Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 3: Performance Anxiety
Sylar's cock slid inside of Peter's slicked, prepared body with a ridiculously minor degree of resistance. What that implied about Peter was positively obscene. It certainly wasn't a hot dog down a hallway (not that Sylar had any personal experience what that phrase referred to), but he'd expected a little more difficulty. Peter was definitely feeling it, at least, so that was good. Peter's hands clenched the cotton sheets in a white-knuckled grip and he grunted - a noise that usually didn't indicate pleasure. Sylar knew if he wanted to rate well as one of Peter's (apparently many) lovers and be invited to do this a second time, he needed to perform.
He made shallow thrusts, holding himself up over Peter's prostrate, facedown form, prodding into him. He could feel the wet warmth progressively sheathing him and it was fantastic. Peter's ass was firm and elastic - not nearly the barrier to access he'd imagined. Peter made another noise that sounded like a grunt and put his head down further, forehead pressed into the mattress. Shit. I'm not doing this right. Sylar drew back in a long, steady pull so that he was nearly out, then pushed back inside in a single lunge. This time the sound was a groan and Peter lifted his head a little. Oh, yeah. That's good. He likes that. Thank God. Keep doing that. Sylar repeated, time after time, feeling the muscles hug him oh-so-intimately with every motion. Peter bunched the sheets into his fists and began to croon between breathy gasps of air.
He makes so many funny noises. They were certainly helpful. And encouraging. While Sylar regretted not being able to see Peter's face for all the cues he might read there, he'd chosen the position precisely so Peter couldn't see him. He didn't think he would have been able to keep it up with Peter watching, seeing his uncertainty, and forcing Sylar to coordinate his own expression with everything else. He had no idea what expression was appropriate here. At least this way, it was one less thing he had to worry about.
Peter was starting to move under him, rocking his hips to meet Sylar's long, slow plunges. The beat was a little off, though, and Sylar realized Peter was trying to encourage him to speed up. He's ready for more. Okay. I can do more. He gradually picked up the pace, moving faster. The tenor of Peter's noises changed, too, until every thrust was punctuated by a guttural moan. He must like this. Oh, wow. He sounds like he likes this a lot. For once I'm glad I don't have any neighbors! If you were a woman, you'd be a screamer for sure!
Peter began squirming again, lifting his ass and reaching under his body to touch himself. You dirty little boy, you. Filthy little slut, Sylar thought with a grin, putting more force into his hips and watching Peter dig one shoulder into the mattress and put his head down to compensate. You know exactly how to do this, how to get yourself off, don't you? Peter was wriggling his ass really oddly, making Sylar wonder if he wasn't doing it right any more. He realized he'd gotten distracted by putting down Peter in his mind. Focus. You only get one first time. Especially with him.
Peter stopped touching himself, and braced with both hands, he came up partly to his knees, necessitating Sylar to shift position with him. What the hell? They were half doggy-style, half lying on the bed. Sylar didn't know what else to do, so he just kept fucking.
"Up," Peter huffed out. "Go up a little."
Up? What? Sylar leaned his center of gravity back, supported on only his knees. He held Peter's hips for balance. He's giving directions now? I'm so bad he has to give directions?
"Up like this." Peter reached a hand back and put it on Sylar's butt cheek, pushing upward while he himself shifted down. "Now point your dick down. You'll hit my prostate."
"Oh." Yep, I'm so bad he's giving directions. Sylar bit his lip and soldiered on, hoping he didn't lose his erection entirely. It was certainly faltering. What chance there was of that vanished with the cry Peter made and the full-body shudder he gave as Sylar did as he'd been told. He was fully hard again in an instant. Oh! The hell? Is it that good? Sylar had heard about the prostate, but he was not so gross or depraved as to have tried to find it on himself and none of his very few partners had volunteered, to date. If Peter was this forward and insistent about it for himself, though … then maybe Peter would offer it someday?
Peter's hand snaked under his body once more as he turned his head to the side, breathing hard. His hair screened much of his face, a little of it flopping back and forth teasingly in the wind of Peter's energetic respirations. The room already reeked of sex, so much so that Sylar wished he'd insisted they do this in his apartment, instead of this random one down the hall they'd agreed on using. It had seemed like the right choice at the time, but now that he was actually getting to fuck Peter's ass, Sylar wanted to be in his own apartment - safer, more secure, and more in charge.
Having found the right button, Sylar was hitting it repeatedly, listening as Peter's tone deepened at first and then started to choke up. He would come soon, at this rate, and the idea of that was spiraling Sylar up even faster. Peter does not get to come just because he wants to. I'm in control here. I have some … value, right? Sylar slowed, changed his angle and leaned over to put his hands on the bed again, on either side of Peter. To his credit, Peter didn't complain of the interruption. He just sucked in air hard, getting his breath back.
Sylar pulled Peter's hand out from under him and for that act, Peter rewarded him with the most intense and raw expression of pure sex he'd ever seen. Peter, hair partly screening his face, twisted and curved his perfect, muscular back to look over his shoulder at him, parted lips swollen and darkened in passion as he looked to see what Sylar was doing - no objection, no complaint - only an open, willing acceptance of whatever Sylar did. Peter looked thoroughly fucked and completely shameless about it. Sylar stared, mouth agape for several seconds, barely breathing, until Peter turned away, waiting patiently.
Blinking from that vision of scorching hotness, Sylar reached underneath Peter. He took the man's member into his hand. It was hot, swollen and fleshy, so aroused that it was stiff against Peter's stomach. Sylar knew well how sensitive this was. If he'd had any doubts, Peter whimpered, shuddered and dropped his head and shoulders like he was praying. It was an especially profane analogy given the way Peter followed it by rocking backwards, fucking himself on Sylar's dick. As soon as Sylar adjusted his grip, Peter was fucking his hand, too. The arousal slammed back through Sylar's veins at that, at Peter using him to finish himself, pleasured front and back by Sylar - not by himself.
The complete control Sylar had over Peter lit Sylar up inside. It ran all through him, leaving him tingling as Peter mewled, begging for more. Peter could only manage short jerks backward in the position, flexing that beautiful back. Sylar bent over him, pushing all the way inside as he bit him on the shoulder, tasting the perfection of his flesh and the faint salty tang of his skin. Peter arched and cried out, hands alternately splaying and fisting in the bedding - whether from the complete penetration or the bite was unclear. Sylar felt so high; he was so hard; his cock was aching. Every continuous wriggle of Peter's hips was nudging him closer to the edge. Peter was fucking good in bed - even with Sylar's limited experience he could tell that.
He thought about Peter's face as he'd looked over his shoulder at him, mouth open so invitingly, looking to see what the person fucking him was going to do next. Peter was so handsome and so full of lust at that moment, that it was going to be burned into Sylar's memory forever if he had anything to say about it. He took his hand from Peter's cock and pushed Peter flat on the bed, wild to get all the way inside of him. He used both hands to brace himself as he pounded Peter's pliant ass hard. The lewd sound of his groin spanking Peter's bubble butt filled the apartment to the accompaniment of Sylar's harsh breathing and Peter's pleasured cries.
Peter was even more vocal now - so incredibly vocal, as he spread his legs in an eager effort to take Sylar even deeper. Sylar bent and bit him again, this time hard enough to leave a bruise. Peter's sharper cry of pain sent Sylar's peak crashing through him in a sudden, blinding surge. Sylar made the first significant sound of pleasure he'd made so far: a short, deep groan as he released inside of Peter. His head was spinning with the exertion, as he'd given it his all for a little bit there. A few seconds passed in silence as he reveled in the sensation of absolute fulfillment. No matter what happened, no matter how bad Peter judged Sylar's performance, he'd still gotten to fuck Peter. After all this time and everything between them - he'd still taken a willing Petrelli to bed. An oh-so-smug grin silently lit up Sylar's features.
Panting, he started to disengage, but Peter said, "No! Stay there, please."
What? I was done. He did as directed though, feeling himself softening as a natural reaction. There wasn't much he could do about that.
Peter pushed back against him, reaching under himself to stroke fast and roughly.
Ah! He didn't … Oh, crap, Sylar thought as he realized he should have made sure Peter came first. The smugness evaporated into worry as he began to think of the future. What do I do if he doesn't come at all now? What will he do if he doesn't come? Will he be done with me? I liked this - I want to do it again sometime! Should I be jerking him off now? Was I supposed to hold off until he did? Of course I should have held off, dammit! There must be some sort of etiquette for this, like, an order. I fucked up. I did it wrong. Got carried away. If he wasn't so fucking hot and sexy and noisy, that wouldn't have happened. Little slut.
In a mere handful of seconds, Peter's toes curled and his muscles began to stand out sharper. His skin flushed and beaded with sweat as he danced along the edge of orgasm. Sylar watched, realizing the opportunity to do something to fix his faux pas was gone - Peter had taken matters into his own hand. With a single, final, full-bodied jerk he climaxed, making an inarticulate noise into the bed.
Sylar felt stuck. He'd flubbed it, somehow, and he didn't know what to do next. I … did bad. Does this mean I'm bad in bed? Inconsiderate? Selfish? He won't have me again? He might as well just be alone, after all. He looked down at the pair of bite marks on Peter's shoulder - one faint, the other quite clear, and felt ashamed yet thrilled at the same time. He'd performed so much better with Janice, but then again, he hadn't had his own buttons being pushed. It had all been a head-trip on Matt, rather than this, which was sort of a head-trip on himself, and for that he blamed Peter. Or at least he wanted to.
Peter, with a great languorous slowness, disengaged from him, crawled up the bed a little, pulled his knees up, and rolled in place so he faced Sylar now.
Convenient, Sylar managed to think. He's covering up the wet spot. Sylar remained still, basically holding in place until he figured out how badly he'd screwed things up. Am I making him lie in the wet spot? Should I make him move? He put himself there … Or maybe he's just gross enough that he doesn't care.
Peter reached up and hooked a hand behind Sylar's neck. He pulled him down, kissing him deeply and repeatedly, servicing his mouth the way a good lover had sex with you - thorough, intense, finding your pleasure spots and dancing between them until you had no choice but to respond. He seems happy. Oh, God, he seems happy. This is good, too. I like this. Jesus, Petrelli! Sylar kissed back as Peter tangled his legs around Sylar's and pulled his whole body onto him, wrapping his arms around Sylar as their mouths engaged over and over. He loved the taste - foreign, human, hot and wet. He loved the feel of the stubble around Peter's lips as his own larger ones occasionally slipped the bounds and brushed over it. It was unique among Sylar's lovers, to date.
Sylar's head was spinning, but he kept at it until Peter finally let him rise for air. Breathing hard, he separated, rolling off to the side. He faced his partner and caught his breath. Peter shut his eyes and smiled, basking in the afterglow. His lips were still puffy, now shining with saliva, and his skin still flushed. Sexy. Head to toe. Please let me be with you again. You liked that, didn't you? I hope you did. I hope I measure up. Jesus Christ, if this is how you are in bed, then I understand how you got all the fucking experience! If my dick was up for it, I'd fuck you again right now.
For a while they lay quietly next to one another, bodies cooling, breathing slowing, hearts no longer racing. Sylar began to review the session in his head, trying to learn from it what he should do next time, if he was so lucky as to have a next time. Overall, I think he liked that. He liked it long and slow, in and out, at first at least. He liked me hitting his prostate. He likes moving around on his own and maybe he likes telling me what to do. He didn't mind me touching him - his dick. He didn't mind me denying him - at least not that I could tell. He seemed to really get off on it when I fucked him hard. There might be specific areas I need to pay attention to.
Sylar reached out and touched Peter on the shoulder, stroking one fingertip down the smooth, pale skin. Peter turned to him immediately, too much the empath to let even a simple touch go without response. Sylar gave him a brief, small smile and then went on touching. It would ruin the test if he told Peter what he was doing. There were many things to keep in mind - an excess of contact, by itself, would provoke a reaction, as would the speed of the touch. What Sylar wanted to know right now was location, not degree or speed, and so he kept his eyes on his hand instead of on Peter's, moved slowly and steadily, and hoped that Peter would oblige him by relaxing.
A moment later, Sylar's attempt at communication via body language worked. Peter sighed in acceptance and let his eyes slide mostly shut. Sylar stroked lightly down Peter's arm, noting a tiny twitch at the hollow of his elbow, but nothing on his bicep before or forearm after. When his touch came to Peter's hands, Peter turned them as if to hold his, opening his palm in invitation and holding his breath for a moment. Sylar moved on promptly. It was no surprise that hands brought about an immediate attempt to engage. He'd expected that.
He shifted closer, waiting a few beats for his subject to still again from the alertness that his increase in proximity caused. Sylar repressed the urge to shush Peter. That might artificially dull reactions. He stroked the man's nearly hairless torso - no reaction for abdomen and he didn't risk going too low for there was sure to be a reaction then. A small reaction for navel - Peter opened his eyes and looked, but Sylar declined to meet his gaze. Peter calmed again. But the upper chest … ah, Peter breathed faster, his eyes opened fully and he scanned Sylar's face continually, even as Sylar ignored him. Gooseflesh rose on Peter's arms. He jerked a little when Sylar touched one nipple.
And that … was enough to trip some trigger inside the empath. Peter raised up on his elbows and kissed. Sylar tried to parse out if it was the degree of touch - some accumulation?, or that specific area that had prompted Peter to be amorous again. This was all territory he hadn't had the chance to explore like this, before. Sylar supposed the experiment need not be considered finished just because Peter was lip-locking with him. It was quite entertaining and more than a little distracting, but Sylar could multi-task. He smoothed his hand over Peter's shoulder and neck as they kissed, gaining a small sound of approval as his hand reached the back of Peter's neck. He ran it up through the man's hair, which evoked a momentary push forward on Peter's part, kissing him harder. Sylar toyed with the hair without pulling, just fondling it over and over. It felt fantastic, but Peter wasn't giving him reactions anymore. He touched the scalp, then cradled the back of Peter's head.
Immediately, Peter rolled him onto his back and crawled on top of him. Oh! Big response! He disentangled his hand and repeated the whole sequence again - rub shoulder, stroke back of neck, fondle hair, cradle back of head and it was definitely that last motion that did it because Peter reacted again, strongly, pushing into him and adjusting the set of his hips where he straddled him. Peter's pubic hair was scratchy against Sylar's dick and his ball sack was a spot of heat squashed against him in an equally intimate place. Our balls are touching, Sylar thought with amusement. So gay.
Okay. Likes his head held. Sylar brought his thoughts back to figuring Peter out. Both hands came up and held Peter's face to his. Peter shifted his weight and sent one hand to stroke himself, settling in over Sylar's own hips. Sylar worried. He didn't have an erection right now - clearly Peter did, and clearly Peter could feel him underneath him. He's ready to go again? Am I supposed to be hard? Is he going to fuck me now? Shit! That wasn't part of the plan, the agreement. I didn't think this would be my-turn-his-turn! I can't say no. I don't think I can do anything …
Peter noticed Sylar's apprehension, or his state of unarousal, or something, and started to pull away, his hand leaving his cock. Peter shifted to hands and knees, his eyes scanning over Sylar's face, trying to figure out what was going on.
I can't put him off. I can't let him think I don't welcome every advance he makes. No hot-cold or he won't be as enthusiastic with me. I want him to think he doesn't need to second-guess me. He reached up and pulled Peter back to him, holding the back of his head with one hand and sending the other to rub the back of his knuckles against Peter's nipples, putting what he'd already learned to good use. Even if this means I have to let him fuck me. That's okay. I think. I think he'll be okay with me. If I can hold it together.
He made a fist in Peter's hair as the empath's clever tongue probed inside of his mouth. He'd already had the experience of Peter's oral mastery (snigger), and he submitted to this version of it almost as happily as he'd enjoyed the other. He is such a complete slut. Thank God I didn't get stranded with someone who doesn't know their way around a bed. He'll treat me okay … I know he will, right? He worried about not measuring up, but at least he was dealing with someone willing to let him try. He worried more about what Peter was about to do.
Peter moaned a little, shifting his weight again to stroke himself. Testing the waters, Sylar let his own hand fall lower. The second his hand brushed Peter's, Peter moved to support himself with both hands, making tiny motions with his hips that Sylar couldn't help but read as plaintive. Just in case he didn't get it, Peter whined as they kissed.
Oh … oh, yeah. Beg me, Petrelli. Sylar's hand slipped around Peter's equipment, flinching a little at the unexpected slime at the tip. While yes, of course Sylar knew what that was there for, being quite familiar with his own anatomy even if he limited his explorations to the bare minimum, he still hadn't expected to get it on his hand right away. Peter pulled back and looked at him uncertainly.
Sylar smiled confidently, stroking up and down gently and smoothly. Inside, he was kicking himself. Peter was way, WAY more attentive than Maya, Elle, or Janice. He wasn't so sure how Peter stacked up against Lydia as that whole bout had been very weird. He had to be careful with his reactions here. "Tell me what you want me to do." Not that he particularly wanted to be told … well, actually, he wanted to know, he just didn't want to ask. He was asking now mostly to allay Peter's suspicions about how much Sylar was into this. If he learned a little extra along the way, so much the better.
"You're doing great," Peter said, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes. Sylar's hand slipped from behind Peter's head to the front, caressing the cheek and jaw line, then slowly, ever-so-carefully, moving to Peter's throat. A moment later, Peter leaned into it.
Oh, fuck me! No fucking way! Sylar thought in thrilled disbelief. His fingertips dug in slightly and one side of Peter's mouth curled up as he started to pant. Kink jackpot, you naughty, dirty little thing! He adjusted his grip a fraction, being well familiar with how to strangle someone. It had been one of the first tricks he'd learned - with telekinesis, admittedly, but it was perfectly possible to do it with one's hands as well. He was careful just to restrict the airflow, not cut it off. He could feel Peter's pulse hammering away under his fingers - so much life in the palm of his hand, and Peter was putting it there so willingly.
Peter rocked his hips faster, so Sylar sped up his strokes, wishing he had leisure to test different patterns, but Peter didn't seem like he was going to last terribly long. Sylar glanced down at him, only now thinking about what that meant, given their position with Peter straddling him, dick over Sylar's belly. He's going to come on me. The little shit's going to spunk right on me. He looked back up at Peter's blissed out face, letting himself be served and his choking fetish indulged with a certainty of his own safety that was almost arrogant.
Jeez, why don't you just piss on me while you're at it, Petrelli? Sylar didn't know how to take this. He was about to be not only marked as territory, but as a sexual possession, a landing zone for Peter's sperm. It was disgusting; it was unfathomably hot. His fingers tightened a little on Peter's throat and Peter gave a shudder, his hands moving to Sylar's shoulders, gripping him in passion as he rose up off his body. Seeing him respond and submit so clearly gave Sylar a weird twist in his gut and a throb in his cock. Peter wasn't acting insultingly dominant. If anything, he was in complete submission to Sylar bringing him off. Sylar's ideas of who was on "top" in this scene were completely muddled. All the neat lines were blurred.
In any case, Peter pressed forward hard enough that his airway really was endangered. A moment later, he gasped, stiffened and spurted hot, viscous liquid onto Sylar's stomach. The smell of Peter's sweat and musk wafted through the air anew and Sylar breathed it in greedily, a little repulsed and a lot fascinated by the scent. Well. Sylar stared down at the mess, as Peter pulled his neck back from Sylar's faltering grip. Sylar's hand fell to the bed. His other was still holding Peter's softening dick. I let that happen. I … want him to … want me. What does this mean? Does he still respect me? Am I used goods now?
Peter leaned forward, hands on the mattress on either side of Sylar's head. Sylar suddenly realized he was the subject of really intent, close scrutiny as Peter observed him through a screen of floppy bangs. Sylar looked up at him and thought he needed to smile and put on a thoughtlessly happy false face. But some shred of matching empathy in the back of his brain, working in conjunction with his own intelligence and knowledge of Peter, told him not to bother. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "Do you like me?"
Peter answered immediately, completely serious: "Yes."
Sylar looked back down at the whitish fluid on his stomach, trying to settle the uneasiness he felt at seeing such a substance on him. He didn't fuck me. And he felt grateful, because he wasn't ready for that and maybe Peter knew that. Because Peter had had (more than) a few partners, and he was an empath, and he wasn't in any hurry. He didn't fuck me … yet … but he liked it enough that he wants to make me his. Is that it? His gaze went to Peter's - Peter, who was watching every feature of his face like he was trying to memorize it. He wouldn't want to make me his if he didn't think I was worth having. The uncertainty cleared as he figured it out. Sylar tilted his head and puckered his lips slightly, an expression that brought Peter in to kiss him immediately, just as he'd suspected it would. He wants me. He really does.