(no subject)
This was written as a response to a prompt in the Anonymous Heroes Kink Meme, co-authored by my friend Amy and myself, and we thought we'd like to crosspost it here.
Title: The Only Living Men In New York
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~4200
Prompt: 'Mohinder/Sylar, AU, Sylar as Gabriel Gray, anonymous alley sex.'
Authors: jean_prouvaire and notcrazy_honest
Summary: It's 2008, and the Shanti Virus has destroyed New York. The only person left that Mohinder can trust is the watchmaker who's been following him, and the only person who can save Gabriel is a man whose name he doesn't know.
The streets of New York are filthy, the alleyways filthier still, but when the Shanti Virus has destroyed nearly everything that once filled them, they're the only safe place that Shanti's brother can seek refuge. His antibodies can protect him, but it's too late for the rest of the country. The only people left are the officials who'll have him deported in two seconds flat if they hear his accent--and if they learn his name, he doesn't think he can trust them not to shoot him.
He slides down against the graffiti-splashed wall until the tiny, decimated patrol of hazmat agents passes, wondering bitterly at the fact that even when there were more than a hundred living people in the entire city, he wasn't any less lonely than he is now.
There's a man in the alley already, someone who had taken to just wandering the streets at times. The hazmat agents never bothered him- he'd make sure he stayed out of their way. He'd missed out on the news reports, the evacuations, the deaths. He'd been too busy repairing a certain watch, and when he got involved with his work, he'd forget how much time was passing. By the time he'd left his shop, the world was a different place.
He liked how quiet it was now, he had to admit.
He hadn’t been hiding in this alleyway. He'd been following the Indian man he'd seen walking around the city occasionally. He was curious, but it had been so long since he'd talked to anyone. He’d never known just how to approach him.
Well. They’re both here now, so the former watchmaker steps forward out of the corner once the agents pass by. "Hello," he says, quietly.
Mohinder flinches, but the man in front of him doesn't wear any uniform he recognizes--and if he were working for the government, he would; they cling to any last vestige of order and civilization that they can get these days.
He still does his best to affect an American accent when he answers. He doesn't need to raise suspicions. "Hello."
His voice feels rusty. It's been so long since he's used it--weeks since he's had anyone to talk to. He can't help but drink the man in like he's some kind of benevolent apparition. Mohinder doesn't have much trouble finding food, but right now, he looks almost starving.
Gabriel smiles- he's never been noticed by anyone but his mother before. He stares at the man intensely as they step towards each other. "Are you immune?" he asks, straightforward in ways he'd never dream of before the supervirus.
It sounds like a dangerous question to answer, but what else is he supposed to say? "I suppose so, yes." Mohinder doesn't suppose. He knows. But he has no idea who this man is.
Mohinder still wants to trust him, somehow--it's stupid of him, but he's so grateful to be talking to someone, even if it makes him nervous as hell. What he really wants is to reach out and touch the man, to make sure he's not a hallucination. He wants to see if the pale cheek is as smooth as it looks, to run his fingers through the perfectly-parted hair and ask how it got that way, when Mohinder has five days' growth of stubble despite his very best efforts not to look like a bum, and his own hair is sticking out in all directions.
"You must be, too," he adds. For now, anyway. The virus will keep changing.
"I seem to be," Gabriel says. He tilts his head and stares, almost like he's trying to see this other man from a different angle.
Gabriel's grown to accept that he just knows things sometimes, even if he can't explain himself. There's no one to explain it to, other than the government, and they wouldn't want to listen. He'd been able to see the wrongness before, the few times he's come across someone with the illness. This man isn't sick- in fact, there's nothing wrong with him at all. He's perfect. For some reason, it all fits together like it should.
Gabriel reaches out to touch the stubble on his face- Gabriel has no issues about doing exactly what he feels like, so he has no issues with touching Mohinder. There's no point to being polite anymore, and he wants to make sure this is real. He brushes his thumb over bristling hair, almost in a clinical manner, and asks, "Why are you here?"
Mohinder's too aghast at the realization that this stranger is actually touching him to be worried about the way he answers this. The light, casual brush of skillful fingers against his face feels amplified somehow. It's been so long, and there's something about the man's hands...they're large, they look like they should be unwieldy, but they're anything but. Mohinder is oddly fascinated by them.
The government wouldn't send someone this subtle to round him up. They would have no reason. They could take him by force if they knew he was here.
"I need to find a cure," he says, dropping the weak attempt at sounding American. "I'm the only one who might know how the virus works. I can't do anything if they send me back to India."
Even now, he sounds defiant. He doesn't believe that this man wants him deported, but if he is an agent, then by god, just let him try.
But it doesn't stop him from reaching up with something like awe to cover the hand on his cheek with his own. It's warm. Human. Mohinder's eyes are glistening. "How are you still alive?" he murmurs. It's more important than 'who are you,' right now.
"I don't know," Gabriel says, quietly. "I wish I knew. One day I woke up and something was different." He wished he remembered - all he knew was he completely missed a couple days, and then suddenly, he saw how to fix the centuries old watch he'd been working on for ages. It was so simple.
Everything seemed simple for Gabriel now, except for this man. He isn't supposed to be here, a shining example of perfect working order in this decaying city. "You're trying to fix it?" Gabriel asks, almost too amazed by that to believe. "Do you really think you can?" Even Gabriel won't last forever against it. Somehow, he hadn't considered fixing the virus.
"If I can synthesize my own antibodies...find out how to make them adapt to the mutations of the virus..." It seems hopeless, when Mohinder puts it that way. He looks crestfallen. He doesn't even know anymore.
There's nothing he can do. He'll be the last person in New York, the last person on earth, unless the virus starts changing fast enough that even his antibodies can't outdo them--and this man will be gone, the first person who's talked to him in what feels like a lifetime now. Mohinder doesn't know his name, and yet he can't help but to convulsively seize Gabriel's hand, lacing their fingers together tight as if to keep him from being dragged away. He can't lose this person now. Not yet.
"I don't know," he whispers. "I could probably give you a few more weeks, if that's what you want." It's pitiful. But it's all his blood can do. He pulls Gabriel closer to feel his body heat, feeling how alive he is right now, soaking that up as best he can. He needs to protect this man.
He reaches up to feel the perfect, improbable smoothness of Gabriel's cheek, as Gabriel had done to him. And he traces his thumb along Gabriel's lower lip, amazed by how soft it is, nothing like the chapped, cracked lips of the plague victims.
Gabriel sighs quietly, exhaling breath hot on Mohinder's finger. "Maybe I could help," he says, so low and quiet that it's more of a rumble than anything else. His eyes are pleading- he'd been drifting all this time. After fixing everything in his shop, there was so little to do. If he could accomplish something important, maybe his life could have been worth something.
Nobody can help me, Mohinder thinks, but what comes out instead is "Please." If only because it will stop Gabriel from leaving, give Mohinder a companion, someone to share his grief and despair with for a little while even if they can't cure anything.
He doesn't know if Gabriel knows the first thing about genetics, or even about science in general. He doesn't know anything about him. But yes, Gabriel can help him.
Gabriel thinks that maybe this man has brought him salvation. Of course Mohinder would look like this.
Gabriel can’t risk pulling his hand apart from Mohinder’s, not now, but he can use his free hand to slide fingers back over Mohinder’s neck and to curve over the man's ear. He pulls on a curl of hair, appreciating the glint of neon off it.
Mohinder closes his eyes with a little whimper and leans his face against that strong, steady hand, pressing his lips to the inside of Gabriel's wrist with more fervency than is appropriate. And then, because propriety means nothing anymore, he lets his body push his mind aside and do what it wants. The second kiss, to the inside of Gabriel's forearm, is warm and wet and tongued. Mohinder closes the last few inches of distance between their mouths, and kisses him.
Gabriel's surprised by the kisses, but he certainly doesn't stop them. By the time Mohinder reaches his mouth, his lips are pulling just as enthusiastically.
They're together now, intertwined, and perhaps Gabriel can find some hope here- but more importantly, maybe he can give this man hope. That's all he really wants right now. And it's reflected in every move, every way he presses himself against the other man, the way his hand ruffles through his hair. It's in every pleased grunt and happy sigh. He's never done any of this before, but it's almost like he already knows it all.
Gabriel finally breaks away from his mouth to kiss tentatively along the jawline and down to the neck. "I can help you," he says, quiet as ever, but just as insistent. "I know how things work, if I could just- I could figure it out. If you show me the basics, we could fix it together. I promise." The last is whispered against his ear. "We'll save everyone." He has to believe this right now, and the other man has to, as well. It's all they have, and Gabriel is willing to fight for it.
Mohinder closes his eyes and breathes tremblingly. Oh, god, he wants so badly to believe that--it seems like such a distant, far-fetched possibility after all these weeks of hopelessness, but it's a possibility that he clings to as hard as he clings to Gabriel, his fists clenching tightly in the man's shirt as he tilts his head back to expose his throat.
We'll save everyone. The words are more of a turn-on than any kind of dirty talk imaginable. He moans helplessly and crushes his mouth against Gabriel's again. His hands find their way up into Gabriel's hair, disheveling the perfectly-combed smoothness, cradling Gabriel's head against his shoulder with need as Mohinder grinds up against him.
"Yes," he breathes. "We'll do it together."
Gabriel isn't really paying attention to what he's doing when he pushes the other man back a step, then two. All he can really focus on is the feeling of his glasses sliding up his forehead. And he finds he really doesn't care. They're going to fix this together, what does he need glasses for?
He bites at Mohinder's neck more than once, tentative and curious and needy, and then he finally realizes they're pressed against the wall. The brick feels slimy on the back of his hand, so he makes sure to cushion Mohinder's head. "All my life, I've been waiting-" That's really good enough, isn't it? He cuts himself off with another kiss as he presses his hips into Mohinder's.
Mohinder slides his hands down and cups Gabriel's ass to drag him closer still, to make Gabriel pin him to the wall. Haven't they both been waiting all their lives for this, then?
"It's what I was born for," he whispers into Gabriel's neck, wishing that were just an idiom.
He tugs at the fastenings of Gabriel's pants with one hand, clumsy and gentle and insistent until the button and zipper come undone, and looks up into Gabriel's eyes for confirmation as he slips his hand inside.
Gabriel sucks in a breath, and he looks up at Mohinder's eyes with both hesitation and desperation. This man really wants him like that? Gabriel finds that almost impossible, and yet here they both are, here for each other.
After a pause that's far longer than it should be, he nods and says, "Please," very quietly. He also murmurs "I've never-" But he doesn't have the words to say it, so he just drops his eyes and leans his forehead on Mohinder's shoulder. It pushes the glasses back over his eyes.
Mohinder holds back his surprise at that. It's not so very odd, not enough to merit more than a very brief pause before his lips are pressed against Gabriel's temple and his fingers are wrapping delicately around the man's shaft and stroking. He relishes the heat of it, the faint but distinct heartbeat he can feel--even better when he licks under Gabriel's jawline with a rough tongue and sucks at the pulse there in rhythm with the movement of his wrist. God, he needs that heat; he needs to make Gabriel's heart hammer against his chest...he needs Gabriel inside him.
Mohinder doesn't know how to ask for that. None of his usual articulateness or erudition is going to help him here. He doesn't have words for this, either- only an offering, quietly unbuckling his belt and opening his own jeans with hesitant, unthreatening movements.
Gabriel watches Mohinder move, his mouth open, his eyes drinking in the actions like wine. The city is silent except for his panting, and even though Gabriel almost wanted it that way, he wishes there were car horns or the hum of traffic.
Gabriel's hands move almost automatically to the other man's erection, pushing the jeans down carefully and wrapping his fingers around. His eyes dart up and down and up, and he knows what to do next, but he's still not sure he should.
Not sure he should? Who's going to frown at him? Who's going to tell him it's wrong? The only person he's talked to in a year is this man, and they're desperate for each other. The hesitation clears, and Gabriel strokes him a few times, solidly, and then he pulls his hand away to get the jeans further down.
He's still breathing heavily as he spits in his hand, but now a smile threatens to emerge on his lips. As he slicks the saliva up and down his own shaft, he leans forward to suck on Mohinder's neck, hard, then reaches back to tug on the man's ear with his teeth. A faint moan escapes from his lips, the first noise he's allowed himself to make.
Mohinder presses eagerly up into Gabriel's hand, thrilling with adrenaline. "I--I know it's going to hurt," Mohinder pants, the words spilling unexpectedly out of his mouth. "That's all right. I don't mind."
There are more important things than whether this hurts or not, and he wants it so very badly that he doesn't care. He needs Gabriel to be touching him, no matter what.
"Please," he whispers, hands sliding up and down Gabriel's back and twisting in his shirt again just to have something to cling to, spreading his legs as far apart as the tangle of jeans around his knees will allow, begging for this. "Please, whenever you're ready, just..."
This is the first time he's wished he knew the man's name, but he doesn't know how to ask that, either.
"Okay," Gabriel replies, pulling back only far enough to look down at what he's doing. He licks his lips and the serious expression on his face is one of deep concentration. "Okay."
With one hand on each shoulder, he quickly picks Mohinder up a couple inches and presses against him into the wall, putting them on the same level. He gasps as he feels himself prod into soft flesh. Once more his hand goes to his mouth, and he wets his fingers, then reaches down to test, cautiously pushing one finger inside Mohinder, letting the saliva transfer.
Gabriel should give it more time, but he finds he can't wait any longer, It doesn't take long before he's situated, and all he has to do is push into the wall, and-
Gabriel sinks into Mohinder with a deep groan. His arms shudder where his skin connects with the man, shoulders and sides. "God..." he says weakly into Mohinder's ear.
Mohinder lets out a long, shuddering gasp. "Fuck," he pants. He's grown more profane these past months, with no one to talk to but himself. He wants nothing so much as to wrap his legs around Gabriel's waist and pull him in deeper, anchoring them together, but it's too difficult, when he's being stretched like nothing he's ever felt before and even though it's good, incredible, it still burns. His fingers dig into Gabriel's shoulders like he's clutching a drowning man's hair and he smothers what would have been a whimper with another desperate kiss.
"Softer," he whispers, his hand slipping through Gabriel's hair, "but don't stop."
Gabriel bites his own lip, feeling a small pang of regret- he'd moved too fast and gone about it wrong already. But it's not a total failure. This man's going to help him move through it. Gabriel does his best to calm his breathing, stilling the urge to thrust deep into Mohinder and pull the sensation out. And when he starts moving again, he pushes as slowly as he can manage.
"I won't stop," he assures Mohinder, breathing into his ear. "I don't think I can now. Keep telling me- I don't- don't-" He shudders again and stops trying to make a sentence out of broken words. Something inside him whispers that he's being a fool- he's never stuttered before. The whisper is squashed entirely by the rest of him. This is all too right to be concerned about something so petty. They're going to save the world, he knows it.
The sensation becomes too much for Gabriel and he whimpers in Mohinder's ear.
Mohinder can't seem to stop touching Gabriel's hair, stroking it, playing with it, loving the softness of it. The simple appreciation of it gradually becomes a steady, comforting stroking as Gabriel whimpers, because it helps to focus Mohinder as well. It makes the pain and fullness easier.
He can and does steady himself with his legs around Gabriel's waist now, whispering half-sensible words of reassurance in Tamil in his ear.
Pain begins to dissolve into pleasure now, as Mohinder's body relaxes. Gabriel does know how this works. Mohinder wasn't wrong to trust him--he's been wrong that way so often before, but not this time; Gabriel is safe, Gabriel won't hurt him, god, Gabriel might even be able to help him save the world.
His mind is hazy as he wraps his body around Gabriel as closely as he can and pulls him in, but when coherent thought slips through, it's that he can't imagine not trusting this man. "That's good. Oh, that's--that's so good--"
Gabriel begins to move very slightly faster, hips moving in reaction to Mohinder's. He'd calmed at the odd words coming from the man's mouth, that language that Gabriel couldn't hope to understand. But he knows it’s meant to be supportive, and so it works.
And then Gabriel's abruptly pulled together by the other man, the one Gabriel had been so worried about hurting, and it feels incredible. He moans deeply and replies, "Yes. Good."
Gabriel loves this man's hand in his hair. He loves everything about him- taste, touch, determination, loneliness. Gabriel feels it all. As he pushes them on, speeding his pace and setting his hands in between Mohinder's shoulder blades and the bricks in the wall, he feels himself melt into Mohinder. He'd hate the feeling with anyone else, but with this man? He's honored.
Gabriel kisses Mohinder again, deep, and when he comes back up for air he says, "My name, it's Gabriel. Gabriel Gray." It's the closest he can come to asking, especially right now. But he wants so badly to know.
"Gabriel," Mohinder repeats, tasting the name on his tongue as he exhales. It's something of an unexpected gift, knowing what to call him. It's a beautiful name.
It makes this real now, undeniably so, and that simultaneously frightens Mohinder a little and elates him. He buries his face in Gabriel's neck and moans wantonly against the damp skin when a thrust hits just right, and he knows he needs to reciprocate.
Were it anyone else, he would lie. When the world has been destroyed by the Shanti Virus, and it's impossible to say who knows what about its origins anymore, it isn't safe to give his real name. But right now, Gabriel is safety. Gabriel deserves to be trusted with that much.
"Mohinder Suresh," he confesses, closing his eyes and rocking faster against Gabriel, urging him to speed up, as if to avoid dwelling on it. It's not that he's ashamed of who he is, he tells himself, but the thought lacks conviction. It's a lucky thing that the slow, sweet, burning pleasure is beginning to make it impossible to think at all.
Gabriel whispers "Mohinder" back to him- barely an awed sound, as he doesn't have the breath for it. It's not a name he would ever think up on his own. It's exotic and wonderful and it melts on his tongue, just like the taste of Mohinder's skin.
Gabriel speeds up, either following instructions well or heeding his own urges completely, it's difficult to tell by now. He's pushing fast and hard, not caring about the noises he makes anymore. Gabriel pants and groans and in between, the name Mohinder is on his lips. Gabriel chants it like a prayer.
It doesn't take Gabriel long at all before the tension is built up in him, a tight piano wire ready to snap. He doesn't want it to end so soon, because he's scared Mohinder will disappear entirely afterwards and all Gabriel can think is I won't let him, I won't. But what he says is "Mohinder, I- I'm close..." with gritted teeth and his face pressed into Mohinder's throat.
Mohinder snakes his hand between them to stroke himself as Gabriel thrusts, raw and hard with no lubricant, but the soreness will help him remember this when it's over. He needs it just like this right now, building and aching and burning until he's just as close to the edge.
His name sounds like a benediction when Gabriel says it like that.
"Yes," he hisses, burying his face in Gabriel's hair. "Harder, Gabriel, just a little more, just--" He shudders, clinging to Gabriel like a lifeline as it all becomes too much and he comes without warning.
The shudders are what finishes Gabriel, in the end. He cries out as he comes, high-pitched and loud. It's a lucky thing the hazmat agents tended to keep their helmets on- when Gabriel thinks on this later, he’ll be certain the entire city heard him.
As sensations start to come back to him, colors and sounds, Gabriel realizes his forehead is dripping with sweat. He can do nothing but pant for what seems like minutes- then he presses his lips to Mohinder's again. Don't leave, the kiss says. Please god, don't leave me now.
Of course Gabriel doesn't say that. He can't seem to say much of anything- once he finally pulls away from the kiss, all he can manage is to brush Mohinder's hair back with his fingers and stare in his eyes with a determined smile. They're going to do important things together, he reminds himself.
Mohinder, heartbeat hammering, too spent to worry about the agents, closes his eyes and kisses Gabriel's fingertips as they touch his face.
Where do we go from here? he thinks dazedly. Gabriel's not leaving, or disappearing like a mirage. He's still here. He's still willing to help, if it's possible.
And what happens when he can't, and the virus catches hold of him? You'll grow so attached to him, only to watch him die like everyone else.
He can't do that, he thinks, in a sudden moment of panic; he can't let Gabriel in when the odds of his surviving more than a few months are so slim.
You won't find a cure on your own. He can't do anything but help.
Is it really a risk worth taking?
He opens his eyes, and slowly reaches up to cover Gabriel's hand with his.
"Let me show you where I work."
Gabriel could see the fight within Mohinder, and his panic mirrored Mohinder's own. He watched with a twitching lip, his breath caught. But at Mohinder's words, the frozen smile becomes a real one, widening exceptionally.
"Thank you," he says. He wonders if Mohinder understands just how much he's grateful for.
They have plenty of time to find out, Gabriel thinks.
Title: The Only Living Men In New York
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~4200
Prompt: 'Mohinder/Sylar, AU, Sylar as Gabriel Gray, anonymous alley sex.'
Authors: jean_prouvaire and notcrazy_honest
Summary: It's 2008, and the Shanti Virus has destroyed New York. The only person left that Mohinder can trust is the watchmaker who's been following him, and the only person who can save Gabriel is a man whose name he doesn't know.
The streets of New York are filthy, the alleyways filthier still, but when the Shanti Virus has destroyed nearly everything that once filled them, they're the only safe place that Shanti's brother can seek refuge. His antibodies can protect him, but it's too late for the rest of the country. The only people left are the officials who'll have him deported in two seconds flat if they hear his accent--and if they learn his name, he doesn't think he can trust them not to shoot him.
He slides down against the graffiti-splashed wall until the tiny, decimated patrol of hazmat agents passes, wondering bitterly at the fact that even when there were more than a hundred living people in the entire city, he wasn't any less lonely than he is now.
There's a man in the alley already, someone who had taken to just wandering the streets at times. The hazmat agents never bothered him- he'd make sure he stayed out of their way. He'd missed out on the news reports, the evacuations, the deaths. He'd been too busy repairing a certain watch, and when he got involved with his work, he'd forget how much time was passing. By the time he'd left his shop, the world was a different place.
He liked how quiet it was now, he had to admit.
He hadn’t been hiding in this alleyway. He'd been following the Indian man he'd seen walking around the city occasionally. He was curious, but it had been so long since he'd talked to anyone. He’d never known just how to approach him.
Well. They’re both here now, so the former watchmaker steps forward out of the corner once the agents pass by. "Hello," he says, quietly.
Mohinder flinches, but the man in front of him doesn't wear any uniform he recognizes--and if he were working for the government, he would; they cling to any last vestige of order and civilization that they can get these days.
He still does his best to affect an American accent when he answers. He doesn't need to raise suspicions. "Hello."
His voice feels rusty. It's been so long since he's used it--weeks since he's had anyone to talk to. He can't help but drink the man in like he's some kind of benevolent apparition. Mohinder doesn't have much trouble finding food, but right now, he looks almost starving.
Gabriel smiles- he's never been noticed by anyone but his mother before. He stares at the man intensely as they step towards each other. "Are you immune?" he asks, straightforward in ways he'd never dream of before the supervirus.
It sounds like a dangerous question to answer, but what else is he supposed to say? "I suppose so, yes." Mohinder doesn't suppose. He knows. But he has no idea who this man is.
Mohinder still wants to trust him, somehow--it's stupid of him, but he's so grateful to be talking to someone, even if it makes him nervous as hell. What he really wants is to reach out and touch the man, to make sure he's not a hallucination. He wants to see if the pale cheek is as smooth as it looks, to run his fingers through the perfectly-parted hair and ask how it got that way, when Mohinder has five days' growth of stubble despite his very best efforts not to look like a bum, and his own hair is sticking out in all directions.
"You must be, too," he adds. For now, anyway. The virus will keep changing.
"I seem to be," Gabriel says. He tilts his head and stares, almost like he's trying to see this other man from a different angle.
Gabriel's grown to accept that he just knows things sometimes, even if he can't explain himself. There's no one to explain it to, other than the government, and they wouldn't want to listen. He'd been able to see the wrongness before, the few times he's come across someone with the illness. This man isn't sick- in fact, there's nothing wrong with him at all. He's perfect. For some reason, it all fits together like it should.
Gabriel reaches out to touch the stubble on his face- Gabriel has no issues about doing exactly what he feels like, so he has no issues with touching Mohinder. There's no point to being polite anymore, and he wants to make sure this is real. He brushes his thumb over bristling hair, almost in a clinical manner, and asks, "Why are you here?"
Mohinder's too aghast at the realization that this stranger is actually touching him to be worried about the way he answers this. The light, casual brush of skillful fingers against his face feels amplified somehow. It's been so long, and there's something about the man's hands...they're large, they look like they should be unwieldy, but they're anything but. Mohinder is oddly fascinated by them.
The government wouldn't send someone this subtle to round him up. They would have no reason. They could take him by force if they knew he was here.
"I need to find a cure," he says, dropping the weak attempt at sounding American. "I'm the only one who might know how the virus works. I can't do anything if they send me back to India."
Even now, he sounds defiant. He doesn't believe that this man wants him deported, but if he is an agent, then by god, just let him try.
But it doesn't stop him from reaching up with something like awe to cover the hand on his cheek with his own. It's warm. Human. Mohinder's eyes are glistening. "How are you still alive?" he murmurs. It's more important than 'who are you,' right now.
"I don't know," Gabriel says, quietly. "I wish I knew. One day I woke up and something was different." He wished he remembered - all he knew was he completely missed a couple days, and then suddenly, he saw how to fix the centuries old watch he'd been working on for ages. It was so simple.
Everything seemed simple for Gabriel now, except for this man. He isn't supposed to be here, a shining example of perfect working order in this decaying city. "You're trying to fix it?" Gabriel asks, almost too amazed by that to believe. "Do you really think you can?" Even Gabriel won't last forever against it. Somehow, he hadn't considered fixing the virus.
"If I can synthesize my own antibodies...find out how to make them adapt to the mutations of the virus..." It seems hopeless, when Mohinder puts it that way. He looks crestfallen. He doesn't even know anymore.
There's nothing he can do. He'll be the last person in New York, the last person on earth, unless the virus starts changing fast enough that even his antibodies can't outdo them--and this man will be gone, the first person who's talked to him in what feels like a lifetime now. Mohinder doesn't know his name, and yet he can't help but to convulsively seize Gabriel's hand, lacing their fingers together tight as if to keep him from being dragged away. He can't lose this person now. Not yet.
"I don't know," he whispers. "I could probably give you a few more weeks, if that's what you want." It's pitiful. But it's all his blood can do. He pulls Gabriel closer to feel his body heat, feeling how alive he is right now, soaking that up as best he can. He needs to protect this man.
He reaches up to feel the perfect, improbable smoothness of Gabriel's cheek, as Gabriel had done to him. And he traces his thumb along Gabriel's lower lip, amazed by how soft it is, nothing like the chapped, cracked lips of the plague victims.
Gabriel sighs quietly, exhaling breath hot on Mohinder's finger. "Maybe I could help," he says, so low and quiet that it's more of a rumble than anything else. His eyes are pleading- he'd been drifting all this time. After fixing everything in his shop, there was so little to do. If he could accomplish something important, maybe his life could have been worth something.
Nobody can help me, Mohinder thinks, but what comes out instead is "Please." If only because it will stop Gabriel from leaving, give Mohinder a companion, someone to share his grief and despair with for a little while even if they can't cure anything.
He doesn't know if Gabriel knows the first thing about genetics, or even about science in general. He doesn't know anything about him. But yes, Gabriel can help him.
Gabriel thinks that maybe this man has brought him salvation. Of course Mohinder would look like this.
Gabriel can’t risk pulling his hand apart from Mohinder’s, not now, but he can use his free hand to slide fingers back over Mohinder’s neck and to curve over the man's ear. He pulls on a curl of hair, appreciating the glint of neon off it.
Mohinder closes his eyes with a little whimper and leans his face against that strong, steady hand, pressing his lips to the inside of Gabriel's wrist with more fervency than is appropriate. And then, because propriety means nothing anymore, he lets his body push his mind aside and do what it wants. The second kiss, to the inside of Gabriel's forearm, is warm and wet and tongued. Mohinder closes the last few inches of distance between their mouths, and kisses him.
Gabriel's surprised by the kisses, but he certainly doesn't stop them. By the time Mohinder reaches his mouth, his lips are pulling just as enthusiastically.
They're together now, intertwined, and perhaps Gabriel can find some hope here- but more importantly, maybe he can give this man hope. That's all he really wants right now. And it's reflected in every move, every way he presses himself against the other man, the way his hand ruffles through his hair. It's in every pleased grunt and happy sigh. He's never done any of this before, but it's almost like he already knows it all.
Gabriel finally breaks away from his mouth to kiss tentatively along the jawline and down to the neck. "I can help you," he says, quiet as ever, but just as insistent. "I know how things work, if I could just- I could figure it out. If you show me the basics, we could fix it together. I promise." The last is whispered against his ear. "We'll save everyone." He has to believe this right now, and the other man has to, as well. It's all they have, and Gabriel is willing to fight for it.
Mohinder closes his eyes and breathes tremblingly. Oh, god, he wants so badly to believe that--it seems like such a distant, far-fetched possibility after all these weeks of hopelessness, but it's a possibility that he clings to as hard as he clings to Gabriel, his fists clenching tightly in the man's shirt as he tilts his head back to expose his throat.
We'll save everyone. The words are more of a turn-on than any kind of dirty talk imaginable. He moans helplessly and crushes his mouth against Gabriel's again. His hands find their way up into Gabriel's hair, disheveling the perfectly-combed smoothness, cradling Gabriel's head against his shoulder with need as Mohinder grinds up against him.
"Yes," he breathes. "We'll do it together."
Gabriel isn't really paying attention to what he's doing when he pushes the other man back a step, then two. All he can really focus on is the feeling of his glasses sliding up his forehead. And he finds he really doesn't care. They're going to fix this together, what does he need glasses for?
He bites at Mohinder's neck more than once, tentative and curious and needy, and then he finally realizes they're pressed against the wall. The brick feels slimy on the back of his hand, so he makes sure to cushion Mohinder's head. "All my life, I've been waiting-" That's really good enough, isn't it? He cuts himself off with another kiss as he presses his hips into Mohinder's.
Mohinder slides his hands down and cups Gabriel's ass to drag him closer still, to make Gabriel pin him to the wall. Haven't they both been waiting all their lives for this, then?
"It's what I was born for," he whispers into Gabriel's neck, wishing that were just an idiom.
He tugs at the fastenings of Gabriel's pants with one hand, clumsy and gentle and insistent until the button and zipper come undone, and looks up into Gabriel's eyes for confirmation as he slips his hand inside.
Gabriel sucks in a breath, and he looks up at Mohinder's eyes with both hesitation and desperation. This man really wants him like that? Gabriel finds that almost impossible, and yet here they both are, here for each other.
After a pause that's far longer than it should be, he nods and says, "Please," very quietly. He also murmurs "I've never-" But he doesn't have the words to say it, so he just drops his eyes and leans his forehead on Mohinder's shoulder. It pushes the glasses back over his eyes.
Mohinder holds back his surprise at that. It's not so very odd, not enough to merit more than a very brief pause before his lips are pressed against Gabriel's temple and his fingers are wrapping delicately around the man's shaft and stroking. He relishes the heat of it, the faint but distinct heartbeat he can feel--even better when he licks under Gabriel's jawline with a rough tongue and sucks at the pulse there in rhythm with the movement of his wrist. God, he needs that heat; he needs to make Gabriel's heart hammer against his chest...he needs Gabriel inside him.
Mohinder doesn't know how to ask for that. None of his usual articulateness or erudition is going to help him here. He doesn't have words for this, either- only an offering, quietly unbuckling his belt and opening his own jeans with hesitant, unthreatening movements.
Gabriel watches Mohinder move, his mouth open, his eyes drinking in the actions like wine. The city is silent except for his panting, and even though Gabriel almost wanted it that way, he wishes there were car horns or the hum of traffic.
Gabriel's hands move almost automatically to the other man's erection, pushing the jeans down carefully and wrapping his fingers around. His eyes dart up and down and up, and he knows what to do next, but he's still not sure he should.
Not sure he should? Who's going to frown at him? Who's going to tell him it's wrong? The only person he's talked to in a year is this man, and they're desperate for each other. The hesitation clears, and Gabriel strokes him a few times, solidly, and then he pulls his hand away to get the jeans further down.
He's still breathing heavily as he spits in his hand, but now a smile threatens to emerge on his lips. As he slicks the saliva up and down his own shaft, he leans forward to suck on Mohinder's neck, hard, then reaches back to tug on the man's ear with his teeth. A faint moan escapes from his lips, the first noise he's allowed himself to make.
Mohinder presses eagerly up into Gabriel's hand, thrilling with adrenaline. "I--I know it's going to hurt," Mohinder pants, the words spilling unexpectedly out of his mouth. "That's all right. I don't mind."
There are more important things than whether this hurts or not, and he wants it so very badly that he doesn't care. He needs Gabriel to be touching him, no matter what.
"Please," he whispers, hands sliding up and down Gabriel's back and twisting in his shirt again just to have something to cling to, spreading his legs as far apart as the tangle of jeans around his knees will allow, begging for this. "Please, whenever you're ready, just..."
This is the first time he's wished he knew the man's name, but he doesn't know how to ask that, either.
"Okay," Gabriel replies, pulling back only far enough to look down at what he's doing. He licks his lips and the serious expression on his face is one of deep concentration. "Okay."
With one hand on each shoulder, he quickly picks Mohinder up a couple inches and presses against him into the wall, putting them on the same level. He gasps as he feels himself prod into soft flesh. Once more his hand goes to his mouth, and he wets his fingers, then reaches down to test, cautiously pushing one finger inside Mohinder, letting the saliva transfer.
Gabriel should give it more time, but he finds he can't wait any longer, It doesn't take long before he's situated, and all he has to do is push into the wall, and-
Gabriel sinks into Mohinder with a deep groan. His arms shudder where his skin connects with the man, shoulders and sides. "God..." he says weakly into Mohinder's ear.
Mohinder lets out a long, shuddering gasp. "Fuck," he pants. He's grown more profane these past months, with no one to talk to but himself. He wants nothing so much as to wrap his legs around Gabriel's waist and pull him in deeper, anchoring them together, but it's too difficult, when he's being stretched like nothing he's ever felt before and even though it's good, incredible, it still burns. His fingers dig into Gabriel's shoulders like he's clutching a drowning man's hair and he smothers what would have been a whimper with another desperate kiss.
"Softer," he whispers, his hand slipping through Gabriel's hair, "but don't stop."
Gabriel bites his own lip, feeling a small pang of regret- he'd moved too fast and gone about it wrong already. But it's not a total failure. This man's going to help him move through it. Gabriel does his best to calm his breathing, stilling the urge to thrust deep into Mohinder and pull the sensation out. And when he starts moving again, he pushes as slowly as he can manage.
"I won't stop," he assures Mohinder, breathing into his ear. "I don't think I can now. Keep telling me- I don't- don't-" He shudders again and stops trying to make a sentence out of broken words. Something inside him whispers that he's being a fool- he's never stuttered before. The whisper is squashed entirely by the rest of him. This is all too right to be concerned about something so petty. They're going to save the world, he knows it.
The sensation becomes too much for Gabriel and he whimpers in Mohinder's ear.
Mohinder can't seem to stop touching Gabriel's hair, stroking it, playing with it, loving the softness of it. The simple appreciation of it gradually becomes a steady, comforting stroking as Gabriel whimpers, because it helps to focus Mohinder as well. It makes the pain and fullness easier.
He can and does steady himself with his legs around Gabriel's waist now, whispering half-sensible words of reassurance in Tamil in his ear.
Pain begins to dissolve into pleasure now, as Mohinder's body relaxes. Gabriel does know how this works. Mohinder wasn't wrong to trust him--he's been wrong that way so often before, but not this time; Gabriel is safe, Gabriel won't hurt him, god, Gabriel might even be able to help him save the world.
His mind is hazy as he wraps his body around Gabriel as closely as he can and pulls him in, but when coherent thought slips through, it's that he can't imagine not trusting this man. "That's good. Oh, that's--that's so good--"
Gabriel begins to move very slightly faster, hips moving in reaction to Mohinder's. He'd calmed at the odd words coming from the man's mouth, that language that Gabriel couldn't hope to understand. But he knows it’s meant to be supportive, and so it works.
And then Gabriel's abruptly pulled together by the other man, the one Gabriel had been so worried about hurting, and it feels incredible. He moans deeply and replies, "Yes. Good."
Gabriel loves this man's hand in his hair. He loves everything about him- taste, touch, determination, loneliness. Gabriel feels it all. As he pushes them on, speeding his pace and setting his hands in between Mohinder's shoulder blades and the bricks in the wall, he feels himself melt into Mohinder. He'd hate the feeling with anyone else, but with this man? He's honored.
Gabriel kisses Mohinder again, deep, and when he comes back up for air he says, "My name, it's Gabriel. Gabriel Gray." It's the closest he can come to asking, especially right now. But he wants so badly to know.
"Gabriel," Mohinder repeats, tasting the name on his tongue as he exhales. It's something of an unexpected gift, knowing what to call him. It's a beautiful name.
It makes this real now, undeniably so, and that simultaneously frightens Mohinder a little and elates him. He buries his face in Gabriel's neck and moans wantonly against the damp skin when a thrust hits just right, and he knows he needs to reciprocate.
Were it anyone else, he would lie. When the world has been destroyed by the Shanti Virus, and it's impossible to say who knows what about its origins anymore, it isn't safe to give his real name. But right now, Gabriel is safety. Gabriel deserves to be trusted with that much.
"Mohinder Suresh," he confesses, closing his eyes and rocking faster against Gabriel, urging him to speed up, as if to avoid dwelling on it. It's not that he's ashamed of who he is, he tells himself, but the thought lacks conviction. It's a lucky thing that the slow, sweet, burning pleasure is beginning to make it impossible to think at all.
Gabriel whispers "Mohinder" back to him- barely an awed sound, as he doesn't have the breath for it. It's not a name he would ever think up on his own. It's exotic and wonderful and it melts on his tongue, just like the taste of Mohinder's skin.
Gabriel speeds up, either following instructions well or heeding his own urges completely, it's difficult to tell by now. He's pushing fast and hard, not caring about the noises he makes anymore. Gabriel pants and groans and in between, the name Mohinder is on his lips. Gabriel chants it like a prayer.
It doesn't take Gabriel long at all before the tension is built up in him, a tight piano wire ready to snap. He doesn't want it to end so soon, because he's scared Mohinder will disappear entirely afterwards and all Gabriel can think is I won't let him, I won't. But what he says is "Mohinder, I- I'm close..." with gritted teeth and his face pressed into Mohinder's throat.
Mohinder snakes his hand between them to stroke himself as Gabriel thrusts, raw and hard with no lubricant, but the soreness will help him remember this when it's over. He needs it just like this right now, building and aching and burning until he's just as close to the edge.
His name sounds like a benediction when Gabriel says it like that.
"Yes," he hisses, burying his face in Gabriel's hair. "Harder, Gabriel, just a little more, just--" He shudders, clinging to Gabriel like a lifeline as it all becomes too much and he comes without warning.
The shudders are what finishes Gabriel, in the end. He cries out as he comes, high-pitched and loud. It's a lucky thing the hazmat agents tended to keep their helmets on- when Gabriel thinks on this later, he’ll be certain the entire city heard him.
As sensations start to come back to him, colors and sounds, Gabriel realizes his forehead is dripping with sweat. He can do nothing but pant for what seems like minutes- then he presses his lips to Mohinder's again. Don't leave, the kiss says. Please god, don't leave me now.
Of course Gabriel doesn't say that. He can't seem to say much of anything- once he finally pulls away from the kiss, all he can manage is to brush Mohinder's hair back with his fingers and stare in his eyes with a determined smile. They're going to do important things together, he reminds himself.
Mohinder, heartbeat hammering, too spent to worry about the agents, closes his eyes and kisses Gabriel's fingertips as they touch his face.
Where do we go from here? he thinks dazedly. Gabriel's not leaving, or disappearing like a mirage. He's still here. He's still willing to help, if it's possible.
And what happens when he can't, and the virus catches hold of him? You'll grow so attached to him, only to watch him die like everyone else.
He can't do that, he thinks, in a sudden moment of panic; he can't let Gabriel in when the odds of his surviving more than a few months are so slim.
You won't find a cure on your own. He can't do anything but help.
Is it really a risk worth taking?
He opens his eyes, and slowly reaches up to cover Gabriel's hand with his.
"Let me show you where I work."
Gabriel could see the fight within Mohinder, and his panic mirrored Mohinder's own. He watched with a twitching lip, his breath caught. But at Mohinder's words, the frozen smile becomes a real one, widening exceptionally.
"Thank you," he says. He wonders if Mohinder understands just how much he's grateful for.
They have plenty of time to find out, Gabriel thinks.