A/N: This started as completely sane, I assure you. In fact, in the beginning I simply wanted Peter to end up writing the story of how he and SySy came to be. But, of course, as I write there is always a character or two standing over my shoulder and telling me that what I'm doing is crap and/or making fun of me and/or telling me it's good and/or encouraging me. Guess who does which. But, surprisingly enough, this time it wasn't my own voice that replied to Sylar's comments. It was Peter's. So, with a slight bit of tweaking, I started to write down their banter...which turned into something a bit..er, suggestive.
Warnings: Slash, sexual references, large amounts of Sylar/Peter banter. Utter crack-ness.
Spoilers: Eh, I don't see anything quite yet. Maybe here or there....I don't know.
Season: None, this is completely AU.
Extra: Trust me, even I don't know why I wrote this.

It was dark, as expected. Little blips of light, flashes of color reflected in serene eyes. Complete darkness, a darkness that could easily rip your soul in two if you didn't try to focus on something else and fast. It was cold, as expected. Limbs numb, lips blue, toes tingling. Not that you could see the bluing of lips or stiff wiggle of toes, it was utterly dark. It was silent, as expected. A shallow breath here or there, a shuffle of feet, a little gasp when the sense of dread enveloped you wholly. Everything went horribly wrong. As expected. (Will you stop with the 'as expected'? It'll give your psychiatrist a headache. Sylar, stop using your powers to mess up my story! Fine.)

Normally I'm not so pessimistic. (Heck yeah you are! Gabriel! You said you would stop. Whatever. I'm just stating the truth. And don't call me Gabriel, you know I hate that. Only when you stop messing up my story. Why are you doing this, anyhow? Mr. Menny thought it would be good if I got my feelings out in a fictional story, you know this. What psychiatrist has the name Mister Menny? Mine. Now stop it. Oh, come on, Pete. Don't call me Pete. Don't call me Gabriel. Touche. Comes with being a genius. Wow. Never knew you were so vain when you were all badass evil. Firstly, I still am badass evil. I just toned it down for you. Secondly, I went around cutting brains open so I could be 'special' and 'powerful'. I deserve to be a little vain. Not to mention I'm utterly hot. Alright, I get it. Can I get on with my story, please? Do as you like. Thank you.)

Where was I? Oh, yeah.

Normally I'm not so pessimistic. Maybe a little sour here and there, but I had hopes and dreams just like everyone else. I believed in good where there was only evil at every corner. I, more specifically, believed in Gabriel. (Sylar. Shut up. Alright, alright.) I had seen him good before, and I knew he could be it again. He just needed someone to be good for. (That was overly sappy. Sylar, it's my story and I'll do it how I want. I thought you said it would be fiction. It is. It's our story with a AU twist to it. AU? What. The. Hell. Does that mean? Alternate universe, babe. Haven't you ever been to ? Oh, whatever. Just...whatever.)

I wanted him to be good, for reasons I didn't quite understand. I wanted him to have something to live for, because I saw what he could be and I wanted that. I don't know how or why, I just did. Even as I saw him cold-heartedly kill, I wanted him to have something. Everyone deserves something. (That's sweet, in a sour-pineapple-not-quite-sure-I-can-swallow kind of way. Pineapple? That's it. No more Psych for you. I like pineapple, that a crime? I'm sure, you being formerly a serial killer, you could make it one. Hmm. Probably.)

But that something was hidden from me, and I had no clue as where to look. One person, one thing, one ability. Anything would do. I never realized that the person I was looking for—for it was, indeed, a person—was before me the entire time. (Oh, God, Peter! Couldn't you be a little less foreshadowing? I'm ignoring you now, okay?) Sometimes, just sometimes, there would be moment in which I believed I found that one thing. But as I presented it to this man—this villain, this serial killer, my enemy—it was always knocked down as, with the slightest of struggles reflected in his eyes, Sylar won over the single part of him that remained Gabriel. (Ooh, and here comes the emo-ism. Emo-ism? Really? Hah! Knew I could get you to pay attention to me. Oh, go to hell. Only if you come with me. Is that a line? Do you want it to be? .....) And Gabriel did exist, buried under a hardened shell. Gabriel was small, child-like, and didn't know how to react to Sylar. So he let Sylar have control, and was at once buried under the ashes of the consequences he had become. (Stealing from songs now, are we? Shut. Up. You know you love it. Sylar, I swear, if you don't stop I will... Oh! Let me guess... You'll give me emo bangs? Or bang me emo-ly? ...I'm not going to even try to point out how sick that sounded. Pancake syrup? Oh, God....)

When I found it, that one little thing that Sylar could only ever be good for, I thought I had gone insane. I thought that maybe the abilities I had finally had gotten to my head, or that I really should stop hanging out with the serial killer as everyone told me to do. (They told you to stop stalking me? I wasn't stalking you, but, yeah, they did. Damn. I'm going to kill them. You don't even know who 'they' are. I'm sure I can find out. Go eat your pineapple.) But no, I had found that one thing. I just had to test it out.

That should be easy....

Right? (The 'right?' was unnecessary. I don't care. This is boring. Wanna go have sex and make the neighbors downstairs leave in a awkward rush due to thin walls?)

Peter sighed, swiveling about in his—rightly named—swivel chair to face the man grinning at him suggestively. "I'm trying to get this done, Sylar. And due to you, I have major editing issues. Do you know how hard it is to erase power-induced bold print on OpenOffice? Hours."

Sylar sighed in mock-frustration, still wearing his trademark smirk. "Peter, that stuff is boring and since when do you even need a psychiatrist?"

"Since I'm dating a serial killer and all my friends can't seem to talk to me anymore without awkward pauses because of said dating."

"That was a long sentence."

Peter groaned, letting his face fall into waiting hands. "Sylar, please, just leave me alone so I can finish this."

"Oh, come on, Peter!" The smirk vanished, replaced by a thoroughly frustrated look. "I'm bored to death here, when was the last time we had sex?"

Peter paused, glancing downwards. Actually, it had been a long time. He could hardly remember it. Well, he could remember some things. Moaning, pleasure, licking, sticky substances...Wait! "Sylar! Stop putting images in my brain."

"But what use is a new ability if I don't get to try it out?" Sylar pouted for a moment, before a seductive look took over his features. "Come now, Peter. Remember when you said you wished to try new...scenery? I got the key to the roof." Sylar wagged a keycard in Peter's face. Peter blinked, how had Sylar gotten this close?

"Sylar, I wish I could. But I have to get this done for Mr. Menny. It's for pure psychological purposes, and I really, really want to get this done."

"How about roleplay? You can be Batman this time." Sylar leaned down to his lover's ear. "Holy bangable, Batman."

Peter pushed him back. "No, Sylar."

"No? I have pineapple. And waffles. Oh, and a apron." Sylar watched in amusement as Peter gulped, suppressing a growl as the man shook his head.

"No, I've got to do this." Peter blinked, sure his voice had never wavered that much or had been that husky before. Above him, Sylar smirked. "No, no, no. Sylar... I can't."

"Your voice say's no, but your eyes say yes." Sylar murmured, straddling the empath and running his fingers through Peter's long hair.

A groan sputtered from his lips as Sylar licked and bit his collarbone through the fabric of his t-shirt. "But I can't. I have-I have to finish."

"You're right, you do have to finish. Let's finish in the bedroom. I'll be waiting." Sylar slid off Peter, giving him a parting kiss and smirking at his work before leaving.

Peter hesitated, turning to glance at the computer screen as Sylar left. Flickers of the inward battle showing on his face reflected off the screen before Peter sighed. "Oh, fuck it." Peter pushed away from the desk.

The reality was more appealing than the fiction, anyhow.