Fic: Untitled (two moments)
Title: Untitled (two moments)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1300
Warnings: Smut. Porn. Angst - really twisted angst.
Pairing: Mohinder/Peter, Mohinder/Sylar
Spoilers: First season
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not writing this for profit.
Notes: After the Sekrit Cabal Porn Battle at
cerebel_fics last month, I ended up with three half-finished ficlets that were related. Two of them are here. Prompts for both: 'wrong / interrupted'. Together they make one story: the first part set at the time of "Parasite", the second in an AU version of the early second season.
1.
Sylar's body is hot underneath his and his head is arched backwards. Mohinder bites his chin, hard, hard enough to leave toothmarks visible on pale skin afterwards. Sylar doesn't protest, just moans softly.
Mohinder can't believe he's doing this. He knows what Sylar's done--what he's capable of doing--but right now, as he pulls those long legs up to his chest and slowly pushes inside, he doesn't care. Sylar makes a soft noise and looks up at him, eyes and mouth wide open, and Mohinder realizes that this might be as close as he'll ever come to seeing Sylar beg. It's heaven.
He slides a hand down Sylar's thigh, across his belly, around his cock. Watches Sylar shiver as he moves in and out almost agonizingly slowly. He realizes then just how completely under his control Sylar is at this moment, how desperate Sylar was for the touch of his hands. He doesn't have words to describe the rush he feels at that thought.
It's strange that he can remember the exact moment when he realized Sylar wanted him, realized why the man's eyes followed his every movement, but he has no idea when he started wanting this too. Or why he still does. Or why he's chosen to act on it here, now, in his own apartment - his father's apartment -
He chokes off that thought and slowly strokes Sylar, just to feel him tense up. Sylar draws in a gasping breath but then shakes his head wordlessly. He spreads his legs as he reaches up for Mohinder, pulling him down into a kiss, and Mohinder melts against him. Then there are fingers sliding gently down Mohinder's spine, and a tongue rough against his lips, and pressed this close he can feel Sylar's heart pounding as fast as his own.
It's all more than he can stand. He thrusts hard and feels Sylar wince, and does it again, and again. Sylar moves one hand to the back of Mohinder's neck and slowly trails the other up his side, fingertips barely grazing Mohinder's skin, and the gentleness of that touch compared with the way he's now fucking the man somehow drives Mohinder wilder.
Mohinder had thought he was on the verge of orgasm, but somehow he hangs on--almost feels like he's being pushed on--to a level of arousal that he didn't even realize was humanly possible. The burn inside him keeps getting more impossibly intense with every second until all he can think about is release. But it's not until he finally moans, low and gutteral and desperate, into Sylar's mouth, not until Sylar's hand tightens on him and drives nails into his skin, that he comes, and it's like nothing he's ever felt before. Sylar's hand is still on his neck and it doesn't seem like a powerful grip but Mohinder can't pull away, and every gasp and sound he makes is trapped by Sylar's tongue. He twists his hands in the sheets as Sylar strokes his side again, almost soothing him.
Sylar doesn't release him until he's breathing evenly again. He feels wetness against his stomach and realizes he was so caught up in his own pleasure, he didn't even feel Sylar's. He touches Sylar's cheek, too awed for words, and Sylar just gazes back at him, the corners of his lips tilting upwards.
He's seen that triumphant smile before.
Reality crashes in on Mohinder at that moment. He remembers what he has to do, and why.
He can't keep it completely out of his face and Sylar's eyes cloud over. Mohinder leans down again and kisses him, lingering, until he can smile normally again.
"What is it?" Sylar asks, watching him intently.
"It's nothing, Zane," Mohinder says softly. He pauses, then, "Get dressed and we'll go out to the living room. There's something I want to show you."
2.
For the first two months after Peter exploded, Mohinder was numb inside, consumed with second guesses about what he could have done to make things turn out differently. When he made peace with himself, he decided he never again wanted to feel regret over inaction.
That's why, when he sees an unhoped-for chance to fuck Sylar again, he doesn't hesitate to ask for it.
He's knows it's sick and twisted but he can't stop himself. Besides, the instant Sylar touches him, he forgets all about shame and grief and murder and just opens himself, practically begging to be taken.
And Sylar takes him, however he wants it, sometimes soft and slow, their lips touching in a way that's less a kiss than a chance for Mohinder to pull Sylar's breath into his own lungs. Sometimes hard and ruthless, hands pinning Mohinder down, cold calculating eyes scanning Mohinder's face as Mohinder tries to pretend he doesn't need every bruising thrust.
Mohinder always insists that they fuck facing each other, because he has to see the emotions flickering across Sylar's face. He wants the memories to pull out and relive on nights when he's lying alone in hotel rooms, but he also needs it to convince himself that it's really Sylar, here, warm and trembling against him.
And it's also a kind of game that they play, because just as Mohinder shudders and goes over the edge, that's when Peter always shifts back into his own form. Mohinder always knows it's coming, and he can't complain. It's the price Peter makes him pay for getting what he wants. That, and after he gets it, Mohinder has to at least pretend he's happy to be with Peter.
The hell of it is, he tries not to think as Peter suddenly cries out against his neck, that he wishes desperately that this could be enough. He'd hoped that maybe after a while, Peter himself would be all he'd need. But they've been doing this for weeks, ever since Peter mysteriously reappeared, and still every time Peter reaches for him hungrily, Mohinder closes his eyes and whispers, " Please..." to the vision of Sylar in his mind.
Peter kisses him gently and carefully gets up. Mohinder watches him dress and wonders where he spends his days. He refuses to talk about it, refuses to talk about anything, really, but whenever Mohinder has an evening alone in New York he invariably appears. Mohinder's sure he'd hoped things would turn out differently between them, but just like Mohinder, he's taking what he can get.
There's a hard edge to Peter now, like he's fractured and healed crookedly, and Mohinder can admit to himself that that familiar feeling is what makes it possible for him to do this. Logic tells him that Peter is a good man, that he could be fixed, but emotion, some animal instinct deep inside, keeps pulling him in another direction.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs without intending to.
"Don't be." Peter shrugs on his jacket, and a vicious look crosses his face as he says, "I'm sure it would kill him if he knew."
Mohinder privately suspects it would be more likely to kill Peter.
"Go ahead and think that, if it helps feed your ego." Peter turns away with a glare and leaves without saying goodbye, disappearing from sight as he strides into the living room. Mohinder can barely make out a wavering in the wooden door as he phases through it.
Mohinder sighs and closes his eyes tightly, pulling the sheet up over his torso. He remembers the feel of Sylar's body against his own, of Sylar's hands cupping his face. Then Peter's words echo in his head: "...it would kill him if he knew. "
That's not how you speak of someone who's dead.
And for the first time, he wonders how Peter can imitate every inch of Sylar's body in such perfect detail.
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1300
Warnings: Smut. Porn. Angst - really twisted angst.
Pairing: Mohinder/Peter, Mohinder/Sylar
Spoilers: First season
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not writing this for profit.
Notes: After the Sekrit Cabal Porn Battle at
cerebel_fics last month, I ended up with three half-finished ficlets that were related. Two of them are here. Prompts for both: 'wrong / interrupted'. Together they make one story: the first part set at the time of "Parasite", the second in an AU version of the early second season.
1.
Sylar's body is hot underneath his and his head is arched backwards. Mohinder bites his chin, hard, hard enough to leave toothmarks visible on pale skin afterwards. Sylar doesn't protest, just moans softly.
Mohinder can't believe he's doing this. He knows what Sylar's done--what he's capable of doing--but right now, as he pulls those long legs up to his chest and slowly pushes inside, he doesn't care. Sylar makes a soft noise and looks up at him, eyes and mouth wide open, and Mohinder realizes that this might be as close as he'll ever come to seeing Sylar beg. It's heaven.
He slides a hand down Sylar's thigh, across his belly, around his cock. Watches Sylar shiver as he moves in and out almost agonizingly slowly. He realizes then just how completely under his control Sylar is at this moment, how desperate Sylar was for the touch of his hands. He doesn't have words to describe the rush he feels at that thought.
It's strange that he can remember the exact moment when he realized Sylar wanted him, realized why the man's eyes followed his every movement, but he has no idea when he started wanting this too. Or why he still does. Or why he's chosen to act on it here, now, in his own apartment - his father's apartment -
He chokes off that thought and slowly strokes Sylar, just to feel him tense up. Sylar draws in a gasping breath but then shakes his head wordlessly. He spreads his legs as he reaches up for Mohinder, pulling him down into a kiss, and Mohinder melts against him. Then there are fingers sliding gently down Mohinder's spine, and a tongue rough against his lips, and pressed this close he can feel Sylar's heart pounding as fast as his own.
It's all more than he can stand. He thrusts hard and feels Sylar wince, and does it again, and again. Sylar moves one hand to the back of Mohinder's neck and slowly trails the other up his side, fingertips barely grazing Mohinder's skin, and the gentleness of that touch compared with the way he's now fucking the man somehow drives Mohinder wilder.
Mohinder had thought he was on the verge of orgasm, but somehow he hangs on--almost feels like he's being pushed on--to a level of arousal that he didn't even realize was humanly possible. The burn inside him keeps getting more impossibly intense with every second until all he can think about is release. But it's not until he finally moans, low and gutteral and desperate, into Sylar's mouth, not until Sylar's hand tightens on him and drives nails into his skin, that he comes, and it's like nothing he's ever felt before. Sylar's hand is still on his neck and it doesn't seem like a powerful grip but Mohinder can't pull away, and every gasp and sound he makes is trapped by Sylar's tongue. He twists his hands in the sheets as Sylar strokes his side again, almost soothing him.
Sylar doesn't release him until he's breathing evenly again. He feels wetness against his stomach and realizes he was so caught up in his own pleasure, he didn't even feel Sylar's. He touches Sylar's cheek, too awed for words, and Sylar just gazes back at him, the corners of his lips tilting upwards.
He's seen that triumphant smile before.
Reality crashes in on Mohinder at that moment. He remembers what he has to do, and why.
He can't keep it completely out of his face and Sylar's eyes cloud over. Mohinder leans down again and kisses him, lingering, until he can smile normally again.
"What is it?" Sylar asks, watching him intently.
"It's nothing, Zane," Mohinder says softly. He pauses, then, "Get dressed and we'll go out to the living room. There's something I want to show you."
2.
For the first two months after Peter exploded, Mohinder was numb inside, consumed with second guesses about what he could have done to make things turn out differently. When he made peace with himself, he decided he never again wanted to feel regret over inaction.
That's why, when he sees an unhoped-for chance to fuck Sylar again, he doesn't hesitate to ask for it.
He's knows it's sick and twisted but he can't stop himself. Besides, the instant Sylar touches him, he forgets all about shame and grief and murder and just opens himself, practically begging to be taken.
And Sylar takes him, however he wants it, sometimes soft and slow, their lips touching in a way that's less a kiss than a chance for Mohinder to pull Sylar's breath into his own lungs. Sometimes hard and ruthless, hands pinning Mohinder down, cold calculating eyes scanning Mohinder's face as Mohinder tries to pretend he doesn't need every bruising thrust.
Mohinder always insists that they fuck facing each other, because he has to see the emotions flickering across Sylar's face. He wants the memories to pull out and relive on nights when he's lying alone in hotel rooms, but he also needs it to convince himself that it's really Sylar, here, warm and trembling against him.
And it's also a kind of game that they play, because just as Mohinder shudders and goes over the edge, that's when Peter always shifts back into his own form. Mohinder always knows it's coming, and he can't complain. It's the price Peter makes him pay for getting what he wants. That, and after he gets it, Mohinder has to at least pretend he's happy to be with Peter.
The hell of it is, he tries not to think as Peter suddenly cries out against his neck, that he wishes desperately that this could be enough. He'd hoped that maybe after a while, Peter himself would be all he'd need. But they've been doing this for weeks, ever since Peter mysteriously reappeared, and still every time Peter reaches for him hungrily, Mohinder closes his eyes and whispers, " Please..." to the vision of Sylar in his mind.
Peter kisses him gently and carefully gets up. Mohinder watches him dress and wonders where he spends his days. He refuses to talk about it, refuses to talk about anything, really, but whenever Mohinder has an evening alone in New York he invariably appears. Mohinder's sure he'd hoped things would turn out differently between them, but just like Mohinder, he's taking what he can get.
There's a hard edge to Peter now, like he's fractured and healed crookedly, and Mohinder can admit to himself that that familiar feeling is what makes it possible for him to do this. Logic tells him that Peter is a good man, that he could be fixed, but emotion, some animal instinct deep inside, keeps pulling him in another direction.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs without intending to.
"Don't be." Peter shrugs on his jacket, and a vicious look crosses his face as he says, "I'm sure it would kill him if he knew."
Mohinder privately suspects it would be more likely to kill Peter.
"Go ahead and think that, if it helps feed your ego." Peter turns away with a glare and leaves without saying goodbye, disappearing from sight as he strides into the living room. Mohinder can barely make out a wavering in the wooden door as he phases through it.
Mohinder sighs and closes his eyes tightly, pulling the sheet up over his torso. He remembers the feel of Sylar's body against his own, of Sylar's hands cupping his face. Then Peter's words echo in his head: "...it would kill him if he knew. "
That's not how you speak of someone who's dead.
And for the first time, he wonders how Peter can imitate every inch of Sylar's body in such perfect detail.