Fic
Title: Objectify
Author: alicebluegown16
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The five parts of Mohinder's body Matt loves best and the one part of Matt's Mohinder loves.
AN/Warning: This is the sappiest sap that ever sapped. Diabetics beware. But it wouldn't let me alone until I wrote it. Now that it's done, maybe I can get back to regularly scheduled angst fic.
Objectify
1. When Matt wakes up from one of his nightmares, which run the gamut from Texas and Sylar to whatever most recent horror he saw at work that day, he doesn’t yell or cry out. He lies there in the dark, heart beat jack hammering, phantom pains in his chest, and for a minute he's sure of it--he’s dying, he’s dying, they left a bullet in him and it’s killing him, it hurts, hurts so much, or maybe it’s all a hallucination, this isn’t real, he’s back at Kirby Plaza and he’s going to die here all alone, bleeding out on the concrete while the world explodes around him.
But then he rolls over and Mohinder is in the bed next to him, hogging all the blankets and snoring. He pulls the other man close, buries his face in the nape of Mohinder’s neck, inhaling the scent of his fancy herbal shampoo, soft curls tickling his nose, and his heart beat will slow down and his breathing evens out again. Without fail, he’s asleep again in minutes.
2. Matt first sees Mohinder’s smile when he’s in the hospital. It’s quick, a sudden flash of white teeth and sparkling eyes. Like a bolt of lightning, gone so fast you’re almost unsure it was really there. He’s still a bit doped up on painkillers and immediately blames that for his sudden lightheadedness. Doesn’t change the fact he wants to see it again, though.
Since that first one, he’s seen Mohinder smile a hundred times. Hell, he’s even seen Mohinder laugh. They last much longer now, Mohinder’s smiles. Once like lightning, they are now like sunlight warming Matt to the tips of his toes. And each time, he still gets a little light headed.
3. Mohinder swears you could cut yourself on ‘em. Matt’s mom would shake her head if she saw them, cluck her tongue and shove food at the other man until he waved a white flag. Still, Matt can’t help it. He loves Mohinder’s hipbones. Loves them swimming in his stolen sweat pants, loves them peaking out of hideous paisley print boxers, loves throwing his arm across Mohinder’s waist at night and resting his hand there, thumb fitting perfectly in the hollow where groin meets thigh, and most of all, he loves Mohinder’s hip bones covered in nothing but bruises and bite marks.
4. At night, Mohinder will sit on the couch with his feet in Matt’s lap and Matt will absently trace the curve of his ankle as he watches the news. If he tickles the soles, Mr. Prim and Proper Scientist will bat his hand away and desperately squirm out of his reach. It never lasts, of course. Mohinder always relents, stretching out again when Matt promises to behave. And Matt always breaks his promise.
He can’t help it. He loves Mohinder’s feet. Not in a weird kinky fetish way. He has no desire to see the other man in stilettos. No, Matt loves Mohinder’s feet because they’re not perfect. Long and skinny and his left middle toe is completely disproportionate to his right. Matt adores that toe, wildly contemplates naming it sometimes. Maybe Greg. Greg the Toe. Or Mortimer, so that they can keep up the whole ‘M’ name tradition. Maybe he’ll name it Elle, since it’s a little bit off. He shares this idea one night in bed and sends Mohinder into a fit of gasping snorting laughter. And yeah, Mohinder may stop traffic and cause people to walk into walls with his freakish good looks, but Matt can’t be jealous because he is the only one who gets this.
5. There is a certain part of Mohinder’s body Matt really, really, really loves. A part that no one else ever gets to see. A part that when touched, makes Mohinder completly lose all control.
Without a doubt, Matt doesn’t ever think he’s met anyone who was as ticklish on the back of his knees as Mohinder. He’s lucky he didn’t get kicked in the head the first time he accidentally stumbled on that bit of information.
What? Were you thinking of some other part?
If asked to choose a favorite part of Matt, the answer would be easy. And no, it’s not what you’re thinking, so get your mind out of the gutter. Not that he isn’t extremely fond of that particular aspect of Matt’s anatomy. But if asked to choose, Mohinder would say everything. He loves every inch of Matt, all two thousand parts. He couldn’t possibly pick one so Mohinder chooses not to even try.
Sometimes he worries such a non-answer is a cop out. Matt can recite an impromptu ode to his middle toe at the drop of a hat, but Mohinder has absolutely no idea how to ever put into words everything he feels, it’s all completely different from the neat little boxes he used to place his emotions in, so huge and all consuming.
He could tell Matt he loves him every single day-does actually and intends to do so forever, but it would never be enough to express it.
How much he loves Matt’s eyes. Laughing, merry, warm. The color of good rich soil or the coffee Matt swears he needs to function. He loves the way they turn black and wicked with hundreds of possibilities in an instant. Loves the way they crinkle in the corners when Matt smiles, loves that the lines will only define themselves more as Matt gets older, loves that he gets to be there with him as it happens
He loves Matt’s collarbone, the place Matt smells his most Mattish at the end of the day-soap and laundry detergent, starch from his shirt, spicy cologne, gunpowder and sweat. He loves to tuck his chin there and just breathe Matt in. Loves to watch Matt’s hands flutter with the knot of his tie and smile at the knowledge of the quarter sized bruise underneath it.
He loves the small of Matt’s back, loves his legs, heavy thighs and calves, loves his ass, the way it looks in jeans or dress pants, the way it flexes under his hands.
Loves Matt’s mile long shoulders. Loves his hands. Hands that can take a gun apart in the blink of an eye, hands that can’t braid hair quite as fast but are getting better, hands that looks so different from his own, white, brown, white, brown, fingers intertwined, hands that feel so very, very good on his body.
He loves Matt’s belly. Matt is under the extremely mistaken impression he loves him despite his size. Mohinder has made it his life’s goal to show Matt he loves him because of it. Matt thinks he can do better, which Mohinder gathers means someone more like himself. He doesn’t understand why exactly. Why would he want someone like himself? He’s all angles and sharp lines. A stiff wind would knock him over. Matt is solid, Matt is substantial, Matt is something to hold on to, something to keep him grounded. Mohinder loves Matt’s great tree trunk of a torso, loves the warm weight of the other man, whether it’s drowsing in a tangle of blankets or Matt fucking him into the mattress.
He loves Matt’s smile. He loves Matt’s nose, loves the delicate shell of his ear, even loves the scars on his chest because they’re right over the steady beat of Matt’s heart.
Still here, still here, still here.
He loves Matt. He loves saying it because he loves how happy it makes Matt.
He can hardly remember a time before him anymore and whatever life there was before this except to be fairly certain he doesn’t miss it.
And if he sometimes feels as if just words aren’t enough, well then he’ll just have to keep showing it.
He loves that Matt lets him.
Author: alicebluegown16
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The five parts of Mohinder's body Matt loves best and the one part of Matt's Mohinder loves.
AN/Warning: This is the sappiest sap that ever sapped. Diabetics beware. But it wouldn't let me alone until I wrote it. Now that it's done, maybe I can get back to regularly scheduled angst fic.
Objectify
1. When Matt wakes up from one of his nightmares, which run the gamut from Texas and Sylar to whatever most recent horror he saw at work that day, he doesn’t yell or cry out. He lies there in the dark, heart beat jack hammering, phantom pains in his chest, and for a minute he's sure of it--he’s dying, he’s dying, they left a bullet in him and it’s killing him, it hurts, hurts so much, or maybe it’s all a hallucination, this isn’t real, he’s back at Kirby Plaza and he’s going to die here all alone, bleeding out on the concrete while the world explodes around him.
But then he rolls over and Mohinder is in the bed next to him, hogging all the blankets and snoring. He pulls the other man close, buries his face in the nape of Mohinder’s neck, inhaling the scent of his fancy herbal shampoo, soft curls tickling his nose, and his heart beat will slow down and his breathing evens out again. Without fail, he’s asleep again in minutes.
2. Matt first sees Mohinder’s smile when he’s in the hospital. It’s quick, a sudden flash of white teeth and sparkling eyes. Like a bolt of lightning, gone so fast you’re almost unsure it was really there. He’s still a bit doped up on painkillers and immediately blames that for his sudden lightheadedness. Doesn’t change the fact he wants to see it again, though.
Since that first one, he’s seen Mohinder smile a hundred times. Hell, he’s even seen Mohinder laugh. They last much longer now, Mohinder’s smiles. Once like lightning, they are now like sunlight warming Matt to the tips of his toes. And each time, he still gets a little light headed.
3. Mohinder swears you could cut yourself on ‘em. Matt’s mom would shake her head if she saw them, cluck her tongue and shove food at the other man until he waved a white flag. Still, Matt can’t help it. He loves Mohinder’s hipbones. Loves them swimming in his stolen sweat pants, loves them peaking out of hideous paisley print boxers, loves throwing his arm across Mohinder’s waist at night and resting his hand there, thumb fitting perfectly in the hollow where groin meets thigh, and most of all, he loves Mohinder’s hip bones covered in nothing but bruises and bite marks.
4. At night, Mohinder will sit on the couch with his feet in Matt’s lap and Matt will absently trace the curve of his ankle as he watches the news. If he tickles the soles, Mr. Prim and Proper Scientist will bat his hand away and desperately squirm out of his reach. It never lasts, of course. Mohinder always relents, stretching out again when Matt promises to behave. And Matt always breaks his promise.
He can’t help it. He loves Mohinder’s feet. Not in a weird kinky fetish way. He has no desire to see the other man in stilettos. No, Matt loves Mohinder’s feet because they’re not perfect. Long and skinny and his left middle toe is completely disproportionate to his right. Matt adores that toe, wildly contemplates naming it sometimes. Maybe Greg. Greg the Toe. Or Mortimer, so that they can keep up the whole ‘M’ name tradition. Maybe he’ll name it Elle, since it’s a little bit off. He shares this idea one night in bed and sends Mohinder into a fit of gasping snorting laughter. And yeah, Mohinder may stop traffic and cause people to walk into walls with his freakish good looks, but Matt can’t be jealous because he is the only one who gets this.
5. There is a certain part of Mohinder’s body Matt really, really, really loves. A part that no one else ever gets to see. A part that when touched, makes Mohinder completly lose all control.
Without a doubt, Matt doesn’t ever think he’s met anyone who was as ticklish on the back of his knees as Mohinder. He’s lucky he didn’t get kicked in the head the first time he accidentally stumbled on that bit of information.
What? Were you thinking of some other part?
If asked to choose a favorite part of Matt, the answer would be easy. And no, it’s not what you’re thinking, so get your mind out of the gutter. Not that he isn’t extremely fond of that particular aspect of Matt’s anatomy. But if asked to choose, Mohinder would say everything. He loves every inch of Matt, all two thousand parts. He couldn’t possibly pick one so Mohinder chooses not to even try.
Sometimes he worries such a non-answer is a cop out. Matt can recite an impromptu ode to his middle toe at the drop of a hat, but Mohinder has absolutely no idea how to ever put into words everything he feels, it’s all completely different from the neat little boxes he used to place his emotions in, so huge and all consuming.
He could tell Matt he loves him every single day-does actually and intends to do so forever, but it would never be enough to express it.
How much he loves Matt’s eyes. Laughing, merry, warm. The color of good rich soil or the coffee Matt swears he needs to function. He loves the way they turn black and wicked with hundreds of possibilities in an instant. Loves the way they crinkle in the corners when Matt smiles, loves that the lines will only define themselves more as Matt gets older, loves that he gets to be there with him as it happens
He loves Matt’s collarbone, the place Matt smells his most Mattish at the end of the day-soap and laundry detergent, starch from his shirt, spicy cologne, gunpowder and sweat. He loves to tuck his chin there and just breathe Matt in. Loves to watch Matt’s hands flutter with the knot of his tie and smile at the knowledge of the quarter sized bruise underneath it.
He loves the small of Matt’s back, loves his legs, heavy thighs and calves, loves his ass, the way it looks in jeans or dress pants, the way it flexes under his hands.
Loves Matt’s mile long shoulders. Loves his hands. Hands that can take a gun apart in the blink of an eye, hands that can’t braid hair quite as fast but are getting better, hands that looks so different from his own, white, brown, white, brown, fingers intertwined, hands that feel so very, very good on his body.
He loves Matt’s belly. Matt is under the extremely mistaken impression he loves him despite his size. Mohinder has made it his life’s goal to show Matt he loves him because of it. Matt thinks he can do better, which Mohinder gathers means someone more like himself. He doesn’t understand why exactly. Why would he want someone like himself? He’s all angles and sharp lines. A stiff wind would knock him over. Matt is solid, Matt is substantial, Matt is something to hold on to, something to keep him grounded. Mohinder loves Matt’s great tree trunk of a torso, loves the warm weight of the other man, whether it’s drowsing in a tangle of blankets or Matt fucking him into the mattress.
He loves Matt’s smile. He loves Matt’s nose, loves the delicate shell of his ear, even loves the scars on his chest because they’re right over the steady beat of Matt’s heart.
Still here, still here, still here.
He loves Matt. He loves saying it because he loves how happy it makes Matt.
He can hardly remember a time before him anymore and whatever life there was before this except to be fairly certain he doesn’t miss it.
And if he sometimes feels as if just words aren’t enough, well then he’ll just have to keep showing it.
He loves that Matt lets him.