Breaking and Entering the Heart
Title: Breaking and Entering the Heart
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Violence
Word Count: 1,583
Spoilers: Up through 3x19 “Shades of Gray”
Disclaimer Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC et al.
Author’s Notes: Written for the YAHAKM, for the prompt - Sylar/Mohinder - "Don't you fucking get it? I don't want to be in love with you."
Summary: Sylar breaks into Mohinder’s house, but not for the reason Mohinder believes.
Sylar struggled underneath Mohinder’s hands, trying to get leverage against the wall and failing. For everything that had happened, for all the trouble Mohinder had gone through to get his ability, now it was finally paying off. For the first time since he’d had Sylar drugged in his apartment, Mohinder actually felt in control of a situation with him. Sylar glared at him with peculiar intensity, and Mohinder could feel invisible, telekinetic fingers trying to shove him across the room.
Gritting his teeth, Mohinder shoved back hard, bracing his feet, and Sylar gasped as something cracked under Mohinder’s hands. For once Sylar had met his match; Mohinder’s strength was more than what Sylar could lift with his mind.
“Don’t,” Mohinder said, not letting up his grip. “Don’t even try.”
Finding Sylar in his room had been a shock, since Mohinder had been certain he’d be the last person Sylar would want to find, except maybe to kill him. He had an ability now, which put him on Sylar’s menu.
“Why are you here?” he demanded.
Sylar struggled again, and Mohinder’s feet skidded as Sylar exerted his telekinesis, but he held firm. He slammed the killer back onto the wall, cracking the plaster. Sylar slumped a little in his hands, taking a few moments to heal what he could while Mohinder still held him in an implacable, bone-crushing grip. Watching him regenerate made Mohinder sick; this was the reason they’d all wanted to keep him away from Claire, it made him virtually unkillable, and hence, virtually unstoppable. And strength or no, eventually Mohinder was going to have to either let him go or try to kill him the one way Claire had told him how. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that, but it was either that or die himself.
“Just dropping by, seeing how my old friend was doing,” Sylar said, trying to sound casual as he could with his collarbones and shoulder blades cracked into several pieces. But his breathing sounded labored from the pain.
“You came to collect another power,” Mohinder corrected him. What other reason could he be here? He didn’t need Mohinder’s list anymore; the government had a far more extensive one that he could probably get with sickening ease, just by killing the right people.
“No,” Sylar said, wheezing. “Just came from seeing my dad.”
Mohinder couldn’t have been more surprised if Sylar had just broken into an aria.
“Your father?” Mohinder said, dumbfounded.
“Sold me when I was four, to his brother. His power’s like mine. He’s dying of cancer. Tried to take healing from me-.”
“And you killed him too?” Mohinder asked, heart tearing afresh as Sylar’s words opened up the scabs on old wounds
“No, let him live, so he could die in pain, alone.”
Mohinder didn’t even know what to say. What was Sylar’s game? Was this some elaborate ploy to get him to drop his guard?
“Talked to him. He’s a bastard, but taught me one thing. I keep going after the weak prey. No more.” Sylar’s voice rang with conviction, as much as it could while Mohinder was half crushing him, and Mohinder knew a fresh surge of fear.
“Am I your first new victim? Is that it?” he demanded.
“No!” Sylar’s shout, his complete and instantaneous denial, almost made Mohinder flinch away.
“Then what? Are you after someone else?” Another ugly possibility rose in Mohinder’s mind, that Sylar wanted the location of one of the others, like Matt, or Peter.
“Not who you think. I just needed…” Sylar’s voice trailed off, and his head dropped. “You remember Montana?”
Mohinder’s heart thudded in his chest and he swallowed hard. Yes, he remembered Montana. How, for a week or so, him and who he thought to be Zane had traveled and shared their dreams, hopes, and fears. How they’d eventually shared a motel room, coming together in a sensual experience that was as much a meeting of the minds as it was a meeting of bodies. How Zane had let him in, trusted him with his fears and insecurities. How Mohinder had repaid that with equal trust and understanding.
How, when they’d gotten back to New York, Mohinder had learned “Zane” was really Sylar, and had had a moment of betrayal and anger so strong he’d literally felt nauseous. He’d cared for, trusted, and bedded not only his father’s killer, but also a serial murder.
Sylar’s expression seemed to want him to remember the parts before the betrayal, but Mohinder only wanted to hurt him.
“I remember a scared, inexperienced man desperate for someone to tell him the answers to everything,” Mohinder said. Sylar flinched slightly, and glared at him.
“That’s a lie. I can tell when you’re lying now.”
“Who did you kill for that?” Mohinder demanded, flexing his hands. Sylar moaned, and Mohinder could feel the cracked bone grinding under his fingers. He stopped abruptly, sickened with himself.
“Doesn’t matter now. This isn’t about her. Do you remember?” Sylar asked.
“No,” Mohinder said, denying Sylar any right at all to know about his life.
“You’re lying, but I know you do.” Sylar sighed, his breath catching as torn muscles and bones rubbed against each other. “That was the only time in my life someone cared for me and trusted me for exactly who I was.”
“I thought you were Zane Taylor!” Mohinder yelled, right in his face.
Sylar flushed, and dropped his head back against the wall, wincing at the pain.
“I never came after you again.”
“You brought Maya into my house, threatened me, and shot her when I wouldn’t help you,” Mohinder said pointedly.
“You’re the only one that would, the only one I would let help me. I need your help again,” Sylar said, his eyes starting to glitter with a rising heat and hardness of purpose. Mohinder braced himself, certain Sylar was getting ready to make his move.
“And why do you think I’m going to help you now?” Mohinder demanded.
"Don't you fucking get it? I don't want to be in love with you,” Sylar snarled.
Mohinder leapt away from Sylar as if burned, finding himself on the opposite end of the room without any memory of moving. If Sylar hadn’t remained so still, Mohinder would have been certain he’d just been telekinetically flung there. In love with him? Sylar thought he was in love with him?
Too shocked to have moved even if the floor had fallen in, Sylar walked towards Mohinder, stopping only when Mohinder was backed up against the wall. Pinning him there with only his presence, no powers needed, Sylar glared down at him, eyes burning darkly.
“I don’t fucking want to be, but I am, and you’re the only one I can trust because of that.”
It took Mohinder three tries to speak. “What do you want?”
“I’m going after the man in charge of the operation. I think you know where he is.”
Sylar was too close to him to think clearly, standing there in Mohinder’s space, breathing his air, flushed with anger and confession and determination. Reaching into his pocket, Mohinder withdrew a copy of Danko’s address and held it out with nerveless fingers.
Sylar plucked the paper from him, their fingers barely brushing, and Mohinder felt an unexpected jolt deep in his gut. Fear or something else, he couldn’t tell. Sylar hesitated a long moment, then pushed in towards Mohinder another half step, pressing their bodies flush together, and captured Mohinder’s lips. For a long moment, Sylar’s lips pressed at his own, and Mohinder let him, not shoving him away.
He kissed more confidently now than in Montana; now having come more fully into his power, filled with a new purpose, he felt far better than he had before. Mohinder could tell, even through the clothes, that he was fitter and leaner than he had been, honed to battle trim through injury and hardship. An uncomfortably familiar hardness, the same remembered length and heavy weight, pressed into Mohinder’s hip.
And for all the horrors and trials Mohinder had been through recently, suddenly he wanted to give in, to remember a long week with a new friend and companion. He wanted that closeness and camaraderie, that touch and trust. But he couldn’t. Too much was at stake, and even if Sylar was going to help them by taking out Danko, Mohinder couldn’t be that close to blood and death again. He could not lose the friends he’d so tentatively regained by giving in to what Sylar wanted. He couldn’t betray himself again.
Still, just for a moment, he parted his lips and let Sylar in, kissing him like he’d kissed Zane, with gentle strength and understanding. Sylar’s hands clutched at his shoulders, and when the kiss ended, he felt Sylar surge, harden, and then release, trapped hard between them. Mohinder shuddered, uncertain what he should be feeling, as Sylar pulled away, the air rapidly cooling their bodies.
Sylar looked like he wanted to say something, but instead just clutched the paper in his hands and walked away. Mohinder could have stopped him, prevented him from doing after Danko and maybe making the situation worse. But he didn’t. He’d been shown a level of trust from someone he’d labeled a degenerate killer, and while this negated nothing of what they’d done, to destroy that would be to set him adrift in the world without purpose or plan. He couldn’t do that to him again. Not even to him.
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Violence
Word Count: 1,583
Spoilers: Up through 3x19 “Shades of Gray”
Disclaimer Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC et al.
Author’s Notes: Written for the YAHAKM, for the prompt - Sylar/Mohinder - "Don't you fucking get it? I don't want to be in love with you."
Summary: Sylar breaks into Mohinder’s house, but not for the reason Mohinder believes.
Sylar struggled underneath Mohinder’s hands, trying to get leverage against the wall and failing. For everything that had happened, for all the trouble Mohinder had gone through to get his ability, now it was finally paying off. For the first time since he’d had Sylar drugged in his apartment, Mohinder actually felt in control of a situation with him. Sylar glared at him with peculiar intensity, and Mohinder could feel invisible, telekinetic fingers trying to shove him across the room.
Gritting his teeth, Mohinder shoved back hard, bracing his feet, and Sylar gasped as something cracked under Mohinder’s hands. For once Sylar had met his match; Mohinder’s strength was more than what Sylar could lift with his mind.
“Don’t,” Mohinder said, not letting up his grip. “Don’t even try.”
Finding Sylar in his room had been a shock, since Mohinder had been certain he’d be the last person Sylar would want to find, except maybe to kill him. He had an ability now, which put him on Sylar’s menu.
“Why are you here?” he demanded.
Sylar struggled again, and Mohinder’s feet skidded as Sylar exerted his telekinesis, but he held firm. He slammed the killer back onto the wall, cracking the plaster. Sylar slumped a little in his hands, taking a few moments to heal what he could while Mohinder still held him in an implacable, bone-crushing grip. Watching him regenerate made Mohinder sick; this was the reason they’d all wanted to keep him away from Claire, it made him virtually unkillable, and hence, virtually unstoppable. And strength or no, eventually Mohinder was going to have to either let him go or try to kill him the one way Claire had told him how. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that, but it was either that or die himself.
“Just dropping by, seeing how my old friend was doing,” Sylar said, trying to sound casual as he could with his collarbones and shoulder blades cracked into several pieces. But his breathing sounded labored from the pain.
“You came to collect another power,” Mohinder corrected him. What other reason could he be here? He didn’t need Mohinder’s list anymore; the government had a far more extensive one that he could probably get with sickening ease, just by killing the right people.
“No,” Sylar said, wheezing. “Just came from seeing my dad.”
Mohinder couldn’t have been more surprised if Sylar had just broken into an aria.
“Your father?” Mohinder said, dumbfounded.
“Sold me when I was four, to his brother. His power’s like mine. He’s dying of cancer. Tried to take healing from me-.”
“And you killed him too?” Mohinder asked, heart tearing afresh as Sylar’s words opened up the scabs on old wounds
“No, let him live, so he could die in pain, alone.”
Mohinder didn’t even know what to say. What was Sylar’s game? Was this some elaborate ploy to get him to drop his guard?
“Talked to him. He’s a bastard, but taught me one thing. I keep going after the weak prey. No more.” Sylar’s voice rang with conviction, as much as it could while Mohinder was half crushing him, and Mohinder knew a fresh surge of fear.
“Am I your first new victim? Is that it?” he demanded.
“No!” Sylar’s shout, his complete and instantaneous denial, almost made Mohinder flinch away.
“Then what? Are you after someone else?” Another ugly possibility rose in Mohinder’s mind, that Sylar wanted the location of one of the others, like Matt, or Peter.
“Not who you think. I just needed…” Sylar’s voice trailed off, and his head dropped. “You remember Montana?”
Mohinder’s heart thudded in his chest and he swallowed hard. Yes, he remembered Montana. How, for a week or so, him and who he thought to be Zane had traveled and shared their dreams, hopes, and fears. How they’d eventually shared a motel room, coming together in a sensual experience that was as much a meeting of the minds as it was a meeting of bodies. How Zane had let him in, trusted him with his fears and insecurities. How Mohinder had repaid that with equal trust and understanding.
How, when they’d gotten back to New York, Mohinder had learned “Zane” was really Sylar, and had had a moment of betrayal and anger so strong he’d literally felt nauseous. He’d cared for, trusted, and bedded not only his father’s killer, but also a serial murder.
Sylar’s expression seemed to want him to remember the parts before the betrayal, but Mohinder only wanted to hurt him.
“I remember a scared, inexperienced man desperate for someone to tell him the answers to everything,” Mohinder said. Sylar flinched slightly, and glared at him.
“That’s a lie. I can tell when you’re lying now.”
“Who did you kill for that?” Mohinder demanded, flexing his hands. Sylar moaned, and Mohinder could feel the cracked bone grinding under his fingers. He stopped abruptly, sickened with himself.
“Doesn’t matter now. This isn’t about her. Do you remember?” Sylar asked.
“No,” Mohinder said, denying Sylar any right at all to know about his life.
“You’re lying, but I know you do.” Sylar sighed, his breath catching as torn muscles and bones rubbed against each other. “That was the only time in my life someone cared for me and trusted me for exactly who I was.”
“I thought you were Zane Taylor!” Mohinder yelled, right in his face.
Sylar flushed, and dropped his head back against the wall, wincing at the pain.
“I never came after you again.”
“You brought Maya into my house, threatened me, and shot her when I wouldn’t help you,” Mohinder said pointedly.
“You’re the only one that would, the only one I would let help me. I need your help again,” Sylar said, his eyes starting to glitter with a rising heat and hardness of purpose. Mohinder braced himself, certain Sylar was getting ready to make his move.
“And why do you think I’m going to help you now?” Mohinder demanded.
"Don't you fucking get it? I don't want to be in love with you,” Sylar snarled.
Mohinder leapt away from Sylar as if burned, finding himself on the opposite end of the room without any memory of moving. If Sylar hadn’t remained so still, Mohinder would have been certain he’d just been telekinetically flung there. In love with him? Sylar thought he was in love with him?
Too shocked to have moved even if the floor had fallen in, Sylar walked towards Mohinder, stopping only when Mohinder was backed up against the wall. Pinning him there with only his presence, no powers needed, Sylar glared down at him, eyes burning darkly.
“I don’t fucking want to be, but I am, and you’re the only one I can trust because of that.”
It took Mohinder three tries to speak. “What do you want?”
“I’m going after the man in charge of the operation. I think you know where he is.”
Sylar was too close to him to think clearly, standing there in Mohinder’s space, breathing his air, flushed with anger and confession and determination. Reaching into his pocket, Mohinder withdrew a copy of Danko’s address and held it out with nerveless fingers.
Sylar plucked the paper from him, their fingers barely brushing, and Mohinder felt an unexpected jolt deep in his gut. Fear or something else, he couldn’t tell. Sylar hesitated a long moment, then pushed in towards Mohinder another half step, pressing their bodies flush together, and captured Mohinder’s lips. For a long moment, Sylar’s lips pressed at his own, and Mohinder let him, not shoving him away.
He kissed more confidently now than in Montana; now having come more fully into his power, filled with a new purpose, he felt far better than he had before. Mohinder could tell, even through the clothes, that he was fitter and leaner than he had been, honed to battle trim through injury and hardship. An uncomfortably familiar hardness, the same remembered length and heavy weight, pressed into Mohinder’s hip.
And for all the horrors and trials Mohinder had been through recently, suddenly he wanted to give in, to remember a long week with a new friend and companion. He wanted that closeness and camaraderie, that touch and trust. But he couldn’t. Too much was at stake, and even if Sylar was going to help them by taking out Danko, Mohinder couldn’t be that close to blood and death again. He could not lose the friends he’d so tentatively regained by giving in to what Sylar wanted. He couldn’t betray himself again.
Still, just for a moment, he parted his lips and let Sylar in, kissing him like he’d kissed Zane, with gentle strength and understanding. Sylar’s hands clutched at his shoulders, and when the kiss ended, he felt Sylar surge, harden, and then release, trapped hard between them. Mohinder shuddered, uncertain what he should be feeling, as Sylar pulled away, the air rapidly cooling their bodies.
Sylar looked like he wanted to say something, but instead just clutched the paper in his hands and walked away. Mohinder could have stopped him, prevented him from doing after Danko and maybe making the situation worse. But he didn’t. He’d been shown a level of trust from someone he’d labeled a degenerate killer, and while this negated nothing of what they’d done, to destroy that would be to set him adrift in the world without purpose or plan. He couldn’t do that to him again. Not even to him.