Title: A Little Dirty Laundry
Characters/Pairings: My First Mylar! (copyright pending)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of its characters
Word count: 408
Spoiler alert: None
Summary: Sylar comes in his pants.
Sylar was nothing if not controlled. He didn't need anyone for anything, and he liked it that way. It showed in the particular way of managing his relationships. When others outgrew their usefulness to him, be they his mother or girlfriend, he offed them without compunction. He could name more people than he could count that he'd do the same to, and at the top of the list was that annoying Mohinder Suresh, who'd turned out to be more of a hindrance than a help to him. During the daylight hours, if the thought of the professor came to Sylar's mind, he'd tell himself "I'll take care of that later" and push Suresh to the back of his mind.
But when he slept at night, he couldn't help it. Sylar couldn't keep his thoughts from wandering down their strange yet wonderful paths, and he woke up longing for him with a throbbing down below that he couldn't quell. For the past few nights he'd woken and found his pajamas damp, a little discomfort caused by some forgotten dream. A little extra dirty laundry was no big deal. But then he woke up in the middle of such a dream, jarred. He realized that his member stood erect, aching. Even in the dim moonlight, Sylar could see the blanket tented up, and he groaned, caught in that place between pleasure and frustration, as shivers ran up and down his spine.
Frozen for a moment, Sylar considered what to do. The soft fabric of his pajamas brushed fiercely against the swollen head of his penis, already slightly dampened with precum, and suddenly an image of Mohinder's face appeared in Sylar's mind. In a flash of his imagination, Sylar could see Mohinder doing something unnatural, unfathomable, unthinkable - so bad it that it was oh, so, so, so good. In the time it took for Sylar simply to gasp and press his eyelids shut, his hand flew down beneath the covers and tried to choke his boner with his grasp - but it was too late. As his warm palm wrapped around his shaft, he shuddered and ejaculated, hot beads of semen spouting forth and seeping into the cotton front of his pants.
"Not again," Sylar groaned, waiting for the flush in his face to subside, for his breath to steady, for his thoughts to collect themselves in an orderly fashion, before he threw off the covers. "I'll have to do laundry tomorrow."