I Should Have Knocked - Mohinder/Matt, R
Title: I Should Have Knocked
Rating: R
Characters: Mohinder/Matt
Spoilers: Season two.
Summary: Matt has some time to himself, and uses it well. Pity he didn't remain undisturbed... 708 words of random porn.
For heroes50, prompt 'breath'. Table here.
Molly was at school, Mohinder was out, and Matt was happy enough to spend his day off alone in the apartment. It was a rare moment of peace. Things had become so hectic, so unreal and so desperately busy that he had had not a single instance to catch his breath for as long as his tired mind could remember.
So now, with an empty place and an empty mind, he was taking time out to himself.
The sheets were soft and clean beneath him; Mohinder had washed them just the previous day and they smelt of something sweet, something comforting as he relaxed into them.
It wasn't long before his thoughts strayed to anonymous faces and bodies as he slid his pants and boxers down his thighs. His hand wandered a moment later, and his eyes closed to his peaceful fantasies.
The door clicked open after barely a minute had passed.
"Shit," he gasped and in an instant, he had covered himself with the sheets around him and shuffled upwards, straightening his back. Matt's cheeks burned as their eyes met.
At least, he realised with relief, it wasn't Molly. Instead Mohinder stood there statue-still, mouth hanging slightly open as though he was waiting for the magic words to come. There was something... hot, something wrong flitting through his mind and at that moment, Matt couldn't help but listen to those thoughts. They sent a warm rush through his stomach that he should have ignored.
But how could he when that strangely pretty face was staring hotly at his own?
Mohinder was the first to look away. Uncertainly had clouded his mind, confusion becoming a flurry of words and emotions that slid easily into Matt's mind. I should have knocked being a prominent feature, but there was something more behind it, and maybe Matt was going a little bit crazy because he called out as Mohinder attempted to leave the room, leaving behind his stuttered apology.
"Wait."
He thinned his lips and looked down, looked away from the doorframe, too shocked at himself to risk knowing whether or not the other man had left the room.
This is ridiculous, came the thoughts, and what am I doing? I have to go followed on close behind. There were no footsteps, no clicking door. He wasn't leaving. Seconds stretched out into hours, it seemed, as neither one of the men moved.
Something had to be done to break the silence.
Insanity crept into the room and settled itself firmly in Matt's mind as his hand snuck slowly lower once again, brushing at the edge of the sheets. He was still hard. He felt it loud in his mind the moment Mohinder noticed the movement; another explosion of thoughts where they had been dwindling; then the loud kind of silence from a mind going thoroughly blank as Matt slipped the hand lower and lower until - there.
He stroked himself slowly and unsurely at first, but the blankness from Mohinder just got louder and louder, punctuated with thoughts he should have blushed to overhear. They just urged him on, picked up his pace, made him gasp and arch up as though the thoughts were physical touches.
The sheets were wrapped around his waist and they tightened and pulled, suddenly, as the bed dipped beside him. Matt's hand clenched hard and he opened his eyes to meet the soft brown gaze above him, studying him, eyes so searching that Matt wondered briefly if he really was the only telepath in the room.
Take off the sheet, came the whisper of a thought. What could Matt do but obey? The blankets bunched away, down by his feet. He felt exposed until the warm body, smelling of crisp spring air, lined itself up against his own.
Mohinder didn't touch him other than that, didn't try to replace Matt's stuttering strokes or attempt to kiss him. It was more intimate than that. As the strokes became sharp and staccato, soft curls and a comforting forehead pressed against his shoulder. He came, then, with Mohinder's deep, rhythmic breath brushing over his collar and against his heated skin.
They didn't move for a long time after that, and that night, they shared a bed for the first time.
Rating: R
Characters: Mohinder/Matt
Spoilers: Season two.
Summary: Matt has some time to himself, and uses it well. Pity he didn't remain undisturbed... 708 words of random porn.
For heroes50, prompt 'breath'. Table here.
Molly was at school, Mohinder was out, and Matt was happy enough to spend his day off alone in the apartment. It was a rare moment of peace. Things had become so hectic, so unreal and so desperately busy that he had had not a single instance to catch his breath for as long as his tired mind could remember.
So now, with an empty place and an empty mind, he was taking time out to himself.
The sheets were soft and clean beneath him; Mohinder had washed them just the previous day and they smelt of something sweet, something comforting as he relaxed into them.
It wasn't long before his thoughts strayed to anonymous faces and bodies as he slid his pants and boxers down his thighs. His hand wandered a moment later, and his eyes closed to his peaceful fantasies.
The door clicked open after barely a minute had passed.
"Shit," he gasped and in an instant, he had covered himself with the sheets around him and shuffled upwards, straightening his back. Matt's cheeks burned as their eyes met.
At least, he realised with relief, it wasn't Molly. Instead Mohinder stood there statue-still, mouth hanging slightly open as though he was waiting for the magic words to come. There was something... hot, something wrong flitting through his mind and at that moment, Matt couldn't help but listen to those thoughts. They sent a warm rush through his stomach that he should have ignored.
But how could he when that strangely pretty face was staring hotly at his own?
Mohinder was the first to look away. Uncertainly had clouded his mind, confusion becoming a flurry of words and emotions that slid easily into Matt's mind. I should have knocked being a prominent feature, but there was something more behind it, and maybe Matt was going a little bit crazy because he called out as Mohinder attempted to leave the room, leaving behind his stuttered apology.
"Wait."
He thinned his lips and looked down, looked away from the doorframe, too shocked at himself to risk knowing whether or not the other man had left the room.
This is ridiculous, came the thoughts, and what am I doing? I have to go followed on close behind. There were no footsteps, no clicking door. He wasn't leaving. Seconds stretched out into hours, it seemed, as neither one of the men moved.
Something had to be done to break the silence.
Insanity crept into the room and settled itself firmly in Matt's mind as his hand snuck slowly lower once again, brushing at the edge of the sheets. He was still hard. He felt it loud in his mind the moment Mohinder noticed the movement; another explosion of thoughts where they had been dwindling; then the loud kind of silence from a mind going thoroughly blank as Matt slipped the hand lower and lower until - there.
He stroked himself slowly and unsurely at first, but the blankness from Mohinder just got louder and louder, punctuated with thoughts he should have blushed to overhear. They just urged him on, picked up his pace, made him gasp and arch up as though the thoughts were physical touches.
The sheets were wrapped around his waist and they tightened and pulled, suddenly, as the bed dipped beside him. Matt's hand clenched hard and he opened his eyes to meet the soft brown gaze above him, studying him, eyes so searching that Matt wondered briefly if he really was the only telepath in the room.
Take off the sheet, came the whisper of a thought. What could Matt do but obey? The blankets bunched away, down by his feet. He felt exposed until the warm body, smelling of crisp spring air, lined itself up against his own.
Mohinder didn't touch him other than that, didn't try to replace Matt's stuttering strokes or attempt to kiss him. It was more intimate than that. As the strokes became sharp and staccato, soft curls and a comforting forehead pressed against his shoulder. He came, then, with Mohinder's deep, rhythmic breath brushing over his collar and against his heated skin.
They didn't move for a long time after that, and that night, they shared a bed for the first time.