Fic: Behind Those Eyes (Heroes)
It’s dark and the lights are off, but Mohinder is still awake when Sylar eases his door open and steps into the room. He can tell, because Mohinder’s body stirs under the sheets and Mohinder’s eyes just barely glint in the moonlight shining from outside the hotel window.
“Zane?” Mohinder’s voice is fogged with fatigue, surprise, but Sylar shakes that off. He doesn’t want to think about it.
He is Sylar.
He is Zane Taylor.
Who is he?
Sylar slides on top of Mohinder. Mohinder is fully awake now, startled, starting to push Sylar away. “What are you doing?” Mohinder questions.
Sylar skims his fingers up Mohinder’s side, pressing through the cloth to feel the warm skin he can almost taste below. “Are we going to find them?” Sylar asks softly. “All of them?”
Mohinder catches his arm. “Zane,” Mohinder begins, but Sylar cuts him off, brings Mohinder’s head to his, touches their lips together. If actions define the man, then right now, as Sylar strokes along the underside of Mohinder’s jaw, coaxes him to open to Sylar’s invasion - right now, he’s Zane Taylor, gentle and intent and kind.
But inside, he’s not Zane Taylor.
And in his pocket, the lotion from the hotel bathroom digs into his leg, and he remembers why he’s here.
“The two us,” Sylar whispers, as Zane, “we’ll find them, together.”
“Yes,” Mohinder breathes, and he leans in and kisses Sylar this time, and Sylar feels the flush of victory in his stomach. This is almost as good as seizing a power, bringing it into himself - this is deception, lying with the truth and telling the truth with lies. It’s beautiful.
So, maybe it’s Zane slipping his fingers under Mohinder’s shirt, pulling it over his head, but maybe it’s Sylar who digs in his fingernails just a little, leaves four red marks along Mohinder’s stomach. Mohinder inhales, sharply, and Sylar can feel his heart rate accelerate, can feel the heat from his skin and the rush of pheromones. Mohinder wants him.
Wants Zane…
Sylar clashes their mouths together, and he settles more firmly on top of Mohinder, his thigh between Mohinder’s legs, and he comes up flush against Mohinder’s erection.
“Oh my god,” Mohinder groans and Sylar nips his earlobe. He thinks he can make Mohinder even more beautiful than this, even more beautiful than dozens, hundreds of parts and functions, interlocking inside a human being. He thinks he can make Mohinder shatter and come together at the same time, and he thinks he can feel it from the inside when it happens.
And now Sylar dips down, tugs Mohinder’s boxers over his hips - and Mohinder doesn’t hinder him at all, helps him, in fact, lifting his hips just the right way - and Sylar rubs along the base of Mohinder’s erection. He thought Mohinder was already driven to distraction, but then he licks under the head of Mohinder’s cock and Mohinder’s back arches, his eyes squeeze shut, and Sylar eases the lotion out of his pocket unseen by the other man.
He’s always been a good multi-tasker, so Mohinder doesn’t get any warning before Sylar’s finger is slipping inside him.
Mohinder’s spine tenses and “Zane!” bursts from his lungs.
Sylar slides a hand onto Mohinder’s hip. “Trust me,” he says, but he doesn’t give Mohinder a respite, he pushes two fingers inside and twists. He makes sure it feels good, so Mohinder won’t say no, so Sylar will take what he wants from that lithe form under the beautiful brown skin.
Mohinder acquiesces, his legs open and wanton beneath Sylar, and isn’t that just a perfect sight. If Mohinder knew, if Mohinder knew who was inside Zane Taylor’s eyes, he would, he would…
Sylar swallows the thought and concentrates. It’s like making adjustments, like twisting that peg there and settling that screw and bending the last spoke of that wheel - when you get it right, you can feel it -
And he does feel it, right when Mohinder spasms all around him. A burst of pleasure, and once Sylar shows him what he can do, Mohinder will never get enough of it. Hopefully, Sylar will fix Mohinder enough, change him just so that he is the one who comes to Sylar the next time around.
Now, Mohinder is hot and slick, and Sylar will be able to get inside, so he moves up, curling Mohinder’s leg up, tilting his hips for an easier time.
Mohinder swallows - Sylar can see, by the play of shadows, across his throat. Vulnerable. Sylar could kill him in an instant, right now. “Should I,” Mohinder asks, and Sylar guesses what he means.
“Face-to-face,” says Sylar, because as Zane he’s going to make love to Mohinder and turn him inside out.
“Oh,” Mohinder breathes, and he’s tensing, in fear or nervousness or some other kind of trepidation.
“Relax,” Sylar reassures, and he uses his free hand to position the head of his erection at Mohinder’s entrance, to open Mohinder a little and ease the way as he forces against the resistance. Mohinder makes a kind of choked noise, and then Sylar is in, past the worst of the resistance, and now he’s just going deeper, deeper, until Mohinder’s heat is all around him.
And now Sylar stays there, holds still, Mohinder’s hand on the side of his neck, Mohinder’s face turned into the pillow next to his head.
“Breathe,” Sylar murmurs, and Mohinder’s chest rises and falls, evenly. Sylar can feel Mohinder’s heartbeat, from inside. From inside. Mohinder is so very alive, and it’s intoxicating knowing he could take that life away, that Mohinder’s life belongs to Sylar now because Sylar might have destroyed it and didn’t.
And Mohinder doesn’t even know.
Sylar moves, he eases out and back in, such a slow drag. Mohinder gives a halting groan, and he shivers convulsively as Sylar finds the perfect angle, wonderful to go even deeper.
He rocks Mohinder until the pleasure is too much to bear. Mohinder grips him, holds on like his world is shattering, a sweet inexperience in the way he moves against Sylar and Sylar thinks that he’s probably the first one to do this to Mohinder.
Mohinder reaches down, to touch himself, but Sylar catches his wrist and gently puts it down. “I’ll take care of you,” and Sylar wonders if his voice is too full, his gaze too fascinated, if the Zane Taylor façade is cracking but all his words seem to do is make Mohinder that much hotter, that much more desperate.
And now Sylar grips Mohinder’s erection, massages in just the right way, and Mohinder convulses with a cry. The pleasure breaks him into a thousand pieces, broken and fixed all at once, and that thought crests inside Sylar, and his own orgasm he can almost ignore, he’s so focused on Mohinder.
Mohinder’s heartbeat runs too fast, still, afterwards. Sylar can’t help himself, he rests his fingertips beneath Mohinder’s jaw, the pulse just barely registering at the edge of his senses. Mohinder is exhausted. He was tired before, but now he’s limp and pliable, just the way Sylar likes it.
He lets Mohinder rest until his breathing has evened out, until he’s fallen into unconsciousness, and then Sylar slips out from between the sheets and gathers his clothes. He closes the door quietly behind him, and there’s no evidence he was ever there, really - beyond the slickness that will still be inside Mohinder when he awakens.
Sylar falls asleep in his own hotel room with the hint of a smile curling around the edges of his mouth.
“Zane?” Mohinder’s voice is fogged with fatigue, surprise, but Sylar shakes that off. He doesn’t want to think about it.
He is Sylar.
He is Zane Taylor.
Who is he?
Sylar slides on top of Mohinder. Mohinder is fully awake now, startled, starting to push Sylar away. “What are you doing?” Mohinder questions.
Sylar skims his fingers up Mohinder’s side, pressing through the cloth to feel the warm skin he can almost taste below. “Are we going to find them?” Sylar asks softly. “All of them?”
Mohinder catches his arm. “Zane,” Mohinder begins, but Sylar cuts him off, brings Mohinder’s head to his, touches their lips together. If actions define the man, then right now, as Sylar strokes along the underside of Mohinder’s jaw, coaxes him to open to Sylar’s invasion - right now, he’s Zane Taylor, gentle and intent and kind.
But inside, he’s not Zane Taylor.
And in his pocket, the lotion from the hotel bathroom digs into his leg, and he remembers why he’s here.
“The two us,” Sylar whispers, as Zane, “we’ll find them, together.”
“Yes,” Mohinder breathes, and he leans in and kisses Sylar this time, and Sylar feels the flush of victory in his stomach. This is almost as good as seizing a power, bringing it into himself - this is deception, lying with the truth and telling the truth with lies. It’s beautiful.
So, maybe it’s Zane slipping his fingers under Mohinder’s shirt, pulling it over his head, but maybe it’s Sylar who digs in his fingernails just a little, leaves four red marks along Mohinder’s stomach. Mohinder inhales, sharply, and Sylar can feel his heart rate accelerate, can feel the heat from his skin and the rush of pheromones. Mohinder wants him.
Wants Zane…
Sylar clashes their mouths together, and he settles more firmly on top of Mohinder, his thigh between Mohinder’s legs, and he comes up flush against Mohinder’s erection.
“Oh my god,” Mohinder groans and Sylar nips his earlobe. He thinks he can make Mohinder even more beautiful than this, even more beautiful than dozens, hundreds of parts and functions, interlocking inside a human being. He thinks he can make Mohinder shatter and come together at the same time, and he thinks he can feel it from the inside when it happens.
And now Sylar dips down, tugs Mohinder’s boxers over his hips - and Mohinder doesn’t hinder him at all, helps him, in fact, lifting his hips just the right way - and Sylar rubs along the base of Mohinder’s erection. He thought Mohinder was already driven to distraction, but then he licks under the head of Mohinder’s cock and Mohinder’s back arches, his eyes squeeze shut, and Sylar eases the lotion out of his pocket unseen by the other man.
He’s always been a good multi-tasker, so Mohinder doesn’t get any warning before Sylar’s finger is slipping inside him.
Mohinder’s spine tenses and “Zane!” bursts from his lungs.
Sylar slides a hand onto Mohinder’s hip. “Trust me,” he says, but he doesn’t give Mohinder a respite, he pushes two fingers inside and twists. He makes sure it feels good, so Mohinder won’t say no, so Sylar will take what he wants from that lithe form under the beautiful brown skin.
Mohinder acquiesces, his legs open and wanton beneath Sylar, and isn’t that just a perfect sight. If Mohinder knew, if Mohinder knew who was inside Zane Taylor’s eyes, he would, he would…
Sylar swallows the thought and concentrates. It’s like making adjustments, like twisting that peg there and settling that screw and bending the last spoke of that wheel - when you get it right, you can feel it -
And he does feel it, right when Mohinder spasms all around him. A burst of pleasure, and once Sylar shows him what he can do, Mohinder will never get enough of it. Hopefully, Sylar will fix Mohinder enough, change him just so that he is the one who comes to Sylar the next time around.
Now, Mohinder is hot and slick, and Sylar will be able to get inside, so he moves up, curling Mohinder’s leg up, tilting his hips for an easier time.
Mohinder swallows - Sylar can see, by the play of shadows, across his throat. Vulnerable. Sylar could kill him in an instant, right now. “Should I,” Mohinder asks, and Sylar guesses what he means.
“Face-to-face,” says Sylar, because as Zane he’s going to make love to Mohinder and turn him inside out.
“Oh,” Mohinder breathes, and he’s tensing, in fear or nervousness or some other kind of trepidation.
“Relax,” Sylar reassures, and he uses his free hand to position the head of his erection at Mohinder’s entrance, to open Mohinder a little and ease the way as he forces against the resistance. Mohinder makes a kind of choked noise, and then Sylar is in, past the worst of the resistance, and now he’s just going deeper, deeper, until Mohinder’s heat is all around him.
And now Sylar stays there, holds still, Mohinder’s hand on the side of his neck, Mohinder’s face turned into the pillow next to his head.
“Breathe,” Sylar murmurs, and Mohinder’s chest rises and falls, evenly. Sylar can feel Mohinder’s heartbeat, from inside. From inside. Mohinder is so very alive, and it’s intoxicating knowing he could take that life away, that Mohinder’s life belongs to Sylar now because Sylar might have destroyed it and didn’t.
And Mohinder doesn’t even know.
Sylar moves, he eases out and back in, such a slow drag. Mohinder gives a halting groan, and he shivers convulsively as Sylar finds the perfect angle, wonderful to go even deeper.
He rocks Mohinder until the pleasure is too much to bear. Mohinder grips him, holds on like his world is shattering, a sweet inexperience in the way he moves against Sylar and Sylar thinks that he’s probably the first one to do this to Mohinder.
Mohinder reaches down, to touch himself, but Sylar catches his wrist and gently puts it down. “I’ll take care of you,” and Sylar wonders if his voice is too full, his gaze too fascinated, if the Zane Taylor façade is cracking but all his words seem to do is make Mohinder that much hotter, that much more desperate.
And now Sylar grips Mohinder’s erection, massages in just the right way, and Mohinder convulses with a cry. The pleasure breaks him into a thousand pieces, broken and fixed all at once, and that thought crests inside Sylar, and his own orgasm he can almost ignore, he’s so focused on Mohinder.
Mohinder’s heartbeat runs too fast, still, afterwards. Sylar can’t help himself, he rests his fingertips beneath Mohinder’s jaw, the pulse just barely registering at the edge of his senses. Mohinder is exhausted. He was tired before, but now he’s limp and pliable, just the way Sylar likes it.
He lets Mohinder rest until his breathing has evened out, until he’s fallen into unconsciousness, and then Sylar slips out from between the sheets and gathers his clothes. He closes the door quietly behind him, and there’s no evidence he was ever there, really - beyond the slickness that will still be inside Mohinder when he awakens.
Sylar falls asleep in his own hotel room with the hint of a smile curling around the edges of his mouth.