It's like porn. Except NOT REALLY.
Author: Aiisling
Title: Siren's Call
Rating: PG-13
Warning/Spoilers: You may want to keep a cold shower nearby.
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Summary: Mohinder likes to dance in the dark living room he shares with his lover, Sylar. This time Sylar stumbled across him...
~~~~~
Siren’s Call
Mohinder was dancing. He stood in the middle of their living room, the furniture pushed away haphazardly. At first he was utterly still, like a deep pool waiting for the first ripples of the morning breeze. Then the music started. It was exotic, intoxicating, with a rolling beat and a melody that caressed the skin like a river of ecstasy. First there was a drum. Then the Sitar began, a viola added itself, and Mohinder turned the music’s invitation into a dance. His hips rolled from side to side as he let loose arms be pulled towards the sky as though something other than himself controlled those long, golden limbs. Shoulders began to roil in time with his waist; and then he was swaying on his slender ankles, eyes closed, soft lips barely parted. Long fingered hands fell back down, hovering above the finely shaped face, slender neck, dark, bare chest. They stopped for a moment above the low line of his thin sweat pants while the music paused. Two notes hung in the air like a lovers’s kiss, taunting the dancer, and then the orchestra was back in full force, filling the room and Mohinder with scorching heat and desert sands. Those long arms lifted once more as his hands undulated and caressed the air above and around his body.
This is how Sylar found his lover. The taller man paused at the entryway, mesmerized by Mohinder’s movements. Hot breath caught in a tight throat as the Indian reached his hands up once more, stretching his lean form so that the delicate bones of his hips were outlined beneath his gently swaying skin. A thin line of dark hair traveled down the center of the siren’s flat stomach, taunting his watcher with promises and whispered secrets. Sylar blinked, and brown eyes left that shadowed promise to travel up a burning torso, finally resting where slender collar bones stood etched in mahogany glory. Some slight movement of Mohinder’s head brought the watchmaker’s eyes up the delicate neck and to his lover’s face. The plump lips which sat there, begging to be caressed, caused Sylar to bite his own. Then Mohinder, in his trance, slowly brought his finely boned fingers to cross his eyes, temporarily hiding them from Sylar. Sylar must have made a noise, for when Mohinder pulled his hand away Sylar found himself captivated by two deep, liquid pools of black.
Mohinder took one step forward, his foot practically caressing the floor. His eyes never left Sylar’s as his left arm slowly unfolded from his body. First the muscled shoulder, then a long forearm, and finally his wrist fell forward to leave slim fingers dangling. A smile born of a desert oasis slowly spread across the dancer’s lips. One single digit lifted to beckon to his lover, while his body continued to undulate along with the song. Sylar could no more resist the Indian’s dark and heated gaze than he could stop breathing. Something deep inside him pulsed heavily, like a heart beat but infinitly more resonant.
In moments Mohinder had him in his grasp. He opened his mouth, thinking to say something, but Mohinder just lay the same finger he had called Sylar with against the taller man’s lips. There was something foreign in the geneticist’s eyes as he let them wander down Sylar’s spare frame, covered only in dark jeans and a skin tight cotton shirt. Bringing both hands and head up to Sylar’s face, Mohinder smiled once more and reached around to slide his palms beneath the man’s shirt. Sylar blinked once, twice, let out a shaky breath, and gave in. He let his exotic lover work the magic formed from a thousand sweltering nights upon his everything. It pulsated through their bodies in matching rhythms. Hips met hips as their forms roiled together, no longer solid matter but rather a manifestation of primaeval emotion. They ceased to be two men, listening to a song, and everything flowed together; skin, sweat, and the constant beat of the most ancient cadence.
Title: Siren's Call
Rating: PG-13
Warning/Spoilers: You may want to keep a cold shower nearby.
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Summary: Mohinder likes to dance in the dark living room he shares with his lover, Sylar. This time Sylar stumbled across him...
~~~~~
Siren’s Call
Mohinder was dancing. He stood in the middle of their living room, the furniture pushed away haphazardly. At first he was utterly still, like a deep pool waiting for the first ripples of the morning breeze. Then the music started. It was exotic, intoxicating, with a rolling beat and a melody that caressed the skin like a river of ecstasy. First there was a drum. Then the Sitar began, a viola added itself, and Mohinder turned the music’s invitation into a dance. His hips rolled from side to side as he let loose arms be pulled towards the sky as though something other than himself controlled those long, golden limbs. Shoulders began to roil in time with his waist; and then he was swaying on his slender ankles, eyes closed, soft lips barely parted. Long fingered hands fell back down, hovering above the finely shaped face, slender neck, dark, bare chest. They stopped for a moment above the low line of his thin sweat pants while the music paused. Two notes hung in the air like a lovers’s kiss, taunting the dancer, and then the orchestra was back in full force, filling the room and Mohinder with scorching heat and desert sands. Those long arms lifted once more as his hands undulated and caressed the air above and around his body.
This is how Sylar found his lover. The taller man paused at the entryway, mesmerized by Mohinder’s movements. Hot breath caught in a tight throat as the Indian reached his hands up once more, stretching his lean form so that the delicate bones of his hips were outlined beneath his gently swaying skin. A thin line of dark hair traveled down the center of the siren’s flat stomach, taunting his watcher with promises and whispered secrets. Sylar blinked, and brown eyes left that shadowed promise to travel up a burning torso, finally resting where slender collar bones stood etched in mahogany glory. Some slight movement of Mohinder’s head brought the watchmaker’s eyes up the delicate neck and to his lover’s face. The plump lips which sat there, begging to be caressed, caused Sylar to bite his own. Then Mohinder, in his trance, slowly brought his finely boned fingers to cross his eyes, temporarily hiding them from Sylar. Sylar must have made a noise, for when Mohinder pulled his hand away Sylar found himself captivated by two deep, liquid pools of black.
Mohinder took one step forward, his foot practically caressing the floor. His eyes never left Sylar’s as his left arm slowly unfolded from his body. First the muscled shoulder, then a long forearm, and finally his wrist fell forward to leave slim fingers dangling. A smile born of a desert oasis slowly spread across the dancer’s lips. One single digit lifted to beckon to his lover, while his body continued to undulate along with the song. Sylar could no more resist the Indian’s dark and heated gaze than he could stop breathing. Something deep inside him pulsed heavily, like a heart beat but infinitly more resonant.
In moments Mohinder had him in his grasp. He opened his mouth, thinking to say something, but Mohinder just lay the same finger he had called Sylar with against the taller man’s lips. There was something foreign in the geneticist’s eyes as he let them wander down Sylar’s spare frame, covered only in dark jeans and a skin tight cotton shirt. Bringing both hands and head up to Sylar’s face, Mohinder smiled once more and reached around to slide his palms beneath the man’s shirt. Sylar blinked once, twice, let out a shaky breath, and gave in. He let his exotic lover work the magic formed from a thousand sweltering nights upon his everything. It pulsated through their bodies in matching rhythms. Hips met hips as their forms roiled together, no longer solid matter but rather a manifestation of primaeval emotion. They ceased to be two men, listening to a song, and everything flowed together; skin, sweat, and the constant beat of the most ancient cadence.