"Cinnamon and Caramel"
I wrote a Mylar fic today, in response to a challenge that was set to me (or, that was set to the community and I accepted) at heroes_slash. Sylar isn't a character I've ever written before, but I did my best with him, and I think the result looks better than I expected. Let me know what you think. It's only posted at heroes_slash for now, but I'll eventually add it to other places as well. Enjoy!
Title: Cinnamon and Caramel
Author: Saena
Rating: NC-17 for graphic sex, disturbing sexual situations, some language, and the very presence of Sylar
Fandom, Pairing: Heroes, Mohinder/Sylar
Also posted at: heroes_slash , mylar_fic
Warnings: As the rating suggests, there are disturbing sexual situations (dubious consent). Also spoilers for 1.23 "How to Stop an Exploding Man" and vague mentions of other episodes.
Darkness had settled in the cramped room; shadows spreading in sinister patterns across the floor, falling like black curtains against the walls. It was nearly midsummer now, and the heat filled the un-air-conditioned room, making it permanently uncomfortable.
In the corner farthest from the window sat Sylar, his shape nearly invisible due to the fact that it was surrounded in shadow. Despite the fact that it was after midnight, he wasn’t asleep; Sylar had barely slept since he’d arrived at this hideout. At first, after he’d vanished from his final battle with Peter Petrelli and that pesky Japanese guy- Sylar’d never bothered to learn his name- he’d done little but sleep, feverish wavering in and out of consciousness made restless by the stab wound he’d sustained to his stomach. Eventually that subsided, and he became strong enough to move about. Hiding seemed like the best course of action, so he’d relocated to the country and this hellhole. Currently he was so hot and bothered and restless and bored that it was becoming difficult to resist going out in the open and killing somebody, just for the fun of it.
Then again, he probably wouldn’t get a new ability from it, so what would be the point? Short-lived satisfaction wasn’t going to cut it at the moment.
Sylar shifted uncomfortably in his chair and wiped the sweat from his forehead, glaring as he did so. This heat was annoyingly persistent, and he was running low on water. Dehydration wasn’t going to do any wonders for his mood. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift. And they wandered where they always did: to Mohinder.
He had mainly seen the geneticist in winter, bundled in heavy jackets, cheeks flushed with cold and beautiful lips exhaling chilled fog like it was smoke. Sylar wanted to see him in the summertime. He wanted to see the sweat accumulating on his brow, to admire the dark curls of his hair when they were damp and plastered to his forehead. To note how the perspiration looked on caramel-colored skin. In this weather, plenty of that skin would probably be exposed- the long sleeves and full-length pants that Mohinder usually wore would be unbearable.
Sylar smiled and continued the mental image he was constructing. In his mind, Mohinder was in his house- no, he decided, they were outside, on one of their trips to find people with special abilities. The car was parked in some secluded location, something scenic, and he and Mohinder were stretching their legs for a few minutes. It was hot outside, stifling, and the Indian man took a long drink from a bottle of water, which did barely anything to keep the oppressive humidity at bay. Sylar’s mental self watched Mohinder for a long moment, then moved toward the Indian man with long strides and knocked the open bottle out of his hands, spilling the cool liquid onto the dry ground beneath them.
Mental Mohinder looked stunned and confused. “Zane”- that was only right, Sylar thought, because Mohinder would still think of him as Zane in this situation- “I was-“
But Sylar cut him off with a kiss, forceful and aggressive, working his tongue in the minute Mohinder let his guard down. It connected with the younger Suresh’s tongue, sliding against it, the cool traces of his recent drink of water still present. Sylar sighed. It was all he could do not to moan.
Eventually they had to pull away for air, both of them panting hard with the combination of arousal and the ever-present heat permeating the air. Mohinder wasn’t protesting- although his eyes still reflected an expression of puzzled bewilderment- so after a moment Sylar reconnected their lips, nearly smirking to find his kiss returned almost immediately. He could taste the sweat on the geneticist’s upper lip, and let the hands which were resting on the other man’s waist slide under his T-shirt to feel the perspiration accumulating on his skin.
There was something incredibly arousing about that. Sylar drew Mohinder close enough for their fronts to touch, so he would be aware of how much he was turned on by this. The Indian man whimpered into his mouth and did something unexpected- he let his hand wander down to rest on Sylar’s ass. (Sylar wasn’t sure how a person in a fantasy could do something unexpected, but he didn’t care to question the matter.) He took that as a cue to pull off the now-useless T-shirt and shed his own, craving the feel of damp skin against damp skin. It was heavenly.
Mohinder gasped and squirmed and panted when Sylar bit into the skin of his neck, drawing a warm tongue across it and leaving an angry red love bite there. As he drew the brown-haired man in for another passionate kiss, he reached between his legs and felt a hard length against his palm. Suresh was obviously enjoying this as much as he was.
That was the last straw for Sylar. He pulled away from Mohinder’s eager, persistent lips, and when he spoke his voice was nothing more than a raw growl. “In the back. Now. ”
Mohinder’s eyes searched his momentarily, and then he moved toward the car, opening the door and climbing into the backseat. He reached over to turn on the air conditioning, but before he could make contact Sylar lunged on top of him and grabbed his arm with a fierce touch that caused his pretty companion to wince. “No. Don’t touch that.”
The man’s hand relaxed, so Sylar let him go and pulled the door closed, locking it behind him. Despite the heat, he covered Mohinder’s body with his own, grinding against him. Mohinder’s eyes glazed over, and he arched his back up, pressing their groins together in a way that excited every nerve in their bodies. It only encouraged Sylar, who reached down and unzipped the other man’s fly, pulling his pants and underwear down to leave him completely exposed. One hand threaded through the dark curls that were sticking to his skin; the other jerked on the man’s erection several times. Mohinder, he learned, moaned much louder than one would expect of a man with his kind of poise and composure.
Sylar couldn’t take it anymore. He rid himself of his own pants and boxers, at least pulling them down to his knees, and pressed himself even further against the man underneath him. He was so hard, and Mohinder looked so damn good half-naked, sweaty, and writhing with every touch. Sylar claimed his mouth in kiss after kiss, sucking his lip until it swelled and nipping at it until it bled lightly, a bitter taste that combined with the salt of sweat and the smell of sex that filled the air.
He noticed Mohinder’s panting was getting heavier and heavier with every passing moment; he was gasping now, like he was having trouble finding breath when he inhaled. The air was stale and oppressive without the air conditioning on, and Sylar had to admit that it made breathing difficult. But at the moment he couldn’t care less. He used his slick fingers to tease at Mohinder’s opening, stretching and reaching further, but quickly found that he needed to move faster and pushed himself in with no further warning, starting a quick thrusting motion before the other man could adjust.
The sensations seemed to be overwhelming Mohinder, but the pleasure on his face was rapidly being replaced by an expression of pain. Every time Sylar slammed into him- knocking him roughly against the car door in the process- the Indian man would gasp, but there was no air for him to take in. His eyes were unfocused; every few seconds they would fall shut and he would struggle to reopen them, desperation evident in the brown irises.
“Please- “ he stuttered hoarsely. “Slow down- Too hot- I- I can’t- breathe-“ And he exhaled a little, the tightness in his chest barely easing, and whispered, “ Sylar. ”
His name. It caused Sylar to snap back to reality, to the dark, empty room and the heat and his own situation. The realization was greeted by the same frustration he wrestled with every night: it was just a fantasy, a daydream playing tricks on his senses.
He didn’t think he could actually do that, actually have any of that. The memories he had of Mohinder Suresh were pure- eyebrows quirking up in surprise at an unexpected occurrence or furrowing in deep concentration as he tried to puzzle out an aspect of his father’s research. And that smile, the friendly one he always greeted “Zane” with when they traveled together; it made him feel calm and warm inside, and Sylar would never have expected that he’d be so taken with something that was frankly just adorable in that way.
He couldn’t corrupt that, couldn’t stand to make that bleed and break, if only because he didn’t think he could cope if he had to see the look of betrayal and hurt and hopelessness that he knew the experience would form in Mohinder. And like he did every night, he was suddenly glad that Mohinder was very far away, well out of reach, living securely. Maybe even happily. Mentally he willed him to go even further, as far away as he could, somewhere that a killer like himself could never find him. Because if he did, if they crossed paths again, Sylar might do something he’d regret for the rest of his life.
Sylar looked down at his lap and sighed heavily. Damn it. It was going to be a long night.
~*~*~*~*~
Title: Cinnamon and Caramel
Author: Saena
Rating: NC-17 for graphic sex, disturbing sexual situations, some language, and the very presence of Sylar
Fandom, Pairing: Heroes, Mohinder/Sylar
Also posted at: heroes_slash , mylar_fic
Warnings: As the rating suggests, there are disturbing sexual situations (dubious consent). Also spoilers for 1.23 "How to Stop an Exploding Man" and vague mentions of other episodes.
Darkness had settled in the cramped room; shadows spreading in sinister patterns across the floor, falling like black curtains against the walls. It was nearly midsummer now, and the heat filled the un-air-conditioned room, making it permanently uncomfortable.
In the corner farthest from the window sat Sylar, his shape nearly invisible due to the fact that it was surrounded in shadow. Despite the fact that it was after midnight, he wasn’t asleep; Sylar had barely slept since he’d arrived at this hideout. At first, after he’d vanished from his final battle with Peter Petrelli and that pesky Japanese guy- Sylar’d never bothered to learn his name- he’d done little but sleep, feverish wavering in and out of consciousness made restless by the stab wound he’d sustained to his stomach. Eventually that subsided, and he became strong enough to move about. Hiding seemed like the best course of action, so he’d relocated to the country and this hellhole. Currently he was so hot and bothered and restless and bored that it was becoming difficult to resist going out in the open and killing somebody, just for the fun of it.
Then again, he probably wouldn’t get a new ability from it, so what would be the point? Short-lived satisfaction wasn’t going to cut it at the moment.
Sylar shifted uncomfortably in his chair and wiped the sweat from his forehead, glaring as he did so. This heat was annoyingly persistent, and he was running low on water. Dehydration wasn’t going to do any wonders for his mood. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift. And they wandered where they always did: to Mohinder.
He had mainly seen the geneticist in winter, bundled in heavy jackets, cheeks flushed with cold and beautiful lips exhaling chilled fog like it was smoke. Sylar wanted to see him in the summertime. He wanted to see the sweat accumulating on his brow, to admire the dark curls of his hair when they were damp and plastered to his forehead. To note how the perspiration looked on caramel-colored skin. In this weather, plenty of that skin would probably be exposed- the long sleeves and full-length pants that Mohinder usually wore would be unbearable.
Sylar smiled and continued the mental image he was constructing. In his mind, Mohinder was in his house- no, he decided, they were outside, on one of their trips to find people with special abilities. The car was parked in some secluded location, something scenic, and he and Mohinder were stretching their legs for a few minutes. It was hot outside, stifling, and the Indian man took a long drink from a bottle of water, which did barely anything to keep the oppressive humidity at bay. Sylar’s mental self watched Mohinder for a long moment, then moved toward the Indian man with long strides and knocked the open bottle out of his hands, spilling the cool liquid onto the dry ground beneath them.
Mental Mohinder looked stunned and confused. “Zane”- that was only right, Sylar thought, because Mohinder would still think of him as Zane in this situation- “I was-“
But Sylar cut him off with a kiss, forceful and aggressive, working his tongue in the minute Mohinder let his guard down. It connected with the younger Suresh’s tongue, sliding against it, the cool traces of his recent drink of water still present. Sylar sighed. It was all he could do not to moan.
Eventually they had to pull away for air, both of them panting hard with the combination of arousal and the ever-present heat permeating the air. Mohinder wasn’t protesting- although his eyes still reflected an expression of puzzled bewilderment- so after a moment Sylar reconnected their lips, nearly smirking to find his kiss returned almost immediately. He could taste the sweat on the geneticist’s upper lip, and let the hands which were resting on the other man’s waist slide under his T-shirt to feel the perspiration accumulating on his skin.
There was something incredibly arousing about that. Sylar drew Mohinder close enough for their fronts to touch, so he would be aware of how much he was turned on by this. The Indian man whimpered into his mouth and did something unexpected- he let his hand wander down to rest on Sylar’s ass. (Sylar wasn’t sure how a person in a fantasy could do something unexpected, but he didn’t care to question the matter.) He took that as a cue to pull off the now-useless T-shirt and shed his own, craving the feel of damp skin against damp skin. It was heavenly.
Mohinder gasped and squirmed and panted when Sylar bit into the skin of his neck, drawing a warm tongue across it and leaving an angry red love bite there. As he drew the brown-haired man in for another passionate kiss, he reached between his legs and felt a hard length against his palm. Suresh was obviously enjoying this as much as he was.
That was the last straw for Sylar. He pulled away from Mohinder’s eager, persistent lips, and when he spoke his voice was nothing more than a raw growl. “In the back. Now. ”
Mohinder’s eyes searched his momentarily, and then he moved toward the car, opening the door and climbing into the backseat. He reached over to turn on the air conditioning, but before he could make contact Sylar lunged on top of him and grabbed his arm with a fierce touch that caused his pretty companion to wince. “No. Don’t touch that.”
The man’s hand relaxed, so Sylar let him go and pulled the door closed, locking it behind him. Despite the heat, he covered Mohinder’s body with his own, grinding against him. Mohinder’s eyes glazed over, and he arched his back up, pressing their groins together in a way that excited every nerve in their bodies. It only encouraged Sylar, who reached down and unzipped the other man’s fly, pulling his pants and underwear down to leave him completely exposed. One hand threaded through the dark curls that were sticking to his skin; the other jerked on the man’s erection several times. Mohinder, he learned, moaned much louder than one would expect of a man with his kind of poise and composure.
Sylar couldn’t take it anymore. He rid himself of his own pants and boxers, at least pulling them down to his knees, and pressed himself even further against the man underneath him. He was so hard, and Mohinder looked so damn good half-naked, sweaty, and writhing with every touch. Sylar claimed his mouth in kiss after kiss, sucking his lip until it swelled and nipping at it until it bled lightly, a bitter taste that combined with the salt of sweat and the smell of sex that filled the air.
He noticed Mohinder’s panting was getting heavier and heavier with every passing moment; he was gasping now, like he was having trouble finding breath when he inhaled. The air was stale and oppressive without the air conditioning on, and Sylar had to admit that it made breathing difficult. But at the moment he couldn’t care less. He used his slick fingers to tease at Mohinder’s opening, stretching and reaching further, but quickly found that he needed to move faster and pushed himself in with no further warning, starting a quick thrusting motion before the other man could adjust.
The sensations seemed to be overwhelming Mohinder, but the pleasure on his face was rapidly being replaced by an expression of pain. Every time Sylar slammed into him- knocking him roughly against the car door in the process- the Indian man would gasp, but there was no air for him to take in. His eyes were unfocused; every few seconds they would fall shut and he would struggle to reopen them, desperation evident in the brown irises.
“Please- “ he stuttered hoarsely. “Slow down- Too hot- I- I can’t- breathe-“ And he exhaled a little, the tightness in his chest barely easing, and whispered, “ Sylar. ”
His name. It caused Sylar to snap back to reality, to the dark, empty room and the heat and his own situation. The realization was greeted by the same frustration he wrestled with every night: it was just a fantasy, a daydream playing tricks on his senses.
He didn’t think he could actually do that, actually have any of that. The memories he had of Mohinder Suresh were pure- eyebrows quirking up in surprise at an unexpected occurrence or furrowing in deep concentration as he tried to puzzle out an aspect of his father’s research. And that smile, the friendly one he always greeted “Zane” with when they traveled together; it made him feel calm and warm inside, and Sylar would never have expected that he’d be so taken with something that was frankly just adorable in that way.
He couldn’t corrupt that, couldn’t stand to make that bleed and break, if only because he didn’t think he could cope if he had to see the look of betrayal and hurt and hopelessness that he knew the experience would form in Mohinder. And like he did every night, he was suddenly glad that Mohinder was very far away, well out of reach, living securely. Maybe even happily. Mentally he willed him to go even further, as far away as he could, somewhere that a killer like himself could never find him. Because if he did, if they crossed paths again, Sylar might do something he’d regret for the rest of his life.
Sylar looked down at his lap and sighed heavily. Damn it. It was going to be a long night.
~*~*~*~*~