"I wouldn't use my powers even if I had them," he answered, and it was a breath tilted into Peter's ear, a breath that gusted at the strands of hair that fell across the other man's face. "I'd kill him with my bare hands, make him suffer for doing this to you."

Despite the softness of his voice, there was a bitter vehemence in it, and again that possessiveness. Peter was his, and this suggestion that another man could simply come and not only kill him, but make him suffer again and again, tormenting him with pain and laughter, was enough to make him angrier than he had ever been. Peter pulled himself closer, and his breath was shortening, struggling as his lungs began to freeze up again, and Sylar tangled his hand in Peter's hair and made a soft 'Shhh' noise in his ear.

"I'm not going anywhere, Peter."