The First Kiss - Sylar/Peter - Wall Fic

[thewatchmaker]

Character: Sylar/Peter
Genre: slash
Author: thewatchmaker
Fandom: Heroes
Word count: 500+
Rating: PG
Prompts:
1. "You Really Got Me" The Kinks (rock theme) for 30_ballads 1/30
2. Nyctophobia; Fear of the Dark {are you afraid of the dark?} for 13_fears 4/13
Scar: Oooh... I quiver with *fear*... for scifi_muses vol3.week26


He was twitching. I could hear the springs in the sofa squeaking each and every time he shifted in his sleep. I’d grown used to the sound of his snoring and the occasional giggle when he was dreaming, but Peter wasn’t dreaming. He was having a nightmare. We’d been getting along, but it was a brittle peace. He was exhausted. He’d spent another day pounding on the wall trying to get us free.

Rolling over I pulled one of my pillows over my head and wrapped my arms around it. But try as I might I couldn’t block the sounds of his whimpers. Each one of them was like a knife going through my heart. Peter was miserable, and I knew it was my fault.

I climbed out of bed, tugging at the drawstring of my sweats to make sure they didn’t fall down as I walked as quietly as I could into the living room. Peter had knocked his covers off, and he had one arm thrown up over his face. He was shivering, and there was a sheen of sweat on his skin.

Fear spread through me like a cancer. What if he was sick? There were no doctors here. There was no one here who could help him. I was afraid to wake him. Afraid to touch him.

“No,” he whined and swatted at something only he could see. His hand left scratches over his bare chest, and he let out another small cry.

“Peter.” I sank down onto my knees next to the couch, and I placed my hand over his on his stomach. “Peter, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

“Sylar?” He jerked awake, his fingers clamping around mine as another cry was torn from his throat. “God, fucking, dammit!”

“It’s OK,” I said.

He pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me. His body was shaking as I slipped my arms around his waist. I’d never held him like this. I’d never held anyone like this, but somehow I thought I was doing the right thing. A fragment of a memory that wasn’t mine flittered behind my eyes. Peter crying at night because he was afraid of the dark, and then I’d… then Nathan… had held him until he could sleep.

“Bad dream. It was a really bad dream,” Peter whispered. He didn’t shove me away. I was waiting for it. The sudden revulsion when he realized that it was me holding him not the brother I’d killed.

“It’ll be alright. I’ve got you,” I murmured against his throat. I pulled him onto the floor next to me, my fingers carding through his thick, dark hair. Peter’s arms tightened around my neck. His lips brushed along my jaw, and I could feel the warm, wetness of his tears on my cheek.

I shifted my head, pressing my lips against his. They tasted of the salt of his tears, and I sighed when his lips parted when they touched mine. The affection I felt wasn’t Nathan’s. It was mine. I was the one who wanted to make him feel better. I was the one who wanted him to feel loved.

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