Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5489.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Heroes_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Luke_Campbell/Sylar
  Character:
      Luke_Campbell, Sylar
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Spanking, Clothing_Kink, Dom/sub, Porn, Non-Penetrative
      Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-04-19 Words: 2315
****** Discipline ******
by perdiccas
Summary
     Can it really be a punishment if Luke likes it?
Notes
     Luke is 17.
“What about this one?” Luke says, holding up a glossy flyer. “The world’s
oldest diner! Their milkshakes are supposedly world famous!”
“No,” Sylar says, dismissing him shortly. He’s studying the device the SWAT
team had strapped to Luke’s chest, trying to work out how to counteract it if
they ever get close enough to strap one to him and Luke’s done nothing but try
to break his concentration, babbling on about every tourist trap he’d grabbed a
brochure for from the hotel lobby.
“Okay…” It’s the fifth outright rejection in a row, but Luke won’t be deterred.
“What about this? The World’s Largest Ball of Twine.”
Sylar looks up long enough to glare at him.
“Oh come on,” Luke whines. “It’ll be fun. We can set it on fire!”
“Enough!” Sylar’s never had much patience, but Luke manages to sap what he does
have in double quick time. “Tomorrow we’re driving straight to see my father.
No diversions. No diners. No balls of twine. Do you understand me?”
“Jeez, what’s the big deal, anyway? You haven’t seen him in twenty-five years!
It’s not like another couple of days is gonna make a difference. Why d’you
wanna see him, anyway? He left; you couldn’t pay me to go see my old man--”
“Shut up!”
“I’m just saying--”
Sylar slams Luke face first against the wall. He pins him there with the weight
of his body, one forearm tight across the back of his shoulders.
“You need to learn to watch your mouth, Luke,” he growls.
“Or what?” Luke pants. He’s pushing back, still defiant, trying to wriggle out
from between Sylar and the wall. “You’ll kill me?”
Luke’s voice quavers and his breathing is ragged but there’s a mocking tone in
what he says, like he doesn’t believe for a second that Sylar would really do
it. Stupid, arrogant boy, Sylar thinks, contemplating murder just to prove a
point. Sylar takes half a step back, giving Luke enough room to catch his
breath and brush himself off; enough room to make him think he’s won, and then,
Sylar grabs him by the scruff of his neck and drags him backwards.
“Sylar! What the fuck?” he yelps. Sylar’s iron grip on his hip stops Luke from
getting away.
Sylar walks backwards, pulling Luke with him, ignoring the nails that claw at
his hands and the string of curses Luke’s bleating. He sits heavily on the edge
of the mattress and delivers one swift kick to Luke’s ankles. Luke
overbalances, catching himself with his hands on the bed, but not before he’s
landed ass up over Sylar’s lap. He tries to scramble away but Sylar’s hand is
heavy on his shoulder and telekinetic pressure at his hips keep him pinned in
place.
“Seriously, Sylar, what the hell are you--?”
The loud clap of Sylar’s palm to Luke’s ass cuts him off. Luke sucks in a loud
breath and Sylar slaps his ass again, drawing his hand back and throwing all
his weight into it. Luke grunts in pain and indignation, trying to twist his
body, looking over his shoulder, red-faced, as Sylar spanks him again and
again.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Sylar, quit it! What the hell is wrong with you?”
Luke’s protests do nothing but make Sylar hit him harder, the blows coming
quicker as Luke exhausts himself trying to break free. Telekinetic hands slam
down onto Luke’s shoulders and the back of his neck, keeping his face smothered
in the comforter to drown out his cries.
“You need to watch your mouth,” Sylar pants. “You need to stop whining and stop
complaining. And you need to do as you’re told.” He punctuates every word with
another slap.
“Fuck you,” Luke hisses.
Sylar fingers twitch with rage and his hand at the back of Luke’s neck squeezes
tight enough to choke. He spanks Luke again and again and again, without pause
until his own palm is red raw and tingling numbly from where he has struck the
metal studs on Luke’s back pockets and the rough weave of his cords has chafed
his skin. His chest heaves and his bicep burns, and in his exhaustion, Sylar’s
anger starts to clear. Luke’s protests have become muffled whimpers. He
sniffles into the comforter, gripping great handfuls of the fabric and
clutching to the bed with all his strength. There’s a vivid blush that’s
staining Luke’s skin from the nape of his neck, seeping down below the collar
of his t-shirt. His plump cheeks are streaked with tears; his eyes are
scrunched shut in humiliation. Finally, Sylar’s managed to shut him the hell
up.
Sylar finds he’s shaking all over as much as Luke is, and he shifts his weight,
trying to get some feeling back in his legs. He strokes Luke, idly, from the
back of his knees up to the small of his back. He doesn’t want hit him anymore,
but he doesn’t want to let him go, yet, either.
Sylar only notices the hardness pressing against his lap when Luke’s hips jerk
and he feels a hot wetness seeping through his jeans.
“Fuck,” Luke mumbles miserably, snivelling and whimpering more when Sylar
roughly caresses his ass.
There’s an awkward pause and Luke squirms, the wet patch starting to cool
between them. “Stand up,” Sylar eventually orders.
Luke slides off his lap. Sylar has to grab his hips and steady him as Luke’s
knees begin to buckle under his own weight. Sylar spreads his legs and tugs
Luke close between his knees.
Luke’s blushing harder, now, wiping his eyes and nose with the back of his
hand, wincing as even the slightest movement makes his backside ache. His
bottom lip quivers, but he barely makes a sound. When Sylar’s thumbs edge up
under the hem of his t-shirt and trace the line of the waistband of his pants,
Luke shivers but doesn’t speak.
Sylar cocks his head to the side, eyes level with the damp mark spreading
across Luke’s groin. This close to him, Sylar can smell the tart, chlorine
scent of Luke’s come, can almost taste the bitterness of Luke’s spunk on the
roof of his mouth. He glances up, but Luke’s looking steadily at the wall
opposite, cheeks a fierce, bright red, his hands curled into tight, angry fists
at his sides.
“Take your clothes off,” he orders. “I’ll send them to the hotel laundry.”
He watches Luke’s Adam’s apple bob, and hears him swallow dryly. Luke’s lips
twitch and for a moment, Sylar thinks he might say no, but his mouth forms a
hard line and with shaking hands, he peels his t-shirt over his head. Luke’s
blush has spread down his chest. His puffy, pink nipples are hard and tight;
the fine, light hairs on his arms stand on end. He hesitates as he reaches for
his belt.
“Go on,” Sylar urges. He licks his lips as Luke unbuckles his belt with clumsy
fingers, dragging down his zipper with Sylar’s nose just inches away.
Luke inhales a shuddering breath and tries to push down his cords, but Sylar’s
hands are still clamped tight to his hips. With a frustrated grunt he finally
looks down and when he glares at Sylar, Sylar slowly pulls down his pants until
they bunch around Luke’s knees. Luke’s swaying slightly and Sylar caresses him
up the outside of his thighs, letting the thin cotton of Luke’s boxers gather
under his palms as he moves them up and down in long, soothing, strokes.
Luke’s scent is richer now, thick and musky, and the front of his underwear is
a darker blue, sticking to his crotch where his semen has cooled. Sylar leans
forward and presses his nose to the soft flesh of Luke’s groin.
“Dude!” Luke mutters, nervous. He stumbles back but Sylar holds him steady with
one firm hand curved around his ass. Through his boxers, Sylar can feel the
heat from Luke’s spanked ass warming his palm.
When Sylar’s tongue flicks out to drag over the wet patch along Luke’s fly,
Luke’s fingers tangle in his hair. “Sylar!”
Sylar mouths at the threadbare fabric, sucking at the mix of semen and sweat
imbued within it. It’s a salty, bitter taste that Sylar likes, with a strange
chemical aftertaste from the dye of the cotton or the fabric softener last
used. He rolls the material between his lips, flicking the tip of his tongue
against it until he’s mapped the outline of the stain. Sylar crushes his nose
to the seam between Luke’s inner thigh and groin and breathes him in, muffling
his groans against Luke’s quaking body.
Luke’s fingers rake through his hair, nails catching lightly on Sylar’s scalp
as he lilts forward, letting Sylar nuzzle his face deeper between his legs. He
braces himself on Sylar’s shoulder, running his hands over Sylar’s shoulders
and neck and upper back. When Sylar turns his gaze upwards, he sees Luke
curling over him, head hanging down with his eyes shut and his lips parted,
soft moans coming in time to the lap of Sylar’s tongue.
Luke’s hips roll forward and he grinds himself against Sylar’s face, Sylar’s
nose flush against the line of his re-hardening cock. When Luke’s underwear is
as wet with Sylar’s spit as it is with spunk, Sylar pulls away. Luke
reluctantly lets him.
Luke gnaws at his bottom lip, shifting his weight as he looks down on Sylar
from under heavy lids with wide blown, expectant eyes. Sylar slowly works down
his boxers, fondling Luke’s ass roughly as he goes to hear Luke’s pretty,
tortured groans. Halfway down, Sylar carefully pulls the waistband out and
snaps it back against Luke’s balls.
“Oh shit,” Luke whimpers. His hips snap forward and his cock jerks up. Sylar
has to dart back to avoid getting cock-slapped across the cheek.
“You’re going to be good now, aren’t you?” Sylar asks, fingering his waistband
threateningly.
“Yes,” Luke hisses. Sylar lets the elastic ping back at him again, but more
softly now, and turns his face to kiss Luke’s hands when they blindly reach out
to stroke his face.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, pleased at the way Luke squirms where he stands at
Sylar’s words, licking his lips at the sight of Luke’s full cock bouncing up
and down. He shoves Luke’s boxers down the rest of the way and runs one
apologetic thumb over his sac, brushing the pink line where the elastic had
slapped his balls. “Turn around for me.”
Luke shuffles around without hesitation, ass still bright red as it comes into
Sylar’s view. He leans forward and places a gentle kiss to each cheek, sighing
at the heat of his raw and sensitive skin against his lips. Sylar rests against
him, enjoying the sight of his battered, plump ass, pink all over from the
small of his back to the tops of his thighs. He rubs his cheek over Luke’s skin
and chuckles to himself when Luke gasps at the rough scratch of his stubble,
caught between trying to pull away and trying to push back into the feeling.
Sylar drags one dry finger down the cleft between his cheeks and teases over
Luke’s asshole, feeling the texture of his skin and the way the muscle twitches
at his caress. Then, he pulls away completely and tugs Luke around again to
face him.
Sylar takes Luke’s t-shirt and uses it to clean him, the fabric staining with
sticky, cool semen and the fresh, wet dribbles of pre-come as Sylar wraps the
cotton around Luke’s cock and wipes up from root to tip. When he’s satisfied
that Luke is clean, he ducks his head and takes one last sniff of Luke’s groin,
letting the pale, coarse hair around his base tickle the tip of his nose. Sylar
kisses Luke’s hip quickly and orders, “Go take a shower.”
Luke bends over quickly and pecks Sylar on the lips. “Yes, sir,” he mumbles
against Sylar’s mouth, sucking naughtily at Sylar’s bottom lip before stepping
out his pants and boxers and darting to the bathroom.
As soon as the door clicks shut, Sylar’s on his back, long legs still hanging
over the edge of the bed as he rips open his fly and pushes down his briefs
enough to let his cock spring free. He fists his hand in Luke’s soiled t-shirt
and brings the fabric to his face, smothering himself with the soft cotton and
Luke’s rich scent as he rubs the head of his cock with his thumb, spreading the
pre-come that’s been leaking from his tip since he could first smell Luke’s
spunk in the air.
Sylar shoves his hand and Luke’s t-shirt down the front of his pants, using the
fabric to jerk his cock. It’s a tight fit and the waistband of his briefs bites
into the back of his hand, his skin catching on the metallic teeth of the fly
of his jeans, but he’s too far gone to think about wriggling free of his
clothes.
He closes his eyes and thinks about Luke writhing in the car tomorrow, moaning
under his breath with every sharp corner Sylar takes or sudden stop. He thinks
about Luke mouthing off; about dragging him over his knee again; about this
time being aware enough to feel Luke rutting against his thigh as he’s spanked.
He fantasises about pulling at Luke’s soft, short hair and feeding his cock
between those soft lips, plump round cheeks bright red and wet with tears. He
thinks about fucking Luke hard, about the sound of his balls slapping against
Luke’s raw ass and, with a twist of his wrist, Sylar comes, all over his hand
and Luke’s shirt, staining the hem of his own shirt and his underwear too as he
rubs his spunk back down his length and strokes himself down.
“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. The laundry is going to be busy tonight.
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