Wall Verse Chapter 10, Break Time
Peter set the guitar down, stretching his fingers because they were sore. "Let's take a break, okay?"
"Sure," Sylar muttered distractedly, frowning at the sheet music in front of him. He'd learned to read it disturbingly fast. All Peter had had to do was go over the basics twice (and the second time was just to cover a few parts Sylar hadn't paid attention to the first time around) and after that the man had it. A lot of the time, Peter felt inadequate next to that. Sylar sometimes accused Peter of having everything, but really from Peter's point of view the shoe was on the other foot - Sylar had better looks, more abilities, more freedom, no backstabbing family and a ton of brains.
Smart people, Peter thought in mock disgust, snorting softly to himself. They're kind of annoying sometimes. Speaking of which, he walked over to the resident brainiac and looked over his shoulder. Sylar's fingers were twitching on the keys, but not actually depressing them as he was clearly working through the next section, fixing it in his mind. "Hey, Mozart," Peter teased, "are you going to take a break or not?"
Sylar pulled his eyes away with difficulty and looked up at Peter blankly for a moment, Huh? clearly writ on his features.
I'll bet you were a complete nerd in high school, Peter thought affectionately, grinning and reaching out slowly to touch the man's cheek. A very, very sexy nerd. Sylar's expression shifted fast to hopeful as he realized what was being offered, and what Peter potentially meant by 'break.' Yes, that was much more important than the music and Peter was gratified to see himself quickly catapulted to the top of Sylar's priority list. The man swallowed, leaning to meet Peter's hand, letting Peter stroke his cheek and cup it. Oh, you are so precious. God! Why didn't I see this before? A brief collage of everything that had happened between them prior - blood, death and violence - flashed through Peter's mind before he squelched it. Okay, bad question. Never mind.
Peter flopped down on the bench next to him, facing the opposite direction. He leaned back against the piano, putting his elbows on the keys on either side, making a couple odd chords with the motion. He tilted his head forward, letting his bangs fall across half his face and gave Sylar his most killer smile, along with his undivided attention.
"Uhhh," was all Sylar said, gulping a little and staring at him. His eyes raked up and down Peter's body, so close now to his own, an unasked for and oh-so-wanted proximity. His fingers twitched and moved in abortive motions for a completely different reason now and he worked his mouth like it was dry suddenly.
Awesome! Peter thought, immensely flattered. Not that he was unaware of the effect he had on people from time to time, but it was always nice to know the Peter charm still worked. He rotated his left forearm, the one nearest Sylar, and dropped his fingers down to graze Sylar's thigh. Just in case, you know, Sylar hadn't gotten the memo that Peter was interested in him.
But oh, he'd gotten the memo. Sylar sat up straighter and breathed faster. Then he scooted against him. There had been only an inch between them but Sylar closed it, pressing his thigh to Peter's and sending his own correspondence back - oh yes, Peter was interested, Sylar was interested right back, and thrilled to boot. He chewed his upper lip for a moment and raised his left hand (since they were facing different directions it was the hand between them) and moved it vaguely like he didn't know what to do with it.
Peter reached out with his right, caught Sylar's hand and put it on his outer thigh, smoothing his hand over it for a moment to make sure it would stay there, before leaning back again. Self-assurance and confidence marked Peter's face. It helped that he had a pretty good feel for how into him Sylar was, or at least how into him Sylar had been earlier. Also, Peter's insecurity made him reckless and cavalier, even more determined to get what he wanted.
Sylar looked at his hand for a long moment, then at Peter. He seemed caught between apprehensive and joyful. Peer liked that look on him. Sylar observed, "You're … really forward."
"Too much?" Peter asked, with another tilt of his head. He was pretty sure it wasn't, what with the way Sylar had turned them before to put Peter on the outside, effectively trapping Sylar in the corner. Sylar was sending some pretty strong signals that he wanted Peter to set the pace and take charge.
"No, no," Sylar answered quickly. "Not too much."
"Good. When I decide I want something, I go after it. If you need me to back off, let me know." He looked between Sylar's eyes, still so pleased that he could stare without causing problems. Rich brown eyes, clear and alert, flitted to his own and away quickly, as if afraid of making too much eye contact. Sylar gave him a pleased smile and intake of breath, the hand on Peter's leg beginning to rub lightly. The man glanced at Peter's face and Peter raised his brows and smiled more in approval.
Sylar leaned forward hesitantly and kissed him, moving his right hand to cradle the back of Peter's head. They parted and Sylar looked so relieved and pleased with Peter offering himself up like this. His left hand came up briefly to push Peter's hair out of the way, then found its way back to Peter's thigh where it stroked up and down the outside. Peter's face was warm and he was breathing faster. He wanted to climb all over Sylar, but it seemed way premature for that. He stayed where he was, other than leaning forward and puckering his lips in invitation. That brought Sylar back to him immediately. Peter's tongue licked at the man's lips and they deepened the kiss, eyes shut. Peter reached up with his right hand to caress the side of Sylar's face, neck and shoulder, repeating the circuit many times as the kiss wore on. They separated after what seemed like minutes, both of them heaving for breath.
After only a few seconds, Sylar kissed him again, brief and fierce, then again and again as if wanting to find out what all the different kinds of kisses were like with Peter Petrelli. He gave him short, chaste pecks; breathy, intimate smooches; and deep, tongue-tangling invasions like he wanted to devour Peter's face and explore his tonsils. Peter was pushed into the keyboard and even though the edges dug painfully into his back, he had no complaint. Instead he used both arms to bring Sylar to him and encourage him, caressing, stroking, panting and finally moaning into Sylar's mouth. He twined his fingers into Sylar's hair and pulled him onto him as much as he could. Oh yeah, this was the kind of break Peter had in mind.
Sylar finally pulled away and Peter saw that his lips were reddened and wet. Sylar's hair had fallen over his face and his shirt was askew. He looked dazed. Peter let him pull back. He assumed he was in a similar disarray; he certainly felt like Sylar looked. He reached up and rubbed the pad of his thumb over Sylar's lips, wiping off their combined moisture. Sylar's eyelids fluttered beautifully at the gesture. "I liked that," Peter whispered.
"You keep saying that," Sylar panted, straightening his shirt and raking his hair out of his eyes. "You said that earlier."
"I want you to know what I like." Peter reached up and pulled Sylar's shirt to the side again just to do it. To his amusement, Sylar looked pleased with the adjustment. The corners of his eyes crinkled up in what Peter would have sworn was a genuinely affectionate expression. Peter's heart soared at that look. Sylar left his clothes as Peter had adjusted them. Peter smiled back at him just as warmly. "And besides," Peter said, shrugging nonchalantly, "you're going to find I'm not exactly the most well-spoken man in bed. 'I like that' and 'fuck' is about the sum total of my verbal repertoire."
Sylar's face flushed and he ducked his head before letting his eyes go back to Peter's face. "I'm going to find that out?" he said, voice a bit high. He coughed a little to clear it.
"Yeah," Peter said, grinning. Doofus. What do you think we're doing sexing each other up here? I'm sure a bed will be involved eventually. He reached up to comb back some of the hair that had fallen into Sylar's face when he looked down. "Whenever you're ready." Sylar's expression was so grateful and pleased. He looked down and moved his left hand up to the hem of Peter's shirt. He toyed with it, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. Lifting it just slightly so the very tips of his fingers barely brushed against Peter's skin. His eyes snapped up to Peter's, where Peter smiled as broadly as he could and shut his eyes, tilting his head back. Sylar didn't repeat the gesture, which was disappointing. Instead he tugged the shirt down and moved his hand back to Peter's thigh.
Peter raised his head again, inviting, "You're an incredible kisser. I can't wait to see what else you're good at."
Sylar's blush deepened. "I … haven't … much. I might not be …"
Peter laughed a little and waved a hand at the piano. "Yeah, and you couldn't read sheet music either. I'm sure you'll be a quick study." Assuming I manage to get you into bed without you bolting. But we'll work on that.
Sylar looked at the pages for a moment and smiled softly, letting a small sigh escape him. He leaned back to kiss again without nearly so much hesitation as before. Peter was glad to see that. He was chipping away at whatever walls Sylar had up, trying to heal whatever was wrong with him. They shared another long, leisurely moment. Sylar's hand ran down Peter's back to where he was still leaning against the piano keys. Peter's back there had gone from uncomfortable to numb, then tingles started and it had become painful for a while, but it had thankfully gone numb again just recently. He was pretty sure he'd have a bruise there come tomorrow. Sylar's fingers scrabbled back and forth where Peter was pressed against the instrument. Sylar quit kissing him, pulling Peter forward and feeling the dent in the muscles of his back. "That hurts," he said as a fact.
Peter shrugged. "A little. Small price to pay."
With surprising intensity, Sylar bit out, "You don't have to pay that." His hand stroked up and down Peter's back, rubbing at the spot. "Don't …" He shook his head forcefully and took Peter's shoulders, turning him away. Sylar scooted back and straddled the bench, taking the initiative. Peter didn't miss the protectiveness that was motivating the man. He marveled inwardly to see that.
Peter glanced back, brow raised as he wondered what Sylar was up to. A moment later Sylar rested his hands on Peter's shoulders and turned him away again, much more assertive than he usually was with Peter. There was no hesitation this time. Peter didn't mind. He didn't like being treated like a psycho who might flip out at any moment anyway.
"Just," Sylar said, pausing now and lifting his hands off like he was suddenly noticing how casual he was being with Peter. "Relax," he concluded. He started to rub, tentatively at first, but Peter made encouraging noises and Sylar's touches became more confident. Peter had given Sylar a couple massages after they'd worked out at various times, but Peter had always fended off the offers of reciprocation because he didn't want the man touching him. He hadn't seen him as a fellow human being. He hadn't seen him as capable of love and compassion, because Peter's idea of humanity couldn't integrate the murderer of his brother with someone who deserved love. He hadn't consciously made that decision even yet, but his subconscious already had. Sylar's touch was a little too light and he was doing it through a shirt, but it felt nice. Peter slumped compliantly and made happy noises as the circulation in his back recovered.
After a few minutes, Sylar scooted forward a few inches, moving his hands up to Peter's neck and starting to probe into his hair. Peter made a long, low sound of pleasure, leaning his head forward. Encouraged, Sylar brought his knees in so they touched the back of Peter's legs. Peter reached down and hooked his fingers under the man's knees and gripped, then released and rolled his palm over the joint. Sylar's hands dropped to Peter's waist, hesitating. The massage seemed to have ended and now Sylar seemed unsure of how to transition it to something else. He bent forward and put a very small kiss on the back of Peter's neck, then pulled away, waiting to see the reaction.
Peter rubbed Sylar's knees, running his hands back along his thighs as far as they could reach. "Do you mind if I back up?" Peter asked quietly. He'd been looking for a signal, a sign that Sylar would tolerate another round of intimacy. Maybe this was it.
"No." Sylar didn't say anything else, so Peter moved back a little, continuing to caress the man's legs and feeling Sylar's knees pressing in against him. He'd lifted off his hands - Peter didn't know what he was doing with them. When their increased contact was met with no objection, Peter moved back further, putting himself flush against Sylar's front. As Peter had expected, the man had a bit of an 'affection erection' going on. He wasn't alone in that. They'd been kissing like mad and then Sylar had been running his hands all over Peter's back - of course they were both still turned on. Peter could feel Sylar's heart beating too fast against his back. He slowly tipped his head back, letting it rest on Sylar's shoulder. He eased against him, letting Sylar support him. After a beat, Sylar wrapped his arms around him.
A hug. He felt warm and secure for some reason, which was odd given the person delivering the embrace. But Peter was feeling Sylar's emotions as well as his own. The man was happy and calm and Peter was sensing that. "Thank you," Peter said softly, bringing his hands up to lay them over Sylar's.
Sylar gave a brief, dry chuckle. "I should be thanking you. For … earlier."
Peter assumed Sylar meant the two false starts, where they'd nearly gotten to a climax and Sylar had stopped things abruptly. Or maybe he meant the offer to practice playing music, so as to stay close to one another, stay friendly despite the freak out, and not make things awkward. What was all that about, anyway? Peter burned to ask, but didn't. Instead he smiled and said as he looked upward at the textured foam panels of the ceiling, "As a practicing medical professional, I can tell you with certainty that blue balls are not a fatal condition." He'd been so close to coming, especially that last time, that it had physically hurt not to do it. His erection had wilted immediately, but his nuts were still sore.
Sylar hesitated a beat, then laughed and gave him a squeeze. "Thank- yes, yes. I'd kind of figured that out."
Smarty-pants. "Anything you know is just anecdotal evidence and I'm sure it doesn't count," Peter said loftily, squirming a little to settle himself more firmly against Sylar, who froze up at his motion, then relaxed back into it a few moments after Peter quit moving. "I'm a trained professional in these matters. You shouldn't test that at home."
"Of course not," Sylar murmured into his ear. "I wouldn't dream of it." He waited a moment, breath warm against Peter's cheek, and then kissed him on the cheekbone.
"Mmm," Peter hummed, rubbing his hands restlessly over Sylar's. "I like that too."
Their faces were so close Peter felt the curve of Sylar's cheek as he grinned. "Just making sure I know, huh?" He laid a delicate kiss on the turn of Peter's jawbone, just under the ear.
Peter pulled in air. "Yeah," he breathed. He let his hands fall back to the outside of Sylar's thighs, where they stroked slow circles against the denim. Sylar worked his way slowly and intimately down Peter's neck. Peter shivered. "Like that, oh yeah, like that."
Sylar nipped him and Peter twitched, letting his nails dig into the man's jeans for a moment. "I would say," Sylar observed, "that you liked that as well."
"Uh-huh," Peter said, nodding quickly. Sylar's erection digging into his back had a lot more to do with Peter's arousal than he suspected Sylar knew. Plucking Peter like a guitar string was obviously a big turn-on for Sylar, which translated to a big turn-on for the empath. Peter reached up and took Sylar's left hand and brought it down to rest on his navel, wondering just where the line was that had freaked Sylar out earlier. He was pretty sure it was Sylar's own arousal. "Is this okay?"
"Uh …" Sylar swallowed. He was tall enough to look over Peter's shoulder and down his front, given the way they were situated. "You want me to …"
Peter's own hand, alone, drifted further south. He moved it up and down along the strained fabric. "If you want," he invited. Come on, baby. Help me out here. Maybe if you see me do it you won't be so afraid.
Sylar swallowed again. "Um … kay." His hand moved down and Peter's went back to Sylar's thigh, fingernails gripping the outside seam of the jeans. Sylar's touch was delicate, excruciating in how he didn't give quite enough stimulation. He outlined him at first, getting a feel for what the parameters were. He paused to nibble at Peter's neck, provoking a low moan. Peter could feel how pleased that made Sylar, who squeezed inward with his thighs, pressing them together.
Sylar began to trail his fingers up and down with a slight pressure that left Peter whining softly for more. Peter fought the urge to buck his hips against him, even though he wanted to so bad. He let the man torture him instead. He turned his head and kissed Sylar's cheek to distract himself from the desire to thrust back against him. Peter shifted his shoulders a little and nosed at Sylar's face, getting him to turn and kiss him full-on. Their mouths opened and tongues touched immediately. Peter brought up his right hand to bury in Sylar's hair, holding him to him and feeling Sylar's arousal pour into him like water to a man dying of thirst. Peter moaned into his mouth, eyelids fluttering as Sylar finally began touching him more firmly, stroking up and down.
Oh God, I should have opened my pants and gotten my dick out. He hadn't because he'd been afraid of putting Sylar off. Even now he didn't do it for fear of being shut down like earlier. This feels so good, so good and he's into it. Oh God, is he ever into it. Peter bit his lip and for a moment Sylar kissed him awkwardly anyway, wanting Peter's mouth as much as Peter wanted him. Peter's gripped the man's hair in one hand and the lower part of his ass cheek in the other. "Hold me t- nhg, tighter," he managed to get out.
Sylar complied and then kissed him again, sucking at Peter's lip determinedly to make him quit biting it. He was just as consumed by desire at the moment as Peter was. Peter opened his mouth and let him in. Sylar tightened his arm around Peter's chest and pulled Peter's frame against himself. It was a gesture that so, so wanted to be a thrust and Peter could tell that was exactly what it almost was. If they hadn't been clothed, and he could get over his inhibitions, then Sylar would be bending him over and fucking him hard about now. Peter started to roll his hips despite his earlier intentions of keeping still. He rubbed backwards against the other man's hardness even though he knew that was what had frightened him before. Peter's brain was not functioning rationally - all it knew was the spiraling excitement both men were feeling, chasing one another ever upwards.
"Make me come," Peter rasped. Sylar held him firmer still across the chest, a low growl in his throat. His other hand delivered more pressure as Peter struggled and thrust against him. He could feel their joined arousal flooding through him, sharp and sudden, and he redoubled his efforts in shoving his ass against Sylar's crotch.
The man shuddered and stopped kissing him, mouth slack as he panted into Peter's. His hand stopped moving and for a second, Peter felt his panic, but Sylar had realized his predicament just a few seconds too late. Sylar whined in a moment of confused vulnerability. He'd gotten too close. He'd gotten carried away. He was coming; they were both coming and they were past the point of no return.
Peter's hand made a fist in Sylar's hair, provoking a second, even more plaintive whimpering noise as Sylar submitted to the inevitable. It was a sound that was pure, distilled sex to Peter. It was victory. He felt Sylar's groin throb against the small of his back and Peter knew he had him. He'd won and he hadn't even been thinking of it consciously a contest. He'd pulled the man right over the edge with him. Peter called out exultantly from the bottom of his lungs, feeling himself go off like a firework. When he could, he sucked in a second breath, adding only slightly more articulately, "Ohhh, fuck!"
He slumped back into the arms of his apparently stunned companion. Peter could still feel the fear hammering in Sylar's chest and so he said nothing for the moment, just breathing and appreciating that he'd gotten what he wanted - a level of satisfaction he hadn't realized he wanted, in making Sylar stay. Peter dropped both hands to Sylar's legs and rested them there while he regained his equilibrium.
It was Sylar who finally broke the silence, saying, "Uh, you … uh, you … you're done?"
Peter smiled lazily and turned his head so he could see part of Sylar's face. "Yes. Yes, I'm done." And so are you. Why do I get the impression you're going to pretend you didn't just have a huge orgasm? "How about you?"
"I'm fine," Sylar said neutrally.
Peter looked away and coughed, stifling the laugh that wanted to burst out. The very accurate impression. You big liar. "I thought you were kind of getting into it there."
"I think you were a little distracted," Sylar ground out stiffly.
Yes, very, very accurate impression. Oh well. Just leave it alone. He felt limp and utterly relaxed at the moment and the last thing he wanted to do was argue, about anything. Instead he said, "Yeah, yeah, I was. Thanks. I guess we'll just have to try again some other time." He waved a hand with a casual, Petrelli assumption of control and said breezily, "More practice. That's the ticket."