What's Mine Is(n't) Yours
What's Mine Is(n't) Yours
by Harikari
Pairing: Sylar/Mohinder
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Very non-con/dub-con. Mentions established Matt/Mohinder (if you can't stomach this pairing it's probably best to steer clear!). Kind of dark, kind of angsty, kind of extremely twisted.
Spoilers: Possible major spoilers for first 3 volumes.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just having some non profit fun.
Summary: Sylar pays Mohinder a visit.
AN: I started this fic when volume 2 ended and just got around to finishing it now and I'm not sure I like how it turned out. Or if it makes sense. This is kind of an experiment. I don't write a lot of NC-17 and I've never written a fic quite this graphic before, so I apologize in advance if it's horrible.
-----
Mohinder is on the couch when he comes. Sylar undoes the locks with his mind, nudges the door open and steps into the apartment. He walks slowly across the expanse of the carpet; stops when his shins bump the edge of the large sofa and he's looking down at the slimmer man.
The geneticist is deep asleep. His chest is rising slow and steady as he breathes. The shirt he's wearing has ridden up. His taught abdomen is exposed. Sylar stares at the dark skin just below his belly button, the waist and button of his jeans.
"Mohinder," the killer says softly and reaches out. He touches the other man's face. Runs gentle fingers down one cheek then pulls his hand away.
Mohinder wakes up. His brown eyes open. Widen immediately. He lets out a surprised little gasp and pushes himself up so that he's sitting. "Wha..." he starts, falters. "What are you doing here?" He sounds confused. Half asleep and unsure and drowsy.
"Shhh." Sylar reaches out again. Threads fingers into the geneticist's hair and holds them there.
Mohinder frowns, but doesn't flinch away. "I don't understand," he says. And suddenly he looks frightened. He shoots a panicked look around the small apartment. Glances toward the single bedroom, the empty kitchen area across the room, the now firmly shut front door. (The killer takes the moment to look around, too. Is pleased that the living space isn't tainted with Bratz dolls or pages of homework thrown carelessly on the shaggy area rug in front of the television or with Parkman's dry cleaning receipts and old take out boxes.) "Molly. Where's Molly? Is she-"
Sylar cuts him off. "Safe," he says. "She's safe." He isn't lying...exactly. As far as he knows the little girl with the power to find people is safe. As far as he knows she's with Matt Parkman. Or somewhere. Unharmed. Fine.
Mohinder stills. "I don't understand. Why are you here? I thought-"
"I wanted to see you," he says. "I just...needed to see you." He releases his hold on Mohinder's hair and drops down onto the couch. Then he shifts in his seat so that his leg pushes up against the geneticist's, so that he's facing the smaller man. He swings his arm up to rest on the couch back so that he's crowding him. He leans forward. But Mohinder pushes at his chest. Stops his advance.
"What do you think you're doing?" He removes his hand from the killer's chest and rubs at his eyes. Probably in an attempt to wake up, to wrap his head around what was happening. "After everything...after what happened. After what you said..." He stops, takes in a deep and shaky breath. "You said..."
"It doesn't matter," says Sylar. And then he moves the arm he has thrown over the couch, wraps strong fingers around the nape of Mohinder's neck. The geneticist allows it. "None of that. Nothing I've said. Nothing I've done to you matters."
Mohinder looks confused, dazed. Sylar uses it. Moves in closer to the other man and kisses him roughly.
At first, Mohinder doesn't respond. And then he does. He opens his mouth up to Sylar's probing tongue (and he tastes vaguely like mint, like toothpaste). Wraps his arms around the larger man's neck and pushes closer. Closer so that their chests are touching through the thin material of their shirts as they kiss. So that the killer can smell the sweet spice sweat of the other man's skin.
They break apart and Sylar moves his hand from Mohinder's neck to rub it splayed across the slighter man's back. He stares for a moment into the geneticist's large, dark eyes and then moves in to nip, kiss, suck languidly at his neck. Pauses and listens to the quick thumpthumpthump sound both of their hearts make.
A moment beats by.
And then Sylar is pushing and shifting and Mohinder is on his back. Sylar is straddling him. The slighter man is breathing hard and fast. He still seems a little dazed. But it only takes a second before he's working to grab the edges of his shirt and pull it off. Before that's gone and he's working at the button of his jeans.
Sylar forces himself up and off of the other man. He toes off his boots, grabs at his t-shirt and manages to yank it off in one swift move. Pulls the little tube of lube from his pocket and then quickly strips off his slacks and his boxers and throws them aside.
He turns and sees a now naked Mohinder spread out across the couch. For a moment he's caught up in the smooth, dark skin and those heavy lidded eyes and that hardening cock and then the geneticist is moving his legs, bending his knees just a little and spreading and Sylar is on the couch again. Hovering over the other man.
"Do you have-" Mohinder starts to ask in a breathy voice. But before he can finish Sylar is squeezing out the lube; slowly but firmly pushing a finger into the slimmer man's entrance.
Mohinder's makes a whining noise and grabs at the material of the couch beneath him, claws at it and holds on. "Please," he says. "Mm...mm...please..." he stutters out and before he can beg anymore Sylar forces in a second finger (Mohinder gasps and arches up) and then a third and then he's scissoring them.
By the time he pulls them out Mohinder is panting and sweating, making these desperate little noises and Sylar is aching and hard and already slick with lube.
He pushes Mohinder's knees up near his shoulders (and it's a little awkward because they're on a couch but he sure as hell isn't going to stop now) and shifts and positions himself and then he pushes in hard. "Mohinder," he breathes. And he hadn't meant to push in like that, all at once and so fast but the geneticist is so tight around him now and has this expression like he's had the breath knocked out of him and it doesn't matter.
Sylar starts moving. In and out and in and out, gentle at first and then harder and faster until he's gripping at Mohinder's hips with bruising force and Mohinder's breath is hitching and he can see the slighter man gripping and pulling at his own straining hardness and he's slamming into the other man's ass with his cock, pounding him into the cushions. He quickens his pace even more and forces himself in deeper, pushes in harder...
He sees, feels it when the geneticist comes (the other man tightens around him, arches up and makes a noise that's not quite a scream, comes all over himself and Sylar) and a second later is coming himself, gasping and squeezing Mohinder's hips so hard that he yelps.
Sylar breathes, lessens his grip on the geneticist and pulls out.
After a moment he moves so that he's hovering completely over the other man again, bends to kiss him. Retreats a little and then dives in and snaps at his bottom lip, drawing blood, before pulling away .
"Wha-!" Mohinder looks up at him wide eyed for a second. Purses his lips and then sucks the blood away. "Why are you..."
"Shh." Mohinder blinks at him. He's looking a little angry now, flustered. "Just...give me a minute. For this. For us."
The geneticist seems puzzled.
Sylar pulls at him, maneuvers them both until they're on their sides and his own spine is pressing against the material of the couch back and Mohinder's back is pressing against his chest, their legs tangled together.
Sylar throws an arm over Mohinder and pulls him close. Inhales. "Just give me a minute, Mohinder."
-----
Mohinder wakes up. He reaches for the phone that's ringing away on the coffee table and doesn't realize there's no longer a warm body next to him until he has it against his ear. "Hello?"
He looks around; the apartment is quiet. Seems empty. He spots his discarded clothes on the floor and stands up to retrieve them.
"Mohinder."
"Yes? Where are you?" The geneticist stuffs his clothes into the hamper on the way to the bathroom. He reaches the sink and stares into the mirror, frowns at the feeling of dried come on his skin.
Silence. Then, "I told you. The airport."
Mohinder blinks at his reflection.
"Listen, I know you don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. But we have to. After everything that happened with my father and with Sylar and the Company. And...and I know you think without Molly there won't be an us. And maybe I said some things I shouldn't have said and I know that you think I'm jumping into this. But I didn't mean any of it. And Molly will only be gone until we know it's safe-"
"What?" Mohinder cuts into the ramble. He grips the edge of the sink with his free hand; leans into it. "But you told me she was safe."
He can suddenly hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Feels the tingle of goosebumps rising on his skin
"We can talk about this later. We will. I just called you to tell you to be careful, Mohinder. You should probably get out of the apartment just in case. Molly did her thing on the way here. The map thing. She says that Sylar is back in New York. He was in another city when she looked but we don't know what powers he's picked up since your last encounter so I think-"
"But you..." Mohinder cuts in again. "You told me she was safe, Matt!" It's a wet, shaky sounding yell. "And...you said what we said didn't matter and we..." He trails off, hears the beginning of Matt's worried string of questions before he lets go of the sink and lets himself sink slowly to his knees.
He puts the phone down on the floor. Stares at the bottom of the sink. At the toilet and the bathtub and the little blue carpet he uses to step out on after showering.
He licks his lips and can still feel the bite. Can still taste blood.
Sylar.
by Harikari
Pairing: Sylar/Mohinder
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Very non-con/dub-con. Mentions established Matt/Mohinder (if you can't stomach this pairing it's probably best to steer clear!). Kind of dark, kind of angsty, kind of extremely twisted.
Spoilers: Possible major spoilers for first 3 volumes.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just having some non profit fun.
Summary: Sylar pays Mohinder a visit.
AN: I started this fic when volume 2 ended and just got around to finishing it now and I'm not sure I like how it turned out. Or if it makes sense. This is kind of an experiment. I don't write a lot of NC-17 and I've never written a fic quite this graphic before, so I apologize in advance if it's horrible.
-----
Mohinder is on the couch when he comes. Sylar undoes the locks with his mind, nudges the door open and steps into the apartment. He walks slowly across the expanse of the carpet; stops when his shins bump the edge of the large sofa and he's looking down at the slimmer man.
The geneticist is deep asleep. His chest is rising slow and steady as he breathes. The shirt he's wearing has ridden up. His taught abdomen is exposed. Sylar stares at the dark skin just below his belly button, the waist and button of his jeans.
"Mohinder," the killer says softly and reaches out. He touches the other man's face. Runs gentle fingers down one cheek then pulls his hand away.
Mohinder wakes up. His brown eyes open. Widen immediately. He lets out a surprised little gasp and pushes himself up so that he's sitting. "Wha..." he starts, falters. "What are you doing here?" He sounds confused. Half asleep and unsure and drowsy.
"Shhh." Sylar reaches out again. Threads fingers into the geneticist's hair and holds them there.
Mohinder frowns, but doesn't flinch away. "I don't understand," he says. And suddenly he looks frightened. He shoots a panicked look around the small apartment. Glances toward the single bedroom, the empty kitchen area across the room, the now firmly shut front door. (The killer takes the moment to look around, too. Is pleased that the living space isn't tainted with Bratz dolls or pages of homework thrown carelessly on the shaggy area rug in front of the television or with Parkman's dry cleaning receipts and old take out boxes.) "Molly. Where's Molly? Is she-"
Sylar cuts him off. "Safe," he says. "She's safe." He isn't lying...exactly. As far as he knows the little girl with the power to find people is safe. As far as he knows she's with Matt Parkman. Or somewhere. Unharmed. Fine.
Mohinder stills. "I don't understand. Why are you here? I thought-"
"I wanted to see you," he says. "I just...needed to see you." He releases his hold on Mohinder's hair and drops down onto the couch. Then he shifts in his seat so that his leg pushes up against the geneticist's, so that he's facing the smaller man. He swings his arm up to rest on the couch back so that he's crowding him. He leans forward. But Mohinder pushes at his chest. Stops his advance.
"What do you think you're doing?" He removes his hand from the killer's chest and rubs at his eyes. Probably in an attempt to wake up, to wrap his head around what was happening. "After everything...after what happened. After what you said..." He stops, takes in a deep and shaky breath. "You said..."
"It doesn't matter," says Sylar. And then he moves the arm he has thrown over the couch, wraps strong fingers around the nape of Mohinder's neck. The geneticist allows it. "None of that. Nothing I've said. Nothing I've done to you matters."
Mohinder looks confused, dazed. Sylar uses it. Moves in closer to the other man and kisses him roughly.
At first, Mohinder doesn't respond. And then he does. He opens his mouth up to Sylar's probing tongue (and he tastes vaguely like mint, like toothpaste). Wraps his arms around the larger man's neck and pushes closer. Closer so that their chests are touching through the thin material of their shirts as they kiss. So that the killer can smell the sweet spice sweat of the other man's skin.
They break apart and Sylar moves his hand from Mohinder's neck to rub it splayed across the slighter man's back. He stares for a moment into the geneticist's large, dark eyes and then moves in to nip, kiss, suck languidly at his neck. Pauses and listens to the quick thumpthumpthump sound both of their hearts make.
A moment beats by.
And then Sylar is pushing and shifting and Mohinder is on his back. Sylar is straddling him. The slighter man is breathing hard and fast. He still seems a little dazed. But it only takes a second before he's working to grab the edges of his shirt and pull it off. Before that's gone and he's working at the button of his jeans.
Sylar forces himself up and off of the other man. He toes off his boots, grabs at his t-shirt and manages to yank it off in one swift move. Pulls the little tube of lube from his pocket and then quickly strips off his slacks and his boxers and throws them aside.
He turns and sees a now naked Mohinder spread out across the couch. For a moment he's caught up in the smooth, dark skin and those heavy lidded eyes and that hardening cock and then the geneticist is moving his legs, bending his knees just a little and spreading and Sylar is on the couch again. Hovering over the other man.
"Do you have-" Mohinder starts to ask in a breathy voice. But before he can finish Sylar is squeezing out the lube; slowly but firmly pushing a finger into the slimmer man's entrance.
Mohinder's makes a whining noise and grabs at the material of the couch beneath him, claws at it and holds on. "Please," he says. "Mm...mm...please..." he stutters out and before he can beg anymore Sylar forces in a second finger (Mohinder gasps and arches up) and then a third and then he's scissoring them.
By the time he pulls them out Mohinder is panting and sweating, making these desperate little noises and Sylar is aching and hard and already slick with lube.
He pushes Mohinder's knees up near his shoulders (and it's a little awkward because they're on a couch but he sure as hell isn't going to stop now) and shifts and positions himself and then he pushes in hard. "Mohinder," he breathes. And he hadn't meant to push in like that, all at once and so fast but the geneticist is so tight around him now and has this expression like he's had the breath knocked out of him and it doesn't matter.
Sylar starts moving. In and out and in and out, gentle at first and then harder and faster until he's gripping at Mohinder's hips with bruising force and Mohinder's breath is hitching and he can see the slighter man gripping and pulling at his own straining hardness and he's slamming into the other man's ass with his cock, pounding him into the cushions. He quickens his pace even more and forces himself in deeper, pushes in harder...
He sees, feels it when the geneticist comes (the other man tightens around him, arches up and makes a noise that's not quite a scream, comes all over himself and Sylar) and a second later is coming himself, gasping and squeezing Mohinder's hips so hard that he yelps.
Sylar breathes, lessens his grip on the geneticist and pulls out.
After a moment he moves so that he's hovering completely over the other man again, bends to kiss him. Retreats a little and then dives in and snaps at his bottom lip, drawing blood, before pulling away .
"Wha-!" Mohinder looks up at him wide eyed for a second. Purses his lips and then sucks the blood away. "Why are you..."
"Shh." Mohinder blinks at him. He's looking a little angry now, flustered. "Just...give me a minute. For this. For us."
The geneticist seems puzzled.
Sylar pulls at him, maneuvers them both until they're on their sides and his own spine is pressing against the material of the couch back and Mohinder's back is pressing against his chest, their legs tangled together.
Sylar throws an arm over Mohinder and pulls him close. Inhales. "Just give me a minute, Mohinder."
-----
Mohinder wakes up. He reaches for the phone that's ringing away on the coffee table and doesn't realize there's no longer a warm body next to him until he has it against his ear. "Hello?"
He looks around; the apartment is quiet. Seems empty. He spots his discarded clothes on the floor and stands up to retrieve them.
"Mohinder."
"Yes? Where are you?" The geneticist stuffs his clothes into the hamper on the way to the bathroom. He reaches the sink and stares into the mirror, frowns at the feeling of dried come on his skin.
Silence. Then, "I told you. The airport."
Mohinder blinks at his reflection.
"Listen, I know you don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. But we have to. After everything that happened with my father and with Sylar and the Company. And...and I know you think without Molly there won't be an us. And maybe I said some things I shouldn't have said and I know that you think I'm jumping into this. But I didn't mean any of it. And Molly will only be gone until we know it's safe-"
"What?" Mohinder cuts into the ramble. He grips the edge of the sink with his free hand; leans into it. "But you told me she was safe."
He can suddenly hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Feels the tingle of goosebumps rising on his skin
"We can talk about this later. We will. I just called you to tell you to be careful, Mohinder. You should probably get out of the apartment just in case. Molly did her thing on the way here. The map thing. She says that Sylar is back in New York. He was in another city when she looked but we don't know what powers he's picked up since your last encounter so I think-"
"But you..." Mohinder cuts in again. "You told me she was safe, Matt!" It's a wet, shaky sounding yell. "And...you said what we said didn't matter and we..." He trails off, hears the beginning of Matt's worried string of questions before he lets go of the sink and lets himself sink slowly to his knees.
He puts the phone down on the floor. Stares at the bottom of the sink. At the toilet and the bathtub and the little blue carpet he uses to step out on after showering.
He licks his lips and can still feel the bite. Can still taste blood.
Sylar.