Heroes: In the Closet (Peter/Mohinder, future-y, NC-17)
Title: In the Closet
Author: fool_of_ships
Rating: NC-17, barely
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of characters, plot, or other elements copyrighted by TPTB of Heroes.
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Mohinder
Table/Prompt: Table 1, 11 - Secret.
Word Count: 866
Summary: It's not easy to be with the one you truly love when both of you could end up dead.
Author's Notes: First *adult* fic evar OMG. I'm actually not sure if it's explicit enough to warrant an NC-17; I think it's in kind of a gray area, so I'm defaulting it to the sterner reprimand. This is sort of a prequel to Persistence of Memory, in my slashalicious version of the timeline in which Sylar is the bomb. Written for heroes15, at least partly to inject some grit into a table that's turning out alarmingly fluffy.
This isn't a secret. It was, once. Now, it's treason. Every sigh, every moan they struggle to contain as they kiss has the potential to sign their death warrants, and it makes the sex that more potent. Like Romeo and Juliet, Peter had said with a scowling smile, years ago. Except Romeo and Juliet didn't have to lock themselves in a supply closet, and banishment is nothing compared to what could happen if the president's brother and chief science advisor were caught mid-fuck.
One day, Peter will figure out how the security system works, and then there will be the chance of a bed beneath them again instead of floor tiles or a stepstool. For now, they'll keep meeting in the only place and at the only times he's sure Mohinder can be found, and they'll hide among the reagents and spare lab equipment, and try not to get depressed remembering what it was like in the old days. Old days, hell; he'd give a pinky finger for the relative luxury of two years ago, when Mohinder had the time to spend more than three nights a month in the apartment set aside for him and they were sure there was no surveillance. Peter's almost forgotten what it was like not to have to put a "CORROSIVE - Do Not Drink" label on the lube at the back of the third supply shelf and teleport out as soon as they were decent.
But they take what they can get. It keeps them both sane, to the extent they've still got any sanity to keep. Peter takes bottom most of the time now, because Mohinder can't relax until he's already come. He tells himself it's a good arrangement, the one they started out with. Mohinder needs to be the one dishing it out in some arena at least; and anyway, Peter has Niki if he wants to be inside. But the truth is, Niki isn't what he wants, and he's pretty sure she knows it.
He thinks of this as they let go of each other for the time it takes to strip, in flashes of regret long since condensed to a meaningful If Only. He wonders, every time, if Mohinder thinks the same thing, but never asks. Because before he can think, familiar lips take hold of his cock and it's all he can do to hold back the moan he wants so desperately to let out. He runs his hands over Mohinder instead, every part he can reach, trying to telegraph passion to his lover alone. They're on the floor by the end, curled together on Peter's coat as he shudders and comes. I love you, he says silently, with his lips and his eyes, and Mohinder presses against him and says it back the same way.
He wants to lie there, to be able to caress and nibble before attending to the erection crushing into his hip. He wants to hear the kind of sighs that used to echo in his apartment. He can see in Mohinder's face the same desire to make love instead of just fucking, but there's only time now to sit up and fumble for the lube. Peter does what he can, riding in rhythm with Mohinder's thrusts, tasting himself in the kisses they use to keep their voices from betraying them. He's hard again well before Mohinder clutches him and drives deeper in release, and he wishes they could risk another round but knows it won't happen this time. They've grown accustomed to disappointment, so that getting anything at all that they want is a gift.
A final rough kiss, hungry and resonant, and they separate, dressing and tidying with practiced speed. They know, now, their tells and how to counteract them: Peter will go jogging to sweat off the scent of sex, and Mohinder will be sure to clean his smudged glasses and rearrange his hair. No one ever questions them anymore, but if it happened, Peter knows they'd spare each other the worry. He'll be worrying enough anyway, that the next time he teleports in there will be no one, or the wrong someone, waiting for his invisible caress.
Peter listens for a few seconds; there's no one in the lab. He'll blink back to Las Vegas in a moment, and Mohinder will find something from the shelves that he might plausibly have needed, and go back out into his world. It's nothing out of what they call ordinary, but now that it's time, Peter doesn't want to let go and Mohinder isn't making him. And for a second, maybe two, he gives in to the frightening peace.
"I do want to stay," he whispers, his voice sounding alien in this place.
"And I want to go with you," Mohinder answers, and kisses him again. But we can't, Peter hears in his mind as they let go, and he nods. He can feel the burn in his eyes as he steps away to leave, and teleports out before he loses his resolve, because if either of them ever gives in, it won't be long until the end. Tears are just one more secret, the easiest to keep.
Author: fool_of_ships
Rating: NC-17, barely
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of characters, plot, or other elements copyrighted by TPTB of Heroes.
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Mohinder
Table/Prompt: Table 1, 11 - Secret.
Word Count: 866
Summary: It's not easy to be with the one you truly love when both of you could end up dead.
Author's Notes: First *adult* fic evar OMG. I'm actually not sure if it's explicit enough to warrant an NC-17; I think it's in kind of a gray area, so I'm defaulting it to the sterner reprimand. This is sort of a prequel to Persistence of Memory, in my slashalicious version of the timeline in which Sylar is the bomb. Written for heroes15, at least partly to inject some grit into a table that's turning out alarmingly fluffy.
This isn't a secret. It was, once. Now, it's treason. Every sigh, every moan they struggle to contain as they kiss has the potential to sign their death warrants, and it makes the sex that more potent. Like Romeo and Juliet, Peter had said with a scowling smile, years ago. Except Romeo and Juliet didn't have to lock themselves in a supply closet, and banishment is nothing compared to what could happen if the president's brother and chief science advisor were caught mid-fuck.
One day, Peter will figure out how the security system works, and then there will be the chance of a bed beneath them again instead of floor tiles or a stepstool. For now, they'll keep meeting in the only place and at the only times he's sure Mohinder can be found, and they'll hide among the reagents and spare lab equipment, and try not to get depressed remembering what it was like in the old days. Old days, hell; he'd give a pinky finger for the relative luxury of two years ago, when Mohinder had the time to spend more than three nights a month in the apartment set aside for him and they were sure there was no surveillance. Peter's almost forgotten what it was like not to have to put a "CORROSIVE - Do Not Drink" label on the lube at the back of the third supply shelf and teleport out as soon as they were decent.
But they take what they can get. It keeps them both sane, to the extent they've still got any sanity to keep. Peter takes bottom most of the time now, because Mohinder can't relax until he's already come. He tells himself it's a good arrangement, the one they started out with. Mohinder needs to be the one dishing it out in some arena at least; and anyway, Peter has Niki if he wants to be inside. But the truth is, Niki isn't what he wants, and he's pretty sure she knows it.
He thinks of this as they let go of each other for the time it takes to strip, in flashes of regret long since condensed to a meaningful If Only. He wonders, every time, if Mohinder thinks the same thing, but never asks. Because before he can think, familiar lips take hold of his cock and it's all he can do to hold back the moan he wants so desperately to let out. He runs his hands over Mohinder instead, every part he can reach, trying to telegraph passion to his lover alone. They're on the floor by the end, curled together on Peter's coat as he shudders and comes. I love you, he says silently, with his lips and his eyes, and Mohinder presses against him and says it back the same way.
He wants to lie there, to be able to caress and nibble before attending to the erection crushing into his hip. He wants to hear the kind of sighs that used to echo in his apartment. He can see in Mohinder's face the same desire to make love instead of just fucking, but there's only time now to sit up and fumble for the lube. Peter does what he can, riding in rhythm with Mohinder's thrusts, tasting himself in the kisses they use to keep their voices from betraying them. He's hard again well before Mohinder clutches him and drives deeper in release, and he wishes they could risk another round but knows it won't happen this time. They've grown accustomed to disappointment, so that getting anything at all that they want is a gift.
A final rough kiss, hungry and resonant, and they separate, dressing and tidying with practiced speed. They know, now, their tells and how to counteract them: Peter will go jogging to sweat off the scent of sex, and Mohinder will be sure to clean his smudged glasses and rearrange his hair. No one ever questions them anymore, but if it happened, Peter knows they'd spare each other the worry. He'll be worrying enough anyway, that the next time he teleports in there will be no one, or the wrong someone, waiting for his invisible caress.
Peter listens for a few seconds; there's no one in the lab. He'll blink back to Las Vegas in a moment, and Mohinder will find something from the shelves that he might plausibly have needed, and go back out into his world. It's nothing out of what they call ordinary, but now that it's time, Peter doesn't want to let go and Mohinder isn't making him. And for a second, maybe two, he gives in to the frightening peace.
"I do want to stay," he whispers, his voice sounding alien in this place.
"And I want to go with you," Mohinder answers, and kisses him again. But we can't, Peter hears in his mind as they let go, and he nods. He can feel the burn in his eyes as he steps away to leave, and teleports out before he loses his resolve, because if either of them ever gives in, it won't be long until the end. Tears are just one more secret, the easiest to keep.