Title: Delicious
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up to Landslide
Pairings: Sylar....and ice cream. Yes. You read that right. Be afraid.
Characters: Sylar, allusions to Ted, Peter, and Claire.
Genre: Crack, pure and simple.
Warnings: PWP, solo!smut, scary amounts of crack.
Summary: Waiting for the FBI to arrive, Sylar enjoys his ice cream in a rather unusual way.



Disclaimer: NOOOOO I do not own Heroes!

AN: I. Do not. Believe. I wrote this. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, MEL!

...No, I don't have an ice cream fetish. Honestly >.>

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Delicious

"You want to do this here?"

A slow smirk played across his features as he leaned casually against the cool wall, looking for all the world as if he were captivated by the ice cream he was idly twisting his spoon through. Not like anyone could guess he was listening in on a conversation three buildings away even if he were staring at the sky, though.

But the ice cream was tasty, so why not eat it? Besides, how often could one stop and eat ice cream before one blew up a city and became president? Not often at all.

"So, what does he do with them? Eat them?"

He made an amused noise around his spoon, shaking his head slightly...what kind of monster had they made him out to be? What would consuming them even do for him, anyway?

Silly people.

It wasn't nearly as delicious as, say, the ice cream, either. Still, it was so amusing to listen to them speculate endlessly. Worrying so long and so much about him. Who didn't feel all warm and fuzzy knowing that people around the world thought about you day and night?

And woke up screaming from nightmares you visited.

He gave a soft sigh of contentment as he dragged his tongue along the cold spoon, freeing the frozen treasure and all its candied sparkles. The tiny orbs sent tingles through his body as they exploded one by one along his tastebuds, mingling with the melting cream that coated the inside of his mouth.

Delicious.

"Why don't we just go find and kill this guy, then?"

"It's...not that easy."

"He's kind of hard to kill."

Well. At least it was good to be appreciated, wasn't it? And so entertaining to know his legend was constantly fed by fear, ever growing and increasing. He'd be a mythological god by the end of the year.

Although he couldn't say he would be able to disagree with the legend when it was.

Another long stroke across the chilled treat, and a low rumble echoed through his chest. His eyes slipped closed a moment as he processed the feeling of the slow dollop of sugary milk inching down his throat.

So heavenly. The taste of ice cream, the biting cold blowing across his skin to match the frozen shiver that followed its tasty path. Was there anything better than this?

Well. Aside from all of his abilities and such.

A thin smile passed across his features at that stray thought. Well now, that could be quite an interesting experiment, wouldn't it?

Another dip at the shinking bowl of ice cream, this time a surge of power raced through him at the same moment that the decorative candies made their presence known like delectible little crispies.

A shallow gasp escaped him following the resulting tremor. Unbelievable. His vision hazed slightly from the overwhelming sensations of ecstacy and power. This...he could almost compare it to the feeling of assuming a new ability. (He would have to experiment with that later.)

He rested his head against the wall behind him, breathless. The voices of the crowd and his latest prey dulled to a murmur as more and more of the sweet sensation enveloped him, consuming his consciousness in icy delights, and ghostly traces racing under dark clothes and along sensitive skin.

Passerbys barely spared him a glance, as a low groan pulled free from his grip. He had to admit just a hint of a wicked pleasure at the idea that he could do something like this right out in public, only a few feet from the people he was hunting.

It was brilliant, exhilirating. He was almost surprized to feel it-himself-make it to where he felt so...strained and cramped in his fashionable robes. But it hardly had a mind of its own, so it must have been somewhat subconscious.

Whatever. It hardly matter now, because...because it was so..

The bowl of ice cream crashed to the ground, scattering the remnants of the novelty across the pavement, as his hands blindly scrabbled for something on the building to cling to. Those colorful, candied dots erupted in his mind with more force than could ever be possible for their size, and he let out a rather loud cry of...of--of satisfaction with his 1.50 purchase--before crumpling to the floor, fighting for breath and composure.

He grimaced slightly with a sigh.

Apparently he'd have to go and get a change of clothes before the FBI arrived. Of course, by the meandering discussions still going on inside the nearby building, he doubted he would miss anything while he was gone.

END

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AN: Was it as terrifying to read as it was for me to write it?

You owe me your end of the deal now, girl.