Musings from the Ambiguous Zone

Title: A Random Evening at Rebel Base One
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Sylar/Peter
Length: ~ 4000 words
Rating: NC-17 for sexual content
Genre: science fiction romance
Warnings: angst, fluff
Summary: Set during the first month at Rebel Base One, around Day 27 or so, not long before Peter’s mission to Primatech Paper. But this can and should be able to be read as a stand alone.

Peter and Sylar are living together in a camp (Coyote Sands, renamed Rebel Base One) run by themselves and Micah (Rebel), fighting against Danko in season 3.5, Fugitives. Peter watches Sylar tinker with a laptop and thinks about their relationship, and Sylar’s path to redemption. Overwhelming emotion leads to passionate sex, and they both realize how lucky they are to be together.

Beta by game_byrd x-posted to sylar_peter

Rescue Me Masterlist




Peter was lying in bed pretending to read his Kindle but really watching Sylar. The other man was at the table hunched over a laptop Micah had given him. He had some engineering task to complete on it for Micah’s inspection. Peter grinned at the idea of Sylar being any kid’s pupil, but they worked well together. It was opening up a side of his boyfriend that Peter welcomed. As Sylar’s sponsor, Micah held a unique position in the man’s life equal in importance to his own, and for that Peter was grateful. A man with Sylar’s...complicated past and would need all the help and support he could get if his rehabilitation was to stick past this current crisis with Danko and Homeland Security.

Peter‘s mood took an unexpected turn south at the thought of what they were all up against. They were outnumbered and out-resourced. He was well aware of the possibility that he could die in this war and he worried about what would happen to his family and to Sylar then. He hated to, but Peter had to admit there were times that he worried that Sylar’s change of heart had more to do with what was happening between them than the man professed. The idea of what might happen to Sylar if Peter died loomed like a shadow in the corners of his mind, stifling him. The killer unleashed.

Sylar’s eyes swiveled to his. “Are you okay?”

A tender, crooked smile replaced the frown on Peter’s face at the empathy revealed by that question’s timing. “I’m fine. Just thinking,” he said softly.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” Sylar asked, turning in his seat.

“No,” Peter held up a hand. “I’m enjoying the quiet. Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Sylar glanced back down at the computer guiltily. “I’m almost finished,” he said boyishly, eyebrows turned up plaintively.

“Then interrupt me when you’re done.” Peter’s wink caused a massive grin to bloom across Sylar’s face. He eagerly went back to work. Joy spread through Peter at the honest display, chasing away all his previous dark thoughts. He settled deeper under the comforter. In the bed he shared with his lover in their cozy cabin in the desert. Peter gave a sigh of profound satisfaction. He had only ever lived with one other person and that had been...something that Peter didn’t want to think about right now. He had enough gloomy thoughts. Right now, he wanted to think about Sylar and how lucky he was.

Sylar. Gabriel. Giovanni-Gray. His lover, his teammate, and fellow warrior. Sylar was everything that Peter never knew he was looking for - a true partner and equal. Someone he could fight next to, be a brave man with. A brother as well as lover. But more than that, the man needed him and it tugged at Peter’s heartstrings. It was irresistible. But the saving, that really got to Peter. Being able to depend on Sylar, trust him, count on him when things were at their worst, that was the hook. As crazy, violent, and moody as Sylar was, the man would never let him down, and that’s what mattered.

(He always gets to me in time.)

That’s what he had told Luke in the beginning and it was still true. Sylar was a rock that Peter was happy to be tethered to. Even if that rock was really an icy comet on fire, hurtling though the black void of space. They faced hell together, side by side, and Peter was so proud to call this man his partner. Sylar was fighting demons inside himself to be a good man and a worthwhile ally. He didn’t talk about it much, but Peter suspected that it wasn’t nearly as easy as he was making out. And still, he didn’t waiver.

Sylar proved himself again and again, day after day - in every little thing he did for the camp and its inhabitants, working tirelessly to make it a home and haven. And him as the protector of everyone in it. Peter kept waiting for a hint of megalomania to present it itself, but it never arrived. No, Sylar was genuine at every turn. And seemingly oblivious to how domestic he had become. Like now. A quiet evening at home, curled up with a project that his tweenaged teacher had assigned him. And looking incredibly sexy doing his homework.

Peter’s breath deepened while certain parts started tingling as his stare moved over the tall, handsome man on display. Sylar had showered but not gelled his hair so it fell around his face in a dark frame, matching his black glasses. Rough stubble completed the earthy, unkempt look. With the thick glasses he could be a college student, an MIT nerd sitting there studying for his doctorate in computer whatever.

Sylar was wearing a grey tank shirt, revealing large, round deltoids as they flexed, highlighted by golden lamp light. Peter’s rapt surveillance traveled down to well defined biceps and sinewy forearms, and finally strong, delicate hands with long, agile fingers. He swallowed compulsively. Sylar’s fingers were clever, dexterous, and so talented. He had been such a quick study in what turned Peter on. How he liked to be touched, stroked, prodded. Peter licked his lips as memories furnished fuel to the growing fire of longing building inside him.

Sylar straightened in his seat, raised his head, and licked his own lips. He blinked and then bent back to his task. But his tongue was still peaking out, teasing and innocent, against equally innocent soft, moist, plump flesh. The delicate, pink mouth was a striking, vulnerable contrast to the otherwise rugged facade.

A moment thinking about what that mouth could do and the partial erection Peter had been sporting for an hour or so filled and stretched, pushing against his sweat pants. He adjusted it without any subterfuge. His scrutiny of his quarry intensified until he felt like there were ephemeral sparks of raw energy shooting out from his eyes and feeding into Sylar’s well-built frame.

Sylar closed his eyes and shuddered. He cracked his neck. Then he smiled briefly and continued with his tinkering.

Peter could feel the live, ethereal connection bouncing between them. He wasn’t sure if it was Sylar’s telepathy, empathy, or what, or him, or something downright magical, but he reveled in it. It surged through his whole body and into his soul like a wave of sweet, warm light. It was powerful, and beautiful, and proof that they were right for each other. Nothing like this could happen otherwise. It made him feel alive like never before, as though every cell in his anatomy was singing and dancing, whirling in circles and stoking a blaze that he was caught up in, and suddenly, unexpectedly suffocating from. His throat was tight and there were tears stinging his eyes.

“Peter, what is going on over there?” Sylar swiveled in his seat and fixed Peter with a concerned glare.

“Nothing,” Peter choked out, already focusing on a mental vision of a cold waterfall to calm himself down. “Go on with your work.”

“Like hell.” Sylar walked over and sat down on the bed. “A minute ago I thought you were seducing me and now, it’s like - ” Sylar took Peter’s hand. Peter tried in vain to evade him, not wanting Sylar to feel his swirling, complicated emotions, but Sylar twined their fingers together. In reflex to what he was feeling, Sylar gripped tighter, clenching his jaw, shutting his eyes, and sitting up straighter. Golden-rose colored light shown as Peter instinctively exchanged telekinesis for tactile empathy. Sylar moaned. “God, it’s like you’re feeling every emotion at once, but only the hot, bright ones. Pain, fear, anger, desire...l-love,” he stuttered. “What in god’s name were you thinking about?” he demanded.

“Nothing, just my mind goes everywhere sometimes,” Peter said, tightening his grip on Sylar’s hand, grounding himself, feeling his excess emotions drain off and the awareness of Sylar’s giving himself something else to focus on. Lucky for him he was used to being out of control and having to contain himself. Like a bomb, he thought grimly, shamefully.

“You feel so much,” Sylar said with something close to awe. “How do you not explode?” Abruptly, Sylar’s feelings of respect shifted to protectiveness. His heart swelled as he looked at the brave and breakable man that shared his bed.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m going to,” Peter said, petting Sylar’s chest with his free hand.

Sylar gently grazed Peter’s soft cheek with his fingertips, before running them over his ear and into his hair. It ran like silk between his fingers as he gripped and stroked. He wanted so much to say...something, but he didn’t know... His gaze flitted uncertainly over Peter’s face, his eyes, he was so beautiful with tears in his eyes. They glistened like dark stars. He gasped, heart leaping into his throat, and leaned in, kissing Peter roughly. Peter responded immediately to the impulsively amorous attack, moaning low in this throat, and clenching into Sylar’s chest hair. The slight pain only stoked Sylar’s arousal and he pushed Peter back onto the bed in excitement. He kept a firm grip on Peter’s right hand with his left. The plethora of emotions running into him, enveloping him like a warm, snuggly blanket on a snowy day were intoxicating.

Sylar flung the comforter to the side. Peter’s Kindle clattered to the floor. He examined Peter’s face and found a welcoming smile. Legs came up to grip his waist and Sylar melted on the inside. He fell helpless onto Peter’s solid body, hips cradled, one of Peter’s hands making its way up his arm, his neck, and pushing into his hair to yank his head down so that lips could follow the trail, tongue licking out to his chest and neck, biting at his shirt, biting him. He shuddered and ground down, grinding his erection against Peter’s. Enflamed at the sensation and dangerously over sensitive from all the teasing he had already been put through, Sylar pulled away to get some breathing room. Peter looked up at him, blowing hair out of his eyes and fairly sparkling with anticipation.

Peter was a gift from the angels, of that Sylar had no doubt. Sent to lure him to the righteous path with incredible sex and even more unimaginable honesty. Well, maybe not the lure, but he certainly sweetened the deal Sylar had made with Micah. When he had taken the hand that reached out in the darkness of the internet, the remorseful killer hadn’t suspected that it would lead to this amazing reality. One where he was wanted, accepted, valued. One where he could trust... and feel...so many extraordinary things like desire and fulfillment. Connection and togetherness. Home.

“Peter...” Sylar couldn’t give voice to the unfamiliar urges and sentiments raging within him. He couldn’t give them names in his own mind; how could he explain them to Peter?

But as always, his cherished companion seemed to understand without being told. Peter’s expression said that. Well, of course, he could feel everything Sylar was feeling, and probably comprehending those feelings a lot better than he could. Sylar lifted up their joined hands and kissed Peter’s fingers, untwining them and kissing the roughened palm. He looked beseechingly at the man lying placidly beneath him.

“Take your clothes off and show me how you feel,” Peter said with a dark light gleaming in his eyes. Sylar felt again the warm weight of Peter’s gaze like flames of tangible desire licking across his skin, leaving behind an answering longing that burned like scorch marks. Tantalizing and magical in the tingle that smelled of power and ability. Like reeling in a supernatural line he was hooked on, and feeding back to its source, Peter was using his own psychic abilities against him. It was a spell Sylar was caught in and he happily complied with the request to undress.

Once they were both nude and Sylar had gotten rid of his glasses, he lay back down on Peter’s luscious body, took both Peter’s hands and trapped them above his head. Peter writhed in the makeshift bonds, rubbing sinuously against Sylar’s muscular frame. Sylar rewarded him by nibbling at his neck and ear, breathing into it and licking the shell. Peter shivered. The reaction made Sylar feel wanted and like he had accomplished something worthy of praise. Being with Peter, pleasing him, made him feel like a god. Sylar repeated the lingually seductive process three times, lavishing attention to each sensitive patch of flesh, each time, driving Peter higher until he could see goose flesh on the helpless man and they were both shipwrecks of sensation and yearning. Without warning, he spread his legs and thereby Peter’s wide, causing the captive man to groan and give a muffled curse. Sylar swallowed it with his mouth pressing roughly against his prey’s, tongue plunging inside urgently and deeply.

With the assist of telekinesis to free up his hands, Sylar kept Peter’s wrists pinned above his head. Lube appeared as if from no where and Sylar was using first one, then two fingers, slithering them like he knew Peter liked, aiming at his prostate at only every third pass or so. Peter writhed on his fingers beautifully, mouth ajar, eyes closed in bliss, sweat glistening on his forehead. It was a sight that made Sylar’s cock throb so hot and heavy that he didn’t dare touch it. There was no need. He was so ready he was aching to drive inside the welcoming body at hand.

So welcoming. Sylar could feel everything Peter was feeling and it was like light, and family, and want, and belonging. It was having. He couldn’t wait any more. He had to be a part of all that...home. He released his hold on Peter and rose above his mate urged on by eager, grasping hands and legs. Blinded by lust, he entered, tightness and heat and... “Oh, god, Peter...” He surged forward, driving Peter’s knees back on the thrust, over and over. He couldn't hold back in his frenzied passion as he sank, gratefully, into Peter’s body again and again. It was the best thing he had ever known and he would never stop thanking God, or Mary, or Buddha or whoever was responsible for this miraculous gift.

Gradually, Peter’s voice, murmuring at first, but then gaining in strength, could be heard over the roar of blood in his arteries, the pounding of his heart in his chest, the slapping of their hips’ gyrations. “Oh god, oh yes, Sylar, god yes, so good...you feel so good.” Sylar’s tempo faltered at the compliment. “Fucking me.”

Sylar pinned Peter’s legs back, fingers gripping hard into his soft, white thighs and drove in at a different angle, hitting home with every strike, nudging in all the right places, causing fire and ice to break out all over Sylar’s skin.

“Yes. Fuck me. Fuck me, please...”

One of Peter’s hands was clenching painfully in Sylar’s hair, another raking nails down his back. That along with the lustful plea caused a whiplash of erotic sensation in Sylar. His cock grew and his balls drew up. He groaned and laid more weight down onto Peter, resting Peter’s legs on his shoulders, and reached down to grab Peter’s ass, pinching and gripping it hard, until Peter moaned in response and tightened impossibly around him. It nearly drove Sylar over the edge. Peter felt so good, so tight and hot around him, like heaven. Peter’s feelings of caring, acceptance, want, and sheer fucking joy were radiating into Sylar until he was drowning in them. Seeping into him from all around him from every point their flesh met in a crescendo of physical and spiritual union. He couldn’t hold back anymore.

In an impressive feat of telekinetic coordination, he worked his way between their violently jostling bodies and doused Peter’s cock in lubricant before taking him in hand and stroking fast and sure. The wet sensation and sudden stimulation drove Peter wild and he cried out, coming almost immediately, gripping around Sylar’s cock and spurring his own climax. Sylar’s cries joined Peter’s as he pulsed strong and hard. He continued stroking in and out for long moments, riding the crest of rapture as long as possible, whining and ravenous to stay inside Peter’s body forever. Swept under the tide of emotion by his moon, his beacon, his messenger, Sylar gave into the waves of pure light and love surrounding him and broke into tears.

Long moments found Sylar weeping and gasping into Peter’s neck, clutching onto him like a life-line, or a security blanket. Peter’s sweet endearments in his ear, saying that everything was alright, and was going to be okay, and to let it all out soothed him and allowed him his emotional release with as much dignity as possible.

Later, they lay side by side, facing one another, feet and legs tangling and tickling as usual beneath the covers, hands stroking arms and chests. Soft kisses and caresses were randomly exchanged.

“Crying orgasms aren’t unheard of, by the way,” Peter said, pushing Sylar’s hair back from his face just to watch it flop forward again. He chose not to mention the increased likelihood of them in emotionally repressed individuals.

“What other kinds of orgasms are there?” Sylar asked curiously, choosing to ignore Peter’s surface thoughts.

“Well...there’s the laughing orgasm,” Peter said with a grin, his hand wandering down to tickle the hair on Sylar’s thigh.

“Seriously?” Sylar squinted at him and caught his hand, sucking on Peter’s index finger and nibbling on it.

“Yep. You laugh hysterically until it’s painful. Orgasm is a great physiological event. It can have all kind of unforeseen side effects. It’s a catharsis that expresses itself uniquely to the situation.”

Sylar raised an eyebrow. “Exactly what kind of medical texts did you and Mohinder get, anyway?”

Peter chuckled, waggled his eyebrows, and twined one leg over Sylar’s hip, hugging him with it.

“So orgasm is a pretty powerful, life changing event, huh?”

“It sure is,” Peter said, leaning over to lick up Sylar’s sternum.

“Powerful enough to make a villain into a good guy?” Sylar asked, arching his back and rubbing into Peter’s tongue.

Peter’s breath caught and he didn’t dare raise his eyes. He kissed Sylar’s chest and rested his lips against the furry bed.

“I’m sorry, but I know that’s what you were thinking about earlier,”Sylar said, coming back to curl around Peter’s body. “You know when we’re close like that, I can’t keep surface thoughts out.”

“It’s okay, I know. So what do you think about that?” Peter asked with his head still bowed, his hair brushing Sylar’s neck.

Sylar cupped Peter’s jaw, forcing him to look up at him. “It’s not just you. I won’t abandon this path if something happens to you.” He leaned over and rested his forehead against Peter’s. “You know what you mean to me, but you are not the reason I started down this path. And Micah isn’t either, not entirely, anyway. It’s what I want for myself. I will not wind up like my father.” Sylar’s voice rose, filled with quiet fury as he looked down into Peter’s eyes. “I do not want to be a lonely killer anymore. I don’t want to be a monster. I want this....a family.” His voice dropped and cracked. “A home. I’m just so glad and lucky it’s with you,” he whispered.

Peter’s watery gaze filled up Sylar’s soul with its shining hope, awareness, and love. “I’m lucky, too,” he said. “You are so strong to be making this change, choosing this path for yourself. Learning from your father’s mistakes. From your own.” Peter reached up and stroked Sylar’s bangs. “You have so much in you to give. I am so blessed that I get to see that every day. You’re my miracle.” Peter’s lips softly caressed his lover’s. Cuddling close, he stayed near to whisper, “You give me hope for the world. I’d lost that...somewhere in the pain and darkness of these last few years. But you remind me time and again that people can change, can do the right thing for the right reasons.”

Peter pulled back to meet Sylar’s glistening, wide-eyed gaze. Seeing the stunned disbelief and hopeful yearning there caused even more tenderness to bloom in Peter’s heart. “You give me hope and determination that we can win this war and make the world safe for specials,” he confessed without reservation. “You’ve given me the strength to go on living and fighting. When you saved me that night in Pennsylvania, forced me to live, you saved more than you realized.” Peter closed his eyes, shaking his head lightly. “I was so lost.” He opened his eyes to find Sylar’s and shifted closer, stroking his hand into Sylar’s thick hair. “But you’ve shown me the way forward, out of the darkness. This camp that you’ve - we’ve built, it’s like a symbol for the change I want to bring to the world. And I know we can do it. Together, we can do anything,” he promised, gripping tightly onto Sylar’s hair.

Peter’s heartfelt speech ended in a vibrant tone, his confidence, pride, and faith transmitting loud and clear to Sylar through their link. Understanding with every fiber of his being that he was the cause of these optimistic enthusiasms, brought back the tide of elation to sweep the redeemed murderer away. Sylar surged forward and captured his inspiration’s pious, delectable mouth in a sensuous kiss, long limbs clinging desperately to their partner’s. The two men embraced fervently and held for endless moments, twining together in body, mind, and heart; cleaving together in every way possible to hold back the flood of malice and destruction that loomed on the other side of their castle’s walls.