Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/170433.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Heroes_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Luke_Campbell/Sylar
  Character:
      Luke_Campbell, Sylar
  Additional Tags:
      Sex, Romance
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-03-14 Words: 7186
****** Of Entry Wounds and Rainbows ******
by TheVoiceofWrath_(meet_your_fate)
Summary
     In which Sylar goes back for Luke, Sylar regrets going back for Luke,
     Luke gets shot, Sylar plays doctor, and then it starts to rain.
Notes
     This is a fic I've had over at my LJ for a while. It was originally
     written during an exchange for carmexgirl over at LJ.
Luke is walking in the general direction of New Jersey, he thinks, when Sylar
pulls over next to him. The sun set hours ago and he’ll be damned if he’s going
to check his watch to see how long it’s been since Sylar left him bleeding in
the dust and the asbestos. He’s tempted to keep going and pretend he doesn’t
notice the truck, but then Sylar turns that half amused, half angry expression
to him through the open window and Luke’s feet refuse to keep going.
“Are you getting in or not?” he asks. Luke looks Sylar in the eyes for as long
as he can stand. It isn’t very long and it’s not like those dark, dark eyes
will ever reveal any truths to the likes of him, anyway. He walks around the
front of the truck, feeling Sylar’s gaze follow him through the windshield. He
opens the door and gets inside. He tries not to sigh or harrumph, but he’s
pretty sure he fails on one or both accounts when Sylar chuckles. He makes sure
to put his seatbelt on. He watches the barren, desert wasteland pass by as the
truck pulls back on to the road and wonders if that’s what his soul looks like;
if that’s what makes him so easy to leave behind. He wonders if it really
matters in the grand scheme of things. Probably not.
Sylar reaches behind his seat for a few moments and Luke thinks Sylar might be
using telekinesis to keep the truck in its lane. That’s a handy trick. When he
pulls his arm back, he has one of those drink holders from McDonald's in his
hand. It’s got a large drink and two burgers on it. Sylar passes them to Luke
without saying a word or looking in his direction. Luke looks at the drink, a
strawberry shake even if it is kind of melted, and then looks at Sylar and
smiles. Melted shake and cold burgers are more of an apology than he ever
expected anyway. Sylar just keeps driving. He wonders how long Sylar’s been
looking for him if the shake had time to melt and the burgers had time to get
cold. He drinks and eats and the smile never really leaves his face. He doesn’t
even think about nuking the burgers.
The motel they stop at is pretty crappy, but not the crappiest they’ve stayed
in by far. Sylar goes to get the key alone. Luke figures he probably looks like
he’s been rolling around in dirt and he still has blood on his face, so he
doesn’t push to be included. Someone might get the idea that Sylar has been
beating him which, strictly speaking, might be true. Luke’s had worse, though,
so it doesn’t bother him much. Getting slammed into walls is the least of his
worries at this point.
Sylar comes back to the truck with the key and grabs his bag from the back
seat. Luke does the same and they make their way to the room. Luke very much
notices the way he’s always a step back and to the right. There’s no question
that he’s following Sylar like a puppy. Even if he’s a recently kicked puppy,
he can’t bring himself to mind. Better a step behind than nowhere near. Sylar
is a force of nature and Luke will stay in his gravitational field for as long
as he’s allowed. People have been living in the shadows of great men since the
dawn of mankind. He wonders if there’s a support group.
Sylar claims the bed closest to the door, like he always does, and goes into
the bathroom. Luke is sure that Sylar has some irrefutable logic for his bed
preference. Maybe he doesn’t want to have to walk past Luke’s sleeping form
when he decides to really leave and never come back. Maybe he just wants to be
close to the only entry point. Luke likes to think that Sylar puts himself
closer to potential danger to keep Luke farther away from it. Of all of the
possible reasons Luke has thought up, this one is the least likely. It’s also
his favorite.
Luke throws his bag on his bed and rummages around inside of it for his pajama
pants and a t-shirt. He’s glad to have his earthly possessions back. It would
have been bad; not having anything but the clothes on his back. He can hear the
shower running, so he sets his clean clothes on the bed and grabs some tissues
from the bedside table. He walks over to the mirror on the wall and looks at
his head wound. It isn’t very deep, but head injuries always look worse than
they really are. He’s trying to pick out the dirt and grit when the shower
turns off and Sylar walks into the room. It should be noted that Luke doesn’t
turn his gaze to Sylar’s reflection and stop breathing like he usually does.
He’s growing, it would seem; he can continue his task without being distracted
by Sylar’s wet hair and shower flushed skin. This is a first. If he hadn’t
ditched his cell phone, he’d mark his calendar. ‘Conquered my ADD for three
goddamned seconds today’ it would read. Not that he wouldn’t be plenty
distracted by Sylar without the ADD, but it’s good to have something to blame.
Three seconds is about all the focus he has, too, because Sylar walks up to him
and grabs his chin. He turns Luke’s head into the light.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Sylar says, and Luke could have told him that.
Luke scowls as best as he can with those hands on his face. Sylar presses his
lips together like he’s trying to hide a smile and takes the tissue from Luke’s
hand. He tilts Luke’s head a little more, and it isn’t exactly comfortable, but
Luke doesn’t protest. This is how touch starved he is. Sylar gently wipes at
the cut and removes the imbedded bits of abandonment from Luke’s flesh. He
imagines Sylar clearing away his other sins as easily as this, but isn’t
successful. Not even Sylar can piece someone he murdered back together and
expect them to come back to life with forgiveness on their lips.
“There. Now go wash up; you look terrible.” Sylar says as he throws the tissue
into the garbage can. Luke grumbles all the way to the bathroom and slams the
door behind him. The effect is completely ruined when he has to open it right
back up to go get his pajamas. His face feels like it’s on fire when Sylar
laughs at him, but he figures he kind of deserves it for the rookie move he
just pulled.
They leave the motel before nine the next morning and Luke is still exhausted.
His blinks are slow because he has to force his eyes to open again and he tries
not to rub at his face like a sleepy three year old, even if that’s exactly how
he feels. Sylar is his usual grumpy self until they get to a diner and he
drinks deeply from his newly filled coffee mug. His quiet, satisfied moan does
things to Luke. Luke groans in despair and lays his face on the cool top of the
questionably clean table between them. The waitress sets his milk beside his
head.
“You okay, sugar?” she asks. It’s innocent and concerned sounding. No one’s
sounded concerned about him in a very long time. He raises his face to meet her
eyes and smiles.
“I’m fine, thanks; just tired.” She smiles back before nodding and going off to
other customers. Sylar has his left eyebrow raised and his mug halfway between
the table and his mouth when Luke turns to look at him. Luke’s smile
disappears. “What?”
“…Where you just nice to the waitress?” Sylar sounds genuinely baffled.
“There something wrong with that?” Luke asks, his tone defensive. Sylar takes a
drink of his formerly forgotten mug and sets it down before answering.
“Not at all. It’s just not like you.” Sylar says as he turns his Obsessive
Compulsive attention to his disarrayed silverware.
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m nice to people who are nice to me.” Luke can’t keep the
bitterness from his voice and looks away when Sylar’s eyes meet his. Those eyes
are going to drown him. Breakfast is awkward and tense. Luke can tell that this
isn’t going to be a very good day.
After breakfast, they get in the truck and it’s just as tense and awkward as in
the diner. After twenty minutes of silence, Luke reaches to turn on the radio.
Sylar slaps his hand before he can manage it, and he slaps hard.
“What the fuck, man?” Luke exclaims as he cradles his offended hand to his
chest.
“No music.”
“Why not? Would it interrupt your contemplations?” Luke rolls his eyes.
“As a matter of fact, it would.”
“Jesus Christ, Sylar. You know I can’t stand silence like this! It’s like
you’re doing it on purpose!” Sylar smirks. “You are! Fuck you! If I’m so
annoying, why did you bother coming back for me?”
The smirk disappears. “Maybe I shouldn’t have. We’d have both been better off.”
Luke tries to hide the hurt by looking out the passenger window. He has a
feeling that it doesn’t work. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get out of your hair
at the next halfway civilized place we stop. I wouldn’t want to get in your way
any more than I already have.”
Sylar sighs. “Luke-”
“Whatever, it’s cool. I get it.” And it’s true, because he really does get it.
Everybody wants him gone sooner or later. It’s like death and taxes; the only
three things that are sure in life. He tries to feel less like his world is
ending and more like it’s just beginning. It doesn’t work.
Sylar must not have been paying much attention to the road, because he probably
could have used his telekinesis to keep the black SUV from hitting them. Luke’s
lucky that he learned the seatbelt lesson when the truck goes ass over tea
kettle into the median. But then there are three more black SUVs and Sylar’s
crawling out of the shattered windshield and there are gunshots. He figures he
should probably just stay were he is, hanging upside down and all, but then he
remembers all those movies that show cars blowing up after accidents and after
being shot at. He has to melt the seatbelt to get it off because, either the
mechanism isn’t working right, or his fingers aren’t. He kind of wishes that
he’d remembered gravity when he connects head first with the roof of the truck.
He turns as gently as he can, not wanting to cut his hands too badly on the
glass that seems to be everywhere, and crawls out of the wreckage.
What he sees when he looks up is a few overturned SUVs and a lot of
electrocuted and otherwise dead guys in SWAT gear. Luke stands and falls on his
ass without really knowing why. He isn’t hurt; why should he collapse? He looks
down at his left thigh and sees a blood flower rapidly blossoming on his pants.
At the center of it is a hole. He thinks he might have been shot. He puts his
hands on it, applies pressure like they say to do on TV, and looks around for
the son of a bitch that shot him. He’s just in time to see Sylar break the
agent’s neck with his bare hands. Sylar searches the field of battle for more
enemies before finally looking at Luke. Luke thinks that he’s probably in
shock, but he thinks Sylar might be worried, too. It seems like a pretty even
trade off.
Sylar’s by his side a lot quicker than Luke would have thought possible, moving
Luke’s hands to look at the damage. He rips Luke’s pants to get a better view.
“Hey! My pants!”
Sylar chuckles. “I’ll by you a new pair.”
“You better, asshole.”
“You’re in shock, so I’ll just ignore what you’re saying.”
“Nothing new there…” Luke mumbles. Then his brain shorts when Sylar undoes his
own belt. His communications function is no longer available. He just blinks.
He quickly gets with the program when Sylar fastens the belt above the wound on
Luke’s leg, though; a tourniquet. Details like this are why Sylar is obviously
the smartest man on the planet. Luke is privileged to have been shot in his
company. Or rather, better him than anyone else. Or something. Luke is honestly
beyond coherency even in his own head at this point. And that he’s perfectly
cognizant of his own incoherency is strange. Even stranger is the delirium he
must be experiencing; there’s no way that Sylar puts his arms under Luke’s
knees and shoulders and carries him to one of the more or less undamaged SUVs
and lays him in the back seat.
When Luke wakes up, it’s to low music and his own agony. The adrenalin and the
shock have both passed, apparently. “Jesus Christ!”
Sylar turns the radio off and pulls over. He turns back to look at Luke with a
smirk on his face. “Now you know what it’s like to be shot.”
“Yeah, well, I wish I knew what it’s like to heal really fast, too. This
sucks.”
Sylar’s chuckles as he digs through a plastic bag. He produces a small bottle
and pours two pills out of it. He’s got water in his other hand. “You remember
how to take pills, or do I have to give you detailed instructions?”
Luke scowls at Sylar and sits up. His leg screams at him to lay the fuck back
down, but he’s never been good at following orders. He takes the pills from
Sylar without asking what they are. He figures Sylar could find a cooler way to
kill him/poison him/slip him rohypnol. He puts the pills in his mouth and downs
half of the water.
“We need to drive a while longer before we can stop. Not enough distance
between us and the crime scene yet. Lie back down.” He follows Sylar’s order
though and his leg takes offense to that, too. Just as Luke is drifting off to
sleep, he notices that Sylar said ‘we’.
This time, Luke wakes up all alone and it’s night time. The truck is stationary
and Luke has a momentary panic attack until the door behind his head opens and
Sylar smirks down at him.
“Sit up; I’m not going to do all the work.” Luke hurries to obey, but jars his
injured leg. He must have cried out, because Sylar’s hand grabs his upper arm
and helps him the rest of the way up. “I’m not going to have to carry you to
the room am I?”
“No. Just… maybe leave your hand there.” It’s a team effort to get to the room.
Luke hobbles along and Sylar supports most of Luke’s weight and does his best
to look put upon. Once inside, Sylar helps him to the farthest bed and lowers
him down onto towels and plastic sheeting. Sylar must have set it up before
bringing Luke in so that he could perform amateur surgery without worrying
about the mess.
“The bullet has to come out,” Sylar explains.
“You know, I wasn’t aware of that. Any other wisdom you’d like to share with
me?” Luke talks big when he’s worried and he knows that Sylar can see right
through it, but that doesn’t stop it from making him feel better.
“It’s probably not the best idea to antagonize the person who’s going to be
digging around in your leg with giant tweezers. I hear there are arteries in
that general area.” Sylar is going through a first aid kit, pulling out
supplies. When he got a first aid kit, Luke has no idea. It isn’t exactly
something that Sylar would need to carry around.
“Can’t you just use the force to pull the bullet out?” Luke says, eyeing said
tweezers with trepidation. Sylar looks at him like he just might be the
stupidest person on the planet.
“Sure; if you want shredded muscles and tendons and veins. Even if I focused
all of my attention on making the bullet follow its original path, the
flattened edges would tear your flesh and I’d do more harm than good. I’m going
to have to get in there and see what damage there is and how to best avoid
causing any more.” Sylar looks at him critically. “Or are you just afraid that
it will hurt?”
“Of course I’m not afraid! It’s just… how do I know that your tweezers are
sterilized? And how do I know if you have any idea what you’re doing?”
“I’ve done brain surgery before. Removing a bullet shouldn’t be hard. And of
course the forceps are sterilized.”
“Yeah, well, how many of your patients are alive enough to tell me how good
your surgery skills are? I want to see some testimonials.” It’s a joke, but
Sylar answers it like it was a serious question.
“Just the one, but I don’t think she’d be willing to compliment me on her
successful vivisection.”
“… Someone survived your serial killing?” Luke is genuinely intrigued by this
idea.
“It’s not about the killing. Well, not usually. And if my head was cut open,
I’d heal, wouldn’t I? Where do you think I got that little trick from?” He
gently rearranges Luke’s legs so that he can sit on the bed and have complete
access to Luke’s injury. Then, he rips Luke’s pant leg off the rest of the way
and throws it into the garbage can. Luke concentrates on breathing. “This is
probably going to be the most painful thing you’ve ever experienced. I don’t
have anything to help with the pain. And the iodine alone will probably make
you pass out.”
Luke laughs. He probably sounds insane. “This is hardly going to be the most
painful thing I’ve ever experienced. I’ll buy you dinner if it is.”
Sylar’s lips quirk in something between a smile and a sneer. “You don’t have
any money.”
“That’s how certain I am.” Sylar busies himself with the injury and Luke is
sure he imagined the glimmer of concern in those chocolate eyes. Concern is not
something Sylar feels at all, let alone for Luke.
The next thing Luke knows, Sylar is pouring something onto his leg. His fists
clench in the plastic and the comforter underneath and his teeth grind
together. This isn’t the most excruciating experience of his life, but it’s
definitely in the top ten. He doesn’t move his leg, no matter how much the
instinct to get away from the pain fights with him. There’s a brief reprieve
while Sylar picks up the forceps and inspects the injury. It doesn’t last long.
All too soon, those giant tweezers are inside Luke and this is officially in
his top five. He’ll be avoiding getting shot at from now on. He makes a humming
noise of discontentment.
“I’m almost done,” Sylar promises. It’s soothing. “I’ve almost got it.”
“Hurrying up would be much appreciated,” he growls through his teeth. Sylar
chuckles at him. And just like that, everything hurts a lot less.
“I got it,” Sylar says as he holds the bullet up for Luke to see. How such a
small thing can cause so much trouble, Luke will never know. He reaches out to
grab it, but Sylar pulls it away and sets it in a glass on the bedside table.
“It’s covered in blood; you can play with it when it’s clean.”
“You’re no fun,” Luke complains as Sylar wipes his hands on towel. “Are you
going to bandage it up or something?”
Sylar rolls his eyes and presses the towel against Luke’s leg. “So, not the
most painful thing you’ve ever experienced?”
“Not quite.” Sylar raises an eyebrow, as if to ask what is his most painful
experience. Luke shakes his head. “A guy’s gotta have his secrets. If I told
you everything about me, there wouldn’t be any mystery left. Then what use
would you have for me?”
“Because I keep you around for your air of mystery,” Sylar jokes. He removes
the towel and pours some water onto Luke’s leg to wash away the dried blood.
“Why do you keep me around?” Luke doesn’t expect an answer. He expects Sylar to
say that he doesn’t know, that he shouldn’t, that he isn’t going to anymore.
That isn’t what Sylar says.
“I’ve been trying to figure that out myself,” Sylar says as he begins bandaging
Luke’s leg. “Trying and failing.”
Luke looks at Sylar curiously. “I don’t understand.”
Sylar doesn’t respond until he’s finished with the bandage. He secures the
loose end and idly sets his hand on top of it. He doesn’t look at Luke. “I
should have killed you in your living room and how many chances have I had
since then? The times I was rid of you, I just picked you right back up again.
I don’t know why and it’s beginning to concern me.”
Luke takes a deep breath and leans up on his elbows to get a better view of
Sylar. “I don’t know why you come back for me, either. No one else ever has.
It’s kind of weird. I mean, I can tell that you don’t like me, that you think
I’m annoying. Anyone else would have let the agents have me, if they’d even let
me come along in the first place. I guess something about having someone as
screwed up as you around makes you feel less crazy.”
“That’s obviously it. I mean, I’m just a psycho killer; you make me look like a
harmless puppy.” They both laugh and Luke hasn’t felt this content for a long
time. When the happy sound ends, Sylar still has a lazy half smile on his face.
“Do you have to go to the bathroom before bed?”
“Kinda. This should be interesting. You gonna hold me up while I pee?” Luke
jokes.
“If I have to. I’m pretty sure you could manage to stand on your own if you put
all your weight on your right leg, though. Let’s make that Plan A.”
Sylar helps Luke into the bathroom and props him up in front of the toilet. He
makes sure he’s steady before nodding at Sylar to get the fuck out of the
bathroom, thank you very much. Luke does his business and manages to hobble
over to the sink to wash his hands. He leans on the counter and the doorway and
makes his way back out to the room. Sylar is cleaning up the mess and Luke
didn’t realize until just now how much blood he must have lost. It certainly
looks like a lot. Maybe it’s the long day or the exertion of hobbling or maybe
it’s the blood loss; either way, he gets a little dizzy. Sylar is there in an
instant to steady him, this time with both hands on Luke’s upper arms.
“You okay?” He asks.
“Yeah, just a little lightheaded,” Luke explains. He looks up into Sylar’s deep
eyes and smiles. Those bottomless pits seem kind of inviting, like he could
fall and fall and fall forever in them and not mind in the least. He blinks
slowly and, the next thing he knows, he’s pushing his face up against Sylar’s
and he can feel those lips against his own. Sylar squeezes Luke’s arms and
returns the kiss for a moment that hardly seems like a moment at all before
pulling back and shaking his head.
“Let’s get you in bed before you do something really stupid,” he says as he
guides Luke to his bed and underneath the covers.
“Watch it, mister; you’re supposed to buy me dinner first.” Sylar laughs again.
“How many times have I bought you breakfast, lunch and dinner? I’d say you owe
me if that’s your only requirement.”
“I do owe you. I’d still be back in Jersey, amounting to a whole lot of
nothing, without you. Even this whole fugitive thing is better than nothing.”
Sylar pulls the covers up to Luke’s chin and gently pats him on the head,
letting his fingers card through chestnut hair for just a second too long.
“Go to sleep, you impossible child.” Maybe Luke’s tired ears imagined the
playfulness in Sylar’s jibe and maybe they didn’t. He’s too far gone to care
much. He snuggles down into the comfort of crappy motel linens and drifts away.
He thinks he might have imagined the light pressure of a kiss against his
temple, too.
The first thing Luke is aware of the next morning is bright, painful light. His
head is aching and it takes a moment for his eyes, and his brain, to focus. The
curtains are open. The second thing he’s aware of is someone fiddling with his
leg. Luke looks down and sees Sylar changing his bandage. The dots connect and
Luke understands.
“You could have woken me up first. Molesting me in my sleep is a little weird.”
“You could use the extra sleep. You’re drinking juice at breakfast, by the way.
Blood loss and all that,” Sylar prescribes. He thinks it’s almost funny that
Sylar’s worried about Luke’s ability to produce blood cells. When the new
bandage is done, Sylar continues. “And I’m not molesting you. You, of all
people, should be able to tell the difference.”
“Oh, zing. What is that supposed to mean? And why didn’t I change my clothes
last night? I’m wearing half a pair of pants,” Luke complains as he sits up.
“I have no idea why you didn’t change your clothes. I don’t think you realized
that it was an option. And you know exactly what I mean. The only reason I’m
not going to hold you accountable for… what you did last night is the fact that
you were tired and confused.”
“Prude,” Luke grumbles as he reaches over the edge of the bed to grab his
duffle bag. He can feel Sylar’s glare as he pulls out some new clothes. He
smirks. “Are you going to help me get to the bathroom, or am I on my own now?”
To his surprise, Sylar does help him get to the bathroom. Sylar is by no means
gentle about it, of course When Luke is alone in the bathroom, he does his
business and then cleans himself with a washcloth and hot water. He can’t stand
long enough to take a shower and he’d just get his bandage wet, anyway. His
legs don’t seem to be able to support his weight anymore by the time he’s
finished. He calls for Sylar.
After a moment, Sylar opens the door a few inches and sticks his head inside.
His eyebrow is raised. “You rang, your majesty?”
“Can you, ah- give me a hand here? I’m kind of too weak to stand on my own now.
All of this sponge bathing and clothes changing seems to have taken its toll.”
Luke puts his best sheepish face on and Sylar rolls his eyes.
“Maybe you should have sat down for as much of it as possible,” Sylar offers as
he comes closer and helps Luke up.
“Yeah, but then it would have taken longer.”
“Oh, yeah, well that makes sense.” Luke can feel Sylar shaking his head in
amusement. “Come on, let’s get some breakfast and head out.”
They end up eating at some run down little dinner a few minutes from the motel
that only has one other patron. They aren’t asked any questions when Luke limps
in with Sylar’s hand hovering against his lower back. It seems oddly possessive
and Luke is surprised that they don’t even get a strange look. Sylar helps him
slide into a booth and sits across from him.
Luke orders waffles and orange juice. Sylar orders eggs and bacon, with coffee
to drink. Breakfast is a silent affair, but not an awkward one. For the first
time, Luke can say that the two of them have sat in companionable anything, let
alone silence. When they’re done, Sylar pays the check and steers him back to
the truck.
“You know, I’m not made of glass. I think I can hobble a few feet without
shattering,” he complains, but he doesn’t mean it. He likes the idea that Sylar
is protecting him, making sure he doesn’t fall.
“That remains to be seen. Every time I leave you unattended, you seem to get
hurt in some way,” explains Sylar as he climbs in the driver’s seat and starts
the car. Luke buckles up his seat belt before they pull out of the parking lot.
“How many of those instances were directly your fault?” Luke jokes. “Every
single one of them?”
Sylar sighs. “Something like that.”
Luke looks out his window. The skies are grey and stormy, like it could start
raining any second. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I don’t blame you for
anything. I understood that coming along with you would be dangerous. I mean… I
don’t know what I mean anymore. You make me so confused.”
In that instant, the rain starts falling. It’s torrential and Luke used to be
kind of afraid of thunder, but he certainly isn’t anymore; not when there’s
something as wonderful and terrifying as Sylar in this world. Sylar drives in
silence for a few minutes and Luke figures that Sylar is just ignoring him. It
wouldn’t be the first time. But then Sylar pulls over, and Luke wonders for a
moment how Sylar could even recognize the shoulder of the road in this
downpour, before he remembers that there isn’t anything Sylar can’t do. Sylar’s
still facing the road when he speaks.
“People around me always get hurt. Sometimes it’s my fault and sometimes it
isn’t. But that doesn’t mean I want it to happen. I don’t want you to get hurt,
Luke.” Sylar has never sounded more sincere in all the time Luke’s known him.
“Is that why you keep leaving me?”
“Partly, I’m sure. The larger part is logic, though, so don’t feel too
flattered. It just doesn’t make sense to have you around.”
“Then why do you keep coming back for me?” Sylar meets his eyes and just stares
for a moment, but in this truck and in this rain, seconds seem like hours. He
takes a deep breath before answering.
“I think I’ve finally figured it out,” he says as he finally breaks eye contact
and looks back out the windshield. “The part of me that isn’t controlled by
logic, that part that’s all emotion and instinct; I think that part of me likes
having you around for… whatever reason. And that part of me is winning the tug
of war over whether or not I should let you stay with me. I hate it when that
part of me wins.”
Luke blinks a few times. What an interesting way to tell someone you like their
company. “Golly, mister! If I’d known I’d cause you so much trouble, I’d have
stayed home like a good boy!”
Sylar laughs. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
“Yeah, me, too,” he admits. “So, that’s why you’ve been so weird? You don’t
hate me, and you’re bitter about it?”
“Something like that.” Sylar turns to look at him again. “Why did you do it?”
“I’ve done a lot of things in my life, so you’re going to have to be a little
more specific.” Of course Luke knows that Sylar means the kiss. The kiss that
Luke had thought he might get away with due to extenuating circumstances.
“You’re a lot smarter than you want people to think. You like to be
underestimated you, don’t you?”
“Anything for the tactical advantage. I should think you’d understand that
better than most.”
Sylar nods. “Let me simplify then. Why did you kiss me? And no excuses.”
Luke sighs and looks out his window. “I should think it was fairly obvious.”
“I need you to say it, Luke. Telepathy is not a skill I’ve acquired.”
He takes a deep breath before he says it. “I’ve been waiting for that kiss
since that day in my mother’s house, when you were drinking our coffee and
going through our mail. I know I’m a freak. I mean, who gets the hots for
psychos who hold them hostage and torture people in front of them? Some kind of
instantaneous Stockholm syn-”
Suddenly, Sylar grabs Luke’s chin and turns his face around. Luke has about two
second’s warning before Sylar’s lips are on his own and this is so much better
than blood loss kisses that Luke doesn’t even totally remember. This is hot and
real and Luke can feel it in a way he couldn’t in the motel room. He can feel
it all the way to his toes. Sylar holds Luke’s face and maneuvers Luke’s body
so that it’s facing his, jarring Luke’s leg in the process. He must have called
out or flinched or maybe both, because Sylar pulls away and looks at him
curiously.
“My leg. It’s fine, though. Really. Who the fuck cares about sore legs at a
time like this?” Sylar chuckles and Luke can feel it reverberate through his
body. Sylar pulls Luke, gently this time, so that he’s sitting in the middle of
the bench and lowers him to his back. Luke honestly didn’t realize there was
enough room for him to comfortably lie down in the front seat of a truck, even
with his knees bent, but he doesn’t have time to contemplate spatial
recognition right this second because Sylar fits himself between Luke’s thighs
and leans over him. Sylar touches Luke’s face, his brow, his cheek, his nose;
Luke has never been petted before. He finds that he’s missed out. Inside this
metal box, surrounded by rain and by Sylar, Luke feels safer and more loved
than he’s ever felt in his entire life. He reaches his own hand up and grabs
Sylar by his nape. He presses his mouth to Sylar’s and feels Sylar smile, an
honest to god contented smile, against his lips.
Sylar ends the kiss, but stays close. He presses his nose to the flesh beneath
Luke’s ear. The word ‘nuzzling’ comes to mind, but Luke doesn’t think Sylar
would approve of using it to describe him. “Tell me this is some hormonal
teenager thing, and I’ll understand. I’m not expecting any kind of commitment.”
Luke pushes Sylar far enough away so that he can see his face. “You can’t say
shit like that with your face buried in my neck.”
Sylar raises his eyebrow. “I think I just did.”
And Luke understands. Sylar’s not like Luke, who’s all bravado when he’s
scared; Sylar hides when he feels vulnerable. Luke grins up at the only being
who’s ever been worth his devotion. “Sylar, of course this isn’t some stupid
crush. You can’t possibly think that I’d have stuck around though all of this
crap if I was just a horny little boy. I think I fell in love with you when you
saw my ability and you weren’t disgusted. I mean, my mom, who is supposed to
care about me, thought I was a freak of nature. You, who had just met me, saw
the potential inside of me. No one before you has ever seen potential in me. So
I stole my mom’s keys and I let you take her car, take me. And I’ve never
looked back, not once. This is where I want to be; on my back in a truck with a
bullet hole in my leg and rain pounding on the roof; with you between my legs
looking down at me like I’m too good to be true.”
Luke’s never been the speech making type, but he’s glad he said his words
because Sylar starts kissing him again. If it had been anyone but Sylar, Luke
might have expected a return of sentiments. But then, Luke doesn’t want anyone
but Sylar.
Sylar snakes his hand up Luke’s shirt without Luke really noticing, until he
grazes Luke’s nipple. Luke arches up into Sylar’s touch and moans into Sylar’s
mouth. Sylar manages to get Luke’s shirt off without ripping it to shreds. Luke
grabs Sylar’s shoulder with one hand and fists the other in Sylar’s hair. He
likes how that hair looks when it’s messy. By the time Sylar is navigating
Luke’s zipper, Luke has only managed to push Sylar’s shirt up a little and rest
his hand in the small of Sylar’s back. When Sylar touches his cock, Luke has to
stop himself from digging his nails into Sylar’s skin.
Sylar laughs against his skin, kisses down his neck, and tongues his collar
bone. Luke whimpers in loss when Sylar disengages, but then Sylar is taking off
his own clothes and Luke has a whole new plane, this one made of bone and sinew
instead of fabric, to worship. He runs his hands over broad shoulders and
strong pecs, coarse hair and slim hips. Sylar pushes his pants down and Luke
doesn’t even really get a chance to appreciate the view before Sylar is on him;
chest to chest and mouth to mouth and cock to cock. Sylar nibbles his way to
Luke’s Adams apple and sets about marking it as his own.
Fingers press into Luke’s mouth and Luke has seen enough porn that he knows
what he supposed to do. He sucks on those fingers, Sylar’s fingers, until
they’re wet and Sylar pulls them out. Sylar meets his gaze, as if to ask
permission, before they slide inside him. First one, then two. When there are
three and they hit that spot that he’d only ever heard about before, the one
that makes him see stars, he’s had enough.
“Enough teasing, Sylar! Hurry the fuck up!”
Sylar smirks. “You’re always so impatient for things to end. Don’t you ever
just stop and smell the roses?”
“I’m a little less concerned about roses and a lot more concerned about getting
your cock inside of me!” Sylar’s eye twitches in response and he seems a lot
more intent on getting his inside of Luke, too.
When Sylar presses his cock against Luke, begins pushing in, Luke starts to
think this might not be that great of an idea. He hadn’t exactly thought about
the painful side of things. But then Sylar grabs his thigh, a few inches above
the bandage, for leverage and Luke remembers that there’s no way anal sex can
possibly make it onto his top ten list of most painful things ever. Otherwise,
why would people keep doing it? So he bites his lower lip against the initial
pain and Sylar kisses him, takes that bitten lip between his own and sucks on
it. Then Sylar is all the way in and he pauses for Luke to adjust. When Luke is
ready, he rolls his hips and only Sylar would be able to multitask so well in
the throes of passion. He’s thrusting and kissing and holding Luke’s injured
leg down so Luke can’t hurt it even more by wrapping it around Sylar’s waist.
His other leg is under no such restrictions, though, and so he does wrap it
around Sylar.
He meets Sylar thrust for thrust and Sylar presses his face against Luke’s
shoulder. Sylar adjusts Luke’s hips a microscopic degree, but it makes all the
difference. Suddenly, every single stroke is hitting that spot and Luke doesn’t
last much longer. With the heat and the rain and the explosions behind his
eyelids, Luke is fairly certain that this is what sensory overload feels like.
He comes, almost screaming Sylar’s name and shooting hot spunk all over both
their chests. Sylar lasts a few more thrusts and then he’s coming, too, and
it’s the most beautiful thing Luke’s ever seen in his life. He groans, deep and
guttural, and his eyelids squeeze shut. His hips stutter to a stop. He
collapses, tired and sweaty, onto Luke and Luke welcomes it willingly. Sylar’s
warm breath feels cool on overheated skin.
Luke thinks that Sylar’s never been more beautiful, more divine, than he is in
this moment. He can see god’s handiwork in the way Sylar’s neck meets his
shoulder, in the way the corner of Sylar’s mouth is turned up and smirking, in
the way those eyes seem like the center of the galaxy and the edge of the
universe all at once. That he’s allowed to touch, even for just a few more
minutes, is more than Luke ever thought he’d be given in this life. He could
die happy right now.
“You’re looking at me like I just created life,” Sylar jokes from under half
lidded eyes.
“You better not have; I don’t have the organs to support life. Or at least, I
didn’t before you came along. That’ll teach me to be lax with the
contraceptives, I guess.” They both laugh.
“Are you always this witty?”
“Of course; you were just too busy ignoring me to notice before.”
“Oh, Luke. I couldn’t ignore you if I tried. And believe me, I have. And
failed, too. Every single time.”
“You really should have pretended that you were capable of ignoring me. I’m
never going to let you get away with it now.”
Sylar kisses Luke and then sits up. He goes about getting his clothes back on.
“Come on, get your clothes on.”
“What, is the party over already?”
“Hardly. I’d like to take this to a motel now that the rain has stopped,” which
it had, only Luke hadn’t noticed. “Unless you want some lonely trucker to get a
free show, of course. You young people and your exhibitionism.”
“Oh right, because I’m the exhibitionist that pulled over on the highway to
have sex,” Luke jibes as he pulls his pants back on.
“It doesn’t count.”
“Why not?” Luke asks.
“Because it was raining so hard that I couldn’t even see the lines on the road.
We were never in any danger of being spotted,” Sylar explains as he pulls back
onto the road.
“Says you,” Luke grumbles. After he puts his shirt back on, he looks out the
window. There’s a rainbow. He’s tempted to mention it to Sylar, to laugh about
how girly it is, but he doesn’t do either one. He smiles up at the sky and
tucks this rainbow away in his mind, in the folder of things that may or may
not be signs from a higher power. This one looks like it’s telling him that
he’s exactly where he needs to be, that he finally belongs. At least, that’s
his interpretation. He turns and looks at Sylar and can’t imagine interpreting
it any other way. Sylar turns to smile at him. It’s more beautiful than any
rainbow.
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