and i hold your beating chambers until they beat no more

[evolved]

[ It's just not the time to push his buttons.

Sylar wants to, possibly, strangle Peter - watch him suffocate, close a hand around his throat like a vice and just squeeze until his lips turn blue and his windpipe breaks under the force of his fingers. He's bracing his neck with a forearm, attempting to keep him pinned beneath him to the floor with his weight (which may or may not be effective) and yes, to throttle him, it would feel so very good.

It's a lovely temptation. Pulling away far enough to move his arm, the fingers of his free hand wrap around Peter's neck and at first, his grasp is firm, bruising, but then ... there is suddenly no pressure. He's breathing heavily, absolutely seething, but his grip has slackened enough that now, he's just ... holding. Touching. Feeling Peter's pulse under his fingers and staring down at him like this isn't all kinds of horrible. ]

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[askedtobe]

[ For a few seconds, he's scrambling, heels skidding at the ground as he tries to gain purchase, fight back for control of the moment. Reaching up, he has every intention to shove at the other man as Sylar's fingers close in, anticipating the terrifying loss of breath he's bound to get hit with at an moment.

But it never comes.

His own hand is frozen at Sylar's shoulder and Peter is just confused. What else is he supposed to be? Because Sylar's just staring at him, fingers settled in against his skin, and Peter can feel his pulse pounding against them, pounding against his temples, a constant thrumming that seems to still the moment completely. This is the way out he was looking for and yet he can't move, too consumed with wanting to know why. ]

What?