The Night Sylar Took What He Wanted

Spoilers: Anything up to mid-season 3, where this fic takes place, right before the events of “Dying of the Light”

A/N: I took some liberties with Sylar's abilities here. He has invisibility from somewhere, and he’s significantly stronger than Peter. Please review and rate, it would be much appreciated.


Sylar knew he had plenty of better things to do than watch the Petrelli brothers’ incestuous encounters. But for the past few weeks, he’d been following them to the places where they stayed more and more often, sometimes Peter’s apartment, sometimes the Petrelli mansion in Manhattan, sometimes obscenely expensive hotels.

This time it would be one of those said hotels, deep in the bustling heart of midtown Manhattan.

Sylar’s heart raced as he walked invisibly behind the two brothers, much as it always did when he knew he had a front row seat to see the show that was much better, much dirtier than anything that ever had run on Broadway.

He watched as Nathan’s arm slipped around Peter’s narrow waist, underneath Peter’s open pea coat. Nathan pressed a kiss into his brother’s temple, nuzzled his cheek, caught the corner of his mouth while they walked, matching each other’s strides.

Sylar wondered how Nathan could do this out in the open, how he could show such blatant disregard for the hundreds of people who passed them by, countless pairs of nondescript weary feet pounding the cold gray pavement. One look at Nathan and Peter and it was clear they weren’t just lovers; they were close relatives.

Sylar guessed that was the thing about New Yorkers. None of them really cared about anything but getting to their destination. The journey never mattered; the only thing they concentrated on was the end result. Sylar could feel that rubbing off on him as he followed the Petrelli boys into the revolving door. Thinking about what would be the end result of tonight’s journey was getting him hard already.

Nathan Petrelli reached inside his jacket and pulled out his American Express, placed it on the counter, said a few words to the clerk.

Peter Petrelli shoved his hands into his pockets, took them out, fingered his navy blue scarf nervously. Even though Sylar was invisible, Peter somehow always became uneasy when Sylar was around them, as if an unspoken aura of danger, some malignant unseen force alarmed him, penetrated into Peter’s personal space.

Sylar had had to teach himself very early on to shield his thoughts from the younger Petrelli--Peter could read minds, and if Sylar betrayed even one thought to him, his fun would end even before it had begun.

Sylar walked right up behind Peter’s shoulder, leaning in close enough that he could smell Peter’s light cologne, only slightly stronger than the clean scent of the soap he had used. His cock jumped, his painfully sensitive head brushing against the cotton of his briefs. Sylar willed himself to calm down so that Peter would not realize he was there.

Sylar stepped back as the brothers moved away from the counter and headed towards the elevator. He slipped in right behind them, and the doors slid shut on their metal tracks. Nathan punched the button for the 40th floor on the panel by the doorframe.

Sylar watched in unadulterated pleasure as Nathan backed his brother into the wall, sealed his mouth over Peter’s, and ran a hand down the front of Peter’s jeans. Peter’s hands gripped Nathan’s ass, and he moaned into his brother’s mouth as Nathan loosened Peter’s belt buckle and shoved his hand into Peter’s pants, closing it around him.

Nathan grunted, “Oh, Peter, I’ve wanted you so bad all day…just wait until I get you in that bed…”

Peter said, “Nathan…are you gonna let me suck you off tonight?”

Nathan laughed deep in his throat, and answered, “Anything you want tonight. Anything.”

Peter begged, his fingers fumbling at the buttons to Nathan’s blue dress shirt, “Anything? Will you let me fuck you?”

“Anything except for that. Come on, Pete, you know you love it when I fuck you hard in your tight little ass,” Nathan admonished, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Yeah, I do,” Peter moaned. Nathan’s fingers dove between his buttocks, brushed against his most sensitive area, and then Nathan’s fingertip hooked gently inside the rim of his anus. “Sorry, I’m sorry…oh, yes Nathan…” Peter whimpered while Nathan pushed his finger deeper, finding that place that made Peter writhe and cry out.

Nathan looked right through Sylar, glancing over at the number on the panel, and it read 35 in bright red LED numbers. He removed his hand from his brother’s pants, and he closed Peter’s pea coat and buttoned it to cover his erection. Nathan cupped Peter’s chin lovingly, buried his face into his brother’s soft dark hair. “You ready, beautiful?” he asked, pulling back, gazing into Peter’s hazel eyes.

“Yes, Nathan,” Peter answered, the elevator door opening before them, Nathan’s hand clasping around his. Nathan and Peter walked quickly to the door of the room they would occupy tonight, the room they would fill with the sounds of their forbidden coupling, Sylar trailing stealthily behind, following them inside.

Sylar watched while Nathan crushed his mouth against Peter’s, and all of a sudden, it was a fight over which brother could get the other’s clothes off first. Nathan removed Peter’s coat, pulled his sweatshirt and his t-shirt up over his head. Peter yanked off Nathan’s suit jacket, finished unbuttoning Nathan’s shirt, loosened his tie. He unbuckled Nathan’s belt, but Nathan had the advantage after what he done in the elevator.

“I win,” Nathan hissed. In one quick motion Nathan pushed Peter’s jeans down and dropped to his knees, then took the head of Peter’s cock in his mouth.

“Oh, God, what are you doing? You can’t do this…” Peter sighed, as the heat of his brother’s mouth consumed him entirely, his tongue spiraling around his shaft, down to the base of him, his cock almost down Nathan’s throat. Nathan hummed softly, and Peter gasped, “No! You’re gonna make me come!”

Nathan laughed, and the vibration caused Peter to pull himself from his brother’s lips with a soft popping noise.

“Christ, Nate, we just got here!” Peter exclaimed.

Nathan grinned, raising himself slightly, placing kisses on Peter’s stomach, his chest, anchoring one of his nipples in his mouth. He looked up at his younger brother, and he said, “No, Pete, shh…I know you want this…come on. Come in my mouth. You know I love the way you taste, Peter. You’re young. You’ll be hard again in ten minutes, tops.” Nathan pressed a finger to Peter’s lips, silencing his protests, then maneuvered back down, licking and biting at Peter’s alabaster skin, his hands massaging his thighs, even dragging his tongue gently across Peter’s testicles.

“Oh, fuck…fuck…Nathan,” Peter moaned as Nathan’s hot, wet mouth closed around him once again. He gripped his brother’s dark hair between his fingers.

“Please don’t…” Peter begged half-heartedly. But Nathan wouldn’t stop. Once Nathan got it in his head to follow through, he couldn’t be contained, not now, not ever.

Peter came, pushing himself deep into his brother’s throat, then pulling back just a little, so Nathan could get a taste of what he loved most. Nathan sucked every last drop off him, groaning, vibrating around Peter’s now hypersensitive skin. Nathan released him, and he stood up, licking his lips.

He whispered, “Peter…you’re so fucking hot…I’m gonna fuck you so hard…” Nathan’s mouth found Peter’s once again, and Peter could taste himself ever so slightly on Nathan’s tongue. Nathan pushed Peter down on the bed, pulled out a small bottle of lubricant, and proceeded to reacquaint his fingers with Peter’s body.

Sylar shuddered. The Petrelli brothers, Nathan usually more so than Peter, could be so kinky it was sometimes disgusting. He knew he should have just killed the both of them and taken their abilities a long time ago. But something had happened to him while viewing these midnight expressions of brotherly love: he had begun to want Peter. And that was tragic, really, because Peter Petrelli was the most powerful of them all. With that empathic mimicry of his, who knew how many secondary abilities Peter had picked up since his ability had manifested?

Now Sylar couldn’t bring himself to kill Peter. He couldn’t hurt a hair on that pretty little head. And he couldn’t kill Nathan either, because it had become obvious to him how much Peter needed Nathan, how much he loved him.

Sylar thought it was ironic how powerful Peter had become, despite his weaknesses: his emotional tendencies, his naïvete, his sensitivity, his idealism.

It was also hard to believe how quickly he had begun to covet Peter. Sylar had become angry and jealous that he did not have that beautiful, unattainable being that lay beneath Nathan Petrelli almost every night.

Nathan, though; he was a different story entirely.

Sylar had quickly come to understand why Nathan made love to his little brother. Nathan was a man driven by power, very similar in some ways to Sylar himself.

Nathan and Sylar both believed they were entitled to anything they desired. Nathan and Sylar both didn’t let such a silly societal invention as morals get in the way of their animalistic tendencies. Scruples did not prevent them from reaching out with greedy hands and taking what they wanted whether they were actually entitled to it or not. Sylar was not supposed to enjoy murdering people, and Nathan was not supposed to satisfy his need for sex by committing incest with his younger brother. Much like Sylar’s inexhaustible hunt for new abilities, Peter’s body was to Nathan just a thing to desire, seek out and own completely. And Peter enjoyed every minute of it.

Sylar had noticed something else during his voyeuristic adventures as well: Nathan seemed to really love his brother, too. Even though Nathan was sometimes a controlling sexual partner, he treated Peter with such gentleness, always patient with him, always making sure Peter was satisfied. Nathan would oftentimes make Peter come more than once in a night, and after it was all finished, totally exhausted and spent, Peter would fall into the strong safety of Nathan’s arms, and Nathan would hold him close and whisper soft, loving words that Sylar usually didn’t bother to listen to in Peter’s ear, never allowing himself to fall asleep unless Peter had drifted away first.

Sylar grew bored with tonight’s precursors to the main event, nothing special, so while he pleasured himself, instead of watching them he thought about numerous other times he’d watched the brothers commit their sinful acts.

His favorites: the time Peter had climbed on top of Nathan and had ridden him, and Nathan had brought Peter off so hard that the shot of sticky fluid had landed all over Nathan’s chest, some of it actually hitting him in the face; there was the time Nathan had bent Peter over the dresser so Peter could watch in the mirror while Nathan took him from behind; and Sylar’s all-time favorite, that precious gem, the one time Nathan had let Peter take him, leaning against Peter’s kitchen table of all places.

That had been the best of all, because it had only happened once. Nathan hadn’t really seemed to like it all that much, but Peter had really gotten off on taking over Nathan’s usual sexual role as the dominant partner.

The role that Sylar wished he could play every time he watched Nathan ease his length into Peter, every time he watched Peter’s lean, angular body twist and turn, his face contort in ecstasy, every time Peter moaned his brother’s name and panted and begged for more.

He wanted to be the one on top of Peter. He wanted Peter to moan his name while he buried himself into him repeatedly, relentlessly…he could just imagine how it would sound for Peter to say his name in that low, desperate tone…Gabriel…

The thought was enough to send Sylar almost over the edge, and he barely fought off his orgasm, cinching his hand tightly over the swollen head of his rigid penis.

This desire he had developed for the younger Petrelli brother could wait no longer. He would have one or possibly both of them tonight, all depending on the choices Peter made. He couldn’t care less about Nathan either way, though. Nathan was just a bargaining chip. Peter was the ultimate prize.

Peter was especially beautiful tonight. His hair had grown long again, and it fell in a dark chestnut-colored curtain over that pretty, clean-shaven porcelain face. That was, when Nathan didn’t have his fingers tangled all in it, pulling it back and away from Peter’s face while he kissed his mouth, his neck, his shoulders, or when Peter was on his knees taking Nathan’s full length in his mouth like he was doing right now, like Nathan had done for him before.

Sylar loved watching that, too, because Peter never stopped moving, and he never choked, not even when Nathan pulled Peter’s head hard against him, pressing Peter’s face into his dark curls, not even though Nathan was quite well endowed. Nathan really enjoyed receiving oral sex from his little brother, and Sylar was sure he would too.

As beautiful and as perfect as Peter was, he could have any woman or man he wanted. What a shame that the only one he wanted was his brother. Nathan didn’t deserve to have such devotion from him. To Sylar, Nathan was too old, imperfect, ugly even. Nathan’s face and some of his body was scarred from some terrible accident that he’d sustained while serving in the United States Navy. His forty years had started to show a little, lines around his eyes, a slight receding of his hairline, not much, but enough to make it clear he was twelve years Peter’s senior.

Sylar did sometimes enjoy looking into Nathan’s eyes though, partially because they were so similar in color to Peter’s, and also the old saying went that the eyes were the windows to the soul. Nathan was a kindred spirit in a way. Nathan possessed Peter; Nathan had something Sylar wanted more than anything.

And Sylar would take whatever he wanted.

Sylar heard a high-pitched moan, and he snapped out of his reverie. While Sylar had been lost in his carefully shielded thoughts, Peter had begun emitting loud sighing moans, and Nathan had started groaning as he took Peter hard from behind. Peter was in so much ecstasy that his arms shook with the exertion of holding himself up as he looked into Nathan’s eyes in the mirror.

Oh, the dresser again! Sylar was so glad he hadn’t missed it.

Peter craned his neck around so that he could kiss Nathan while his hips ground into him. Nathan kissed him quickly, then turned his head back around to the front.

“No, you watch me when I come inside you, Peter, ” Nathan groaned into his brother’s ear. “Oh--fuck--you’re so tight--I’m gonna come--”

Sylar tried not to laugh at Nathan’s pre-orgasm face, but he failed, so he chose that precise moment to reveal himself from behind his invisibility, eliciting shocked gasps from both of them. He opened his hand, telekinetically seized Nathan by his throat and hissed, “Nope. You’re finished.” He threw him hard across the room, and Nathan’s unfulfilled, unclothed body slipped unceremoniously to the floor.

***

Peter’s eyes went wide. He thought, Sylar? Sylar was in here watching us all this time? Peter’s face burned bright with embarrassment, so taken aback by the absurdity of this situation he didn’t know how to react.

Peter choked ridiculously, “Sylar? How did you get in here? What are you doing here?”

Sylar did not answer, but he did smile, looking Peter’s body over covetously. Peter shivered, disgusted that Sylar had gazed upon him in that way, but he did not bother to cover himself; there was no time, Nathan could be seriously injured. Peter started toward his brother’s unconscious form.

Sylar held Peter still. “You touch him once more in front of me, and I will kill him. I’ve watched him defile your body for long enough. You’re all mine now, pretty boy.” Sylar trailed a rough hand down Peter’s back, and cupped a buttock gently. His arousal was apparent, straining against the front of his jeans, and Peter suddenly felt sick.

He knew in an instant what Sylar wanted, and he also knew he had to protect Nathan at all costs. Peter would heal instantly from almost any mortal injury. Nathan would not.

Peter shied away, swallowed hard, and said softly, “Can I just make sure he’s okay?”

Sylar’s eyes traveled over his nakedness once more, and he brushed his fingers against Peter’s cheek, causing the younger man to flinch almost imperceptibly.

“Fine, since you asked so nicely.”

Peter knelt over his brother, and Nathan was stirring and blinking confusedly. Peter ran his hands through Nathan’s hair, searching for an injury. He found a large raised bruise, but when he took his hand away, he saw no blood. Nathan had taken an extremely hard hit against the wall, and he probably had a slight concussion.

Peter said, “Nathan, are you okay?”

Nathan lifted his head and grunted, “What the fuck--”

Sylar snapped his fingers together, and Nathan’s lips sealed, silenced. He lowered his head and passed out again.

“He’s talking. He’s well enough. For now. For him to stay that way, well, that depends entirely on you, Peter.”

Peter shielded his brother’s body with his own, wrapping his arms around him, knowing perfectly well that Sylar could break his hold easily. If Sylar really wanted to kill Nathan, Peter was virtually powerless to stop him.

“Don’t hurt him, Sylar. Please. You never answered my question. What are you doing here?”

Sylar laughed menacingly. “I came for you, pretty boy. Come here, Peter.”

Sylar attempted to pull Peter towards him, but Peter fought him valiantly. Peter raised his hand and shot a stream of blue electric light at him, missing him completely and hitting the far wall over the bed, leaving a black scorch mark in the paint.

Sylar gave Peter an irritated glance, and raised his own hand. Sylar shot the same electricity back at Peter, hitting him dead center in his chest, blistering and charring his skin, stopping his heart instantly.

Peter fell on top of his brother’s prone body. He lay still for a moment, until his healing ability kicked in. Peter took in a deep breath as his heart resumed pumping blood in his veins. He sat up, slightly dazed, but aware enough to know he’d died and come back to life once again.

“Wrong fucking move. You try to hurt me again, you say even one wrong thing to me, and your brother dies. I’ve always wanted to be able to fly.”

Sylar flung Peter aside and fixed Nathan under his telekinetic grasp. He drew a finger sideways, and a thin line of blood appeared on Nathan’s forehead. Nathan awoke because of the pain and screamed in agony as Sylar began to cut into his skull.

“No! Don’t!” Peter screamed. He crawled back to Nathan, and cradled his head in his hands. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just leave him alone!” Peter wiped the blood away, and he laid him gently on the floor. Nathan had passed out again, from pain this time, and Peter sent him a mental command to stay out so he would not have to see what Peter knew would inevitably occur. It seemed as soon as that thought entered Peter’s mind, Sylar was pulling Peter toward him once again. This time Peter did not resist.

“Let me cover him. He’s gonna get cold lying on the floor,” Peter said.

“I really couldn’t give a shit, Peter. The only reason he’s still alive right now is because you decided to make the right choice. Kind of a shame, really…I really wanted to learn how to fly tonight.” Sylar seemed to mull something over in his mind. “I could…just take it from you…but then you wouldn’t be any more fun for me.” Sylar delighted at the look of abject horror in Peter’s eyes. He pulled Peter even closer, until Sylar could reach an arm out and touch him, which was exactly what he did.

Sylar brushed the long dark hair out of Peter’s face and sighed. He trailed a hand over Peter’s chest, down his abdomen, closing it around Peter’s now flaccid penis, tugging on it a little harder than was necessary. Peter slapped Sylar’s violating hand away, and before he knew it, his head snapped back, he was falling, and his ass hit the floor--Sylar had punched him hard in the mouth.

Sylar dragged Peter to his feet. Peter felt a thin trickle of blood run down his chin. The wound healed even before Peter wiped the blood away.

“Look what you made me do,” Sylar said, shaking his head in mock compunction. “Now that I have you, pretty boy, I can’t even think of what I’d like to do to you first. I don’t think I’ve ever been quite this close to you for such an extended period of time. Aren’t you excited?”

Peter cringed, his stomach turned, and he felt acid rise in his throat. He wanted to wrap his fingers around Sylar’s neck, choke him to near-unconsciousness, then twist his hands and snap it, just like he’d done once before. That might feel satisfying momentarily, but it would prove nothing. Peter and Sylar could fight for days, until they were both utterly exhausted, but neither of them would die, not permanently anyway.

The only one of them in this room who was vulnerable to a finite death was Nathan. That thought made Peter’s stomach flip once again, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning over and vomiting right on the pristine white carpet.

He fell to his knees and continued to heave, bringing nothing else up, his eyes tearing, breathing in hard gasps.

“Do I really make you that sick, pretty boy?”

“Stop fucking calling me that,” Peter moaned, wiping his mouth.

Sylar shook his head. “Now what did I tell you about being rude?” Sylar motioned threateningly towards Nathan again, and Peter pushed with as much strength as he could muster, knocking Sylar clear across the room, and he crashed into the mini-fridge.

“I won’t let you hurt him!” Peter screamed.

“Oh, that’s it, Peter. I warned you. Such a petulant child you are.”

Sylar grinned, his brown eyes sparkling dangerously. He anchored Peter to the bed with his terrifyingly strong telekinesis, and walked over to where Nathan Petrelli stirred, waking up once more. Peter’s suggestion had not taken because Peter had been so distracted.

With much difficulty, Nathan sat up and pressed his palms to his forehead, one coming away bloody. He groaned, “Pete, what happened? Oh God, my head hurts. Peter?”

Peter couldn’t answer; he couldn’t move. He couldn’t help Nathan at all.

Nathan looked up at Sylar and seethed, “You motherfucker. Stay away from my brother…” He tried to raise himself, but Peter could tell he was too dizzy and in too much pain.

“Oh, you need some help there, Senator?” Sylar cackled, helping Nathan stand up. Nathan raised a fist to hit him, but he collapsed forward and fell into Sylar’s arms. Sylar said, taunting him, “You know, flyboy, I never thought you felt that way about me. How sweet. I just expected to come here so I could fuck your little brother, but you know what? I think I might want to have you first.”

Nathan’s eyes swam, unable to focus, and he pleaded, “Peter…help me…”

“Don’t touch him!” Peter cried. He struggled and fought against Sylar’s mental grip, but he could not break it, and he pleaded, “Sylar, leave him alone! You came for me! You wanted me! Leave Nathan out of it!”

“Not that easy, Peter,” Sylar whispered. “I told you what would happen if you fucked with me.”

***

Sylar enjoyed the look of despair that settled on Peter’s face. He became even more excited as he pressed Nathan against the wall and said, clamping a hand around Nathan’s throat, “I’m gonna tell you just like I told your little sex toy over there…you try to hurt me, and I will kill you. I know how your twisted mind works, Petrelli. You value your own existence over everything else in your life. Sadly, Peter thinks the world of you as well. If you make me kill you, your little brother will not be far behind you on your descent into hell, you sick fuck. Understand?”

Nathan’s eyes still focused on nothing, and he didn’t respond.

Sylar pulled Nathan’s head forward and then snapped it back, banging it yet again on the wall. Nathan emitted a strangled sound, Sylar’s hand cutting off his air once again.

“Do you fucking understand me, Senator?”

Nathan shook his head weakly, acknowledging him, and his head fell forward while Sylar undressed himself, pulling his shirt over his head, his jeans dropping around his ankles. He leaned in and tilted Nathan’s face toward him, and forced his tongue into Nathan’s mouth. Sylar imagined that he could taste a trace of Peter’s come, and his cock ached in response.

“This is going to be fun, Peter. You should watch.” He forcibly turned Peter’s head to the side and held him there. Peter looked absolutely terrified and almost close to tears. Sylar gave Peter a cruel smile. There was nothing Peter could do to stop this.

***

Nathan was still dazed and confused, and he really didn’t know what was happening. All he could hear was a strange ringing sound, and beneath that Peter’s voice in his head.

Listen to me, Nathan. Don’t think about anything but what I’m telling you. Don’t pay attention to anything else, because you don’t want to know. I’m not gonna let anything hurt you. Just listen to me, and it’ll be over soon. I love you.

Nathan was distantly aware of hands traveling over his body; rough, groping hands that were definitely not Peter’s, and Nathan tried hard to fight against it, but he was so tired…while he tried to gather some strength, he listened to the comforting sound of Peter’s voice. Nathan felt a crushing weight come down on him, and he fell to his hands and knees, held there as if he were a marionette, someone’s plaything.

Nathan hated being controlled in any way, and he really hated the fact that he couldn’t think clearly or move. He fought to push Peter out of his head, regardless of Peter’s warning.

No, Nathan, don’t, don’t fight me…oh God…

He heard Peter start to cry inside his head, and Peter’s emotional distraction allowed Nathan to clear his mind fully for a moment. Suddenly, Nathan was plunged deep into the throes of the worst pain he’d ever experienced in his whole life. Nathan knew now exactly what was happening, and he begged silently, Peter, make it stop…please…

Peter’s voice started again, and Nathan tried hard to concentrate on him.

Do you remember the time when I was six and I cut my hand really bad and you fainted because of all the blood? Remember how I took care of you? I’m gonna do that for you right now, but you have to let me. You’re really tired, you don’t feel anything, you’re almost dreaming. Remember when…

The pain flickered and faded away, and Nathan half-listened to Peter talk about random nonsense, slipping in and out of consciousness until he was thrown viciously to the floor.

Go to sleep now, Nathan. Everything’s all right now. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.

Nathan trusted his brother’s words, and he fell into Peter’s induced sleep.

***

Sylar had had enough, and wanted to save some of it for Peter. He wasn’t getting anything out of the elder Petrelli brother anyway, no crying, no pleading, no begging for him to stop, and Sylar knew that either Nathan had lost control of his senses, perhaps dying slowly of a brain injury, or Peter had had something to do with it.

Sylar figured it had been the latter, by the look of relief on Peter’s face.

Sylar got to his feet and released Peter from his invisible restraint. He said, “Peter, you’re really trying my patience with your insolence.” He approached the bed. Peter lay curled up on his side, still unclothed. He had managed to pull the blanket over himself. Peter’s face was tearstained, and his body was shaking from the effort he had expended blocking out Nathan’s pain.

Sylar had a horrifying thought then: he wanted to comfort Peter. He looked so hurt, so betrayed it was as if he’d done it to him.

Sylar lay down next to him and whispered, “Why are you crying? Your brother won’t remember a thing, thanks to you. You’re really extraordinary, Peter. Maybe you really are the most special.”

He locked eyes with Peter, and he could tell now that because of what he’d done to Nathan, he had broken through the last thread of Peter’s resistance. He wouldn’t have to take what he wanted, because he was sure that Peter would give it unconditionally. Sylar knew Peter would do anything for his brother. Peter would cast himself into eternal darkness to ensure that Nathan Petrelli would live to see another sunrise.

Sylar leaned in closer, until he could feel Peter’s breath on his cheek, and he kissed Peter’s neck, pulled the blanket away, and placed his hand on Peter’s hip, caressing his side, his back, savoring the contour of muscle that lay beneath that soft, cream-white skin. He trailed his lips across Peter’s chin, up to his lips, and grazed them gently with his own. He held Peter in his arms until he stopped shaking.

Peter looked up at him again, and took Sylar’s face in his hands. He traced his thumb tentatively across Sylar’s cheek and said, his voice trembling with emotion, “How could you hurt my brother like that, and then kiss me that way, touch me that way? What made you so evil, Gabriel?”

Sylar’s heart seized momentarily. Peter had called him by his first name and it hadn’t sounded anything like the way he had imagined it would. So much softer, as if Peter actually cared about him. He supposed this was part of Peter’s primary ability, his empathy. Peter didn’t exactly know what had happened to him, but he knew that it had been something, and he wanted to help him. It was in Peter’s nature to do this. But Sylar couldn’t have Peter poking around in his heart right now. He had no business there, not now, not ever.

So why did he suddenly feel like the next words out of his mouth might be ones that once spoken could never be taken back?

Sylar closed his eyes and willed these feelings to leave him, but it proved quite difficult. After a moment, he opened them to find that Peter still gazed at him with those soft large eyes, a deep brown now. His face was an exquisite study in sympathy.

Sylar sighed, “Oh, pretty boy, you don’t want to know. What made you so beautiful?”

Peter swallowed hard, and replied, “Nathan tells me that too.”

Peter paused for a moment, and then said, “Forcing me to have sex with you won’t fix what’s wrong with you. Even if I do it willingly, I still don’t know if that would be enough to fix it. But…I’ll try. If you want me to.”

Peter closed his eyes briefly, tears escaping from beneath his lashes. Sylar didn’t touch him right away.

This was what Nathan loved about Peter.

Amazingly enough, even with his intuitive ability, he might have been wrong about Peter.

It was possible Peter was the strongest of them all because of his supposed weakness, not despite it. Peter loved everything, everyone. Peter was indeed emotional, sensitive, naïve, and idealistic, but maybe he was not weak. Peter believed in the goodness of all people, even him. Sylar now knew there was always room in Peter’s heart for one more.

“Let me in, Gabriel. I can fix it if you let me.”

Sylar pulled Peter in closer, so close his erection pressed into Peter’s belly, and he gasped when he felt Peter grow hard in return. Sylar’s walls crumbled under Peter’s kisses, and Peter’s touch seemed to flow through his skin, his nerves, into his blood, circling within him, filling him with a warmth that he had never thought he could feel. This was happiness, and not the sick, deranged kind that he derived from hurting and killing people; it was the genuine kind, the real thing. Peter was giving it to him in generous measures, so much that Sylar wondered if he could possibly overdose on this unfamiliar emotion.

While he ran his hands over Peter’s shoulders, his back, his buttocks, his thighs, he realized he was feeling something else as well, an even more unfamiliar emotion: remorse. Sylar had made Peter watch him hurt his brother, and it seemed he had forgiven him without a second thought.

Sylar choked against the hard lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, Peter.”

Peter’s voice lowered to a seductive growl. “Show me how sorry you are, Gabriel.”

There it was. As if he had simply snapped his fingers, Peter had taken control of the situation. Sylar found himself wanting to pleasure Peter’s body in ways he had never imagined. Peter kissed him harder now, grasping at his cock, manipulating him expertly, and Sylar breathed heavily in Peter’s ear, ran his fingers through Peter’s dark fringe of hair.

Peter sighed softly as he found the bottle that was under the blanket. He opened the bottle and poured lubricant into his hand, spread it between his fingers, rubbed it all over his own length.

He unashamedly stroked himself from the base up to the head and back, and he threw his head back and moaned when Sylar replaced Peter’s hand with his own. Sylar was completely stunned by how much Peter seemed to want this. How much Peter wanted him.

Peter’s fingers closed on Sylar again, fully coating him with the crystal clear fluid as well.

Sylar sucked in a deep breath as he realized Peter was giving him a choice. He could have Peter, or he could let Peter have him. Either option was now equally tantalizing, and Sylar was torn.

“Don’t make me choose for you,” Peter said in a singsong voice, waving a glistening finger, giving him his slightly crooked smile.

“Whatever you want, Peter,” Sylar said, then immediately wished he could take that back. Peter was changing him too much, too quickly, and it scared him.

Peter laughed, and he groaned, “I always get what I want…fuck me, Gabriel.”

He pulled Sylar atop him, lying back on the pillows, and Sylar slid himself deeply into the beautiful, sacred temple of healing that was Peter Petrelli.

Peter clasped his arms around Sylar’s neck, holding on to him tightly while Sylar moved inside him, slow, long thrusts that made Peter cry out in pleasure.

“Gabriel, have you ever actually made love with a man before?” he asked, his face open and innocent and honest.

“Never one like you, Peter…” Sylar whispered. Never one that made me feel the way you do, he wanted to add so badly, but he held that back.

Sylar couldn’t possibly be falling in love with Peter, could he? Sylar struck that paralyzing thought from his mind as he realized something even more alarming: he wouldn’t last very much longer; Peter was so unbelievably tight. Oh, fuck, that’s right. His healing ability.

Peter bore down on him, his muscles fitting themselves snugly around Sylar’s shaft, rocking his body up to meet him. Every movement Peter made seemed to draw his impending orgasm out of him way before it was even fair. Peter seemed to know it was about to happen, and he demanded, “Come for me, Gabriel. Come inside me.”

Sylar couldn’t help it when his hips bucked forward, and he came harder than he ever had in his entire life, his hot fluid pulsing out from him and spilling deep into Peter.

Peter held him while he recovered, kissing his temple and his cheek tenderly. After a few moments, Sylar rolled off of Peter and lay next to him.

Sylar felt quite ridiculous. He’d finally gotten what he had wanted for months, a roll in the hay with Peter, and he had handled it as proficiently as a teenage boy might have.

“Oh, God. I can’t believe that just happened,” Sylar agonized.

“That’s all right,” Peter said very softly, as he pushed his cock in between Sylar’s buttocks and eased himself in. “Like my brother says, you’re young, you’ll be hard again in no time, especially when you feel this.”

Sylar had only once before been on the receiving end of anal sex, and it had been a terrible experience that he never liked to think about. And Peter had taken that thought right out of his head.

Sylar’s body tensed as Peter filled him as completely as he could. Peter went so gently, so easily inside him that Sylar let the painful memory slip away, let Peter write a whole new one for him.

Peter wasn’t much bigger than average, but he felt as though Peter touched every place within him with each slow deliberate stroke. Soon Sylar found himself wanting Peter to fuck him harder, as hard as he could. He didn’t have to say a word; not only was Peter an empath, a healer, but he was always a mind-reader, and Sylar wanted to hide nothing from him now. Peter was the only person in the world who understood things about him now.

Peter took him with a fast, unrelenting, but graceful rhythm, and Sylar could feel himself swelling to attention again while Peter did this. This was not how Sylar had expected this evening to go. He hadn’t ever dreamed he’d be letting Peter do to him anything remotely close to this.

“Oh…Nathan hardly ever lets me do it to him…but you already knew that, didn’t you, Gabriel?” Peter mumbled, his face pressed into Sylar’s shoulder. “How many times did you watch me and my brother?”

Sylar wondered how Peter could talk about Nathan while he was having sex with another man. He answered, “More times than I can count, Peter.”

“Did you like to watch my brother fuck me? Did you like to see Nathan make me come? Or did you wish you were in his place?”

Sylar realized Peter was trying to make him jealous, trying to turn him on again. Peter might have pretended he enjoyed giving more than receiving, but that was not the truth; he actually preferred taking it, preferred assuming the submissive role he had played ever since he was eighteen years old, the age he had been when he had begged Nathan to take his second virginity, a plea Nathan had obliged without question, without guilt, with only one demand: that Nathan be the only one ever.

Sylar wondered how he suddenly knew this. He’d never picked up the unauthorized biography of Peter Petrelli’s life. The mind-reading. He can put thoughts in just as well as he can take them out.

Inexplicably, Sylar became angry and jealous of Nathan, falling back into the same mindset where he had started out tonight.

A furious scream tore from Sylar’s throat, and he stopped Peter with his telekinesis and flung him away, slamming him against the headboard. He took Peter roughly by one slender wrist and pulled him closer, and he could see excitement blossom on Peter’s perfect porcelain features.

Sylar came to an infuriating conclusion--Peter mustn’t have had any real intention of fixing what was wrong with him. Peter had just wanted to see both sides of him. Peter had broken him down and then built him back up.

Sylar sunk his teeth deep into Peter’s neck, his shoulder, drawing blood, bruising his skin. Unbelievably, Peter started to jerk himself off again, keenly enjoying the abuse Sylar was now administering to him.

“Yes, Peter. I wished I were the one fucking you. I wished you were screaming my name. I wished you were polishing my cock with that pretty little mouth.”

Peter’s eyes widened, his pupils so dilated his irises were almost completely obscured, and he ran his tongue over his lower lip, the lip that always looked a little funny when he opened his mouth.

“You want me to do that to you?”

Sylar chuckled, grabbing a handful of Peter’s thick dark hair and pulling his head down into his lap. “I’d prefer to make you do that to me…” he groaned as Peter’s mouth enveloped him fully. He thrust himself into Peter’s throat repeatedly, and he groaned and panted as Peter’s tongue slid and flicked against his head, all around his shaft.

If only Nathan Petrelli could see this, Sylar mused, reluctantly withdrawing himself from Peter’s irresistible wet heat. Your sweet perfect fucked-up little brother is all mine…

For now, Peter’s voice resounded in his head, teasing him again, daring him, enticing from Sylar a need to hurt Peter, punish Peter.

Sylar grabbed Peter by his hair and forced him onto his hands and knees, just like he had done to Nathan before, and Peter said, “Fuck me hard this time.”

Sylar pushed his cock in one swift motion into Peter again and said, “You’re lucky you can heal, pretty boy. How much do you like it to hurt?” He fucked Peter hard, as hard as he’d wanted to all the times he’d watched Nathan do it. Sylar dragged his fingernails across Peter’s back, watching the skin tear, blood well up, wounds close, over and over again. Peter absolutely loved the rough treatment.

“You can do better than that, Gabriel…” Peter said breathlessly. Sylar wondered what Peter wanted from him. For some reason, Sylar had a feeling Peter didn’t exactly want to be hit, so he decided he would not strike him. He had an idea.

“You’re a dirty boy, Peter,” he hissed. With his telekinetic ability, he repeatedly cut razor thin lines into Peter’s skin, and Peter gasped in pain and pleasure all at once. He cut him again and again, and Peter cried out in real pain only when the cuts went deep enough to scrape against bone.

Peter deserved a little discomfort after the soul-searching bullshit he’d put him through before. He would live.

Sylar commanded, “I want you to make yourself come, but you better time it just right. I want to feel it at the split second I do. And I want to see your pretty face while you come all over yourself.” He turned Peter onto his back, blood from his healed wounds smearing all over the sheets, and he drove himself as far as he could into Peter.

Sylar lifted Peter’s legs up and pulled them around his waist while he pounded Peter’s insides, punishing him for playing games with him. Sylar concentrated on Peter’s face while he fucked him, waiting to see him bite down hard into his lip the way he always did when he was about to orgasm.

“You’re mine now, Petrelli,” Sylar said, feeling Peter’s thighs trembling and tightening, his insides contracting as the first swell of semen erupted from beneath Peter’s fingers. Sylar came once again, pulling back to brush against that sensitive spot inside Peter. Peter emitted a soft cry as the rest of his come ran over his fingers, down his wrist, some pooling on his belly. Sylar pulled out fully and made Peter lie there until his come ran out of the younger man’s body, and he finger-painted it on the insides of Peter’s thighs, over his testicles and his deflating half-erection. Peter just watched silently as Sylar marked his newly claimed territory.

Sylar wiped the last of his semen on Peter’s flushed cheek, then pushed himself away from Peter and went to get his clothes. Peter wore a slightly confused look.

Sylar dressed and spat, “Clean yourself up and go back to your brother like the little whore you are. I’m finished with you for now. Next time I come looking for a piece from you, you better be alone.”

Sylar was extremely pleased with himself. He turned invisible once more and went to the door, opened it and then shut it, to make Peter think that he had gone.

His sick voyeurism had returned, and he just had to watch what Peter would do now. He was sure that the younger Petrelli had not expected it all to end that way. Sylar waited for the shock to leave Peter’s face. And when it did, it was replaced with an expression of utter despair.

Oh, yes, pretty boy. Cry for me.

***

Peter looked over at the still form of his brother, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and tears came down in a hot current, blurring his vision. He felt dirty and ashamed of himself. He had just given himself to another man--to Sylar--while his brother lay cold and shivering and injured on the floor. Because he thought he could help Sylar. Sylar had fucked his mind just as hard as he had fucked his body.

“Oh, God,” Peter choked. He stood up and tore the bloodstained sheet from the bed and cleaned every last trace of Sylar’s and his own come off himself, rubbing at his skin so brutally it turned red and raw before it healed. He grasped the tainted sheet so tightly his knuckles turned white, and hard gasping sobs tore from his lungs.

Peter felt panic shoot into his blood; he had to get out of here. The scent of sex that had not been had with Nathan lingered on his skin, heavy in the air; like sin it bore down upon him, suffocated him, and Peter wished for once he could die, his heart hurt so badly.

Nathan wake up wake up now I want to go home--

Nathan stirred and groaned aloud. “Pete, could you tell me what the fuck just happened?”

Nathan got to his feet quickly, grimacing. Peter knew Nathan had to be in serious pain, but ignoring it because Peter was a crying, shaking wreck.

“I--I don’t know…” Peter moaned abysmally. That was as close to a true answer as he could give Nathan right now without telling him what really had occurred.

Nathan limped over to him and put his arms around him, and whispered, “Peter? Christ, Pete, what the fuck is all this blood?” Nathan did not ask what else covered the sheet--Peter had an idea he knew.

Peter looked into his brother’s eyes, which were filled with only love and concern for him, and he cried harder. “I did a really bad thing, Nathan.”

“Oh, no you didn’t. Don’t you dare blame yourself, Peter. He forced himself on both of us. That motherfucker hurt you, didn’t he?” Nathan pulled Peter in so he could rest his head on Nathan’s chest.

“I’m sorry…” Peter cried. “He would have killed you if I didn’t…” Peter lied. He could not tell him. He couldn’t break Nathan’s heart.

“Shh…calm down. We’re both okay. Come on, let’s go take a shower. It’ll make you feel better.”

“And then can we go home?” Peter asked miserably, wiping his tearstained cheeks and his running nose.

“Yeah. We can go home and you can go to sleep.”

“I--I love you,” Peter said, feeling like that was an even worse lie than the one he had told him before.

“I know you do. I love you too. I know what you did for me. Oh, Pete. It won’t hurt forever, I promise.”

That was perhaps the biggest lie Peter had heard tonight. It would hurt forever. Knowing he had willfully cheated on Nathan, knowing he had broken his promise to Nathan, it tore at his soul, a wound that would never heal.

***

Sylar watched and waited as Nathan took Peter into the bathroom. The sound of running water somewhat obscured the conversation that ensued, but Sylar listened with his power, and he heard it, smiling to himself. He heard the sound of a fist slamming the wall. An infuriated, unintelligible shout that tore from Nathan’s throat. Peter crying still. Nathan screaming multiple profanities. Nathan’s voice lowering. Sylar was sure those last words out of Nathan’s mouth had broken Peter’s heart.

Nathan Petrelli stormed out of the bathroom and threw something hard at the mirror, smashing it into thousands of tiny pieces, to match his own shattered heart.

Oh, no. Oh, Peter, Sylar thought. You confessed. Shouldn’t have fucked with me. You’re mine now. Nathan will never touch you again.

Sylar hadn’t been entirely wrong about Peter Petrelli. Peter was weak, but only when it came to his brother. He had believed Nathan would understand. He was still emotional, sensitive, naïve, idealistic, but no longer innocent. He had expected and needed Nathan’s forgiveness, and as Peter was wont to do, he had asked for it.

But Nathan, the power-driven man he was, wouldn’t share his possession with any other, and he was now forced to discard it, as if Peter were a tarnished jewel, still beautiful under the surface, but unclean, no longer desirable.

Sylar left the hotel and walked out into the night, under the bright, gaudy neon lights and large colorful screens that adorned this particular block of New York City, blending himself in easily with the passersby as they hurried to their destinations, still ignoring their collective journeys.

Sylar thought, Oh, Peter…you ruined everything. Next time I come for you, you’ll be alone. And you’ll be mine. You were wrong. I always get what I want.

A/N: Please leave a review, and a rating too, and thanks for reading!