Heroes fic: Gray Morning
Title: Gray Morning
Series: Heroes
Pairing: Mylar
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Fluff. Not even AU fluff. Plus adult situations.
Summary: Mohinder tries to cope on the morning after their first time.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or their universe.
A/N: Serious fic is kicking my ass at the moment so I decided to work on something light-hearted. I got this idea after attending a wedding, so I'm sure that... explains it somehow.
Mohinder is not alone in his bed.
At first this is not a concern. He lies relaxed on his stomach, head turned to face the room. Everything is lit softly by the gray early morning light. A warm body lies alongside his, with an arm draped heavily over his waist. Mohinder can still feel all sorts of lovely aches, and although he doesn't yet remember who it is sleeping beside him, he certainly knows what they did last night.
But as his mind whirs back to life, he recalls that the "who" is probably important. And then the memories sharpen all too quickly.
Mohinder doesn't even have to turn his head to be sure that, yes, he has gone completely mad and had a one-night stand with the last person he should ever sleep with. He only has to tilt his head down to see that the arm slung over his hips is covered with dark black hair, and that's enough to confirm his bedmate.
This is a catastrophe.
At least it should be. At the moment Mohinder just feels incredibly confused.
The hand twitches, and the sheets pull as Sylar shifts. Mohinder turns his head. Sylar is awake, and he moves up on his elbow and stares at Mohinder blankly. Clearly Mohinder isn't the only one trying to piece the whys of the night before together. (Although the wheres and hows are most definitely well assembled, and Mohinder can't stop the anxious swipe of his tongue over his lips.)
Obviously here is where Sylar leaves, without a word, and everything is right again.
Instead, still with a vaguely puzzled expression, Sylar lowers his head and presses his lips to Mohinder's. Surprised, Mohinder withdraws, but Sylar just cups his cheek and moves back in. It takes an embarrassing lack of coaxing for Mohinder to open his mouth and return the kiss. It takes no coaxing at all for him to roll onto his back so Sylar can settle on top of him, hips between his thighs. Abruptly Mohinder wants nothing more than to relive the pleasure of Sylar thrusting steadily and breathlessly into him. They will have to discuss this whole situation at some point, of course, but their wandering hands agree that later would be a much better time.
The knock on the door out in the main room raises an objection.
Mohinder breaks his mouth away and says suddenly: "Peter."
Sylar's brow creases with obvious annoyance. "What?" he says.
"At the door!" Mohinder snaps, shoving Sylar away and getting out of the bed. "You need to leave."
"Oh," Sylar says, as if suddenly realizing they are in a compromising position. "Right."
Mohinder scrambles for his clothes and finds his jeans. He quickly puts them on, but Sylar still sits in the bed and watches him hesitantly. It's an odd expression for him to have, compared to all the deadly glares and steady gazes and self-assured smirks, but Mohinder is not in the mood to think about it. "Now!" he says, throwing Sylar's pants at him.
They hit him in the face, and as Sylar pulls them into his lap he somehow manages to look like a kicked puppy. "But we--"
"No talking," Mohinder orders. The blissful lusty haze has evaporated, and he cannot deal with the reality of this right now. There is no time to deal with this right now. There is only time to get Sylar the hell out of the apartment so Mohinder doesn't have to explain what he can't.
Sylar begrudgingly gets up, and Mohinder's brain short circuits at the sight of his nudity, at his neatly muscled figure, at the coarse black hair against his pale skin, at his half-hard--
Mohinder lurches around to the closet and yanks a patterned shirt off a hanger. The moral complications of the situation have careened wildly with his (heated) memories of last night, and he's never felt this kind of muted panic before. It takes far too much effort to slip his arms successfully into his shirt sleeves and fasten the buttons before he turns back around.
Sylar's boxers are on, but he's apparently attempted to put on his pants backwards and is giving it another try. "Would you hurry up?!" Mohinder hisses.
Sylar just snorts, but he pauses suddenly after pulling up his zipper. "This... is weird, right? It's not just me?"
Mohinder is exasperated, but he can't help the grin that stretches his lips, because, yes, this is absolutely ridiculous. And now Sylar is smiling too, and Mohinder is going to bang his head into the wall later. "Get out!" he urges through gritted teeth, trying to make the smile go away. He pushes Sylar toward the window in the midst of the other man pulling his shirt over his head.
"Just... hold on!" Sylar mutters. He manages to catch his jacket as it flies across the room, and his shoes and socks tumble over each other across the floor.
Mohinder snatches them up, shoves open the window, and tosses them out onto the fire escape. "Put the rest on outside!" he says.
"Aren't you at least going to call me cab?" Sylar mutters, rolling his eyes as he climbs out.
There is more rapping at the door, louder, and Mohinder can hear Peter calling for him. "Just a moment!" Mohinder hollers, and he feels Sylar tug his arm. "What?" he snaps, whirling around.
Sylar pushes his mouth against Mohinder's, pushes his tongue into Mohinder's mouth, and it abruptly makes no sense to push him away over Peter's incessant knocking. Sylar slides one hand into his hair and pulls him forward, and Mohinder braces himself on the windowsill and Sylar's shoulder. When Sylar draws back he nudges Mohinder's nose with his own.
A goodbye kiss. Good lord.
Sylar's grin is huge. "We're having an affair," he says.
"What?! We most certainly are not!" Mohinder exclaims, though he doesn't pull away as Sylar plays with his hair.
"We totally are."
"We're 'totally' not," Mohinder insists.
"You'll be here tonight, right?" Sylar asks, lightly dragging his nails over Mohinder's scalp. He's excited, the bastard.
"I... yes." So much for that pretense.
"The cop and the girl are still away?"
God, Mohinder hadn't even though about them yet. "Yes, but--"
Another quick kiss. "Good."
"But--!"
"We'll talk about it tonight," Sylar assures him, unwinding his fingers from Mohinder's hair to stroke his cheek.
Mohinder can't believe the number of butterflies that billow up in his stomach at the simple gesture. It doesn't help that Sylar won't stop looking at him like he's remade the world. "Somehow I doubt we'll do much talking," Mohinder mutters.
"You know me so well," Sylar chuckles into his ear.
Mohinder has the sudden terrifying thought that he does, that he's always known Sylar far more than he should, and that this was inevitable.
More knocking. Sylar finally pulls away and picks up his shoes and socks. Mohinder looks back over his shoulder at his bedroom door, but now he feels a sudden hesitation at making Sylar go. He turns back, asking, "What time will..."
Of course, the fire escape is empty.
Series: Heroes
Pairing: Mylar
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Fluff. Not even AU fluff. Plus adult situations.
Summary: Mohinder tries to cope on the morning after their first time.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or their universe.
A/N: Serious fic is kicking my ass at the moment so I decided to work on something light-hearted. I got this idea after attending a wedding, so I'm sure that... explains it somehow.
Mohinder is not alone in his bed.
At first this is not a concern. He lies relaxed on his stomach, head turned to face the room. Everything is lit softly by the gray early morning light. A warm body lies alongside his, with an arm draped heavily over his waist. Mohinder can still feel all sorts of lovely aches, and although he doesn't yet remember who it is sleeping beside him, he certainly knows what they did last night.
But as his mind whirs back to life, he recalls that the "who" is probably important. And then the memories sharpen all too quickly.
Mohinder doesn't even have to turn his head to be sure that, yes, he has gone completely mad and had a one-night stand with the last person he should ever sleep with. He only has to tilt his head down to see that the arm slung over his hips is covered with dark black hair, and that's enough to confirm his bedmate.
This is a catastrophe.
At least it should be. At the moment Mohinder just feels incredibly confused.
The hand twitches, and the sheets pull as Sylar shifts. Mohinder turns his head. Sylar is awake, and he moves up on his elbow and stares at Mohinder blankly. Clearly Mohinder isn't the only one trying to piece the whys of the night before together. (Although the wheres and hows are most definitely well assembled, and Mohinder can't stop the anxious swipe of his tongue over his lips.)
Obviously here is where Sylar leaves, without a word, and everything is right again.
Instead, still with a vaguely puzzled expression, Sylar lowers his head and presses his lips to Mohinder's. Surprised, Mohinder withdraws, but Sylar just cups his cheek and moves back in. It takes an embarrassing lack of coaxing for Mohinder to open his mouth and return the kiss. It takes no coaxing at all for him to roll onto his back so Sylar can settle on top of him, hips between his thighs. Abruptly Mohinder wants nothing more than to relive the pleasure of Sylar thrusting steadily and breathlessly into him. They will have to discuss this whole situation at some point, of course, but their wandering hands agree that later would be a much better time.
The knock on the door out in the main room raises an objection.
Mohinder breaks his mouth away and says suddenly: "Peter."
Sylar's brow creases with obvious annoyance. "What?" he says.
"At the door!" Mohinder snaps, shoving Sylar away and getting out of the bed. "You need to leave."
"Oh," Sylar says, as if suddenly realizing they are in a compromising position. "Right."
Mohinder scrambles for his clothes and finds his jeans. He quickly puts them on, but Sylar still sits in the bed and watches him hesitantly. It's an odd expression for him to have, compared to all the deadly glares and steady gazes and self-assured smirks, but Mohinder is not in the mood to think about it. "Now!" he says, throwing Sylar's pants at him.
They hit him in the face, and as Sylar pulls them into his lap he somehow manages to look like a kicked puppy. "But we--"
"No talking," Mohinder orders. The blissful lusty haze has evaporated, and he cannot deal with the reality of this right now. There is no time to deal with this right now. There is only time to get Sylar the hell out of the apartment so Mohinder doesn't have to explain what he can't.
Sylar begrudgingly gets up, and Mohinder's brain short circuits at the sight of his nudity, at his neatly muscled figure, at the coarse black hair against his pale skin, at his half-hard--
Mohinder lurches around to the closet and yanks a patterned shirt off a hanger. The moral complications of the situation have careened wildly with his (heated) memories of last night, and he's never felt this kind of muted panic before. It takes far too much effort to slip his arms successfully into his shirt sleeves and fasten the buttons before he turns back around.
Sylar's boxers are on, but he's apparently attempted to put on his pants backwards and is giving it another try. "Would you hurry up?!" Mohinder hisses.
Sylar just snorts, but he pauses suddenly after pulling up his zipper. "This... is weird, right? It's not just me?"
Mohinder is exasperated, but he can't help the grin that stretches his lips, because, yes, this is absolutely ridiculous. And now Sylar is smiling too, and Mohinder is going to bang his head into the wall later. "Get out!" he urges through gritted teeth, trying to make the smile go away. He pushes Sylar toward the window in the midst of the other man pulling his shirt over his head.
"Just... hold on!" Sylar mutters. He manages to catch his jacket as it flies across the room, and his shoes and socks tumble over each other across the floor.
Mohinder snatches them up, shoves open the window, and tosses them out onto the fire escape. "Put the rest on outside!" he says.
"Aren't you at least going to call me cab?" Sylar mutters, rolling his eyes as he climbs out.
There is more rapping at the door, louder, and Mohinder can hear Peter calling for him. "Just a moment!" Mohinder hollers, and he feels Sylar tug his arm. "What?" he snaps, whirling around.
Sylar pushes his mouth against Mohinder's, pushes his tongue into Mohinder's mouth, and it abruptly makes no sense to push him away over Peter's incessant knocking. Sylar slides one hand into his hair and pulls him forward, and Mohinder braces himself on the windowsill and Sylar's shoulder. When Sylar draws back he nudges Mohinder's nose with his own.
A goodbye kiss. Good lord.
Sylar's grin is huge. "We're having an affair," he says.
"What?! We most certainly are not!" Mohinder exclaims, though he doesn't pull away as Sylar plays with his hair.
"We totally are."
"We're 'totally' not," Mohinder insists.
"You'll be here tonight, right?" Sylar asks, lightly dragging his nails over Mohinder's scalp. He's excited, the bastard.
"I... yes." So much for that pretense.
"The cop and the girl are still away?"
God, Mohinder hadn't even though about them yet. "Yes, but--"
Another quick kiss. "Good."
"But--!"
"We'll talk about it tonight," Sylar assures him, unwinding his fingers from Mohinder's hair to stroke his cheek.
Mohinder can't believe the number of butterflies that billow up in his stomach at the simple gesture. It doesn't help that Sylar won't stop looking at him like he's remade the world. "Somehow I doubt we'll do much talking," Mohinder mutters.
"You know me so well," Sylar chuckles into his ear.
Mohinder has the sudden terrifying thought that he does, that he's always known Sylar far more than he should, and that this was inevitable.
More knocking. Sylar finally pulls away and picks up his shoes and socks. Mohinder looks back over his shoulder at his bedroom door, but now he feels a sudden hesitation at making Sylar go. He turns back, asking, "What time will..."
Of course, the fire escape is empty.