[Heroes] Ficlet: "Revelation"
Title: Revelation
Characters/Pairing: Sylar (Zane)/Mohinder
Rating: R
Notes: When random opening lines flit through my head...
He'd never liked the taste of come.
Not his own. (And yes, he admits to tasting it. Out of a jolt of curiosity. And a matter of reciprocity-why would he ask a woman (or a man for that matter) to do something he wouldn't do himself?)
Not that of the few men he'd been with. (The hippy-artsy-bohemian young man from high school; the Wall Street day-trader he'd met, a few years ago, in a cafe; the son of a woman who'd come in one afternoon to get her watch fixed.)
The texture was viscous, the taste overwhelmingly briny and bitter. And, despite himself, he'd wind up looking for somewhere to spit; surreptitiously, of course. And wondering all the while how people could claim to love going down on men.
And then he'd found out...
When dark hands curled fingers tight into his hair and a voice he'd thought so cultured, so eloquent, cracked and broke and pleaded with him until he curled his tongue just so and felt warmth flood his mouth; sharp and spicy, the semen left his tongue tingling, his belly warm.
And Mohinder, staring down at him all bite swollen lips and heavy lidded eyes and hitching breath was a picture perfect testament to the glory of this revelation...
Then Mohinder was pulling him to his feet, carding fingers through his hair and kissing him hard.
And just for a moment, Sylar imagined the name that fell off Mohinder's lips wasn't that of a dead musician.
Characters/Pairing: Sylar (Zane)/Mohinder
Rating: R
Notes: When random opening lines flit through my head...
He'd never liked the taste of come.
Not his own. (And yes, he admits to tasting it. Out of a jolt of curiosity. And a matter of reciprocity-why would he ask a woman (or a man for that matter) to do something he wouldn't do himself?)
Not that of the few men he'd been with. (The hippy-artsy-bohemian young man from high school; the Wall Street day-trader he'd met, a few years ago, in a cafe; the son of a woman who'd come in one afternoon to get her watch fixed.)
The texture was viscous, the taste overwhelmingly briny and bitter. And, despite himself, he'd wind up looking for somewhere to spit; surreptitiously, of course. And wondering all the while how people could claim to love going down on men.
And then he'd found out...
When dark hands curled fingers tight into his hair and a voice he'd thought so cultured, so eloquent, cracked and broke and pleaded with him until he curled his tongue just so and felt warmth flood his mouth; sharp and spicy, the semen left his tongue tingling, his belly warm.
And Mohinder, staring down at him all bite swollen lips and heavy lidded eyes and hitching breath was a picture perfect testament to the glory of this revelation...
Then Mohinder was pulling him to his feet, carding fingers through his hair and kissing him hard.
And just for a moment, Sylar imagined the name that fell off Mohinder's lips wasn't that of a dead musician.