An Interesting Lack of Jet Lag
Characters: Mohinder, Daphne, Matt; Mohinder/Daphne
Rating: NC-17
Words: 3056
Summary: Written for the prompt at the Heroes Anon Rare Pair Meme: "sneaking around; smexytime"
Sneaking around wasn’t hard, not if you were fast. And Daphne was fast. Just grab and go, really. And what with Mohinder’s power fetish, he was always up for the ride.
She hadn’t meant for things to end up like this. She’d meant to give Matt what he’d wanted, whatever crazy future-seeing relationship he’d wanted. He was nice. He was caring. He was funny. Daphne knew she should consider herself lucky. She’d been around---god had she been around---but she’d never been wanted like this before.
But it quickly became awkward. And it wasn’t just the age difference. Neither was it the way they went from strangers to live-in couple in a matter of days. Neither was it the fact that Daphne suddenly found herself giving up her dreams of dating, excitement, specialness---the sorts of things that all girls want---to be with someone who told her that she shouldn’t use her power. It wasn’t even the maddening discomfort of having Matt accidentally read her mind sometimes, invading her privacy in the worst way possible.
Yes, all of those things made Daphne’s adjustment to and acceptance of this new life confusing, but it was Mohinder who made them awkward.
Daphne had found it strange, not to mention rude, that Matt hadn’t mentioned that this was actually Mohinder’s apartment, all of Mohinder’s stuff, until Mohinder came back one day acting like he owned the place. Turned out he did own the place. At least that explained why a cop from LA had a taste for South Asian furnishings.
After that, Mohinder was there with them, always around, accepting without question his introduction to Daphne and the rudeness of his roommate foisting a third person into the household. Mohinder had simply stared quietly between Daphne and Matt, keeping his face determinedly blank as Matt explained the situation. It was all Daphne could do to keep her face and thoughts blank, as well. They’d met once, for five minutes, and she’d found him terrifying, with disgusting sores peeking out of his sweater at the neck and wrists. All she’d been able to think of were those sores covering his face in a few days and the fact that people were being webbed to death in the next room. The question of where the webbing had come from was more than disturbing. In Daphne’s mind, Mohinder had been the definition of gross.
But now… it wasn’t just his skin that was fixed. His personality was fixed, too, and Daphne found that he was dryly funny (just the way she liked) and caring (without making a huge show of it) and idealistic with the right degree of pragmatism (such a welcome change from all the other super people she’d met). He’d apologized and self-flagellated all over the place for what he’d done, and when she’d finally told him that it was ok, that she wouldn’t hold it all against him, he’d smiled the biggest smile ever.
And at that moment, Daphne started thinking in French whenever Matt was in range.
It didn’t help that Mohinder was so helpful, so interesting, a pig-headed pain in the ass in some ways but amazingly thoughtful in others. He kept her on her toes, in a way that Matt didn’t, and treated her like a partner, rather than an adored and fated conquest. He even liked it when she couldn’t take it anymore had to zip around the apartment. He helped pick up the things the gust of wind disrupted so that Matt wouldn’t know she’d used her ability. The way he looked at her when she did it made her tingly inside.
There were too many relationships in the apartment: Matt and Daphne together, Matt and Mohinder as mismatched friends, Daphne and Mohinder as better friends than either of them were with Matt. What killed Daphne the most was that Matt didn’t even see it; he was too blind, too over-confident from his visions of the future to see that right under his nose, he might be losing her to fantasies of another.
One day, Mohinder was sitting at his computer and staring off into space while Matt and Daphne watched television. He mumbled something under his breath that neither Daphne nor Matt understood. When Matt lazily asked what it was, Mohinder stammered and blushed and decidedly looked anywhere but at Daphne as he said, “Sorry, just thinking in Tamil. Didn’t mean to say anything out loud.”
But Daphne noticed that he never translated whatever it was that he said. And she noticed how his eyebrows furrowed like a sad puppy when they did an awkward dance in the narrow hallway later that evening as he went to enter the bathroom she had just vacated. And with careful ears, she noticed the protesting squeaks and groans coming from the mattress in his bedroom that night as she and Matt made sweaty, predictable, missionary love.
After that, Daphne’s increasingly pornographic thoughts were punctuated by mon dieu’s and comme ça’s and plus fort’s.
“I’m bored,” she whined one day while Matt was at work and Mohinder was typing at the computer. She meant it in more ways than one.
He swiveled his chair around. It was sexy to watch, but the look on his face that appeared when he was finally facing her was full of nervousness, which was slightly less sexy.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked. The way he said it could have meant anything. But at least he hadn’t told her to hush, as she’d been expecting.
“Want to go to Paris? Just for a couple of hours. I… I miss it,” she offered, without intending to. However, once the words were out of her mouth, she was glad that she had said it.
He sat rock still for a second, breathing deeply as he gazed into her eyes, and the deep brown of them was enough to make her wonder if maybe her legs wouldn’t be strong enough to super-zip them across the ocean, after all. There was something there, she could tell. But almost as soon as she caught it, it was replaced by that damn scientist’s gleam. “You can run on water?” he asked curiously, his breath catching in gratifyingly awed excitement.
It was now or never, and so Daphne bit the bullet as she had countless times before. The thrill of the chase returned to her in an instant. As flirtatiously as she could muster, she reached out, indicating for him to take her hand, “Why don’t you come and find out?”
The thing about super-speed is that it’s good for more than just getting places quickly. Daphne found that she could also ‘get’ to theoretical ‘places’ quickly.
It felt right. All of it. Wind whipping around their tightly held hands too quickly to allow their palms to grow sweaty. Black curls hilariously blow-dried straight by the time they arrived at the apartment she secretly continued to rent. Her happy giggle at watching him gape at her apartment and at all of her stolen treasures. The way hesitation lasted only for a second before he had her up against the wall, kissing her needfully. Gentle yet aggressive. This would not be boring missionary love.
Strong arms held her up off the ground, high enough for her to relinquish control and wrap her legs around his waist and use her heels to push him in closer to her. “Thank god,” he murmured fervently into her neck as he attacked it with teeth and tongue and sucking lips.
“No… can’t leave… a mark,” Daphne stammered, pushing his mouth away from her neck and drawing his lips back to hers.
“I hate this,” he growled in frustration at the next breath.
“No you don’t,” she laughingly disagreed, even though she knew what he had meant.
At this, Mohinder pulled back and looked at her, still holding her up against the wall. The same smile behind the eyes that they shared over Matt’s shoulder a dozen times a day for the most innocent and benign of reasons was back. Only this time it wasn’t innocent at all.
“No, you’re right. I don’t hate this at all,” Mohinder admitted, and gently put her on her feet again. His voice choked with lust he asked, “Which way to the bedroom?”
It was all Daphne could do to nod her head in the right direction, and she followed quietly as he dragged her this time.
They fell practically as one onto the bed, arms wrapped tightly around one another. Having heeded her warning, he kissed her carefully everywhere he could except for places that would bruise. Daphne moaned into every touch, feeling herself begin to throb uncomfortably between her legs, and a slickness that stuck to the sheer fabric of her panties. She tugged at the hem of his shirt, having wanted to see him naked for so long now that she couldn’t wait another moment.
Mohinder took the hint and sat up, straddling her. With one hand reaching behind him, he pulled his teeshirt off, and Daphne gasped as rows of muscle came into view. Tentatively, she fingered along the line down the center of his stomach. With the cheeky confidence she used to have but which had sat dormant and repressed for weeks, she boldly asked, “So, what do you think about? When you think in Tamil?”
She hoped that she’d been right and not made a fool of herself. When he didn’t reply, her stomach fell in shame. He simply cocked his head and looked at her warily before moving off her.
“Shit,” she muttered to herself.
Instead of asking her what was wrong, he chuckled quietly to himself. He’d always been a weird guy; she’d never minded before, and weird in bed was only an extension, she figured. And either way, he was now studiously slipping off their shoes and unbuckling her pants, lifting her hips to tug them off her. It was hot, too hot to care too much about having made an idiot of herself.
Then he was on top of her again. Already forgetting her momentary embarrassment, Daphne was about to laugh to herself about how funny it felt to feel his clothed legs entwined with her bare ones while his naked torso writhed on her clothed chest, when he started to giggle, adorably. “We’re rather unbalanced, clothing-wise, aren’t we? Let me do something about that.”
Before she knew what had happened, Daphne’s top and bra were off, and he was lying over her in the same position, as if nothing had happened. It was like magic. It was like a superpower. Daphne wondered if maybe she was in over her head; she’d never been with someone faster than herself, but Mohinder clearly knew what he was doing.
And then his hand slid between them and long, bony fingers were rubbing her there, through her underwear, spreading her wetness all through the cloth. Her eyes clenched shut as soft lips nipped at her nipple and the fingers slipped underneath the cloth of her underwear to roll her clit in her own juices. Between her moans she heard him whisper, “This. This is what I think about in Tamil.”
And with that, Daphne came, bucking her hips and crying Mohinder’s name over and over. By the time she came into herself again, he had shed his pants and underwear and had pulled her down towards the end of the bed so that her legs hung over the edge. She was still having aftershocks when she felt his tongue on her still-sensitive clit, padding at it comfortingly.
“What---what are you doing?” she panted, confused. This was the part when they got him off, or so she’d thought.
The only reply she got was, “Shhh.”
Matt had never done this. It wasn’t his fault. She’d never given him reason to think he needed to. Faking orgasm night after night had made him think she was satisfied. They weren’t all faked, of course---she’d have been out of there by now if the sex had been that bad---but none of them were anything like this, climaxing for a second time under the attentive licks and nibbles and explorations of Mohinder’s too-quick, too-deft tongue.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she admonished when she’d calmed down, breathlessly pulling him back up to kiss her, tasting herself on his tongue and feeling his ignored erection pushing rhythmically against her thigh. She wondered if he even knew he was rutting against her like that.
“Yes, I did,” he said quietly, looking deeply into her eyes. And that’s how Daphne knew that he knew. That the walls of his apartment were even thinner than she’d realized and that he could tell the difference between the moans she’d just uttered with him and the moans she uttered mechanically with Matt.
“I want you,” she said simply, feeling the unconscious insistence of his cock against her leg.
“Do you have anything?” he asked desperately.
Daphne gulped and nodded. She reached into the drawer in the nightstand and pulled out a condom. “Let me put it on you,” she begged.
After a quick but bruising kiss, Mohinder rolled onto his back and let her straddle him. She ripped the small packet open, but instead of immediately putting the condom on him, she leaned down and licked inquisitively at the head of his cock, leaking and hard. The whine of need that he emitted was sinful, and only encouraged her to delay her first intention. She grasped him with one hand and took as much of his length into her mouth as she could.
“Daphne, I thought… I…” he began but trailed off as pleasure overtook him. It was enough to get Daphne to change tack. She put the condom down beside them and crouched between his spread legs. This was better than riding him, than fucking and getting herself off yet again. She’d show him that she was just as good as he was. She hadn’t had a chance to show Matt; he got off too quickly and too easily. But Mohinder… Mohinder was staring at her through heavy-lidded eyes while she performed her patented blowjob technique. He bucked and cried and called her name at all the right moments, which was not surprising. What was surprising was how long he lasted before he finally came, thrusting erratically into her mouth and filling it with hot come while her small fingers fondled his balls and stroked his perineum.
When she’d milked all she could out of him, Daphne got up to go to the bathroom and rinse her mouth out, but Mohinder reached over and grabbed her by the waist , pulling her back into the bed next to him. Kissing her deeply he said, “No. Want to taste myself on you.”
They kissed, exploring one another’s mouths with their tongues and one another’s bodies with feverish fingers, before their chapped lips and exhausted arms demanded a pause.
Rolling onto his back and settling her to rest her head on his hard chest he sighed, “We can’t do this again, can we? It’s terrible. It’s beyond terrible. I mean, Matt…”
“No, we can’t,” she lied, choking back a sob, because even though she knew he was right, she hadn’t felt this good in a long time.
What started as a one-time indiscretion turned into a guilty routine. However, never had a routine---something that, before and including Matt, Daphne had hitherto always run from---been so enjoyable.
They never did it in the apartment---his apartment. It was a cliché to think that people always had Paris, but Daphne and Mohinder did. In the ten minutes it took to get from New York to Paris, gloomy afternoons turned into romantic nights, Mohinder’s father’s hideous décor was swapped for increasingly bare accommodations (Mohinder insisted that she return everything she’d ever stolen, damn him and his self-righteousness), and sometimes they even went for after-dinner sidewalk crêpes afterwards, holding hands and laughing as they strolled deliciously slowly. They were always back in New York by late afternoon.
Meanwhile, Daphne’s heart broke when one day Matt remarked that he felt like the only person who ever thought in English anymore. Another day, she saw Mohinder grimace as Matt joked that Mohinder should find a girl so that they could all go on a double date together.
It was times like these when it stopped being fun, and Daphne almost wished that Matt could see the guilty glances she and Mohinder exchanged behind his back. But given that she was wishing it in French, she knew she didn’t really want him to.
But when Mohinder was thrusting into her, chanting her name in his silly but sexy accent, telling her every wonderful thing except the fact that he loved her (because it was somehow understood that that would have been really out of line), it was too much fun, too important to stop.
“No,” she said in a non-sequitor as he rolled off her. This time hadn’t been any different, any better, than usual, and yet, Daphne had come to a decision.
“No, what?” Mohinder asked in confusion.
“I’m not going back. I’m never going back,” she stated firmly. “This can’t keep happening. We can… we can buy you a plane ticket home or something.”
Mohinder lay quietly for a minute without responding. “I don’t have my passport with me,” he said.
Despite everything, Daphne laughed. He would be practical. It fit him, and she somehow knew that he had said that to remind her that acting melodramatic didn’t fit her.
“Sorry,” she said.
“There’s nothing to be sorry to me about,” he replied softly, kissing her. Then, growing serious he asked, “Do you mean it? Are you really done?”
“Yes,” she replied through gritted teeth.
“With him or with me? Or both?” he asked, and she heard him sound afraid for the first time ever.
“With him. But not with you, unless you want to be done…” Daphne hesitated, terrified of his response.
He sighed, relieved. “Let’s go back, but only for long enough to pick up our things and leave him a note. I love you, Daphne,” he told her for the first time, now that she could be his.
“I love you, too, Mohinder.”
Rating: NC-17
Words: 3056
Summary: Written for the prompt at the Heroes Anon Rare Pair Meme: "sneaking around; smexytime"
Sneaking around wasn’t hard, not if you were fast. And Daphne was fast. Just grab and go, really. And what with Mohinder’s power fetish, he was always up for the ride.
She hadn’t meant for things to end up like this. She’d meant to give Matt what he’d wanted, whatever crazy future-seeing relationship he’d wanted. He was nice. He was caring. He was funny. Daphne knew she should consider herself lucky. She’d been around---god had she been around---but she’d never been wanted like this before.
But it quickly became awkward. And it wasn’t just the age difference. Neither was it the way they went from strangers to live-in couple in a matter of days. Neither was it the fact that Daphne suddenly found herself giving up her dreams of dating, excitement, specialness---the sorts of things that all girls want---to be with someone who told her that she shouldn’t use her power. It wasn’t even the maddening discomfort of having Matt accidentally read her mind sometimes, invading her privacy in the worst way possible.
Yes, all of those things made Daphne’s adjustment to and acceptance of this new life confusing, but it was Mohinder who made them awkward.
Daphne had found it strange, not to mention rude, that Matt hadn’t mentioned that this was actually Mohinder’s apartment, all of Mohinder’s stuff, until Mohinder came back one day acting like he owned the place. Turned out he did own the place. At least that explained why a cop from LA had a taste for South Asian furnishings.
After that, Mohinder was there with them, always around, accepting without question his introduction to Daphne and the rudeness of his roommate foisting a third person into the household. Mohinder had simply stared quietly between Daphne and Matt, keeping his face determinedly blank as Matt explained the situation. It was all Daphne could do to keep her face and thoughts blank, as well. They’d met once, for five minutes, and she’d found him terrifying, with disgusting sores peeking out of his sweater at the neck and wrists. All she’d been able to think of were those sores covering his face in a few days and the fact that people were being webbed to death in the next room. The question of where the webbing had come from was more than disturbing. In Daphne’s mind, Mohinder had been the definition of gross.
But now… it wasn’t just his skin that was fixed. His personality was fixed, too, and Daphne found that he was dryly funny (just the way she liked) and caring (without making a huge show of it) and idealistic with the right degree of pragmatism (such a welcome change from all the other super people she’d met). He’d apologized and self-flagellated all over the place for what he’d done, and when she’d finally told him that it was ok, that she wouldn’t hold it all against him, he’d smiled the biggest smile ever.
And at that moment, Daphne started thinking in French whenever Matt was in range.
It didn’t help that Mohinder was so helpful, so interesting, a pig-headed pain in the ass in some ways but amazingly thoughtful in others. He kept her on her toes, in a way that Matt didn’t, and treated her like a partner, rather than an adored and fated conquest. He even liked it when she couldn’t take it anymore had to zip around the apartment. He helped pick up the things the gust of wind disrupted so that Matt wouldn’t know she’d used her ability. The way he looked at her when she did it made her tingly inside.
There were too many relationships in the apartment: Matt and Daphne together, Matt and Mohinder as mismatched friends, Daphne and Mohinder as better friends than either of them were with Matt. What killed Daphne the most was that Matt didn’t even see it; he was too blind, too over-confident from his visions of the future to see that right under his nose, he might be losing her to fantasies of another.
One day, Mohinder was sitting at his computer and staring off into space while Matt and Daphne watched television. He mumbled something under his breath that neither Daphne nor Matt understood. When Matt lazily asked what it was, Mohinder stammered and blushed and decidedly looked anywhere but at Daphne as he said, “Sorry, just thinking in Tamil. Didn’t mean to say anything out loud.”
But Daphne noticed that he never translated whatever it was that he said. And she noticed how his eyebrows furrowed like a sad puppy when they did an awkward dance in the narrow hallway later that evening as he went to enter the bathroom she had just vacated. And with careful ears, she noticed the protesting squeaks and groans coming from the mattress in his bedroom that night as she and Matt made sweaty, predictable, missionary love.
After that, Daphne’s increasingly pornographic thoughts were punctuated by mon dieu’s and comme ça’s and plus fort’s.
“I’m bored,” she whined one day while Matt was at work and Mohinder was typing at the computer. She meant it in more ways than one.
He swiveled his chair around. It was sexy to watch, but the look on his face that appeared when he was finally facing her was full of nervousness, which was slightly less sexy.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked. The way he said it could have meant anything. But at least he hadn’t told her to hush, as she’d been expecting.
“Want to go to Paris? Just for a couple of hours. I… I miss it,” she offered, without intending to. However, once the words were out of her mouth, she was glad that she had said it.
He sat rock still for a second, breathing deeply as he gazed into her eyes, and the deep brown of them was enough to make her wonder if maybe her legs wouldn’t be strong enough to super-zip them across the ocean, after all. There was something there, she could tell. But almost as soon as she caught it, it was replaced by that damn scientist’s gleam. “You can run on water?” he asked curiously, his breath catching in gratifyingly awed excitement.
It was now or never, and so Daphne bit the bullet as she had countless times before. The thrill of the chase returned to her in an instant. As flirtatiously as she could muster, she reached out, indicating for him to take her hand, “Why don’t you come and find out?”
The thing about super-speed is that it’s good for more than just getting places quickly. Daphne found that she could also ‘get’ to theoretical ‘places’ quickly.
It felt right. All of it. Wind whipping around their tightly held hands too quickly to allow their palms to grow sweaty. Black curls hilariously blow-dried straight by the time they arrived at the apartment she secretly continued to rent. Her happy giggle at watching him gape at her apartment and at all of her stolen treasures. The way hesitation lasted only for a second before he had her up against the wall, kissing her needfully. Gentle yet aggressive. This would not be boring missionary love.
Strong arms held her up off the ground, high enough for her to relinquish control and wrap her legs around his waist and use her heels to push him in closer to her. “Thank god,” he murmured fervently into her neck as he attacked it with teeth and tongue and sucking lips.
“No… can’t leave… a mark,” Daphne stammered, pushing his mouth away from her neck and drawing his lips back to hers.
“I hate this,” he growled in frustration at the next breath.
“No you don’t,” she laughingly disagreed, even though she knew what he had meant.
At this, Mohinder pulled back and looked at her, still holding her up against the wall. The same smile behind the eyes that they shared over Matt’s shoulder a dozen times a day for the most innocent and benign of reasons was back. Only this time it wasn’t innocent at all.
“No, you’re right. I don’t hate this at all,” Mohinder admitted, and gently put her on her feet again. His voice choked with lust he asked, “Which way to the bedroom?”
It was all Daphne could do to nod her head in the right direction, and she followed quietly as he dragged her this time.
They fell practically as one onto the bed, arms wrapped tightly around one another. Having heeded her warning, he kissed her carefully everywhere he could except for places that would bruise. Daphne moaned into every touch, feeling herself begin to throb uncomfortably between her legs, and a slickness that stuck to the sheer fabric of her panties. She tugged at the hem of his shirt, having wanted to see him naked for so long now that she couldn’t wait another moment.
Mohinder took the hint and sat up, straddling her. With one hand reaching behind him, he pulled his teeshirt off, and Daphne gasped as rows of muscle came into view. Tentatively, she fingered along the line down the center of his stomach. With the cheeky confidence she used to have but which had sat dormant and repressed for weeks, she boldly asked, “So, what do you think about? When you think in Tamil?”
She hoped that she’d been right and not made a fool of herself. When he didn’t reply, her stomach fell in shame. He simply cocked his head and looked at her warily before moving off her.
“Shit,” she muttered to herself.
Instead of asking her what was wrong, he chuckled quietly to himself. He’d always been a weird guy; she’d never minded before, and weird in bed was only an extension, she figured. And either way, he was now studiously slipping off their shoes and unbuckling her pants, lifting her hips to tug them off her. It was hot, too hot to care too much about having made an idiot of herself.
Then he was on top of her again. Already forgetting her momentary embarrassment, Daphne was about to laugh to herself about how funny it felt to feel his clothed legs entwined with her bare ones while his naked torso writhed on her clothed chest, when he started to giggle, adorably. “We’re rather unbalanced, clothing-wise, aren’t we? Let me do something about that.”
Before she knew what had happened, Daphne’s top and bra were off, and he was lying over her in the same position, as if nothing had happened. It was like magic. It was like a superpower. Daphne wondered if maybe she was in over her head; she’d never been with someone faster than herself, but Mohinder clearly knew what he was doing.
And then his hand slid between them and long, bony fingers were rubbing her there, through her underwear, spreading her wetness all through the cloth. Her eyes clenched shut as soft lips nipped at her nipple and the fingers slipped underneath the cloth of her underwear to roll her clit in her own juices. Between her moans she heard him whisper, “This. This is what I think about in Tamil.”
And with that, Daphne came, bucking her hips and crying Mohinder’s name over and over. By the time she came into herself again, he had shed his pants and underwear and had pulled her down towards the end of the bed so that her legs hung over the edge. She was still having aftershocks when she felt his tongue on her still-sensitive clit, padding at it comfortingly.
“What---what are you doing?” she panted, confused. This was the part when they got him off, or so she’d thought.
The only reply she got was, “Shhh.”
Matt had never done this. It wasn’t his fault. She’d never given him reason to think he needed to. Faking orgasm night after night had made him think she was satisfied. They weren’t all faked, of course---she’d have been out of there by now if the sex had been that bad---but none of them were anything like this, climaxing for a second time under the attentive licks and nibbles and explorations of Mohinder’s too-quick, too-deft tongue.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she admonished when she’d calmed down, breathlessly pulling him back up to kiss her, tasting herself on his tongue and feeling his ignored erection pushing rhythmically against her thigh. She wondered if he even knew he was rutting against her like that.
“Yes, I did,” he said quietly, looking deeply into her eyes. And that’s how Daphne knew that he knew. That the walls of his apartment were even thinner than she’d realized and that he could tell the difference between the moans she’d just uttered with him and the moans she uttered mechanically with Matt.
“I want you,” she said simply, feeling the unconscious insistence of his cock against her leg.
“Do you have anything?” he asked desperately.
Daphne gulped and nodded. She reached into the drawer in the nightstand and pulled out a condom. “Let me put it on you,” she begged.
After a quick but bruising kiss, Mohinder rolled onto his back and let her straddle him. She ripped the small packet open, but instead of immediately putting the condom on him, she leaned down and licked inquisitively at the head of his cock, leaking and hard. The whine of need that he emitted was sinful, and only encouraged her to delay her first intention. She grasped him with one hand and took as much of his length into her mouth as she could.
“Daphne, I thought… I…” he began but trailed off as pleasure overtook him. It was enough to get Daphne to change tack. She put the condom down beside them and crouched between his spread legs. This was better than riding him, than fucking and getting herself off yet again. She’d show him that she was just as good as he was. She hadn’t had a chance to show Matt; he got off too quickly and too easily. But Mohinder… Mohinder was staring at her through heavy-lidded eyes while she performed her patented blowjob technique. He bucked and cried and called her name at all the right moments, which was not surprising. What was surprising was how long he lasted before he finally came, thrusting erratically into her mouth and filling it with hot come while her small fingers fondled his balls and stroked his perineum.
When she’d milked all she could out of him, Daphne got up to go to the bathroom and rinse her mouth out, but Mohinder reached over and grabbed her by the waist , pulling her back into the bed next to him. Kissing her deeply he said, “No. Want to taste myself on you.”
They kissed, exploring one another’s mouths with their tongues and one another’s bodies with feverish fingers, before their chapped lips and exhausted arms demanded a pause.
Rolling onto his back and settling her to rest her head on his hard chest he sighed, “We can’t do this again, can we? It’s terrible. It’s beyond terrible. I mean, Matt…”
“No, we can’t,” she lied, choking back a sob, because even though she knew he was right, she hadn’t felt this good in a long time.
What started as a one-time indiscretion turned into a guilty routine. However, never had a routine---something that, before and including Matt, Daphne had hitherto always run from---been so enjoyable.
They never did it in the apartment---his apartment. It was a cliché to think that people always had Paris, but Daphne and Mohinder did. In the ten minutes it took to get from New York to Paris, gloomy afternoons turned into romantic nights, Mohinder’s father’s hideous décor was swapped for increasingly bare accommodations (Mohinder insisted that she return everything she’d ever stolen, damn him and his self-righteousness), and sometimes they even went for after-dinner sidewalk crêpes afterwards, holding hands and laughing as they strolled deliciously slowly. They were always back in New York by late afternoon.
Meanwhile, Daphne’s heart broke when one day Matt remarked that he felt like the only person who ever thought in English anymore. Another day, she saw Mohinder grimace as Matt joked that Mohinder should find a girl so that they could all go on a double date together.
It was times like these when it stopped being fun, and Daphne almost wished that Matt could see the guilty glances she and Mohinder exchanged behind his back. But given that she was wishing it in French, she knew she didn’t really want him to.
But when Mohinder was thrusting into her, chanting her name in his silly but sexy accent, telling her every wonderful thing except the fact that he loved her (because it was somehow understood that that would have been really out of line), it was too much fun, too important to stop.
“No,” she said in a non-sequitor as he rolled off her. This time hadn’t been any different, any better, than usual, and yet, Daphne had come to a decision.
“No, what?” Mohinder asked in confusion.
“I’m not going back. I’m never going back,” she stated firmly. “This can’t keep happening. We can… we can buy you a plane ticket home or something.”
Mohinder lay quietly for a minute without responding. “I don’t have my passport with me,” he said.
Despite everything, Daphne laughed. He would be practical. It fit him, and she somehow knew that he had said that to remind her that acting melodramatic didn’t fit her.
“Sorry,” she said.
“There’s nothing to be sorry to me about,” he replied softly, kissing her. Then, growing serious he asked, “Do you mean it? Are you really done?”
“Yes,” she replied through gritted teeth.
“With him or with me? Or both?” he asked, and she heard him sound afraid for the first time ever.
“With him. But not with you, unless you want to be done…” Daphne hesitated, terrified of his response.
He sighed, relieved. “Let’s go back, but only for long enough to pick up our things and leave him a note. I love you, Daphne,” he told her for the first time, now that she could be his.
“I love you, too, Mohinder.”