Fedora and a Bull-whip
Title: Fedora and a Bull-whip
Pairings/Character: Mylar, mentions of Peter
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1679
Spoilers/Warnings: umm...smut...bondage (no whipping, don't worry :p)
Summary: PWP, Mohinder and Sylar are going to a costume party...
Author's Note: Written for the Mylar challenge, prompt "Something permanent, something dark." This is for the smut category...It helps if you know a certain musical cult classic from the 70's...and...erm...if you don't know the other costume, there's something wrong with you...
“Can I see it yet?” Sylar asked, adjusting his trench-coat over his costume.
“Just a minute, I’m almost ready,” Mohinder called.
“Well good because we’re-we...” Sylar trailed off as Mohinder opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hall, smiling nervously.
He was wearing an Indiana Jones costume, white shirt, dark jacket, brown pants, a whip wrapped around his arm, and a fedora. Sylar couldn’t help it when his jaw dropped open.
“It’s too much! I knew it,” Mohinder exclaimed upon seeing Sylar’s look. He turned to head back into the room, presumably to change, but he froze just inside the doorway, held back by telekinesis.
“Don’t...you...dare,” Sylar warned, jumping up and moving over to stand right behind Mohinder, slowly turning him around to face him.
Mohinder bit his lip shyly as he looked up at Sylar, the fedora partially obscuring his right eye, making him look incredibly sexy. Sylar felt flush just looking at him.
“You like it?” Mohinder asked.
“Like it?” Sylar leaned forward, tipping Mohinder’s hat back so he could kiss him on the lips, before brushing his mouth down over Mohinder’s jaw, “the only thing sexier would be for you to wear...nothing.”
“We don’t have ti-time for nothing,” Mohinder’s breath hitched when Sylar’s hand trailed down to the front of his pants.
“It’s just a stupid party,” Sylar groaned, smoothing his hand around the back of Mohinder’s shirt, inside his jacket, pulling Mohinder toward him.
“But we already said we’d go,” Mohinder said, swallowing a little when his groin rubbed against Sylar’s.
“We’ll say we were sick.”
“I already spoke to Peter today. He knows I’m not sick,” Mohinder pointed out as Sylar started to remove his jacket.
“Then, just a little quickie, please,” Sylar continued to tug at Mohinder’s jacket even as Mohinder tried to push him back.
“Sylar, we don’t have time...”
“What’s that?” Sylar pointed, and Mohinder glanced down at the dark stain on his shirt.
“Wh-oh no. I must have gotten shoe polish on this earlier,” Mohinder hurried to pull off his jacket, licking his thumb and rubbing at the stain on his shirt, “no, it’s not coming off. Damnit!”
“Take your shirt off, I can get that out,” Sylar said, smiling pleasantly when Mohinder looked up at him.
“Alright. I’ll need to call Peter, and tell him we’re gonna be late,” Mohinder said, turning toward his room, and dropping his jacket to the floor as he pulled his shirt up over his head, bumping his fedora so that it fell.
Sylar moved fast, catching Mohinder’s arms before he was fully able to pull himself from the shirt, pinning his wrists together behind his back.
“Sylar, what...” Mohinder tried to turn around, but Sylar held him still, quickly looping the shirt around Mohinder’s wrists, tying them securely together.
“Peter can wait,” Sylar whispered into Mohinder’s ear, before leaning down to retrieve the fedora, placing it on Mohinder’s head.
“Untie me,” Mohinder said, “Sylar, we have to go.”
Sylar turned Mohinder to face him, grinning down at him.
“Sylar,” Mohinder begged, “please.”
Sylar chuckled, shaking his head slightly, brushing his thumb over Mohinder’s lip as Mohinder struggled against the shirt, but it was too tight, and too secure. Sylar traced his fingers down Mohinder’s bare chest, brushing lightly over his nipples, then down the middle of his chest to his navel.
Mohinder’s stomach tensed, “Sy-Sylar...”
Then Sylar leaned forward, lifting Mohinder swiftly, and carrying him on his shoulder to the bed, Mohinder yelping in surprise, squirming in Sylar’s grip.
“Put me down! Put me-uumph!”
Sylar dropped Mohinder on the bed, guiding him back until he was sitting with his back to the headboard.
“This is your fault you know, for looking too damn sexy in that costume,” Sylar said, licking his lips as he looked at Mohinder sitting in his pants, boots, and hat, his bare chest rising and falling in barely concealed arousal.
“Right, it’s my fault you can’t contain yourself,” Mohinder rolled his eyes.
“It is! How can I resist you when you look so fucking gorgeous?” Sylar demanded.
Sylar soon removed Mohinder’s boots and socks, tossing them carelessly off the side of the bed.
Sylar began to kiss down Mohinder’s chest, pausing to lick him from time to time, relishing in Mohinder squirming beneath him, “You are the hottest...sexiest...most fuck-able...Indiana Jones...I’ve ever...seen. Ford is hot...but damn Mohinder.”
Mohinder groaned as Sylar began to un-button his pants, Sylar’s hands skillfully brushing over Mohinder’s clothed groin as he took his sweet time uncovering him.
“Gaaaah, do it already! Please!” Mohinder begged, pulling at the shirt around his wrists so hard that Sylar could hear a seam tearing.
“Patience,” Sylar grinned, bringing his mouth to Mohinder’s, bumping his hat slightly as he attempted to consume him, tasting Mohinder’s tongue against his, enjoying it thoroughly as Mohinder tried to press hard against him, to find friction. Mohinder trembled as he pushed against Sylar.
Sylar couldn’t help but laugh as a thought popped into his head, and he pulled away from Mohinder, who moaned at the loss of contact.
“I see you shiver, in antici....”
Sylar opened his trench-coat, removing it and letting it fall to the floor, revealing his fish-net stockings and corset. Mohinder breathed heavily as he looked up at Sylar, his mouth slightly open, the hat shadowing part of his face.
“Pation,” Sylar finished, crawling along the bed back to Mohinder.
“Leave me shivering any longer and I’ll be coming on my own pretty soon,” Mohinder warned.
“Ah, ah, not until I’ve had my way with you,” Sylar said, dropping his chin slightly to give Mohinder a stern look.
Sylar finished undoing Mohinder’s pants, slowly dragging them down Mohinder’s legs as Mohinder rocked a little to help Sylar.
Sylar then traced a finger along Mohinder’s abdomen, tickling just around his belly-button, before moving down to his erection. He wrapped his fingers around Mohinder’s cock, slowly beginning to pump him to orgasm.
“Oh my-ghnn...” Mohinder moaned, hips bucking up as far as they could with his hands tied behind his back. Sylar could hear the shirt tearing a little again.
“This won’t do at all,” Sylar said, calling the whip to himself as he let Mohinder go, grinning at the man’s groan of frustration.
“What are you going to do with that?” Mohinder asked, eyes going wide as he looked at the whip..
“Don’t worry,” Sylar soothed, dragging Mohinder up, and around so that he was facing away from Sylar. Then Sylar tied Mohinder’s wrists with the whip before using telekinesis to cut the shirt away.
“There, more room to maneuver now,” Sylar said.
Sylar kissed the back of Mohinder’s neck, then down along his shoulder, moving his knees so that he was straddling Mohinder’s legs.
“You’d better use the...”
“I know, I know,” Sylar said, opening the nearest drawer with his mind and pulling out a bottle of lube.
Sylar pulled down his costume underwear, slicking himself up before covering the index and middle fingers of his left hand in lube. He placed a hand on Mohinder’s back to let him know what he was doing, then he slipped the fingers inside Mohinder, feeling the body before him tense slightly before Mohinder relaxed, moaning a little as Sylar brushed his prostate.
“Ready?” Sylar asked, lips brushing over Mohinder’s neck.
“I’ve been ready forever,” Mohinder said, “just do it already!”
Sylar thrust inside Mohinder, who cried out in surprise and ecstacy from the sensations. Sylar’s right hand trailed down Mohinder’s back as he began to thrust evenly, before his fingers trailed to Mohinder’s erection, wrapping around and beginning to stroke his cock again.
“I have you now, Mr. Jones,” Sylar muttered into Mohinder’s ear.
“Yes, you do,” Mohinder gasped, struggling to stay upright as Sylar thrust into him again and again and he was almost helpless to do anything with his hands behind his back.
Sylar and Mohinder began to near orgasm together, Mohinder’s building fast as Sylar slammed into his prostate again and again while stroking him, and Sylar’s coming so soon from the friction inside Mohinder’s body, the power he held over Mohinder when the man’s hands were tied behind his back, and the sexiness of the fedora that was somehow managing to remain on Mohinder’s head.
“Oh fuck, hhh-Mohind...”
“Sy-Sylar!”
Sylar and Mohinder came in unison, Sylar thrusting as far inside Mohinder as he could, Mohinder arching up, his back pressing to Sylar’s chest, bound hands brushing Sylar’s costume.
Sylar pulled out of Mohinder, turning him around to kiss him.
“You know...we’re going to be...really late now...and I don’t have...a shirt,” Mohinder said in between deep kisses.
“You don’t need...a shirt,” Sylar said, sitting back and pushing Mohinder’s hat down so it was partly over his eyes again; so hot that Sylar wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d gotten hard again, but he didn’t, luckily.
“Are you going to untie me now?” Mohinder asked, grinning from under his fedora.
“I suppose,” Sylar said, pouting a little. He waved a hand and the whip came untied, allowing Mohinder to stretch his shoulders properly and rub his wrists.
“Thanks,” Mohinder said, bumping his hat back so he could see Sylar better, “now, shall we get to the party, Doctor?”
“Certainly, Professor Jones.”
A few minutes later, Sylar and Mohinder were cleaned up, Mohinder wearing the Indiana Jones costume with the jacket covering his bare torso, having given up on the shirt idea. Sylar pulled the trench-coat over his costume again, following Mohinder to the door.
Just as they opened the door, Sylar grabbed Mohinder, pulling him back into one more kiss, Mohinder’s hand reaching up to grab his hat which was threatening to fall off.
“Don’t you dare throw out the hat,” Sylar said as he pulled away, “we’ll definitely be using that again.”
Mohinder grinned, adjusting the whip on his shoulder, “wouldn’t dream of it.”
Finally they left for the party, not at all worried about Peter’s impending questioning when they showed up over half an hour late.
Pairings/Character: Mylar, mentions of Peter
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1679
Spoilers/Warnings: umm...smut...bondage (no whipping, don't worry :p)
Summary: PWP, Mohinder and Sylar are going to a costume party...
Author's Note: Written for the Mylar challenge, prompt "Something permanent, something dark." This is for the smut category...It helps if you know a certain musical cult classic from the 70's...and...erm...if you don't know the other costume, there's something wrong with you...
“Can I see it yet?” Sylar asked, adjusting his trench-coat over his costume.
“Just a minute, I’m almost ready,” Mohinder called.
“Well good because we’re-we...” Sylar trailed off as Mohinder opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hall, smiling nervously.
He was wearing an Indiana Jones costume, white shirt, dark jacket, brown pants, a whip wrapped around his arm, and a fedora. Sylar couldn’t help it when his jaw dropped open.
“It’s too much! I knew it,” Mohinder exclaimed upon seeing Sylar’s look. He turned to head back into the room, presumably to change, but he froze just inside the doorway, held back by telekinesis.
“Don’t...you...dare,” Sylar warned, jumping up and moving over to stand right behind Mohinder, slowly turning him around to face him.
Mohinder bit his lip shyly as he looked up at Sylar, the fedora partially obscuring his right eye, making him look incredibly sexy. Sylar felt flush just looking at him.
“You like it?” Mohinder asked.
“Like it?” Sylar leaned forward, tipping Mohinder’s hat back so he could kiss him on the lips, before brushing his mouth down over Mohinder’s jaw, “the only thing sexier would be for you to wear...nothing.”
“We don’t have ti-time for nothing,” Mohinder’s breath hitched when Sylar’s hand trailed down to the front of his pants.
“It’s just a stupid party,” Sylar groaned, smoothing his hand around the back of Mohinder’s shirt, inside his jacket, pulling Mohinder toward him.
“But we already said we’d go,” Mohinder said, swallowing a little when his groin rubbed against Sylar’s.
“We’ll say we were sick.”
“I already spoke to Peter today. He knows I’m not sick,” Mohinder pointed out as Sylar started to remove his jacket.
“Then, just a little quickie, please,” Sylar continued to tug at Mohinder’s jacket even as Mohinder tried to push him back.
“Sylar, we don’t have time...”
“What’s that?” Sylar pointed, and Mohinder glanced down at the dark stain on his shirt.
“Wh-oh no. I must have gotten shoe polish on this earlier,” Mohinder hurried to pull off his jacket, licking his thumb and rubbing at the stain on his shirt, “no, it’s not coming off. Damnit!”
“Take your shirt off, I can get that out,” Sylar said, smiling pleasantly when Mohinder looked up at him.
“Alright. I’ll need to call Peter, and tell him we’re gonna be late,” Mohinder said, turning toward his room, and dropping his jacket to the floor as he pulled his shirt up over his head, bumping his fedora so that it fell.
Sylar moved fast, catching Mohinder’s arms before he was fully able to pull himself from the shirt, pinning his wrists together behind his back.
“Sylar, what...” Mohinder tried to turn around, but Sylar held him still, quickly looping the shirt around Mohinder’s wrists, tying them securely together.
“Peter can wait,” Sylar whispered into Mohinder’s ear, before leaning down to retrieve the fedora, placing it on Mohinder’s head.
“Untie me,” Mohinder said, “Sylar, we have to go.”
Sylar turned Mohinder to face him, grinning down at him.
“Sylar,” Mohinder begged, “please.”
Sylar chuckled, shaking his head slightly, brushing his thumb over Mohinder’s lip as Mohinder struggled against the shirt, but it was too tight, and too secure. Sylar traced his fingers down Mohinder’s bare chest, brushing lightly over his nipples, then down the middle of his chest to his navel.
Mohinder’s stomach tensed, “Sy-Sylar...”
Then Sylar leaned forward, lifting Mohinder swiftly, and carrying him on his shoulder to the bed, Mohinder yelping in surprise, squirming in Sylar’s grip.
“Put me down! Put me-uumph!”
Sylar dropped Mohinder on the bed, guiding him back until he was sitting with his back to the headboard.
“This is your fault you know, for looking too damn sexy in that costume,” Sylar said, licking his lips as he looked at Mohinder sitting in his pants, boots, and hat, his bare chest rising and falling in barely concealed arousal.
“Right, it’s my fault you can’t contain yourself,” Mohinder rolled his eyes.
“It is! How can I resist you when you look so fucking gorgeous?” Sylar demanded.
Sylar soon removed Mohinder’s boots and socks, tossing them carelessly off the side of the bed.
Sylar began to kiss down Mohinder’s chest, pausing to lick him from time to time, relishing in Mohinder squirming beneath him, “You are the hottest...sexiest...most fuck-able...Indiana Jones...I’ve ever...seen. Ford is hot...but damn Mohinder.”
Mohinder groaned as Sylar began to un-button his pants, Sylar’s hands skillfully brushing over Mohinder’s clothed groin as he took his sweet time uncovering him.
“Gaaaah, do it already! Please!” Mohinder begged, pulling at the shirt around his wrists so hard that Sylar could hear a seam tearing.
“Patience,” Sylar grinned, bringing his mouth to Mohinder’s, bumping his hat slightly as he attempted to consume him, tasting Mohinder’s tongue against his, enjoying it thoroughly as Mohinder tried to press hard against him, to find friction. Mohinder trembled as he pushed against Sylar.
Sylar couldn’t help but laugh as a thought popped into his head, and he pulled away from Mohinder, who moaned at the loss of contact.
“I see you shiver, in antici....”
Sylar opened his trench-coat, removing it and letting it fall to the floor, revealing his fish-net stockings and corset. Mohinder breathed heavily as he looked up at Sylar, his mouth slightly open, the hat shadowing part of his face.
“Pation,” Sylar finished, crawling along the bed back to Mohinder.
“Leave me shivering any longer and I’ll be coming on my own pretty soon,” Mohinder warned.
“Ah, ah, not until I’ve had my way with you,” Sylar said, dropping his chin slightly to give Mohinder a stern look.
Sylar finished undoing Mohinder’s pants, slowly dragging them down Mohinder’s legs as Mohinder rocked a little to help Sylar.
Sylar then traced a finger along Mohinder’s abdomen, tickling just around his belly-button, before moving down to his erection. He wrapped his fingers around Mohinder’s cock, slowly beginning to pump him to orgasm.
“Oh my-ghnn...” Mohinder moaned, hips bucking up as far as they could with his hands tied behind his back. Sylar could hear the shirt tearing a little again.
“This won’t do at all,” Sylar said, calling the whip to himself as he let Mohinder go, grinning at the man’s groan of frustration.
“What are you going to do with that?” Mohinder asked, eyes going wide as he looked at the whip..
“Don’t worry,” Sylar soothed, dragging Mohinder up, and around so that he was facing away from Sylar. Then Sylar tied Mohinder’s wrists with the whip before using telekinesis to cut the shirt away.
“There, more room to maneuver now,” Sylar said.
Sylar kissed the back of Mohinder’s neck, then down along his shoulder, moving his knees so that he was straddling Mohinder’s legs.
“You’d better use the...”
“I know, I know,” Sylar said, opening the nearest drawer with his mind and pulling out a bottle of lube.
Sylar pulled down his costume underwear, slicking himself up before covering the index and middle fingers of his left hand in lube. He placed a hand on Mohinder’s back to let him know what he was doing, then he slipped the fingers inside Mohinder, feeling the body before him tense slightly before Mohinder relaxed, moaning a little as Sylar brushed his prostate.
“Ready?” Sylar asked, lips brushing over Mohinder’s neck.
“I’ve been ready forever,” Mohinder said, “just do it already!”
Sylar thrust inside Mohinder, who cried out in surprise and ecstacy from the sensations. Sylar’s right hand trailed down Mohinder’s back as he began to thrust evenly, before his fingers trailed to Mohinder’s erection, wrapping around and beginning to stroke his cock again.
“I have you now, Mr. Jones,” Sylar muttered into Mohinder’s ear.
“Yes, you do,” Mohinder gasped, struggling to stay upright as Sylar thrust into him again and again and he was almost helpless to do anything with his hands behind his back.
Sylar and Mohinder began to near orgasm together, Mohinder’s building fast as Sylar slammed into his prostate again and again while stroking him, and Sylar’s coming so soon from the friction inside Mohinder’s body, the power he held over Mohinder when the man’s hands were tied behind his back, and the sexiness of the fedora that was somehow managing to remain on Mohinder’s head.
“Oh fuck, hhh-Mohind...”
“Sy-Sylar!”
Sylar and Mohinder came in unison, Sylar thrusting as far inside Mohinder as he could, Mohinder arching up, his back pressing to Sylar’s chest, bound hands brushing Sylar’s costume.
Sylar pulled out of Mohinder, turning him around to kiss him.
“You know...we’re going to be...really late now...and I don’t have...a shirt,” Mohinder said in between deep kisses.
“You don’t need...a shirt,” Sylar said, sitting back and pushing Mohinder’s hat down so it was partly over his eyes again; so hot that Sylar wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d gotten hard again, but he didn’t, luckily.
“Are you going to untie me now?” Mohinder asked, grinning from under his fedora.
“I suppose,” Sylar said, pouting a little. He waved a hand and the whip came untied, allowing Mohinder to stretch his shoulders properly and rub his wrists.
“Thanks,” Mohinder said, bumping his hat back so he could see Sylar better, “now, shall we get to the party, Doctor?”
“Certainly, Professor Jones.”
A few minutes later, Sylar and Mohinder were cleaned up, Mohinder wearing the Indiana Jones costume with the jacket covering his bare torso, having given up on the shirt idea. Sylar pulled the trench-coat over his costume again, following Mohinder to the door.
Just as they opened the door, Sylar grabbed Mohinder, pulling him back into one more kiss, Mohinder’s hand reaching up to grab his hat which was threatening to fall off.
“Don’t you dare throw out the hat,” Sylar said as he pulled away, “we’ll definitely be using that again.”
Mohinder grinned, adjusting the whip on his shoulder, “wouldn’t dream of it.”
Finally they left for the party, not at all worried about Peter’s impending questioning when they showed up over half an hour late.