[ Maybe if Sylar hadn't spent so much time staring through him, dissecting him with his gaze, Peter might have found a way to react differently. Or at least that's what Peter's telling himself because he's not sure he could bear a thought that was different in any way; that some part of him might actually have wanted this. It's not as if the kiss, if he can really even call it that, catches him off guard -- every inch of him was expecting it, and yet he still can't help his reaction, muscles pulling stubbornly tight as if he can ward off the other man through non-reaction alone.
But Peter can't ever not react. If anything, he feels things too much, too strongly and after only a seconds worth of fighting the hard pressing of lips, Peter's biting back into it, fueled by far too much rage and hatred and something somebody might call devotion to try to put a stop to it. But he's not devoted to the other man in a way he might usually be except for the constant need to put up an endless fight, a devotion to the hatred that's always been caught between them. They're not supposed to be doing anything but tearing each other apart, ripping into each other until there's nothing left.
And maybe that's all this is, just one more force of destruction bringing them colliding together, one way more to hurt that's just coming from a purely different angle. Whatever it is, though, Peter's hand has curled it's way against the back of Sylar's neck, fingers digging into his hair and grabbing hold, pulling the other man closer until the lack of space between them is what's laughable. Except at least part of his anger is now is fueled inward, coming from a place more upset with himself for letting this happen, for wanting it near just as badly.
It's the grind that Peter wasn't expecting though, and the strangled noise he makes in response has to be torn from his lungs, forced hotly back against Sylar's mouth. Peter squirms only slightly, fully aware of his own reaction as he's suddenly grabbing for a fistful of Sylar's shirt in retribution, pulling the fabric taut. Trying to gain leverage with his foot pressed against the ground just so he can push back against Sylar is near impossible -- he's crushed too hard beneath the other to do anything but sound exponentially more frustrated, raging his own war against Sylar's mouth in return for all that he can't do elsewhere. ]
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But Peter can't ever not react. If anything, he feels things too much, too strongly and after only a seconds worth of fighting the hard pressing of lips, Peter's biting back into it, fueled by far too much rage and hatred and something somebody might call devotion to try to put a stop to it. But he's not devoted to the other man in a way he might usually be except for the constant need to put up an endless fight, a devotion to the hatred that's always been caught between them. They're not supposed to be doing anything but tearing each other apart, ripping into each other until there's nothing left.
And maybe that's all this is, just one more force of destruction bringing them colliding together, one way more to hurt that's just coming from a purely different angle. Whatever it is, though, Peter's hand has curled it's way against the back of Sylar's neck, fingers digging into his hair and grabbing hold, pulling the other man closer until the lack of space between them is what's laughable. Except at least part of his anger is now is fueled inward, coming from a place more upset with himself for letting this happen, for wanting it near just as badly.
It's the grind that Peter wasn't expecting though, and the strangled noise he makes in response has to be torn from his lungs, forced hotly back against Sylar's mouth. Peter squirms only slightly, fully aware of his own reaction as he's suddenly grabbing for a fistful of Sylar's shirt in retribution, pulling the fabric taut. Trying to gain leverage with his foot pressed against the ground just so he can push back against Sylar is near impossible -- he's crushed too hard beneath the other to do anything but sound exponentially more frustrated, raging his own war against Sylar's mouth in return for all that he can't do elsewhere. ]