Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/290477.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Heroes_-_Fandom
  Character:
      Luke_Campbell, Sylar
  Additional Tags:
      Drabble, One_Shot, Painful_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-12-08 Words: 376
****** Kisses ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     He’s fascinated with kisses.
Notes
     --super old fic. kink meme post for Heroes fandom on LiveJournal.
He’s obsessed with intimate touches, though he’s too timid to ask for them.
Sylar notices it the first time they do more than just fuck (much more; there
is beauty and cadence behind each stroke, each touch, each nudge; it’s more
that just an act, it’s a dance). Luke’s face is looking up at him, head on his
chest, staring, that innocent puppy-dog stare still in his eyes, and he can
tell the boy wants a kiss.
He’s fascinated with kisses.
Luke loves to watch the killer’s lips touch his skin, and every time they do he
feels special, wanted, needed. It’s like his own personal way of telling Luke
he loves him, without ever saying the words. He watches Sylar kiss up his torso
through half-lidded eyes that close as his own cold, torn and tattered lips
touch Sylar’s warm, soft, whole ones.
He needs them to survive.
It’s easy enough to ignore the boy, or to keep him happy with little trinkets
for the time being, but when it really counts Sylar knows the ways to truly
reciprocate. A strong arm over his, a close hug; a small, secret, personal
lesson - little gestures that he would show no other. It sets Luke’s mind at
ease, and keeps his tears and fears away - and his screams, always his screams.
If he’s happy, he’s quiet, no matter how badly the sex hurts, and as much as
Sylar loves hearing his voice hoarse, the motel walls are only so thick…
He’s lost so much, and they all feel like little gains.
Even with blood pouring down his face, Luke still appreciates the nuances.
Pain’s numbing and his thoughts and heartbeats are slowing and for that he’s
grateful. Eventually it had to come to this, right…? he wonders, his mind
wandering in the last seconds of his life. He’s a serial killer, kills for
power, and mine is special. Special… His time is up, but he’s not crying (the
only tears on his face have dried under all the blood), he’s not screaming or
pleading or cursing. Emotions melt away and he’s just peaceful, a little smile
on his lips.
The last thing he knows is a kiss, and there’s no other way he could have
wanted it.
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