - exposed, found out, vulnerable and probably embarrassed, but for once Peter’s own feelings overwhelmed his usually so-sensitive regard for the feelings of another. Or maybe there was something about Sylar, about all the past with Sylar that allowed Peter to step back and be himself, to feel his own feelings, without guilt. Peter shook his head, walking over to the door and reaching for the knob. I need to get some time alone and think this through, think about what I’m going to do. I’m here; he’s here; and he’s been in lo… liking me all this time? Love maybe? He loves me?
Sylar, though, was not letting Peter leave quietly. He rose and stood in the middle of his apartment. “So that’s your big reaction? You’re just going to walk away?” His voice started as uncertain and ended by hardening up fast to a hateful sneer.
Hand still on the knob, Peter glanced back to see Sylar’s face. Sylar’s feelings about this ran through his mind again. He didn’t know what to do for the guy. He didn’t know what to do for himself. Sylar loves me? It made his heart beat faster just to think it. It made him flush and feel warm. It was a stupid reaction. It was confusing. Sylar was a killer. Peter hated him. And he still hated him - all the while feeling hot and bothered and restless all of a sudden. “I just … Sylar, I’ve got to think about this.”
“Oh really?” Sylar asked sarcastically. “What is there to think about, huh? The answer’s obvious. It always has been. Now I can’t even fucking pretend!”
Peter opened the door, the pain bleeding through Sylar’s words hitting him too deep. He couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, anyone had loved him for him, knowing who he was, what he could do, his background and his real personality, and still … loved him? Simone had dumped him like a wet sandwich. Caitlin had never known what she was dealing with. Everyone before that blended together into a small crowd of casual hook-ups and short-term relationships that usually ended abruptly when he confessed his feelings. He’d never been in the position of being the person who was confessed to and it gave him a hell of a lot of sympathy for those who had walked out of his life. But he still remembered the pain from every time that had happened. “That’s not it! I didn’t know-“
“Of course you didn’t! You’re the empath here, but no, of course you didn’t know what the fuck I was feeling. And you want to know why, Peter? Because you didn’t care. You didn’t pay attention. Not to me. I’m not worth paying attention to. I’m not worth caring about. Not for you.” Sylar’s lip curled in disgust as he nailed it dead-on.
Peter’s mouth fell open in shock as he stood in the open doorway. “No … that’s not true.” He wasn’t sure which part of it he was arguing, though. It was almost certainly all true and Peter felt weak inside, jolted by guilt and his own deliberate insensitivity. The one person he’d intentionally walled off any feelings for, any empathy for, was the one person who actually loved him. The irony was stifling.
“Oh yes it is. Why would you care?” Sylar continued, closing up on him to an arm’s length away, disdain and contempt thick in his words. “Do you think I haven’t thought about this already? Maybe you’re a little behind in the game, but I know where I stand with you. There’s nothing you need to go ‘think about’. So just walk the fuck away, Peter. It’s not like you’re walking away from anything you actually care about!”
“Would you shut up!” Peter snapped, angry that Sylar was so sure he’d already made up his mind. He knew it was all of Sylar’s insecurities and fears given voice after having been bottled up so long. “I told you I needed to think about it. I’m not lying!” Peter spoke through clenched teeth, angry and frustrated, feeling trapped and crushed under a welter of emotions he couldn’t even begin to process. Sylar’s proximity just made it worse. No matter how much he wanted to ignore the man’s state, he could feel Sylar’s heartfelt desires radiating around him like a numinous aura.
Sylar crowded up even closer to him and Peter felt his breath coming short. His vision was narrowing. Sylar seemed like the only thing in the world, disparaging and taunting. “What do you need to think about? How best to humiliate me with this for the rest of time? Or are you just going home to go jerk off to the idea of me drooling over you and never getting so much as a kind look or a pat on the head?”
“SHUT UP!” Peter shouted at him, agitation and fear beginning to fill him at the idea that Sylar thought that of him. And that, by walking away, Peter was somehow confirming that impression, verifying the worst that Sylar thought of him. Metaphorically spitting in the face of someone who loved him … Peter wanted to be loved. But by Sylar?
Sylar laughed dismissively, belittling his consternation. “Oh, sure, now I don’t even get to talk to you? Let’s see how that works to-“
Everything that Peter was feeling coiled and crashed together into a single bright point of certainty - he had to shut Sylar up. He had to. Nothing else was more important than that and he didn’t think it through. He just lashed out, punching him in the face. He hit Sylar on the cheek and staggered him backwards. He instantly regretted throwing the punch, but at least it had stopped Sylar from spewing so much venom and poisoning the very air with the pain of his perceived rejection. Peter panted, barely able to breathe, his chest was so tight.
Sylar, though, was not going to take such abuse without retaliation. Maybe he’d even been intentionally pushing it to provoke Peter. It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of experience mashing Peter’s buttons. He swung back, surging forward. Peter ducked and dodged backwards, out into the cluttered hall. The blow intended for the middle of his face clipped his forehead above his temple instead. It rattled his brain more than the usual headshot did. The world tilted crazily and he stumbled.
Sylar grabbed his shoulder and yanked, keeping him from falling. The cloth of Peter’s shirt made a complaining sound. Peter assumed he was being lined up for another blow and flailed his arms, jerking his head to the side and grunting. Although he connected with Sylar’s arm and was rapidly regaining his balance, he somehow managed to miss that one of Sylar’s limbs was still over to the side where he couldn’t see it. Maybe he was distracted by how the man was a lot closer than Peter had expected. There was no ‘at arm’s length’ about Sylar’s positioning as Peter blinked his eyes and got oriented. Before he could fully get his bearings, Sylar had Peter’s head in both hands and pressed in fast, smashing their lips together painfully in a far rougher kiss than he’d given earlier.
Peter rose up on his toes in unexpected reaction, reaching up to grab instinctively at Sylar’s hands. Sylar slipped one to the back of Peter’s head to hold him there, while the other batted away half of Peter’s interference. The fight had suddenly turned into something else and the latest of too many shocks in the last few minutes zapped through Peter’s frame, paralyzing his brain as he stuttered over what he should do in response. The taller man lightened his touch a little, his lips working fast against Peter’s, trying to squeeze all that he could into the precious seconds he had. Peter’s other hand found Sylar’s and curled around it as Sylar’s fingers tangled in his hair and held fast, making Peter have to pull his own hair to get him loose. His free hand found Sylar’s forearm and gripped it.
Peter paused in the struggle, trying to think as his breath panted out hotly. Sylar softened his touch again, opening his eyes to look into Peter’s and there was a plea in that expression, in the way Sylar’s brows drew together and the now-gentle motions of his mouth. He kissed more sensuously, less frantically, and Peter could feel his emotions - it was one unending entreaty for recognition, acceptance, and affection in return. Peter swallowed. He felt his body flush from top to bottom and he whimpered from that emotional onslaught that he couldn’t deny. His fingers, twined with Sylar’s at the back of his head, flexed irregularly as his will to fight the man off fragmented. He moved his mouth experimentally. Sylar sucked in breath and tilted his head a little in response to Peter’s tentative movement.
Peter pulled away a tiny bit; his lips were sore and the pressure too much. Sylar allowed it, fingers clenching at the back of Peter’s head, still entwined with Peter’s own. Peter shut his eyes and let the moment have him. He’d already signaled his acquiescence and approval. He didn’t want to think of why he shouldn’t be doing this. He didn’t want to think of anything. Lucky for him then, that at the moment thinking was the most difficult thing he could attempt. Just being - just experiencing and feeling and giving was so much easier. It came to him naturally. It felt right. His mouth meshed with Sylar’s, moving with him and showing the other man how they could fit together perfectly. Peter crooned softly and Sylar redoubled his efforts, sucking at his lips and bringing his other hand up to touch the side of Peter’s face. They were faint, ticklish touches that raised goose-flesh across Peter’s body, stiffening him and making his eyes roll upwards behind their still-closed lids.
Peter let go of Sylar’s forearm and put his hand on the man’s chest, feeling Sylar’s heart hammering away just as Peter’s was. His fingers curled into Sylar’s shirt and his croon became a moan, obscenely loud in a hallway that was quiet aside from their heavy breathing. Again, Sylar reacted as though that sound dowsed him with energy - his breath came faster, his fingers caressing gently and tenderly. Peter felt like he was melting inside, drowning in passion and rising arousal. With utmost difficulty, he forced his eyes open and flexed his fingers, spreading them until his palm was flat on Sylar’s sternum. He didn’t want to do this, but he had to - he had to before this went somewhere way further than a kiss. He pushed.
Sylar wasn’t holding Peter’s head anymore. When shoved back, he didn’t clutch at Peter to keep him close. The kiss that had started as spite and thwarted desire, embarrassment and shame, had turned into so much more as Peter had returned it so unexpectedly. Sylar’s eyes took in Peter’s face and he managed to fight off smirking or doing anything else that would ruin the moment.
They stood a little too close, Peter’s hand still resting on Sylar’s chest as if forgotten, or perhaps just left there to make sure Sylar didn’t kiss him again. Peter studied Sylar’s face, but it was neutral enough. There was nothing there to trip him into fury and so Peter was left with his own feelings and the knowledge that he’d … well, he’d pretty well answered the ‘how do I feel about Sylar’ part of his internal interrogation. He looked down and relaxed, taking deep breaths and feeling the cooling moisture on his still-warm lips. He swallowed and looked up threateningly at Sylar, who lifted his brows slightly at the return of a hostile expression.
“Not a word,” Peter said gravely. “Not a single word.” He dropped his hand, waiting a beat to see if Sylar understood what he was asking for … demanding. He couldn’t face what he’d just done. He couldn’t accept that he’d done it. He’d kissed Sylar. He’d kissed him! He could feel the emotions inside of himself and there was definitely a returned enthusiasm and interest. He wanted more and he wanted it desperately, but there was everything else snarling and storming inside of Peter so noisily that he couldn’t sort it out. He was back to the beginning - that he needed a chance to think about this. And maybe, just maybe after that kiss Sylar would let him do what he needed to do. Sylar’s brows lowered, but he was silent. Peter nodded once, turned and walked away.