Heroes slash pairing fic
Title: The realisation
Author: ladydeadlock
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar and Mohinder, mentions of Molly and Matt
Word Count: 1.961
Rating: Adult
Author's Notes: First slash fic ever, betaed by me several times over the past three weeks. Takes place after Chapter 1.
Mohinder woke up startled, with a few curls glued to his forehead and a sinking feeling in his heart, as if something had triggered and raised him from his sleep.
He looked around, trying to figure out where he was despite it being obvious that he had been sleeping in his bed, in his bedroom, in his own apartment.
The digital alarm clock that was usually on his bedside table was gone, and that small detail made him feel like something wasn’t right.
He got up, putting on some pants that were lying around and a t-shirt - now with Matt and little Molly living with him, he couldn’t very well walk around the apartment undressed.
His mind stayed with Molly. She was being unusually quiet tonight, as opposed to every other night when she had at least one nightmare regarding that creature that could see her when she could see… Him? It? She had referred to him as male, saying “He can see me”, but Mohinder wasn’t so sure.
He decided to check the little girl in the room Matt shared with her, just to make sure she was sleeping well. Molly was his and Matt’s responsibility now - they were her two saviours, him for giving her his blood as a cure, and Matt for saving her twice from… Him.
Mohinder dared not speak his name even in his mind. Even now, it pained him thinking about that man. He knew he was gone, he had seen it happen and yet, he couldn’t help but fear that it wasn’t so, that he was still alive and he was going to try and kill Molly, Matt, even Mohinder himself.
He opened Molly and Matt’s bedroom door slowly, to prevent it from shrieking. The beds were perfectly made, as if none of them had been sleeping there at all, and neither were anywhere to be found.
Mohinder checked the bathroom, without success.
Confused and scared, Mohinder returned to the living room clueless as to what he should do.
He heard steps in the dimly lit room - the only sources of light were the streetlamps, their orange lights peeking through the blinds, and the small lamp on the wall.
Mohinder grabbed a candleholder from the coffee table and turned around to face the location where the sound was coming from.
“Who’s there?” He asked, his voice barely holding, the sweat dripping from his forehead.
“Hello, Mohinder.”
He could not deny the instant recognition of that voice. His worst nightmare had come true.
“S-Sylar?” He asked fearfully, already knowing the answer.
“I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten my name.” Sylar said, stepping further out of the shadow. As if he could ever forget, thought Mohinder.
“What have you done to them? Are they-“ Mohinder couldn’t bring himself to ask that dreaded question. Of course they were dead, they were both special, the both of them had abilities that Sylar undoubtedly wished for himself.
“What have I done to whom? It’s just the two of us here, Mohinder.” He answered, smirking as he usually did, with his head cocked to the side only slightly, as if he was mocking him.
“No, no, where are Matt and Molly?” Mohinder insisted, tightening the grip around the candleholder, but almost dropping it, he was shaking so much.
Sylar took his long black jacket off, throwing it on the floor, and walked slowly towards Mohinder.
“I haven’t come here to talk about other people. Actually, I haven’t come here to talk at all.” He said.
“Good, because I most certainly do not want to talk to you.” Mohinder answered back, unsure of how he was feeling.
“Good.” Sylar repeated, smirking more widely now, with his eyes fixed on Mohinder’s face with the also usual deep stare. They stood in front of each other, a good 16 feet away, and although Mohinder wanted nothing but to look away, he could not.
With a simple hand gesture, Mohinder was pinned to the wall behind him, arms and legs spread slightly. He let out a painful moan and lowered his head, panting. Sylar was now walking decidedly in Mohinder’s direction, and did not stop until he was nearly pressing himself against the geneticist.
He seemed to smell Mohinder’s scent, moving ever so slowly, as if feeding off his fear.
“What do you want, Sylar?” Mohinder asked weakly. The other let out a snort.
“You know very damn well what I want.” He answered, letting the words out slowly. Mohinder finally lifted his head and looked straight into Sylar’s eyes, a few inches away. He observed his smirk, his quirked eyebrow, and sighed in despair.
“You…” He began, his face twisted in anger, but Sylar cut in on his speech.
“Is this the part where you accuse me of everything horrible I have done? Because I can spare you the time - I know. And you know. And yet, you are still able to look into my eyes.” He said softly, deepening his voice. “How do you do it, Mohinder? How can you do it? Tell me, how can you look into a murderer’s eyes, even if with disgust?”
Mohinder’s expression changed from the simple disgust Sylar had mentioned to show a hint of guilt as well, but he did not answer.
“You cannot help it, can you?” Sylar insisted.
It was becoming clear to Mohinder what Sylar was trying to do. He was trying - and being very successful at that - to make him feel guilty, and dirty, to mess with his mind.
“You said you hadn’t come here to talk,” Mohinder began, bravely, “and yet talking is the only thing you have managed to do since you got here.” He finished. Sylar chuckled.
“True. But what does this mean, Mohinder, does this mean that you want more?” Sylar asked, whispering the last word into Mohinder’s ear. The latter closed his eyes and moved his head up, facing the ceiling.
“I want nothing from you.” He answered, still not facing Sylar, who touched his waist softly, still breathing into Mohinder’s ear.
Mohinder’s body seemed to have been electrocuted by his touch, his muscles stiffened and he opened his eyes nervously. With his other hand, Sylar grabbed Mohinder’s jaw to face him. He licked his lips very slowly, teasingly, and smirked again, while in Mohinder’s mind the struggle of the logical, intelligent man simply vanished.
The two locked lips into a deep, furious and breathtaking kiss. Mohinder was still partly trying to pull back, but Sylar kept biting his lower lip, pressing him against the wall, he had nowhere to escape.
When Sylar finally let go, Mohinder screamed in frustration.
“Why do you not just kill me?” He yelled, as though he was begging. Inside his mind, he could not rationalise his feelings, his urges. He was in the presence of a very dangerous man, a vicious killer; that was what everyone thought, that was what he thought, and therefore he could not come to terms with his blatant attraction for the very man he loathed.
“I don’t want you dead, Mohinder.” Sylar answered simply, panting only slightly as if he was trying to control or restrain himself.
Mohinder snorted sarcastically. “Oh, so I get special treatment?”
Sylar pulled back from him, but still kept him pinned to the wall. He walked around, apparently lost for words.
“You may say so.” Sylar smiled. “Special treatment. I’ve always wanted that.”
“Well, I guess killing tons of people isn’t special enough for you then?” Mohinder said, seeming to regain his composure.
“That,” Sylar said, looking straight at Mohinder again, deadly serious. “Is merely evolution, survival of the fittest. But I never wanted to kill, Mohinder, you know that. Do you remember when I called you about the explosion? Do you remember what I told you? And you still tried to betray me and call 911, without giving so much as a second for me to explain.”
Mohinder frowned. It was true that Sylar had called him seemingly regretful about what he believed he was about to do, as it was equally true that Mohinder tried to call the emergency number afraid of what could happen. However, could anyone blame him? Could Sylar? He was rightfully scared, caught off guard with the fearful confession of a man he thought was not redeemable in the least.
“I don’t know what you wanted me to do, Sylar, truthfully, I don’t. You killed my father, you killed who knows how many other people for their powers, you killed Eden…” Mohinder reasoned, but Sylar walked back towards him.
“I did not kill her. She killed herself.” He said. Mohinder laughed.
“Probably because she would rather die than give her power to you. She knew what you could have done with it; she knew you would become pretty much irresistible!” Mohinder stopped suddenly at realising what he had just said.
Sylar smirked again. “I don’t think I need her power for that, do I?”
“That-that’s not what I meant,” Mohinder stuttered with embarrassment “I meant to say that-“
“Let’s end this. I told you I don’t want to talk.” Sylar said, making his way back to Mohinder, standing exactly where he had been standing before. “Nobody needs to know.” He whispered in the professor’s ear.
It was true. Nobody did need to know, but it would become Mohinder’s little secret, his dirty little secret. Could he really live with that?
“I can’t. Sylar, I can’t, it’s madness.” He finally managed to mumble.
“So?” Sylar caressed Mohinder’s hair, brushing it away from his face. “Crazier things have happened.”
The geneticist felt his control vanishing away again.
“Your heartbeat… Sounds like drums.” Sylar said, almost under his breath, closing his eyes with his cheek against Mohinder’s. “Faster and faster.”
Mohinder looked up at Sylar again and sighed. There was not much he could do at this point. He knew, as any man of reason would, when to give in. And he had given in to the urges that, after all, did not make him evil, only human.
He kissed Sylar’s lips more softly than before, he didn’t even notice when Sylar let him go and his feet touched the carpet.
Sylar’s fingers ran through his hair giving him a shiver down his spine, over and over again; he didn’t know where to put his hands but he finally rested one of them on the back of Sylar’s neck and the other was cupping his face, so softly, so calmly, it almost felt right.
No. Not almost. It did feel right, and right now Mohinder did not care for the consequences, or for the people Sylar had hurt, or for himself, only for the feelings and sensations he was having at that moment.
More specifically for the feeling that Sylar was letting down his guard like he had never done before except perhaps out of cockiness that one single time with the tea…When everything came down on him like on an earthquake.
“It’s for this…” He heard Sylar whisper while Mohinder kissed his neck. “It’s only for this that we are both still here.”
A distant sound came more and more closely, until it was sounding like it was coming right from inside his head.
Mohinder opened his eyes slowly but did not move. That sinking feeling… so familiar. Disappointment, perhaps? Surely not relief.
He rolled around and surely, the alarm clock was there. He pressed its button to stop the sound, but closed his eyes again.
Sylar…
He repeated that name in his head like a mantra of sorts, until the damning realisation downed upon him like cold, icy rain.
It had been nothing but a dream; a realistic, awfully vivid dream. But a dream, nevertheless.
A dream. And a name. All that was left.
Author: ladydeadlock
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar and Mohinder, mentions of Molly and Matt
Word Count: 1.961
Rating: Adult
Author's Notes: First slash fic ever, betaed by me several times over the past three weeks. Takes place after Chapter 1.
Mohinder woke up startled, with a few curls glued to his forehead and a sinking feeling in his heart, as if something had triggered and raised him from his sleep.
He looked around, trying to figure out where he was despite it being obvious that he had been sleeping in his bed, in his bedroom, in his own apartment.
The digital alarm clock that was usually on his bedside table was gone, and that small detail made him feel like something wasn’t right.
He got up, putting on some pants that were lying around and a t-shirt - now with Matt and little Molly living with him, he couldn’t very well walk around the apartment undressed.
His mind stayed with Molly. She was being unusually quiet tonight, as opposed to every other night when she had at least one nightmare regarding that creature that could see her when she could see… Him? It? She had referred to him as male, saying “He can see me”, but Mohinder wasn’t so sure.
He decided to check the little girl in the room Matt shared with her, just to make sure she was sleeping well. Molly was his and Matt’s responsibility now - they were her two saviours, him for giving her his blood as a cure, and Matt for saving her twice from… Him.
Mohinder dared not speak his name even in his mind. Even now, it pained him thinking about that man. He knew he was gone, he had seen it happen and yet, he couldn’t help but fear that it wasn’t so, that he was still alive and he was going to try and kill Molly, Matt, even Mohinder himself.
He opened Molly and Matt’s bedroom door slowly, to prevent it from shrieking. The beds were perfectly made, as if none of them had been sleeping there at all, and neither were anywhere to be found.
Mohinder checked the bathroom, without success.
Confused and scared, Mohinder returned to the living room clueless as to what he should do.
He heard steps in the dimly lit room - the only sources of light were the streetlamps, their orange lights peeking through the blinds, and the small lamp on the wall.
Mohinder grabbed a candleholder from the coffee table and turned around to face the location where the sound was coming from.
“Who’s there?” He asked, his voice barely holding, the sweat dripping from his forehead.
“Hello, Mohinder.”
He could not deny the instant recognition of that voice. His worst nightmare had come true.
“S-Sylar?” He asked fearfully, already knowing the answer.
“I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten my name.” Sylar said, stepping further out of the shadow. As if he could ever forget, thought Mohinder.
“What have you done to them? Are they-“ Mohinder couldn’t bring himself to ask that dreaded question. Of course they were dead, they were both special, the both of them had abilities that Sylar undoubtedly wished for himself.
“What have I done to whom? It’s just the two of us here, Mohinder.” He answered, smirking as he usually did, with his head cocked to the side only slightly, as if he was mocking him.
“No, no, where are Matt and Molly?” Mohinder insisted, tightening the grip around the candleholder, but almost dropping it, he was shaking so much.
Sylar took his long black jacket off, throwing it on the floor, and walked slowly towards Mohinder.
“I haven’t come here to talk about other people. Actually, I haven’t come here to talk at all.” He said.
“Good, because I most certainly do not want to talk to you.” Mohinder answered back, unsure of how he was feeling.
“Good.” Sylar repeated, smirking more widely now, with his eyes fixed on Mohinder’s face with the also usual deep stare. They stood in front of each other, a good 16 feet away, and although Mohinder wanted nothing but to look away, he could not.
With a simple hand gesture, Mohinder was pinned to the wall behind him, arms and legs spread slightly. He let out a painful moan and lowered his head, panting. Sylar was now walking decidedly in Mohinder’s direction, and did not stop until he was nearly pressing himself against the geneticist.
He seemed to smell Mohinder’s scent, moving ever so slowly, as if feeding off his fear.
“What do you want, Sylar?” Mohinder asked weakly. The other let out a snort.
“You know very damn well what I want.” He answered, letting the words out slowly. Mohinder finally lifted his head and looked straight into Sylar’s eyes, a few inches away. He observed his smirk, his quirked eyebrow, and sighed in despair.
“You…” He began, his face twisted in anger, but Sylar cut in on his speech.
“Is this the part where you accuse me of everything horrible I have done? Because I can spare you the time - I know. And you know. And yet, you are still able to look into my eyes.” He said softly, deepening his voice. “How do you do it, Mohinder? How can you do it? Tell me, how can you look into a murderer’s eyes, even if with disgust?”
Mohinder’s expression changed from the simple disgust Sylar had mentioned to show a hint of guilt as well, but he did not answer.
“You cannot help it, can you?” Sylar insisted.
It was becoming clear to Mohinder what Sylar was trying to do. He was trying - and being very successful at that - to make him feel guilty, and dirty, to mess with his mind.
“You said you hadn’t come here to talk,” Mohinder began, bravely, “and yet talking is the only thing you have managed to do since you got here.” He finished. Sylar chuckled.
“True. But what does this mean, Mohinder, does this mean that you want more?” Sylar asked, whispering the last word into Mohinder’s ear. The latter closed his eyes and moved his head up, facing the ceiling.
“I want nothing from you.” He answered, still not facing Sylar, who touched his waist softly, still breathing into Mohinder’s ear.
Mohinder’s body seemed to have been electrocuted by his touch, his muscles stiffened and he opened his eyes nervously. With his other hand, Sylar grabbed Mohinder’s jaw to face him. He licked his lips very slowly, teasingly, and smirked again, while in Mohinder’s mind the struggle of the logical, intelligent man simply vanished.
The two locked lips into a deep, furious and breathtaking kiss. Mohinder was still partly trying to pull back, but Sylar kept biting his lower lip, pressing him against the wall, he had nowhere to escape.
When Sylar finally let go, Mohinder screamed in frustration.
“Why do you not just kill me?” He yelled, as though he was begging. Inside his mind, he could not rationalise his feelings, his urges. He was in the presence of a very dangerous man, a vicious killer; that was what everyone thought, that was what he thought, and therefore he could not come to terms with his blatant attraction for the very man he loathed.
“I don’t want you dead, Mohinder.” Sylar answered simply, panting only slightly as if he was trying to control or restrain himself.
Mohinder snorted sarcastically. “Oh, so I get special treatment?”
Sylar pulled back from him, but still kept him pinned to the wall. He walked around, apparently lost for words.
“You may say so.” Sylar smiled. “Special treatment. I’ve always wanted that.”
“Well, I guess killing tons of people isn’t special enough for you then?” Mohinder said, seeming to regain his composure.
“That,” Sylar said, looking straight at Mohinder again, deadly serious. “Is merely evolution, survival of the fittest. But I never wanted to kill, Mohinder, you know that. Do you remember when I called you about the explosion? Do you remember what I told you? And you still tried to betray me and call 911, without giving so much as a second for me to explain.”
Mohinder frowned. It was true that Sylar had called him seemingly regretful about what he believed he was about to do, as it was equally true that Mohinder tried to call the emergency number afraid of what could happen. However, could anyone blame him? Could Sylar? He was rightfully scared, caught off guard with the fearful confession of a man he thought was not redeemable in the least.
“I don’t know what you wanted me to do, Sylar, truthfully, I don’t. You killed my father, you killed who knows how many other people for their powers, you killed Eden…” Mohinder reasoned, but Sylar walked back towards him.
“I did not kill her. She killed herself.” He said. Mohinder laughed.
“Probably because she would rather die than give her power to you. She knew what you could have done with it; she knew you would become pretty much irresistible!” Mohinder stopped suddenly at realising what he had just said.
Sylar smirked again. “I don’t think I need her power for that, do I?”
“That-that’s not what I meant,” Mohinder stuttered with embarrassment “I meant to say that-“
“Let’s end this. I told you I don’t want to talk.” Sylar said, making his way back to Mohinder, standing exactly where he had been standing before. “Nobody needs to know.” He whispered in the professor’s ear.
It was true. Nobody did need to know, but it would become Mohinder’s little secret, his dirty little secret. Could he really live with that?
“I can’t. Sylar, I can’t, it’s madness.” He finally managed to mumble.
“So?” Sylar caressed Mohinder’s hair, brushing it away from his face. “Crazier things have happened.”
The geneticist felt his control vanishing away again.
“Your heartbeat… Sounds like drums.” Sylar said, almost under his breath, closing his eyes with his cheek against Mohinder’s. “Faster and faster.”
Mohinder looked up at Sylar again and sighed. There was not much he could do at this point. He knew, as any man of reason would, when to give in. And he had given in to the urges that, after all, did not make him evil, only human.
He kissed Sylar’s lips more softly than before, he didn’t even notice when Sylar let him go and his feet touched the carpet.
Sylar’s fingers ran through his hair giving him a shiver down his spine, over and over again; he didn’t know where to put his hands but he finally rested one of them on the back of Sylar’s neck and the other was cupping his face, so softly, so calmly, it almost felt right.
No. Not almost. It did feel right, and right now Mohinder did not care for the consequences, or for the people Sylar had hurt, or for himself, only for the feelings and sensations he was having at that moment.
More specifically for the feeling that Sylar was letting down his guard like he had never done before except perhaps out of cockiness that one single time with the tea…When everything came down on him like on an earthquake.
“It’s for this…” He heard Sylar whisper while Mohinder kissed his neck. “It’s only for this that we are both still here.”
A distant sound came more and more closely, until it was sounding like it was coming right from inside his head.
Mohinder opened his eyes slowly but did not move. That sinking feeling… so familiar. Disappointment, perhaps? Surely not relief.
He rolled around and surely, the alarm clock was there. He pressed its button to stop the sound, but closed his eyes again.
Sylar…
He repeated that name in his head like a mantra of sorts, until the damning realisation downed upon him like cold, icy rain.
It had been nothing but a dream; a realistic, awfully vivid dream. But a dream, nevertheless.
A dream. And a name. All that was left.