Fic : Itches and Blood Fever - Sylar/Peter - NC17
Title: Itches and Blood Fever
Rating:NC17
Pairings/Characters:Sylar/Peter
Warnings:Bondage and spoilers for episode ‘The Wall’
Word count:2090
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters
A/N: Beta read by sylargrrrl
Summary In the universe of ‘The Wall’, Sylar and Peter discover a video tape which gives them an idea.
Itches and Blood Fever
Peter hadn’t seen a video cassette for years. They were chunky, rattly things, so antiquated. They reminded him of home, of his nanny waving them in front of him at the onset of a tantrum, warning that if he didn’t behave there would be no Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle video and the box would sit tantalisingly on top of the den TV unit until he could behave himself. Peter’s favourite had featured an alien monster which lived in pizza boxes, or something like that. Anyway, he remembered phrases from the tape even now - “I didn’t know this was a BYOM party!” “BYOM?” “Bring your own monster!”
“What are you doing?”
Peter smirked. Talking of monsters... “I found a VCR, you wanna watch something?” They hadn’t watched TV in all of the four years they had been in this weird non-universe. Once a TV had sprung to life of its own accord, a fragment of one of Sylar’s nightmares. It was repeating a line from an old episode of ‘I Love Lucy’ and had sent Sylar into a cold sweat for some reason. Something to do with a buried memory of his mother and father. Anyway - he had smashed it to splinters and that had been the last they had heard of TV for a long time.
Sylar took the tape. “It isn’t labelled, this could be anything.”
Taking it back, Peter rolled his eyes. “So? What’s the worst that could happen?” He glanced up at Sylar’s peturbed expression but ignored it, slotting in the tape and scuttling backwards to the lumpy couch in the place they called “Book apartment” for some pretty obvious reasons.
Sylar sighed, settling next to Peter. The tape was showing black before it crackled and some familiar music struck up.
“Star Trek? Oh man....If I could have guessed one show that would survive here...” Peter tucked his legs under himself and drifted into a TV coma as Sylar sat silently beside him. The episode seemed to be about Spock being ill. Peter couldn’t believe how bad some of the costumes were, and how stilted the dialogue seemed. Still, Sylar was quiet and uncomplaining, so he kept his mouth shut, letting the visuals wash over him and even managing a smile at some of the lines.
“What’s wrong with him, do you know?” Peter was unexpectedly engrossed in the Spock storyline, he was acting strangely, disobeying orders, losing his memory...Kirk didn’t seem too happy with him and Peter thought he remembered the two being buddies in that one movie...the one with the “Khaaaan!” thing.
“He has Pon-Farr, it’s like an affliction which means he needs to mate desperately” Sylar didn’t take his eyes from the screen as he filled Peter in. Clearly he was either a fan or one of those people who can naturally pick up storylines. Peter was a little baffled.
“Needs to mate desperately? I know that feeling.”
“I doubt you do. For Vulcans it’s not just a case of blue balls, they die.”
“He’ll die, Jim!” Bones echoed on screen, accompanied by a dramatic soundtrack flourish. Peter raised his eyebrows. “Wow, fuck or die? Intense. What would you do?”
Sylar glanced across to him. “What?”
“If you couldn’t get Spock to Vulcan in time, would you let him fuck you so he’s survive?”
Sylar shook his head. “I don’t know where this is going, but I assure you, no case of blue balls is as bad as the blood fever, Petrelli, he will die in agony.”
“So you would, then.If you were Kirk, he was your best friend, you’d let him fuck you to save his life?”
Sylar inclined his head. “Well, why don’t we find out?”
***
“I’m not kidding, put me down!” Peter tried not to let the adrenaline pumping through him jolt his body out of Sylar’s grasp as 23 storeys up he hung at his mercy.
“Can you feel it Peter? Your body chemistry preparing you for disaster, your blood bubbling in your system, heart throbbing and pumping? Imagine this, times a hundred, and that’s what it would be like. You’re going to die Peter.You’re going to drop, plummet, and smash on the ground like a ripe watermelon. I’ll have to hose you off the sidewalk tomorrow so you don’t attract insects.”
“Argh! Please! Please!! He tried to grab at Sylar’s arms but only managed to briefly swat at the air before they started to ache with the effort. Suddenly he was on his back on the rooftop, the cold stone making his skin crave it where it touched. Sylar held him down telekinetically as he straddled him, pulling at buttons and zips and ripping cloth like it was tissue paper. Soon more of Peter’s skin was in contact with the stone or the cold air, and then all. He swallowed hard at the feeling of constraint on his ankles and wrists and bucked up into Sylar, trying to test his bounds.
“A little eager are we? I can understand why. I calculate that you approximately four hours to live. Mr Spock.”
You owe me. Peter thought to himself as he registered the flicker of uncertainty in Sylar’s eyes. “Please Jim, help me.” he deadpanned.
“Oh I’ll help you Mr Spock, but I’m a Starfleet Captain, I couldn’t possibly submit to this flagrant disregard to Starfleet regulations unless all other options had been exhausted. I have Bones working on something now.”
“Wha - ?”
***
More binds. This time the more traditional rope kind, and secured to the brass bedhead of a slightly rickety queen sized bed in the apartment they called “Nice apartment”. Peter was naked, his muscles ached from where he’d tried to make himself more comfortable, and the backs of his thighs burned with the effort of keeping himself upright so that the rope didn’t scrape his skin. He watched the door, wondering whether Sylar knew he was watching the light beneath it flicker as he moved around it. Suddenly the light blacked out and the door opened. Sylar was naked too, stroking himself shamelessly and wearing a smirk. “How are you feeling...Mr Spock?”
Peter leveled his gaze. “I feel a little uncomfortable.”
Sylar did NOT like that. He set his jaw and took deliberate steps towards the bed.
“I mean! I’m in..pain. Captain. Please help me.” There was something in Sylar’s countenance that made Peter uneasy and this must have shown on his face because Sylar suddenly seemed satisfied. He was still stroking himself in a very business-like manner, firm and rhythmic. His eyes were dark and clear and only the odd shiver of pleasure showed in slight trembles on the surface of his skin. Sylar walked to the bed and straddled him, gripping the bedhead, hands close to his own. He leaned down until Peter could feel heat and wetness against his ear, and his own cock nudging at his stomach.
“Do you need me to touch you?” Sylar whispered.
“Oh yes, yes please”. Peter wriggled and let his head fall back, exposing his neck to Sylar and hoping that the show of submission would stir his sympathies.
“Tell me about it, tell me how you feel physically.” Sylar let his tongue brush against the shell of Peter’s ear.
“I feel....my balls feel tight. There’s a dull ache in my dick, it...hurts. I need to be touched, please. Please.” Peter rolled his hips, trying to get some friction against his swollen cock.
“Just sounds like blue balls to me, not really enough to change course and get you to Vulcan and certainly not enough for a Starfleet Captain to get involved with. I suggest you meditate for a while longer.” Sylar bounced off the bed and Peter moaned as he watched those taut thighs and that fine, fine ass walk away from him.
“Please! It really is bad, please Captain.”
“Five more minutes Mr Spock.” he called back just as the door slammed behind him.
Peter cried out in frustration and yelped as he pulled too tight on the ropes and gave himself a burn. Five minutes was like a lifetime.
***
Peter was very aware that it was the hopeless sob which brought Sylar back to the room, and not the threats, the hoarse pleas or the angry yells. The sound of defeat was always a turn on for Sylar. “Please! Captain, please help me. I feel....I feel like I’ll die, please!”
“It’s alright my old friend. I’ll help you.” Sylar moved to the bed and took up the same position, straddling him and letting his hot breath out on his neck. “Just ask me, and I’ll do it.” He whispered.
“Your mouth. I want your mouth on me. It hurts - it’s hot.” Peter whimpered, his head swimming. He groaned again as he felt Sylar’s weight shift off the bed but stopped when he felt soft lips on his cheek.
“One moment, Commander, I need to get something. Your senses are working overtime, let’s close one down to give you a break.”
Peter closed his eyes and allowed whatever it was Sylar was blindfolding him with block out any extraneous light. He heard Sylar’s footsteps fade and then silence before they came closer again.
“This should help you.” Sylar growled. The bed dipped again and Peter felt rough hands on his outer thighs.
“Please, please!”
“Shhh, don’t worry.”
Peter’s legs were pushed apart and he let his head fall back again. Suddenly he yelled as Sylar’s mouth, ice cold and warm at the same time covered his dick, then jerked uncontrollably as he felt freezing cold water wash over him and be swallowed down. Sylar sucked hard, moving his head quickly and digging nails into Peter’s hips. There was momentary relief as Sylar came up for air, but then the rush of contrasting sensations returned, ice cold water in Sylar’s hot mouth, making goosebumps appear all over Peter’s body and a rattle run through his bones. Peter thrusted into his mouth, the pain in his wrists becoming nothing more than a temporary distraction.
“More, please, I need to come, it’s been...”
“Don’t you trust me? I’ll take care of you, just relax.”
Peter felt Sylar’s tongue drift over his opening and moaned. His tongue was still cold and his skin twitched as Sylar lapped and sucked at it before returning to cover his dick with his mouth.
“T-touch me, touch me.” Peter begged, spreading his legs further. He didn’t care how wanton he looked as long as he got off and the sucking and cold water was numbing his dick too much to fell the full benefit of Sylar’s work. He was rewarded by the burn and pull of Sylar’s finger inside him, slicked only with the chilled water he had been drinking. He moved to encourage the finger further inside and Sylar plunged another one in, sucking hard as Peter made a noise. The dual assault continued until Peter writhed and sweated in his ties. He heard words which he didn’t recognise spilling from his mouth and heard Sylar’s guttural laugh though he couldn’t pinpoint the moment that Sylar stopped sucking long enough to make the noise. Without warning Sylar’s hand moved at double time inside him, bumping on his prostate with the increasingly wet and noisy blowjob still going on. “Stop, please! I can’t - it’s too much.”
Sylar stopped immediately, then grabbed Peter’s dick giving it one last, long, two-handed stroke. Peter screamed as he came, the sound turning into a laugh as the relief hit him and he was able to gasp his way through the orgasm that Sylar was still wringing from him. Eventually, he felt Sylar fall onto his back next to him and the static in his skin start to subside as his bonds were untied and the blindfold removed. He hooked his shaking fingers around Sylar’s and squeezed, unable to vocalise his thanks. The next thing he felt was a slight rise in temperature as a blanket covered him and Sylar let out the heavy sigh which meant he was turning himself over to sleep.
“Sylar?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened to Spock - in the end?”
“He survived. He was fine.”
“And did Kirk fuck him?”
There was a long pause.
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
Peter grinned in the darkness. “I don’t believe you, we’re going to watch it tomorrow.” Not waiting for an answer he curled himself into Sylar’s warm body and settled in, wondering what excuse or stimulus they would need next time there were itches to be scratched.
Rating:NC17
Pairings/Characters:Sylar/Peter
Warnings:Bondage and spoilers for episode ‘The Wall’
Word count:2090
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters
A/N: Beta read by sylargrrrl
Summary In the universe of ‘The Wall’, Sylar and Peter discover a video tape which gives them an idea.
Itches and Blood Fever
Peter hadn’t seen a video cassette for years. They were chunky, rattly things, so antiquated. They reminded him of home, of his nanny waving them in front of him at the onset of a tantrum, warning that if he didn’t behave there would be no Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle video and the box would sit tantalisingly on top of the den TV unit until he could behave himself. Peter’s favourite had featured an alien monster which lived in pizza boxes, or something like that. Anyway, he remembered phrases from the tape even now - “I didn’t know this was a BYOM party!” “BYOM?” “Bring your own monster!”
“What are you doing?”
Peter smirked. Talking of monsters... “I found a VCR, you wanna watch something?” They hadn’t watched TV in all of the four years they had been in this weird non-universe. Once a TV had sprung to life of its own accord, a fragment of one of Sylar’s nightmares. It was repeating a line from an old episode of ‘I Love Lucy’ and had sent Sylar into a cold sweat for some reason. Something to do with a buried memory of his mother and father. Anyway - he had smashed it to splinters and that had been the last they had heard of TV for a long time.
Sylar took the tape. “It isn’t labelled, this could be anything.”
Taking it back, Peter rolled his eyes. “So? What’s the worst that could happen?” He glanced up at Sylar’s peturbed expression but ignored it, slotting in the tape and scuttling backwards to the lumpy couch in the place they called “Book apartment” for some pretty obvious reasons.
Sylar sighed, settling next to Peter. The tape was showing black before it crackled and some familiar music struck up.
“Star Trek? Oh man....If I could have guessed one show that would survive here...” Peter tucked his legs under himself and drifted into a TV coma as Sylar sat silently beside him. The episode seemed to be about Spock being ill. Peter couldn’t believe how bad some of the costumes were, and how stilted the dialogue seemed. Still, Sylar was quiet and uncomplaining, so he kept his mouth shut, letting the visuals wash over him and even managing a smile at some of the lines.
“What’s wrong with him, do you know?” Peter was unexpectedly engrossed in the Spock storyline, he was acting strangely, disobeying orders, losing his memory...Kirk didn’t seem too happy with him and Peter thought he remembered the two being buddies in that one movie...the one with the “Khaaaan!” thing.
“He has Pon-Farr, it’s like an affliction which means he needs to mate desperately” Sylar didn’t take his eyes from the screen as he filled Peter in. Clearly he was either a fan or one of those people who can naturally pick up storylines. Peter was a little baffled.
“Needs to mate desperately? I know that feeling.”
“I doubt you do. For Vulcans it’s not just a case of blue balls, they die.”
“He’ll die, Jim!” Bones echoed on screen, accompanied by a dramatic soundtrack flourish. Peter raised his eyebrows. “Wow, fuck or die? Intense. What would you do?”
Sylar glanced across to him. “What?”
“If you couldn’t get Spock to Vulcan in time, would you let him fuck you so he’s survive?”
Sylar shook his head. “I don’t know where this is going, but I assure you, no case of blue balls is as bad as the blood fever, Petrelli, he will die in agony.”
“So you would, then.If you were Kirk, he was your best friend, you’d let him fuck you to save his life?”
Sylar inclined his head. “Well, why don’t we find out?”
***
“I’m not kidding, put me down!” Peter tried not to let the adrenaline pumping through him jolt his body out of Sylar’s grasp as 23 storeys up he hung at his mercy.
“Can you feel it Peter? Your body chemistry preparing you for disaster, your blood bubbling in your system, heart throbbing and pumping? Imagine this, times a hundred, and that’s what it would be like. You’re going to die Peter.You’re going to drop, plummet, and smash on the ground like a ripe watermelon. I’ll have to hose you off the sidewalk tomorrow so you don’t attract insects.”
“Argh! Please! Please!! He tried to grab at Sylar’s arms but only managed to briefly swat at the air before they started to ache with the effort. Suddenly he was on his back on the rooftop, the cold stone making his skin crave it where it touched. Sylar held him down telekinetically as he straddled him, pulling at buttons and zips and ripping cloth like it was tissue paper. Soon more of Peter’s skin was in contact with the stone or the cold air, and then all. He swallowed hard at the feeling of constraint on his ankles and wrists and bucked up into Sylar, trying to test his bounds.
“A little eager are we? I can understand why. I calculate that you approximately four hours to live. Mr Spock.”
You owe me. Peter thought to himself as he registered the flicker of uncertainty in Sylar’s eyes. “Please Jim, help me.” he deadpanned.
“Oh I’ll help you Mr Spock, but I’m a Starfleet Captain, I couldn’t possibly submit to this flagrant disregard to Starfleet regulations unless all other options had been exhausted. I have Bones working on something now.”
“Wha - ?”
***
More binds. This time the more traditional rope kind, and secured to the brass bedhead of a slightly rickety queen sized bed in the apartment they called “Nice apartment”. Peter was naked, his muscles ached from where he’d tried to make himself more comfortable, and the backs of his thighs burned with the effort of keeping himself upright so that the rope didn’t scrape his skin. He watched the door, wondering whether Sylar knew he was watching the light beneath it flicker as he moved around it. Suddenly the light blacked out and the door opened. Sylar was naked too, stroking himself shamelessly and wearing a smirk. “How are you feeling...Mr Spock?”
Peter leveled his gaze. “I feel a little uncomfortable.”
Sylar did NOT like that. He set his jaw and took deliberate steps towards the bed.
“I mean! I’m in..pain. Captain. Please help me.” There was something in Sylar’s countenance that made Peter uneasy and this must have shown on his face because Sylar suddenly seemed satisfied. He was still stroking himself in a very business-like manner, firm and rhythmic. His eyes were dark and clear and only the odd shiver of pleasure showed in slight trembles on the surface of his skin. Sylar walked to the bed and straddled him, gripping the bedhead, hands close to his own. He leaned down until Peter could feel heat and wetness against his ear, and his own cock nudging at his stomach.
“Do you need me to touch you?” Sylar whispered.
“Oh yes, yes please”. Peter wriggled and let his head fall back, exposing his neck to Sylar and hoping that the show of submission would stir his sympathies.
“Tell me about it, tell me how you feel physically.” Sylar let his tongue brush against the shell of Peter’s ear.
“I feel....my balls feel tight. There’s a dull ache in my dick, it...hurts. I need to be touched, please. Please.” Peter rolled his hips, trying to get some friction against his swollen cock.
“Just sounds like blue balls to me, not really enough to change course and get you to Vulcan and certainly not enough for a Starfleet Captain to get involved with. I suggest you meditate for a while longer.” Sylar bounced off the bed and Peter moaned as he watched those taut thighs and that fine, fine ass walk away from him.
“Please! It really is bad, please Captain.”
“Five more minutes Mr Spock.” he called back just as the door slammed behind him.
Peter cried out in frustration and yelped as he pulled too tight on the ropes and gave himself a burn. Five minutes was like a lifetime.
***
Peter was very aware that it was the hopeless sob which brought Sylar back to the room, and not the threats, the hoarse pleas or the angry yells. The sound of defeat was always a turn on for Sylar. “Please! Captain, please help me. I feel....I feel like I’ll die, please!”
“It’s alright my old friend. I’ll help you.” Sylar moved to the bed and took up the same position, straddling him and letting his hot breath out on his neck. “Just ask me, and I’ll do it.” He whispered.
“Your mouth. I want your mouth on me. It hurts - it’s hot.” Peter whimpered, his head swimming. He groaned again as he felt Sylar’s weight shift off the bed but stopped when he felt soft lips on his cheek.
“One moment, Commander, I need to get something. Your senses are working overtime, let’s close one down to give you a break.”
Peter closed his eyes and allowed whatever it was Sylar was blindfolding him with block out any extraneous light. He heard Sylar’s footsteps fade and then silence before they came closer again.
“This should help you.” Sylar growled. The bed dipped again and Peter felt rough hands on his outer thighs.
“Please, please!”
“Shhh, don’t worry.”
Peter’s legs were pushed apart and he let his head fall back again. Suddenly he yelled as Sylar’s mouth, ice cold and warm at the same time covered his dick, then jerked uncontrollably as he felt freezing cold water wash over him and be swallowed down. Sylar sucked hard, moving his head quickly and digging nails into Peter’s hips. There was momentary relief as Sylar came up for air, but then the rush of contrasting sensations returned, ice cold water in Sylar’s hot mouth, making goosebumps appear all over Peter’s body and a rattle run through his bones. Peter thrusted into his mouth, the pain in his wrists becoming nothing more than a temporary distraction.
“More, please, I need to come, it’s been...”
“Don’t you trust me? I’ll take care of you, just relax.”
Peter felt Sylar’s tongue drift over his opening and moaned. His tongue was still cold and his skin twitched as Sylar lapped and sucked at it before returning to cover his dick with his mouth.
“T-touch me, touch me.” Peter begged, spreading his legs further. He didn’t care how wanton he looked as long as he got off and the sucking and cold water was numbing his dick too much to fell the full benefit of Sylar’s work. He was rewarded by the burn and pull of Sylar’s finger inside him, slicked only with the chilled water he had been drinking. He moved to encourage the finger further inside and Sylar plunged another one in, sucking hard as Peter made a noise. The dual assault continued until Peter writhed and sweated in his ties. He heard words which he didn’t recognise spilling from his mouth and heard Sylar’s guttural laugh though he couldn’t pinpoint the moment that Sylar stopped sucking long enough to make the noise. Without warning Sylar’s hand moved at double time inside him, bumping on his prostate with the increasingly wet and noisy blowjob still going on. “Stop, please! I can’t - it’s too much.”
Sylar stopped immediately, then grabbed Peter’s dick giving it one last, long, two-handed stroke. Peter screamed as he came, the sound turning into a laugh as the relief hit him and he was able to gasp his way through the orgasm that Sylar was still wringing from him. Eventually, he felt Sylar fall onto his back next to him and the static in his skin start to subside as his bonds were untied and the blindfold removed. He hooked his shaking fingers around Sylar’s and squeezed, unable to vocalise his thanks. The next thing he felt was a slight rise in temperature as a blanket covered him and Sylar let out the heavy sigh which meant he was turning himself over to sleep.
“Sylar?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened to Spock - in the end?”
“He survived. He was fine.”
“And did Kirk fuck him?”
There was a long pause.
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
Peter grinned in the darkness. “I don’t believe you, we’re going to watch it tomorrow.” Not waiting for an answer he curled himself into Sylar’s warm body and settled in, wondering what excuse or stimulus they would need next time there were itches to be scratched.