Now I Am Destroyed
Feb. 26th, 2010 09:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flwrpwr_vampyrePairing/Characters: Peter/Sylar
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-con, torture, spoilery for up to/including 4.12
Disclaimer: I obviously don’t own Heroes.
Summary: Peter threw down the nail gun, frustrated beyond belief.
Word Count: 1164
Notes: Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thepansythug for beta'ing this for me. Written for the amazing flying_monkees's birthday and for the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mission_insane prompt: Beast.
Peter threw down the nail gun, frustrated beyond belief. It had been hours and Sylar looked a lot worse for the wear. He was covered in bruises and cuts, nails scattered all over his body, and he still hadn't changed back into Nathan. His voice was hoarse from screaming in pain and Peter was getting extremely tired of listening to him say over and over that he was never giving up his body.
He stood up slowly, checking to make sure that Sylar wasn't going to be getting up on his own. He'd checked beforehand and was confident in his ability to keep Sylar's powers suppressed. He moved quickly, just in case, and gathered up the supplies he needed.
When he got back, Sylar was still there, head lolling back and eyes fluttering as he fought to keep them open. Peter wasn't sure why he was trying to stay conscious but whatever the reason, it worked in his favor. He knelt between Sylar's legs and tugged one of the nails out, accompanied by Sylar screaming.
“You know,” he said, pulling out a couple more in rapid succession. He was sure Sylar couldn't even hear him over the noise he was making, not that it mattered. “It probably would have been better to take off your pants earlier. It's like they say: hindsight really is twenty/twenty.”
It didn't take long before all the nails were out, with blood soaking into the cloth around the wounds. He set to work pulling Sylar's socks and shoes off before working off his pants. The chill air against his skin seemed to revive Sylar a little; he struggled a second before lifting his head up to see what Peter was doing, panting at the effort.
“Well, well well, Petrelli,” he wheezed, trailing off into a coughing fit and spitting out the blood it brought up. “Usually my dates buy me dinner before we get to this point.”
Peter knew he shouldn't rise to the taunt but he couldn't help it. His hand curled into a fist and flew through the air before he even realized it. It landed square on Sylar's chest, driving a couple of nails in all the way, Sylar's cry filling the air.
“This will be easier if you shut the fuck up,” he growled.
“I'm assuming only for you,” was Sylar's reply, and the man was bracing himself even before Peter's fist crashed into his face. It was like he couldn't resist, even knowing Peter wasn't going to put up with it.
His head stayed back, resting against the board as he sucked in painful sounding breaths. Peter wondered if it hurt more after being able to heal in an instant.
He pulled out the small packet of lube he'd brought back with him, unzipping his pants and pulling them down just enough to get his dick out. He opened it, the noise sounding loud in the now quiet room, and Sylar's breath hitched as he stared up at the ceiling, his face blank.
It took a little bit before he was able to get hard but he eventually succeeded, ripping open the foil and slicking himself up. He positioned himself, pulling up Sylar's legs and holding them as he slid inside. Sylar arched, his eyes squeezing shut and his fingers curling around the nails in the center of his palms.
“Oh, now you're silent?” Peter taunted, a little breathless.
Sylar's lips thinned but he didn't respond, jerking as Peter pulled back out slowly. It took time to get into a rhythm, as the position was awkward - him on his knees, holding up Sylar. He gave it up soon enough, setting Sylar's feet down and bracing over him.
He twisted one of the nails, Sylar moaning in an obscene parody of a sex noise as Peter thrust into him. He clamped his lips shut as soon as he realized this, his face twisting up and relaxing. It was like he just checked out and Peter let him – for a couple of minutes.
He reached up and grabbed the nail gun again, pressing it against Sylar's side, waiting until the other man focused on him before pulling the trigger. Sylar's scream was gratifying, as were his noisy, pained gasps after, forced out of him as Peter pushed into him faster and faster.
“Give me back my brother,” he gritted out, moving the tool down against his hipbone.
“Fucking Christ Petrelli,” Sylar gasped. “How can you people call me fucked up when this is the length you'll go to get your brother back?”
Peter shot off the gun, able to hear as nail went through bone, and Sylar actually stopped breathing before he screamed, his whole body arching up. Peter had to fight to stay inside and he slammed the nail gun down before gripping onto Sylar's hips, pounding into him.
This wasn't about pleasure and his orgasm caught him off guard, washing over him and he gasped through it, his cock pulsing inside Sylar. It faded slowly and he suddenly realized what he'd just done. He scrambled back, his dick pulling free with a horrifying squelching noise and Sylar grunted, his legs closing as he pulled them up closer.
“Oh my god.” Peter's hands shook as he tucked himself away, zipping up his pants. “Oh my god, what the fuck did I just do.”
Sylar barked out a laugh that turned into a cough.
“Of course, this is where you turn back into the good guy, right? Well you can stop your guilt trip right now, the whole literally nailing me aside, this isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to me.”
Peter turned to stare at him, wincing as he took in all that he'd done.
Sylar gave him a look that he couldn't read.
“What? I'm not telling you any more,” he said hoarsely. “Now turn your goddamn stolen power off and let me up.”
Peter thought about it for a long second before guilt won over self-preservation and Sylar gasped, his body twitching as the nails started working their way out and all his wounds started healing. Once his hands were free he immediately went for his pants, working them back on without so much as a glance at Peter.
“Well, this has been fun and all, Petrelli.” Peter jumped as Sylar's hand came down on his shoulder and he looked up, feeling worse as Sylar's hand shook minutely before he snatched it back. “But I think I'm gonna go take a shower and get new clothes. You know how it is. Everything gets so bloody when you're tortured.”
He sat for a long time after Sylar strode off, trying to figure out how the hell he'd gotten so off the beaten path. When he finally stood up slowly, his body screaming at him for having sat still for so long, he decided it was time to let Nathan go. And figure out how to get himself back.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-con, torture, spoilery for up to/including 4.12
Disclaimer: I obviously don’t own Heroes.
Summary: Peter threw down the nail gun, frustrated beyond belief.
Word Count: 1164
Notes: Many thanks to
thepansythug for beta'ing this for me. Written for the amazing flying_monkees's birthday and for the mission_insane prompt: Beast.Peter threw down the nail gun, frustrated beyond belief. It had been hours and Sylar looked a lot worse for the wear. He was covered in bruises and cuts, nails scattered all over his body, and he still hadn't changed back into Nathan. His voice was hoarse from screaming in pain and Peter was getting extremely tired of listening to him say over and over that he was never giving up his body.
He stood up slowly, checking to make sure that Sylar wasn't going to be getting up on his own. He'd checked beforehand and was confident in his ability to keep Sylar's powers suppressed. He moved quickly, just in case, and gathered up the supplies he needed.
When he got back, Sylar was still there, head lolling back and eyes fluttering as he fought to keep them open. Peter wasn't sure why he was trying to stay conscious but whatever the reason, it worked in his favor. He knelt between Sylar's legs and tugged one of the nails out, accompanied by Sylar screaming.
“You know,” he said, pulling out a couple more in rapid succession. He was sure Sylar couldn't even hear him over the noise he was making, not that it mattered. “It probably would have been better to take off your pants earlier. It's like they say: hindsight really is twenty/twenty.”
It didn't take long before all the nails were out, with blood soaking into the cloth around the wounds. He set to work pulling Sylar's socks and shoes off before working off his pants. The chill air against his skin seemed to revive Sylar a little; he struggled a second before lifting his head up to see what Peter was doing, panting at the effort.
“Well, well well, Petrelli,” he wheezed, trailing off into a coughing fit and spitting out the blood it brought up. “Usually my dates buy me dinner before we get to this point.”
Peter knew he shouldn't rise to the taunt but he couldn't help it. His hand curled into a fist and flew through the air before he even realized it. It landed square on Sylar's chest, driving a couple of nails in all the way, Sylar's cry filling the air.
“This will be easier if you shut the fuck up,” he growled.
“I'm assuming only for you,” was Sylar's reply, and the man was bracing himself even before Peter's fist crashed into his face. It was like he couldn't resist, even knowing Peter wasn't going to put up with it.
His head stayed back, resting against the board as he sucked in painful sounding breaths. Peter wondered if it hurt more after being able to heal in an instant.
He pulled out the small packet of lube he'd brought back with him, unzipping his pants and pulling them down just enough to get his dick out. He opened it, the noise sounding loud in the now quiet room, and Sylar's breath hitched as he stared up at the ceiling, his face blank.
It took a little bit before he was able to get hard but he eventually succeeded, ripping open the foil and slicking himself up. He positioned himself, pulling up Sylar's legs and holding them as he slid inside. Sylar arched, his eyes squeezing shut and his fingers curling around the nails in the center of his palms.
“Oh, now you're silent?” Peter taunted, a little breathless.
Sylar's lips thinned but he didn't respond, jerking as Peter pulled back out slowly. It took time to get into a rhythm, as the position was awkward - him on his knees, holding up Sylar. He gave it up soon enough, setting Sylar's feet down and bracing over him.
He twisted one of the nails, Sylar moaning in an obscene parody of a sex noise as Peter thrust into him. He clamped his lips shut as soon as he realized this, his face twisting up and relaxing. It was like he just checked out and Peter let him – for a couple of minutes.
He reached up and grabbed the nail gun again, pressing it against Sylar's side, waiting until the other man focused on him before pulling the trigger. Sylar's scream was gratifying, as were his noisy, pained gasps after, forced out of him as Peter pushed into him faster and faster.
“Give me back my brother,” he gritted out, moving the tool down against his hipbone.
“Fucking Christ Petrelli,” Sylar gasped. “How can you people call me fucked up when this is the length you'll go to get your brother back?”
Peter shot off the gun, able to hear as nail went through bone, and Sylar actually stopped breathing before he screamed, his whole body arching up. Peter had to fight to stay inside and he slammed the nail gun down before gripping onto Sylar's hips, pounding into him.
This wasn't about pleasure and his orgasm caught him off guard, washing over him and he gasped through it, his cock pulsing inside Sylar. It faded slowly and he suddenly realized what he'd just done. He scrambled back, his dick pulling free with a horrifying squelching noise and Sylar grunted, his legs closing as he pulled them up closer.
“Oh my god.” Peter's hands shook as he tucked himself away, zipping up his pants. “Oh my god, what the fuck did I just do.”
Sylar barked out a laugh that turned into a cough.
“Of course, this is where you turn back into the good guy, right? Well you can stop your guilt trip right now, the whole literally nailing me aside, this isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to me.”
Peter turned to stare at him, wincing as he took in all that he'd done.
Sylar gave him a look that he couldn't read.
“What? I'm not telling you any more,” he said hoarsely. “Now turn your goddamn stolen power off and let me up.”
Peter thought about it for a long second before guilt won over self-preservation and Sylar gasped, his body twitching as the nails started working their way out and all his wounds started healing. Once his hands were free he immediately went for his pants, working them back on without so much as a glance at Peter.
“Well, this has been fun and all, Petrelli.” Peter jumped as Sylar's hand came down on his shoulder and he looked up, feeling worse as Sylar's hand shook minutely before he snatched it back. “But I think I'm gonna go take a shower and get new clothes. You know how it is. Everything gets so bloody when you're tortured.”
He sat for a long time after Sylar strode off, trying to figure out how the hell he'd gotten so off the beaten path. When he finally stood up slowly, his body screaming at him for having sat still for so long, he decided it was time to let Nathan go. And figure out how to get himself back.