Please don't kill me! *cowers*
Title: Death by Shakespeare
Author: Aiisling
Prompt: Romeo and Juliet
Recipient: without_mission
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual-stuff, character death
Notes: Please don't lynch mob me for sending this in so late. I know, I know, its really late. I've excuses (work, college, vacation, and this damned fic that's been eating my LIFE) but nobody likes those, so I'll just apologize. I'm sorry!
~~~~~~
Death by Shakespeare
There had always been books in Mohinder Suresh's life. Long remembered classics, epic adventures, histories of the natural world; all had a place on his shelves. Mohinder had always enjoyed plays in particular, especially Shakespeare. This is not to say that Mohinder enjoyed all of the most famous of playwrights’ work. Some of it seemed quite trite. Take Romeo and Juliet, for example. The main characters were stupid children who drove their families to insanity and death. They hadn't even loved each other, in Mohinder's opinion. It was lust that sent them to such ends.
This was his firm opinion for most of his life. Then...well, then there was Zane. Sylar. And somehow Romeo and Juliet no longer seemed so ridiculous.
Mohinder shifted in the battered old armchair in which he was currently slouched. Dust covered him, speckling his pitch black hair with gray and fading the bright pink flowers on his shirt to a soft dullness. In his dark hands lay an absolutely ancient copy of Romeo and Juliet. Written in Hindi, the images on the front had faded so that only the lettering could still be seen, leaving the cover frail and almost empty.
Like many of his books, this play had been passed to Mohinder from his father. Now the son stared into the distance, his mind wondering ironically how it had taken a psychopath for him to understand. As in the play, he and Sylar were undeniably in lust. At least he and Zane had been during their long days of travel and even longer nights. An invisible fist closed about his heart as the memories came, but Mohinder ignored it and let the thought continue. Also mirroring the story was an outside force that would never condone their relationship. The outside force being, of course, everyone who had ever heard of Sylar and his murderous tendencies. The sad thing was that Mohinder agreed with them. Knowing exactly who Zane-Sylar- was, he could never, ever love him. He even hated himself for wanting to. If Mohinder could have any wish at all he would plead for an end to the twisted yearnings he still felt in his heart when he thought of Sylar. The bastard had killed his father, had never truly been the person he’d thought he’d loved. But somehow Mohinder couldn't help but remember soft smiles, brilliant stars, the empty nights. He couldn't forget Zane.
With a sigh Mohinder let the play drop to the table beside his chair. Action, that's what he needed. A distraction to keep away such melancholy thoughts. He stood and sifted a hand through his hair, watching as dust floated softly to the floor. Time that he get back to what he'd been doing when he'd come across the ancient play. Today's diversion involved a lot of lemon Pledge, a dust rag, and several jumbled bookshelves that had not been tended to in years. While he worked Mohinder let his mind wander. Songs popped into his head, and he hummed them. Soon he was working on genetic theories, throwing around ideas without really paying much attention to them.
Once or twice he caught himself running lines of Shakespeare through his mind, and he followed the thought, enjoying the snippets of verse he was catching. He smiled softly, remembering "'A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus and his love Thisbe," a particularly comic moment in "A Midsummer Night’s Dream." But Mohinder was not cautious; his mind ran away with him, and soon he was dwelling where he longed to escape. He had to forcibly clear his head to stop the invasion by Romeo's tragic speech, Juliet's sobbing plans. Yet this did not work, and they kept coming no matter how hard he scrubbed the shelf or read the titles of each book. Soon they were screaming themselves in his mind, and he almost thought he could hear them.
Ah, dear Juliet,/Why art thou yet so fair..
Is she a Capulet?...
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,/To make die with a restorative...
"Thy lips are warm." The words electrified Mohinder, pulling him upright with a frightened start. A thousand thoughts flooded him at once. Sylar. He'd broken in, he was here, going to kill him or steal the list or-
Suddenly a large hand slid over his eyes, pulling him down to the floor in a move that left no room for escape. Soft lips covered his and sealed in the scream that threatened to fly free of Mohinder's mouth. Sylar was climbing him, pushing away books and tables, riding him to the floor with an obscene crush of hips upon hips. Mohinder fought for a moment with fists and claws until Sylar grabbed his wrists in one powerful hand and continued his exploration of Mohinder's unwilling mouth. Then came knees, a futile attempt to push the murderer off him, but Sylar fielded that just as easily. Eventually the other stopped, and they lay there, panting, one with terror and both with desire. Breath ghosted against Mohinder's ear as Sylar leaned down.
"Did you miss me?" he whispered.
Mohinder gritted his teeth, spit out an answer that they both knew was false. "No."
Sylar laughed; smooth, condescending, utterly in control. "How do you like my new power? I never knew you'd read Romeo and Juliet." He smirked at the shocked look on Mohinder's face. "Yes, I am reading your mind. Do you like it?" He ground their hips into the floor as he spoke. A moan forced itself out of Mohinder's mouth, prompting Sylar to lick a long, wet trail along the side of his face. "Don't try and pretend, now. I'll know."
"You killed my father!" He screamed it with his mouth, his mind, desperation ripping agony into his heart and thoughts. Sylar opened a gaping mouth in a wordless cry, echoing the torment he'd caught from Mohinder's head.
"STOP THAT." It was a command coupled with a telekinetic blast that brought cracks to the floor's surface. "Now, Mohinder," and Sylar's voice was thin, madness leaking out of it into the dusty air. "I know how you feel about me. I can feel it," he added, teeth bared as he reached his free hand down to grip Mohinder through his pants. The Indian gasped, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as horror and lust fought for supremacy. Sylar smiled at this and brought his head down to nuzzle Mohinder's neck like some deadly cat. "I know that you love me, Mohinder."
"I loved Zane, not you," came the reply from behind gritted teeth. Instantly that bittersweet grip tightened to a painful degree.
"Liar, Mohinder." Sylar's voice was cotton candy sweet even as he brought tears of pain to his lover's eyes. "You're a liar. I know you love me. ME."
Mohinder grunted, struggling in the other's grasp as he tried to free himself. Each twist was a new world of pain, each breath agony, but he had to try. Beneath it all was a river of lyricism that ran through his brain like boiling lava. Romeo and Juliet. Shakespeare's star-crossed lovers. Fools.
Sylar was tightening his hand now, twisting it slightly even as he pressed soft kisses to delicate collar bones. "We could stop, Mohinder, if you’d just give in. I love you. I need you." He laid his head on a pink-flowered chest, looking for all the world like a lonely lover, if one could ignore the hand that dug nails through the unwilling fabric of stiff jeans. "This last power...it hurts, love." Mohinder remained silently defiant.
"I just want you to say it. I would feel so much better. Just three..." kiss, "little," kiss, "words." With the last press of lips he released him and brought Mohinder's hands to his side. Mohinder was silent for some moments, his mind hidden by the waves of pain which coursed through his body. Finally Sylar got sick of waiting and brought his mouth to hover beside Mohinder's soft ear. "Well, darling?"
A pause. Then- "There is a difference between love and lust, Sylar."
The result was instantaneous. Sylar screamed, a harsh, keening noise more often heard from a wild animal. He leapt up, using telekinesis to drag Mohinder from the floor and throw him into a wall. Again and again he thrashed him about, upending bookshelves and turning the wood blood red, screeching his madness all the while. Finally he thrust him against the wall, using his body to pin the bleeding and broken man there.
"Do you know what happened at the end of Romeo and Juliet, Mohinder?" he hissed, licking his lips and panting heavily. The Indian stared at him from beneath dripping blood and purple cheeks, barely conscious but still aware. In one harsh, rapid movement Sylar shoved the other's head back into the wall, pulling one last cry from his lover. "They died for love." He licked the side of Mohinder's face, scraping up the dripping blood in one long, languorous movement. Then he took a step back, raised one infamous finger. "For love, Mohinder!" Maniacal laughter and scalding tears followed this announcement, a violent waterfall to carry Mohinder from this world to the next.
Author: Aiisling
Prompt: Romeo and Juliet
Recipient: without_mission
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual-stuff, character death
Notes: Please don't lynch mob me for sending this in so late. I know, I know, its really late. I've excuses (work, college, vacation, and this damned fic that's been eating my LIFE) but nobody likes those, so I'll just apologize. I'm sorry!
~~~~~~
Death by Shakespeare
There had always been books in Mohinder Suresh's life. Long remembered classics, epic adventures, histories of the natural world; all had a place on his shelves. Mohinder had always enjoyed plays in particular, especially Shakespeare. This is not to say that Mohinder enjoyed all of the most famous of playwrights’ work. Some of it seemed quite trite. Take Romeo and Juliet, for example. The main characters were stupid children who drove their families to insanity and death. They hadn't even loved each other, in Mohinder's opinion. It was lust that sent them to such ends.
This was his firm opinion for most of his life. Then...well, then there was Zane. Sylar. And somehow Romeo and Juliet no longer seemed so ridiculous.
Mohinder shifted in the battered old armchair in which he was currently slouched. Dust covered him, speckling his pitch black hair with gray and fading the bright pink flowers on his shirt to a soft dullness. In his dark hands lay an absolutely ancient copy of Romeo and Juliet. Written in Hindi, the images on the front had faded so that only the lettering could still be seen, leaving the cover frail and almost empty.
Like many of his books, this play had been passed to Mohinder from his father. Now the son stared into the distance, his mind wondering ironically how it had taken a psychopath for him to understand. As in the play, he and Sylar were undeniably in lust. At least he and Zane had been during their long days of travel and even longer nights. An invisible fist closed about his heart as the memories came, but Mohinder ignored it and let the thought continue. Also mirroring the story was an outside force that would never condone their relationship. The outside force being, of course, everyone who had ever heard of Sylar and his murderous tendencies. The sad thing was that Mohinder agreed with them. Knowing exactly who Zane-Sylar- was, he could never, ever love him. He even hated himself for wanting to. If Mohinder could have any wish at all he would plead for an end to the twisted yearnings he still felt in his heart when he thought of Sylar. The bastard had killed his father, had never truly been the person he’d thought he’d loved. But somehow Mohinder couldn't help but remember soft smiles, brilliant stars, the empty nights. He couldn't forget Zane.
With a sigh Mohinder let the play drop to the table beside his chair. Action, that's what he needed. A distraction to keep away such melancholy thoughts. He stood and sifted a hand through his hair, watching as dust floated softly to the floor. Time that he get back to what he'd been doing when he'd come across the ancient play. Today's diversion involved a lot of lemon Pledge, a dust rag, and several jumbled bookshelves that had not been tended to in years. While he worked Mohinder let his mind wander. Songs popped into his head, and he hummed them. Soon he was working on genetic theories, throwing around ideas without really paying much attention to them.
Once or twice he caught himself running lines of Shakespeare through his mind, and he followed the thought, enjoying the snippets of verse he was catching. He smiled softly, remembering "'A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus and his love Thisbe," a particularly comic moment in "A Midsummer Night’s Dream." But Mohinder was not cautious; his mind ran away with him, and soon he was dwelling where he longed to escape. He had to forcibly clear his head to stop the invasion by Romeo's tragic speech, Juliet's sobbing plans. Yet this did not work, and they kept coming no matter how hard he scrubbed the shelf or read the titles of each book. Soon they were screaming themselves in his mind, and he almost thought he could hear them.
Ah, dear Juliet,/Why art thou yet so fair..
Is she a Capulet?...
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,/To make die with a restorative...
"Thy lips are warm." The words electrified Mohinder, pulling him upright with a frightened start. A thousand thoughts flooded him at once. Sylar. He'd broken in, he was here, going to kill him or steal the list or-
Suddenly a large hand slid over his eyes, pulling him down to the floor in a move that left no room for escape. Soft lips covered his and sealed in the scream that threatened to fly free of Mohinder's mouth. Sylar was climbing him, pushing away books and tables, riding him to the floor with an obscene crush of hips upon hips. Mohinder fought for a moment with fists and claws until Sylar grabbed his wrists in one powerful hand and continued his exploration of Mohinder's unwilling mouth. Then came knees, a futile attempt to push the murderer off him, but Sylar fielded that just as easily. Eventually the other stopped, and they lay there, panting, one with terror and both with desire. Breath ghosted against Mohinder's ear as Sylar leaned down.
"Did you miss me?" he whispered.
Mohinder gritted his teeth, spit out an answer that they both knew was false. "No."
Sylar laughed; smooth, condescending, utterly in control. "How do you like my new power? I never knew you'd read Romeo and Juliet." He smirked at the shocked look on Mohinder's face. "Yes, I am reading your mind. Do you like it?" He ground their hips into the floor as he spoke. A moan forced itself out of Mohinder's mouth, prompting Sylar to lick a long, wet trail along the side of his face. "Don't try and pretend, now. I'll know."
"You killed my father!" He screamed it with his mouth, his mind, desperation ripping agony into his heart and thoughts. Sylar opened a gaping mouth in a wordless cry, echoing the torment he'd caught from Mohinder's head.
"STOP THAT." It was a command coupled with a telekinetic blast that brought cracks to the floor's surface. "Now, Mohinder," and Sylar's voice was thin, madness leaking out of it into the dusty air. "I know how you feel about me. I can feel it," he added, teeth bared as he reached his free hand down to grip Mohinder through his pants. The Indian gasped, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as horror and lust fought for supremacy. Sylar smiled at this and brought his head down to nuzzle Mohinder's neck like some deadly cat. "I know that you love me, Mohinder."
"I loved Zane, not you," came the reply from behind gritted teeth. Instantly that bittersweet grip tightened to a painful degree.
"Liar, Mohinder." Sylar's voice was cotton candy sweet even as he brought tears of pain to his lover's eyes. "You're a liar. I know you love me. ME."
Mohinder grunted, struggling in the other's grasp as he tried to free himself. Each twist was a new world of pain, each breath agony, but he had to try. Beneath it all was a river of lyricism that ran through his brain like boiling lava. Romeo and Juliet. Shakespeare's star-crossed lovers. Fools.
Sylar was tightening his hand now, twisting it slightly even as he pressed soft kisses to delicate collar bones. "We could stop, Mohinder, if you’d just give in. I love you. I need you." He laid his head on a pink-flowered chest, looking for all the world like a lonely lover, if one could ignore the hand that dug nails through the unwilling fabric of stiff jeans. "This last power...it hurts, love." Mohinder remained silently defiant.
"I just want you to say it. I would feel so much better. Just three..." kiss, "little," kiss, "words." With the last press of lips he released him and brought Mohinder's hands to his side. Mohinder was silent for some moments, his mind hidden by the waves of pain which coursed through his body. Finally Sylar got sick of waiting and brought his mouth to hover beside Mohinder's soft ear. "Well, darling?"
A pause. Then- "There is a difference between love and lust, Sylar."
The result was instantaneous. Sylar screamed, a harsh, keening noise more often heard from a wild animal. He leapt up, using telekinesis to drag Mohinder from the floor and throw him into a wall. Again and again he thrashed him about, upending bookshelves and turning the wood blood red, screeching his madness all the while. Finally he thrust him against the wall, using his body to pin the bleeding and broken man there.
"Do you know what happened at the end of Romeo and Juliet, Mohinder?" he hissed, licking his lips and panting heavily. The Indian stared at him from beneath dripping blood and purple cheeks, barely conscious but still aware. In one harsh, rapid movement Sylar shoved the other's head back into the wall, pulling one last cry from his lover. "They died for love." He licked the side of Mohinder's face, scraping up the dripping blood in one long, languorous movement. Then he took a step back, raised one infamous finger. "For love, Mohinder!" Maniacal laughter and scalding tears followed this announcement, a violent waterfall to carry Mohinder from this world to the next.