Wall Verse, Chapter 15, Weighty Subjects
Peter spent the next few days laying low and avoiding Sylar, but he didn't hide out in his apartment the whole time. It was a big city and there were twenty-four hours in a day. He went out the back door if he had to, but mostly he just waited until Sylar wasn't waiting outside before exiting himself. He avoided Sylar's haunts, stayed close to buildings instead of walking in the middle of the street, and spent much of his time roaming around the buildings that were a couple hour's walk from where they lived.
It left him a lot of time to think. His mind kept going back to various moments with Sylar. One time in particular jumped out at him. It was the first time he'd realized just how much and directly he turned the man on, weeks earlier. He could see now how much he'd bungled it, but at the time it hadn't been so obvious …
Peter was doing leg curls when Sylar came to the weight room. Peter had watched Sylar lurk around when he was working out, but always before the man had looked in with expressions that ranged from ogling to annoyance and then moved on. Today he opened the door and walked in.
Peter glanced up at him, at the way Sylar leaned against the door frame and lifted one brow with a contemptuous expression on his face. Peter made a humorless chuckle at Sylar's look and went back to his workout. He had the impression that Sylar didn't think much of any activity Peter engaged in that took his attention away from Sylar. Sylar loomed large and cast a big shadow - not too different from Nathan, actually, and Peter had been, if not comfortable, then at least conditioned to give way and make room for his brother. Still … he kind of resented it at times. And Sylar was not Nathan.
"You need something?" Peter called out. Other than, you know, me paying attention to you?
Sylar gave a deep, dramatic sigh. "If you think this is all just a head trip, some delusion in my brain, then why do you bother to work out?"
Peter smirked. "Maybe I do it so you'll think I'm stronger, and it'll be easier for me to kick your ass in here." That was part of it. The other part was that he just liked doing it - simple physical repetition. It was soothing and helped him focus his thoughts. If a person wanted to get all spiritual about it, it was a sort of meditation. He could zone out and turn his brain off, thinking of nothing and no one, not even himself.
Sylar frowned, seriously considering Peter's stated reason.
Peter found the man's severe expression comical. He gave an easy grin and finished his set, leaning forward over the top rollers after he was done. "Have you ever had an exercise routine?"
Sylar's face shifted immediately to defensive and unsure, then he covered it with arrogance. One of Peter's brows crept upward at how clumsy that was. He'd either caught Sylar off guard, or the reaction was contrived. It didn't seem contrived. Sylar cleared his throat and said, "There were … there were weight machines in high school, of course."
But he didn't say he'd used them. "'Course, yeah," Peter nodded, getting up. "You want to work out with me?"
The arrogance slipped in surprise at the invitation. Sylar glanced around the room and Peter had an odd impression that everything in here was Peter's 'toys', and he'd just asked Sylar if he wanted to play. The man looked eager, but he said not a word. Peter jerked his head towards one of the machines he'd liberated from the YMCA and moved here to be closer to his apartment. "Try this one out. This is a chest press."
Sylar settled himself in, with a lot of looks at Peter, maybe because this put them a lot closer to one another than they usually got. Peter noticed the looks and knew the probable reason, but the proximity didn't bother him at the moment. Peter's sense of personal space was a lot more limited than Sylar's, especially if there was a reason for being close, like now. He lightened the weight a lot, glancing over Sylar's frame and trying to estimate his strength. "You'll need to lose the dress shirt or else you're going to get it all sweaty. That doesn't look like a fabric that will move with you anyway."
"Okay," Sylar said with a semi-naughty smile like Peter had just asked him to strip.
Which Peter supposed he had, but he hadn't thought of it like that. Peter gave a couple chuckles and then cast another eye over Sylar's musculature after he shed the shirt, his upper body clad in an armless singlet now. Peter moved the weight up one bracket as Sylar settled back in place. "Try it now."
Sylar did, moving the machine smoothly, without the jerk that came with the weight being too light. Still, Sylar said, "It's not heavy enough."
"You don't want it too heavy. This isn't a contest. You need to find what you can lift that gives you only a little burn after ten or fifteen reps, and stick with that. It builds tone."
"It's too light," Sylar insisted. "I saw what it was set on when I sat down. Put it heavier."
Peter moved back to the weights to hide his grin. So it is a contest, huh? You think you need to be stronger than I am and show how you're all big and strong? Peter obediently raised the weight a couple notches and watched as Sylar did a few repetitions. He didn't seem to be straining. Okay, maybe you're stronger than you look, but you still shouldn't start your first workout trying to push yourself.
"Come on," Peter said jovially. "Let's get you set up on some other machines so you can get some balance. A good routine works all your major muscle groups in rotation, then you cycle through them again a few times."
"That's what you do?" Sylar asked, following him to the leg press.
"Yep. Here, try this one." Peter showed him the machines and adjusted the weights, staying consistently ten to fifteen pounds heavier than he thought Sylar needed to be lifting. But it kept the man from complaining it was too light and he didn't seem to be overtaxing himself. After showing him the ropes, Peter went back to his own routine, though he noticed Sylar followed him from machine to machine, copying.
Since he had company, Peter kept at it longer than usual. He was genuinely entertained to have someone in here with him, despite the attractions of it as a solitary exercise. He liked the companionship, quiet though it was. It was sort of like when Sylar would listen to Peter working at the piano or the guitar while Sylar read a book, but this time, Sylar was working with him. It was an engagement, a sort of reaching out, a hell of a lot more of sharing himself and his time than reading a book while Peter banged away at the keys or strummed on the strings. Even if he thought Sylar was trying to bulk up so he could take him more easily in fights.
When they were done, Peter slapped a friendly hand over Sylar's shoulders and said, "Hey, how about I walk you back to your place and we'll get lunch?" He didn't have anything much to eat at his own place and he didn't really want Sylar in his apartment. But he'd been in Sylar's a few times. It didn't seem off-limits, even if the surprised look Sylar shot him let Peter know he'd just invited himself over. "Or we could check out a restaurant," Peter amended in response to that look.
"No, no!" Sylar said quickly. "My place is fine." He scrambled up from the bench and grabbed his shirt with a stiffness that let Peter know that yes, he'd overextended himself.
They walked back slowly, making small talk about high school sports. They'd both been good at swimming and diving; neither had been much into other sports. Once they arrived, Sylar confessed, "I'm not all that hungry, Peter."
Peter shrugged. Definitely overextended himself. My fault - I shouldn't have let him lift that much. "Okay, well have a seat and I'll see if there's anything here that suits my fancy." He missed the raised eyebrow and suggestive expression Sylar wore as the other man went to his chair, where he sank down with a groan. Peter heard the sound though as he poked around in the refrigerator. Nothing really grabbed his attention. He filled a couple glasses of water, downing half of his in a long swallow as he looked at the back of Sylar's head and the tense way the man was sitting.
He's going to be hella sore tomorrow. I hope he comes back though. That was … nice. It was nice to have him there. I liked him being there. He took a more sedate drink and considered that. Previously, they'd played board games at Sylar's request, talked about things (mostly at Sylar's request), and spent time together (again, mostly Sylar seeking Peter out and not the other way around), but today's activity had a different flavor to it. Peter was well-trained in doing what other people wanted - finding out what they liked and giving it to them. He couldn't remember the last time someone had engaged with him on something he liked.
Sylar was no different, by and large. He'd made his opinions of Peter's preferences quite clear: comic books were for kids, helping people was naïve, Peter's idealism was immature, working out was stupid … he didn't made fun of the music, at least. There is that. It was a lot easier for Peter to play in someone else's sandbox than to invite someone into his own, but here in this world, with Peter's own reluctance to connect with Sylar, it left it to Sylar to connect with Peter. And while the other man didn't seem aware of what he'd done, that didn't mean he hadn't reached out in a way that few ever had for Peter. He'd chosen to spend his time with Peter, doing Peter's things. I'd like him to do that again.
Peter walked over, bringing the other glass of water to Sylar. "Here. You should drink all of this. You're going to need a lot of water to flush the toxins out of your muscles. The more you drink, the less sore you'll be tomorrow."
Sylar nodded, drinking a little to be polite before setting it aside. Peter let his hand drop to Sylar's shoulder and met the man's questioning gaze briefly. Peter wanted to be nice. He felt sorry for how sore Sylar was going to be. He was deeply pleased Sylar had worked out with him and he wanted to show his appreciation. He stepped behind the other man, feeling and seeing the tensing across Sylar's frame, knowing he'd triggered a hyper-awareness of where he was and what he was doing. Peter said nothing, not wanting to create the awkwardness of conversation or give Sylar an opportunity to decline his offer of gratitude. Peter knew he'd just stepped right past the wall Sylar kept up around himself. He did it anyway because he thought if he didn't, then Sylar would never let him in.
Peter put both hands on either side of Sylar's shoulders, gripping and releasing gently, then rolling back and forth with alternating pressure. It felt good to touch someone and feel them warm and alive under his hands. It had been a long time since he had, other than inadvertent or momentary contacts, and for Peter that was a big deal. He liked touching people. Sylar wasn't objecting, even if he was literally holding his breath. Peter kept rubbing his shoulders slowly until he felt Sylar's chest rise and fall with respiration. He carefully manipulated the shoulder girdle, letting his thumbs work small circles of pressure as Sylar slowly relaxed into it.
Sylar let his head fall forward a little and Peter took that as encouragement, moving his hands to the man's neck, resting his fingers on the sides while his thumbs worked the muscles at the nape of Sylar's neck. He slid his fingers up into the man's hair to rub at where the tendons connected to the skull, provoking a sharp inhalation and a small, not-entirely-throttled noise of pleasure from Sylar. The man shivered. Peter smiled. He wasn't that good at this, but it was nice to know it was having an impact. He worked back down, going as far as the middle of Sylar's lumbar region. Sylar leaned forward and scooted to the edge of his chair to cooperate, glancing back a couple times with a hopeful, but confused smile. Peter answered it warmly with a smile of his own and then worked his way back up, spreading out over Sylar's ribs and shoulder blades, then down his spine again.
On the third pass up he moved out to the deltoids. Sylar seemed to be getting more tense now rather than more relaxed. His breathing had shortened and his hands were in his lap, arranged with a false casualness that ended up drawing more attention than it diverted. Peter hesitated, hands on Sylar's biceps, as he realized what the problem was. Sylar is hiding a boner. He has … a boner, from me … oh. Oh wow. Oh-kay.
Not wanting to make an issue of it, Peter resumed his attentions, but moved back up the arms to the shoulders and rubbed them in a firmer pattern otherwise identical to how he'd started. He was a little confused, a little pleased and a lot nonplussed about Sylar's response. Yes, people had that reaction sometimes, or so he'd heard, and it was a bit flattering, but it hadn't been Peter's goal and he hadn't been thinking of Sylar in a sexual way at all.
He finished up with a couple decisive, non-intimate pats on the back. "So, uh," Peter said, "I need to go do some shopping and stuff. I figure you'll be needing to take a shower and things. Make sure you drink lots of water, okay?" Sylar made a mute nod. Peter gave him another friendly pat. "Might be a good idea to do some stretching later on. I'll see you around."
"Sure," Sylar said, his voice a little reedy and tight.
Peter let himself out, leaving Sylar to manage his arousal however he saw fit.
I was pushy, again. I am way, way too pushy with him. I didn't let him take his time on the machines, I invited myself over to his place and I put my hands on him without even asking. I'm too much for him. He wants it; he wants it bad, but I've got to find a way to let him take things at his own pace, while letting him know it's okay. I rush him and he gets defensive, he tries to do too much, like putting too much weight on the machines or freaking out during sex. I gotta take it slow.
Of course, that assumes I'm gonna be with him again. He sighed and rubbed at his brow. He knew this avoidance crap was only a matter of time. There was only one other person in the world and Peter was going to end up spending time with him. He could probably make it determinedly nonsexual if he wanted to, but that was the problem - he didn't want to. It set Peter's teeth on edge that his desire for intimacy and touch and affection were not under his control, anymore now than with Caitlin or Simone or any of the various others he'd fallen for in his life. Maybe if he'd had other options he wouldn't have felt this way towards Sylar, but he didn't, and so his heart was doing what it always did and finding a way to love.
It made him irritable.
After that first workout, Sylar had been enthusiastic about more and Peter had been pleased with the company, but he kept his hands off the man no matter how much Sylar moaned and groaned about his poor, sore, overworked muscles. Not long after that, Sylar had started picking fights with him, losing them, and then begging for help getting patched up after. Peter saw the pattern perfectly now. Peter had fallen for it at first, then when he realized what was going on … he really fell for it, which he regarded as sick and kind of sad, but it was what had happened. He diverted Sylar into music as fast as he could. Music, camping, games, conversation - Peter had made a determined effort to keep Sylar busy for weeks now. It was better than getting beaten up and he had really enjoyed their time together, but it wasn't how Peter wanted to live.