Frenemies with Benefits
Title: Frenemies with Benefits
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Sylar
Summary: Based on this prompt: Lornrocks’ story “Won’t Stop Until You’re Shaking”. This is a prequel for it. It was based on a prompt that said “I'd really like this to be in some wacky universe where Sylar is still a bad guy, but he and Peter are secretly seeing each other. Pleaseandthankyou!” I hope Lornrocks will see this, read this summary part, and let whoever know that this prequel is out there too.
Warnings: Slash, explicit sexual content, some swearing, and unbeta'd.
Notes: This began as commentfic.
Peter teleported back to Jason's house after leaving the man with Hiro. He'd be safe there. Peter himself, less so. But he was getting tired of this cat-and-mouse with Sylar and ever since he lost his main ability, he seemed like it was just a matter of time until Sylar caught *him*. He was even more tired of being afraid.
He didn't have long to wait. It was pretty obvious who Sylar was going after. He'd stolen a list of specials from the ruins of Building 26 and they'd been tipped off that he was in the area. Peter was trying to think of a strategy that didn't involve simply using his current ability of teleportation to run away, when the front door unlocked itself and quietly swung inward.
Sylar got two steps inside before he saw Peter. He stopped and after a moment he took a deep, calming breath. "Peter Petrelli. Again." He looked around at the otherwise empty room, taking in Peter's empty hands.
"You've got to stop this, Sylar."
Sylar edged forward a bit so he could look down the hall to the right, then he took a few more steps to glance into the dining room. He looked back at Peter, a curious expression on his face. "Are you here alone?"
Peter took a step closer. He could leave in a blink, but that really wouldn't help anything. "Yes. I'm not afraid of you." But he was, and Sylar chuckled at the lie. "Listen, it's only a matter of time until you come after one of these specials and it's not just me waiting to talk to you, but instead a team and they take you down. That will be the end, Sylar. Is it really worth that? You're taking a big gamble every time you do this. Don't you have enough abilities yet?" He ended bitter and angry.
Sylar had listened to him attentively. Now he lifted one hand, open as if to be non-threatening, but to Peter it looked like the beginning of a gesture for telekinesis. He didn't feel the unseen tendrils of power though and even if he did, he could still teleport away.
Sylar walked closer to Peter, very slowly, every stride calculated and careful, watching Peter intently every step of the way. Peter let him get close. He wouldn't back down. He wouldn't teleport away. He wouldn't be afraid... his breathing sped up and his heart hammered in his chest anyway. Stupid body. Stupid fight or flight instincts.
"I think you are afraid," Sylar purred, from less than a foot away.
Peter's lip curled. "Fuck you, Sylar."
Sylar tilted his head slightly and gave him an infuriating smile. "Is that it? Is that why your palms are sweating, your heart is racing, your breathing is shallow?"
Peter's eyes narrowed. He was feeling that way, sure, but what did Sylar mean by 'is that it'? "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Sylar's arrogant grin stayed in place. "Do you want to fuck me, Petrelli?"
Peter blinked and caught his breath. He glanced back and forth around the room, then at Sylar, so close to him. What the hell? This is unreal! His groin surged to life, fueled by the high emotions he already had. He seemed hyper aware of everything all of a sudden. His mouth was dry. He swallowed several times and finally remembered to breath again.
Sylar reached out that hand which he'd been holding up when he walked over and now he put it on Peter's shoulder. The arrogance slipped and for a moment, Peter saw the man underneath. "You do, don't you?"
Peter blinked. He *did*. He'd never really thought about it, but God, he did. He didn't let himself think about it anymore now. He darted his head forward and caught Sylar by surprise, locking his mouth over Sylar's and kissing him roughly, twining his hand deep into the taller man's hair, making a fist and pulling, forcing him forward and against Peter's body.
To Peter's shock, Sylar whimpered. He didn't pull away. He wrapped his arms around Peter like he'd never let him go and kissed back just as savagely, plunging his tongue between Peter's lips and into his mouth. After a forever, Peter jerked Sylar's head back by his hair and said, "Oh, God! Fuck, yes." His grip loosened and Sylar began working across Peter's face, kissing him and licking his skin.
Peter reached down to tug at the front of Sylar's pants. "Are we going all the way?"
Sylar took a moment from chewing at the corner of Peter's jawbone to say, "If I have to hold you down with telekinesis and rape you, I will. You started this, Petrelli. I'm sure as hell not letting you stop halfway!"
Peter shivered at the threat. "If you did that, next time there will be a team here and you will be taken down." But he tilted his head back to let Sylar work down his throat, while Peter's fingers figured out how to unfasten Sylar's jeans and shove them down over that tight ass. He wasn't wearing anything under them and that was so, so hot.
Sylar chuckled against his skin. "So are you saying, Peter, that the only reason there hasn't been a team assembled before now to take me down is because you were waiting for this?" He punctuated his sentence by using his telekinesis to casually toss Peter onto the couch. He took a few moments to jerk his feet out of high tight jeans, losing his shoes in the process, before joining the Italian.
The way Sylar joined him told Peter a lot about the killer's lack of experience in this area. He didn't know where to put his hands or knees. An expression of frustration grew on his face as he tried to work out the geometry.
"You've never done this before?" Peter asked.
"Not with a man..."
"Oh," Peter said, chuckling. That was a mistake.
Sylar's expression shifted to anger and he reached up and sliced Peter's jeans open, cutting through the waistband and down one thigh, leaving a shallow cut along the top of Peter's leg.
Peter hissed in pain and stiffened. Sylar yanked off his pants and threw his shoes aside. "Sylar! Sylar!" The other man glared at him, still angry at the implication that he was ignorant or inexperienced. Peter grabbed his arm and said, "Sylar, we're about to fuck. I'm not here to hurt you. I just asked because it lets me know what to do... what not to assume." Sylar hesitated, thinking about that and relaxing a little. It was enough of a reaction for Peter to lean up and bring a hand to Sylar's face. When Sylar jerked aside, Peter leaned in fast and kissed him. Sylar didn't jerk away from his mouth.
Peter felt Sylar shake for a moment, then it subsided and he slowly melted into the kiss, tongues sweeping against one another and over sensitive, almost ticklish lips. They tried different positions, different tilts of the head, different pressures. Peter stroked the side of Sylar's face, his fingertips stroking gently.
When they broke apart, each breathing hard, but being a little more trusting, Peter said, "We're going to need lube."
Sylar looked around the house. "They have a kitchen. Will vegetable oil do?" He stood up and pulled off his shirt in a single motion. Peter's breath caught in his throat and he reached out to touch... that body... but Sylar had turned away already and was walking off, having no idea how much of a response he'd caused.
"Yeah," Peter said weakly, finally finding his voice. He shucked his own shirt and t-shirt by the time Sylar got back, holding a medium sized bottle of olive oil.
Peter shifted up to sitting on the couch, legs spread. As soon as Sylar came close, he tugged him closer, ignoring Sylar's grunt and the tension in the taller man's body as he buried his face against his taut stomach and ran his hands around behind him to caress the small of his back.
"Oh!" Sylar said, dropping the bottle on the couch and running his hands through Peter's hair and across his shoulders, down his neck. He brought them up and worked the fingers of both hands into Peter’s scalp. “I could take the top of your head off right now.”
Peter snorted. Now, he wasn’t afraid. Not of that, because the idea that Sylar might interrupt the goings-on to do that was ridiculous. He licked the head of Sylar’s cock and felt the man’s whole body jerk. Yes, he was completely safe. He took the entire glans into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.
“Oh!” Sylar said again, tensing for different reasons now. “I’m… I can’t… Peter… I’m… You’re gonna… No…”
Peter pulled off. He really is inexperienced if he’s going to come already. “If I fuck you, you’ll last longer.”
“You don’t get to fuck me!” Sylar snarled, grabbing Peter by the hair and jerking him back. He let him go almost immediately, as Peter’s expression had shifted fast to angry. “I’m… uh…” Sylar almost apologized for over-reacting. Peter could see the words struggling to come out, but they didn’t make it. “No. I’ll… I’m…”
Peter reached back and snagged the oil, trying to put aside his anger and the doubts about why he was doing this in the first place. So Sylar was insecure. That made sense. No one with as much bluster and grand-standing as he did was entirely content with themselves. Peter said, “Get on your knees. The couch is about the right height.” He poured out too much oil on his hand as Sylar quietly did as directed.
Peter reached down with one hand and pulled his balls out of the way. With the other, he found his anus and smeared it, then put his head back, slightly propped by the back of the couch, and probed into himself. Through barely open eyes, Peter could see the expressions on Sylar’s face. They were fantastic. He was fascinated, staring, ogling as Peter’s fingers plunged into himself, working himself open, oiling and preparing for Sylar’s entry. Sylar’s mouth opened slowly and one hand fell to his groin as he stared in lust and total absorption.
Peter pulled his hand back. “Hey, I actually want some here, so you stop that and get inside me before you blow your load.”
Sylar blinked, pulling himself back to reality with the greatest of difficulty. He came up on his knees and forward, trying to lean back enough to see what he was doing and where he was going. Or maybe he just wanted a really good look at himself while he pressed in. Peter reached down and hooked his hands under his own knees, pulling himself back so Sylar had a better view.
The taller man was breathing hard. Peter felt the rounded, swollen head of his cock against him, nudging in slowly. With a more experienced lover, Peter would have thought they were teasing. He made no effort to hurry Sylar along. He felt him push inside enough to get his entire head in and Sylar’s face took on the most vulnerable, pleading look, almost in pain, lost in pleasure. He bucked forward once and came.
Peter bit his lip, hard. I will not laugh. I will not laugh. I will not make fun of the psycho-killer for being a virgin with men and premature. I will not laugh. Oh my God, this is tough.
Sylar bent forward, shaking all over, hair hanging down over his face. He wasn’t entirely gone, though. His left hand rubbed lightly across Peter’s hip as he heaved in irregular, choked breaths. Peter moved slowly, carefully, not sure about Sylar’s own reaction to his performance. Would he be exuberant to have done it? Angry that he didn’t perform well? Upset? Depressed? Peter let go of his own legs and wrapped them around Sylar’s waist, hooking them together behind him, trapping him inside of him for now. When that didn’t get a reaction beyond a noisy swallow, Peter reached down and took Sylar’s left hand, then put it on himself.
Sylar nodded, still not looking at him, head hanging, and began to stroke. Peter got the oil and drizzled some over himself. He capped the bottle again and set it aside, throwing his head back and panting. Sylar stroked him with steady, methodical motions. It was nice; it was good. Peter let a happy croon slip his lips. He felt Sylar shift a little and relax. Sylar reached up with his right hand and let his fingers drift over the skin of Peter’s stomach, then to brush across his nipple.
“Oh, yeah,” Peter murmured. “I like that.” Sylar pinched the nipple lightly and Peter moaned. “Ooohh! We just need to fuck more often, Sylar. That’s the answer to everything, all of this. You show up somewhere, I’ll get all the specials out, then you and me can fuck each other’s brains out while…” He lost his voice for a moment because Sylar’s hand had sped up, the pressure had changed and he was suddenly doing a much better job of it.
Peter grinned, eyes still shut. He suspected he knew the reason for the other man’s enthusiasm. “Oh yeah, Sylar. I want to do this again. I want to do it over and over. I’ll give you my fucking phone number… oh my God… I will.” It was getting hard to talk while breathing as hard as Peter was, feeling little thrills and tingles beginning to spread across him and knot in his gut. “And when you want to… when you get the feeling you want to kill someone, call me up. I’ll fuck your brains out or let you fuck me and everyone will be happy… so happy… oh my God, YES!” He came with a shout.
Afterwards, Peter did a skimpy job of cleaning up, wiping himself with his ruined jeans. His boxer briefs had been shredded too. Sylar got dressed, still not looking at him, avoiding eye contact. When he came back from returning the olive oil to the kitchen, Peter was readjusting the couch cushions. Sylar made a motion towards the door. “I… could… take you somewhere. I’m sure this guy Jason has something that will work as pants around here for you.”
Peter shook his head. Sylar didn’t know he had teleportation and could just blink back to his apartment. Sylar’s expression fell. He turned away, looking rejected.
“Hey,” Peter said. He walked to Sylar quickly, taking his elbow and pulling him over to a small table set under a mirror, with a phone on it. Next to the phone was a cup of pens. He pulled one out, lifted Sylar’s hand and wrote his phone number on it.
Sylar blinked at it. “You were serious? But… I hate you. Why would you…? This was just a… I thought you were just talking… just sex talk. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Peter kissed him, wrapping his hands behind Sylar’s neck. The taller man returned it with interest. When they broke, Peter stepped away, backing up. “It meant something. Now I’ve got to go, or they’ll send someone to make sure I’m okay.” With that, he teleported out.
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Sylar
Summary: Based on this prompt: Lornrocks’ story “Won’t Stop Until You’re Shaking”. This is a prequel for it. It was based on a prompt that said “I'd really like this to be in some wacky universe where Sylar is still a bad guy, but he and Peter are secretly seeing each other. Pleaseandthankyou!” I hope Lornrocks will see this, read this summary part, and let whoever know that this prequel is out there too.
Warnings: Slash, explicit sexual content, some swearing, and unbeta'd.
Notes: This began as commentfic.
Peter teleported back to Jason's house after leaving the man with Hiro. He'd be safe there. Peter himself, less so. But he was getting tired of this cat-and-mouse with Sylar and ever since he lost his main ability, he seemed like it was just a matter of time until Sylar caught *him*. He was even more tired of being afraid.
He didn't have long to wait. It was pretty obvious who Sylar was going after. He'd stolen a list of specials from the ruins of Building 26 and they'd been tipped off that he was in the area. Peter was trying to think of a strategy that didn't involve simply using his current ability of teleportation to run away, when the front door unlocked itself and quietly swung inward.
Sylar got two steps inside before he saw Peter. He stopped and after a moment he took a deep, calming breath. "Peter Petrelli. Again." He looked around at the otherwise empty room, taking in Peter's empty hands.
"You've got to stop this, Sylar."
Sylar edged forward a bit so he could look down the hall to the right, then he took a few more steps to glance into the dining room. He looked back at Peter, a curious expression on his face. "Are you here alone?"
Peter took a step closer. He could leave in a blink, but that really wouldn't help anything. "Yes. I'm not afraid of you." But he was, and Sylar chuckled at the lie. "Listen, it's only a matter of time until you come after one of these specials and it's not just me waiting to talk to you, but instead a team and they take you down. That will be the end, Sylar. Is it really worth that? You're taking a big gamble every time you do this. Don't you have enough abilities yet?" He ended bitter and angry.
Sylar had listened to him attentively. Now he lifted one hand, open as if to be non-threatening, but to Peter it looked like the beginning of a gesture for telekinesis. He didn't feel the unseen tendrils of power though and even if he did, he could still teleport away.
Sylar walked closer to Peter, very slowly, every stride calculated and careful, watching Peter intently every step of the way. Peter let him get close. He wouldn't back down. He wouldn't teleport away. He wouldn't be afraid... his breathing sped up and his heart hammered in his chest anyway. Stupid body. Stupid fight or flight instincts.
"I think you are afraid," Sylar purred, from less than a foot away.
Peter's lip curled. "Fuck you, Sylar."
Sylar tilted his head slightly and gave him an infuriating smile. "Is that it? Is that why your palms are sweating, your heart is racing, your breathing is shallow?"
Peter's eyes narrowed. He was feeling that way, sure, but what did Sylar mean by 'is that it'? "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Sylar's arrogant grin stayed in place. "Do you want to fuck me, Petrelli?"
Peter blinked and caught his breath. He glanced back and forth around the room, then at Sylar, so close to him. What the hell? This is unreal! His groin surged to life, fueled by the high emotions he already had. He seemed hyper aware of everything all of a sudden. His mouth was dry. He swallowed several times and finally remembered to breath again.
Sylar reached out that hand which he'd been holding up when he walked over and now he put it on Peter's shoulder. The arrogance slipped and for a moment, Peter saw the man underneath. "You do, don't you?"
Peter blinked. He *did*. He'd never really thought about it, but God, he did. He didn't let himself think about it anymore now. He darted his head forward and caught Sylar by surprise, locking his mouth over Sylar's and kissing him roughly, twining his hand deep into the taller man's hair, making a fist and pulling, forcing him forward and against Peter's body.
To Peter's shock, Sylar whimpered. He didn't pull away. He wrapped his arms around Peter like he'd never let him go and kissed back just as savagely, plunging his tongue between Peter's lips and into his mouth. After a forever, Peter jerked Sylar's head back by his hair and said, "Oh, God! Fuck, yes." His grip loosened and Sylar began working across Peter's face, kissing him and licking his skin.
Peter reached down to tug at the front of Sylar's pants. "Are we going all the way?"
Sylar took a moment from chewing at the corner of Peter's jawbone to say, "If I have to hold you down with telekinesis and rape you, I will. You started this, Petrelli. I'm sure as hell not letting you stop halfway!"
Peter shivered at the threat. "If you did that, next time there will be a team here and you will be taken down." But he tilted his head back to let Sylar work down his throat, while Peter's fingers figured out how to unfasten Sylar's jeans and shove them down over that tight ass. He wasn't wearing anything under them and that was so, so hot.
Sylar chuckled against his skin. "So are you saying, Peter, that the only reason there hasn't been a team assembled before now to take me down is because you were waiting for this?" He punctuated his sentence by using his telekinesis to casually toss Peter onto the couch. He took a few moments to jerk his feet out of high tight jeans, losing his shoes in the process, before joining the Italian.
The way Sylar joined him told Peter a lot about the killer's lack of experience in this area. He didn't know where to put his hands or knees. An expression of frustration grew on his face as he tried to work out the geometry.
"You've never done this before?" Peter asked.
"Not with a man..."
"Oh," Peter said, chuckling. That was a mistake.
Sylar's expression shifted to anger and he reached up and sliced Peter's jeans open, cutting through the waistband and down one thigh, leaving a shallow cut along the top of Peter's leg.
Peter hissed in pain and stiffened. Sylar yanked off his pants and threw his shoes aside. "Sylar! Sylar!" The other man glared at him, still angry at the implication that he was ignorant or inexperienced. Peter grabbed his arm and said, "Sylar, we're about to fuck. I'm not here to hurt you. I just asked because it lets me know what to do... what not to assume." Sylar hesitated, thinking about that and relaxing a little. It was enough of a reaction for Peter to lean up and bring a hand to Sylar's face. When Sylar jerked aside, Peter leaned in fast and kissed him. Sylar didn't jerk away from his mouth.
Peter felt Sylar shake for a moment, then it subsided and he slowly melted into the kiss, tongues sweeping against one another and over sensitive, almost ticklish lips. They tried different positions, different tilts of the head, different pressures. Peter stroked the side of Sylar's face, his fingertips stroking gently.
When they broke apart, each breathing hard, but being a little more trusting, Peter said, "We're going to need lube."
Sylar looked around the house. "They have a kitchen. Will vegetable oil do?" He stood up and pulled off his shirt in a single motion. Peter's breath caught in his throat and he reached out to touch... that body... but Sylar had turned away already and was walking off, having no idea how much of a response he'd caused.
"Yeah," Peter said weakly, finally finding his voice. He shucked his own shirt and t-shirt by the time Sylar got back, holding a medium sized bottle of olive oil.
Peter shifted up to sitting on the couch, legs spread. As soon as Sylar came close, he tugged him closer, ignoring Sylar's grunt and the tension in the taller man's body as he buried his face against his taut stomach and ran his hands around behind him to caress the small of his back.
"Oh!" Sylar said, dropping the bottle on the couch and running his hands through Peter's hair and across his shoulders, down his neck. He brought them up and worked the fingers of both hands into Peter’s scalp. “I could take the top of your head off right now.”
Peter snorted. Now, he wasn’t afraid. Not of that, because the idea that Sylar might interrupt the goings-on to do that was ridiculous. He licked the head of Sylar’s cock and felt the man’s whole body jerk. Yes, he was completely safe. He took the entire glans into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.
“Oh!” Sylar said again, tensing for different reasons now. “I’m… I can’t… Peter… I’m… You’re gonna… No…”
Peter pulled off. He really is inexperienced if he’s going to come already. “If I fuck you, you’ll last longer.”
“You don’t get to fuck me!” Sylar snarled, grabbing Peter by the hair and jerking him back. He let him go almost immediately, as Peter’s expression had shifted fast to angry. “I’m… uh…” Sylar almost apologized for over-reacting. Peter could see the words struggling to come out, but they didn’t make it. “No. I’ll… I’m…”
Peter reached back and snagged the oil, trying to put aside his anger and the doubts about why he was doing this in the first place. So Sylar was insecure. That made sense. No one with as much bluster and grand-standing as he did was entirely content with themselves. Peter said, “Get on your knees. The couch is about the right height.” He poured out too much oil on his hand as Sylar quietly did as directed.
Peter reached down with one hand and pulled his balls out of the way. With the other, he found his anus and smeared it, then put his head back, slightly propped by the back of the couch, and probed into himself. Through barely open eyes, Peter could see the expressions on Sylar’s face. They were fantastic. He was fascinated, staring, ogling as Peter’s fingers plunged into himself, working himself open, oiling and preparing for Sylar’s entry. Sylar’s mouth opened slowly and one hand fell to his groin as he stared in lust and total absorption.
Peter pulled his hand back. “Hey, I actually want some here, so you stop that and get inside me before you blow your load.”
Sylar blinked, pulling himself back to reality with the greatest of difficulty. He came up on his knees and forward, trying to lean back enough to see what he was doing and where he was going. Or maybe he just wanted a really good look at himself while he pressed in. Peter reached down and hooked his hands under his own knees, pulling himself back so Sylar had a better view.
The taller man was breathing hard. Peter felt the rounded, swollen head of his cock against him, nudging in slowly. With a more experienced lover, Peter would have thought they were teasing. He made no effort to hurry Sylar along. He felt him push inside enough to get his entire head in and Sylar’s face took on the most vulnerable, pleading look, almost in pain, lost in pleasure. He bucked forward once and came.
Peter bit his lip, hard. I will not laugh. I will not laugh. I will not make fun of the psycho-killer for being a virgin with men and premature. I will not laugh. Oh my God, this is tough.
Sylar bent forward, shaking all over, hair hanging down over his face. He wasn’t entirely gone, though. His left hand rubbed lightly across Peter’s hip as he heaved in irregular, choked breaths. Peter moved slowly, carefully, not sure about Sylar’s own reaction to his performance. Would he be exuberant to have done it? Angry that he didn’t perform well? Upset? Depressed? Peter let go of his own legs and wrapped them around Sylar’s waist, hooking them together behind him, trapping him inside of him for now. When that didn’t get a reaction beyond a noisy swallow, Peter reached down and took Sylar’s left hand, then put it on himself.
Sylar nodded, still not looking at him, head hanging, and began to stroke. Peter got the oil and drizzled some over himself. He capped the bottle again and set it aside, throwing his head back and panting. Sylar stroked him with steady, methodical motions. It was nice; it was good. Peter let a happy croon slip his lips. He felt Sylar shift a little and relax. Sylar reached up with his right hand and let his fingers drift over the skin of Peter’s stomach, then to brush across his nipple.
“Oh, yeah,” Peter murmured. “I like that.” Sylar pinched the nipple lightly and Peter moaned. “Ooohh! We just need to fuck more often, Sylar. That’s the answer to everything, all of this. You show up somewhere, I’ll get all the specials out, then you and me can fuck each other’s brains out while…” He lost his voice for a moment because Sylar’s hand had sped up, the pressure had changed and he was suddenly doing a much better job of it.
Peter grinned, eyes still shut. He suspected he knew the reason for the other man’s enthusiasm. “Oh yeah, Sylar. I want to do this again. I want to do it over and over. I’ll give you my fucking phone number… oh my God… I will.” It was getting hard to talk while breathing as hard as Peter was, feeling little thrills and tingles beginning to spread across him and knot in his gut. “And when you want to… when you get the feeling you want to kill someone, call me up. I’ll fuck your brains out or let you fuck me and everyone will be happy… so happy… oh my God, YES!” He came with a shout.
Afterwards, Peter did a skimpy job of cleaning up, wiping himself with his ruined jeans. His boxer briefs had been shredded too. Sylar got dressed, still not looking at him, avoiding eye contact. When he came back from returning the olive oil to the kitchen, Peter was readjusting the couch cushions. Sylar made a motion towards the door. “I… could… take you somewhere. I’m sure this guy Jason has something that will work as pants around here for you.”
Peter shook his head. Sylar didn’t know he had teleportation and could just blink back to his apartment. Sylar’s expression fell. He turned away, looking rejected.
“Hey,” Peter said. He walked to Sylar quickly, taking his elbow and pulling him over to a small table set under a mirror, with a phone on it. Next to the phone was a cup of pens. He pulled one out, lifted Sylar’s hand and wrote his phone number on it.
Sylar blinked at it. “You were serious? But… I hate you. Why would you…? This was just a… I thought you were just talking… just sex talk. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Peter kissed him, wrapping his hands behind Sylar’s neck. The taller man returned it with interest. When they broke, Peter stepped away, backing up. “It meant something. Now I’ve got to go, or they’ll send someone to make sure I’m okay.” With that, he teleported out.