Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 20: Easy is as Easy Does
Title: Easy is as Easy Does
Characters: Sylar, Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Masturbation, oral sex, voyeurism, someone sucks on a toe
Words: 2,100
Setting: The Wall, Bricks in the Wall, Wall Verse.
Summary: Sylar watches while Peter jacks off on command.
Notes: This fic is a sequel to means2bhuman’s “ Show Me” Show me is set in Wall Verse (somewhere between chapters 23 and 24). Show Me and this fic were also written for mmom’s Month of Masturbation in May. Beta by means2bhuman.
You are so fucking easy, Sylar thought. Sometimes he felt like he’d won the relationship lottery with Peter. The guy was cooperative. Sylar settled in for the show, having situated Peter on the floor in front of him while he sat on the couch. His victim was blindfolded, the better to let Sylar focus entirely on observing Peter’s self-pleasure without the distraction of being watched in return. “Let me see what you like to do when you’re all by yourself. I’m sure you can’t keep your hands off that body. You’ve never had the self-control …” Sylar purred.
Peter pulled in air, his hands rubbing over his knees first of all in a gesture that looked nervous to start, then more sensuous as he relaxed into it. Hm, Sylar pondered, spreading his own legs and thinking about those hands running over his own body. He’d had the pleasure many times now and even though Sylar’s basis for comparison was limited, Peter seemed very, very skilled. You don’t start right in even on yourself? All indirect to begin with, I see. Sylar rolled his own hands over his knees, watching Peter’s motions as he stroked down the outside of his own thighs and mimicking them languorously.
“I like looking at you,” Sylar murmured, and Peter smiled suddenly. “Come on, big boy. Show me what else you touch when you’re desperate, lonely, wanting … How do you satisfy those urges an empath must feel so strongly?”
As before, Sylar’s rumbling words seemed to turn Peter on all by themselves. Peter’s mouth opened slightly and his head tilted back. His hands rose past his hips, over his stomach and across his chest, where they paused to stroke lightly over the flat planes of his pectorals. Sylar knew well what that lightly tanned skin felt like - so smooth and naturally hairless that he would have burned with envy if Peter didn’t generously allow him to indulge himself and feel it as often as he liked. Sylar licked his lips, wishing he could kiss that sinful, clever mouth without spoiling this. He’d gotten a little too involved last time.
Peter’s hands returned to his thighs, curling slightly to draw his nails down the outside and then again across the top, leaving faint red furrows. He likes the stimulation … either I’ve been overdoing it, or maybe he’s just wary of letting me hurt him. Peter breathed deeper after the scratching, reaching up to brush his cheeks with his knuckles, then straightening his fingers to stroke over his chest again. His fingertips flicked over his nipples and he arched his back slightly, muscles flexing and tensing beautifully under his skin. Sylar’s fingers itched to take the place of Peter’s and play him like an instrument.
“Sweet, innocent-appearing Peter, but we both know the truth, don’t we?” Sylar rumbled, as he pitched his voice down for maximum effect. “You’d do anything for affection, no matter how nasty. You’re a slut, with such constant desires as to make even the busiest whore blush. Show me how dirty you really are.”
“Ha,” Peter exhaled, reaching down to stroke and position his stiffening cock. Sylar was just about to say something about that when Peter scooted forward, right to him. Sylar spread his legs out of the way, not sure what was up. Peter kept going until his knees touched the couch and then he reached out on either side to find Sylar’s shins. Sylar frowned. This wasn’t part of his plan, not that Peter was all that good at sticking to plans. (Particularly ones Sylar hadn’t even told him about, but where was the fun in that?) While Sylar was stewing over it, Peter’s fingers trailed deliciously up and down Sylar’s legs, giving him goose-bumps. Peter’s breathing accelerated he made a low moan in the back of his throat.
Oh, really? Sylar thought of that response. Does he need touch that badly? To test, Sylar reached out with his left foot, rubbing it up the outside of Peter’s upper leg. He was rewarded with an immediate, appreciative groan. So, touch is mandatory. Check. Peter ran his right hand along Sylar’s calf, fingers slipping through what Sylar thought of as an embarrassing and probably gross amount of hair, to tickle lightly and tantalizingly at the delicate skin on the back of his knee. His left hand stroked himself in slow, deliberate jerks as he blindly explored his partner. Sylar’s skin felt alive and tingly where Peter caressed him and it was no longer his imagination supplying the sensation. Sylar’s eyes slid nearly shut in bliss as he started to pump his own dick, unconsciously keeping time with Peter.
“Mmm,” he hummed in a deep, resonant tone as Peter kneaded the muscle of his calf and started tugging at himself more determinedly, milking himself from the root. But this looked a little too much like Peter was in control of things. Sylar disentangled his leg and raised his foot to Peter’s face, pushing it against his cheek and asserting who was in charge. As Sylar pulled back, Peter snapped defiantly at that foot, teeth clacking together on air. Sylar didn’t even flinch, protected as he was by Peter being blindfolded. He chuckled. Feisty. “You want my foot in your mouth, is that it? That can be arranged, you know.”
Peter’s right hand had joined his left at his groin - the right stroking at his erect organ and the left fondling his balls. Sylar was so distracted by those mesmerizing motions and the shift in color and shape of the head of Peter’s cock, that he nearly missed Peter’s quiet, needy whine. He’d opened his mouth invitingly, touching the tip of his tongue to the inside of his upper lip.
Hm? Sylar tipped his long, narrow foot over, worrying about how clean the bottom of his feet were. Despite that, he felt a thrill at the filthiness of Peter touching his lips to Sylar’s big toe, and then rubbing his cheek over it. Sylar wormed his toes around to present the largest to Peter’s lips again. “Lick my feet,” he whispered, surprised at how arousing it was to see Peter debase himself so willingly. “Suck it. Oh, yeah.”
Peter pulled the big toe into his mouth, rolling it around like a tootsie-pop. Warmth, wetness, suction, and the brush of teeth did all kinds of good things to Sylar’s excitement. He was breathing harder, starting to squeeze and work himself faster. He groaned quietly as Peter pulled off, raking the toe lightly with his incisors. Sylar dropped his foot to the side, noting that Peter missed a stroke and even let go of himself, probably preparatory to finding out where Sylar’s foot had gone off to. Sylar snugged it up next to Peter’s hip, which seemed to satisfy the other man.
Peter returned to stroking himself right-handed while his left touched himself or Sylar’s leg. Peter was starting to make noises in the back of his throat, one with every few breaths. Had they been fucking, Sylar knew those sounds would have been moans - the harder the thrusts, the louder, but it was interesting to see Peter made them even from the pleasures of his own hand. He was breathing faster as his right hand transitioned toward the end of his dick and his left made another journey up his front, stroking his chest, neck and then lips as Peter moved his head restlessly.
He was getting close, and Sylar, his hand on himself still matching Peter’s pace, was as well. I’ve seen enough. After this, if the pattern was anything like what Sylar had seen before, it would be a quick finish unless he interrupted. It was time to capitalize on something else he’d learned the first time. “Come here,” he said, scooting quickly to the edge of the couch and reaching out long arms to touch Peter on the shoulder. He guided him closer. Peter understood what was wanted almost immediately. Hot, panting breaths puffed along Sylar’s thigh as Peter’s mouth quested for him. Lips wetted by an active tongue slid over the head of Sylar’s cock similar to how he’d taken in his toe. He sucked him ardently, with a wanton, perverted keening like giving Sylar head was just what he’d been waiting for. Sylar grinned, his feet on either side of Peter’s ass, bouncing a little, said toes scratching against Peter to spur him on.
It felt fabulous. Peter was a cocksucker of unparalleled skill and even more, now that he was turned on this much, he was wildly enthusiastic. “Mmmm,” Peter moaned, swallowing him down almost completely, then pulling back to breathe and lap noisily at the glans. Sylar touched the top of Peter’s dark head, ever so grateful for all of this - the eagerness, the cooperativeness, the depth of Peter’s heart that he would be willing to be with someone like Sylar, willing to give him a chance, willing to take him to bed, willing to suck his cock on request or demand. Sylar stroked Peter’s fine, silky hair, gorgeous to look at and even more fantastic to feel. He tugged off the blindfold to better run his hands through it, grabbing fistfuls as Peter sucked him, bobbing his head rapidly, one hand now on Sylar’s shaft while the other was on Peter’s own cock.
Sylar made an inarticulate noise of desire, starting to flex his buttocks so as to make small thrusts into Peter’s mouth - so sweet, so hot, so sinful. And all mine. He gives me everything. Anything I ask for. Sylar lifted the blindfold and smelled of it, picking up the scent of Peter’s hair and skin faintly on it. He rubbed it against his face as his other hand tightened on Peter’s hair, pushing him forward and making him take him deeper. And he doesn’t even complain about that.
Peter’s back flexed and his hand on Sylar’s shaft clenched. He moaned in the back of his throat, a loud but stifled sound that vibrated Sylar’s dick until it felt like he was going to lose it. Peter lifted just enough for a quick breath before doing it again. This time after a few seconds, Peter shook, his mouth went slack, and his grip faltered. Sylar turned Peter’s head to glory at the glazed look on his face in those few seconds of orgasm. Mine! You come from sucking me off, letting me use you. Jesus, Peter! Peter’s lids fluttered and he leaned his head against Sylar’s thigh, breathing hard around Sylar’s painfully full, nearly-there erection.
Sylar pulled it out and stroked, long, full draws up and down the saliva-slicked organ, looking at Peter’s lovely, satiated visage crouched subserviently between his legs. It didn’t take long before he felt the fire in his balls, drawing up and priming him. Peter seemed to notice as well, as Sylar’s motions became jerky and harder. Peter slipped his mouth back over the end of Sylar’s cock and it was like liquid ecstasy - hot, wet, incredible suction hollowing Peter’s cheeks with the edges of his teeth slipping against his head. That sent Sylar right over the edge. He came hard, feeling like the whole end of his cock was surging with pleasure. Peter sucked him thoroughly, extending the peak until Sylar curled his hands into the man’s hair and whimpered.
“Please, please … stop.” Sylar could barely believe those words were coming out of his own mouth. He’d never begged anyone for anything - except for Peter, whom he begged for release and begged for mercy. Peter leaned away, licking his lips and swallowing, looking up at him with a smugly pleased look that somehow made Sylar want to climb in his lap and curl up there. “Oh, Peter,” he breathed, blown away in more ways than one.
Peter pushed him over on the couch, taking charge and directing him, and Sylar went meekly because in these rare moments, his whole world was glowing and good. “Scoot back.” Peter climbed up with Sylar, bringing the towel from the floor with him. He tossed it over them both and snuggled up close, happy to be crammed together in the limited space. Peter tucked his head to Sylar’s chest and rubbed his forehead against him lovingly. Sylar embraced him, breathing slowing, the rush of his blood slowing, feeling utterly transported by the continuing flood of endorphins. It made him high like nothing else. One little blow job, he thought. That’s all it takes to send me flying. I’m so fucking easy.