Heroes fic: Hidden Away
Yeah, okay, I'm writing "adult" stuff now DON'T JUDGE ME.
Title: Hidden Away
Series: Heroes
Pairing: Mylar. Er, sort of.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-con! The crazy!
Summary: While the Bennets had the most awkward Thanksgiving ever and the Petrellis had... well, the worst Thanksgiving ever, really, Mohinder lay in a padded cell, not so alone.
A/N: I started this the other night for ladywilde80 at the tail end of the Mylar party post over on mylar_fic. So... Happy Thanksgiving? :D?
For a while, in the interludes between sedations, when Mohinder is awake enough to trip through the cotton that fills his head, he thinks only of Hiro-- of throttling him. Perhaps he won't actually do that when he gets out of here, but there's no harm in indulging in that little fantasy considering the outlandish situation the time traveler put him in.
After a long time passes, perhaps a week, his thoughts drift more to the outside world, to how much time is left before Samuel gathers enough specials around him to do cataclysmic damage. Mohinder needs to get out of here and warn everyone before that happens. What was Hiro thinking? He won't be able to save Charlie if he dies in the inevitable catastrophe.
But it's more than that, Mohinder recognizes, long after realizing there's no real way to measure how long he's been locked up. Mohinder needs to do the right thing. He needs to save everyone. He needs his redemption. He needs to prove that he is nothing like--
No. Mohinder shouldn't think of him. He's gone. Mohinder saw his corpse eaten by flames with his own eyes.
But Mohinder's thoughts have already conjured him: the Boogeyman.
Lying prone on the floor, Mohinder feels Sylar's eyes on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the killer perched up in a high corner like a patient spider with Mohinder caught in his web. Mohinder struggles weakly against the straightjacket, shifts toward the far wall, but there's no point. He's trapped.
Sylar descends as if by an invisible line of webbing. His steady gaze never leaves Mohinder's frightened stare. "Drugged up, tied up," he murmurs. "How does it feel, doctor?"
"How did you get in here?" Mohinder gasps. He shakes his head. "No, you're..." He tries to swallow but his throat is so dry. "You're dead."
"Again? How annoying."
"You're not real," Mohinder mutters. "Not real."
"What makes you think that?" Sylar asks, slipping in front of the door, blocking out the tiny square of light. Mohinder curls into himself and strains against the straitjacket, but his muscles still feel like stretched out rubber bands. A pathetic whimper escapes his mouth.
"Shh, shh," Sylar hushes as he crouches down, but the light doesn't come back and he blends with the blackness. "Don't be scared," he whispers, and his voice curls through the dark, tendrils stroking Mohinder's face.
"Leave me alone!" Mohinder cries, turning his face into the cushioned floor.
"But I'm here to help you," Sylar says, and even in the dark his teeth gleam.
"No," Mohinder says shakily. "You're here to torture me."
"Me? What about them?" Sylar's voice slips into Mohinder's ear. "Trapping you here, ignoring your pleas. Don't you think they're giving you unnecessary drugs? They must have noticed by now, how you're not normal, how much sedative it takes. You remember what you heard those orderlies say, about new orders, new treatments..."
Did he remember that? "Stop it."
"This isn't the eighteen hundreds, no, but there are still plenty of corrupt asylums with corrupt doctors out there, willing to play out their nefarious experimental hobbies with their patients..." Sylar chuckles, and Mohinder feels his sickly breath stray down his neck. "Sound familiar?"
Mohinder cringes away. "Please don't."
"You know what you have to do," Sylar whispers. A faint brush of lips on Mohinder's ear lobe. "You can break free if you really try. Tear that jacket apart, break through that door. And those orderlies, nurses, doctors-- snap their limbs out of their sockets like dolls."
"I'm not a murderer!" Mohinder howls.
"We're the same," Sylar taunts, and his spindly fingers play inside the waistband of Mohinder's pants. "You know that. You've always known that. Stop hiding from me."
Mohinder thrashes, trying to knock Sylar away, but he hits nothing and succeeds only in twisting over onto his stomach. He breathes hard and closes his eyes. This isn't real. This can't be real.
Sylar's hand slides under him, dipping into his pants. "No..." Mohinder groans as Sylar's hand closes around his length. The touch should be cold, but instead it's hot like fire that spreads throughout his abdomen as Sylar's hand slides up and down. Mohinder bites his bottom lip, and he tastes blood when he feels Sylar settle on top of him.
"How long have you been here?" Sylar purrs, grinding his erection against Mohinder's backside. "Weeks? Months? All because that infantile idiot thought you wouldn't help-- or couldn't help." As his right hand pulls roughly on Mohinder's cock, his left hand grabs a handful of Mohinder's hair and shoves his face into the padding below. "They still think you're the bumbling professor even though you could end their lives with a twist of your wrist."
Mohinder is able to turn his head slightly so he can breathe, cheek mashed into the soft floor. Blood from his lip sinks into the fabric. "They?" he says weakly.
"Nakamura, Petrelli, Parkman-- all of them. Nakamura leaves you here, Petrelli thinks he can do better with your ability than you ever could, and Parkman, heh, when's the last time you heard from him?"
"Peter and Matt--" Mohinder groans as Sylar tongues the back of his neck. "Ah... We're all just getting on with our lives. They..." He squeezes his eyes shut. "You're in my head. You're just..."
Sylar speeds up his strokes and laughs low in Mohinder's ear. "Sure," he hisses. "Maybe I'm not really here. Just imagine the guards looking in, seeing you writhing on the floor, moaning like a deranged whore." He yanks Mohinder's hair. "Imagine if they knew it was for Daddy's killer."
"God," Mohinder pleads as his hips jerk back, forward, against Sylar's hardness and into Sylar's hand. He's all twisted up inside, strings of tension ready to snap.
"Or maybe that's it," Sylar whispers. "I'm the closest thing to God you've ever known." He gives Mohinder's cock a hard squeeze. "You have no idea what I'm capable of now. I can come back at will, and I know all these sad little things, and I know all about you." He thrusts his hips like he's ready to fuck Mohinder through his clothing. "I'm inside you, in that pretty head, because I'm omnipotent, omnipresent, and you can't hide from me, from who you really are."
Sylar's left arm wraps around Mohinder's chest, hand grasping a fold of the jacket, and he pulls him up so they're both on their knees, Mohinder fitted against him. His right hand tugs again, lightly, but it's enough that Mohinder's head falls back onto Sylar's shoulder.
"You experimented on people, killed a man, all because you made a scientific error. There's no redemption from that. Nothing will make you any less of a murderer than I am. And the others, your 'friends,' know it." Sylar lets go of the jacket to cradle Mohinder's jaw and turns his head so their lips nearly touch. "And you know it," he says into Mohinder's bleeding mouth. "And only I understand."
The muscles in Mohinder's legs and back tighten. Sylar pulls harder, rougher, and when Mohinder comes Sylar kisses him deeply, swallowing his cry.
Sylar withdraws his hand from Mohinder's pants and lets him fall to the floor, onto his side. He bends over him, brushing Mohinder's hair from his ear. "I'll be out there," Sylar murmurs and Mohinder closes his eyes. "Find me."
Light hits Mohinder's eyelids, and when he opens his eyes the room is no longer black, but back to its usual dimness. He stares blearily at the small window in the door, and he realizes he can hear the jingle of an orderly's keys. He groans, and when he shifts toward the back of his cell he realizes the right arm of his jacket has torn loose.
Title: Hidden Away
Series: Heroes
Pairing: Mylar. Er, sort of.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-con! The crazy!
Summary: While the Bennets had the most awkward Thanksgiving ever and the Petrellis had... well, the worst Thanksgiving ever, really, Mohinder lay in a padded cell, not so alone.
A/N: I started this the other night for ladywilde80 at the tail end of the Mylar party post over on mylar_fic. So... Happy Thanksgiving? :D?
For a while, in the interludes between sedations, when Mohinder is awake enough to trip through the cotton that fills his head, he thinks only of Hiro-- of throttling him. Perhaps he won't actually do that when he gets out of here, but there's no harm in indulging in that little fantasy considering the outlandish situation the time traveler put him in.
After a long time passes, perhaps a week, his thoughts drift more to the outside world, to how much time is left before Samuel gathers enough specials around him to do cataclysmic damage. Mohinder needs to get out of here and warn everyone before that happens. What was Hiro thinking? He won't be able to save Charlie if he dies in the inevitable catastrophe.
But it's more than that, Mohinder recognizes, long after realizing there's no real way to measure how long he's been locked up. Mohinder needs to do the right thing. He needs to save everyone. He needs his redemption. He needs to prove that he is nothing like--
No. Mohinder shouldn't think of him. He's gone. Mohinder saw his corpse eaten by flames with his own eyes.
But Mohinder's thoughts have already conjured him: the Boogeyman.
Lying prone on the floor, Mohinder feels Sylar's eyes on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the killer perched up in a high corner like a patient spider with Mohinder caught in his web. Mohinder struggles weakly against the straightjacket, shifts toward the far wall, but there's no point. He's trapped.
Sylar descends as if by an invisible line of webbing. His steady gaze never leaves Mohinder's frightened stare. "Drugged up, tied up," he murmurs. "How does it feel, doctor?"
"How did you get in here?" Mohinder gasps. He shakes his head. "No, you're..." He tries to swallow but his throat is so dry. "You're dead."
"Again? How annoying."
"You're not real," Mohinder mutters. "Not real."
"What makes you think that?" Sylar asks, slipping in front of the door, blocking out the tiny square of light. Mohinder curls into himself and strains against the straitjacket, but his muscles still feel like stretched out rubber bands. A pathetic whimper escapes his mouth.
"Shh, shh," Sylar hushes as he crouches down, but the light doesn't come back and he blends with the blackness. "Don't be scared," he whispers, and his voice curls through the dark, tendrils stroking Mohinder's face.
"Leave me alone!" Mohinder cries, turning his face into the cushioned floor.
"But I'm here to help you," Sylar says, and even in the dark his teeth gleam.
"No," Mohinder says shakily. "You're here to torture me."
"Me? What about them?" Sylar's voice slips into Mohinder's ear. "Trapping you here, ignoring your pleas. Don't you think they're giving you unnecessary drugs? They must have noticed by now, how you're not normal, how much sedative it takes. You remember what you heard those orderlies say, about new orders, new treatments..."
Did he remember that? "Stop it."
"This isn't the eighteen hundreds, no, but there are still plenty of corrupt asylums with corrupt doctors out there, willing to play out their nefarious experimental hobbies with their patients..." Sylar chuckles, and Mohinder feels his sickly breath stray down his neck. "Sound familiar?"
Mohinder cringes away. "Please don't."
"You know what you have to do," Sylar whispers. A faint brush of lips on Mohinder's ear lobe. "You can break free if you really try. Tear that jacket apart, break through that door. And those orderlies, nurses, doctors-- snap their limbs out of their sockets like dolls."
"I'm not a murderer!" Mohinder howls.
"We're the same," Sylar taunts, and his spindly fingers play inside the waistband of Mohinder's pants. "You know that. You've always known that. Stop hiding from me."
Mohinder thrashes, trying to knock Sylar away, but he hits nothing and succeeds only in twisting over onto his stomach. He breathes hard and closes his eyes. This isn't real. This can't be real.
Sylar's hand slides under him, dipping into his pants. "No..." Mohinder groans as Sylar's hand closes around his length. The touch should be cold, but instead it's hot like fire that spreads throughout his abdomen as Sylar's hand slides up and down. Mohinder bites his bottom lip, and he tastes blood when he feels Sylar settle on top of him.
"How long have you been here?" Sylar purrs, grinding his erection against Mohinder's backside. "Weeks? Months? All because that infantile idiot thought you wouldn't help-- or couldn't help." As his right hand pulls roughly on Mohinder's cock, his left hand grabs a handful of Mohinder's hair and shoves his face into the padding below. "They still think you're the bumbling professor even though you could end their lives with a twist of your wrist."
Mohinder is able to turn his head slightly so he can breathe, cheek mashed into the soft floor. Blood from his lip sinks into the fabric. "They?" he says weakly.
"Nakamura, Petrelli, Parkman-- all of them. Nakamura leaves you here, Petrelli thinks he can do better with your ability than you ever could, and Parkman, heh, when's the last time you heard from him?"
"Peter and Matt--" Mohinder groans as Sylar tongues the back of his neck. "Ah... We're all just getting on with our lives. They..." He squeezes his eyes shut. "You're in my head. You're just..."
Sylar speeds up his strokes and laughs low in Mohinder's ear. "Sure," he hisses. "Maybe I'm not really here. Just imagine the guards looking in, seeing you writhing on the floor, moaning like a deranged whore." He yanks Mohinder's hair. "Imagine if they knew it was for Daddy's killer."
"God," Mohinder pleads as his hips jerk back, forward, against Sylar's hardness and into Sylar's hand. He's all twisted up inside, strings of tension ready to snap.
"Or maybe that's it," Sylar whispers. "I'm the closest thing to God you've ever known." He gives Mohinder's cock a hard squeeze. "You have no idea what I'm capable of now. I can come back at will, and I know all these sad little things, and I know all about you." He thrusts his hips like he's ready to fuck Mohinder through his clothing. "I'm inside you, in that pretty head, because I'm omnipotent, omnipresent, and you can't hide from me, from who you really are."
Sylar's left arm wraps around Mohinder's chest, hand grasping a fold of the jacket, and he pulls him up so they're both on their knees, Mohinder fitted against him. His right hand tugs again, lightly, but it's enough that Mohinder's head falls back onto Sylar's shoulder.
"You experimented on people, killed a man, all because you made a scientific error. There's no redemption from that. Nothing will make you any less of a murderer than I am. And the others, your 'friends,' know it." Sylar lets go of the jacket to cradle Mohinder's jaw and turns his head so their lips nearly touch. "And you know it," he says into Mohinder's bleeding mouth. "And only I understand."
The muscles in Mohinder's legs and back tighten. Sylar pulls harder, rougher, and when Mohinder comes Sylar kisses him deeply, swallowing his cry.
Sylar withdraws his hand from Mohinder's pants and lets him fall to the floor, onto his side. He bends over him, brushing Mohinder's hair from his ear. "I'll be out there," Sylar murmurs and Mohinder closes his eyes. "Find me."
Light hits Mohinder's eyelids, and when he opens his eyes the room is no longer black, but back to its usual dimness. He stares blearily at the small window in the door, and he realizes he can hear the jingle of an orderly's keys. He groans, and when he shifts toward the back of his cell he realizes the right arm of his jacket has torn loose.