Twisted [2/2]
Title: Twisted [2/2] (previously titled: Paradoxical Infatuation)
Paring: Mohinder/Sylar, with a tiny side of Peter.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: Dub-con, non-con, some language, mild violence, a touch of mind-fuckery. This is not a happy fic.
Word Count: 6545
Summary: AU. Mohinder attempts to deal with his new circumstances as best he can.
Originally written for Mission_Insane AU table: "What If Sylar had gotten Eden's power?
Part 1
A/Ns: I came up with a better title! Huzzah!
Seriously though, I'm sorry for the wait. I ran into a lot of problems with this part very shortly after I posted Part 1. Fortunately not pushing it has, undeniably, led to a much better fic in the end.
Thanks again to ladywilde80 for the beta and assurances that this doesn't suck. ^_^ Also, since she asked and I suppose others might, there is the possibility that I will write more in this 'verse. I can't say for sure as I don't have anything concrete thought up, but either way I have sworn not to work on anything bigger than a one-shot until Understanding is finished. So if I do go that route, it won't be any time soon.
---------------
Mohinder focused on the busy streets before him as he tried to ignore the hand tracing lightly up and down his thigh. The movement inspired bile to rise up in his throat as he imagined he could taste Sylar in his mouth once more. It was a feeling that both nauseated him and persisted in reminding him that his future was more than likely to be filled with even worse moments. It was terribly hard to keep himself from sinking back into the grip of despair, but he refused to give up hope. No matter how small that glimmer might be.
After forcing him to print out a copy of the original list, Sylar had ordered him to pack a travel bag, his laptop and anything else he might need to complete the list he would be able to compile using Sylar’s DNA. Trying to fight against Eden’s ability had been damnably futile. He hadn’t even truly realized what was happening until his bags were packed and ready to go. The loss of control was utterly terrifying and it didn’t take long for the harsh reality of his situation to take hold.
There was probably something significant or at least morbidly poetic about the fact that he was being forced to drive out of town in his own cab. If it weren’t for the fact that Sylar clearly thought he was useful, Mohinder would have fully expected his own life to end not only by the same hands as his father’s had, but even in the same company’s vehicle. Driving a cab in New York was a lot more dangerous than Nirand ever could have imagined.
It had been about a quarter of an hour back when Mohinder tried to take matters into his own hands. Once they’d gotten out of the almost perpetual gridlock and hit the highway, Mohinder had attempted to crash the car. A few accidental deaths in a traffic accident would have been an acceptable cost to rid the world of Sylar. It might even have been worth it if Sylar had survived but Mohinder hadn’t. At least that way he wouldn’t be forced to help Sylar track down even more victims. Unfortunately, Sylar had either managed to anticipate his little act of rebellion, or simply had amazing reflexes. The car had only begun to swerve a minuscule amount when an iron-clad telekinetic grip seized both Mohinder and the steering wheel.
Now all Mohinder could do was wait and contemplate various methods of suicide and laptop destruction that might slip by Sylar’s ever watchful gaze. The serial killer had already memorized his father’s list and Mohinder was bound and determined not to let Sylar get his hands on a list that might be exponentially longer. He hadn’t even bothered to ask where they were going. It was hard enough to face his current reality, let alone a nebulous future that was likely going to involve multiple homicides.
With gritted teeth, Sylar had ordered Mohinder to take the next exit and find a place to pull over. As Mohinder brought the car to a halt, he found himself fighting off a rising wave of dread and nausea.
“You know, I really hoped you wouldn’t try anything so stupid.” Sylar’s voice was almost remorseful and Mohinder found himself staring back at his tormentor reflexively. He opened his mouth, maybe to deny the truth, maybe to play dumb, but the look Sylar was giving him stopped Mohinder before he could even begin. Instead he sat up straight, opting to glare directly into the eyes of his captor.
“You already know I’d rather die than lead you to more victims. Don’t act so surprised.”
Sylar sighed in resignation.
“I promised myself that I wouldn’t take away your free will unless I had to. I suppose it was foolish of me to hope that you’d cooperate in this case though.”
Mohinder closed his eyes then, trying not to let the guilt, the hopelessness of it all, break down his shakily rebuilt resolve.
“Stop toying with me.” He funneled all of his anger into those four words, hate for the man beside him seeping from his every pore. He tried to will it to become a poison so toxic that simply breathing the air around him would cause Sylar to drop dead.
Hot breath tickled his ear. Sylar seemed to feel some sense of intimacy was necessary when he used Eden’s power. It was absolutely sickening.
“You will never attempt to kill yourself again, you will not attempt to kill me again and you will do nothing to prevent me from getting the completed list.”
Mohinder bit back a whimper as he imagined he could feel his brain rewiring itself. He could still contemplate the acts in the abstract, but when he tried to resume his serious planning he found his mind distracting him, quickly funneling his thoughts into a new direction. In a way it was even worse than Sylar’s first demonstration. This was so much more pervasive, intrusive, and it was without the almost mindless trance of the more direct commands.
He must have blanked out for a moment or two though, because the next thing he realized was that Sylar’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders and his surprisingly soft lips were pressed against Mohinder’s temple. There was no one really watching them, in the privacy of the car, but it didn’t stop shame and embarrassment from welling up in his chest.
There really wouldn’t be any escape.
“G-get off me.” He spat out, cursing his nervous stutter.
Sylar peered at him thoughtfully for a long moment and then shrugged and pulled back.
“Take us back onto the highway.”
Mohinder considered attempting another small act of rebellion, but the all too recent memory of Sylar stealing even more control from him stopped that thought before it got very far. There would be a time and a place. If he was patient an opportunity for freedom would present itself. He just had to retain as much self-control as he could until then.
----
It wasn’t long before Sylar ordered him to pull off again. This time, however, much to Mohinder’s confusion, it was to pull into the parking lot of an outlet store; specifically, a clothing store. At first, all Mohinder could do was stare in confusion. Sylar let out an amused chuckle.
“You don’t seriously expect me to keep wearing Taylor’s band shirts?” He joked with far too much ease. Mohinder was disgusted with how casually Sylar spoke about one of his victims, but even more so by the ease with which Sylar tossed aside the role that he had been playing for the last several days. It just served to remind him how easily he’d been sucked in by the charms of this wolf in sheep’s clothing. “Besides, we need to switch cars. New York taxi cabs tend to stand out when you’re not in New York.”
Sylar swept out of the cab and into the store without further ado, forcing Mohinder to follow with a series of warning glances and telekinetic nudges. Once inside, Sylar quickly set about picking out some new clothing that had Mohinder fighting back the urge to roll his eyes. He probably would have been amused by the black ensemble at another time, but it was near impossible to find anything funny anymore. Sylar showed off his new look with evident delight, clearly hoping to provoke some sort of response.
Mohinder’s first thought, after noting the prevalence of black, was that Sylar looked the picture of a sexy super-villain.
Wait, sexy? I did not just think that.
Mohinder schooled his expression, pushing that thought far, far away. So when all he did was scowl dismissively, the preening killer let out a huff of annoyance and returned to his ‘all business’ demeanor, dragging his reluctant companion off to the cash register.
A few too-short minutes later Mohinder trailed forlornly behind Sylar, staring at the asphalt of the parking lot and cursing his traitorous subconscious. How could he have possibly thought that about this vile murderer? The man had all but raped him and probably would if given then chance. Scratch that, he didn’t need to wait for an opportunity. More likely that he would eventually get bored of Mohinder’s resistance.
God, he seemed so nice when I first met him. How could I have been so blind to the monster within? How could I…
No, he wouldn’t think about that. Feelings born out of a lie weren’t real feelings at all. The name was a lie, the friendship was a lie and the rest… the rest didn’t matter. Not anymore. There were some things that just couldn’t be forgiven.
A gentle but insistent pressure between Mohinder’s shoulder blades told him that he was lagging too far behind for Sylar’s comfort. He was tempted to fight it, just out of spite, but decided that he’d rather save his energy for the more important battles ahead. He picked up his pace, only to be further disappointed when the pressure didn’t disappear until he was standing right beside the black-clad villain.
Great, he probably wants to chat.
His heart only sank all the more when Sylar draped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him snug to his side.
“Enjoying the view?” Sylar grinned and cocked an eyebrow.
If he wasn’t so concerned with keeping Sylar mollified for the time being, Mohinder was pretty sure he would have hit the other man, at the very least. Though what worried him was that he wasn’t sure if he was angry because of the casual dismissal of what had happened back at the apartment or the fact that Mohinder had, in fact, been struggling not to check out Sylar’s admittedly tight ass.
“Go to hell.” He muttered darkly as he stared ahead as impassively as possible.
“Oh I don’t doubt it.” Sylar replied ponderously, “But I’ve been getting better at reading heartbeats. A lie and mood detector if you know what to listen for.”
“You couldn’t possibly have taught yourself to identify those discrepancies in 24 hours,” Mohinder retorted, determined to call Sylar’s bluff. Dale had said it was possible to hear people’s moods, but she’d had the ability for at least a decent chunk of time, he assumed, and she still hadn’t been able to do more than realize Sylar’s filthy heart was racing. So really, there was no way. No matter how smart Sylar was or what talents he might have picked up, 24 hours was just too short a time.
“Oh I think you’d be surprised by just how much I’m capable of, Mohinder.” Sylar’s grin was still plastered to his face as he guided Mohinder through the busy parking lot, ignoring the strange and curious looks being thrown their way. “For starters, there was this lovely waitress down in Texas. Eidetic Memory, such an amazing gift and it was being wasted on a simple waitress; one who was going to die within the next month anyway too: brain aneurism, such a nasty thing.”
“You still stole that month of life from her,” Mohinder growled back. He was mildly comforted by the renewed flare of hatred that burst in his chest from the blasé way Sylar talked about murdering some poor woman. “Don’t you-“
A ringing erupted from the pocket of Mohinder’s jacket, startling him out of his train of thought. The phone lifted itself out of his pocket and snapped into Sylar’s outstretched hand. He flipped it open with a slight frown before Mohinder could react and read the name off the caller ID.
“Peter Petrelli!” Sylar’s expression could only be described as ravenous and Mohinder was unable to stop a visible wince as he was smothered in panic. He’d told ‘Zane’ about Peter. He’d been curious about others like him -of course he was- and Mohinder had been eager to share what he knew; even going so far as to confess his regret over pushing Peter away, assuming him to be crazy.
Mohinder made to move forward, open his mouth and attempt to stop Sylar from answering the phone. He didn’t make it more than a few inches and only a small squeak of sound escaped before his entire body was seized in a vice of telekinetic energy and a distinctly unpleasant sensation around his throat that explained why he couldn’t speak. All Mohinder could do was watch helplessly as Sylar hit the ‘accept call’ button and raised the phone to his ear.
“Dr. Suresh’s phone,” he answered in a voice that was nervous and eager all at the same time. It would have been fascinating, watching Sylar transform himself from dangerous predator to shy young man in the blink of an eye, were the situation not so dire.
“I’m sorry, he left his phone in the car and it never rings so I thought it might be important so…” Sylar trailed off and Mohinder struggled in vain to throw off the telekinetic hold. He didn’t know what Sylar would say or do, but it was more than likely going to lead to Peter’s death and Mohinder just couldn’t let that happen.
“Oh I’m sorry!” Sylar continued in faux embarrassment, replying to words Mohinder couldn’t make out from where he was standing. “I’m Zane, Zane Taylor. I’ve been helping Mohinder with his work.” A pause. “Yes, his research. Hey, so, is this Peter?” … “Call display.” … “Oh don’t worry. So, is it true? Mohinder said you, sort of, absorb other people’s abilities?” … “I think he might have gone to use the restroom. I could get him to call you back but, you sound a little on edge. If it’s an emergency we can just wait, I don’t mind.” … “I do! I - well I melt things.”
Mohinder was pretty sure he was about to lose the contents of his stomach. It was like he was staring at another man. Seeing, hearing Zane again brought this ache to Mohinder’s chest that could only be the aftereffect of a stinging betrayal he had tried not to dwell on. From the moment Mohinder had stumbled upon the article on the real Zane Taylor’s death, he’d forced himself not to think of the man he thought he’d been getting to know. The man he’d been coming to see as a friend, and maybe more.
For a moment he didn’t even realize his cheeks were wet. Then a flush of shame and embarrassment warmed his face as he realized tears had escaped. They were tears of anger at the way the murderer in front of him so casually chatted to a man he was planning to kill. They were tears of shame at leading this predator to his prey. They were tears of mourning for a man that had never existed. And they were tears of absolute despair at his inability to do anything at all about it.
Sylar peered at him with curiosity and ran the rough pad of his thumb across Mohinder’s cheek, wiping away hot tears. There was a question in his eyes and he didn’t need to voice it for Mohinder to understand. After everything that’s happened, why tears now?
“Peter? I’m sorry I think the battery is dying. I’ll get Mohinder to call you back as soon as possible ok?” … “Great, bye.”
Sylar snapped the phone shut almost absently, his gaze not wavering from Mohinder’s trembling form. For his part, Mohinder struggled to pull himself together, fighting against a maelstrom of emotion. Sylar’s piercing stare seemed to pick him apart from the inside, but it was so Sylar a look that it gave Mohinder purchase. It was an anchor back to reality and he seized it greedily.
“Don’t touch me!” He lashed out the instant he realized he could speak once more. The invisible bonds still held him in place, so he couldn’t pull free of Sylar’s creepily tender touch, but the fury in his voice seemed to do the trick. Sylar was momentarily caught off guard by the shift from despair to rage, and his hand jerked back as if burned.
For the briefest of moments, there was a mixture of surprise and something else in Sylar’s expression. Then his eyes narrowed and he drew himself up to his rather impressive full height. He wrapped a large hand around Mohinder’s upper arm, grasping harshly, and dragged him onwards.
Mohinder couldn’t help but wince as Sylar’s vice-like grip wound around his arm, almost certainly leaving bruises in his wake. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that the bastard was using telekinesis just to make it hurt more. Sylar seemed, for once however, at a loss for words; a fact that was quite frankly shocking. It was possible that he simply didn’t think them necessary, but the lack of response felt distinctly odd. Mohinder had so little power over anything at the moment that he latched onto that oddity. He ran every little detail of the moment through his analytical mind in the desperate hope that he could make some use of it.
---
Sylar had them in a new, wholly unremarkable car in just a few minutes. The two men sat in silence for a stretch of time that felt like it might drag on into infinity. Sylar was seemingly concentrating on the road, but Mohinder caught the occasional glance shot in his direction. It was almost like before, back when ignorance was bliss. Except this time the silence was anything but comfortable. The air was saturated with tension and the both knew it wouldn’t be long before something snapped.
Mohinder’s mind was whirring at a dizzying pace. There couldn’t be much time left before Sylar decided what to do about Peter, and Mohinder was desperate for some way to save the younger man’s life. Peter might be the only one capable of stopping Sylar, but he was also facing several severe disadvantages.
For starters, Sylar would certainly use Mohinder’s name to lure Peter into a trap. Peter might end up dead before he even knew there was danger. Sylar was also used to using his powers to fight, kill and maim. Mohinder didn’t know what abilities Peter might have picked up recently, but flying and painting the future definitely wouldn’t be any use against the sly serial killer. Worst of all, Sylar’s power of persuasion could have Peter helpless with just a few well-chosen words.
Mohinder was, quite possibly, the only thing standing between Peter and a gruesome death. He’d already failed the younger man once and he didn’t intend to do so again. If he was right about Sylar… the thought made him ill, but desperate times and all that. There were almost certainly worse fates that could be in store for him. Granted, there weren’t many.
It took every ounce of courage he could muster, but Mohinder brought his hand up and tentatively brushed his fingers against Sylar’s shoulder. Sylar’s head snapped around, brow furrowed, and the sudden action caused the already nervous Mohinder to jump slightly in his seat and whip his hand back as if fearing for its safety.
Reflex actions aside, Mohinder forced himself to stay composed and not chicken out now. Something in Sylar’s eyes told him that he was right, this could work.
“You-“ he started softly with a gulp of nervousness. That was alright though, nervousness would be expected. “You don’t have to kill Peter.”
Sylar raised an eyebrow in evident amusement as he focused back on the road.
“Oh really,” He drawled with a soft chuckle. “And just why wouldn’t I want to kill the bastard who got between me and immortality?”
Mohinder winced. He had forgotten the revenge angle. Of course he had shared the “Save the Cheerleader” story with ‘Zane’. Finding out from Nathan that it had all been true and not some crazed delusion was embarrassing, but it was an amazing testament to the wondrous abilities in existence.
“Well I-“ Mohinder paused as Sylar’s words sunk in a little more. “Wait. Immortality?” Curiosity was such an intrinsic part of his nature that he was easily sidetracked.
“It’s just a theory, mind.” Sylar replied with a slight shrug. The tone of his voice, however, indicated that he was all but certain. “But seeing cellular regeneration as just a way to heal from wounds is such a limited viewpoint. Think about it, Doctor. Aging is simply a product of cellular deterioration. If you’re capable of regrowing flesh and bone, it stands to reason that you’d also be immune from the effects of aging. Thus, immortality.”
Mohinder frowned in contemplation. The idea of immortality was fantastical, but then so was human flight, telekinesis and precognition. Sylar was, unfortunately, an intelligent man and his arguments made sense. Mohinder realized then, with absolutely certainty, that if it had been the cheerleader’s life he was trying to save, he’d be fighting an absolutely hopeless battle.
He almost didn’t want to know, now, whether he could succeed or not. There were almost certainly going to be horrible consequences either way.
“That… makes sense.” He replied cautiously. It wasn’t hard to instill a sense of awe into his voice. The awe he actually felt was towards the idea, but with any luck Sylar would think some of that was directed at his intelligence. At this point, appealing to his ego could only help.
Sylar grinned smugly into the silence. The quiet stretched on as Mohinder tried to figure out how to reopen the initial topic of discussion. What steps to take, what plan might work best depended on how much of Sylar’s Zane persona was real, and how much was just an act.
“So, you were saying?”
Mohinder blinked in surprise at Sylar doing his work for him. Either Sylar was simply looking for some amusement in Mohinder’s attempts to persuade him, or he was genuinely interested. If it was the latter, then this might be easier than he could have reasonably expected. Other implications aside, Mohinder supposed he should be pleased.
Steeling himself, Mohinder straightened his posture and forced himself to focus on Sylar.
“You don’t need Peter’s ability.” He asserted calmly. The little aside about cellular regeneration had actually helped a little. Talking to Sylar wasn’t quite as difficult as he might have imagined. He supposed he shouldn’t be so surprised at that, it had been easy to talk to Zane, after all. “Unless you’d use it instead of… you know, killing people.”
Sylar’s scoff was about just about what Mohinder had expected. The idea of sacrificing Peter for the greater good certainly wasn’t one he’d wanted to employ, but once again, desperate times.
“That you’d even ask that just proves how little you know about me.” Sylar replied smoothly. “You must be just dying of curiosity. Wondering how I do it.”
This was not the direction Mohinder had wanted the conversation to take, but he had to admit that, as infuriating as it was, Sylar was right.
“Gruesome details aside,” he replied with a nod. “Of course I’m curious.”
Sylar’s lips tugged into a wry smile at the amendment, but otherwise he ignored it.
“Your watch is broken.”
“What does that have to do with -“ Mohinder’s objection trailed off at the serious expression on Sylar’s face. Confused, he stared down at the timepiece and noted the unrelenting ticking of the second hand. “No it’s not.”
“Just because it hasn’t stopped, doesn’t mean it’s not broken.” Sylar asserted firmly. “It’s got maybe a week left, depending on temperature extremes and other extenuating circumstances, before it stops altogether.”
Mohinder’s eyes flicked between Sylar and his watch, silently willing one of them to give up its secrets before he gave in himself.
“Assuming you’re right, how do you know that?”
Sylar signaled lazily and pulled the car into an exit lane. Mohinder noted this with mild concern, but decided it would be safer to let Sylar continue with his little game for the time being. Besides which, he was curious as to where this was going.
“The ticking is off.” Sylar explained with more than a touch of irritation. The reminder of Dale’s death did nothing to help Mohinder’s nerves, but he pushed that pain away. Later, he could deal with that later.
“You’re telling me that just from listening to it you can tell that it’s going to stop in a week?” Mohinder replied incredulously. “I’m about as likely to believe that as I am that you’re a human lie detector. Besides which, that’s Dale’s ability and you only just… acquired that one.”
Sylar smirked as he pulled the car into the parking lot of a shabby looking motel. He killed the engine with a flick of his wrist before turning to face Mohinder once more.
“How about if I told you I see how things work?”
“… anything?”
“Everything.” Sylar practically purred the word and Mohinder failed utterly to repress a shiver at the sound. “Come on.”
Sylar slid out of the car and Mohinder followed with a mixture of reluctance, and all consuming curiosity. If what Sylar said was true - he had no real reason to lie - the possibilities were all but endless.
“You’re telling me that you were born with the ability to understand how absolutely everything functions; an aptitude that biologists, doctors, physicists, every scientist in the world would envy.” The words fell from his lips without any real conscious thought as he followed Sylar towards the front desk. “An ability that could bring about the world’s most profound scientific discoveries; could have made you successful, wealthy and powerful in a thousand legitimate ways and you chose to become a serial killer?” Mohinder hissed out the last words, coming to a stop several paces from the Motel’s front door. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. The utter waste of such an amazing talent was stunning.
Not that Sylar saw it that way.
Sylar’s fists were clenched as he glared at Mohinder in a way that nearly saw him trembling in fear once more. The outburst Mohinder braced for upon seeing that glare, however, never came. Sylar looked like he was about to let loose a destructive rage that would have sent anyone with half a brain running for the hills. He fisted a hand into the front of Mohinder’s jacket, jerked him close, and instead of an explosion there were just a handful of bitter words an the sudden softening of his expression into something Mohinder couldn’t even begin to read.
“I told you, Mohinder. Your father created me.” Sylar opened his mouth once more, as if he was going to add something, but then seemed to decide against it. He loosened his grasp, spun on his heels and trudged off towards reception, leaving Mohinder standing in the chilled November air, trying to wrap his mind around how his father could possibly have ruined such potential.
---
“It’s not even dark out yet.” Mohinder pointed out as Sylar all but dragged him towards a highly suspect motel room. Truth be told, he’d rather hoped that he’d have more time to come up with some sort of alternative to his plan before they stopped for the night.
“Well, aside from drug-induced unconsciousness, neither of us has gotten any sleep in the last 36 hours or so.” Sylar pointed out as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Not exactly the best conditions to be driving under, wouldn’t you say?”
“Technically true, but-“
“And besides,” Mohinder’s cell phone zipped out of Sylar’s jacket pocket and landed firmly in his palm. Sylar brandished it tauntingly before opening their door with his powers and shoving Mohinder inside. “Peter’s waiting for your call. He did seem awfully upset. It’d be a real shame to keep him waiting.”
As Sylar followed Mohinder inside and shut the door behind them, Mohinder lunged forward desperately and seized hold of a pale wrist below the hand holding the phone.
“Please, you don’t have to do this.” He was all but begging now, but Mohinder had quietly accepted that he was going to have to shelve his dignity - and more - if he was to save Peter’s life.
Sylar’s eyes fell smoothly to the hand on his wrist. Both men knew that if he wanted to shove Mohinder off he could with a mere thought, but just for this moment he held back. Sylar leaned forward, destroying what little personal space was left between the two. His mouth was so close to Mohinder’s that when he spoke, hot breath filtered past dark lips.
“You still haven’t given me any good reason not to.”
They both knew what the game was now. Sylar’s move had opened the way for Mohinder to win this round, but the sacrifice he’d have to make to succeed was still as chilling as ever.
It’s this or Peter ends up just like Dale. He reminded himself firmly, squashing the panic before it could do more than set his heart racing and his breath on edge. Before his mind could remind him of all the reasons why he couldn’t, shouldn’t do this, Mohinder closed his eyes and plunged in head first; knowing full well he was diving into shark infested waters. He closed the gap between them, sealing their lips with a desperate kiss.
Sylar wrapped his free arm around Mohinder’s waist, pulling the smaller man flush against him. A small noise of surprise escaped Mohinder’s lips, muffled by Sylar’s own. It wasn’t the action that startled him, so much as the suddenness and the sheer ferocity and possessiveness that burst from Sylar’s every pore, seeming to explode from him all at once as if he’d been holding it back until this moment when the dam finally burst. Mohinder lost track of the phone as the hand once holding it cupped the back of his head, fingers twining in his hair, making escape impossible. Sylar’s tongue invaded his mouth, and despite all his instinct telling him to fight off against the intrusion, Mohinder had already surrendered. He’d laid down his arms the moment he initiated this and there was no options left but cede to Sylar’s demands.
The only way. The only way. The only way.
The words played on continual repeat; bouncing off of Mohinder’s skull, dimmed only by the nearly overwhelming force of Sylar’s response. Mohinder was swept up in the surge, dazed by the unexpected heat and passion that lips and tongue and hands spelled out across every inch of his skin. His coat was gone before he had a chance to breathe and in the next instant they were stumbling towards the bed.
Sylar was intoxicating, like a drug to fresh blood. He could have sworn only mere moments had passed, but suddenly they were on the bed, shirts gone. Sylar pulled back, pausing to drink Mohinder in with hungry eyes and Mohinder found himself taking in the expanse of pale chest hanging above him, his mind thrumming with a name he knew was false but clung to like a life raft.
“You wanted this, didn’t you?” Sylar’s deep voice was remarkably steady for all the heavy breathing and panting issuing from both men’s lungs, “before you figured it out.”
Sylar didn’t ask what he wanted now, a small mercy in this moment of utter vulnerability. They both knew what this was about, both silently agreeing to keep up the act, play the game, keep pretending.
This question was an easy one. The answer was pure agony to Mohinder’s soul; but with this the truth coincided with what Sylar wanted to hear and there was no escaping it now. Not when Sylar was letting the feelings of this moment, the time that should have mattered, go unspoken.
“Yes.”
One simple word and yet it all but lit the room ablaze. Sylar swooped down to steal the breath from Mohinder’s lungs once more as a free hand combined with unbelievably deft telekinesis to work off pants and jeans and all remaining pieces of cloth still hiding their prizes of skin beneath.
As the last remnants went flying across the room, Sylar pressed himself flush to the body trapped beneath him. Cream and caramel skin met in trembling curiosity. Sylar’s already stiff erection rubbed against Mohinder’s, eliciting a groan that was echoed by the deeper voice.
Part of Mohinder wanted to panic. As Sylar’s teeth sank into the flesh of his neck and shoulder, sparking flashes of pain, he knew he should be panicking. Disgust and revulsion and all the things he had felt back at his apartment should have been running rampant through his veins, no matter how or why this had started. But Sylar’s hands, lips, teeth and tongue cast a fog unto his mind. As Sylar ground against him Mohinder was overtaken by pleasure and need and lust.
A light, brushing sensation like a cool spring’s breeze trickled down Mohinder’s spine. Tiny invisible fingers tickled along the ridge of bone, slipping down the cleft of his ass and in; and there was no resisting the gasp as the breath was driven from his lungs. Sylar’s long fingers echoed the movement of the invisible ones, trailing along Mohinder’s side as his lips and teeth teased and abused dark nipples. He reached the hip and farther and clenched a cheek with such force that there was no doubt there would be bruises left behind. Mohinder whimpered in pain, a sound that trailed into a guttural groan of pleasure as the ghostly fingers kneaded that oh-so sensitive spot deep within.
Sylar leaned forward, his bruising grip not lessening in the slightest as he brought his lips to the shell of Mohinder’s ear.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered harshly as Mohinder writhed and moaned beneath him, unable to focus beyond the overwhelming duet of pain and pleasure.
“Body,” Sylar flipped Mohinder over in one smooth and sudden motion before running his tongue up the ridges of exposed spine from tailbone to neck.
“Mind,” Sylar spit into his hand, running it carelessly once or twice over his cock.
Mohinder’s mind cleared as he began to realize what was happening; so fast, unprepared and without any form of protection.
“W- wait!” He stuttered out in renewed panic, but Sylar ignored him.
“and Soul.” Sylar hissed out triumphantly, as he plunged in to the hilt in one swift motion. Mohinder screamed in pain; a hoarse cry of agony and despair that bounced off the walls and mixed with the sobs of despair that followed. Sylar wrapped his arms around Mohinder’s chest and waist, making soft little shushing sounds while planting gentle kisses to his back and shoulder blades that under any other circumstances would have seemed tender and comforting, but now seemed only a mockery.
Mohinder was drowning in agony, both physical and mental. What little control he might have thought he still possessed had been brutally stripped away in an instant. The small space that he had left for feelings other than pain and despair was filled with horror and self loathing for the knowledge that not only had he not fought this, but that he had made it happen. Reasons that had once seemed so important were now distant and impossible to grasp.
Then Sylar started to move, and there was nothing left but the all-consuming duet of pain and pleasure
Mohinder whimpered softly between choked sobs as the slow thrusts began; the way eased only by spit and what he was sure had to be his own blood.
“Oh fuck, Mohinder.” Sylar breathed, his voice drenched in lust. He fisted a hand into Mohinder’s tousled curls, clenching hard enough hurt and pinning his head in place against the thin motel sheets. “God, so good.”
Mohinder choked off another cry of pain, one last attempt to retain some semblance of dignity. Then his hips were being lifted off that mattress, an invisible hand tugging him back into hardness and the burning began, slowly, to give way to pleasure.
“Moan for me, Mohinder.” Sylar’s entreaty was half command, half request. “Beg, plead, scream for me.”
Mohinder had to bite his lip to choke back the requested sounds as the pleasure overwhelmed the pain entirely. Blood trickled down onto the bedspread as Sylar increased his pace, thrusting faster and harder as the hand on his cock blended together a painfully perfect mixture of smooth rhythm and rough, startling jerks. Finally it all became too much. Mohinder’s mind clouded with pleasure and a deep moan escaped once more. He was hurtling towards release, standing just on the edge when that cruel and kind force jerking him off stopped and wrapped around the base of his erection at the last moment, denying him and pulling a strangled wail from his core.
Sylar pulled out without warning, rolled Mohinder over once more before plunging back in, thrusting with renewed vigor.
“Beg me,” he demanded between his own moans of pleasure. “Tell me how much you want it, how much you need it.” Sylar gasped with pleasure, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head. Through his pain of denied release, through the agony of every muscle in his body being on fire with tension and trembling with desire, Mohinder saw that Sylar was close and knew that if he didn’t give in now, Sylar would only torment him all the longer.
Pride seemed like such a distant thing, an absurdly foolish concept. How could it possibly be more important than the thrumming monster of need that thrashed in his belly.
“Oh god, please!” He gasped desperately. The words were quiet and mangled, but they both knew they were heard. Still, Sylar stayed consumed in his own desires. Mohinder let out a strangled sob. “Please! Sylar!”
As if his tormentor’s name was they magic word, they key to unlocking the hidden treasure, the vice holding Mohinder back vanished and one last scream tore itself from Mohinder’s throat as orgasm hit him with the force of a freight train. The breath was driven from his lungs. Every muscle in his body contracted almost painfully and he hardly even heard Sylar crying out his name as he followed into orgasmic bliss.
Mohinder was shaking within moments, tears cascading down sullied cheeks unbidden. His world, his entire being was shattered into countless tiny pieces. His body ached, his heart torn to shreds, and his soul felt like it might never be whole again.
Sylar curled around him, wrapping one arm around his waist possessively before nuzzling his face into the crook of Mohinder’s neck, burying into sweat-damp locks. Some distant part of him knew that he should struggle, fight and claw and escape with every last ounce of strength he had; but that strength was gone, and even if he could summon it once more, what would be the point?
Sylar caressed his skin soothingly, and as the only small comfort left in his fractured world, Mohinder leaned into the touch even as the tears refused to cease.
“I think you might be even more beautiful, broken like this.” Sylar murmured into his ear, “but don’t worry. I’ll put you back together again. You’ll see, better than ever before.”
Paring: Mohinder/Sylar, with a tiny side of Peter.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: Dub-con, non-con, some language, mild violence, a touch of mind-fuckery. This is not a happy fic.
Word Count: 6545
Summary: AU. Mohinder attempts to deal with his new circumstances as best he can.
Originally written for Mission_Insane AU table: "What If Sylar had gotten Eden's power?
Part 1
A/Ns: I came up with a better title! Huzzah!
Seriously though, I'm sorry for the wait. I ran into a lot of problems with this part very shortly after I posted Part 1. Fortunately not pushing it has, undeniably, led to a much better fic in the end.
Thanks again to ladywilde80 for the beta and assurances that this doesn't suck. ^_^ Also, since she asked and I suppose others might, there is the possibility that I will write more in this 'verse. I can't say for sure as I don't have anything concrete thought up, but either way I have sworn not to work on anything bigger than a one-shot until Understanding is finished. So if I do go that route, it won't be any time soon.
---------------
Mohinder focused on the busy streets before him as he tried to ignore the hand tracing lightly up and down his thigh. The movement inspired bile to rise up in his throat as he imagined he could taste Sylar in his mouth once more. It was a feeling that both nauseated him and persisted in reminding him that his future was more than likely to be filled with even worse moments. It was terribly hard to keep himself from sinking back into the grip of despair, but he refused to give up hope. No matter how small that glimmer might be.
After forcing him to print out a copy of the original list, Sylar had ordered him to pack a travel bag, his laptop and anything else he might need to complete the list he would be able to compile using Sylar’s DNA. Trying to fight against Eden’s ability had been damnably futile. He hadn’t even truly realized what was happening until his bags were packed and ready to go. The loss of control was utterly terrifying and it didn’t take long for the harsh reality of his situation to take hold.
There was probably something significant or at least morbidly poetic about the fact that he was being forced to drive out of town in his own cab. If it weren’t for the fact that Sylar clearly thought he was useful, Mohinder would have fully expected his own life to end not only by the same hands as his father’s had, but even in the same company’s vehicle. Driving a cab in New York was a lot more dangerous than Nirand ever could have imagined.
It had been about a quarter of an hour back when Mohinder tried to take matters into his own hands. Once they’d gotten out of the almost perpetual gridlock and hit the highway, Mohinder had attempted to crash the car. A few accidental deaths in a traffic accident would have been an acceptable cost to rid the world of Sylar. It might even have been worth it if Sylar had survived but Mohinder hadn’t. At least that way he wouldn’t be forced to help Sylar track down even more victims. Unfortunately, Sylar had either managed to anticipate his little act of rebellion, or simply had amazing reflexes. The car had only begun to swerve a minuscule amount when an iron-clad telekinetic grip seized both Mohinder and the steering wheel.
Now all Mohinder could do was wait and contemplate various methods of suicide and laptop destruction that might slip by Sylar’s ever watchful gaze. The serial killer had already memorized his father’s list and Mohinder was bound and determined not to let Sylar get his hands on a list that might be exponentially longer. He hadn’t even bothered to ask where they were going. It was hard enough to face his current reality, let alone a nebulous future that was likely going to involve multiple homicides.
With gritted teeth, Sylar had ordered Mohinder to take the next exit and find a place to pull over. As Mohinder brought the car to a halt, he found himself fighting off a rising wave of dread and nausea.
“You know, I really hoped you wouldn’t try anything so stupid.” Sylar’s voice was almost remorseful and Mohinder found himself staring back at his tormentor reflexively. He opened his mouth, maybe to deny the truth, maybe to play dumb, but the look Sylar was giving him stopped Mohinder before he could even begin. Instead he sat up straight, opting to glare directly into the eyes of his captor.
“You already know I’d rather die than lead you to more victims. Don’t act so surprised.”
Sylar sighed in resignation.
“I promised myself that I wouldn’t take away your free will unless I had to. I suppose it was foolish of me to hope that you’d cooperate in this case though.”
Mohinder closed his eyes then, trying not to let the guilt, the hopelessness of it all, break down his shakily rebuilt resolve.
“Stop toying with me.” He funneled all of his anger into those four words, hate for the man beside him seeping from his every pore. He tried to will it to become a poison so toxic that simply breathing the air around him would cause Sylar to drop dead.
Hot breath tickled his ear. Sylar seemed to feel some sense of intimacy was necessary when he used Eden’s power. It was absolutely sickening.
“You will never attempt to kill yourself again, you will not attempt to kill me again and you will do nothing to prevent me from getting the completed list.”
Mohinder bit back a whimper as he imagined he could feel his brain rewiring itself. He could still contemplate the acts in the abstract, but when he tried to resume his serious planning he found his mind distracting him, quickly funneling his thoughts into a new direction. In a way it was even worse than Sylar’s first demonstration. This was so much more pervasive, intrusive, and it was without the almost mindless trance of the more direct commands.
He must have blanked out for a moment or two though, because the next thing he realized was that Sylar’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders and his surprisingly soft lips were pressed against Mohinder’s temple. There was no one really watching them, in the privacy of the car, but it didn’t stop shame and embarrassment from welling up in his chest.
There really wouldn’t be any escape.
“G-get off me.” He spat out, cursing his nervous stutter.
Sylar peered at him thoughtfully for a long moment and then shrugged and pulled back.
“Take us back onto the highway.”
Mohinder considered attempting another small act of rebellion, but the all too recent memory of Sylar stealing even more control from him stopped that thought before it got very far. There would be a time and a place. If he was patient an opportunity for freedom would present itself. He just had to retain as much self-control as he could until then.
----
It wasn’t long before Sylar ordered him to pull off again. This time, however, much to Mohinder’s confusion, it was to pull into the parking lot of an outlet store; specifically, a clothing store. At first, all Mohinder could do was stare in confusion. Sylar let out an amused chuckle.
“You don’t seriously expect me to keep wearing Taylor’s band shirts?” He joked with far too much ease. Mohinder was disgusted with how casually Sylar spoke about one of his victims, but even more so by the ease with which Sylar tossed aside the role that he had been playing for the last several days. It just served to remind him how easily he’d been sucked in by the charms of this wolf in sheep’s clothing. “Besides, we need to switch cars. New York taxi cabs tend to stand out when you’re not in New York.”
Sylar swept out of the cab and into the store without further ado, forcing Mohinder to follow with a series of warning glances and telekinetic nudges. Once inside, Sylar quickly set about picking out some new clothing that had Mohinder fighting back the urge to roll his eyes. He probably would have been amused by the black ensemble at another time, but it was near impossible to find anything funny anymore. Sylar showed off his new look with evident delight, clearly hoping to provoke some sort of response.
Mohinder’s first thought, after noting the prevalence of black, was that Sylar looked the picture of a sexy super-villain.
Wait, sexy? I did not just think that.
Mohinder schooled his expression, pushing that thought far, far away. So when all he did was scowl dismissively, the preening killer let out a huff of annoyance and returned to his ‘all business’ demeanor, dragging his reluctant companion off to the cash register.
A few too-short minutes later Mohinder trailed forlornly behind Sylar, staring at the asphalt of the parking lot and cursing his traitorous subconscious. How could he have possibly thought that about this vile murderer? The man had all but raped him and probably would if given then chance. Scratch that, he didn’t need to wait for an opportunity. More likely that he would eventually get bored of Mohinder’s resistance.
God, he seemed so nice when I first met him. How could I have been so blind to the monster within? How could I…
No, he wouldn’t think about that. Feelings born out of a lie weren’t real feelings at all. The name was a lie, the friendship was a lie and the rest… the rest didn’t matter. Not anymore. There were some things that just couldn’t be forgiven.
A gentle but insistent pressure between Mohinder’s shoulder blades told him that he was lagging too far behind for Sylar’s comfort. He was tempted to fight it, just out of spite, but decided that he’d rather save his energy for the more important battles ahead. He picked up his pace, only to be further disappointed when the pressure didn’t disappear until he was standing right beside the black-clad villain.
Great, he probably wants to chat.
His heart only sank all the more when Sylar draped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him snug to his side.
“Enjoying the view?” Sylar grinned and cocked an eyebrow.
If he wasn’t so concerned with keeping Sylar mollified for the time being, Mohinder was pretty sure he would have hit the other man, at the very least. Though what worried him was that he wasn’t sure if he was angry because of the casual dismissal of what had happened back at the apartment or the fact that Mohinder had, in fact, been struggling not to check out Sylar’s admittedly tight ass.
“Go to hell.” He muttered darkly as he stared ahead as impassively as possible.
“Oh I don’t doubt it.” Sylar replied ponderously, “But I’ve been getting better at reading heartbeats. A lie and mood detector if you know what to listen for.”
“You couldn’t possibly have taught yourself to identify those discrepancies in 24 hours,” Mohinder retorted, determined to call Sylar’s bluff. Dale had said it was possible to hear people’s moods, but she’d had the ability for at least a decent chunk of time, he assumed, and she still hadn’t been able to do more than realize Sylar’s filthy heart was racing. So really, there was no way. No matter how smart Sylar was or what talents he might have picked up, 24 hours was just too short a time.
“Oh I think you’d be surprised by just how much I’m capable of, Mohinder.” Sylar’s grin was still plastered to his face as he guided Mohinder through the busy parking lot, ignoring the strange and curious looks being thrown their way. “For starters, there was this lovely waitress down in Texas. Eidetic Memory, such an amazing gift and it was being wasted on a simple waitress; one who was going to die within the next month anyway too: brain aneurism, such a nasty thing.”
“You still stole that month of life from her,” Mohinder growled back. He was mildly comforted by the renewed flare of hatred that burst in his chest from the blasé way Sylar talked about murdering some poor woman. “Don’t you-“
A ringing erupted from the pocket of Mohinder’s jacket, startling him out of his train of thought. The phone lifted itself out of his pocket and snapped into Sylar’s outstretched hand. He flipped it open with a slight frown before Mohinder could react and read the name off the caller ID.
“Peter Petrelli!” Sylar’s expression could only be described as ravenous and Mohinder was unable to stop a visible wince as he was smothered in panic. He’d told ‘Zane’ about Peter. He’d been curious about others like him -of course he was- and Mohinder had been eager to share what he knew; even going so far as to confess his regret over pushing Peter away, assuming him to be crazy.
Mohinder made to move forward, open his mouth and attempt to stop Sylar from answering the phone. He didn’t make it more than a few inches and only a small squeak of sound escaped before his entire body was seized in a vice of telekinetic energy and a distinctly unpleasant sensation around his throat that explained why he couldn’t speak. All Mohinder could do was watch helplessly as Sylar hit the ‘accept call’ button and raised the phone to his ear.
“Dr. Suresh’s phone,” he answered in a voice that was nervous and eager all at the same time. It would have been fascinating, watching Sylar transform himself from dangerous predator to shy young man in the blink of an eye, were the situation not so dire.
“I’m sorry, he left his phone in the car and it never rings so I thought it might be important so…” Sylar trailed off and Mohinder struggled in vain to throw off the telekinetic hold. He didn’t know what Sylar would say or do, but it was more than likely going to lead to Peter’s death and Mohinder just couldn’t let that happen.
“Oh I’m sorry!” Sylar continued in faux embarrassment, replying to words Mohinder couldn’t make out from where he was standing. “I’m Zane, Zane Taylor. I’ve been helping Mohinder with his work.” A pause. “Yes, his research. Hey, so, is this Peter?” … “Call display.” … “Oh don’t worry. So, is it true? Mohinder said you, sort of, absorb other people’s abilities?” … “I think he might have gone to use the restroom. I could get him to call you back but, you sound a little on edge. If it’s an emergency we can just wait, I don’t mind.” … “I do! I - well I melt things.”
Mohinder was pretty sure he was about to lose the contents of his stomach. It was like he was staring at another man. Seeing, hearing Zane again brought this ache to Mohinder’s chest that could only be the aftereffect of a stinging betrayal he had tried not to dwell on. From the moment Mohinder had stumbled upon the article on the real Zane Taylor’s death, he’d forced himself not to think of the man he thought he’d been getting to know. The man he’d been coming to see as a friend, and maybe more.
For a moment he didn’t even realize his cheeks were wet. Then a flush of shame and embarrassment warmed his face as he realized tears had escaped. They were tears of anger at the way the murderer in front of him so casually chatted to a man he was planning to kill. They were tears of shame at leading this predator to his prey. They were tears of mourning for a man that had never existed. And they were tears of absolute despair at his inability to do anything at all about it.
Sylar peered at him with curiosity and ran the rough pad of his thumb across Mohinder’s cheek, wiping away hot tears. There was a question in his eyes and he didn’t need to voice it for Mohinder to understand. After everything that’s happened, why tears now?
“Peter? I’m sorry I think the battery is dying. I’ll get Mohinder to call you back as soon as possible ok?” … “Great, bye.”
Sylar snapped the phone shut almost absently, his gaze not wavering from Mohinder’s trembling form. For his part, Mohinder struggled to pull himself together, fighting against a maelstrom of emotion. Sylar’s piercing stare seemed to pick him apart from the inside, but it was so Sylar a look that it gave Mohinder purchase. It was an anchor back to reality and he seized it greedily.
“Don’t touch me!” He lashed out the instant he realized he could speak once more. The invisible bonds still held him in place, so he couldn’t pull free of Sylar’s creepily tender touch, but the fury in his voice seemed to do the trick. Sylar was momentarily caught off guard by the shift from despair to rage, and his hand jerked back as if burned.
For the briefest of moments, there was a mixture of surprise and something else in Sylar’s expression. Then his eyes narrowed and he drew himself up to his rather impressive full height. He wrapped a large hand around Mohinder’s upper arm, grasping harshly, and dragged him onwards.
Mohinder couldn’t help but wince as Sylar’s vice-like grip wound around his arm, almost certainly leaving bruises in his wake. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that the bastard was using telekinesis just to make it hurt more. Sylar seemed, for once however, at a loss for words; a fact that was quite frankly shocking. It was possible that he simply didn’t think them necessary, but the lack of response felt distinctly odd. Mohinder had so little power over anything at the moment that he latched onto that oddity. He ran every little detail of the moment through his analytical mind in the desperate hope that he could make some use of it.
---
Sylar had them in a new, wholly unremarkable car in just a few minutes. The two men sat in silence for a stretch of time that felt like it might drag on into infinity. Sylar was seemingly concentrating on the road, but Mohinder caught the occasional glance shot in his direction. It was almost like before, back when ignorance was bliss. Except this time the silence was anything but comfortable. The air was saturated with tension and the both knew it wouldn’t be long before something snapped.
Mohinder’s mind was whirring at a dizzying pace. There couldn’t be much time left before Sylar decided what to do about Peter, and Mohinder was desperate for some way to save the younger man’s life. Peter might be the only one capable of stopping Sylar, but he was also facing several severe disadvantages.
For starters, Sylar would certainly use Mohinder’s name to lure Peter into a trap. Peter might end up dead before he even knew there was danger. Sylar was also used to using his powers to fight, kill and maim. Mohinder didn’t know what abilities Peter might have picked up recently, but flying and painting the future definitely wouldn’t be any use against the sly serial killer. Worst of all, Sylar’s power of persuasion could have Peter helpless with just a few well-chosen words.
Mohinder was, quite possibly, the only thing standing between Peter and a gruesome death. He’d already failed the younger man once and he didn’t intend to do so again. If he was right about Sylar… the thought made him ill, but desperate times and all that. There were almost certainly worse fates that could be in store for him. Granted, there weren’t many.
It took every ounce of courage he could muster, but Mohinder brought his hand up and tentatively brushed his fingers against Sylar’s shoulder. Sylar’s head snapped around, brow furrowed, and the sudden action caused the already nervous Mohinder to jump slightly in his seat and whip his hand back as if fearing for its safety.
Reflex actions aside, Mohinder forced himself to stay composed and not chicken out now. Something in Sylar’s eyes told him that he was right, this could work.
“You-“ he started softly with a gulp of nervousness. That was alright though, nervousness would be expected. “You don’t have to kill Peter.”
Sylar raised an eyebrow in evident amusement as he focused back on the road.
“Oh really,” He drawled with a soft chuckle. “And just why wouldn’t I want to kill the bastard who got between me and immortality?”
Mohinder winced. He had forgotten the revenge angle. Of course he had shared the “Save the Cheerleader” story with ‘Zane’. Finding out from Nathan that it had all been true and not some crazed delusion was embarrassing, but it was an amazing testament to the wondrous abilities in existence.
“Well I-“ Mohinder paused as Sylar’s words sunk in a little more. “Wait. Immortality?” Curiosity was such an intrinsic part of his nature that he was easily sidetracked.
“It’s just a theory, mind.” Sylar replied with a slight shrug. The tone of his voice, however, indicated that he was all but certain. “But seeing cellular regeneration as just a way to heal from wounds is such a limited viewpoint. Think about it, Doctor. Aging is simply a product of cellular deterioration. If you’re capable of regrowing flesh and bone, it stands to reason that you’d also be immune from the effects of aging. Thus, immortality.”
Mohinder frowned in contemplation. The idea of immortality was fantastical, but then so was human flight, telekinesis and precognition. Sylar was, unfortunately, an intelligent man and his arguments made sense. Mohinder realized then, with absolutely certainty, that if it had been the cheerleader’s life he was trying to save, he’d be fighting an absolutely hopeless battle.
He almost didn’t want to know, now, whether he could succeed or not. There were almost certainly going to be horrible consequences either way.
“That… makes sense.” He replied cautiously. It wasn’t hard to instill a sense of awe into his voice. The awe he actually felt was towards the idea, but with any luck Sylar would think some of that was directed at his intelligence. At this point, appealing to his ego could only help.
Sylar grinned smugly into the silence. The quiet stretched on as Mohinder tried to figure out how to reopen the initial topic of discussion. What steps to take, what plan might work best depended on how much of Sylar’s Zane persona was real, and how much was just an act.
“So, you were saying?”
Mohinder blinked in surprise at Sylar doing his work for him. Either Sylar was simply looking for some amusement in Mohinder’s attempts to persuade him, or he was genuinely interested. If it was the latter, then this might be easier than he could have reasonably expected. Other implications aside, Mohinder supposed he should be pleased.
Steeling himself, Mohinder straightened his posture and forced himself to focus on Sylar.
“You don’t need Peter’s ability.” He asserted calmly. The little aside about cellular regeneration had actually helped a little. Talking to Sylar wasn’t quite as difficult as he might have imagined. He supposed he shouldn’t be so surprised at that, it had been easy to talk to Zane, after all. “Unless you’d use it instead of… you know, killing people.”
Sylar’s scoff was about just about what Mohinder had expected. The idea of sacrificing Peter for the greater good certainly wasn’t one he’d wanted to employ, but once again, desperate times.
“That you’d even ask that just proves how little you know about me.” Sylar replied smoothly. “You must be just dying of curiosity. Wondering how I do it.”
This was not the direction Mohinder had wanted the conversation to take, but he had to admit that, as infuriating as it was, Sylar was right.
“Gruesome details aside,” he replied with a nod. “Of course I’m curious.”
Sylar’s lips tugged into a wry smile at the amendment, but otherwise he ignored it.
“Your watch is broken.”
“What does that have to do with -“ Mohinder’s objection trailed off at the serious expression on Sylar’s face. Confused, he stared down at the timepiece and noted the unrelenting ticking of the second hand. “No it’s not.”
“Just because it hasn’t stopped, doesn’t mean it’s not broken.” Sylar asserted firmly. “It’s got maybe a week left, depending on temperature extremes and other extenuating circumstances, before it stops altogether.”
Mohinder’s eyes flicked between Sylar and his watch, silently willing one of them to give up its secrets before he gave in himself.
“Assuming you’re right, how do you know that?”
Sylar signaled lazily and pulled the car into an exit lane. Mohinder noted this with mild concern, but decided it would be safer to let Sylar continue with his little game for the time being. Besides which, he was curious as to where this was going.
“The ticking is off.” Sylar explained with more than a touch of irritation. The reminder of Dale’s death did nothing to help Mohinder’s nerves, but he pushed that pain away. Later, he could deal with that later.
“You’re telling me that just from listening to it you can tell that it’s going to stop in a week?” Mohinder replied incredulously. “I’m about as likely to believe that as I am that you’re a human lie detector. Besides which, that’s Dale’s ability and you only just… acquired that one.”
Sylar smirked as he pulled the car into the parking lot of a shabby looking motel. He killed the engine with a flick of his wrist before turning to face Mohinder once more.
“How about if I told you I see how things work?”
“… anything?”
“Everything.” Sylar practically purred the word and Mohinder failed utterly to repress a shiver at the sound. “Come on.”
Sylar slid out of the car and Mohinder followed with a mixture of reluctance, and all consuming curiosity. If what Sylar said was true - he had no real reason to lie - the possibilities were all but endless.
“You’re telling me that you were born with the ability to understand how absolutely everything functions; an aptitude that biologists, doctors, physicists, every scientist in the world would envy.” The words fell from his lips without any real conscious thought as he followed Sylar towards the front desk. “An ability that could bring about the world’s most profound scientific discoveries; could have made you successful, wealthy and powerful in a thousand legitimate ways and you chose to become a serial killer?” Mohinder hissed out the last words, coming to a stop several paces from the Motel’s front door. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. The utter waste of such an amazing talent was stunning.
Not that Sylar saw it that way.
Sylar’s fists were clenched as he glared at Mohinder in a way that nearly saw him trembling in fear once more. The outburst Mohinder braced for upon seeing that glare, however, never came. Sylar looked like he was about to let loose a destructive rage that would have sent anyone with half a brain running for the hills. He fisted a hand into the front of Mohinder’s jacket, jerked him close, and instead of an explosion there were just a handful of bitter words an the sudden softening of his expression into something Mohinder couldn’t even begin to read.
“I told you, Mohinder. Your father created me.” Sylar opened his mouth once more, as if he was going to add something, but then seemed to decide against it. He loosened his grasp, spun on his heels and trudged off towards reception, leaving Mohinder standing in the chilled November air, trying to wrap his mind around how his father could possibly have ruined such potential.
---
“It’s not even dark out yet.” Mohinder pointed out as Sylar all but dragged him towards a highly suspect motel room. Truth be told, he’d rather hoped that he’d have more time to come up with some sort of alternative to his plan before they stopped for the night.
“Well, aside from drug-induced unconsciousness, neither of us has gotten any sleep in the last 36 hours or so.” Sylar pointed out as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Not exactly the best conditions to be driving under, wouldn’t you say?”
“Technically true, but-“
“And besides,” Mohinder’s cell phone zipped out of Sylar’s jacket pocket and landed firmly in his palm. Sylar brandished it tauntingly before opening their door with his powers and shoving Mohinder inside. “Peter’s waiting for your call. He did seem awfully upset. It’d be a real shame to keep him waiting.”
As Sylar followed Mohinder inside and shut the door behind them, Mohinder lunged forward desperately and seized hold of a pale wrist below the hand holding the phone.
“Please, you don’t have to do this.” He was all but begging now, but Mohinder had quietly accepted that he was going to have to shelve his dignity - and more - if he was to save Peter’s life.
Sylar’s eyes fell smoothly to the hand on his wrist. Both men knew that if he wanted to shove Mohinder off he could with a mere thought, but just for this moment he held back. Sylar leaned forward, destroying what little personal space was left between the two. His mouth was so close to Mohinder’s that when he spoke, hot breath filtered past dark lips.
“You still haven’t given me any good reason not to.”
They both knew what the game was now. Sylar’s move had opened the way for Mohinder to win this round, but the sacrifice he’d have to make to succeed was still as chilling as ever.
It’s this or Peter ends up just like Dale. He reminded himself firmly, squashing the panic before it could do more than set his heart racing and his breath on edge. Before his mind could remind him of all the reasons why he couldn’t, shouldn’t do this, Mohinder closed his eyes and plunged in head first; knowing full well he was diving into shark infested waters. He closed the gap between them, sealing their lips with a desperate kiss.
Sylar wrapped his free arm around Mohinder’s waist, pulling the smaller man flush against him. A small noise of surprise escaped Mohinder’s lips, muffled by Sylar’s own. It wasn’t the action that startled him, so much as the suddenness and the sheer ferocity and possessiveness that burst from Sylar’s every pore, seeming to explode from him all at once as if he’d been holding it back until this moment when the dam finally burst. Mohinder lost track of the phone as the hand once holding it cupped the back of his head, fingers twining in his hair, making escape impossible. Sylar’s tongue invaded his mouth, and despite all his instinct telling him to fight off against the intrusion, Mohinder had already surrendered. He’d laid down his arms the moment he initiated this and there was no options left but cede to Sylar’s demands.
The only way. The only way. The only way.
The words played on continual repeat; bouncing off of Mohinder’s skull, dimmed only by the nearly overwhelming force of Sylar’s response. Mohinder was swept up in the surge, dazed by the unexpected heat and passion that lips and tongue and hands spelled out across every inch of his skin. His coat was gone before he had a chance to breathe and in the next instant they were stumbling towards the bed.
Sylar was intoxicating, like a drug to fresh blood. He could have sworn only mere moments had passed, but suddenly they were on the bed, shirts gone. Sylar pulled back, pausing to drink Mohinder in with hungry eyes and Mohinder found himself taking in the expanse of pale chest hanging above him, his mind thrumming with a name he knew was false but clung to like a life raft.
“You wanted this, didn’t you?” Sylar’s deep voice was remarkably steady for all the heavy breathing and panting issuing from both men’s lungs, “before you figured it out.”
Sylar didn’t ask what he wanted now, a small mercy in this moment of utter vulnerability. They both knew what this was about, both silently agreeing to keep up the act, play the game, keep pretending.
This question was an easy one. The answer was pure agony to Mohinder’s soul; but with this the truth coincided with what Sylar wanted to hear and there was no escaping it now. Not when Sylar was letting the feelings of this moment, the time that should have mattered, go unspoken.
“Yes.”
One simple word and yet it all but lit the room ablaze. Sylar swooped down to steal the breath from Mohinder’s lungs once more as a free hand combined with unbelievably deft telekinesis to work off pants and jeans and all remaining pieces of cloth still hiding their prizes of skin beneath.
As the last remnants went flying across the room, Sylar pressed himself flush to the body trapped beneath him. Cream and caramel skin met in trembling curiosity. Sylar’s already stiff erection rubbed against Mohinder’s, eliciting a groan that was echoed by the deeper voice.
Part of Mohinder wanted to panic. As Sylar’s teeth sank into the flesh of his neck and shoulder, sparking flashes of pain, he knew he should be panicking. Disgust and revulsion and all the things he had felt back at his apartment should have been running rampant through his veins, no matter how or why this had started. But Sylar’s hands, lips, teeth and tongue cast a fog unto his mind. As Sylar ground against him Mohinder was overtaken by pleasure and need and lust.
A light, brushing sensation like a cool spring’s breeze trickled down Mohinder’s spine. Tiny invisible fingers tickled along the ridge of bone, slipping down the cleft of his ass and in; and there was no resisting the gasp as the breath was driven from his lungs. Sylar’s long fingers echoed the movement of the invisible ones, trailing along Mohinder’s side as his lips and teeth teased and abused dark nipples. He reached the hip and farther and clenched a cheek with such force that there was no doubt there would be bruises left behind. Mohinder whimpered in pain, a sound that trailed into a guttural groan of pleasure as the ghostly fingers kneaded that oh-so sensitive spot deep within.
Sylar leaned forward, his bruising grip not lessening in the slightest as he brought his lips to the shell of Mohinder’s ear.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered harshly as Mohinder writhed and moaned beneath him, unable to focus beyond the overwhelming duet of pain and pleasure.
“Body,” Sylar flipped Mohinder over in one smooth and sudden motion before running his tongue up the ridges of exposed spine from tailbone to neck.
“Mind,” Sylar spit into his hand, running it carelessly once or twice over his cock.
Mohinder’s mind cleared as he began to realize what was happening; so fast, unprepared and without any form of protection.
“W- wait!” He stuttered out in renewed panic, but Sylar ignored him.
“and Soul.” Sylar hissed out triumphantly, as he plunged in to the hilt in one swift motion. Mohinder screamed in pain; a hoarse cry of agony and despair that bounced off the walls and mixed with the sobs of despair that followed. Sylar wrapped his arms around Mohinder’s chest and waist, making soft little shushing sounds while planting gentle kisses to his back and shoulder blades that under any other circumstances would have seemed tender and comforting, but now seemed only a mockery.
Mohinder was drowning in agony, both physical and mental. What little control he might have thought he still possessed had been brutally stripped away in an instant. The small space that he had left for feelings other than pain and despair was filled with horror and self loathing for the knowledge that not only had he not fought this, but that he had made it happen. Reasons that had once seemed so important were now distant and impossible to grasp.
Then Sylar started to move, and there was nothing left but the all-consuming duet of pain and pleasure
Mohinder whimpered softly between choked sobs as the slow thrusts began; the way eased only by spit and what he was sure had to be his own blood.
“Oh fuck, Mohinder.” Sylar breathed, his voice drenched in lust. He fisted a hand into Mohinder’s tousled curls, clenching hard enough hurt and pinning his head in place against the thin motel sheets. “God, so good.”
Mohinder choked off another cry of pain, one last attempt to retain some semblance of dignity. Then his hips were being lifted off that mattress, an invisible hand tugging him back into hardness and the burning began, slowly, to give way to pleasure.
“Moan for me, Mohinder.” Sylar’s entreaty was half command, half request. “Beg, plead, scream for me.”
Mohinder had to bite his lip to choke back the requested sounds as the pleasure overwhelmed the pain entirely. Blood trickled down onto the bedspread as Sylar increased his pace, thrusting faster and harder as the hand on his cock blended together a painfully perfect mixture of smooth rhythm and rough, startling jerks. Finally it all became too much. Mohinder’s mind clouded with pleasure and a deep moan escaped once more. He was hurtling towards release, standing just on the edge when that cruel and kind force jerking him off stopped and wrapped around the base of his erection at the last moment, denying him and pulling a strangled wail from his core.
Sylar pulled out without warning, rolled Mohinder over once more before plunging back in, thrusting with renewed vigor.
“Beg me,” he demanded between his own moans of pleasure. “Tell me how much you want it, how much you need it.” Sylar gasped with pleasure, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head. Through his pain of denied release, through the agony of every muscle in his body being on fire with tension and trembling with desire, Mohinder saw that Sylar was close and knew that if he didn’t give in now, Sylar would only torment him all the longer.
Pride seemed like such a distant thing, an absurdly foolish concept. How could it possibly be more important than the thrumming monster of need that thrashed in his belly.
“Oh god, please!” He gasped desperately. The words were quiet and mangled, but they both knew they were heard. Still, Sylar stayed consumed in his own desires. Mohinder let out a strangled sob. “Please! Sylar!”
As if his tormentor’s name was they magic word, they key to unlocking the hidden treasure, the vice holding Mohinder back vanished and one last scream tore itself from Mohinder’s throat as orgasm hit him with the force of a freight train. The breath was driven from his lungs. Every muscle in his body contracted almost painfully and he hardly even heard Sylar crying out his name as he followed into orgasmic bliss.
Mohinder was shaking within moments, tears cascading down sullied cheeks unbidden. His world, his entire being was shattered into countless tiny pieces. His body ached, his heart torn to shreds, and his soul felt like it might never be whole again.
Sylar curled around him, wrapping one arm around his waist possessively before nuzzling his face into the crook of Mohinder’s neck, burying into sweat-damp locks. Some distant part of him knew that he should struggle, fight and claw and escape with every last ounce of strength he had; but that strength was gone, and even if he could summon it once more, what would be the point?
Sylar caressed his skin soothingly, and as the only small comfort left in his fractured world, Mohinder leaned into the touch even as the tears refused to cease.
“I think you might be even more beautiful, broken like this.” Sylar murmured into his ear, “but don’t worry. I’ll put you back together again. You’ll see, better than ever before.”