My Favourite Weapon
Title: My Favourite Weapon
Rating: NC-17 for graphic sex, torture and general nastiness.
Words: 2932
Summary: Mohinder finally has Sylar at his mercy, and doesn't waste the opportunity.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, or Sylar, or Mohinder.
Nominations : Best Non-Con heroes_slash awards, Winder 08
Author's Note: Beta read by the fabulous sylargrrrl
Sylar's back was stinging. The welts had healed, of course they had, but some part of his mind was still telling him that they were there, bleeding, smarting as the salt from his sweat ran into them. There seemed to be constant tears in his eyes, tied as he was he couldn't lift his hands to wipe them. When Mohinder came he would know he had been crying. He tried to move his head, to shake them from his face, but his back screamed as he did so and he relaxed his muscles, giving in. Giving in was all he seemed to do at the moment.
If it had been anyone else, he thought, he might have summoned the strength to fight against it, those reserves that he knew he had might have come rushing forth, the extra mile he needed to counteract the drugs. He had done it before, with Mohinder's curare. But then he was fighting to stay alive, and now he was fighting to stay sane. He didn't think Mohinder meant to kill him outright. Maybe torture him to death, maybe just break his spirit, drive him mad, drive him to suicide? While there were so many unknowns Sylar had no plan. He felt like a trapped animal.
A two inch wide leather strap around his chest forced his breathing to stay shallow and contributed to his constant feeling of dizziness. His wrists and ankles were also strapped in thick brown leather which created heat and made his skin chafe from the mixture of sweat and blood which had found itself underneath them. The constraints were tight around the thinnest part of the wrist and ankle, restricting his movement to lifting his fingers and the balls of his feet. Often he would do this only to find that the muscle had atrophied, and cramps made him moan. His head lolled giving him constant pain in his neck, but Mohinder liked this. He liked lifting his head, forcing his line of vision. He liked to hit him, and watch his head swing like a doll's, raising those brown eyes upwards in a silent prayer for mercy that never came.
"Where do you want it?"
Sylar looked at the hot iron through glazed eyes. "I don't care".
Mohinder was on him in a second, punching over and over until Sylar could see nothing but blood. He tried to say stop but his breaths were taken. He spluttered as Mohinder stepped off him and took up the iron again. The split lip sewed itself back together and his separated cheekbone was pulled back into place by the muscles surrounding it. As Sylar's detached retina mended Mohinder was drawn back into focus.
"I said, "Where do you want it?""
Sylar swallowed hard and nodded towards his leg. Mohinder smiled and set the iron down, reaching for some scissors. He cut roughly through the elasticated waistband and sheared down the thin cotton pants, the only clothing that Sylar was permitted. The pants leg flapped open, exposing Sylar's cock as well as his leg. Mohinder stepped back, regarding him. "You should have been more specific." He lowered the long, thin iron and drifted it gently over the top of Sylar's thigh, singing the hairs and leaving a heat burn which prickled but didn't cause him that much pain. Suddenly Mohinder flicked the iron against Sylar's cock, the flesh sizzling underneath it while Sylar screamed and fitted in his restraints, dislocating his shoulder in the process. Jerking the iron back Mohinder set it down and crouched in front of his victim, speaking over Sylar's strangled yells. "The next time I ask you a question, I want you to answer me. Next time it will be your eye I go to first. Then your mouth. Then I'll plunge it into your stomach and leave it there."
Sylar heaved as the pain of his shoulder started to subside and his flesh regenerated. Mohinder brushed his hand through Sylar's hair, tugging it and making him flinch as he moved down to whisper in his ear. "Now we're going to start a new game. Every time I come in here you're going to do whatever I say and you're going to do it silently, and willingly. Any biting, talking or refusal will incur punishment, and believe me, if you think you've just experienced pain you have no idea what I will do to you if I'm not satisfied". Mohinder walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and Sylar felt another tear roll down his blood drenched cheek.
.........
The movement of the bolt stirred Sylar. He didn't know how much time had passed but when the heavy wooden door opened Mohinder was wearing different clothes. He tensed, looking to Mohinder's hands to see what tools he had brought with him, but they were empty. He looked into his captor's face, trying to identify the emotion. Sometimes Mohinder seemed sad. Most of the time he was angry, occasionally manic. There was a black look about him today, as if he had been thinking dark thoughts. Sylar swallowed and tried to look straight ahead as Mohinder closed the door and walked behind Sylar and out of sight.
Sylar felt a hand on his shoulder, oppressive, not comforting. He felt Mohinder's breath on his cheek and shuddered. "I'm going to undo these straps. Do you know what will happen if you try anything?"
Sylar nodded and Mohinder yanked his head back by the hair. "I want to hear it!" he spat.
"Yes, I know what will happen." Sylar said, his own voice sounding alien to him.
Mohinder undid the chest strap first and Sylar gasped as he was able to fill his lungs for the first time in two days. Next Mohinder unstrapped his wrists and motioned for him to lift his arms. Sylar's muscles were atrophied and it took a moment for him to even remember what to do. Eventually he lifted his quivering arms and set his hands palms down on his knees as he had been instructed in the past. Mohinder stood looming over him for a moment before crouching and unbuckling the thick ankle straps. He stood up and walked out of the door, leaving it partially open.
Sylar looked at the open door. It was just a few steps but he knew that with his legs being unused for so long he would fall. Even if he managed to get to the door, what then? Mohinder had left it open to show Sylar his own helplessness. So he sat, not moving, as he had not been told to. Minutes later Mohinder returned. He was holding a roll of soft paper like the kind used to clean surfaces, and a bull whip. They both went onto the table and Mohinder closed the door behind him and Sylar shot a quick glance to the whip. Sometimes Mohinder brought things just to frighten him and didn't use them. Sometimes.
Mohinder took off his belt, which was a strangely threatening gesture to Sylar. He was afraid, but Mohinder hadn't snapped just yet, he seemed to be calmer than normal. He stood in front of him and lifted his chin up with the index finger of his right hand, sending a sharp pain down Sylar's back. He put his thumb to Sylar's lips and pushed it into his mouth, running it over his teeth, his tongue and the inside of his cheek, testing him. Sylar simply let his mouth hang open, not daring to flinch in case Mohinder took it for biting.
Mohinder moved his hand to hold his entire jaw steady. "I'm going to re-iterate what I said yesterday. No biting, no refusal. You may speak when I tell you to. Do you understand?"
Sylar wasn't sure if that was permission to speak, so he just nodded. Mohinder slapped him hard across the cheek. "Say it!"
"Yes, I understand!"
"Good. Get up."
Sylar knew he couldn't. He would just have to try his best and accept whatever punishment Mohinder would give for not staying upright. He gripped the arms of his chair pathetically and tried to will his legs to take his own weight. He leaned as far forward as he could and pushed up on his arms but his knees buckled immediately and he fell onto all fours on the hard stone floor. He felt his chin tremble and saw Mohinder's face come close to his. He looked disgusted.
"We're crying again are we?"
Sylar bit on his tongue, but still felt his eyes dampen. It was through frustration, nothing more.
"You cried yesterday. I saw you. You know how I feel about crying and still you do it. You do it to make me angry don't you?"
Sylar shook his head gently, tasting his own blood as his teeth bit into his swollen tongue. He hear Mohinder's fly unzip and looked up to see him pushing down his pants, his swollen cock falling parallel to Sylar's face. It had been a while and Sylar tried desperately to remember what he liked, where he liked his tongue to go. Suddenly he felt Mohinder yank his head back and he instinctively let his mouth gape. He gagged as Mohinder thrust straight into his throat, but just about managed not to vomit. He hollowed his cheeks as Mohinder fucked his mouth, keeping his tongue steady and not daring to move his neck unless his teeth accidentally grazed Mohinder's cock. Only when Mohinder stopped thrusting did he start licking, closing his eyes so that he could concentrate and regulating his breathing despite the bruising in the back of his throat. He could tell that Mohinder was close when his grip tightened in his hair, and seconds later he pulled out, coming hard onto Sylar's mouth and chin and instantly turning away from him.
Sylar swallowed what was in his mouth but he knew he wasn't allowed to wipe his face. He kept his hands flat on the floor and didn't raise his head, waiting for further instruction. He heard Mohinder move and the next thing he saw was a sheet of the blue absorbent paper on the floor between his hands.
"We talked about the crying, Sylar. I don't like it. You'll have to learn that crying is not acceptable." Mohinder crouched next to him and placed the bull whip on the floor in front of the paper. "When we're finished here I'm going to check this paper, and for every tear I find on it I'm going to whip you. How much you're whipped today is up to you and your self-control. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Sylar felt another stinging slap.
"I didn't say you could speak did I? Now, you may. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Good."
Sylar felt the still warm semen on his chin and knew that it was going to drip onto the paper. He thought about moving but thought that on balance he would rather have the certainty of the whip than risk moving without being told. Sure enough he watched as a drip landed on the paper. That was one. He closed his eyes, listening for Mohinder's location. He heard fabric rustling and realised that he was undressing.
"Get up on your knees."
Sylar leaned back and felt the cold blade of the scissors on his right hip as Mohinder cut the tattered cotton pants from him, slipping twice and making deep cuts which healed as Sylar tried not to yell out. He heard the clatter of the scissors hitting the floor and braced himself. Sure enough Mohinder shoved him forward hard, back into his position on all fours. He liked to do this, liked to push him down as if to announce what was going to happen next. As his hands hit floor again, Sylar saw that more of Mohinder's come had splashed from his face onto the paper. That was three.
He heard Mohinder spit into his hand. He screwed his eyes shut and felt the familiar nudge of his cock against his opening, pushing relentlessly inside him as his fingernails dug into his hips, drawing blood. The heat hit him and he gasped, hoping that Mohinder was too concerned with his own pleasure to hear him. As Mohinder thrusted deep into him Sylar tried to re-frame the abuse. This is what he had wanted wasn't it? All those times he had looked at the doctor and wished he was fucking him. Now he was. He was fucking him hard and fast , working in him over and over. He felt Mohinder leaning over him, felt his ragged breaths on his neck and fantasized that when he was spent Mohinder would hold him, kiss him and tell him how wonderful he was, allowing him to sleep in his arms.
Sylar felt Mohinder dig his nails into him harder and knew he was about to come. He felt him thrust roughly one more time before collapsing onto Sylar's back and panting. Sylar felt him pull out and tried to gather himself. He hadn't made many mistakes today and he wanted to keep it that way.
Mohinder pulled his pants back on and crouched down in front of Sylar again. He looked at the paper on the floor in front of him and lifted Sylar's head.
"Did you cry? You can speak."
"No."
Mohinder looked at the three drips on the paper and slapped him. "You're a liar. Ask me."
"Please punish me for crying." Sylar whispered.
"I can't hear you, louder."
"Please punish me for crying." He repeated with all the volume he could muster.
Mohinder picked up the bull whip and disappeared behind him. "Since you asked so nicely."
Sylar was not prepared for the searing pain of the whip and screamed. Mohinder didn't complain, sometimes he liked to hear him cry out. As the whip struck again Sylar gritted his teeth, and the third time the pain was so bad that he started to black out. His arms went rigid just in time and he remained on all fours.
"Sit back on your knees." Mohinder ordered, dropping the bloodied whip on the floor. Sylar did so, exhausted. Usually Mohinder left as soon as he came, returning later to strap him back into the chair. The uncertainty of this new addition to his punishment terrified him more than the threat of the violence. His routine was all he had, and Mohinder had taken it from him.
He watched as Mohinder left the room and pulled the door after him. His knees were aching on the hardness of the floor and he wanted to look around him but didn't dare in case Mohinder returned. When finally the door creaked again, Mohinder was holding a bowl of water and a washcloth. He knelt down in front of Sylar and doused the cloth in the water, ringing it out. Sylar wanted to flinch from the cloth, wondering what the twist was, and whether the liquid would clean him or burn the flesh from his skull. Mohinder steadied Sylar's head and began to wash the drying semen from his face. He was gentle, rinsing the cloth out and continuing with his attentions. Sylar felt himself shaking and wondered whether he would punished for this. He had no idea what was happening and wondered whether this was it, whether Mohinder was preparing to shoot him in the back of the head like he had threatened so many times.
When Sylar's face was clean Mohinder took the bowl and the cloth and stood, heading for the door. "Get back in the chair." He said quietly.
Sylar heaved himself up and half crawled back to the chair, strapping his ankles in, and then his chest. His muscles pulled and ached as the belt restricted his breathing once more. When he returned Mohinder would fasten his wrist restraints and hopefully leave him for the night.
Mohinder strode through the door with a bottle of water. He took Sylar's head in his hand gently and put the open bottle to his mouth, tilting it and allowing him to drink. Sylar gulped the water down hungrily, his throat instantly soothing as the excess ran in rivulets down his chin. Mohinder put the bottle on the table and looked at Sylar's chest restraint. He reached for it and Sylar wondered if he had fastened it wrong. Mohinder undid the strap, allowing Sylar to breathe again, and stroked a finger across the imprint it had left in his skin.
Sylar couldn't take it anymore. The comfort was making him feel ill, this gentle side of Mohinder was all wrong. He looked at him, trying to make himself cry, to anger him. When Mohinder just smiled kindly Sylar broke. "Stop it!" he yelled. "Stop it please!"
Mohinder turned and walked out, leaving the chest and wrist straps undone. Sylar scrabbled for the chest restraint, trying to fasten in with shaking hands. When it was tight again he put his wrists on the open straps and yelled out again. "Come back! Please don't leave me!"
Mohinder glanced back at the open door and smiled. It would only be a matter of minutes before Sylar had a panic attack, his relative freedoms were like poison to him. He would dream up all kinds of punishments, he would cry, he would scream for him. Mohinder had suspected that this would happen. The pain he became accustomed to, the sexual abuse he dealt with. But the kindness? That was what Mohinder might actually be able to kill him with.
Rating: NC-17 for graphic sex, torture and general nastiness.
Words: 2932
Summary: Mohinder finally has Sylar at his mercy, and doesn't waste the opportunity.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, or Sylar, or Mohinder.
Nominations : Best Non-Con heroes_slash awards, Winder 08
Author's Note: Beta read by the fabulous sylargrrrl
Sylar's back was stinging. The welts had healed, of course they had, but some part of his mind was still telling him that they were there, bleeding, smarting as the salt from his sweat ran into them. There seemed to be constant tears in his eyes, tied as he was he couldn't lift his hands to wipe them. When Mohinder came he would know he had been crying. He tried to move his head, to shake them from his face, but his back screamed as he did so and he relaxed his muscles, giving in. Giving in was all he seemed to do at the moment.
If it had been anyone else, he thought, he might have summoned the strength to fight against it, those reserves that he knew he had might have come rushing forth, the extra mile he needed to counteract the drugs. He had done it before, with Mohinder's curare. But then he was fighting to stay alive, and now he was fighting to stay sane. He didn't think Mohinder meant to kill him outright. Maybe torture him to death, maybe just break his spirit, drive him mad, drive him to suicide? While there were so many unknowns Sylar had no plan. He felt like a trapped animal.
A two inch wide leather strap around his chest forced his breathing to stay shallow and contributed to his constant feeling of dizziness. His wrists and ankles were also strapped in thick brown leather which created heat and made his skin chafe from the mixture of sweat and blood which had found itself underneath them. The constraints were tight around the thinnest part of the wrist and ankle, restricting his movement to lifting his fingers and the balls of his feet. Often he would do this only to find that the muscle had atrophied, and cramps made him moan. His head lolled giving him constant pain in his neck, but Mohinder liked this. He liked lifting his head, forcing his line of vision. He liked to hit him, and watch his head swing like a doll's, raising those brown eyes upwards in a silent prayer for mercy that never came.
"Where do you want it?"
Sylar looked at the hot iron through glazed eyes. "I don't care".
Mohinder was on him in a second, punching over and over until Sylar could see nothing but blood. He tried to say stop but his breaths were taken. He spluttered as Mohinder stepped off him and took up the iron again. The split lip sewed itself back together and his separated cheekbone was pulled back into place by the muscles surrounding it. As Sylar's detached retina mended Mohinder was drawn back into focus.
"I said, "Where do you want it?""
Sylar swallowed hard and nodded towards his leg. Mohinder smiled and set the iron down, reaching for some scissors. He cut roughly through the elasticated waistband and sheared down the thin cotton pants, the only clothing that Sylar was permitted. The pants leg flapped open, exposing Sylar's cock as well as his leg. Mohinder stepped back, regarding him. "You should have been more specific." He lowered the long, thin iron and drifted it gently over the top of Sylar's thigh, singing the hairs and leaving a heat burn which prickled but didn't cause him that much pain. Suddenly Mohinder flicked the iron against Sylar's cock, the flesh sizzling underneath it while Sylar screamed and fitted in his restraints, dislocating his shoulder in the process. Jerking the iron back Mohinder set it down and crouched in front of his victim, speaking over Sylar's strangled yells. "The next time I ask you a question, I want you to answer me. Next time it will be your eye I go to first. Then your mouth. Then I'll plunge it into your stomach and leave it there."
Sylar heaved as the pain of his shoulder started to subside and his flesh regenerated. Mohinder brushed his hand through Sylar's hair, tugging it and making him flinch as he moved down to whisper in his ear. "Now we're going to start a new game. Every time I come in here you're going to do whatever I say and you're going to do it silently, and willingly. Any biting, talking or refusal will incur punishment, and believe me, if you think you've just experienced pain you have no idea what I will do to you if I'm not satisfied". Mohinder walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and Sylar felt another tear roll down his blood drenched cheek.
.........
The movement of the bolt stirred Sylar. He didn't know how much time had passed but when the heavy wooden door opened Mohinder was wearing different clothes. He tensed, looking to Mohinder's hands to see what tools he had brought with him, but they were empty. He looked into his captor's face, trying to identify the emotion. Sometimes Mohinder seemed sad. Most of the time he was angry, occasionally manic. There was a black look about him today, as if he had been thinking dark thoughts. Sylar swallowed and tried to look straight ahead as Mohinder closed the door and walked behind Sylar and out of sight.
Sylar felt a hand on his shoulder, oppressive, not comforting. He felt Mohinder's breath on his cheek and shuddered. "I'm going to undo these straps. Do you know what will happen if you try anything?"
Sylar nodded and Mohinder yanked his head back by the hair. "I want to hear it!" he spat.
"Yes, I know what will happen." Sylar said, his own voice sounding alien to him.
Mohinder undid the chest strap first and Sylar gasped as he was able to fill his lungs for the first time in two days. Next Mohinder unstrapped his wrists and motioned for him to lift his arms. Sylar's muscles were atrophied and it took a moment for him to even remember what to do. Eventually he lifted his quivering arms and set his hands palms down on his knees as he had been instructed in the past. Mohinder stood looming over him for a moment before crouching and unbuckling the thick ankle straps. He stood up and walked out of the door, leaving it partially open.
Sylar looked at the open door. It was just a few steps but he knew that with his legs being unused for so long he would fall. Even if he managed to get to the door, what then? Mohinder had left it open to show Sylar his own helplessness. So he sat, not moving, as he had not been told to. Minutes later Mohinder returned. He was holding a roll of soft paper like the kind used to clean surfaces, and a bull whip. They both went onto the table and Mohinder closed the door behind him and Sylar shot a quick glance to the whip. Sometimes Mohinder brought things just to frighten him and didn't use them. Sometimes.
Mohinder took off his belt, which was a strangely threatening gesture to Sylar. He was afraid, but Mohinder hadn't snapped just yet, he seemed to be calmer than normal. He stood in front of him and lifted his chin up with the index finger of his right hand, sending a sharp pain down Sylar's back. He put his thumb to Sylar's lips and pushed it into his mouth, running it over his teeth, his tongue and the inside of his cheek, testing him. Sylar simply let his mouth hang open, not daring to flinch in case Mohinder took it for biting.
Mohinder moved his hand to hold his entire jaw steady. "I'm going to re-iterate what I said yesterday. No biting, no refusal. You may speak when I tell you to. Do you understand?"
Sylar wasn't sure if that was permission to speak, so he just nodded. Mohinder slapped him hard across the cheek. "Say it!"
"Yes, I understand!"
"Good. Get up."
Sylar knew he couldn't. He would just have to try his best and accept whatever punishment Mohinder would give for not staying upright. He gripped the arms of his chair pathetically and tried to will his legs to take his own weight. He leaned as far forward as he could and pushed up on his arms but his knees buckled immediately and he fell onto all fours on the hard stone floor. He felt his chin tremble and saw Mohinder's face come close to his. He looked disgusted.
"We're crying again are we?"
Sylar bit on his tongue, but still felt his eyes dampen. It was through frustration, nothing more.
"You cried yesterday. I saw you. You know how I feel about crying and still you do it. You do it to make me angry don't you?"
Sylar shook his head gently, tasting his own blood as his teeth bit into his swollen tongue. He hear Mohinder's fly unzip and looked up to see him pushing down his pants, his swollen cock falling parallel to Sylar's face. It had been a while and Sylar tried desperately to remember what he liked, where he liked his tongue to go. Suddenly he felt Mohinder yank his head back and he instinctively let his mouth gape. He gagged as Mohinder thrust straight into his throat, but just about managed not to vomit. He hollowed his cheeks as Mohinder fucked his mouth, keeping his tongue steady and not daring to move his neck unless his teeth accidentally grazed Mohinder's cock. Only when Mohinder stopped thrusting did he start licking, closing his eyes so that he could concentrate and regulating his breathing despite the bruising in the back of his throat. He could tell that Mohinder was close when his grip tightened in his hair, and seconds later he pulled out, coming hard onto Sylar's mouth and chin and instantly turning away from him.
Sylar swallowed what was in his mouth but he knew he wasn't allowed to wipe his face. He kept his hands flat on the floor and didn't raise his head, waiting for further instruction. He heard Mohinder move and the next thing he saw was a sheet of the blue absorbent paper on the floor between his hands.
"We talked about the crying, Sylar. I don't like it. You'll have to learn that crying is not acceptable." Mohinder crouched next to him and placed the bull whip on the floor in front of the paper. "When we're finished here I'm going to check this paper, and for every tear I find on it I'm going to whip you. How much you're whipped today is up to you and your self-control. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Sylar felt another stinging slap.
"I didn't say you could speak did I? Now, you may. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Good."
Sylar felt the still warm semen on his chin and knew that it was going to drip onto the paper. He thought about moving but thought that on balance he would rather have the certainty of the whip than risk moving without being told. Sure enough he watched as a drip landed on the paper. That was one. He closed his eyes, listening for Mohinder's location. He heard fabric rustling and realised that he was undressing.
"Get up on your knees."
Sylar leaned back and felt the cold blade of the scissors on his right hip as Mohinder cut the tattered cotton pants from him, slipping twice and making deep cuts which healed as Sylar tried not to yell out. He heard the clatter of the scissors hitting the floor and braced himself. Sure enough Mohinder shoved him forward hard, back into his position on all fours. He liked to do this, liked to push him down as if to announce what was going to happen next. As his hands hit floor again, Sylar saw that more of Mohinder's come had splashed from his face onto the paper. That was three.
He heard Mohinder spit into his hand. He screwed his eyes shut and felt the familiar nudge of his cock against his opening, pushing relentlessly inside him as his fingernails dug into his hips, drawing blood. The heat hit him and he gasped, hoping that Mohinder was too concerned with his own pleasure to hear him. As Mohinder thrusted deep into him Sylar tried to re-frame the abuse. This is what he had wanted wasn't it? All those times he had looked at the doctor and wished he was fucking him. Now he was. He was fucking him hard and fast , working in him over and over. He felt Mohinder leaning over him, felt his ragged breaths on his neck and fantasized that when he was spent Mohinder would hold him, kiss him and tell him how wonderful he was, allowing him to sleep in his arms.
Sylar felt Mohinder dig his nails into him harder and knew he was about to come. He felt him thrust roughly one more time before collapsing onto Sylar's back and panting. Sylar felt him pull out and tried to gather himself. He hadn't made many mistakes today and he wanted to keep it that way.
Mohinder pulled his pants back on and crouched down in front of Sylar again. He looked at the paper on the floor in front of him and lifted Sylar's head.
"Did you cry? You can speak."
"No."
Mohinder looked at the three drips on the paper and slapped him. "You're a liar. Ask me."
"Please punish me for crying." Sylar whispered.
"I can't hear you, louder."
"Please punish me for crying." He repeated with all the volume he could muster.
Mohinder picked up the bull whip and disappeared behind him. "Since you asked so nicely."
Sylar was not prepared for the searing pain of the whip and screamed. Mohinder didn't complain, sometimes he liked to hear him cry out. As the whip struck again Sylar gritted his teeth, and the third time the pain was so bad that he started to black out. His arms went rigid just in time and he remained on all fours.
"Sit back on your knees." Mohinder ordered, dropping the bloodied whip on the floor. Sylar did so, exhausted. Usually Mohinder left as soon as he came, returning later to strap him back into the chair. The uncertainty of this new addition to his punishment terrified him more than the threat of the violence. His routine was all he had, and Mohinder had taken it from him.
He watched as Mohinder left the room and pulled the door after him. His knees were aching on the hardness of the floor and he wanted to look around him but didn't dare in case Mohinder returned. When finally the door creaked again, Mohinder was holding a bowl of water and a washcloth. He knelt down in front of Sylar and doused the cloth in the water, ringing it out. Sylar wanted to flinch from the cloth, wondering what the twist was, and whether the liquid would clean him or burn the flesh from his skull. Mohinder steadied Sylar's head and began to wash the drying semen from his face. He was gentle, rinsing the cloth out and continuing with his attentions. Sylar felt himself shaking and wondered whether he would punished for this. He had no idea what was happening and wondered whether this was it, whether Mohinder was preparing to shoot him in the back of the head like he had threatened so many times.
When Sylar's face was clean Mohinder took the bowl and the cloth and stood, heading for the door. "Get back in the chair." He said quietly.
Sylar heaved himself up and half crawled back to the chair, strapping his ankles in, and then his chest. His muscles pulled and ached as the belt restricted his breathing once more. When he returned Mohinder would fasten his wrist restraints and hopefully leave him for the night.
Mohinder strode through the door with a bottle of water. He took Sylar's head in his hand gently and put the open bottle to his mouth, tilting it and allowing him to drink. Sylar gulped the water down hungrily, his throat instantly soothing as the excess ran in rivulets down his chin. Mohinder put the bottle on the table and looked at Sylar's chest restraint. He reached for it and Sylar wondered if he had fastened it wrong. Mohinder undid the strap, allowing Sylar to breathe again, and stroked a finger across the imprint it had left in his skin.
Sylar couldn't take it anymore. The comfort was making him feel ill, this gentle side of Mohinder was all wrong. He looked at him, trying to make himself cry, to anger him. When Mohinder just smiled kindly Sylar broke. "Stop it!" he yelled. "Stop it please!"
Mohinder turned and walked out, leaving the chest and wrist straps undone. Sylar scrabbled for the chest restraint, trying to fasten in with shaking hands. When it was tight again he put his wrists on the open straps and yelled out again. "Come back! Please don't leave me!"
Mohinder glanced back at the open door and smiled. It would only be a matter of minutes before Sylar had a panic attack, his relative freedoms were like poison to him. He would dream up all kinds of punishments, he would cry, he would scream for him. Mohinder had suspected that this would happen. The pain he became accustomed to, the sexual abuse he dealt with. But the kindness? That was what Mohinder might actually be able to kill him with.