Denial - Heroes - Mohinder/Nathan
Title: Denial
Pairing: Mohinder/Nathan
Word Count: 538
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for comment_fic.
Summary: "Mohinder's grown used to the strange string of nonsense that tends to spill forth from men's lips when he does this. Some men turn incoherent. Some turn dirty."
His lips close tight around Nathan's dick - the moan that echoes from the politician is enough to tell him that he's doing a good job. Mohinder's eyes close in concentration. His mouth is full, stretched wide, and he can taste Nathan so strongly that it's nearly overpowering. It's as if Nathan is all that is left in the world now.
Nathan's hands rest gently in his hair, guiding his movements but not forcing anything. It's mere suggestion. He's babbling now: telling Mohinder how good he is, how perfect this is, how close he is. "You slut," he pants. "God, you little slut."
Mohinder might be offended, but as he works Nathan with his mouth - hot and wet - he has the distinct impression that Nathan means it as a compliment. He's a strange little man, but Mohinder's grown used to the strange string of nonsense that tends to spill forth from men's lips when he does this. Something turns off: a switch in the brain that monitors what they say. Some men turn incoherent. Some turn dirty.
He has to say he likes the dirty ones best.
Nathan keeps talking as Mohinder takes him deeper, deeper, deeper, until he can feel the tip of Nathan's cock pressing against the back of his neck. He swallows past the gag reflex, breathing through his nose, and the words spilling from Nathan's lips make it worth it. Nathan's hand clenches and releases in his hair and the muscles in his legs are beginning to twitch and tremble with tension. He's close, so close now: Mohinder doesn't need his nonsense babbling to tell him that.
His hand sneaks up, underneath, and his fingertips brush gently over Nathan's ass, tracing the hole. Nathan's talking ceases at this point but he doesn't tell Mohinder to stop, not even as he circles the ring more intensely. He sucks hard as he presses his finger inside: the reward is a loud shout, intensified when he works fast to find Nathan's prostate and stroke it. Nathan's hips buck - it's a miracle he doesn't choke - and Mohinder finds his mouth full of Nathan's seed, the bitter taste of his come. He pulls off and withdraws his hand, hiding a cough as he struggles to catch his breath.
"You..." Nathan pants, pointing an accusing finger at him. Mohinder is content to smile serenely, innocently. "Never tell anyone about that."
Mohinder's never been able to understand the insecurity some men feel about this: they're content to use his mouth as they please but a little prostate stimulation is too gay for them. He smirks. "I'm not one to brag about conquests, Nathan," he points out, "but if you wanted to give me an extra incentive to keep quiet…"
Nathan's smile grows, and his hand - still in Mohinder's hair - guides him until their mouths meets. Nathan must be able to taste himself on Mohinder's tongue; the thought makes him moan, almost as much as Nathan's large hand wrapping around his dick. "I'm sure some arrangement can be made," Nathan murmurs into his ear, soft and sensual like a cat's purr. As Mohinder moans and bucks into Nathan's hand, he realises that he's always been a terrible negotiator.
Pairing: Mohinder/Nathan
Word Count: 538
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for comment_fic.
Summary: "Mohinder's grown used to the strange string of nonsense that tends to spill forth from men's lips when he does this. Some men turn incoherent. Some turn dirty."
His lips close tight around Nathan's dick - the moan that echoes from the politician is enough to tell him that he's doing a good job. Mohinder's eyes close in concentration. His mouth is full, stretched wide, and he can taste Nathan so strongly that it's nearly overpowering. It's as if Nathan is all that is left in the world now.
Nathan's hands rest gently in his hair, guiding his movements but not forcing anything. It's mere suggestion. He's babbling now: telling Mohinder how good he is, how perfect this is, how close he is. "You slut," he pants. "God, you little slut."
Mohinder might be offended, but as he works Nathan with his mouth - hot and wet - he has the distinct impression that Nathan means it as a compliment. He's a strange little man, but Mohinder's grown used to the strange string of nonsense that tends to spill forth from men's lips when he does this. Something turns off: a switch in the brain that monitors what they say. Some men turn incoherent. Some turn dirty.
He has to say he likes the dirty ones best.
Nathan keeps talking as Mohinder takes him deeper, deeper, deeper, until he can feel the tip of Nathan's cock pressing against the back of his neck. He swallows past the gag reflex, breathing through his nose, and the words spilling from Nathan's lips make it worth it. Nathan's hand clenches and releases in his hair and the muscles in his legs are beginning to twitch and tremble with tension. He's close, so close now: Mohinder doesn't need his nonsense babbling to tell him that.
His hand sneaks up, underneath, and his fingertips brush gently over Nathan's ass, tracing the hole. Nathan's talking ceases at this point but he doesn't tell Mohinder to stop, not even as he circles the ring more intensely. He sucks hard as he presses his finger inside: the reward is a loud shout, intensified when he works fast to find Nathan's prostate and stroke it. Nathan's hips buck - it's a miracle he doesn't choke - and Mohinder finds his mouth full of Nathan's seed, the bitter taste of his come. He pulls off and withdraws his hand, hiding a cough as he struggles to catch his breath.
"You..." Nathan pants, pointing an accusing finger at him. Mohinder is content to smile serenely, innocently. "Never tell anyone about that."
Mohinder's never been able to understand the insecurity some men feel about this: they're content to use his mouth as they please but a little prostate stimulation is too gay for them. He smirks. "I'm not one to brag about conquests, Nathan," he points out, "but if you wanted to give me an extra incentive to keep quiet…"
Nathan's smile grows, and his hand - still in Mohinder's hair - guides him until their mouths meets. Nathan must be able to taste himself on Mohinder's tongue; the thought makes him moan, almost as much as Nathan's large hand wrapping around his dick. "I'm sure some arrangement can be made," Nathan murmurs into his ear, soft and sensual like a cat's purr. As Mohinder moans and bucks into Nathan's hand, he realises that he's always been a terrible negotiator.