Walled In, Chapter 3, Nocturnal Missions
That night Peter tried to go to sleep, but it wouldn't happen. All he could think about was having someone stroke the back of his head, petting his hair, brushing against him, the warmth of their body as they crowded close to him, teasing, taunting, smiling at him, looking him up and down, flirting, smirking … inviting. He couldn't get his goddamn hard-on to go away either and he'd be damned if he was going to masturbate now. Quite literally hot and bothered, he finally threw the tangled sheets off and got dressed. He'd just walk it off. Literally.
And so he walked. He didn't know how far or for how long. It felt like hours. It seemed like miles. He took turns randomly. He didn't bother looking at the city. It was impossible to get too far away anyway. Even so, when he realized that he recognized where he was, it came as a shock that he'd managed to get so completely turned around. He was nearly back to where he started, just a block or two away from his own apartment. The reason why this particular building was so familiar was because Sylar lived in it.
He looked up at the lightless window and sucked in air. It felt like someone was passing a current through his body. 'My door is open … anytime.' Sylar had actually been nice to him today, which was something of a departure. While yes, they'd agreed to be civil to one another within the first week of Peter's life in this world, Sylar had remained an asshole pretty non-stop. He spent much of his time being superior, resentful of Peter's past, condescending or just plain vicious. Peter could imagine better people to be stranded with. He could think of few who were worse. But today Sylar had been nice, as he had been off and on for weeks recently, Peter realized. It coincided unmistakably with Peter's growing interest in the man as a … well, as a man.
Still, it was fucking rude to show up in the middle of the night. They had a rule - no going to each other's apartments unless invited. But wasn't that an invitation Sylar had made? Maybe if they just talked. Yeah, right. Talking - that's what I want to do. Ha.
His feet started to carry him forward of their own volition. He caught himself at the entrance to the building, panting. No. No. Goddamn it, no. At least … At least I need to be prepared. In case … just in case … He couldn't finish the thought, but he turned away and hustled off. He knew where he could find what he wanted and less than ten minutes later he was back, hurrying so he wouldn't have time to change his mind. He pounded on the door like a madman.
Sylar looked suitably startled and tousled when he opened it, taking in Peter's drawn features, flushed face and agitated manner. A second later he was startled further when Peter handed him a condom and a small packet of lube. Sylar took them automatically, blinking between the items and Peter, who had yet to say so much as a single word. What could Peter say? Sylar, on the other hand, said, "Okay."
Peter pushed inside at that agreement, embracing him and tilting his head up for a kiss. Sylar met him immediately, reaching out with one hand to catch the edge of the door and swing it shut without his lips ever leaving Peter's. The smaller man didn't notice. He was too busy realizing that Sylar's pajamas were thin and left little of his body to the imagination. Peter ran his hands up and down Sylar's back and sides and then his chest as he finally broke from the kiss with glazed eyes.
"Sylar …" Peter said, drawing the word out and looking down, breathing hard.
"I have a bed. Come on." Sylar drew him to it. Peter looked at it, eyes wide. I'm about to get in bed with Sylar. Literally, really, truly going to get in bed with him. He froze up, unable to act. All the reasons why he shouldn't be doing this paraded through his mind as he tried to ignore what was staring him in the face. After a beat, Sylar unzipped Peter's jacket and slowly pulled it off of him, pushing it down his arms and watching Peter's face to make sure this was welcome. Peter helped a little, but kept staring past the man at the bed. He couldn't leave. Well, he could, but he wouldn't. He was far too stubborn for that. Sylar lifted Peter's shirt by inches at first, then the rest of the way and again, Peter helped, but couldn't bring himself to do it himself.
Sylar drew in a deep breath after tossing the garment aside, looking Peter over. He smiled appreciatively and raised his eyes to see that Peter was finally looking at him. Sylar was a fantastically good-looking man and his expression right now was human, interested, and maybe even a little caring. Peter leaned in for another kiss and Sylar managed to rest one hand on his chest as he closed with him, letting the other snake around Peter's back to caress his bare skin. His thumb rubbed over Peter's nipple and the stimulation tore a groan from the empath. Sylar smirked, ruining the impression he'd made only moments before. Peter hated that smirk. He absolutely loathed it.
"You fucking arrogant bastard," Peter said when their lips parted. He ought to leave. He tensed to pull away, but Sylar rubbed his thumb back and forth repeatedly now and played him like an instrument. Peter's eyelids fluttered shut and his back arched. He quit thinking about going. Instead, they quarreled about position. Sylar lost the argument and topped reluctantly, taking Peter from behind. Other than the position, Sylar fucked him the way he wanted. Sylar gave him too much at first, all at once in a painful shove that made Peter cry out, bite his lip and ball his hands into fists in the sheets. Then he took Peter with agonizing patience and slowness, ignoring the empath's pleas for 'faster' and 'harder' once Peter had relaxed, gotten over the rough entry and was ready for more.
Peter was glad of the position, where he didn't have to see Sylar's face, where there was no chance the other man would turn him off completely with a single expression. He still nearly lost it a couple times, cold feet making him tense and shiver and want to yank his clothes on and run away. But he stayed; he'd started it so he was going to finish it. He wanted and Sylar tortured him with a slow pleasuring that made his head spin. It would have been better if he hadn't thought Sylar was disregarding his desires on purpose.
Peter lost all sense of time, and of everything except a body moving with his. When he came it was like he'd gone blind for a second. All his senses failed him except touch - he could feel Sylar's hands on his hips and his shaft within him, pistoning harder now that Peter had peaked - the way Peter had wanted him moving earlier, but he hadn't gotten it. Sylar followed him a few moments after, the watchmaker's long fingers pressing into him firmly, holding them together after his last, deepest thrust. Peter shuddered. The intensity made the Italian loopy, drowsy and muddled his thoughts.
Sylar pulled out and discarded the condom. He gestured, clearly intending to climb in bed with him. He told him, "Move over, Petrelli," and there was that amused, self-satisfied lilt to his voice that went all through Peter. This whole thing was a mistake.
Peter shook his head and got to his feet unsteadily. He grabbed at his clothes and started putting them on.
"Peter," Sylar said, his voice tired and irritated, "just stay."
Peter shook his head, which was now getting clearer, and yanked up his pants. He snatched up his shirt and jacket and slipped his feet into his shoes. Poisonous words fell from his mouth. "I have to go. This is wrong. I can't be with you like this." Not when I can't forget all those times in here you've called me by my last name, making a point of it, holding it against me. Bet you enjoyed fucking me over. Bet I'll never hear the end of it now - and not because of the sex, but because I gave in. My own stupid fault. I might deserve whatever you say about this, but I don't have to do it again.
Sylar looked off to the side. At another time, he would have railed and given vent to his anger, but now he was silent. He was thinking this over, trying to figure out what he was doing wrong. Peter was no help. He left, the door banging shut behind him.