In Reverse - Heroes - Mohinder/Monica
Title: In Reverse
Pairing: Mohinder/Monica
Word Count: 504
Rating: R
A/N: Written for the porn battle. Also using for a_to_z_prompts 'deep rooted'. Set in the 'Five Years Gone' universe.
Summary: "He watches her as she slips from underneath the bright white covers. She's glorious when naked, every inch of her skin demanding attention."
He watches her as she slips from underneath the bright white covers. She's glorious when naked, every inch of her skin demanding attention: he wishes he'd been left with the energy to lavish it upon her, but she's left him spent and desperately trying to catch his breath. Her full breasts call to him; her round hips sway as she moves across the room to find her clothes.
He rolls onto his front, keeping her in view in all times. "Do you really have to go?" he asks, though he knows the answer.
She looks over her shoulders at him, wriggling her hips as she pulls her panties back up. White cotton against her dark skin - it looks oddly virginal, though he knows that image doesn't fit her any more. "You know I can't, Mohinder," she says. Her voice is sweet as candyfloss. "You shouldn't ask me."
"I always do."
"And I always gotta say no." She locates her bra as well and pulls it on, fiddling with the clasp until her breasts are supported and contained. Mohinder's eyes linger there longingly, lusting after the flesh he'd tasted earlier that afternoon. It seems like a long time ago now. "I got work to do."
"You could take the night off," he suggests, a wearied smile playing at his lips. "It's dangerous out there." For people like you, he adds silently. It's dangerous and he knows it's partially his fault.
"That's why I've got to be out there," she says. Stubborn, always so stubborn. She pulls skin-hugging black trousers over her shapely legs, gradually turning into a black shadow of the night. A black hoodie too, then she's moving across the room to him. Her lips press to his - gentle, full of promise, full of later, okay? Be patient - and he doesn't want it to end. Not now, not ever. Her smooth skin brushes against the three-days of stubble on his jaw. He usually shaves before he sees her. "I'll be back in a couple of days," she promises.
She can't promise, though, can she? In 'a couple of days' she might be dead or she might be locked away in one of President Petrelli's holding cells, never to be seen again.
"Be careful, Monica," he breathes against the plump curve of her bottom lip.
She smiles - too confident, too cocky - and kisses the side of his mouth. "Joan," she corrects. Her black hood flips up. "St. Joan." She turns from him then, elegant and skilled as she fades from his apartment and into the night: innocent souls to save. Fragile lives to rescue. He watches her until the door closes behind her lithe figure, leaving him sprawled naked on the bed and completely alone: by now it's impossible to remember her as the innocent young woman he first met all those years ago. It's impossible to remember her as anything but the confident nymph who invades his thoughts and possesses his body so effortlessly: so peacefully that he could never want to resist.
Pairing: Mohinder/Monica
Word Count: 504
Rating: R
A/N: Written for the porn battle. Also using for a_to_z_prompts 'deep rooted'. Set in the 'Five Years Gone' universe.
Summary: "He watches her as she slips from underneath the bright white covers. She's glorious when naked, every inch of her skin demanding attention."
He watches her as she slips from underneath the bright white covers. She's glorious when naked, every inch of her skin demanding attention: he wishes he'd been left with the energy to lavish it upon her, but she's left him spent and desperately trying to catch his breath. Her full breasts call to him; her round hips sway as she moves across the room to find her clothes.
He rolls onto his front, keeping her in view in all times. "Do you really have to go?" he asks, though he knows the answer.
She looks over her shoulders at him, wriggling her hips as she pulls her panties back up. White cotton against her dark skin - it looks oddly virginal, though he knows that image doesn't fit her any more. "You know I can't, Mohinder," she says. Her voice is sweet as candyfloss. "You shouldn't ask me."
"I always do."
"And I always gotta say no." She locates her bra as well and pulls it on, fiddling with the clasp until her breasts are supported and contained. Mohinder's eyes linger there longingly, lusting after the flesh he'd tasted earlier that afternoon. It seems like a long time ago now. "I got work to do."
"You could take the night off," he suggests, a wearied smile playing at his lips. "It's dangerous out there." For people like you, he adds silently. It's dangerous and he knows it's partially his fault.
"That's why I've got to be out there," she says. Stubborn, always so stubborn. She pulls skin-hugging black trousers over her shapely legs, gradually turning into a black shadow of the night. A black hoodie too, then she's moving across the room to him. Her lips press to his - gentle, full of promise, full of later, okay? Be patient - and he doesn't want it to end. Not now, not ever. Her smooth skin brushes against the three-days of stubble on his jaw. He usually shaves before he sees her. "I'll be back in a couple of days," she promises.
She can't promise, though, can she? In 'a couple of days' she might be dead or she might be locked away in one of President Petrelli's holding cells, never to be seen again.
"Be careful, Monica," he breathes against the plump curve of her bottom lip.
She smiles - too confident, too cocky - and kisses the side of his mouth. "Joan," she corrects. Her black hood flips up. "St. Joan." She turns from him then, elegant and skilled as she fades from his apartment and into the night: innocent souls to save. Fragile lives to rescue. He watches her until the door closes behind her lithe figure, leaving him sprawled naked on the bed and completely alone: by now it's impossible to remember her as the innocent young woman he first met all those years ago. It's impossible to remember her as anything but the confident nymph who invades his thoughts and possesses his body so effortlessly: so peacefully that he could never want to resist.