Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 29: Feet, A Study
Title: Feet, a Study
Characters: Peter Petrelli, Sylar
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word count: 1,100
Summary: Peter gets distracted by one of Sylar’s body parts. Sylar reaches the wrong conclusion about that.
They were nice feet - long and narrow, but quite nicely arched. The soles looked soft. The whole form was pale with just a hint of yellow showing the thicker areas of callous at the heel and balls of the toes. The toes were straight - none turned in or twisted, and all a little longer than normal. Like most parts of Sylar, they were a bit elongated. Peter wondered if that applied to parts of the man he hadn’t seen, but he didn’t let his mind wander too far in that direction. No, the feet were safe. Safer, at least. He sighed, admiring them from where he leaned against the kitchen entry, looking at them propped up over the end of Sylar’s couch. The man was too long for his own furniture, which Peter found amusing and sort of sad. If there was anywhere someone should fit, it was in their own abode.
He wondered what it would feel like to rub those feet - to touch them, maybe tickle them (was Sylar ticklish?) Not that Peter had a thing for feet, but he really hadn’t had much in the way of physical contact. He hadn’t thought he’d miss it as much as he had. Volunteering a foot rub was guaranteed to be taken the wrong way, to imply things Peter wasn’t ready for. Feet were easier, maybe because they were so far from the face Peter still associated with danger, insult, and hate. Sylar’s feet had perpetrated no crimes against him. There were only unfortunate accessories, innocent of intent. Peter smiled a little as the toes wiggled slightly. They looked dexterous, those shifting digits.
Nice circulation. Peter wondered if they’d be cool or warm given the room temperature. They moved again, curling decisively this time. Peter’s gaze jerked up to find that Sylar’s eyes, previously entirely hidden by his book, were peering at him over the top of it. No telling how long he’d been looking, either! Peter could only imagine, with horror, what sort of absorbed, vapid expression he’d been wearing for Sylar’s observation, or what prurient thoughts Sylar must think he was entertaining. He blushed to his roots, face hot with shame. Mortified, he fled into the kitchen, but there was nowhere to go. A moment later, he emerged, heading to the door. “I’m going to go take a walk,” he said brusquely, head down. He was out the door fast.
Sylar, still lying on the couch, wiggled his toes again, blinking between them and the shut door. “Huh.”
XXX
The tack was a lance of pain as it penetrated the sole of Sylar’s foot. “Ow!” he exclaimed without any need to act. Hopping on one foot, he helped himself to the couch.
Peter came to the kitchen entry, looking out in immediate concern. “What is it? What happened?”
“I stepped on something,” Sylar said, although that much seemed obvious - at least to him. He held up his injured foot. “Can you see what it is?”
“Of course.” Peter came over to the couch, taking up his foot and looking at it. “It’s a thumb tack. Hold on. Don’t pull it out.” He went to get the first aid tote from under the bathroom sink.
“What would happen if I pulled it out?” Sylar asked when the other man returned.
Peter settled himself in, giving the foot a quick examination before opening the tote and getting out what he needed. “Well, nothing much would happen. It’s just training. Any punctures are supposed to be left in place until you have a method for controlling the bleeding.” Peter delicately and slowly removed the obstruction with one hand, the other immediately holding gauze over the wound. He set the tack on the arm of the couch.
Sylar nudged his foot into Peter’s lap and was gratified when Peter cupped his heel with the other hand, still holding the gauze to him. It took an effort for Sylar not to look at him, but he suspected this was critical - the not looking, giving an illusion of privacy, or at least disinterest. Not that Sylar was disinterested at all. No, he wouldn’t intentionally step on a thumb tack for just anyone. He could feel Peter brush the dust and dirt from his foot, his fingers warm and gentle against his skin. He took rather a bit longer at it than necessary, but Sylar gloried quietly in every touch. An adhesive bandage was applied. Before Peter could be done, Sylar interrupted, “Could you look at my toes? One of them was ingrown a while back.”
“Sure,” Peter said, low and subdued. Sylar swung his other foot up to rest on Peter’s knee.
Peter looked at it blankly for a moment, before furtive eyes darted to Sylar. He colored again, obviously onto Sylar.
But Sylar had been steady in the face of worse. “It's the big one,” he prompted seriously.
Peter was breathing a little too fast, but he looked down obediently, hands moving slowly to the toe in question. He relaxed as he examined it. “I don't see anything wrong with it.”
“Okay,” Sylar said, sounding perfectly casual, like nothing weird was going on. Guys always checked out each other's feet, right? “Do you mind if I just leave my feet there while I read?” His face was a study in innocence.
“Uh ...” Peter looked down at them for a long moment before shrugging a little with much-less-authentic-looking indifference. “No, sure, that's fine.” His hands hovered over the feet uneasily. “But you know, if they're in my lap, I might … “
“Sure, that's fine,” Sylar said off-handedly, getting down his book from the shelf over the couch and situating himself. “Whatever you need. 'S fine.” He opened his book, put his eyes on the page, and kept them there, letting Peter sort himself out at the other end of the couch.
What seemed like minutes later, one of Peter's hands came down to rest on the top of his foot. A shorter time after that, his other cupped the sole. That was all Peter did - just sit there holding him. Peter slouched in his seat, eyes shut, holding onto another human being like it was a lifeline he'd been too long denied. Sylar eyed him over the top of his book. He hadn't expected that. He'd thought he'd stumbled onto some hidden fetish - but no. It was something even more basic. Sylar smiled, settling in. He didn't care. Either way, he was getting the same thing.