Fic: Getaway
Title: Getaway
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Sylar/Mohinder
Rating: PG
Summary: Mohinder and Sylar discuss gifts, good and bad. (For the mylar_fic Holiday Contest. Prompt: "'Tis the Season")
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.
Warnings: Humor, Slash
“A clip on tie.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“It is when you’re twenty-five.”
“Oh.”
“Your turn.”
Mohinder was quiet as he thought over the matter very carefully. “A pack of triple A batteries,” he said finally.
“Did they go with anything?” Sylar asked, knowing right away that Chandra had most likely been the one to give this “gift” to Mohinder.
“No,” the Indian said simply, his response quick and seemingly indifferent, but Sylar caught the bitterness lingering there. “Your turn.”
Sylar sighed, adjusting himself slightly so his bare shoulder “accidentally” brushed up against Mohinder’s equally exposed arm. “A sweater,” he grumbled bitterly. “And before you say anything, if you’d seen it you’d understand.” He shuddered internally at the memory of the bright red Christmas sweater with the sloppily stitched on snowman and reindeer that his grandmother had made for him. “Horrible.”
The geneticist said nothing; he merely shifted himself so that he was sitting farther away from the other man. Sylar bit his cheek to keep himself from frowning at the gesture, trying instead to focus on the far too loud music seeping into the dark room from the other side of the door.
“I don’t think I can hide in here much longer,” Mohinder sighed, brushing a few stray curls out of his eyes wearily. “Someone’s going to come looking for me eventually.”
The serial killer didn’t even bother to nod as he quietly grabbed Mohinder’s discarded clothing and stealthily pulling them behind his back, hoping that the lighting was just dim enough that the other man would not notice the movement.
“So what are you hoping to get this year?”
Mohinder frowned, raising a questioning eyebrow at him, but even as he did so Sylar felt safe in knowing that he had already hidden the other man’s clothes out of sight. “What do you mean?”
“For Christmas?” he supplied helpfully.
“I don’t celebrate Christmas,” he scoffed.
“But you’re out a Christmas party.”
“I think the politically correct term would be ‘Holiday party,’” The Indian corrected smugly. “And I’m only here because I was invited. You’ll find that not killing random people and ripping their skulls open tends to make you rather popular.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I’ll make it my New Year’s resolution. No more stealing brains. Instead, I’ll just kidnap and cocoon my victims.”
Mohinder scowled distastefully, clutching the lab coat wrapped around his waist tighter in his hands and shifting away from him. “At least I’m apologetic,” Mohinder shot back. “You have no remorse for anything you’ve done.”
“Alright, then I’ll show how ‘remorseful’ I am by getting you a Christmas present. What would you want?”
“I don’t celebrate Christmas,” Mohinder reminded him, shaking his head wearily, yet Sylar took the fact that he was still sitting next to him as a good sign. “Besides, I don’t want anything that you could buy in a store.”
“Well it’s the season of gift giving, so just play along. Let’s say I could get you anything, anything you wanted, what would it be?”
The Indian sighed, leaning his head back against the wall with an audible thud. “I want a new life,” Mohinder grumbled. “I want… I want a better career. I want to go home and not worry that the whole world is going to crumble around me while I’m asleep.”
“I can do that.”
The look the other man gave him was absolutely priceless. It was an intriguing mix of skepticism, annoyance, and curiosity.
Sylar beamed, scooting closer to Mohinder and using his telekinesis to pull the other man’s naked form closer to him. “You and me and a tropical island,” he told him, wrapping a pale arm around the Indian’s dark shoulder. “We could lie out in the sun and forget all our cares.”
“An island getaway does sound pleasant,” Mohinder laughed, pushing Sylar’s arm away from him. “But the ‘you’ part… not so much.”
The serial killer frowned, opening his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of someone trying to open the locked door. “Is someone in there?” a voice called in between frantic knocks.
“Time’s up,” Mohinder sighed, scrambling to his feet and look around the small office desperately. “Have you seen my clothes?”
“They’re over there, I think,” Sylar lied, pointing in the opposite direction of the small pile he had hidden behind his back. As Mohinder turned and looked in the direction Sylar had indicated, the serial killer took the opportunity to grab the Indian man’s underwear and stuff it into his pocket. “Never mind, I found it.”
Mohinder turned around just as Sylar tossed the pile of clothing in his direction. The geneticist muttered a quick thanks as the American quickly dressed himself.
“Where’s my underwear?” he asked wearily. “Every time we do this it disappears! Why does that always happen?”
“I have no idea,” Sylar shrugged, taking a moment to finger the pale blue boxers that he had stuffed into his pocket.
He had probably stolen at least a dozen boxers, half a dozen pairs of briefs, and two sets of boxer briefs from Mohinder over the past few months. In his mind, that meant that he owed the Indian man a little more than an island vacation and fortunately for the geneticist, Sylar was in a giving mood. After all, it was the season.
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Sylar/Mohinder
Rating: PG
Summary: Mohinder and Sylar discuss gifts, good and bad. (For the mylar_fic Holiday Contest. Prompt: "'Tis the Season")
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.
Warnings: Humor, Slash
“A clip on tie.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“It is when you’re twenty-five.”
“Oh.”
“Your turn.”
Mohinder was quiet as he thought over the matter very carefully. “A pack of triple A batteries,” he said finally.
“Did they go with anything?” Sylar asked, knowing right away that Chandra had most likely been the one to give this “gift” to Mohinder.
“No,” the Indian said simply, his response quick and seemingly indifferent, but Sylar caught the bitterness lingering there. “Your turn.”
Sylar sighed, adjusting himself slightly so his bare shoulder “accidentally” brushed up against Mohinder’s equally exposed arm. “A sweater,” he grumbled bitterly. “And before you say anything, if you’d seen it you’d understand.” He shuddered internally at the memory of the bright red Christmas sweater with the sloppily stitched on snowman and reindeer that his grandmother had made for him. “Horrible.”
The geneticist said nothing; he merely shifted himself so that he was sitting farther away from the other man. Sylar bit his cheek to keep himself from frowning at the gesture, trying instead to focus on the far too loud music seeping into the dark room from the other side of the door.
“I don’t think I can hide in here much longer,” Mohinder sighed, brushing a few stray curls out of his eyes wearily. “Someone’s going to come looking for me eventually.”
The serial killer didn’t even bother to nod as he quietly grabbed Mohinder’s discarded clothing and stealthily pulling them behind his back, hoping that the lighting was just dim enough that the other man would not notice the movement.
“So what are you hoping to get this year?”
Mohinder frowned, raising a questioning eyebrow at him, but even as he did so Sylar felt safe in knowing that he had already hidden the other man’s clothes out of sight. “What do you mean?”
“For Christmas?” he supplied helpfully.
“I don’t celebrate Christmas,” he scoffed.
“But you’re out a Christmas party.”
“I think the politically correct term would be ‘Holiday party,’” The Indian corrected smugly. “And I’m only here because I was invited. You’ll find that not killing random people and ripping their skulls open tends to make you rather popular.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I’ll make it my New Year’s resolution. No more stealing brains. Instead, I’ll just kidnap and cocoon my victims.”
Mohinder scowled distastefully, clutching the lab coat wrapped around his waist tighter in his hands and shifting away from him. “At least I’m apologetic,” Mohinder shot back. “You have no remorse for anything you’ve done.”
“Alright, then I’ll show how ‘remorseful’ I am by getting you a Christmas present. What would you want?”
“I don’t celebrate Christmas,” Mohinder reminded him, shaking his head wearily, yet Sylar took the fact that he was still sitting next to him as a good sign. “Besides, I don’t want anything that you could buy in a store.”
“Well it’s the season of gift giving, so just play along. Let’s say I could get you anything, anything you wanted, what would it be?”
The Indian sighed, leaning his head back against the wall with an audible thud. “I want a new life,” Mohinder grumbled. “I want… I want a better career. I want to go home and not worry that the whole world is going to crumble around me while I’m asleep.”
“I can do that.”
The look the other man gave him was absolutely priceless. It was an intriguing mix of skepticism, annoyance, and curiosity.
Sylar beamed, scooting closer to Mohinder and using his telekinesis to pull the other man’s naked form closer to him. “You and me and a tropical island,” he told him, wrapping a pale arm around the Indian’s dark shoulder. “We could lie out in the sun and forget all our cares.”
“An island getaway does sound pleasant,” Mohinder laughed, pushing Sylar’s arm away from him. “But the ‘you’ part… not so much.”
The serial killer frowned, opening his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of someone trying to open the locked door. “Is someone in there?” a voice called in between frantic knocks.
“Time’s up,” Mohinder sighed, scrambling to his feet and look around the small office desperately. “Have you seen my clothes?”
“They’re over there, I think,” Sylar lied, pointing in the opposite direction of the small pile he had hidden behind his back. As Mohinder turned and looked in the direction Sylar had indicated, the serial killer took the opportunity to grab the Indian man’s underwear and stuff it into his pocket. “Never mind, I found it.”
Mohinder turned around just as Sylar tossed the pile of clothing in his direction. The geneticist muttered a quick thanks as the American quickly dressed himself.
“Where’s my underwear?” he asked wearily. “Every time we do this it disappears! Why does that always happen?”
“I have no idea,” Sylar shrugged, taking a moment to finger the pale blue boxers that he had stuffed into his pocket.
He had probably stolen at least a dozen boxers, half a dozen pairs of briefs, and two sets of boxer briefs from Mohinder over the past few months. In his mind, that meant that he owed the Indian man a little more than an island vacation and fortunately for the geneticist, Sylar was in a giving mood. After all, it was the season.