SURPRISE FICS WUT
Procrastinating is a remarkable thing. Having pretty much dropped Heroes fandom with its current lameness and been even less enthusiastic about writing fanfic for it (except that Adam AU which still prods my brain occasionally), it just takes a few essays due to suddenly fill me with more plot bunnies than I can handle.
I succumbed to aurilly's pimping, and went and joined comment_fic. She now also insists I post the two stories I wrote in response to her prompts here. As always, I live to serve. They're both on the theme 'A Night on the Town'.
Sylar & Mohinder
Sylar never liked going to the bathroom while he was out with Mohinder. Besides the usual feeling of his right-hand side being that little bit colder when it didn't have Mohinder sitting beside him, no matter how fast he was, there were always at least a couple of men or women checking him out by the time he returned. It wasn't the competition he worried about - Suresh had voiced enough complaints while Sylar was still pursuing him to know that he must be with him for a reason - but it got rather tiresome knowing that, while Mohinder was his, his beauty could still be enjoyed by anyone who cared to glance his way.
However, four bars in as many hours had taken its toll, and Sylar had had to quickly excuse himself upon their arrival. The sooner he found someone with a power to counteract this highly inconvenient call of nature, the better.
As he pushed his way back through the crowds, he was relieved to see Mohinder was still alone. Though, as he got closer, he could understand - he was looking a little worse for wear. Those novelty shots in the other bar had probably been a bad idea, but Mohinder always got so competitive when Nathan challenged him...
He slid onto the stool next to him and gingerly put a hand on his shoulder. "Mohinder? Are you all right?"
Curly hair in complete disarray, Mohinder blearily looked up from his drink to Sylar. "Hellooo?"
"Mohinder, it's me, Sylar."
"Oh, I know." Mohinder beamed, but then frowned. "You disappeared briefly. I was mildly disconcerted."
Oh dear. Unlike most people who got slurred, Mohinder always became more articulate when drunk. Sylar presumed it was because he was having to concentrate more on what he was saying, and the thesaurus-powered vocabulary of his research was the first thing that came to mind.
"Bathroom," said Sylar, gesturing behind him. As Mohinder span round to see what he was pointing at (and nearly fell off his stool in the process) Sylar quickly TK'ed Mohinder's drink away from him and put it on the stool behind him. Mohinder turned back, and stared in bafflement at the space where his drink had just been. After staring intently for a few seconds, he shrugged, and just gazed into the space ahead of him, smiling dreamily.
"Mohinder?" repeated Sylar.
"That is me?" said Mohinder, swinging his head round to face Sylar again.
"... yes. I think we'd better be getting you home, don't you?"
Mohinder thought for a second. "YES," he said finally, "Yes, I think that would be excellent. I can do research. My father's research! Research research research," he babbled on as Sylar put Mohinder's arm over his shoulder and hauled him to his feet off the stool, "Researchee searchee smirchee eeeee...."
Mohinder fell into indistinct mumbling as Sylar tried to negotiate their way out of the crowded bar. Suddenly, he called, "SYLAR?"
"Still here," said Sylar.
"I know." Mohinder was beaming dreamily again. "You're always there. You always were, in your mildly creepy stalker way... You know, I don't say it enough, but I love you, man."
"You've actually never said it," pointed out Sylar.
"Wow," mused Mohinder, "I must be wasted. But it's TRUE! I should tell you more. I should tell everyone that... that..."
For a moment, Sylar actually believed Mohinder was too overcome with emotion to speak. But a look at the doctor's rapidly-greenifying face warned him that he was being overcome by something else entirely. Sylar just about managed to TK over a garbage can in time before Mohinder crumpled at the waist and clung onto the rim of the can for dear life.
"Thank you, Mohinder," said Sylar, patting the man's shaking back as he heaved the entire contents of the night into the garbage can, "I love you too."
Mohinder & Adam, New Year's Eve
He was clad in a $10000 dollar suit, sat on the softest leather seat imaginable, and their limo might as well have been driving on clouds for all the tremors that reached him. But still, Mohinder was distinctly uncomfortable.
"Everything all right, Mohinder?" Adam had the innate talent to look comfortable and at home wherever he ended up, but here, he seemed utterly in his element. He sprawled next to Mohinder on the backseat, one arm up on the back of the seat and the other resting on his leg with a glass of champagne.
"Oh yes," said Mohinder, a little too quickly. Adam didn't look convinced, so he hastily took a drink of his own champagne which he had so far ignored.
Adam raised his eyebrows. Mohinder was terrible at hiding discomfort, and Adam knew it, and Mohinder knew Adam knew it. Mohinder sighed.
"I suppose I'm just... nervous. I don't know anyone at this party you're taking me too."
Adam put a reassuring hand on Mohinder's shoulder. "Relax. These things are supposed to be fun. Remember, fun? That thing normal people have?"
"Yes, but-"
"And besides, they'll love you. In fact, I'm almost regretting buying you that suit. They'll be all over you, I'll probably barely get a look in all night." A small smile quirked up one side of his mouth, as he raised one finger from his hand on Mohinder's shoulder and started tracing the smallest circles in Mohinder's hair.
Such a small movement creating such strong tinglings in Mohinder's scalp was profoundly distracting, but he forced himself to continue. "I know, Adam, and I'm very grateful you've gone to all this trouble, but the simple fact is, I'm not used to this kind of treatment. You saw my apartment, didn't you?"
"Yes, and there's a reason we always stay at my place," murmured Adam. He was running his fingers up and down Mohinder's neck now, and Mohinder could slowly feel himself becoming undone. "But come now, Mohinder - there are certain benefits to this kind of life. I mean, take this limo. Champagne... music... ample legroom..."
As he said the last one, he moved his leg over round Mohinder's, wrapping himself around him and pulling himself closer, until they were directly face to face. Mohinder's breathing uncontrollably quickened, and he could hear Adam's doing the same.
"A valid point," he managed.
"And these suits," said Adam, raising a hand onto Mohinder's chest and gently caressing the collar, pulling it away from his chest as he did so, "You must like the suits?"
"They are quite nice," allowed Mohinder, as Adam moved closer, and he moved his own hands around Adam's waist, "But honestly - a bit of a waste of money?"
Adam couldn't control his start of astonishment. "But the fabric," he said suddenly, "This fabric? This is from Italy, and the cut, people don't even know it's fashionable yet-"
"Oh, I'm sure," said Mohinder, smiling at Adam's reaction, "But I think-" He suddenly raised his hands and tore Adam's shirt open. "- we could manage quite nicely without them."
Adam suddenly understood, and grinned. Without another word, he leaned into Mohinder and kissed him, deeply, holding him to him as they both fell back on the seat, Mohinder appreciating the luxury leather more and more. But soon there just wasn't enough room for them there, and they rolled onto the floor, a mess of limbs and very expensive suits which were getting crumpled in such a way their designer would probably cry.
They didn't even notice the limo drawing to a halt. "We're here, sir," called the limo driver from the front.
Adam barely paused long enough to gasp out, "Once more round the park."
Mohinder drew back from Adam in surprise. "What about the party?"
"Fuck it," murmured Adam into Mohinder's mouth, "There's always next year."
And, SURPRISE BONUS FIC!
Dean & Castiel, 'The Angel's Drunk!'
"So, chosen something yet?" asked Dean, putting his empty glass down on the table, "Because I could really use that free pitcher right about now."
Castiel was still frowning at the long list of songs in the folder they'd been given, squinting occasionally as though the letters were going in and out of focus. "People really do this for entertainment?"
"Well, not really," said Dean, wincing as the person currently on the karaoke machine completely failed to hit a high note, "You sing, you get a free pitcher, so people come for that. Also, the heckling." The angel still looked uncertain. "C'mon, Cas, don't you have all those heavenly choirs and crap up there?"
"We have been known to sing songs of celebration occasionally," Castiel allowed. He put down the folder open on the table a little more forcefully than he had intended, and frowned. "Dean, what was in that drink you gave me?"
"Same thing that's in every other drink in this place." Castiel looked alarmed. "Just makes you loosen up a bit, you know? Your vessel's probably used to it. So, you going to sing?"
"Must I?"
Dean shrugged. "It'd be awesome?"
"Then I shall." Castiel stood up, straightened his shoulders, and marched towards the karaoke machine as though walking into combat with Lucifer himself. Stifling a laugh, Dean took what was left of Castiel's drink and started to flick through the folder himself.
He had just hit 'M' when suddenly a terrible high-pitched noise filled the bar. Ear-splitting didn't come close - patrons screamed and dived from their chairs, hands clamped over their ears, as glasses shattered around them and the TVs over the bar exploded in showers of sparks.
Dean had followed the rest of the bar under the tables, but was the only one to look up towards Castiel, hands still over his ears. The angel was standing there, looking as though he was singing softly, swaying gently from side to side - but Dean understood.
"He's singing in his true voice," he muttered, "Goddammit, the angel's drunk!"
Everyone remained down for about three minutes as Castiel finished the song. As soon as he was done, the noise disappeared. People looked up at Castiel, who looked back, mildly embarrassed. Behind him, the karaoke machine let out a small *phut* and a puff of smoke.
Castiel slowly, with dignity, returned to his seat, where Dean was just scrambling out from under the table. They sat in silence for a few minutes, as everyone else ventured out, giving them odd looks, and conversation gradually returned to the bar.
"I don't think they appreciated it very much," said Castiel finally.
Dean shrugged. "They don't make any demands as to quality. Let's go get that pitcher, shall we?"
I'm going to go get actual work done now. Or... watch Sharpe and catch up on The Order of the Stick, while eating grapes and bacon. Whichever.
I succumbed to aurilly's pimping, and went and joined comment_fic. She now also insists I post the two stories I wrote in response to her prompts here. As always, I live to serve. They're both on the theme 'A Night on the Town'.
Sylar & Mohinder
Sylar never liked going to the bathroom while he was out with Mohinder. Besides the usual feeling of his right-hand side being that little bit colder when it didn't have Mohinder sitting beside him, no matter how fast he was, there were always at least a couple of men or women checking him out by the time he returned. It wasn't the competition he worried about - Suresh had voiced enough complaints while Sylar was still pursuing him to know that he must be with him for a reason - but it got rather tiresome knowing that, while Mohinder was his, his beauty could still be enjoyed by anyone who cared to glance his way.
However, four bars in as many hours had taken its toll, and Sylar had had to quickly excuse himself upon their arrival. The sooner he found someone with a power to counteract this highly inconvenient call of nature, the better.
As he pushed his way back through the crowds, he was relieved to see Mohinder was still alone. Though, as he got closer, he could understand - he was looking a little worse for wear. Those novelty shots in the other bar had probably been a bad idea, but Mohinder always got so competitive when Nathan challenged him...
He slid onto the stool next to him and gingerly put a hand on his shoulder. "Mohinder? Are you all right?"
Curly hair in complete disarray, Mohinder blearily looked up from his drink to Sylar. "Hellooo?"
"Mohinder, it's me, Sylar."
"Oh, I know." Mohinder beamed, but then frowned. "You disappeared briefly. I was mildly disconcerted."
Oh dear. Unlike most people who got slurred, Mohinder always became more articulate when drunk. Sylar presumed it was because he was having to concentrate more on what he was saying, and the thesaurus-powered vocabulary of his research was the first thing that came to mind.
"Bathroom," said Sylar, gesturing behind him. As Mohinder span round to see what he was pointing at (and nearly fell off his stool in the process) Sylar quickly TK'ed Mohinder's drink away from him and put it on the stool behind him. Mohinder turned back, and stared in bafflement at the space where his drink had just been. After staring intently for a few seconds, he shrugged, and just gazed into the space ahead of him, smiling dreamily.
"Mohinder?" repeated Sylar.
"That is me?" said Mohinder, swinging his head round to face Sylar again.
"... yes. I think we'd better be getting you home, don't you?"
Mohinder thought for a second. "YES," he said finally, "Yes, I think that would be excellent. I can do research. My father's research! Research research research," he babbled on as Sylar put Mohinder's arm over his shoulder and hauled him to his feet off the stool, "Researchee searchee smirchee eeeee...."
Mohinder fell into indistinct mumbling as Sylar tried to negotiate their way out of the crowded bar. Suddenly, he called, "SYLAR?"
"Still here," said Sylar.
"I know." Mohinder was beaming dreamily again. "You're always there. You always were, in your mildly creepy stalker way... You know, I don't say it enough, but I love you, man."
"You've actually never said it," pointed out Sylar.
"Wow," mused Mohinder, "I must be wasted. But it's TRUE! I should tell you more. I should tell everyone that... that..."
For a moment, Sylar actually believed Mohinder was too overcome with emotion to speak. But a look at the doctor's rapidly-greenifying face warned him that he was being overcome by something else entirely. Sylar just about managed to TK over a garbage can in time before Mohinder crumpled at the waist and clung onto the rim of the can for dear life.
"Thank you, Mohinder," said Sylar, patting the man's shaking back as he heaved the entire contents of the night into the garbage can, "I love you too."
Mohinder & Adam, New Year's Eve
He was clad in a $10000 dollar suit, sat on the softest leather seat imaginable, and their limo might as well have been driving on clouds for all the tremors that reached him. But still, Mohinder was distinctly uncomfortable.
"Everything all right, Mohinder?" Adam had the innate talent to look comfortable and at home wherever he ended up, but here, he seemed utterly in his element. He sprawled next to Mohinder on the backseat, one arm up on the back of the seat and the other resting on his leg with a glass of champagne.
"Oh yes," said Mohinder, a little too quickly. Adam didn't look convinced, so he hastily took a drink of his own champagne which he had so far ignored.
Adam raised his eyebrows. Mohinder was terrible at hiding discomfort, and Adam knew it, and Mohinder knew Adam knew it. Mohinder sighed.
"I suppose I'm just... nervous. I don't know anyone at this party you're taking me too."
Adam put a reassuring hand on Mohinder's shoulder. "Relax. These things are supposed to be fun. Remember, fun? That thing normal people have?"
"Yes, but-"
"And besides, they'll love you. In fact, I'm almost regretting buying you that suit. They'll be all over you, I'll probably barely get a look in all night." A small smile quirked up one side of his mouth, as he raised one finger from his hand on Mohinder's shoulder and started tracing the smallest circles in Mohinder's hair.
Such a small movement creating such strong tinglings in Mohinder's scalp was profoundly distracting, but he forced himself to continue. "I know, Adam, and I'm very grateful you've gone to all this trouble, but the simple fact is, I'm not used to this kind of treatment. You saw my apartment, didn't you?"
"Yes, and there's a reason we always stay at my place," murmured Adam. He was running his fingers up and down Mohinder's neck now, and Mohinder could slowly feel himself becoming undone. "But come now, Mohinder - there are certain benefits to this kind of life. I mean, take this limo. Champagne... music... ample legroom..."
As he said the last one, he moved his leg over round Mohinder's, wrapping himself around him and pulling himself closer, until they were directly face to face. Mohinder's breathing uncontrollably quickened, and he could hear Adam's doing the same.
"A valid point," he managed.
"And these suits," said Adam, raising a hand onto Mohinder's chest and gently caressing the collar, pulling it away from his chest as he did so, "You must like the suits?"
"They are quite nice," allowed Mohinder, as Adam moved closer, and he moved his own hands around Adam's waist, "But honestly - a bit of a waste of money?"
Adam couldn't control his start of astonishment. "But the fabric," he said suddenly, "This fabric? This is from Italy, and the cut, people don't even know it's fashionable yet-"
"Oh, I'm sure," said Mohinder, smiling at Adam's reaction, "But I think-" He suddenly raised his hands and tore Adam's shirt open. "- we could manage quite nicely without them."
Adam suddenly understood, and grinned. Without another word, he leaned into Mohinder and kissed him, deeply, holding him to him as they both fell back on the seat, Mohinder appreciating the luxury leather more and more. But soon there just wasn't enough room for them there, and they rolled onto the floor, a mess of limbs and very expensive suits which were getting crumpled in such a way their designer would probably cry.
They didn't even notice the limo drawing to a halt. "We're here, sir," called the limo driver from the front.
Adam barely paused long enough to gasp out, "Once more round the park."
Mohinder drew back from Adam in surprise. "What about the party?"
"Fuck it," murmured Adam into Mohinder's mouth, "There's always next year."
And, SURPRISE BONUS FIC!
Dean & Castiel, 'The Angel's Drunk!'
"So, chosen something yet?" asked Dean, putting his empty glass down on the table, "Because I could really use that free pitcher right about now."
Castiel was still frowning at the long list of songs in the folder they'd been given, squinting occasionally as though the letters were going in and out of focus. "People really do this for entertainment?"
"Well, not really," said Dean, wincing as the person currently on the karaoke machine completely failed to hit a high note, "You sing, you get a free pitcher, so people come for that. Also, the heckling." The angel still looked uncertain. "C'mon, Cas, don't you have all those heavenly choirs and crap up there?"
"We have been known to sing songs of celebration occasionally," Castiel allowed. He put down the folder open on the table a little more forcefully than he had intended, and frowned. "Dean, what was in that drink you gave me?"
"Same thing that's in every other drink in this place." Castiel looked alarmed. "Just makes you loosen up a bit, you know? Your vessel's probably used to it. So, you going to sing?"
"Must I?"
Dean shrugged. "It'd be awesome?"
"Then I shall." Castiel stood up, straightened his shoulders, and marched towards the karaoke machine as though walking into combat with Lucifer himself. Stifling a laugh, Dean took what was left of Castiel's drink and started to flick through the folder himself.
He had just hit 'M' when suddenly a terrible high-pitched noise filled the bar. Ear-splitting didn't come close - patrons screamed and dived from their chairs, hands clamped over their ears, as glasses shattered around them and the TVs over the bar exploded in showers of sparks.
Dean had followed the rest of the bar under the tables, but was the only one to look up towards Castiel, hands still over his ears. The angel was standing there, looking as though he was singing softly, swaying gently from side to side - but Dean understood.
"He's singing in his true voice," he muttered, "Goddammit, the angel's drunk!"
Everyone remained down for about three minutes as Castiel finished the song. As soon as he was done, the noise disappeared. People looked up at Castiel, who looked back, mildly embarrassed. Behind him, the karaoke machine let out a small *phut* and a puff of smoke.
Castiel slowly, with dignity, returned to his seat, where Dean was just scrambling out from under the table. They sat in silence for a few minutes, as everyone else ventured out, giving them odd looks, and conversation gradually returned to the bar.
"I don't think they appreciated it very much," said Castiel finally.
Dean shrugged. "They don't make any demands as to quality. Let's go get that pitcher, shall we?"
I'm going to go get actual work done now. Or... watch Sharpe and catch up on The Order of the Stick, while eating grapes and bacon. Whichever.