spongetastic: (Kiss: Close)
[personal profile] spongetastic
It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. And Peter, for one, was very happy about it. He had avoided the apocalyptic explosion, he made friends with a serial killer... Yes, things were actually looking up. That was shocking. The nurse hummed a tune as he hung up the wreath. Sylar would hate the decorations but Peter would just put them back up again.

"What is all this?" Sylar demanded. Peter turned, smiling at the man.

"Merry Christmas," he said. He was wearing a wreath around his head just like the Ghost of Christmas present. Sylar gave him a look that only Peter wouldn't flinch from.

"What the hell did you do to the room?"

"I just gave it some Christmas cheer," Peter answered. "Look, I bought stockings. That one's mine, and this one's yours."

"Oh, goody," Sylar grunted sarcastically. He prowled about the room seeing what other Christmas cheer Peter had forced upon him. The room they currently shared had a little tree in one corner, garlands on the fireplace, and tinsel around the beds. TINSEL, for God's sake. Peter followed after him looking amused.

"Sylar." Peter grabbed the other man, pulling him to a stop.

"What?" Sylar's vague interest turned into puzzlement as the empath blushed before his very eyes. Peter mutely pointed upward. Sylar glanced up and saw a sprig of mistletoe right under where the two of them were standing. "You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered.

Peter was already on the move. His heart was beating so fast he worried he would faint. Then it happened. A warm, soft pressure of lips against lips. Peter had no idea why he had just done that-- it felt like he had moved without even meaning to. But now, feeling Sylar's lips, he... he felt...

Sylar pushed him away after about two seconds of contact. Sylar's nostrils flared and Peter just stood stunned, mouth gaping open. "What was that?" he demanded. "Just because the mistletoe is there, doesn't mean you have to kiss whoever is under it!"

"I... I don't know what came over me," Peter said awkwardly. "But I won't apologize." He kept expecting Sylar to hit him for what he just did... even if for a moment he thought the killer had kissed him back.

"Hell, Peter," he sighed, looking awkward too. "What do you want me to say? I have no idea." He glanced up and telekinetically shred the mistletoe into bits. "I... I've gotta go out for a while." He turned and left the room without another word, leaving Peter with an empty disappointed feeling in his heart.
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Peter Petrelli

October 2013

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