[Fic] Birthday present for heroslayer's mun
Okay. So. I wanted to write fic for heroslayer's mun's birthday on Sunday. My original plan had been to write something with as many of her kinks as possible (crafty interrogation ftw!), but then Season 3 happened. And our love affair with Corruption!verse was rekindled. So, instead, she's getting a Corruption scene that's been playing in my head for a long time, featuring Mohinder at the height of his crazy.
NB: The first half of this fic is from the point of view of Peter Petrelli, and the second half is rather omniscient, as opposed to it all being from Mohinder's POV. I feel this is alright for a one-off, unprompted, birthday present fic.
Warnings: Violence, smut (though not too explicit), not Mohinder's POV.
Word count: 2605
Peter Petrelli was an agitated man. He had just received a call from Nathan, who had said they needed to talk. Immediately. He was flying over now, there was no time to even drive. He had refused to say what was wrong, just begged him not to leave his apartment, to wait for him. He would be there any minute. Anything that urgent could not mean good news, and in the few minutes that he had to wait, the empath's imagination had already begun to run riot. He was near convinced his brother had murdered their own mother by the time the knock on the door came, startling him from his morbid thoughts.
Sprinting to the door, he hauled it open, waiting to read his brother's expression... only to find it was not Nathan at all. Two figures stood in the hall, one leaned against each side of the doorframe, matching smirks on two faces. Two faces well known by Peter and others like him, for all the wrong reasons.
Sylar... Sylar had always been a terror. Somehow, he was the less unsettling of the pair, because Peter had never known him differently. It felt reassuringly normal, in a strange way, to have Sylar in his doorway with than manic grin. It was that smile on the face of his partner that sent chills down Peter's spine.
He had heard the rumours. That Sylar was not working alone any more, that he was part of a double act these days. That he had destroyed this other man, turned him insane against his will. That was not true, but Peter was not to know that. He had no idea that all of this had been Mohinder's masterplan from the outset. If anybody had been strung along, in reality it had been Sylar.
"Voice manipulation," Sylar broke the silence that had fallen between the three, the strange stalemate where they just regarded each other. "We picked that one up just the other day. And now, finally, we've managed to find you. Didn't think you'd be able to resist a plea from your brother."
Peter knew he should get the hell out of there. As far as he knew, Hiro was still alive, and unless these two had found someone else with that power... he still had the advantage. But, to his detriment, he was hypnotised by those leering smiles and bright eyes. The way they moved, as they walked without invite into his apartment, something wholly unnatural about their steps, more feline than human. And whilst, still, he expected all of this from Sylar... from his old friend? He could not help but stare, could not believe this was the same geneticist who had once tried so desperately to help him.
His eyes continued to follow Mohinder as he broke away from Sylar's side, eyes wide and distant as he walked further into the room, paying no mind to either Peter or his partner. One hand was held out to his side, fingertips brushing gently along the wall.
"He's magnificent, isn't he?" Peter heard Sylar speak, voice dripping with pride. Still, he could not tear his eyes from the Indian, who had stopped now in front of his bookcase, fingers brushing over each individual spine.
"What has he done to you, Mohinder?" He finally spoke, ignoring Sylar entirely. Mohinder gave no response, did not even show any sign that he had heard, though Peter suspected he had. He had seen insanity, in many forms, when he had worked as a nurse. This behaviour was nothing new to him, though it still made him sick to his stomach to see the Professor reduced to this.
"He doesn't talk much, these days," Sylar continued, speaking as casually as if he had just dropped round for a cup of tea and a chat. "He can. He does. Just... rarely."
The blow came without warning, and Peter cursed himself for being so easily distracted. Sylar had seen how he had become enraptured, caught him off guard with conversation, and now he was telekinetically pinned to the wall. Finally tugging his gaze away from the geneticist - still touching the books - he locked eyes with Sylar instead. The killer was grinning happily, one hand raised to keep Peter pinned.
"Oops?" He offered with a sickeningly sweet smile, before turning his own gaze onto Mohinder. "Nearly there?"
Mohinder was on his knees, fingers skimming along the books at the very bottom of the bookcase. He did not respond until his fingers has passed over the very last one, bottom right. Getting onto his feet, he turned and gave a small nod, walking back over to stand just behind Sylar, eyes equally predatory.
"Scientists. Can't live without their books," Sylar continued to grin, looking over his shoulder at his partner now. "Bit of an obsession of yours, aren't they?"
Peter screwed his eyes shut, unable to move any more than that, but heightened hearing meant he could still hear the kiss. Everything about this was wrong... Mohinder was being treated like a favoured child, and he seemed to drink it all up. No... it was beyond wrong.
"Now, I'm sure you know why we're here?" Peter risked opening his eyes, glad to see Sylar's attentions were now back on himself. Now was the time to think, and fast. "Of all the powers we could take, yours... it's something special. Even more so than the cheerleader, maybe."
Mohinder had begun to stalk forwards, a needle and syringe in hand, presumably pulled from a pocket. That was enough for Peter, he could not stay any longer. He had to get out. Closing his eyes, he prepared to teleport, but before he could even get a decent image of where he wanted to end up in his mind, a staggering pain hit him. Eyes snapping open in reflex shock, he found Mohinder's face scant inches from his own, fingertips almost touching his chest, sparks of electricity sparking between them. The man was electrocuting him, with a perfectly innocent smile across his face. This was fun for Mohinder now.
"It hurts less. If you keep still."
Dazed from the electricity, Peter hardly had time to register Sylar's words before the Indian's hand had found a tight hold in his hair, yanking his head forward to expose the back of his neck. He screamed - he was unable to help it - when that needle was plunged into his flesh, between and above his shoulderblades.
When the syringe was removed, finally, Peter felt faint. The world was swimming from pain, and he struggled to focus again on Mohinder. He was looking at the now-filled syringe with glee across his features. Peter could not help but let out the smallest of sobs - it was all over. The scientist had his DNA, and obviously had a way to turn that into an injectable form of his power. Even if he got free now, Sylar could always receive the injection too.
Still, he managed to fight the telekinesis enough to look up, to glare at Sylar defiantly as that hand rose, starting to draw the cut across his forehead. He screamed and struggled on instinct, until Mohinder's hand rose and the strength of that telekinetic hold doubled. Even his vocal cords were paralysed, then.
The curse of Peter's power meant that he survived his brain examination, lying twitching on the ground with the top of his head removed, struggling to fight his gag reflex as fingers prodded at the contents of his skull. He knew what came next, took a deep breath in preparation when he heard Sylar's small noise of victory - obviously finding what he was looking for - and the deep inhale from the killer as he adapted his body to his latest power. He was ready for whatever blow he would give, to finish him off for good, tensing as he heard and felt Sylar get back to his feet. Looking up, he saw those two grins for the last time, looming down at him, before Sylar's voice echoed loud in his head.
"He's all yours."
Mohinder's grin widened impossibly, his hand raised, and the last thing Peter knew was the fire springing from his old friend's fingers, engulfing him in moments and burning his entire body to a crisp. There would be no coming back, not this time.
***
It always hurt him, to gain a new power. It might well have been getting worse, each time, but he did not know. Mohinder never remembered the pain, afterwards, and that was why, each time, he was taken completely by surprise. He cried out when the enzymes engineered from Peter's spinal fluid entered his own blood stream, latching on and altering his DNA yet again. Screamed as he collapsed to the floor, curled in on himself, kicked out at nothing in the vain hope it would make the pain stop.
And like always, Sylar had been ready for this. Ready to hold his partner in crime, his lover, the best thing that had ever happened to him, as he screamed and kicked and cried like an infant. He hated to see him this way, but he knew it was for the best. That these were birth pains, giving way to a Mohinder that was even more glorious that the previous version.
When Mohinder calmed in Sylar's arms, smiling softly at the hum of a new power in his veins, he turned to press a kiss to his lover's chest. A wordless thank you for being there as his body revolted at yet another manipulation.
"Are you alright, now?"
Mohinder nodded in answer to the question, twisting more in Sylar's arms so that he could look properly up at the other man. Stretching upwards, his teeth caught Sylar's bottom lip, a quick grin gracing his features before he moved in for the kiss. His fingers reached up to dig into his lover's shoulders, and with a quick twist of his body he had Sylar on the floor beneath him.
They kissed like that for a long while, hungry and desperate for each other on the floor of Mohinder's lab, hands groping and bodies writhing against the other. The rush Mohinder got from gaining a new power always led to something like this. Ever since the very first time, when Mohinder had turned his attentions to Sylar as a way to try and find some sort of release from the power inside him, this had been how the sequence ended. The difference was that now it was the joy of the power inside him, the excitement of gaining a new ability, that caused Mohinder such arousal. He did not need distracting from the power any more, he reveled in it. He wanted to show off just how powerful he was, to let Sylar in on the experience of the thrumming in his bloodstream.
Sylar reached for Mohinder's wrists when his belt was telekinetically wrenched undone, squeezing the flesh just enough to make sure his partner's attention was on him. "We can do better than the floor, Mohinder."
A small nod, and Mohinder reached out with his mind for the nearest chair. Moving fluidly to his feet, he turned and sat back on the piece of furniture, hands and mind reaching to pull Sylar down onto his lap. Their kisses resumed immediately, every bit as violent and passionate as before, their aching erections grinding together and causing small gasps to escape the both of them.
Mohinder let out a low moan as Sylar played his favourite trick, telekinesis causing the sensation of being touched, light and teasing, all over his body. He wriggled helplessly, trapped between his lover's body and the chair, retaliating with his own power and using his mind to tear away their shirts, yank away belts, unzip trousers. A quick physical movement had them both naked, pressed together on the complaining chair, teasing with body and with mind.
Dark hands moved slowly over pale skin, working their way to Sylar's backside, teasingly locating his entrance and running circles against the flesh there. He bit down into his neck, watched as the skin healed after him, let his free hand brush gentle fingertips over the repaired flesh. Mohinder liked to tease, with these bites and touches, loved hearing Sylar moan for him, curse and whimper.
He always waited for the begging to start, knew that Sylar's personality meant he would always hold off for as long as he could manage. But the begging always came, in the end. All he ever needed to hear were his name and that one little word - "Mohinder, please..." - and he would concede. Moving his hands to Sylar's hips, he lifted him gently, slid his own hips forward and let his partner fall down onto him. Mohinder groaned in longing at that sudden tight heat, whilst Sylar cried out in pain from the distinct lack of preparation. Just like the first time... just like always.
Their sex life was, possibly, the habit most revealing of themselves. When Mohinder was high on power, he was brutal, uncaring of any pain he caused, focused entirely on himself and his pleasure. Other times, he would take Sylar with the utmost care, worshipping every inch of his body and being careful - so careful - not to cause him any pain at all. When Mohinder was on a low, the days and weeks where the insanity took full hold and left him as small and fearful as a child, that was when Sylar dominated. This he always did with complete devotion and care, with none of the brutality of their post-hunt fucking or the extreme passion of their sex on a normal day. When Mohinder was at his worst, that was when the sensuality came in... that was when they made love.
Tonight, however, was nothing more than a desperate fuck, a joint excitement in new powers gained. Sylar moved fast on top of his partner, using arms and legs to rise himself up and slam himself back down, Mohinder's hips working frantically to meet every move. These sessions were never luxurious, never drawn out. It was all about the release, right from the beginning, and those releases came quick. Mohinder would cave first, buck and yell and spill deep inside his lover... and that would always be enough to send Sylar over that precipice too, leaving them both boneless.
Sated.
Content.
***
Sleeping was little more than a formality to them by now. Neither had need of sleep, both with powers that gave boundless energy, and yet tonight, like most nights, they eventually found themselves in bed. Sylar had his arms wrapped tight around the Indian, whose own fingers traced lazy patterns on the other man's bicep, smiling at some private amusement.
That smile was enough to make Sylar grin in turn, even if he had no idea what was making his love show that face. He was such a fragile soul these days, the dizzying highs countered by such terrifying lows, that he was beginning to learn just how much he needed to treasure these moments of pure contentment. They made the bad times worth it, those days when Mohinder would cry and scream himself hoarse about both everything and nothing.
Because this man in his arms was glorious, no matter how ill his mind. Because he was always full of surprises. Because tonight, just when Sylar was beginning to think the faculties for speech had finally deserted him, his Mohinder leaned close and spoke the two most beautiful words he knew.
"Who next?"
NB: The first half of this fic is from the point of view of Peter Petrelli, and the second half is rather omniscient, as opposed to it all being from Mohinder's POV. I feel this is alright for a one-off, unprompted, birthday present fic.
Warnings: Violence, smut (though not too explicit), not Mohinder's POV.
Word count: 2605
Peter Petrelli was an agitated man. He had just received a call from Nathan, who had said they needed to talk. Immediately. He was flying over now, there was no time to even drive. He had refused to say what was wrong, just begged him not to leave his apartment, to wait for him. He would be there any minute. Anything that urgent could not mean good news, and in the few minutes that he had to wait, the empath's imagination had already begun to run riot. He was near convinced his brother had murdered their own mother by the time the knock on the door came, startling him from his morbid thoughts.
Sprinting to the door, he hauled it open, waiting to read his brother's expression... only to find it was not Nathan at all. Two figures stood in the hall, one leaned against each side of the doorframe, matching smirks on two faces. Two faces well known by Peter and others like him, for all the wrong reasons.
Sylar... Sylar had always been a terror. Somehow, he was the less unsettling of the pair, because Peter had never known him differently. It felt reassuringly normal, in a strange way, to have Sylar in his doorway with than manic grin. It was that smile on the face of his partner that sent chills down Peter's spine.
He had heard the rumours. That Sylar was not working alone any more, that he was part of a double act these days. That he had destroyed this other man, turned him insane against his will. That was not true, but Peter was not to know that. He had no idea that all of this had been Mohinder's masterplan from the outset. If anybody had been strung along, in reality it had been Sylar.
"Voice manipulation," Sylar broke the silence that had fallen between the three, the strange stalemate where they just regarded each other. "We picked that one up just the other day. And now, finally, we've managed to find you. Didn't think you'd be able to resist a plea from your brother."
Peter knew he should get the hell out of there. As far as he knew, Hiro was still alive, and unless these two had found someone else with that power... he still had the advantage. But, to his detriment, he was hypnotised by those leering smiles and bright eyes. The way they moved, as they walked without invite into his apartment, something wholly unnatural about their steps, more feline than human. And whilst, still, he expected all of this from Sylar... from his old friend? He could not help but stare, could not believe this was the same geneticist who had once tried so desperately to help him.
His eyes continued to follow Mohinder as he broke away from Sylar's side, eyes wide and distant as he walked further into the room, paying no mind to either Peter or his partner. One hand was held out to his side, fingertips brushing gently along the wall.
"He's magnificent, isn't he?" Peter heard Sylar speak, voice dripping with pride. Still, he could not tear his eyes from the Indian, who had stopped now in front of his bookcase, fingers brushing over each individual spine.
"What has he done to you, Mohinder?" He finally spoke, ignoring Sylar entirely. Mohinder gave no response, did not even show any sign that he had heard, though Peter suspected he had. He had seen insanity, in many forms, when he had worked as a nurse. This behaviour was nothing new to him, though it still made him sick to his stomach to see the Professor reduced to this.
"He doesn't talk much, these days," Sylar continued, speaking as casually as if he had just dropped round for a cup of tea and a chat. "He can. He does. Just... rarely."
The blow came without warning, and Peter cursed himself for being so easily distracted. Sylar had seen how he had become enraptured, caught him off guard with conversation, and now he was telekinetically pinned to the wall. Finally tugging his gaze away from the geneticist - still touching the books - he locked eyes with Sylar instead. The killer was grinning happily, one hand raised to keep Peter pinned.
"Oops?" He offered with a sickeningly sweet smile, before turning his own gaze onto Mohinder. "Nearly there?"
Mohinder was on his knees, fingers skimming along the books at the very bottom of the bookcase. He did not respond until his fingers has passed over the very last one, bottom right. Getting onto his feet, he turned and gave a small nod, walking back over to stand just behind Sylar, eyes equally predatory.
"Scientists. Can't live without their books," Sylar continued to grin, looking over his shoulder at his partner now. "Bit of an obsession of yours, aren't they?"
Peter screwed his eyes shut, unable to move any more than that, but heightened hearing meant he could still hear the kiss. Everything about this was wrong... Mohinder was being treated like a favoured child, and he seemed to drink it all up. No... it was beyond wrong.
"Now, I'm sure you know why we're here?" Peter risked opening his eyes, glad to see Sylar's attentions were now back on himself. Now was the time to think, and fast. "Of all the powers we could take, yours... it's something special. Even more so than the cheerleader, maybe."
Mohinder had begun to stalk forwards, a needle and syringe in hand, presumably pulled from a pocket. That was enough for Peter, he could not stay any longer. He had to get out. Closing his eyes, he prepared to teleport, but before he could even get a decent image of where he wanted to end up in his mind, a staggering pain hit him. Eyes snapping open in reflex shock, he found Mohinder's face scant inches from his own, fingertips almost touching his chest, sparks of electricity sparking between them. The man was electrocuting him, with a perfectly innocent smile across his face. This was fun for Mohinder now.
"It hurts less. If you keep still."
Dazed from the electricity, Peter hardly had time to register Sylar's words before the Indian's hand had found a tight hold in his hair, yanking his head forward to expose the back of his neck. He screamed - he was unable to help it - when that needle was plunged into his flesh, between and above his shoulderblades.
When the syringe was removed, finally, Peter felt faint. The world was swimming from pain, and he struggled to focus again on Mohinder. He was looking at the now-filled syringe with glee across his features. Peter could not help but let out the smallest of sobs - it was all over. The scientist had his DNA, and obviously had a way to turn that into an injectable form of his power. Even if he got free now, Sylar could always receive the injection too.
Still, he managed to fight the telekinesis enough to look up, to glare at Sylar defiantly as that hand rose, starting to draw the cut across his forehead. He screamed and struggled on instinct, until Mohinder's hand rose and the strength of that telekinetic hold doubled. Even his vocal cords were paralysed, then.
The curse of Peter's power meant that he survived his brain examination, lying twitching on the ground with the top of his head removed, struggling to fight his gag reflex as fingers prodded at the contents of his skull. He knew what came next, took a deep breath in preparation when he heard Sylar's small noise of victory - obviously finding what he was looking for - and the deep inhale from the killer as he adapted his body to his latest power. He was ready for whatever blow he would give, to finish him off for good, tensing as he heard and felt Sylar get back to his feet. Looking up, he saw those two grins for the last time, looming down at him, before Sylar's voice echoed loud in his head.
"He's all yours."
Mohinder's grin widened impossibly, his hand raised, and the last thing Peter knew was the fire springing from his old friend's fingers, engulfing him in moments and burning his entire body to a crisp. There would be no coming back, not this time.
***
It always hurt him, to gain a new power. It might well have been getting worse, each time, but he did not know. Mohinder never remembered the pain, afterwards, and that was why, each time, he was taken completely by surprise. He cried out when the enzymes engineered from Peter's spinal fluid entered his own blood stream, latching on and altering his DNA yet again. Screamed as he collapsed to the floor, curled in on himself, kicked out at nothing in the vain hope it would make the pain stop.
And like always, Sylar had been ready for this. Ready to hold his partner in crime, his lover, the best thing that had ever happened to him, as he screamed and kicked and cried like an infant. He hated to see him this way, but he knew it was for the best. That these were birth pains, giving way to a Mohinder that was even more glorious that the previous version.
When Mohinder calmed in Sylar's arms, smiling softly at the hum of a new power in his veins, he turned to press a kiss to his lover's chest. A wordless thank you for being there as his body revolted at yet another manipulation.
"Are you alright, now?"
Mohinder nodded in answer to the question, twisting more in Sylar's arms so that he could look properly up at the other man. Stretching upwards, his teeth caught Sylar's bottom lip, a quick grin gracing his features before he moved in for the kiss. His fingers reached up to dig into his lover's shoulders, and with a quick twist of his body he had Sylar on the floor beneath him.
They kissed like that for a long while, hungry and desperate for each other on the floor of Mohinder's lab, hands groping and bodies writhing against the other. The rush Mohinder got from gaining a new power always led to something like this. Ever since the very first time, when Mohinder had turned his attentions to Sylar as a way to try and find some sort of release from the power inside him, this had been how the sequence ended. The difference was that now it was the joy of the power inside him, the excitement of gaining a new ability, that caused Mohinder such arousal. He did not need distracting from the power any more, he reveled in it. He wanted to show off just how powerful he was, to let Sylar in on the experience of the thrumming in his bloodstream.
Sylar reached for Mohinder's wrists when his belt was telekinetically wrenched undone, squeezing the flesh just enough to make sure his partner's attention was on him. "We can do better than the floor, Mohinder."
A small nod, and Mohinder reached out with his mind for the nearest chair. Moving fluidly to his feet, he turned and sat back on the piece of furniture, hands and mind reaching to pull Sylar down onto his lap. Their kisses resumed immediately, every bit as violent and passionate as before, their aching erections grinding together and causing small gasps to escape the both of them.
Mohinder let out a low moan as Sylar played his favourite trick, telekinesis causing the sensation of being touched, light and teasing, all over his body. He wriggled helplessly, trapped between his lover's body and the chair, retaliating with his own power and using his mind to tear away their shirts, yank away belts, unzip trousers. A quick physical movement had them both naked, pressed together on the complaining chair, teasing with body and with mind.
Dark hands moved slowly over pale skin, working their way to Sylar's backside, teasingly locating his entrance and running circles against the flesh there. He bit down into his neck, watched as the skin healed after him, let his free hand brush gentle fingertips over the repaired flesh. Mohinder liked to tease, with these bites and touches, loved hearing Sylar moan for him, curse and whimper.
He always waited for the begging to start, knew that Sylar's personality meant he would always hold off for as long as he could manage. But the begging always came, in the end. All he ever needed to hear were his name and that one little word - "Mohinder, please..." - and he would concede. Moving his hands to Sylar's hips, he lifted him gently, slid his own hips forward and let his partner fall down onto him. Mohinder groaned in longing at that sudden tight heat, whilst Sylar cried out in pain from the distinct lack of preparation. Just like the first time... just like always.
Their sex life was, possibly, the habit most revealing of themselves. When Mohinder was high on power, he was brutal, uncaring of any pain he caused, focused entirely on himself and his pleasure. Other times, he would take Sylar with the utmost care, worshipping every inch of his body and being careful - so careful - not to cause him any pain at all. When Mohinder was on a low, the days and weeks where the insanity took full hold and left him as small and fearful as a child, that was when Sylar dominated. This he always did with complete devotion and care, with none of the brutality of their post-hunt fucking or the extreme passion of their sex on a normal day. When Mohinder was at his worst, that was when the sensuality came in... that was when they made love.
Tonight, however, was nothing more than a desperate fuck, a joint excitement in new powers gained. Sylar moved fast on top of his partner, using arms and legs to rise himself up and slam himself back down, Mohinder's hips working frantically to meet every move. These sessions were never luxurious, never drawn out. It was all about the release, right from the beginning, and those releases came quick. Mohinder would cave first, buck and yell and spill deep inside his lover... and that would always be enough to send Sylar over that precipice too, leaving them both boneless.
Sated.
Content.
***
Sleeping was little more than a formality to them by now. Neither had need of sleep, both with powers that gave boundless energy, and yet tonight, like most nights, they eventually found themselves in bed. Sylar had his arms wrapped tight around the Indian, whose own fingers traced lazy patterns on the other man's bicep, smiling at some private amusement.
That smile was enough to make Sylar grin in turn, even if he had no idea what was making his love show that face. He was such a fragile soul these days, the dizzying highs countered by such terrifying lows, that he was beginning to learn just how much he needed to treasure these moments of pure contentment. They made the bad times worth it, those days when Mohinder would cry and scream himself hoarse about both everything and nothing.
Because this man in his arms was glorious, no matter how ill his mind. Because he was always full of surprises. Because tonight, just when Sylar was beginning to think the faculties for speech had finally deserted him, his Mohinder leaned close and spoke the two most beautiful words he knew.
"Who next?"