[ The shield of denial is cracking, leaving Peter exposed to Sylar completely, vulnerable and with his emotions laid just as bare as his body because he swears that he can see everything in those eyes. It chases a shiver down Sylar's spine, the thought of Peter submitting to him, and it's more of a thrill than he thinks he could ever get out of killing him. Peter is betraying himself, betraying everyone and everything through this and all that hatred, it's building, burning, for both of them and it will keep growing until it all spontaneously combusts. Until Peter self-destructs with Sylar giving him this final push and he will allow himself to be pulled down and torn to pieces along with him.
He's unaffected by Peter's last frustrated attempt at a fight, only twists his fingers in Peter's hair and maintains his gaze as he's trembling and panting and slowly coming apart at the seams underneath him. With impatient, rough pulls of his single free hand, somewhat assisted by Peter seeking further contact and touch, he shifts on top of him to work Peter's jeans past his lifted hips and down his thighs.
The way his name is uttered this time is different entirely; there is nothing but that frustration and want to be heard in Peter's voice and something in Sylar's eyes changes for a heartbeat, darkens, before he catches the waistband of Peter's boxers and begins to pull them out of the way to get rid of them like he just did with the jeans, pull until all that's left is bare and exposed and forbidden. He leans forward on a heavy exhale as Peter's fingers find more heated skin, and finally, his hand slides free of Peter's hair to come down and unbuckle his own belt, help yank at the fastenings of his pants until they release and he can rid himself of his own clothing.
Sylar gets them almost down to his knees before he pushes close again, closer than ever before with the layers of fabric no longer separating them and protecting Peter from what Sylar knows that he wants, and when the deliberate roll of his hips this time causes them to slide together, lets him feel Peter, hard and hot and heavy and pressed up against the hollow of his hip, he can't help but groan through his teeth and grip one of Peter's thighs to somehow pull him up to meet him. ]
no subject
He's unaffected by Peter's last frustrated attempt at a fight, only twists his fingers in Peter's hair and maintains his gaze as he's trembling and panting and slowly coming apart at the seams underneath him. With impatient, rough pulls of his single free hand, somewhat assisted by Peter seeking further contact and touch, he shifts on top of him to work Peter's jeans past his lifted hips and down his thighs.
The way his name is uttered this time is different entirely; there is nothing but that frustration and want to be heard in Peter's voice and something in Sylar's eyes changes for a heartbeat, darkens, before he catches the waistband of Peter's boxers and begins to pull them out of the way to get rid of them like he just did with the jeans, pull until all that's left is bare and exposed and forbidden. He leans forward on a heavy exhale as Peter's fingers find more heated skin, and finally, his hand slides free of Peter's hair to come down and unbuckle his own belt, help yank at the fastenings of his pants until they release and he can rid himself of his own clothing.
Sylar gets them almost down to his knees before he pushes close again, closer than ever before with the layers of fabric no longer separating them and protecting Peter from what Sylar knows that he wants, and when the deliberate roll of his hips this time causes them to slide together, lets him feel Peter, hard and hot and heavy and pressed up against the hollow of his hip, he can't help but groan through his teeth and grip one of Peter's thighs to somehow pull him up to meet him. ]