Fic: Let Your Body Decide (Where You Want to Go)
[title] Let Your Body Decide (Where You Want to Go)
[author] koala_motchi
[rating] Adult/NC-17
[word count] 4150
[summary] Matt likes breasts. Mohinder doesn’t have breasts. There’s porn anyway.
[warnings] No real spoilers unless you haven’t seen ANY of S2. Frank discussions of sex (het and slash), swearing.
[gift for] geeklovepoetry
[the request] “Something where Matt has a little bit of trouble with being attracted to a man.”
Matt had always considered himself a tit man. Some guys liked ass, some guys liked a pretty face, some guys didn’t care so long as it was warm and willing. Matt, though, the one thing that he had always thought was absolutely necessary to turn him on was a killer pair of tits. He loved a woman with a great rack. He liked them to be a little bigger than manageable, honestly - just larger than his considerably-sized hands. They made for something soft to press his face (or, let’s be honest, his dick) against. Matt knew that thinking this way probably made him a jerk, but he also loved a woman he could listen to and buy flowers and hold while ignoring some truly meritless (but still somehow enjoyable) romantic comedy on the couch, and he figured that last part was enough to redeem him for happening to like a handful of heavy, sensitive flesh to suck on while buried inside somebody.
Because Matt had always been a guy in favor of amazing breasts, he was blindsided when he realized who the most recent addition to the List of People Matt Parkman Would Fuck was. Mohinder Suresh had a lot of things, but none of them came in a Double-D. Matt had not yet decided whether Mohinder’s undeniable male-ness was an entirely bad thing. Had Dr Suresh been female, Matt was quite certain that he would have been hesitant to move in with her so soon after his divorce; a rebound relationship would have been a certainty. Matt would likely have jeopardized their friendship (which was admittedly one of tenuous circumstance) by foolishly falling fast and hard for a pretty girl.
On the other hand, had Dr Suresh been female, Matt would not have gone without sex for the last eight months. And it was almost certain that he would not be questioning his sexuality, now, but instead his judgment. If Matt were honest with himself, he would admit that now he was not really questioning his sexuality per se - he was a tit man. If it didn’t have tits, he didn’t much like it. But Mohinder was the mysterious, inexplicable exception to a rule that had never needed proving before. It was simply the truth, until one day Matt watched Mohinder lean back in his chair after hours of pouring over chemicals and notes and smart-geneticist-stuff. Mohinder had sighed and arched and stretched his neck, which had popped, which had made Mohinder’s eyes close and a not-quite-moan, not-quite-grunt escape his lips. And all of that had, for no justifiable reason, given Matt the closest he’d ever had to a “raging” hard-on. It had pissed him off.
Why the fuck would Mohinder making some porn star sex noise get Matt hotter than he’d been in months? It just didn’t make sense. And it led to… other things. Things that Matt didn’t like to think about. Like how, when he tried to imagine Mohinder as a girl - with smooth curves and a high, soft sigh - he always wound up amending his mental image. No, he’d tell himself while he stroked his dick in the shower, her rack wouldn’t be that big, it just didn’t seem to suit her frame. Which was, essentially, Mohinder’s frame - the man had hips enough as it was. Sure, that gave the girl he imagined slightly broader shoulders and a slightly sharper jaw line, but she looked pretty. She looked like Matt’s roommate, which should have been disturbing all on its own. But then he had to go and decide that “she” looked better with short hair, and that she didn’t need a cup-size above a C. And then, it was a cup-size above a B. And then, Matt seemed to be perfectly content to just think about mouthing on a pair of dark nipples and eliciting lower, not-quite-grunt, not-quite-moans out of somebody with stubble on his cheeks.
The day that Matt found himself jerkin’ off to the thought of jerkin’ Mohinder off, he knew something was seriously wrong. Matt did what any other self-respecting straight-man would do. He panicked.
It started simply enough. He told Mohinder that he was going to need a couple days where he could be out late - said it had something to do with work. He didn’t like lying, but Mohinder never questioned him, all too happy to pick up “their daughter” (that phrase gives Matt chills) and give Matt plenty of time to focus on whatever needed focusing on. Matt’s first course of action, on his Night Off Parenting, was to go out and get laid.
The girl was sweet and a little on the heavy side, played shy until she had Matt underneath her. When he was inside of her, she sucked in her breath and trembled, and when he played with her nipples she moaned like a whore. Matt thought it was exactly what he needed, until he realized that when he came he’d closed his eyes and buried his face in her neck and thought of the way Mohinder smelled.
That was the part that clinched it, really; Matt didn’t like the idea that his random attraction to Mohinder was ruining his enjoyment of and appreciation for truly excellent breasts. The next course of action was to book a regular gig with the department shrink. He told his boss it was to deal with the stress of “single parenting”, and avoided all questions about the roommate who occasionally dropped off lunch or called in when Matt was feeling particularly ill. The idea seemed like a solid one at first. Matt could still pick Molly up from school, drop her by the house with Mohinder, and then skedaddle off to his “work-related appointment”. Nothing could go wrong, yeah?
Well, see, the department shrink was some kind of old-school bombshell: she had a figure like Marilyn and a face like Marlene, with Greta’s lashes and a soft not-quite-growl of a voice to keep the guys from calling her “toots” and “doll.” Under any other circumstances, Matt would’ve been downright thrilled to talk for an hour with such a beautiful lady, but how was he supposed to tell this particular lady (whose rack, I should mention, was fan-fucking-tastic) that he was tent-pegging it up for a nerdy Indian dude? Seriously? Matt blurted nonsense at her, mostly, about Molly and his divorce and the new job - anything to keep from mentioning Mohinder.
Matt was at a total loss. Things had gotten so bad that he found himself idly wondering at breakfasts what would happen if he just told the guy who had somehow mastered Eggs The Way Matt Parkman Likes Them that he wished to high heaven their relationship wasn’t hindered by the absence of amazing breasts. Or, well, even mediocre breasts. The first scenario was Matt’s favorite. He’d say, “Hey, Mohinder. How ‘bout getting a tit job?” except that he’d have accidentally thought it instead of said it, and sure enough, the next thing he knew Mohinder would be on the phone to The Company.
“Bob,” Matt imagined Mohinder would say, “is breast augmentation covered by the Company healthcare?” Because it would be just like Mohinder to ask his boss some practical question before going and doing some totally stupid and irrational thing. Even more ridiculous were the days when he imagined how awful it would be if Mohinder got breasts and they were the wrong kind - you know, Fight Club-style Meatloaf man-titties rather than some semblance of Selma Hayek‘s unreasonably perfect rack.
On the other end of the spectrum, there were the times Matt found himself imagining Mohinder wearing a bra - sure, cleavage was nice, but it didn’t even have to be a wonder bra (if they even still make those), just any old lacy thing would do. Those thoughts he didn’t like as much, because instead of making him laugh he tended to get hard a little and that was no good when he had to drive Molly to school or get to a meeting or carry on conversation without making an ass of himself. Doubly unsettling was the idea that some guy in girly underwear was enough to make him forget almost forty years of heterosexuality and go for reach-arounds and lubricant.
And even worse were the times when Matt was imagining girl-Mohinder in low-cut shirts and then the real thing would walk out of his study with his shirt half-unbuttoned and a little chest hair showing and Matt would catch himself not minding. His fantasies were beginning to edit themselves in some freakish attempt to closer match reality. They weren’t supposed to be realistic, that was the whole point of fantasies - that’s what Matt had always thought, anyway. And Mohinder would always notice Matt’s distressed expression, and would always ask in a soft, sleepy tone if there was “anything wrong, Matthew?”
When Mohinder got all concerned and breathy and put a hand on Matt’s shoulder it was hell; he managed to make Matt simultaneously more comfortable, more hot, and more stressed about it than Janice had ever managed. Matt didn’t even want to think about thinking about what it meant that he was comparing Mohinder to his ex-wife. Matt just didn’t know how to reconcile the facts: he was a tit man, and he wanted to fuck Mohinder Suresh.
Eventually, Matt discovered, the problem did was problems usually do; it escalated until it had to resolve itself. Molly was fast asleep in her room and Mohinder had just padded out of the shower (now thankfully covered in thin, plum-colored pajama pants and a loose cotton v-neck). The scientist (chest hair and all) sat down next to Matt on the couch and arched his back and made that little noise that had started this whole mess. Matt could no longer pretend to be interested in the Food Network special on leeks (they were seriously running out of ideas), and found himself watching Mohinder and his chest-hair instead. Nope, Matt saw, still no tits. Still hot as hell, too, but Matt wasn’t going to say anything.
“Anything wrong, Matthew?” Mohinder asked, sounding exhausted as usual, and let his shoulder touch Matt’s. He had noticed the watching.
“Uh,” Matt began, about to lie and say that everything was fine and dandy in Matt Land, when he realized he was blushing and (if Mohinder’s concerned look was any hint) visibly distressed. “Kind of?”
Mohinder’s eyes got all melty-brown as he leaned closer to Matt, brow creased with worry. After a moment of expectant silence, Mohinder prompted: “What is it?”
“Uh,” Matt started again, “I like breasts?”
Mohinder no longer looked worried so much as confused. “Well, you -- yes, I think that’s fairly obvious.”
“But,” Matt said, “you don’t have breasts.”
“No,” Mohinder agreed. “I don’t.” Clearly he had no idea how the two issues were connected.
“But,” Matt said, “I like breasts.”
Mohinder frowned, attempting to glean some new and obscure knowledge from what Matt was attempting to tell him.
“But,” Matt added, “I like you.”
“Yes, Matthew, I’m your fr--”
“You know,” Matt said, “In the ‘if you were a chick I’d grope you and hope you didn’t hit me’ kind of way.”
“I … don’t think I know what to say to that,” Mohinder blurted, blinking and clearing his throat. “So, ah, shall I make tea?”
“I don’t like tea,” Matt said. He was not pouting.
“Matthew, are you,” Mohinder started, turning to face his friend, “are you saying that, even though I don’t have breasts, you want to … grope me and hope that I don’t hit you?”
Matt laughed. “Uh, I think so?”
“Oh. Well,” Mohinder said. “I won’t hit you.”
“That’s good. I don’t like being hit.” Matt smiled sheepishly, before realizing what exactly Mohinder had said. Or rather, before realizing the implication of what Mohinder had said.
“Wait,” Matt blurted, suddenly distressed again, “I can grope you?”
For a first kiss, theirs was fairly unremarkable. Matt had a hard time figuring out how to cup Mohinder’s entirely too-square jaw and Mohinder wasn’t expecting the tongue to happen quite so quickly. Still, they adjusted, and Mohinder was pleasantly surprised by Matt’s hurried shoves that took him from the foyer to the bedroom in a matter of moments. Once the door was closed Matt buried his face in Mohinder’s neck, sucking roughly at the place where it met his shoulder. Mohinder’s best efforts not to moan were wasted, as he closed his eyes, buried his fingers in Matt’s hair, and tipped his head back.
One of Matt’s hands found its way up under Mohinder’s shirt, broad, hot, rough-skinned fingers wasting no time finding firm, dark little nipples. Matt made a frustrated sound against Mohinder’s skin, even as the scientist pressed back against him, hip grinding against Matt’s hard-on. Two steps saw them tumbling back onto the bed, Matt’s weight keeping Mohinder pinned with his legs forced wide to accommodate Matt’s hips between them. Matt pulled back and pushed Mohinder’s shirt up to his collarbone, the two of them coming together again for a quick and desperate kiss.
Matt shoved Mohinder back down, eliciting a gasp from the startled scientist. Breasts or no, Matt’s hands and lips went where they’d always gone on instinct - Mohinder’s gasp was his reward for wrapping his mouth around a nipple and letting his teeth graze the sensitive flesh. Matt was already rock hard as he shifted, pressing into Mohinder’s thigh and sucking hard on firm, slightly salty skin. Mohinder made some guttural moan, all honeyed and lower than anything Matt was used to. Surprisingly, it didn’t flag his hard-on or his enthusiasm for Mohinder’s perky little nipples.
Mohinder arched his hips, pressing his dick up against Matt’s belly - the three layers of cotton between their skin was too much for Mohinder, who began tugging at Matt’s shirt, trying to pull it up and off over his shoulders. Matt let out an irritated growl as he switched from the left nipple to the right, biting down harder than before in order to subdue Mohinder’s writhing. Mohinder, with a hitch of his breath and a choked gasp, complied. He sank back into the mattress, clutching up Matt’s heather grey cotton tee, and tipped his head back while Matt tongued the tip of his nipple.
Digging his fingers into Mohinder’s hips for a better grip, Matt began kissing his way along his roommate’s chest, nipping and nibbling to get more of those sweet honey moans. Matt wasn’t thinking about where he was going, just about the taste of Mohinder’s skin and the way he arched and shuddered at each little kiss. He got to Mohinder’s navel and the scientist arched, grinding his hard-on up against Matt’s chest. It made the cop pull back sharply, sucking in his breath and staring up at Mohinder. Bewildered, Mohinder lifted his head and gave a soft questioning whine. In an attempt to be tantalizing, he shifted his hips a little, watching Matt watch him. They both held their breath for a moment, before Matt shook his head and pushed himself back up to catch Mohinder in a kiss.
“Ain’t ready for that yet,” Matt said apologetically, nibbling at the place where Mohinder’s neck met his jaw. Mohinder shook his head, murmuring something about how blowjobs were ’not at all necessary, Matthew’ before nipping at Matt’s earlobe. Mohinder’s prize was a husky groan and Matt’s weight pressing him back into the mattress again. Their next kisses were rough and hungry, as Matt pulled Mohinder closer to him by hitching one thin thigh up over his hip.
With a soft growl Mohinder worked his hands up under Matt’s shirt, tugging the cotton up and off, throwing it into some corner, followed shortly by his own. Mohinder made a small, hungry growl as he drew his hands down Matt’s chest, lips wandering along his collarbone and up his neck. Matt groaned into Mohinder’s hair, one big hand digging into the scientist’s thigh as Matt ground himself against Mohinder’s ass.
“Too many layers,” Mohinder hissed against Matt’s skin, trying to reconcile the problem, but unable to reach the drawstring of Matt’s flannels. He made a frustrated sound, a little keen in the back of his throat, and fell back against the pillows. Matt let Mohinder’s thigh drop, and watched with startled curiosity as the dark-skinned man wriggled his way out of those plum-colored pajama bottoms, all slim lovely lips and sinewy muscles. Even, and this was sure something Matt thought he’d never think, even Mohinder’s dick was sort of pretty, all slender and straining once it was in the open air.
Matt fumbled with his own flannel pants, closing his eyes against his own insecurities - content that the lights were off - and shimmied his way out of them. Kicking the fabric off the bed, Matt started to settle on top of Mohinder again. The smaller man had other plans, though, and with a surprising amount of ease, he shifted his weight and set Matt off-balance, flipping the two of them over. Matt gave a startled yelp when he found himself on his back, staring up at the ceiling. It was a moan two seconds later, as Mohinder wrapped a warm, slim-fingered hand around Matt’s dick and began kissing his way from Matt’s neck on down.
When Mohinder pressed his lips against the underside of Matt’s hard-on, the cop couldn’t help but jolt his hips upwards and suck in a breath. Mohinder drew his tongue along the curve of the head of Matt’s dick, a soft rumbling moan starting up in the center of his chest. Wrapping his lips around Matt’s cock, Mohinder began sucking in a firm, slow rhythm, dipping his head down to take more of the shaft. Matt gave a little helpless moan as his hips twitched up and he buried his hands roughly in Mohinder’s dark curls.
Mohinder grunted as Matt pushed him further down, brow furrowing as he fought to take more of Matt. Matt propped himself up on one elbow, watching Mohinder suck him off and enjoying the way Mohinder glanced up at him from under thick lashes. With a few sighed, ‘fuck yes’s and ‘oh yeah’s, Matt began to tense up, rocking his hips forward and thrusting further between Mohinder’s lips. He was mid-moan, head thrown back, fingers tight in Mohinder’s hair when the scientist pulled back with a rough and throaty chuckle to claim another kiss.
Mohinder’s thighs planted themselves on either side of Matt’s hips, straddling him as he sank into the kiss. In spite of the pleasant way Mohinder was suckling his tongue, Matt made a small dissatisfied sound into the kiss - he had been about to come when Mohinder pulled his lips off of Matt’s cock, the little tease. Mohinder broke the kiss to lean to the bedside, retrieving from his nightstand a small tube and a small, square pouch made of foil. Matt recognized the equipment immediately and blurted, “Y-you know I’ve got no clue what I’m doing from here on in, right?”
“Do you not want to?” Mohinder asked, breathless as he dropped the lubricant on Matt’s belly.
Matt shifted his hips, the way his cock strained where it was pressed up against the inside of Mohinder’s thigh. “N-no. I mean, Yes, I want to. No, I don’t want to stop. I just don‘t know what to do.”
“Shh,” Mohinder said, pulling open the condom wrapper and leaning down to nip Matt’s lower lip. “I know enough for the both of us, Matthew. Relax.”
Mohinder shifted his weight back onto his heels, and though for all the world he wished he knew how to roll a condom on with his lips, he was forced to do it with his fingers. Matt shifted only slightly, when Mohinder took hold of his dick at the base, and gave a little breathy chuckle as Mohinder rolled the latex down to fit. Mohinder glanced up, meeting Matt’s dark gaze with his own, and smiled faintly, flicking the wrapper onto the nightstand before picking up the small tube of gel lubricant.
Squeezing some of the gel over his fingers, Mohinder first set to giving Matt’s dick a few quick strokes, all of which left the cop wanting a little more contact than he got. Mohinder inched his way further up on the bed, so that his knees were above Matt’s hips rather than on either side of them, and bracing himself with one hand against Matt’s chest, he arched his back and reached behind himself to prep with the remaining lube. Matt got distracted from the little how-to, too busy watching the way having one or two or three fingers inside of him made Mohinder’s brow furrow or his cheeks flush or his breath hitch. The little dip in his collar-bone, just beneath his Adam’s apple, seemed to flicker more when he pulled those fingers out.
Mohinder, once he was ready and Matt was going crazy from having to just watch, lowered himself with careful precision, sliding down onto Matt’s dick with a low and throaty moan. Matt made a similar, animal-like grunt and dug his fingers into Mohinder’s hips, tugging the smaller man down and closer in one quick, rough motion. Mohinder made some soft sound, slightly pained, but he arched and squeezed Matt’s waist between his thighs, which Matt had always learned to take as a sign of encouragement.
Matt busied himself licking, sucking, and nibbling at Mohinder’s nipples while Mohinder grasped the headboard and used some unknown power of flexibility to raise his hips and slam them down again. Matt had always enjoyed having girls on top of him, but it’d been 20 years since he was in high school or buried to the hilt in anything so fucking tight. Mohinder was hotter than hell inside, too, clenching around Matt in a way that made the cop moan against Mohinder’s chest and thrust his hips up blindly, ruining Mohinder’s rhythm and making him sigh and gasp and moan.
All the mind-reading in the world couldn’t decode what Mohinder was saying - Matt wasn’t even sure if it was English or Tamil or Kannada or some other linguistic holdover he hadn’t learned about yet - but it sounded hot; maybe it was all the growls and moans that seemed to catch half-way out when Matt would thrust or slow the rhythm unexpectedly. Mohinder just hung onto that headboard for dear life, hips rocking him up and down Matt’s dick, his own hard-on persistently digging into Matt’s stomach. Matt whined in protest when Mohinder shifted his weight back, pushing off the headboard and removing his nipples from within Matt’s reach. Mohinder was too tightly-wound by then to care, eyes shut tight as he tipped his head back and wrapped his fingers around his dick, squeezing and pulling all rushed and rough as he sank further down on Matt’s hard-on.
Matt had thought that there was no way in hell Mohinder could get any tighter or look more goddamned irresistible, and then Mohinder had to go and put on a show without even meaning to. Matt watched the way his dick disappeared inside of Mohinder, watched the way Mohinder spread his fingers across Matt’s belly, watched as Mohinder squeezed the tip of his own dick and felt Mohinder clenching around him and, with a sudden wave of tension and a cry of ‘sweet fucking god,’ Matt came. Mohinder’s breath rushed out of him a moment later, as he slammed himself down on Matt’s cock and toyed with his own balls, and with a few quick, too-firm tugs, Mohinder came, too, across Matt’s stomach. He fell forward, then, against Matt’s chest, still trembling from the force of his orgasm.
“Holy hell, that was --” Matt gasped, turning to nuzzle against Mohinder’s neck.
“Y-yes,” Mohinder said in quick reply, as he shuddered against Matthew’s chest. He eased himself off of Matt, settling down beside him with a moan, determined not to do any more moving until he could breathe properly.
“But man, I wish you had tits,” Matt sighed, once they had cleaned up and caught their breath and found a comfortable position to lay in.
Mohinder’s head snapped up off of Matt’s shoulder as he gave the detective an irritated look. “Matthew. Pillow talk is really not your forte.”
Comments are always welcome and appreciated. Crossposted to m3secretsanta, mytwoheroes, and matt_mohinder. :D
[author] koala_motchi
[rating] Adult/NC-17
[word count] 4150
[summary] Matt likes breasts. Mohinder doesn’t have breasts. There’s porn anyway.
[warnings] No real spoilers unless you haven’t seen ANY of S2. Frank discussions of sex (het and slash), swearing.
[gift for] geeklovepoetry
[the request] “Something where Matt has a little bit of trouble with being attracted to a man.”
Matt had always considered himself a tit man. Some guys liked ass, some guys liked a pretty face, some guys didn’t care so long as it was warm and willing. Matt, though, the one thing that he had always thought was absolutely necessary to turn him on was a killer pair of tits. He loved a woman with a great rack. He liked them to be a little bigger than manageable, honestly - just larger than his considerably-sized hands. They made for something soft to press his face (or, let’s be honest, his dick) against. Matt knew that thinking this way probably made him a jerk, but he also loved a woman he could listen to and buy flowers and hold while ignoring some truly meritless (but still somehow enjoyable) romantic comedy on the couch, and he figured that last part was enough to redeem him for happening to like a handful of heavy, sensitive flesh to suck on while buried inside somebody.
Because Matt had always been a guy in favor of amazing breasts, he was blindsided when he realized who the most recent addition to the List of People Matt Parkman Would Fuck was. Mohinder Suresh had a lot of things, but none of them came in a Double-D. Matt had not yet decided whether Mohinder’s undeniable male-ness was an entirely bad thing. Had Dr Suresh been female, Matt was quite certain that he would have been hesitant to move in with her so soon after his divorce; a rebound relationship would have been a certainty. Matt would likely have jeopardized their friendship (which was admittedly one of tenuous circumstance) by foolishly falling fast and hard for a pretty girl.
On the other hand, had Dr Suresh been female, Matt would not have gone without sex for the last eight months. And it was almost certain that he would not be questioning his sexuality, now, but instead his judgment. If Matt were honest with himself, he would admit that now he was not really questioning his sexuality per se - he was a tit man. If it didn’t have tits, he didn’t much like it. But Mohinder was the mysterious, inexplicable exception to a rule that had never needed proving before. It was simply the truth, until one day Matt watched Mohinder lean back in his chair after hours of pouring over chemicals and notes and smart-geneticist-stuff. Mohinder had sighed and arched and stretched his neck, which had popped, which had made Mohinder’s eyes close and a not-quite-moan, not-quite-grunt escape his lips. And all of that had, for no justifiable reason, given Matt the closest he’d ever had to a “raging” hard-on. It had pissed him off.
Why the fuck would Mohinder making some porn star sex noise get Matt hotter than he’d been in months? It just didn’t make sense. And it led to… other things. Things that Matt didn’t like to think about. Like how, when he tried to imagine Mohinder as a girl - with smooth curves and a high, soft sigh - he always wound up amending his mental image. No, he’d tell himself while he stroked his dick in the shower, her rack wouldn’t be that big, it just didn’t seem to suit her frame. Which was, essentially, Mohinder’s frame - the man had hips enough as it was. Sure, that gave the girl he imagined slightly broader shoulders and a slightly sharper jaw line, but she looked pretty. She looked like Matt’s roommate, which should have been disturbing all on its own. But then he had to go and decide that “she” looked better with short hair, and that she didn’t need a cup-size above a C. And then, it was a cup-size above a B. And then, Matt seemed to be perfectly content to just think about mouthing on a pair of dark nipples and eliciting lower, not-quite-grunt, not-quite-moans out of somebody with stubble on his cheeks.
The day that Matt found himself jerkin’ off to the thought of jerkin’ Mohinder off, he knew something was seriously wrong. Matt did what any other self-respecting straight-man would do. He panicked.
It started simply enough. He told Mohinder that he was going to need a couple days where he could be out late - said it had something to do with work. He didn’t like lying, but Mohinder never questioned him, all too happy to pick up “their daughter” (that phrase gives Matt chills) and give Matt plenty of time to focus on whatever needed focusing on. Matt’s first course of action, on his Night Off Parenting, was to go out and get laid.
The girl was sweet and a little on the heavy side, played shy until she had Matt underneath her. When he was inside of her, she sucked in her breath and trembled, and when he played with her nipples she moaned like a whore. Matt thought it was exactly what he needed, until he realized that when he came he’d closed his eyes and buried his face in her neck and thought of the way Mohinder smelled.
That was the part that clinched it, really; Matt didn’t like the idea that his random attraction to Mohinder was ruining his enjoyment of and appreciation for truly excellent breasts. The next course of action was to book a regular gig with the department shrink. He told his boss it was to deal with the stress of “single parenting”, and avoided all questions about the roommate who occasionally dropped off lunch or called in when Matt was feeling particularly ill. The idea seemed like a solid one at first. Matt could still pick Molly up from school, drop her by the house with Mohinder, and then skedaddle off to his “work-related appointment”. Nothing could go wrong, yeah?
Well, see, the department shrink was some kind of old-school bombshell: she had a figure like Marilyn and a face like Marlene, with Greta’s lashes and a soft not-quite-growl of a voice to keep the guys from calling her “toots” and “doll.” Under any other circumstances, Matt would’ve been downright thrilled to talk for an hour with such a beautiful lady, but how was he supposed to tell this particular lady (whose rack, I should mention, was fan-fucking-tastic) that he was tent-pegging it up for a nerdy Indian dude? Seriously? Matt blurted nonsense at her, mostly, about Molly and his divorce and the new job - anything to keep from mentioning Mohinder.
Matt was at a total loss. Things had gotten so bad that he found himself idly wondering at breakfasts what would happen if he just told the guy who had somehow mastered Eggs The Way Matt Parkman Likes Them that he wished to high heaven their relationship wasn’t hindered by the absence of amazing breasts. Or, well, even mediocre breasts. The first scenario was Matt’s favorite. He’d say, “Hey, Mohinder. How ‘bout getting a tit job?” except that he’d have accidentally thought it instead of said it, and sure enough, the next thing he knew Mohinder would be on the phone to The Company.
“Bob,” Matt imagined Mohinder would say, “is breast augmentation covered by the Company healthcare?” Because it would be just like Mohinder to ask his boss some practical question before going and doing some totally stupid and irrational thing. Even more ridiculous were the days when he imagined how awful it would be if Mohinder got breasts and they were the wrong kind - you know, Fight Club-style Meatloaf man-titties rather than some semblance of Selma Hayek‘s unreasonably perfect rack.
On the other end of the spectrum, there were the times Matt found himself imagining Mohinder wearing a bra - sure, cleavage was nice, but it didn’t even have to be a wonder bra (if they even still make those), just any old lacy thing would do. Those thoughts he didn’t like as much, because instead of making him laugh he tended to get hard a little and that was no good when he had to drive Molly to school or get to a meeting or carry on conversation without making an ass of himself. Doubly unsettling was the idea that some guy in girly underwear was enough to make him forget almost forty years of heterosexuality and go for reach-arounds and lubricant.
And even worse were the times when Matt was imagining girl-Mohinder in low-cut shirts and then the real thing would walk out of his study with his shirt half-unbuttoned and a little chest hair showing and Matt would catch himself not minding. His fantasies were beginning to edit themselves in some freakish attempt to closer match reality. They weren’t supposed to be realistic, that was the whole point of fantasies - that’s what Matt had always thought, anyway. And Mohinder would always notice Matt’s distressed expression, and would always ask in a soft, sleepy tone if there was “anything wrong, Matthew?”
When Mohinder got all concerned and breathy and put a hand on Matt’s shoulder it was hell; he managed to make Matt simultaneously more comfortable, more hot, and more stressed about it than Janice had ever managed. Matt didn’t even want to think about thinking about what it meant that he was comparing Mohinder to his ex-wife. Matt just didn’t know how to reconcile the facts: he was a tit man, and he wanted to fuck Mohinder Suresh.
Eventually, Matt discovered, the problem did was problems usually do; it escalated until it had to resolve itself. Molly was fast asleep in her room and Mohinder had just padded out of the shower (now thankfully covered in thin, plum-colored pajama pants and a loose cotton v-neck). The scientist (chest hair and all) sat down next to Matt on the couch and arched his back and made that little noise that had started this whole mess. Matt could no longer pretend to be interested in the Food Network special on leeks (they were seriously running out of ideas), and found himself watching Mohinder and his chest-hair instead. Nope, Matt saw, still no tits. Still hot as hell, too, but Matt wasn’t going to say anything.
“Anything wrong, Matthew?” Mohinder asked, sounding exhausted as usual, and let his shoulder touch Matt’s. He had noticed the watching.
“Uh,” Matt began, about to lie and say that everything was fine and dandy in Matt Land, when he realized he was blushing and (if Mohinder’s concerned look was any hint) visibly distressed. “Kind of?”
Mohinder’s eyes got all melty-brown as he leaned closer to Matt, brow creased with worry. After a moment of expectant silence, Mohinder prompted: “What is it?”
“Uh,” Matt started again, “I like breasts?”
Mohinder no longer looked worried so much as confused. “Well, you -- yes, I think that’s fairly obvious.”
“But,” Matt said, “you don’t have breasts.”
“No,” Mohinder agreed. “I don’t.” Clearly he had no idea how the two issues were connected.
“But,” Matt said, “I like breasts.”
Mohinder frowned, attempting to glean some new and obscure knowledge from what Matt was attempting to tell him.
“But,” Matt added, “I like you.”
“Yes, Matthew, I’m your fr--”
“You know,” Matt said, “In the ‘if you were a chick I’d grope you and hope you didn’t hit me’ kind of way.”
“I … don’t think I know what to say to that,” Mohinder blurted, blinking and clearing his throat. “So, ah, shall I make tea?”
“I don’t like tea,” Matt said. He was not pouting.
“Matthew, are you,” Mohinder started, turning to face his friend, “are you saying that, even though I don’t have breasts, you want to … grope me and hope that I don’t hit you?”
Matt laughed. “Uh, I think so?”
“Oh. Well,” Mohinder said. “I won’t hit you.”
“That’s good. I don’t like being hit.” Matt smiled sheepishly, before realizing what exactly Mohinder had said. Or rather, before realizing the implication of what Mohinder had said.
“Wait,” Matt blurted, suddenly distressed again, “I can grope you?”
For a first kiss, theirs was fairly unremarkable. Matt had a hard time figuring out how to cup Mohinder’s entirely too-square jaw and Mohinder wasn’t expecting the tongue to happen quite so quickly. Still, they adjusted, and Mohinder was pleasantly surprised by Matt’s hurried shoves that took him from the foyer to the bedroom in a matter of moments. Once the door was closed Matt buried his face in Mohinder’s neck, sucking roughly at the place where it met his shoulder. Mohinder’s best efforts not to moan were wasted, as he closed his eyes, buried his fingers in Matt’s hair, and tipped his head back.
One of Matt’s hands found its way up under Mohinder’s shirt, broad, hot, rough-skinned fingers wasting no time finding firm, dark little nipples. Matt made a frustrated sound against Mohinder’s skin, even as the scientist pressed back against him, hip grinding against Matt’s hard-on. Two steps saw them tumbling back onto the bed, Matt’s weight keeping Mohinder pinned with his legs forced wide to accommodate Matt’s hips between them. Matt pulled back and pushed Mohinder’s shirt up to his collarbone, the two of them coming together again for a quick and desperate kiss.
Matt shoved Mohinder back down, eliciting a gasp from the startled scientist. Breasts or no, Matt’s hands and lips went where they’d always gone on instinct - Mohinder’s gasp was his reward for wrapping his mouth around a nipple and letting his teeth graze the sensitive flesh. Matt was already rock hard as he shifted, pressing into Mohinder’s thigh and sucking hard on firm, slightly salty skin. Mohinder made some guttural moan, all honeyed and lower than anything Matt was used to. Surprisingly, it didn’t flag his hard-on or his enthusiasm for Mohinder’s perky little nipples.
Mohinder arched his hips, pressing his dick up against Matt’s belly - the three layers of cotton between their skin was too much for Mohinder, who began tugging at Matt’s shirt, trying to pull it up and off over his shoulders. Matt let out an irritated growl as he switched from the left nipple to the right, biting down harder than before in order to subdue Mohinder’s writhing. Mohinder, with a hitch of his breath and a choked gasp, complied. He sank back into the mattress, clutching up Matt’s heather grey cotton tee, and tipped his head back while Matt tongued the tip of his nipple.
Digging his fingers into Mohinder’s hips for a better grip, Matt began kissing his way along his roommate’s chest, nipping and nibbling to get more of those sweet honey moans. Matt wasn’t thinking about where he was going, just about the taste of Mohinder’s skin and the way he arched and shuddered at each little kiss. He got to Mohinder’s navel and the scientist arched, grinding his hard-on up against Matt’s chest. It made the cop pull back sharply, sucking in his breath and staring up at Mohinder. Bewildered, Mohinder lifted his head and gave a soft questioning whine. In an attempt to be tantalizing, he shifted his hips a little, watching Matt watch him. They both held their breath for a moment, before Matt shook his head and pushed himself back up to catch Mohinder in a kiss.
“Ain’t ready for that yet,” Matt said apologetically, nibbling at the place where Mohinder’s neck met his jaw. Mohinder shook his head, murmuring something about how blowjobs were ’not at all necessary, Matthew’ before nipping at Matt’s earlobe. Mohinder’s prize was a husky groan and Matt’s weight pressing him back into the mattress again. Their next kisses were rough and hungry, as Matt pulled Mohinder closer to him by hitching one thin thigh up over his hip.
With a soft growl Mohinder worked his hands up under Matt’s shirt, tugging the cotton up and off, throwing it into some corner, followed shortly by his own. Mohinder made a small, hungry growl as he drew his hands down Matt’s chest, lips wandering along his collarbone and up his neck. Matt groaned into Mohinder’s hair, one big hand digging into the scientist’s thigh as Matt ground himself against Mohinder’s ass.
“Too many layers,” Mohinder hissed against Matt’s skin, trying to reconcile the problem, but unable to reach the drawstring of Matt’s flannels. He made a frustrated sound, a little keen in the back of his throat, and fell back against the pillows. Matt let Mohinder’s thigh drop, and watched with startled curiosity as the dark-skinned man wriggled his way out of those plum-colored pajama bottoms, all slim lovely lips and sinewy muscles. Even, and this was sure something Matt thought he’d never think, even Mohinder’s dick was sort of pretty, all slender and straining once it was in the open air.
Matt fumbled with his own flannel pants, closing his eyes against his own insecurities - content that the lights were off - and shimmied his way out of them. Kicking the fabric off the bed, Matt started to settle on top of Mohinder again. The smaller man had other plans, though, and with a surprising amount of ease, he shifted his weight and set Matt off-balance, flipping the two of them over. Matt gave a startled yelp when he found himself on his back, staring up at the ceiling. It was a moan two seconds later, as Mohinder wrapped a warm, slim-fingered hand around Matt’s dick and began kissing his way from Matt’s neck on down.
When Mohinder pressed his lips against the underside of Matt’s hard-on, the cop couldn’t help but jolt his hips upwards and suck in a breath. Mohinder drew his tongue along the curve of the head of Matt’s dick, a soft rumbling moan starting up in the center of his chest. Wrapping his lips around Matt’s cock, Mohinder began sucking in a firm, slow rhythm, dipping his head down to take more of the shaft. Matt gave a little helpless moan as his hips twitched up and he buried his hands roughly in Mohinder’s dark curls.
Mohinder grunted as Matt pushed him further down, brow furrowing as he fought to take more of Matt. Matt propped himself up on one elbow, watching Mohinder suck him off and enjoying the way Mohinder glanced up at him from under thick lashes. With a few sighed, ‘fuck yes’s and ‘oh yeah’s, Matt began to tense up, rocking his hips forward and thrusting further between Mohinder’s lips. He was mid-moan, head thrown back, fingers tight in Mohinder’s hair when the scientist pulled back with a rough and throaty chuckle to claim another kiss.
Mohinder’s thighs planted themselves on either side of Matt’s hips, straddling him as he sank into the kiss. In spite of the pleasant way Mohinder was suckling his tongue, Matt made a small dissatisfied sound into the kiss - he had been about to come when Mohinder pulled his lips off of Matt’s cock, the little tease. Mohinder broke the kiss to lean to the bedside, retrieving from his nightstand a small tube and a small, square pouch made of foil. Matt recognized the equipment immediately and blurted, “Y-you know I’ve got no clue what I’m doing from here on in, right?”
“Do you not want to?” Mohinder asked, breathless as he dropped the lubricant on Matt’s belly.
Matt shifted his hips, the way his cock strained where it was pressed up against the inside of Mohinder’s thigh. “N-no. I mean, Yes, I want to. No, I don’t want to stop. I just don‘t know what to do.”
“Shh,” Mohinder said, pulling open the condom wrapper and leaning down to nip Matt’s lower lip. “I know enough for the both of us, Matthew. Relax.”
Mohinder shifted his weight back onto his heels, and though for all the world he wished he knew how to roll a condom on with his lips, he was forced to do it with his fingers. Matt shifted only slightly, when Mohinder took hold of his dick at the base, and gave a little breathy chuckle as Mohinder rolled the latex down to fit. Mohinder glanced up, meeting Matt’s dark gaze with his own, and smiled faintly, flicking the wrapper onto the nightstand before picking up the small tube of gel lubricant.
Squeezing some of the gel over his fingers, Mohinder first set to giving Matt’s dick a few quick strokes, all of which left the cop wanting a little more contact than he got. Mohinder inched his way further up on the bed, so that his knees were above Matt’s hips rather than on either side of them, and bracing himself with one hand against Matt’s chest, he arched his back and reached behind himself to prep with the remaining lube. Matt got distracted from the little how-to, too busy watching the way having one or two or three fingers inside of him made Mohinder’s brow furrow or his cheeks flush or his breath hitch. The little dip in his collar-bone, just beneath his Adam’s apple, seemed to flicker more when he pulled those fingers out.
Mohinder, once he was ready and Matt was going crazy from having to just watch, lowered himself with careful precision, sliding down onto Matt’s dick with a low and throaty moan. Matt made a similar, animal-like grunt and dug his fingers into Mohinder’s hips, tugging the smaller man down and closer in one quick, rough motion. Mohinder made some soft sound, slightly pained, but he arched and squeezed Matt’s waist between his thighs, which Matt had always learned to take as a sign of encouragement.
Matt busied himself licking, sucking, and nibbling at Mohinder’s nipples while Mohinder grasped the headboard and used some unknown power of flexibility to raise his hips and slam them down again. Matt had always enjoyed having girls on top of him, but it’d been 20 years since he was in high school or buried to the hilt in anything so fucking tight. Mohinder was hotter than hell inside, too, clenching around Matt in a way that made the cop moan against Mohinder’s chest and thrust his hips up blindly, ruining Mohinder’s rhythm and making him sigh and gasp and moan.
All the mind-reading in the world couldn’t decode what Mohinder was saying - Matt wasn’t even sure if it was English or Tamil or Kannada or some other linguistic holdover he hadn’t learned about yet - but it sounded hot; maybe it was all the growls and moans that seemed to catch half-way out when Matt would thrust or slow the rhythm unexpectedly. Mohinder just hung onto that headboard for dear life, hips rocking him up and down Matt’s dick, his own hard-on persistently digging into Matt’s stomach. Matt whined in protest when Mohinder shifted his weight back, pushing off the headboard and removing his nipples from within Matt’s reach. Mohinder was too tightly-wound by then to care, eyes shut tight as he tipped his head back and wrapped his fingers around his dick, squeezing and pulling all rushed and rough as he sank further down on Matt’s hard-on.
Matt had thought that there was no way in hell Mohinder could get any tighter or look more goddamned irresistible, and then Mohinder had to go and put on a show without even meaning to. Matt watched the way his dick disappeared inside of Mohinder, watched the way Mohinder spread his fingers across Matt’s belly, watched as Mohinder squeezed the tip of his own dick and felt Mohinder clenching around him and, with a sudden wave of tension and a cry of ‘sweet fucking god,’ Matt came. Mohinder’s breath rushed out of him a moment later, as he slammed himself down on Matt’s cock and toyed with his own balls, and with a few quick, too-firm tugs, Mohinder came, too, across Matt’s stomach. He fell forward, then, against Matt’s chest, still trembling from the force of his orgasm.
“Holy hell, that was --” Matt gasped, turning to nuzzle against Mohinder’s neck.
“Y-yes,” Mohinder said in quick reply, as he shuddered against Matthew’s chest. He eased himself off of Matt, settling down beside him with a moan, determined not to do any more moving until he could breathe properly.
“But man, I wish you had tits,” Matt sighed, once they had cleaned up and caught their breath and found a comfortable position to lay in.
Mohinder’s head snapped up off of Matt’s shoulder as he gave the detective an irritated look. “Matthew. Pillow talk is really not your forte.”
Comments are always welcome and appreciated. Crossposted to m3secretsanta, mytwoheroes, and matt_mohinder. :D