And yeah I know that's not Sylar, but I couldn't find a good one of his hair and OOooooOOOoh lookit. So dark. And long. And dark. And thick. And long. And I should stop using the words thick and long now before I fold in on myself like a collapsing star of lust.
If I may, let me direct you to one of the names in my blogroll: Perdiccas. She's there because she writes the most horny gorgeous Sylar fanfiction there is, and I'm not even a massive fan of slash stuff, which she mostly writes. She made me love Sylar even more and convinced me that he's a total horndog, so her work is made of win and sexy.
And if you need more win and sexy in order to convince you that a serial killer needs love too, here it is:
I know that pic's dark and rubbish, but he's laid on the floor looking like he's just been shagged. What was I to do?
And just in case you thought I was going wrong like those women who write love letters to murderers in prison, here is the real reason I fancy Sylar:
Yes, it's yet another nerdy sexually inexperienced but voracious beta guy- Sylar's real self, Gabriel Gray. If there was ever a man who needed my firm hand, he is it. Here is another gratuitous shot of him, where you can see the kind of awesome clothes he wears that make me want to slice them open with scissors:
The editor of Black Lace once said something like- erotica writers often have one big massive weird kink, or some strange taste in something, that keeps kinking out their work. And I thought: that's not me. I don't have one big massive kink. I'm not weird!
But oh no wait. Looks like I do. I like tank tops and shirts and big thick rimmed glasses. Sexual repression and plastic on the furnture. And I just. Can't. Leave it. Alone.
*You know. The ones on his ass.