Green Eyed Monster - Heroes - Mohinder/Sylar
Title: Green Eyed Monster
Pairing: not!Mohinder/Sylar
Word Count: 480
Rating: R
A/N: Written for comment_fic. The prompt was "green-eyed monster" and I took it rather literally. ;)
Summary: When Sylar wakes up with a creature that looks exactly like Mohinder in his bed, he decides not to ask too many questions.
Sylar doesn't breathe, doesn't move, doesn't even flinch when not-Mohinder settles in his lap. Mohinder's face is close enough to his own that he can feel Mohinder's breath on his cheeks: it's cold. Frozen puffs of mist. The room itself is warm and Sylar can tell that something isn't right, but it isn't the breathing that tells him that: it's the eyes.
Mohinder's eyes are usually a soft brown, but not now. In the moonlight that streams through the open window, Sylar can see the vibrant green colour that stares down at him. It's an unnatural colour, one that was never dreamed up by evolution or genetics. The neon green of motel signs pales in comparison to this.
"Mohinder," Sylar says. He speaks slowly; the name is twice as long as it would usually be. With a jerking movement, those eyes meet his gaze and hold it: it holds him in place effortlessly. There is no running now. No escape. No way to fight. "Mohinder, are you in there?"
And he doesn't know what he's asking. He doesn't know what's going on and perhaps he doesn't want to know. His heart is beating with the thumpthumpthump of danger in the same way that it does whenever he faces off against Peter Petrelli or another stronger opponent. That is ridiculous and foolish. This is Mohinder, the most ineffective scientist and man that Sylar has ever come across. He doesn't even have a power, but those eyes… God, those eyes…
"Don't speak," Mohinder whispers. It sounds like him: his voice, his smile, his arrogance. What is not him is the way that his hips rock as he speaks. Sylar can feel the hard press of his erection against him and can't help but respond in kind, moaning though he knows that something is wrong. Mohinder shouldn't even be here. He should be back in New York and should spit at the sound of Sylar's name. That is the natural order of things.
Now Sylar sits up in bed, urging Mohinder closer with a hand at the back of his head, fingers tangling in those dark black curls in the way they've been itching to do since they first met. "What are you?" he demands, lips so close that it's a fight not to crush them against Mohinder's mouth. "Who are you?"
"I told you not to speak," Mohinder hisses, pressing him back down firmly against the bed.
With a twist of telekinesis it is no problem to reverse their positions until Sylar is the one that towers over Mohinder. And he really has plans to get to the bottom of this, to find out what sort of monster this is that's haunting him, but then Mohinder's lips crash against his and his plans fade into the distance.
After, he promises himself as he takes what he's always wanted. I'll find out after this.
Pairing: not!Mohinder/Sylar
Word Count: 480
Rating: R
A/N: Written for comment_fic. The prompt was "green-eyed monster" and I took it rather literally. ;)
Summary: When Sylar wakes up with a creature that looks exactly like Mohinder in his bed, he decides not to ask too many questions.
Sylar doesn't breathe, doesn't move, doesn't even flinch when not-Mohinder settles in his lap. Mohinder's face is close enough to his own that he can feel Mohinder's breath on his cheeks: it's cold. Frozen puffs of mist. The room itself is warm and Sylar can tell that something isn't right, but it isn't the breathing that tells him that: it's the eyes.
Mohinder's eyes are usually a soft brown, but not now. In the moonlight that streams through the open window, Sylar can see the vibrant green colour that stares down at him. It's an unnatural colour, one that was never dreamed up by evolution or genetics. The neon green of motel signs pales in comparison to this.
"Mohinder," Sylar says. He speaks slowly; the name is twice as long as it would usually be. With a jerking movement, those eyes meet his gaze and hold it: it holds him in place effortlessly. There is no running now. No escape. No way to fight. "Mohinder, are you in there?"
And he doesn't know what he's asking. He doesn't know what's going on and perhaps he doesn't want to know. His heart is beating with the thumpthumpthump of danger in the same way that it does whenever he faces off against Peter Petrelli or another stronger opponent. That is ridiculous and foolish. This is Mohinder, the most ineffective scientist and man that Sylar has ever come across. He doesn't even have a power, but those eyes… God, those eyes…
"Don't speak," Mohinder whispers. It sounds like him: his voice, his smile, his arrogance. What is not him is the way that his hips rock as he speaks. Sylar can feel the hard press of his erection against him and can't help but respond in kind, moaning though he knows that something is wrong. Mohinder shouldn't even be here. He should be back in New York and should spit at the sound of Sylar's name. That is the natural order of things.
Now Sylar sits up in bed, urging Mohinder closer with a hand at the back of his head, fingers tangling in those dark black curls in the way they've been itching to do since they first met. "What are you?" he demands, lips so close that it's a fight not to crush them against Mohinder's mouth. "Who are you?"
"I told you not to speak," Mohinder hisses, pressing him back down firmly against the bed.
With a twist of telekinesis it is no problem to reverse their positions until Sylar is the one that towers over Mohinder. And he really has plans to get to the bottom of this, to find out what sort of monster this is that's haunting him, but then Mohinder's lips crash against his and his plans fade into the distance.
After, he promises himself as he takes what he's always wanted. I'll find out after this.