2010-02-06 12:08![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thewatchmaker
thewatchmakerCharacter: Sylar/Peter
Fandom: Heroes
Word count: 896
Rating: R for language and dirty thoughts
Notes: Missing scene from 'the Wall'. SPOILERS FOR THE WALL.
Verse: the wall - that I'm writing with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
futureboyscout
Prompt: Sawyer: A tiger can't change his stripes.for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
scifi_muses
Bang!
Clang!
Bang!
The peaceful ticking of my clocks, the watches covering my desk is drowned out by your persistent, insistent, hammering on the wall. I can’t shut off my mind. I’m so tired, but each and every time I start to fall asleep, you start up again. My nerves are on edge. My teeth hurt from me grinding them together to keep from screaming at you. I won’t give you the satisfaction of knowing you’re getting to me.
You’ve given me the silent treatment before, and this time I’m going to give it to you. I’m not going to come watch you pounding on that mother fucking wall that you think is real. I’m going to sit here, and I’m going to work on the watches. I don’t care if I have to break them on purpose to have something to do.
I want to feel the outside world. I want to remember a life besides mine, but I can’t. My powers are crippled. I do remember asking Parkman to take them away, and now I can’t use them. You keep saying I’m still going to live forever while you’ll die…
That would be nice, since you’re annoying the hell out of me. But since you’re not really here, I’ll be stuck with your ghost haunting me along with the others now won’t I?
Bang!
Clang!
Bang!
“STOP IT!” I scream so loud I’m surprised the clocks don’t fall off the walls along with a shower of my books. I’m so tired. I can barely focus as I yank on my coat and grab my bag. I don’t know why I carry the stupid thing. I’m not scrounging for food today, but it’s habit. If I’m anything, I am a creature of habit. All the obsessive compulsive fixations I learned from Virginia are surfacing the longer I’m stuck here.
Although the noise echoes everywhere, I know where to find you. You’ll be where you always are, wearing that same tight black shirt that you wear everyday. Even I change clothes, but not you. Not Peter Petrelli. Not Mr. Knows-it-all. He who knows better than I do that this isn’t real, so why should you rest, eat, sleep, or stop making fucking noise so I can…
I come around the corner, ready to tear into you again. This is why you’re doing it. I know it. You can’t stand that I’m not talking to you anymore, but I’m sick of saying the same words over and over again. Sick of you throwing it in my face that I’m remembering things that are Nathan’s life not mine. I’m sick to death of pointing out it’s not my fault that I have those memories to begin with, because it sort of is. If I hadn’t taken your saintly brother, I wouldn’t be haunted by him now. Oh dear Peter, if you knew the things about Nathan that I do what would you think of him then?
I open my mouth to let you have it when I notice the difference. It’s not the wall that’s broken my train of thought. It’s the sight of you, with your shirt off, sweat coating your skin as you swing that sledgehammer into the bricks. All of my attention focuses on the shifting of your muscles, the cords of sinew that go taught with every swing, and the drop of sweat that is running down your spine. My mouth goes dry, and I fall back against the wall, to try to get the vision of you like that out of my head.
“Jesus Christ, Peter.” I murmur, too low for you to hear me over the din of the hammer.
Bang!
Clang!
Bang!
I slide down the wall, where you can’t see me watching you. I want to beat your head against the wall to make you stop. I want to fuck you against the wall to make you scream. I don’t know what to do. I’m so damn tired. I’m so confused.
Drawing my knees up, I wrap my arms around them and close my eyes. The sound of the hammering lulls me to sleep at last.
“Sylar?” I wake up with a start at the sound of your voice, and the touch of your hand on my arm, shaking me. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
“I came to tell you to stop.” My voice cracks as I rub at my eyes. You’re still shirtless, and I can feel my body responding to you in ways I do not want it to. “You’re making too much noise. I can’t sleep.”
“You were sleeping right here when I found you, asshole.” You shoot me another filthy look. “Maybe if you slept less, and helped me we could get out of here?”
“Whatever, Peter.” I snap back, trying to bring back the anger to hide the attraction. “You’ve been at it for six months, Peter, without chipping a single brick. You’re wasting your time. Why don’t you find a new hobby? Something quiet so I can have some peace?”
“You don’t deserve peace,” you shove me again, knocking me off balance before I can get on my feet. “Murderer.”
“Thank you for that, Peter.” I say with a growl as I use the chain link fence to get up. “I might have forgotten why I’m here in hell with you.”
Fandom: Heroes
Word count: 896
Rating: R for language and dirty thoughts
Notes: Missing scene from 'the Wall'. SPOILERS FOR THE WALL.
Verse: the wall - that I'm writing with
futureboyscoutPrompt: Sawyer: A tiger can't change his stripes.for
scifi_muses Bang!
Clang!
Bang!
The peaceful ticking of my clocks, the watches covering my desk is drowned out by your persistent, insistent, hammering on the wall. I can’t shut off my mind. I’m so tired, but each and every time I start to fall asleep, you start up again. My nerves are on edge. My teeth hurt from me grinding them together to keep from screaming at you. I won’t give you the satisfaction of knowing you’re getting to me.
You’ve given me the silent treatment before, and this time I’m going to give it to you. I’m not going to come watch you pounding on that mother fucking wall that you think is real. I’m going to sit here, and I’m going to work on the watches. I don’t care if I have to break them on purpose to have something to do.
I want to feel the outside world. I want to remember a life besides mine, but I can’t. My powers are crippled. I do remember asking Parkman to take them away, and now I can’t use them. You keep saying I’m still going to live forever while you’ll die…
That would be nice, since you’re annoying the hell out of me. But since you’re not really here, I’ll be stuck with your ghost haunting me along with the others now won’t I?
Bang!
Clang!
Bang!
“STOP IT!” I scream so loud I’m surprised the clocks don’t fall off the walls along with a shower of my books. I’m so tired. I can barely focus as I yank on my coat and grab my bag. I don’t know why I carry the stupid thing. I’m not scrounging for food today, but it’s habit. If I’m anything, I am a creature of habit. All the obsessive compulsive fixations I learned from Virginia are surfacing the longer I’m stuck here.
Although the noise echoes everywhere, I know where to find you. You’ll be where you always are, wearing that same tight black shirt that you wear everyday. Even I change clothes, but not you. Not Peter Petrelli. Not Mr. Knows-it-all. He who knows better than I do that this isn’t real, so why should you rest, eat, sleep, or stop making fucking noise so I can…
I come around the corner, ready to tear into you again. This is why you’re doing it. I know it. You can’t stand that I’m not talking to you anymore, but I’m sick of saying the same words over and over again. Sick of you throwing it in my face that I’m remembering things that are Nathan’s life not mine. I’m sick to death of pointing out it’s not my fault that I have those memories to begin with, because it sort of is. If I hadn’t taken your saintly brother, I wouldn’t be haunted by him now. Oh dear Peter, if you knew the things about Nathan that I do what would you think of him then?
I open my mouth to let you have it when I notice the difference. It’s not the wall that’s broken my train of thought. It’s the sight of you, with your shirt off, sweat coating your skin as you swing that sledgehammer into the bricks. All of my attention focuses on the shifting of your muscles, the cords of sinew that go taught with every swing, and the drop of sweat that is running down your spine. My mouth goes dry, and I fall back against the wall, to try to get the vision of you like that out of my head.
“Jesus Christ, Peter.” I murmur, too low for you to hear me over the din of the hammer.
Bang!
Clang!
Bang!
I slide down the wall, where you can’t see me watching you. I want to beat your head against the wall to make you stop. I want to fuck you against the wall to make you scream. I don’t know what to do. I’m so damn tired. I’m so confused.
Drawing my knees up, I wrap my arms around them and close my eyes. The sound of the hammering lulls me to sleep at last.
“Sylar?” I wake up with a start at the sound of your voice, and the touch of your hand on my arm, shaking me. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
“I came to tell you to stop.” My voice cracks as I rub at my eyes. You’re still shirtless, and I can feel my body responding to you in ways I do not want it to. “You’re making too much noise. I can’t sleep.”
“You were sleeping right here when I found you, asshole.” You shoot me another filthy look. “Maybe if you slept less, and helped me we could get out of here?”
“Whatever, Peter.” I snap back, trying to bring back the anger to hide the attraction. “You’ve been at it for six months, Peter, without chipping a single brick. You’re wasting your time. Why don’t you find a new hobby? Something quiet so I can have some peace?”
“You don’t deserve peace,” you shove me again, knocking me off balance before I can get on my feet. “Murderer.”
“Thank you for that, Peter.” I say with a growl as I use the chain link fence to get up. “I might have forgotten why I’m here in hell with you.”
