Slave Verse 3, Chapter 3: Veni, Vidi, Vici
They spent that second morning diving and came in for lunch of mango and banana and a couple fruits neither of them knew the name of but tasted pretty good anyway. Sylar applied suntan lotion to Peter again and carefully repeated the lettering.
"You really like that, don't you?" Peter asked, feeling him tracing it out.
"Oh yeah. I love it. You can heal it back whenever you want." He shrugged. "You probably should before we go back."
Suddenly it was gone, and Peter's back was unblemished and perfect. "How's that look?"
Sylar frowned and then sighed, deflating a little. "Fine. I guess." He was disappointed, assuming Peter had wanted to heal it back immediately, since he'd more or less given permission.
Then it was back as before and he realized Peter was copying over it with an illusion. "Oh," Sylar said. "You're… saying you wouldn't need to let it heal."
"Right. No one will see it until we're alone. Or unless you want me to make it public, but I think there'd be some questions about why Nathan was letting me go around with Sylar's tramp stamp on me."
He laughed. "You're not a tramp. You're mine, only mine." Peter shifted in appreciation. Sylar bent and kissed the nape of his neck, since everywhere else had lotion. "Thank you."
They walked down to the beach together afterwards, Peter reading parts of one of the pamphlets out loud to Sylar. He was really intrigued by how you were supposed to treat scorpion stings and what a person should do if they stepped on a sea urchin. Sylar walked a little ahead, listening with half an ear, obviously disinterested, until Peter reached forward and grabbed his shoulder jerking him backwards. He fell on his ass in the sand and blinked up in surprise at Peter, who said, "Hey. I'm trying to talk to you here."
"Oh." Sylar blinked at him a little more and glanced around. Was there any valid reason why he was ignoring Peter? Not really - just that he wasn't interested in medical care. But Peter was. If he wanted respect… then he was going to have to give it. He grunted at the annoying life lesson of a relationship. But it wasn't nearly as annoying as not having Peter around. "Sorry. I'm listening now."
Peter scowled at him, caught between going on because Sylar looked genuinely focused on him now or wadding up the pamphlet because he thought Sylar was being patronizing. Hesitantly, Peter started on the section for jellyfish stings, talking about how it had come up in nursing school, but he'd never had a reason to use the information. The biggest risk was anaphylactic shock… he looked over. Sylar was listening attentively, still sitting on the sand with his legs crossed, forearms on knees. In fact, he seemed rather mesmerized by Peter's face.
Peter smiled self-consciously. "Are you listening to me?"
"I'm listening to you."
"Because you look like you're eye-fucking me."
"I'm doing that too. Please continue. I hadn't reached orgasm yet." Sylar managed to say this with a straight face.
Peter grinned and then laughed.
"That's a good look on you," Sylar said. "I like it. Now come down here where I can touch you and tell me what anaphylactic shock means."
"So you were listening to me." Peter sat next to him and Sylar laid an easy hand on his knee, rubbing a circle. They were near the top of where the water reached, but the tide was going out so they didn't need to move to avoid getting wet. Peter started describing symptoms and treatment, moving quickly from the essentials to examples. Then he got onto one of his peeves, which was how medical care was portrayed in movies and on TV.
When the talk shifted from technical things - that Sylar didn't know much about, other than what he'd seen with his victims - to popular media - which he was much freer to comment on - it became an actual discussion with give and take. Sylar also began scratching around in the sand while they talked, since as long as they were both speaking animatedly, it didn't look like he was being disrespectful. And he wasn't.
That was how they got started building a sand castle. Sylar fetched the empty SPAM can, a collection of sticks and a spatula. He was all about using tools for this and "his" half of the sand castle was orderly and precise, with sharp lines and a compact, blocky structure. Peter's was more free form and covered more space, with hills and berms and roundish towers with shells stuck in them here and there - whether as decorations or some kind of fortification was unclear.
Shortly into the project, Sylar had drawn a very straight line to separate his area from Peter's. After most of an hour, he realized that one of Peter's snaking, curving hillocks was trespassing into the bailey of his castle. Worse still, the line was gone.
"Where did… what happened to the line?" He was mildly outraged. "There was a line there. Peter?"
Peter smirked and acted innocent, moving down to fetch some more damp sand as his slow invasion continued. "I guess I must have smudged it a little."
"A little? It's completely gone." Sylar huffed and redrew. "This has to go." He pushed back Peter's hillock, destroying it.
"That has to go? No it doesn't. If that has to go, then this has to go." Peter 'reorganized' the too-neat façade that Sylar had imposed across the front of both sides.
"You're… Peter! No. Stop that." He pushed him away. Peter fell back and dug a handful of sand from the beach. He leaned away, looking relaxed, and threw it on Sylar's back when he turned to correct Peter's 'damage'.
Sylar looked back at him. Peter grinned a challenge. Sylar returned the look with a glower and spoke in a low voice, "You know what this means, right? This is war."
"Bring it," Peter taunted, getting his feet under him and shifting his weight forward.
Sylar jumped on him. He was bigger and stronger with greater reach. Peter was faster and, as it turned out, quite a bit more familiar with hand-to-hand combat. It shouldn't have been surprising, since he'd spoken of his role in Nathan's security. What was surprising was that Sylar eventually managed to pin him, though at the cost of his side of the sand castle.
Peter was chest down with Sylar's hand on his back, pressing him down, and his legs lifted and tangled, one bent back in a toe hold that robbed Peter of all leverage. His attempts to get loose just saw Sylar lunge him forward and reposition him right back where he started. By unspoken agreement, neither of them had used their abilities.
"You got me," Peter said, twisting his neck to look back.
"Do I?" Sylar gave him a little push, making Peter grunt as the air was shoved out of him.
"Yeah, I think so. You're going to get tired of holding me eventually." He squirmed a little, testing the bounds, but he'd already established the hold was valid.
"Peter, you tease. I'll never get tired of holding you."
Peter was quiet for a moment and moved his body gently in response to the flirt. Sylar didn't give him as much flex as he'd like. He waited a bit, then asked softly, "Are you going to let me go?"
"I haven't decided yet," Sylar said petulantly. "Without letting you go, I can't seem to get anything free except this hand here on your back. Maybe I could tickle you…" The pressure on his back let up. The fingers curled and danced against his skin a bit in a ticklish caress.
Peter sucked in his breath. "Let me go and I'll let you do more than tickle me."
Now it was Sylar's turn to be silent. Peter could feel his fingertips massaging his back instead of holding him down.
Peter changed his voice to low and seductive. "Do you want me? I'll let you take me. I love you."
Sylar gave him another little push and Peter shut up. "You're cheating. You're using my libido against me."
"I'll use any weapon I get, Sylar." He twisted back to look at him again. "And anyway, you're the one in control here. What are you going to do with me?"
Sylar blinked at him, thinking about that question on many levels. His fingertips massaged again lightly, crawling down Peter's spine. Peter's lids drooped and his back arched. He turned away and breathed harder. Sylar internalized that he really did have Peter Petrelli. That was just fucking amazing. Somehow, his plot had worked. How the hell did that happen?
"Well," Sylar said, his voice husky, "the plan was always pretty simple. I was going to fuck you, then we'd take over the world."
He released Peter's legs and let them down slowly. They ended up on either side of him, Peter on his knees, but his chest and shoulders still to the ground. Sylar's hand on his back continued its gradual crawl to the small of the other man's back, where it curled into his waistband. Peter moaned a little. Sylar pushed the shorts down to expose everything he needed access to, then pushed down his own. He took up his half-hard length and began pulling, tugging and fondling as his other hand ran up and down the seam of Peter's body.
He leaned forward and ran his fingers over the still-hot letters that spelled "Property of Sylar" on Peter's back. He grinned.
Peter said, "I love you, master. I love it when you fuck me. Please fuck me."
"I'm going to," Sylar said softly, wetting himself and putting himself in position. He wasn't as hard as he could have been, but it was enough if he went slow and he did. Peter worked with him, still talking about what a good master he was and how forgiving of Peter's mistakes and how much he prized being his slave and all manner of things that a part of Sylar's brain found really funny, but most of the rest found terribly arousing. That greater part told the lesser to shut it and he got on with the sexing.
He took hold of Peter's hips and thrust into him hard and fast, making Peter grunt. That… triggered an unpleasant memory. He shifted immediately to slower, two easy beats and one harder. He thought about how much he hated Nathan for screwing up a perfectly normal sex sound for him. His fingers dug in harder. Unconsciously, he was picking up his pace again, thinking about how he'd wished he had been there when Peter'd killed him, how he wished he'd stalled his own suicide to torture the asshole a bit.
He was fucking Peter hard and fast again, wishing Nathan's ghost was around to see Peter submit to him, wanting to rub it in the bastard's face that Peter had left him to be with Sylar. He wanted a recording of Peter now, moaning his name and calling him master, so he could play it for Nathan and see his face contort with rage like it had when Peter had told him he'd topped Sylar (Sylar made a mental note to promote that up the list of sexual things he wanted to do with Peter - a list that seemed to be growing by the second as his mind tore apart the spectre of Nathan Petrelli and ground it under his heel).
He could feel himself riding higher and higher towards his peak and Peter was grunting with every shove he gave him, but he didn't give a damn now. Grunt all he wanted. He was jogging Peter's body against the sand and making a rut in it, carving out the shape of Peter's torso against the ruins of his sand castle. Peter was so compliant to him, so willing, so cooperative, so playful, so fun. Nathan was an idiot. And an asshole. And he'd deserved worse than he'd gotten.
He grabbed Peter's ass and yanked him into himself, buried to the hilt with every stroke, thrusting against him like he wanted to fall inside of him and suddenly he was coming, his hands shaking a little against Peter's hips, his buttocks flexing a few more times for good measure as he panted and relaxed.
"Ah, shit. You're fucking good!" He panted. "I love you." He pulled out slowly and massaged Peter's butt a little, thinking he'd skipped this part the day before when he'd rubbed him all over. Now he made up for it. Peter came up to all fours, looking back at Sylar's impromptu feelie.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to… I don't know. Make you happy, I guess." Sylar quit touching him obsessively and spared a hand to pull up his own shorts. "What do you want me to do? Can I do you? Somehow?"
"Tonight. In bed."
"It's not like I haven't noticed, you know," Sylar said carefully, not sure how Peter would take it.
"Noticed what?"
"Today. That you've only done me. You're not getting off on this yourself." Sylar reached down between Peter's legs and caressed his balls, touching his shaft. It was full but not hard. He bent over Peter and wrapped an arm around to stroke him gently.
Peter sighed and shifted against him, rubbing back against his body. "You did me yesterday out on the beach, you know," he said almost conversationally.
Sylar could feel Peter hardening though. So, I'm going to get to turn him on when I want, not just when he decides to let me? Hm. He smiled. He kissed the sunburned letters, tonguing them slowly. Peter arched his back more abruptly, breathing faster. Sylar pumped him more aggressively. "Yeah, I know. I want to do you again. Your master… your owner… wants to see you come." He sucked at the burn, making Peter whimper. It probably hurt, but Peter didn't pull away.
"Come on," Sylar crooned to him, taking a break from mauling his back with his tongue. "Come on, pet. My Peter pet. You feel so hot in my hand, so good, so hard, so ready. I want you to take me tonight. I want you in me. I never want to have anyone else in me. I want you to ruin me for other men. I think you already have, but I want it every way with you. Every way. You're all I need - all I need."
Peter shoved back into him jerkily, making little "oh" noises until they went up in pitch, shortened and contracted until he came with a squeak. Sylar rubbed his hand up and down Peter's shaft even after he came, feeling him quiver with the sensation but not objecting to it. Sylar leaned away and planted a kiss on his ass, then pulled up Peter's shorts most the way. Peter finished the job.
"You came on my sand castle, pet."
Peter looked down at the spots of wet sand and ejaculate. "Huh. I saw, I conquered, I came."