Kisses meme drabbles
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
A bloody grin, lips stained and cracked.
“You should know, Mohinder. I don’t die so easily.”
Mohinder swallowed nervously.
“I saw it. They killed you; Hiro Nakamura ran a sword through you!”
Sylar grabbed his shoulder and Mohinder flinched reflexively, gritting his teeth as the murderer sidled closer, staring arrogantly from under hooded brows.
“You, of all people, know appearances can be deceiving.”
They stood in silence, waiting. Watching.
“Why are you here?” Mohinder whispered hoarsely, and Sylar smirked.
“Don’t play dumb Mohinder. We both know why.”
He glared defensively.
“You’re a monster.” The smirk widened.
“And you’re a scientist. Aren’t you tired of that game yet?”
Fingers gestured carelessly and Mohinder couldn’t move, frozen as dirt-blackened hands pulled at his hair, yanking his head back. He watched Sylar’s attention move to the side for a moment, unfocused, before his gaze was returned with a leer.
“I have an experiment for you, professor.”
Hot breath huffed over his face and Mohinder closed his eyes in an effort to still his churning innards and erratic heartbeat, swallowing the last of his saliva as a low laugh tickled his lips.
“I hope you’re paying attention.” The words whispered mockingly before rough lips pressed against his own, a tongue that tasted of salt and copper sliding between them slickly as fingers twisted in his hair, hard. The power that held him vanished, but still he couldn't move, caught in a moment that he should've ended, but couldn't
He was trapped. And he always had been.
____________________________________________________________
#2- for
c_quinn
Warning: Slash (Sylar/Peter), AU end to 1x18 "Parasite"
Set in Mohinder's apartment, the end of "Parasite"
______________________________________
“You’re like me, aren’t you?”
Sylar can see fear in the wide whites of Peter’s eyes, can hear terror in his heartbeat and the scrabble of desperate fingers over the thin paint of Mohinder’s apartment. He turns Peter’s head to one side, then the other, more to prolong the moment than out of necessity- he already knows what this power is.
“I’d like to see how that works.”
He raises a hand and watches his victim try to seep into the wall in anticipation of the pain, his grin growing as his every move draws another flinch and he hasn’t even started yet.
He lowers his hand and sneers.
“You disappoint me Peter Petrelli. I expected more of a challenge. Something fantastic even. All those powers locked inside your brain, waiting to be used, and here you are, pinned and twitching. You’re just like the rest of them. Insignificant. You don’t deserve that gift.”
Peter spits at him. Sylar watches the effort fall to the rough floorboards fruitlessly and laughs.
“Is that the best you can do? I can do better.”
“You’re a murderer.”
He sneers, stepping close enough to smell the lingering scent of blood on Peter’s face.
“I’m the next step in evolution, and once I absorb your ability no one will be able to stop me.”
He tugs on those too-long bangs mockingly, flashes a grin with too many teeth to be anything other than predatory, and Peter squirms.
“Get away from me.” The words growled, low and menacing, and Sylar just moves closer, until he can feel every aborted movement as Peter tries to break free.
“Make me.” He whispers it, taunting.
Peter struggles as Sylar edges nearer, too close now to look anywhere but each other’s faces. And Sylar smiles as he leans even closer and presses their lips together, biting hard enough to draw blood and licking it away, squeezing Peter’s jaw to force his mouth open and nearly gagging him with his tongue.
He’s won now.
Peter can never take this back from him.
_______________________________________
#3- for
tju_tju_tju_tju
Warnings: erm.. fluff? Not really slash (I couldn't pass up the opportunity to do young!Peter and Nathan).
December 1980, the Petrelli household.
________________________________
Nathan was 19, home for Christmas, and Peter was 7, giddy with anticipation and too many candy canes. For a week after he got back to New York, all their parents talked about was Nathan’s time at college, asking how his classes had gone, how he thought he’d done on his finals, whether he was fitting in and meeting the ‘right kind of people.’
Peter’d gotten tired of it and started interrupting with stories of the boy in his class who always won the races at recess, and the girl who always read in class but still knew the answers. He talked about his teacher (whom they were informed was pregnant), and the Presidential physical fitness tests he could never get right because he couldn’t do enough pull-ups.
After Peter chattered about the first-grade kickball tournament for an entire meal their father banned him from the dinner table for a week. Nathan had never seen his brother so cowed, but his mother brushed it of as a stage he’d grow out of- Nathan had, after all.
When their parents decided they didn’t need Peter potentially interrupting Christmas Eve service, Nathan offered to stay with him. It’d give him a chance to catch up on the last four months, he insisted, and that way they could go to that party they’d been talking about all week too.
Peter was thrilled. As soon as the door closed he was begging for piggy-back rides and asking if they could have ice cream as a snack. He wanted to play video games and slide down the banister and pretend he was flying and watch movies until midnight. And when Nathan hesitated Peter grabbed his hand and tugged him willfully, chattering with every step, to the game room where he promptly shoved a controller in his older brother's lap.
As soon as Nathan figured out how the game worked and started winning he put in a movie- more to avoid a tantrum than any real desire to see Pete’s Dragon another time. Within half an hour Peter was dozing on his shoulder, though he moaned in protest when Nathan started gathering limp limbs to carry the boy to his room.
“Come on Pete, time for bed.”
Peter was quiet until they reached his bed, but when Nathan tried to move him to it he hung on stubbornly, twisting Nathan’s shirt in small hands.
“Peter you need to get some sleep, okay?”
Peter shook his head into Nathan’s chest.
“Come on. The sooner you go to bed the sooner Santa’ll come.”
“But I don’t need Santa.” The words were mumbled into the region of his sternum. Nathan raised his eyebrows.
“Why’s that?”
“ ’cause you’re here.”
Nathan chuckled softly.
“Is that right? Well how ‘bout this: If you go to bed right now, we can get waffles in the morning. How’s that?”
Peter’s grin glinted up at him in the dim light from the hall.
“You’re the best brother in the whole world!”
Thin arms wrapped around his neck and just as Nathan was about to try moving Peter to the bed again, a big wet kiss hit him straight on the lips.
He didn’t even have time to process it before Peter wriggled out of his lap and under the covers, pulling them up to his neck and closing his eyes in the pretense of sleep.
Nathan smiled, brushed Peter’s hair off his face, and delivered the more conventional kiss to the forehead.
“Goodnight Peter.”
________________________________________________________
#4- for
indyhat
Warnings: Slash (Peter/Claude), mentions of abuse (in the usual Peter and Claude way), 1x12 "Unexpected" through 1x15 "Run!".
Set before "Unexpected" and after "Godsend," The Devaux roof.
_________________________________________________
It’s not part of the plan. The plan is to go to the roof with Claude and be hit with whatever’s handy until some ‘ability’ is knocked out of him. The plan is to stop from exploding and find a way to save the world.
The plan, Peter decides, has gone to hell. Because the sun hasn’t even risen yet and he’s being shoved into a wall, Claude’s fist digging into his neck uncomfortably as the man tries to force the supernatural out of Peter’s body while still unconsciously respecting the unwritten rule against loud noises before 6 am. And all Peter can think about is how close Claude is, and what he would do if Peter just- slipped- and their mouths landed together. Because Claude might be an arrogant bastard who treats him like an incompetent idiot, but he’s a fucking charismatic arrogant bastard, and being constantly in his presence for a week has begun to do strange things to Peter’s nerves.
Thirty minutes later and Peter’s decided that, since Claude’s already killed him a few times over, there really isn’t much of a risk.
But then it doesn’t matter, because Claude’s the one that’s tripped over backwards, pulling Peter with him, and after the jolt of hitting the ground Peter realizes his mouth is pressed uncomfortably against Claude’s cheekbone. It’s a small move to find the strange tickle of beard and trace it to lips ready to shout at him, if it was just an hour later. He dusts butterfly kisses over Claude’s mouth experimentally before pressing a soft kiss to those lips, and another, when the first fails to get any response- positive or negative. Then Claude shifts his head slightly and pulls Peter’s bottom lip between his own, and Peter closes his eyes and stops worrying as cold-chapped lips mingle with warm breath and wet mouths.
Peter only realizes he’s braced himself on Claude’s shoulders when hands brush against his ribs, cautious at first, and then warm anchors for a handful of seconds before he’s pushed up and away.
Claude stands and walks to the other side of the roof while Peter’s still reminding himself that his legs work. For a moment he’s afraid Claude’s leaving- that this latest mistake, no matter how well received, will lead to the end of their strange lessons.
But then Claude’s staring at him, brows arched condescendingly.
“C’mon Petrelli. Break time’s over, we’ve got work to do.”
And Peter smiles.
___________________________________________________________
#5 for
fantasticpants
Warnings: a bit of crack, Primatech, and Mr. Nakamura (who deserves a warning all his own), not-really-slash (Bennet/Nakamura-san... because fantasticpants is insane.)
Primatech office party, Primatech Paper Company
_______________________________________
“Standard procedure rookie.”
Bennet stares.
“You’re joking.”
Claude shakes his head with a cocky grin.
“Nope.”
“You want me to go in there and-” He gestures vaguely and Claude claps a hand to his shoulder, turning him to the doorway.
“Yep.”
Bennet turns to Thompson, who simply regards him with the same mildly-pleased expression that seems eternally plastered to his face. He wonders for a moment whether that’s another Company policy, though if it is Claude isn’t complying.
“And you’ve both done this?”
Claude shrugs dismissively.
“Well, I got a bit lucky- they didn’t hire me until after Easter and there were plenty of new recruits between then and New Years to take the honor.”
He hesitates, stalling as he tries to determine whether his partner’s playing a joke, but Claude just stares smugly, challenging.
“You’re sure.”
“I c’n guarantee he won’t pull out a sword and chop you into tiny pieces, yeah.”
Bennet doesn’t trust the lingering smile on Claude’s face but the countdown to midnight’s about to start and he can’t waste any more time. He walks slowly towards the doorway, barely hearing Claude’s yell of “Just think of it as your first solo mission!”
Mission. That works.
Scan the room for the target. Locate. Approach cautiously. Engage in friendly conversation.
“Nakamura-san.” He bows; probably too low, probably too fast, but Nakamura just nods.
“Bennet.”
He tries to think of something to say- because this is usually Claude’s role, he’s barely met anyone else in the company the last month, and the countdown starts.
Four, three, two- deep breath-
“Happy New Years, Nakamura-san”
It’s barely a brush of lips before he pulls away hurriedly to catch the barest hint of a smile at the edges of Nakamura’s mouth.
“Welcome to Primatech Mr. Bennet.” He nods over Bennet’s shoulder.
“And tell your partner he’s no good to us if he asphyxiates himself, will you?”
Bennet turns to find Claude clutching a smiling Thompson’s shoulder as he wheezes with laughter. He scowls at them.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll tell him.”
__________________________________________________
~fin~
A bloody grin, lips stained and cracked.
“You should know, Mohinder. I don’t die so easily.”
Mohinder swallowed nervously.
“I saw it. They killed you; Hiro Nakamura ran a sword through you!”
Sylar grabbed his shoulder and Mohinder flinched reflexively, gritting his teeth as the murderer sidled closer, staring arrogantly from under hooded brows.
“You, of all people, know appearances can be deceiving.”
They stood in silence, waiting. Watching.
“Why are you here?” Mohinder whispered hoarsely, and Sylar smirked.
“Don’t play dumb Mohinder. We both know why.”
He glared defensively.
“You’re a monster.” The smirk widened.
“And you’re a scientist. Aren’t you tired of that game yet?”
Fingers gestured carelessly and Mohinder couldn’t move, frozen as dirt-blackened hands pulled at his hair, yanking his head back. He watched Sylar’s attention move to the side for a moment, unfocused, before his gaze was returned with a leer.
“I have an experiment for you, professor.”
Hot breath huffed over his face and Mohinder closed his eyes in an effort to still his churning innards and erratic heartbeat, swallowing the last of his saliva as a low laugh tickled his lips.
“I hope you’re paying attention.” The words whispered mockingly before rough lips pressed against his own, a tongue that tasted of salt and copper sliding between them slickly as fingers twisted in his hair, hard. The power that held him vanished, but still he couldn't move, caught in a moment that he should've ended, but couldn't
He was trapped. And he always had been.
____________________________________________________________
#2- for
c_quinn
Warning: Slash (Sylar/Peter), AU end to 1x18 "Parasite"
Set in Mohinder's apartment, the end of "Parasite"
______________________________________
“You’re like me, aren’t you?”
Sylar can see fear in the wide whites of Peter’s eyes, can hear terror in his heartbeat and the scrabble of desperate fingers over the thin paint of Mohinder’s apartment. He turns Peter’s head to one side, then the other, more to prolong the moment than out of necessity- he already knows what this power is.
“I’d like to see how that works.”
He raises a hand and watches his victim try to seep into the wall in anticipation of the pain, his grin growing as his every move draws another flinch and he hasn’t even started yet.
He lowers his hand and sneers.
“You disappoint me Peter Petrelli. I expected more of a challenge. Something fantastic even. All those powers locked inside your brain, waiting to be used, and here you are, pinned and twitching. You’re just like the rest of them. Insignificant. You don’t deserve that gift.”
Peter spits at him. Sylar watches the effort fall to the rough floorboards fruitlessly and laughs.
“Is that the best you can do? I can do better.”
“You’re a murderer.”
He sneers, stepping close enough to smell the lingering scent of blood on Peter’s face.
“I’m the next step in evolution, and once I absorb your ability no one will be able to stop me.”
He tugs on those too-long bangs mockingly, flashes a grin with too many teeth to be anything other than predatory, and Peter squirms.
“Get away from me.” The words growled, low and menacing, and Sylar just moves closer, until he can feel every aborted movement as Peter tries to break free.
“Make me.” He whispers it, taunting.
Peter struggles as Sylar edges nearer, too close now to look anywhere but each other’s faces. And Sylar smiles as he leans even closer and presses their lips together, biting hard enough to draw blood and licking it away, squeezing Peter’s jaw to force his mouth open and nearly gagging him with his tongue.
He’s won now.
Peter can never take this back from him.
_______________________________________
#3- for
tju_tju_tju_tju
Warnings: erm.. fluff? Not really slash (I couldn't pass up the opportunity to do young!Peter and Nathan).
December 1980, the Petrelli household.
________________________________
Nathan was 19, home for Christmas, and Peter was 7, giddy with anticipation and too many candy canes. For a week after he got back to New York, all their parents talked about was Nathan’s time at college, asking how his classes had gone, how he thought he’d done on his finals, whether he was fitting in and meeting the ‘right kind of people.’
Peter’d gotten tired of it and started interrupting with stories of the boy in his class who always won the races at recess, and the girl who always read in class but still knew the answers. He talked about his teacher (whom they were informed was pregnant), and the Presidential physical fitness tests he could never get right because he couldn’t do enough pull-ups.
After Peter chattered about the first-grade kickball tournament for an entire meal their father banned him from the dinner table for a week. Nathan had never seen his brother so cowed, but his mother brushed it of as a stage he’d grow out of- Nathan had, after all.
When their parents decided they didn’t need Peter potentially interrupting Christmas Eve service, Nathan offered to stay with him. It’d give him a chance to catch up on the last four months, he insisted, and that way they could go to that party they’d been talking about all week too.
Peter was thrilled. As soon as the door closed he was begging for piggy-back rides and asking if they could have ice cream as a snack. He wanted to play video games and slide down the banister and pretend he was flying and watch movies until midnight. And when Nathan hesitated Peter grabbed his hand and tugged him willfully, chattering with every step, to the game room where he promptly shoved a controller in his older brother's lap.
As soon as Nathan figured out how the game worked and started winning he put in a movie- more to avoid a tantrum than any real desire to see Pete’s Dragon another time. Within half an hour Peter was dozing on his shoulder, though he moaned in protest when Nathan started gathering limp limbs to carry the boy to his room.
“Come on Pete, time for bed.”
Peter was quiet until they reached his bed, but when Nathan tried to move him to it he hung on stubbornly, twisting Nathan’s shirt in small hands.
“Peter you need to get some sleep, okay?”
Peter shook his head into Nathan’s chest.
“Come on. The sooner you go to bed the sooner Santa’ll come.”
“But I don’t need Santa.” The words were mumbled into the region of his sternum. Nathan raised his eyebrows.
“Why’s that?”
“ ’cause you’re here.”
Nathan chuckled softly.
“Is that right? Well how ‘bout this: If you go to bed right now, we can get waffles in the morning. How’s that?”
Peter’s grin glinted up at him in the dim light from the hall.
“You’re the best brother in the whole world!”
Thin arms wrapped around his neck and just as Nathan was about to try moving Peter to the bed again, a big wet kiss hit him straight on the lips.
He didn’t even have time to process it before Peter wriggled out of his lap and under the covers, pulling them up to his neck and closing his eyes in the pretense of sleep.
Nathan smiled, brushed Peter’s hair off his face, and delivered the more conventional kiss to the forehead.
“Goodnight Peter.”
________________________________________________________
#4- for
indyhat
Warnings: Slash (Peter/Claude), mentions of abuse (in the usual Peter and Claude way), 1x12 "Unexpected" through 1x15 "Run!".
Set before "Unexpected" and after "Godsend," The Devaux roof.
_________________________________________________
It’s not part of the plan. The plan is to go to the roof with Claude and be hit with whatever’s handy until some ‘ability’ is knocked out of him. The plan is to stop from exploding and find a way to save the world.
The plan, Peter decides, has gone to hell. Because the sun hasn’t even risen yet and he’s being shoved into a wall, Claude’s fist digging into his neck uncomfortably as the man tries to force the supernatural out of Peter’s body while still unconsciously respecting the unwritten rule against loud noises before 6 am. And all Peter can think about is how close Claude is, and what he would do if Peter just- slipped- and their mouths landed together. Because Claude might be an arrogant bastard who treats him like an incompetent idiot, but he’s a fucking charismatic arrogant bastard, and being constantly in his presence for a week has begun to do strange things to Peter’s nerves.
Thirty minutes later and Peter’s decided that, since Claude’s already killed him a few times over, there really isn’t much of a risk.
But then it doesn’t matter, because Claude’s the one that’s tripped over backwards, pulling Peter with him, and after the jolt of hitting the ground Peter realizes his mouth is pressed uncomfortably against Claude’s cheekbone. It’s a small move to find the strange tickle of beard and trace it to lips ready to shout at him, if it was just an hour later. He dusts butterfly kisses over Claude’s mouth experimentally before pressing a soft kiss to those lips, and another, when the first fails to get any response- positive or negative. Then Claude shifts his head slightly and pulls Peter’s bottom lip between his own, and Peter closes his eyes and stops worrying as cold-chapped lips mingle with warm breath and wet mouths.
Peter only realizes he’s braced himself on Claude’s shoulders when hands brush against his ribs, cautious at first, and then warm anchors for a handful of seconds before he’s pushed up and away.
Claude stands and walks to the other side of the roof while Peter’s still reminding himself that his legs work. For a moment he’s afraid Claude’s leaving- that this latest mistake, no matter how well received, will lead to the end of their strange lessons.
But then Claude’s staring at him, brows arched condescendingly.
“C’mon Petrelli. Break time’s over, we’ve got work to do.”
And Peter smiles.
___________________________________________________________
#5 for
fantasticpants
Warnings: a bit of crack, Primatech, and Mr. Nakamura (who deserves a warning all his own), not-really-slash (Bennet/Nakamura-san... because fantasticpants is insane.)
Primatech office party, Primatech Paper Company
_______________________________________
“Standard procedure rookie.”
Bennet stares.
“You’re joking.”
Claude shakes his head with a cocky grin.
“Nope.”
“You want me to go in there and-” He gestures vaguely and Claude claps a hand to his shoulder, turning him to the doorway.
“Yep.”
Bennet turns to Thompson, who simply regards him with the same mildly-pleased expression that seems eternally plastered to his face. He wonders for a moment whether that’s another Company policy, though if it is Claude isn’t complying.
“And you’ve both done this?”
Claude shrugs dismissively.
“Well, I got a bit lucky- they didn’t hire me until after Easter and there were plenty of new recruits between then and New Years to take the honor.”
He hesitates, stalling as he tries to determine whether his partner’s playing a joke, but Claude just stares smugly, challenging.
“You’re sure.”
“I c’n guarantee he won’t pull out a sword and chop you into tiny pieces, yeah.”
Bennet doesn’t trust the lingering smile on Claude’s face but the countdown to midnight’s about to start and he can’t waste any more time. He walks slowly towards the doorway, barely hearing Claude’s yell of “Just think of it as your first solo mission!”
Mission. That works.
Scan the room for the target. Locate. Approach cautiously. Engage in friendly conversation.
“Nakamura-san.” He bows; probably too low, probably too fast, but Nakamura just nods.
“Bennet.”
He tries to think of something to say- because this is usually Claude’s role, he’s barely met anyone else in the company the last month, and the countdown starts.
Four, three, two- deep breath-
“Happy New Years, Nakamura-san”
It’s barely a brush of lips before he pulls away hurriedly to catch the barest hint of a smile at the edges of Nakamura’s mouth.
“Welcome to Primatech Mr. Bennet.” He nods over Bennet’s shoulder.
“And tell your partner he’s no good to us if he asphyxiates himself, will you?”
Bennet turns to find Claude clutching a smiling Thompson’s shoulder as he wheezes with laughter. He scowls at them.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll tell him.”
__________________________________________________
~fin~