Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6446.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Heroes_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Luke_Campbell/Sylar
  Character:
      Luke_Campbell, Sylar
  Additional Tags:
      Halloween, Breathplay, Crossdressing, Porn, Action/Adventure, Safer_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-10-08 Words: 3455
****** Trick or Treat ******
by perdiccas
Summary
     Sylar and Luke get into the spirit of the holidays.
They're in a diner just off Route 199, sharing a slice of pumpkin pie that's
been laced with fluorescent green mini marshmallows. It's seasonal, Sylar
supposes, something unexpectedly ghoulish to keep the regulars amused but the
dye from the marshmallows is leeching out, staining the pumpkin filling the
colour of rotting flesh and he suspects the excessive food colouring's to blame
that the diner's sole restroom has been occupied since he and Luke sat down.
Sylar drops his fork and pushes the plate closer to Luke; with a feral grin,
the kid wolfs down what's left, his tongue a dark, unsettling green as he licks
the tines of his fork clean.
"It's Halloween soon," Luke says.
Sylar casts his gaze around the room, at the cut-out paper jack-o'-lanterns
taped to the windows and the life-size plastic skeleton that's nestled in the
corner of their booth. There's a witch's hat and a warlock's cloak on the hat
stand, and devil horns perched on the waitresses' heads. "I never would have
guessed."
Luke rolls his eyes at Sylar's smirk, kicks his ankles under the table when he
arches one condescending eyebrow in return. "No, I mean. We should do something
fun."
"For Halloween," he adds when Sylar's face remains impassive.
Sylar throws a handful of bills on the table, grabs his coat as he stands and
motions for Luke to follow. "I'm not taking you trick or treating."
                                      ***
Sylar waits until he hears the shower spray shut off, then raps on the bathroom
door.
There's a half a beat of silence before Luke warily calls, "Uh… come in?"
Sylar grins to himself as he knocks again, listening to Luke shift nervously
around the bathroom. He isn't usually one for social niceties and it's somehow
perversely satisfying that Luke's become so accustomed to him, a simple show of
manners makes him ill at ease.
Luke heaves the door open suddenly, dripping wet with a towel looped loosely
around his waist. His right hand glows red with microwaves, his eyes going wide
as saucers at the sight of Sylar leaning against the doorjamb.
"Trick or treat?" Sylar purrs.
Luke scowls, snapping, "Very funny," as he tries to turn away, but Sylar holds
out a neatly folded brown paper bag, waving it enticingly under his nose.
"What's that?"
"For you," Sylar urges. "Take it."
Luke's still frowning when he opens the bag. As he peers down into it, his
frown gets deeper; he glances up at Sylar. "I don't get it."
Sylar steps over the threshold, takes Luke by the hips and guides him to the
bathroom mirror. One easy tug and the towel pools around their feet, the fabric
of Sylar's shirt going damp where Luke's back is pressed to his chest. He cups
his hand under Luke's chin, holds his head steady so that their eyes meet in
the mirror. "You wanted to do something fun, so I thought we'd dress up for
Halloween."
Luke swallows dryly and reaches into the bag. With a shaking hand, he pulls out
the panties Sylar has chosen, rich, dark green silk twisting around his
fingers.
Breathlessly, Luke whispers, "And you want me to wear these?"
"Yes."
Luke's breath quickens; he brings the panties to his face, rubs the shiny silk
against the round of his cheek, sighing at the gentle susurration of the fabric
against his skin and in their reflection, Sylar can see his pupils dilate dark
with lustful curiosity.
He holds the panties up and out, in both hands, stretched wide, considering. In
a sudden moment of searing heat, Luke dries himself with a single pulse of
microwaves, Sylar's shirtfront steaming as the dampness there is nuked. In the
mirror, he flashes Sylar a dirty grin and says, "Okay."
Sylar holds Luke steady as he bends to put on the panties, ankles held tight
together to slide fabric up his legs. The green looks good against his pale
skin, complimenting the ruddy hair that dusts his thighs. Between his legs,
Luke's cock hangs plump and heavy, not quite hard, but on the way. Sylar skates
his palms over the soft expanse of Luke's belly, dips his hands into his groin
and helps him tuck his dick under the elastic waistband.
The panties sit low on Luke's hips, cut high on his thighs. The fabric
stretches over the swell of his ass and the shape of his erection; the satin
feels cool under Sylar's fingers, warming to match the heat of Luke's skin
where Sylar traces contours of his groin. Sylar pulls Luke's hips back to rub
his crotch against his ass, the slide silken-smooth as they rut together. In
the groove of his ass, the panties gather obscenely with every fluid thrust of
Sylar's hips.
Luke reaches back to pluck the fabric free, but Sylar grabs him by the wrists,
covers Luke's hands with his own and curls his fingers around the lip of the
porcelain sink. Sylar's cock is throbbing, his balls aching heavy where they've
drawn up close against his body. He snakes his finger between Luke's thighs and
works into the tight space under the dark green gusset, already damp with
Luke's sweat. Sylar hooks his finger around Luke's sac, where it's constricted
awkwardly by the silk, curls his knuckle and tugs his balls back until they're
pinched between his legs, settling them there, pressed up against his perineum.
Sylar eases his finger free, guiding Luke's testicles back in place when they
threaten to jostle free from their precarious position. The front of the
panties look smoother now, the silk not strained so desperately tight over
Luke's cock and Luke exhales a shuddering sigh as Sylar palms his dick to test
the fit.
In the mirror, Sylar's gaze travels from the panties stretched tight over
Luke's rounded hips to the narrowness of his chest and the softness of his
waist; his breath hitches as his eyes focus on the hard length beneath the
silk, the wet spot that's staining the fabric darker, a single point to shatter
the illusion of androgyny. Arousal radiates through him until his thighs quiver
with the need to thrust and his chest feels tighter still with the hardening of
his nipples. He quivers on the knife edge of his orgasm, so sweetly close at
the filthy sight of Luke in women's underwear.
But he steps back, leaves a flushed and flustered Luke blinking owlishly at him
in their reflection, lingering in that torturous no man's land of nearly there.
"What about you?" Luke pants. "What are you gonna wear?"
Sylar shrugs. "Get dressed and we'll see."
                                      ***
Sylar slaps Luke's hand away from the car's heating as he tries to turn it
down; his nipples ache with cold in the simple cotton tee Luke has picked for
him.
"It's only fall," Luke whines defensively. Sylar grunts, grinding his teeth
fiercely to keep them from chattering.
With an exaggerated sigh, Luke unbuckles his seatbelt and winds his upper body
into the backseat.
Sylar grabs at him, hooking his fingers in the belt loops of his jeans, trying
to haul him back into his seat. "What the hell are you–?"
Above Luke's waistband, a strip of dark green silk is showing, the dainty
elastic digging bright red marks into the puppy fat that softens Luke's hips;
Sylar's head swims at the sight, his cock instantly, insistently hard again,
his breath seemingly snatched from his chest.
"Here," Luke says petulantly, tossing a jacket at Sylar as he wriggles back
into his seat. "It's not like you can freeze to death, anyway."
                                      ***
It's late afternoon when they reach Grants Pass; twilight is starting to set in
and the youngest trick-or-treaters are already out with their parents, toddling
as they carry pumpkin shaped buckets of candy nearly big enough to drag on the
ground. They drive slowly through the sleepy Oregon town; from the corner of
his eye, Sylar watches Luke make scary faces at the kids who look their way.
They pull up outside the warehouse in time to see Curtis Hovsepian slip inside,
the black cowl of his costume pulled high to shadow his face. There's something
distastefully trite about killing a man who works in a haunted house on
Halloween, but the tackiness of it doesn't seem to bother Luke. He's playing
microwaves over his palms, knees bouncing eagerly up and down as Sylar shuts
off the engine.
Sylar lets Luke lead the way, watching as he creeps through the door that
Curtis has left ajar. He forces himself to think about the man they're tracking
and not the awkward bow-legged walk that Luke's been sporting all day or the
reason for it, worn close to his body beneath his jeans.
The warehouse is pitch black inside, straw rustles underfoot, near drowned out
by Curtis' off-key rendition of Monster Mash. Sylar can feel the heat of Luke
to his right, inching forward as he feels his way along the wall. As Sylar's
eyes adjust to the light, he can make out eerie shapes hanging from the
rafters. In the shadows, his mind's eye paints them as corpses.
There's a sudden metallic clang and the sound of Luke's muffled swearing. Up
ahead, Sylar can hear the swish of Curtis' cloak as he swivels to face them.
"Hey!" he shouts. "I can see you two there! You can't be in here!"
Sylar grins, different abilities teasing at his fingertips, his skin itching
with the desire to lash out with them all at once. Instead, he presses
telekinetically at Luke's throat, stops the quip that's already half tripped
from his lips. Sylar crouches down, feels his way along the bales of hay
stacked to make a route through the haunted house but Curtis calls again, "I
can see you! Look, man, the haunted house opens in hour. Buy a ticket like
everyone else or I'll have to call the cops."
He can hear Curtis step towards them, the clammy sound of sweaty palms wrapped
defensively around a handle. Sylar stands smoothly, brushing the straw from his
clothes.
"Night vision's a neat ability, Curtis. Wanna see one of mine?"
While Curtis splutters, Sylar flicks his wrist, slams him against the warehouse
wall. With careful steps, Sylar follows the sound of his panicked breathing,
makes his way to where he's pinned as Luke holds up a newly lit lantern. Even
in the feeble light it gives, Sylar can see how cheaply done the haunted house
is. The corpses from the ceiling are barely more than scarecrows hanging by
their necks; the skeletons, no more scary than the one they'd eaten pie with.
He rolls his eyes as Luke picks up an oversized plastic spider and waves it
menacingly in front of Curtis' face; Sylar yanks the pitchfork from Curtis'
grip and impales it through his cloak, the sharpened prongs half an inch from
Luke's arm. Sullenly, Luke nukes the spider and steps back with a scowl.
"So tell me, Curtis," Sylar purrs, leaning in close with the light held beneath
their chins, their faces lit up and shadowed like jack-o'-lanterns. "Does it
work like night-vision goggles or do you see as well as you do in the day?"
Between his tears, Curtis' opens his mouth to speak. Before he can make a
sound, Sylar's mind presses hard against his windpipe. "On second thought, I
think I'd rather be surprised."
Sylar lets the pressure fall when he cuts through Curtis' scalp, his screams
and Luke's giggles echoing through the haunted house. Blood soaks the straw
beneath their feet and slicks Sylar's palms as he smoothes his fingers over
Curtis' brain and teases the ability from him. Luke arranges the body
grotesquely, so that Curtis' neck lolls back as if he's merely resting, brain
and scalp removed, with his elbow on a pumpkin. Sylar sighs in exasperation
when Luke nukes the corpse, just a little.
With a telekinetic punch, Sylar smashes the lantern Luke's holding, making him
jump and yelp, "Dude! A little warning?"
In the darkness, Sylar's vision is black and white, sharper than any night
vision goggles; he drops Curtis' brain to the ground and watches in perfect
clarity as splatters with a visceral squelch. Luke's blindly picking glass from
his hoodie, dark finger trails that must be blood staining his clothes where
his hands brush. He isn't aware of Sylar creeping nearer until Sylar's hands
are pressing bloody prints to his hips where he grabs them, and he's shoved
roughly against the wall.
Sylar swallows down his surprised shout, laughs into his mouth at the feel of
Luke's pounding heart where their chests are pressed together. Luke's hands
twist in his hair and in his shirt, a bruising, biting kiss that heals taken as
his revenge. Sylar is high on his new ability, eyes open wide as he watches
Luke writhe against him, legs splaying wide to let Sylar grind a thigh against
his fly. He wraps his hands around Sylar's upper arms, fingers under his
jacket, curling around the short-sleeves of Sylar's tee.
"Yes," Luke moans, lips aiming for Sylar's ear, pressing sightlessly instead to
his neck. "Wanted this, wanted you, all day."
"Panties feel so fucking good," he breathes.
With a growl, Sylar slams him harder to the wall, fumbles with the button of
his fly and as he shifts his footing, to hold Luke's weight up as well as his,
the toe of his shoe knocks against Curtis' lifeless hand. The body slumps
forward from where Luke had so carefully arranged it. Sylar takes a deep
breath, tastes the stench of blood and viscera in the stagnant warehouse air
and stills Luke's hands when he reaches for him. Outside, he can hear the
sounds of people arriving, waiting for the haunted house to open.
"Not here."
                                      ***
They speed to the nearest motel with the headlights off, Sylar's enhanced
vision guiding them through the night. They stumble into the reception, covered
in blood and straw, Sylar's hands groping roughly down the back of Luke's
jeans, fingers sliding over the silky plane of the panties.
"Nice costumes, boys," the clerk says, unfazed by their display.
Sylar slaps a fifty on the counter without breaking his mouth from Luke's.
"Room 5B, at the end of the hall."
Sylar snatches up the key and leaves the change. When the clerk calls after
them, "Remember, no glove, no love," Sylar grins up at her.
"Yes, ma'am."
                                      ***
Sylar shoves Luke to the centre of the bed, ripping open his fly with no
preamble as he drops to his knees between Luke's legs and presses his face to
Luke's erection, tightly swathed in green silk, ginger curls peeking above. He
inhales deeply, tasting Luke's musk on the roof of his mouth, and licks broadly
up the length of Luke's dick, the grain of the silk smooth beneath his tongue.
The fabric seems to cling to every vein that criss-crosses Luke's shaft; as
Sylar draws back, he can clearly see the ridge of Luke's dick defined below the
silk.
He hooks his fingers in Luke's waistband, yanks down until he can leave a
biting kiss to the pale flesh of Luke's inner thigh. Then, shuffles off the bed
and drags Luke's jeans with him, down and off his legs. As Luke wriggles out of
his hoodie and t-shirt, Sylar strips himself, the condom from his back pocket
tossed beside Luke's squirming hips.
Sylar covers Luke's body with his own, lowers his hips to rub his cock along
the groove when Luke's thigh meets his groin. He braces himself on his
forearms, stomach taut to leave a gap they can both peer down through, to watch
their cocks slide together with just pre-come stained silk between them. As
they grind together, Sylar can feel the delicate skin of Luke's sac pressing
warmly to his cock as his balls shift with their movement, working free from
the leg-hole of the panties. Sylar reaches down, cups them in his hand, still
half trapped inside Luke's underwear, feeling the changing texture of finely
haired skin and satin. His fingers explore behind, a pressure that skates from
Luke's perineum to his hole and back.
But when Sylar nudges the gusset aside, drags the pad of his dry thumb
teasingly over Luke's entrance, Luke groans, "Wait. Please. Let me top."
Luke takes advantage of Sylar's momentary surprise, flips them over to straddle
his hips, both hands dragging through Sylar's chest hair as he smothers him
with a desperate kiss. "Please, wanted you all day. So hard for you all day.
Wanna fuck you so badly."
Sylar kisses back, tongue firm as it slides behinds Luke's teeth, traces the
ridges of the roof of his mouth. He works the panties down Luke's hips in
short, staccato yanks, laughing as Luke hisses when the elastic waistband
catches on the underside of his cock. Luke rests his forehead on Sylar's
cheekbone, rubs his face against his stubble, leaving pretty, wet kisses along
Sylar's jaw as he squeezes his thighs together to let Sylar pull the panties
down his legs, off one ankle and then the other.
He balls the panties in his fist, brings them to face and inhales the pure,
rich scent of sex, and sweat. Sylar's eyes flutter shut, a bone-deep groan
rumbling through him, his cock aching hot where it's pressed between his
stomach and Luke's inner thigh. He can feel Luke's hand cover his own; Sylar
opens his eyes, quirks an eyebrow at Luke's filthy grin, and parts his lips
wide with only a little resistance when Luke pushes down, forcing the balled up
panties into his mouth. And now, his every breath is steeped in Luke, his taste
thick in Sylar's mouth. Luke's fingers trace over his stretched lips.
Sylar feels a quick burn on his hip to urge him onto his stomach. He rolls with
a warning growl, Luke sucking his fingers as he sits back on his heels,
grimacing at the taste of blood still clinging to his skin. Sylar cradles his
head on his folded arms, his nose crushed in the sheets, with his ass high in
the air as Luke presses on the backs of his thighs. Two barely-slick fingers
delve into him, screwing blunt and deep and fast. Sylar gasps, tries to breathe
through the sudden pain of being stretched but the air he sucks in is muggy
with Luke's scent, his own warm exhalations trapped by the gag, the sheets and
his arms. And, even as he feels lightheaded, his mind seemingly not quite where
his body is, he feels everything more sharply than he did before: the stretch
of Luke's fingers a sublime burn; his untouched cock swaying heavily, throbbing
impossibly harder.
Luke's cock feels big inside him, the lube from the condom all that eases way.
Luke thrusts in deep and stays there, blood stained hands sliding up and down
the sheen of sweat on Sylar's back, balls resting on Sylar's ass as he grinds
them together. He smoothes his palms over Sylar's sides, teasing ticklish
places as he twists his fingertips in the hair beneath Sylar's arms; Sylar can
feel hysteria building in his gut and when he squirms to escape the touch,
Luke's cock shifts within him, brushes maddeningly briefly over his prostate.
He's overwhelmed with too many sensations, on the verge of something without
knowing if it's laughter, screams or tears. His vision is edging to a black he
can't see through, shallow breaths muffled in his gag, and a haze of pleasure
hums over him, spiking as Luke begins to thrust in earnest, fingers winding
around to his chest to pinch and pulls his nipples.
Luke strokes up his throat, the pad of his thumb brushing gently over his
Adam's apple, bitten-down nails scratching at the stubble beneath his chin.
Then, Luke's yanking the panties from his mouth and fresh air floods Sylar's
lungs. He's disoriented and he's gasping; he feels Luke wrap the panties around
his cock, spit-soaked silk pumping around his dick and before he can catch his
breath, he's coming, his throat too hoarse to make a sound.
Luke's hips curl under, snap up into him and he can feel Luke's cock through
the condom as it pulses, his fingertips burning whorls on Sylar's hips as he
comes.
Sylar finds the strength the twist onto his back, catching Luke as he collapses
forward, letting him drape bonelessly over his chest. They lie together,
panting, covered in sweat and semen and now-dry blood, too sated to care about
cleaning up. Luke's snoring with his nose pressed to Sylar's clavicle; Sylar
fishes the soiled panties from the tangled sheets and brings them to his face,
falls asleep inhaling his own scent mingled with Luke's.
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