Heroes Fic: Hag-Ridden
Title: Hag-Ridden
Pairing: Uh... well, the exact nature of the pairing is necessarily somewhat fuzzy, and some might consider it a spoiler for the fic. Highlight if you don't mind: Mohinder/Sylar!Candace, inspired by the Pornathon prompt "domination".
Rating: NC-17
Summary: hăg´rĭd`d'n (n.) tormented or harassed by nightmares or unreasonable fears
Warnings/Notes: Non-con, but not as generally understood; mindfuck. Spoilers through .07%. Candace probably needs a warning all her own...
He was in with a bad crowd now, and he knew it. Thompson was intimidating, that no one would tell Mohinder what had happened to the man in the glasses was worse, but what really frightened the life out of him was the young woman who always seemed to be around. She was polite- mostly- but the way she looked at people was too much like a look he'd seen, only occasionally out of the corner of his eye, on Zane-who-wasn't-Zane when he thought Mohinder wasn't looking.
Candace Willmer didn't bother to hide it, and maybe it was that reminder that was behind the things he kept seeing. Not that they were surprising; he knew the effects of trauma, and seeing Sylar around every corner was horrible but to be expected.
"Mendez is dead," came Sylar's voice, right behind him, and he managed enough self-control to suppress the flinch almost completely as he turned to see what he knew would only be Candace's smirk.
"Thank you for the update," he said, through gritted teeth. He'd really hoped they might get there in time to protect the artist, but mostly he just wanted that smirk to go away. "I take it Sylar wasn't at the scene."
"No. And no clues where he went next, either." Her smirk broadened into a grin. "He could be anywhere."
He knew she was trying to provoke him, but Mohinder didn't have quite enough self-control not to shudder.
Letting the Company provide his room was one of the many questionable decisions Mohinder had made lately, but the alternative was sleeping in his apartment, haunted by the smell of blood and memories best left to lie. He'd tried it the first night, but sleep simply didn't come, and he'd been awake and on the road all the night before, and he knew too much about physiology to let that continue. It was a long time coming now, but at least it came: the first real sleep he'd had since he'd exposed Sylar.
There were nightmares, of course. He was frozen and shattered, the top of his head was coming off, he watched helplessly from the ceiling as Peter was killed, Eden, his father. He was bound into a chair with duct tape, Sylar behind him and whispering in his ear.
Now, relax, and enjoy this.
Mohinder didn't- couldn't- move as his clothing split and fell away at the crook of Sylar's finger, or when Sylar was suddenly kneeling in front of him without apparently moving through the intervening space, but when he took his cock into his mouth he gasped-
-and jolted awake.
It was like waking from a dream into a dream. He wasn't in the chair, but in the bed, hardening under an expert tongue, with only a little more presence of mind to try to jerk himself away. But his hands had been fastened above his head, and the form barely visible at his disadvantaged angle didn't look like Sylar. And then it did when it looked up from what it had been doing and broke into a too-familiar grin. "Oh, you're awake."
"You're not him," said Mohinder, more firmly than he really felt. Sylar had lost his chance at Mohinder's good graces; if he really had found him even here this wasn't what he'd be doing. He hoped.
"You're so clever, Suresh," said Sylar's voice, but with a touch of laughter it had never held even as Zane. "How come it took you so long to say that the first time?" The apparition (Candace, it could only be Candace) took him firmly in hand and stroked, eliciting an involuntary groan as he came to full attention, then made her way up to where she could whisper to him-
he good at making people stupid, Suresh? did he suck all the blood away from your head?
-as he slid into a slippery opening that his eyes refused to register, and watered when he tried to look at it. Without his hands, struggling just meant bucking his hips up, which only got him a pleased little whimper in Candace's real voice while Sylar's in his ear never stopped in its obscene litany.
wouldn't have been a hardship, you're so damn pretty. did he tell you that, Suresh? is he that good, or were you just that fucking desperate?
To hell with not giving Candace what she wanted- Mohinder lost it then, thrashing and bucking and shouting "Stop it, get off, get off" while she groaned and clenched around him, Sylar's face finally dropping away as she leaned in to capture his mouth in a mocking kiss.
Then she stood up, smoothed out everything that was rumpled, and set a plastic bottle on the bedside table with an oddly precise click. "Thompson thought you might need some help getting to sleep," she informed him cheerfully. Then she turned and left and shut the door behind her.
Thompson had been right.
Pairing: Uh... well, the exact nature of the pairing is necessarily somewhat fuzzy, and some might consider it a spoiler for the fic. Highlight if you don't mind: Mohinder/Sylar!Candace, inspired by the Pornathon prompt "domination".
Rating: NC-17
Summary: hăg´rĭd`d'n (n.) tormented or harassed by nightmares or unreasonable fears
Warnings/Notes: Non-con, but not as generally understood; mindfuck. Spoilers through .07%. Candace probably needs a warning all her own...
He was in with a bad crowd now, and he knew it. Thompson was intimidating, that no one would tell Mohinder what had happened to the man in the glasses was worse, but what really frightened the life out of him was the young woman who always seemed to be around. She was polite- mostly- but the way she looked at people was too much like a look he'd seen, only occasionally out of the corner of his eye, on Zane-who-wasn't-Zane when he thought Mohinder wasn't looking.
Candace Willmer didn't bother to hide it, and maybe it was that reminder that was behind the things he kept seeing. Not that they were surprising; he knew the effects of trauma, and seeing Sylar around every corner was horrible but to be expected.
"Mendez is dead," came Sylar's voice, right behind him, and he managed enough self-control to suppress the flinch almost completely as he turned to see what he knew would only be Candace's smirk.
"Thank you for the update," he said, through gritted teeth. He'd really hoped they might get there in time to protect the artist, but mostly he just wanted that smirk to go away. "I take it Sylar wasn't at the scene."
"No. And no clues where he went next, either." Her smirk broadened into a grin. "He could be anywhere."
He knew she was trying to provoke him, but Mohinder didn't have quite enough self-control not to shudder.
Letting the Company provide his room was one of the many questionable decisions Mohinder had made lately, but the alternative was sleeping in his apartment, haunted by the smell of blood and memories best left to lie. He'd tried it the first night, but sleep simply didn't come, and he'd been awake and on the road all the night before, and he knew too much about physiology to let that continue. It was a long time coming now, but at least it came: the first real sleep he'd had since he'd exposed Sylar.
There were nightmares, of course. He was frozen and shattered, the top of his head was coming off, he watched helplessly from the ceiling as Peter was killed, Eden, his father. He was bound into a chair with duct tape, Sylar behind him and whispering in his ear.
Now, relax, and enjoy this.
Mohinder didn't- couldn't- move as his clothing split and fell away at the crook of Sylar's finger, or when Sylar was suddenly kneeling in front of him without apparently moving through the intervening space, but when he took his cock into his mouth he gasped-
-and jolted awake.
It was like waking from a dream into a dream. He wasn't in the chair, but in the bed, hardening under an expert tongue, with only a little more presence of mind to try to jerk himself away. But his hands had been fastened above his head, and the form barely visible at his disadvantaged angle didn't look like Sylar. And then it did when it looked up from what it had been doing and broke into a too-familiar grin. "Oh, you're awake."
"You're not him," said Mohinder, more firmly than he really felt. Sylar had lost his chance at Mohinder's good graces; if he really had found him even here this wasn't what he'd be doing. He hoped.
"You're so clever, Suresh," said Sylar's voice, but with a touch of laughter it had never held even as Zane. "How come it took you so long to say that the first time?" The apparition (Candace, it could only be Candace) took him firmly in hand and stroked, eliciting an involuntary groan as he came to full attention, then made her way up to where she could whisper to him-
he good at making people stupid, Suresh? did he suck all the blood away from your head?
-as he slid into a slippery opening that his eyes refused to register, and watered when he tried to look at it. Without his hands, struggling just meant bucking his hips up, which only got him a pleased little whimper in Candace's real voice while Sylar's in his ear never stopped in its obscene litany.
wouldn't have been a hardship, you're so damn pretty. did he tell you that, Suresh? is he that good, or were you just that fucking desperate?
To hell with not giving Candace what she wanted- Mohinder lost it then, thrashing and bucking and shouting "Stop it, get off, get off" while she groaned and clenched around him, Sylar's face finally dropping away as she leaned in to capture his mouth in a mocking kiss.
Then she stood up, smoothed out everything that was rumpled, and set a plastic bottle on the bedside table with an oddly precise click. "Thompson thought you might need some help getting to sleep," she informed him cheerfully. Then she turned and left and shut the door behind her.
Thompson had been right.