FIC: If You Were the Last Man on Earth: Book Two (1/3)
Title: If You Were the Last Man on Earth
Book Two: Spring (1/3)
Author: seraphtrevs
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: NC-17
Word count: This part: 4,027
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, etc.
Spoiler alert: up through the end of season 2
Summary: AU - It's been a year and a half since the Shanti virus dropped and devastated the planet. After refusing to conduct inhumane experiments in the search for a cure, Mohinder is made into an unwilling test subject by his former colleagues. When Mohinder thinks that things can't get any worse, he is unexpectedly rescued by Sylar, who has plans that include world domination, ultimate power, and domestic bliss. Mohinder isn't sure he's better off.
As always, thanks to marenpaisley, an all-around awesome person and my favorite cheerleader (sorry Claire).
Previous Parts:
Book One:
Chapter One: A Dubious Rescue, an Improbable Savior, and the Subtle Pleasures of Accurate Time-Keeping
Chapter Two: Clockwork Comfort and Terrifying Tenderness at the Rest and Service Station
Chapter Three: The Trouble with Cockroaches, or Domestic Bliss in Piedmont, Missouri
Chapter Four: How to Keep Your Man: And Keep Him for Good
Book Two: Spring
“I want to start a garden,” Mohinder said.
“What?” Sylar said. It was the first time Mohinder had spoken to him in days.
They were sitting together in the living room, reading in front of the fireplace. After their last ‘disagreement,’ Sylar had tactfully left Mohinder to himself for the most part, surmising (correctly) that Mohinder had been pushed to the breaking point and needed time to cool down. However, Sylar still annoyingly insisted on sitting with him in the evenings. Mohinder refused to be chased away, since the fireplace made it the warmest room in the house and he still felt cold almost all the time, especially after sunset.
“I said I want to start a garden.”
Sylar put his book down. “We’ve already got a garden, remember?”
“No, not a vegetable garden - a flower garden, here, in the backyard.” The idea had been kicking around in Mohinder’s head for a couple of days.
Sylar looked confused. “Why?”
“Because I need something to do with myself,” Mohinder said. “If I don’t keep myself occupied, I’m going to go mad. Again.”
“Oh,” Sylar said. He thought about it for a moment. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”
Mohinder didn’t know the first thing about gardening, especially in North America, so he sent Sylar out to find him some books on the subject. He spent the next week or so reading and making notes, and when he decided exactly what he wanted, he and Sylar went to the WalMart down the road and raided the gardening section. There were plenty of tools and equipment, as well as bags of mulch and fertilizer. The plants were all dead, but there was a wide variety of seeds in packages that Mohinder thought were probably still viable.
Sylar helped Mohinder turn the basement into a mini-nursery; they set up several tables under fluorescent lighting to grow seedlings while they waited for the ground to thaw. Sylar suggested that they use the greenhouse where he grew their vegetables, but Mohinder nixed the idea. The greenhouse was already over-crowded, and it would be easier to transplant the seedlings if they were close to the house.
Mohinder found that he had a real knack for it. It was almost like conducting experiments - he had to carefully label and take meticulous notes on all of his seedlings and pay careful attention to how much light and water each variety of flower needed and how fast they grew.
A few weeks later, the ground thawed, and he was able to start moving some of his seedlings outdoors and sow some of the hardier seeds. Mohinder was a tropical creature - he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to this sort of weather. He was used to damp, but not damp and cold. Still, it felt good to be outside with his hands in the dirt and the sun on his face. Mohinder got a surprising amount of satisfaction from taking care of his garden. He had some failures, but for the most part, everything was coming together nicely.
He was frustrated, though, by how frail he still was. It had been about four months since Sylar had “liberated” him, and while he had some good days, for the most part, he was still next to helpless. He could work in the garden for about an hour; after that, he became dizzy and was sometimes overcome with tremors. Although he no longer looked dangerously skeletal, he was still underweight, and he often felt so nauseated that it was difficult for him to eat. He had headaches that never quite went away; the pain would reach a certain height and then recede for a while, only to return a few hours later.
And then there were the nightmares. He couldn’t remember what they were about, but he would wake up with feelings of unnamable terror and claustrophobic isolation that threatened to suck him under like tar. He reluctantly conceded that having Sylar in the bedroom with him wasn’t an entirely bad idea. Sylar’s presence should have made the fear worse, but in the dark, he was just a warm body with a soothing voice.
Mohinder found himself thinking a lot about fear. The thing about fear - the real deep-down, gut-wrenching, heart-stopping kind - was that it couldn’t keep its hold on you for too long. It could linger around the corners of your consciousness, and it could turn your dreams to nightmares, but when something terrible failed to happen, it ebbed away.
Which is why he found himself relaxing into his life with Sylar. He’d given up trying to guard against complacency; he simply didn’t have the energy for it. It was next to impossible to live in fear of a man who did nothing more menacing than scold him when he didn’t finish his dinner, and it wasn’t very productive. He decided instead to focus on getting well, and he could worry about everything else later.
Life was fairly peaceful for awhile. Mohinder gardened and read and rested. Sylar began to leave Mohinder alone more and more often, although he was never gone long enough for Mohinder to be able to do anything significantly subversive. He asked Sylar where he was going and what he was doing, but Sylar would only smile and said it was going to be a surprise. Mohinder was curious, but at the same time, it got Sylar out of his hair, so he was more inclined to just let the issue drop. They didn’t talk very much; when they did, it was mostly harmless chit-chat about the garden or things they were reading.
But then around the time that Mohinder’s garden began to thrive, Sylar started to put The Moves on him. One day Mohinder was out in the garden, weeding, when Sylar stuck his head out the door.
“I just want you to know that I appreciate you as a person,” he said.
“…what?” Mohinder said, but by then he was gone.
That was only the beginning. They began taking walks now that it was warmer, supposedly to help Mohinder regain his strength. However, Mohinder soon surmised that they were actually taking Long Walks In the Countryside when Sylar attempted to hold his hand one day. Mohinder had slapped his hand away and they finished the walk in silence.
Mohinder wasn’t quite sure what to do. Sylar’s advances were very prim; apparently, he was determined not to have a repeat of the incident in the parking lot at the rest stop. At first, Mohinder just tried to ignore it. But Sylar interpreted Mohinder’s refusal to respond as obliviousness and pushed his suit harder. He played footsie with him during dinner. He made him breakfast in bed. He left him little notes around the house wishing him a nice day.
It was driving Mohinder crazy.
One day in mid-April, Sylar suggested that Mohinder take their afternoon walk alone. It surprised him; Sylar was usually very nervous about Mohinder going anywhere on his own. Despite Sylar’s increasingly frequent absences, Mohinder had for some reason been reluctant to use that time to explore the town and surrounding areas. He supposed it was because he was nervous about having an attack far from the house while Sylar was away.
Right now, though, he felt fairly strong, and Sylar was waiting for him back at the house and could get to him if he needed it. He took his time, straying from their usual paths. He had never really appreciated nature in his life before all this; he was always busy with research, and he preferred cities to the countryside anyway. But now that he had none of the distractions that had occupied his time, he was finding that he really enjoyed taking in the scenery.
He walked until he reached the point where they usually turned back, right in front of the beginnings of a forest. He had no idea how big it was, or what could be found there. He wondered what would happen if he kept going. How far would he get before Sylar came to bring him back? After a moment’s hesitation, he turned around and headed back the way he came. Now was not the time to go exploring.
By the time he made it back to the house, a little over an hour had passed. He opened the door and was immediately overcome with a myriad of mouth-watering smells. Slightly puzzled, he made his way to the dining room.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness - all the curtains had been drawn and the only light came from a few candles set throughout the room. When they did, he saw that there was an incredible spread of Indian dishes on the table. There were dishes of various vegetable curries; a large bowl of sticky, steaming rice; a plateful of flat, round roti bread; three different chutneys in small silver bowls; and a dish of delicious-looking yellow daal. Piano music played lightly from a small stereo in the corner of the room.
At that moment, Sylar entered from the kitchen with a platter of samosas. “Puthandu Vazthukal,” he said.
Mohinder stared at him stupidly. “What?”
“April 14th - it’s Tamil New Year, right?” he said. He pulled out a chair. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
A date. This was a date.
Mohinder’s first reaction was to retreat. He spun around and headed back out the door, but Sylar intercepted him.
“Hey, where are you going?” he said. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“No,” he said, but just then his stomach growled.
“Come on,” Sylar said. “Try a samosa.”
Mohinder hesitantly took one and bit into it; it was so good that he almost moaned. It irritated him to no end - if the food was this good, he didn’t think he could walk away from it.
“Well?” Sylar asked. “How’d I do?”
“It’s delicious,” he snapped. Sylar grinned.
Mohinder reluctantly sat down while Sylar produced two wine glasses and a bottle. “Would you like some wine?”
Mohinder stared helplessly at the table. It was covered in flower petals, and the napkins had been folded to look like swans. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “What do you want from me?”
Sylar looked thoughtful as he poured the wine. “I want you to be happy, Mohinder.”
“You know I can’t be happy here,” Mohinder said.
“Why not?”
Mohinder stared at him. “Do you really need me to remind you?”
Sylar sat down beside him. “Look,” he said. “I know that things probably haven’t worked out the way you imagined they would.” He ignored Mohinder’s snort of derision. “But here you are, and all things considered, you could be a lot worse off.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s not a threat,” Sylar said with exasperation. “For Christ’s sake, Mohinder, would it kill you to enjoy a nice dinner?”
Mohinder crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing.
Sylar sighed. “Do you really hate me so much that you’re willing to make yourself miserable for the rest of your life just to spite me? What good is that going to do?” Sylar picked up one of the glasses of wine and held it out to Mohinder. “One night,” he said. “Just enjoy yourself for one night - where’s the harm in that? You can go back to pouting and scowling tomorrow.”
“I do not pout,” Mohinder sniffed. He looked at the glass of wine in front of him, then back at Sylar, who was wearing an expression that would have been endearing if it had been anybody else. Mohinder sighed and accepted the glass.
Mohinder was surprised at how hungry he was. A lot of it probably had to do with the food; Sylar was an incredibly good cook when he wanted to be. He was incredibly good at anything if he wanted to be, Mohinder thought sourly.
He was on his second helping and had just finished his second glass of wine when he noticed that Sylar was staring at him.
“What?” he said around a mouthful of rice.
“I like watching you eat.”
Mohinder nearly spit out his food. “That is really creepy, Sylar.”
“Why? I’m just being honest.” He floated the wine bottle over to Mohinder. “More wine?”
Mohinder held out his glass and didn't pull it away until it was filled to the brim. “You know, normal people have conversations over dinner.”
“All right,” Sylar said. “What do you want to talk about?”
That stumped him. In spite of everything that had happened between them, and in spite of the fact that they had been living together for four months, Mohinder realized he didn’t know very much about Sylar. He and “Zane” had actually had more in-depth conversations about themselves. Mohinder wondered how much of his impersonation of Zane was lies or if it had any truth to it at all.
He thought back to the conversation they had a few weeks ago when Mohinder had asked him to help build a lab. “You seem interested in watches - is it a hobby of yours?”
“I owned a watch repair shop, actually,” Sylar said. “It was my father’s business, and his father’s before him.”
“Oh.” Mohinder hadn’t really thought about what Sylar had done before he discovered his ability, but he never would have guessed that. Watch repair sounded so…well, harmless. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes,” Sylar said. “Although I always knew I was destined for something greater. I’ve always loved timepieces, though. They’re so complex in their mechanisms - every part has to be perfectly in tune with the others, but once everything is in place, it becomes…simple. It keeps the time.” Sylar swirled his wine around and took a sip. “A well-made watch is more steady than a beating heart.”
Mohinder looked down at his watch - or rather, Sylar’s. He still wore it all the time; it was embarrassing how much comfort he took from it. “It’s something you can always count on,” Mohinder said, almost more to himself than to Sylar.
“Yes, exactly,” Sylar said. Mohinder looked up and their gazes met for a long moment.
Mohinder broke eye contact and took a large gulp of wine. “So did you have any hobbies?”
“Yes. I repaired watches.”
“…so you repaired watches for a living and as a hobby.”
“Yes,” Sylar said.
“I see.” That was…weird, but somehow not surprising.
“So what did you do for fun?” Sylar asked.
Mohinder shrugged. “I used to play cricket - although I hadn’t really played in years. Work took up too much of my time.” He frowned. Maybe he didn’t really have room to judge Sylar for his single-mindedness. He swallowed that thought with another large mouthful of wine.
“You’re hitting that wine a little hard,” Sylar commented. “You might want to slow down.”
“And you might want to shut up,” Mohinder snapped back. “I can hold my liquor just fine.” Although now that Sylar mentioned it, he was feeling a little dizzy. However, he wasn’t about to let Sylar dictate how much wine he could have with dinner, so he took another large swig.
Sylar gave him a smile that was all teeth. “I just don’t want you to think I’m trying to get you drunk.”
Mohinder snorted.
The conversation petered out after that. Mohinder finished his wine and looked morosely at the bottom of the glass. A small amount of dark residue clung to the bottom. He suddenly felt ill. “I’m going upstairs,” he said. He left the room before Sylar could say anything.
Mohinder stumbled his way up the stairs and weaved his way into the bedroom. He barely made it to the toilet before throwing up. After he was finished, went to the sink and washed his mouth out. He sank down to the floor and rested his head against the wall. God, he had become such a lightweight. His head was swimming, and he felt very odd. The whole night had been very odd. This business of being “courted” by Sylar as if he were a blushing virgin absolutely had to stop. It was absurd. But how? It wasn’t as if Sylar was ever going to let up, until -
A very dim lightbulb went off over Mohinder’s head. He just had to sleep with him. That would solve everything.
A part of him was aware that this probably wasn’t a decision he should be making while he was drunk, but then again, he didn’t think he’d be able to go through with it sober anyway.
As if on cue, Sylar appeared in the doorway. “Are you feeling all right?” Sylar asked.
Mohinder crawled his way up the wall until he was standing. “No,” he said, and then launched himself off the wall and into Sylar’s arms.
Sylar was evidently not expecting that, so they both almost toppled over. Mohinder tried to kiss him, but missed his mouth on the first shot and ended up licking his chin. But once Sylar understood what was going on, he moaned loudly and captured Mohinder’s mouth with his own.
He was a terrible kisser. At least at first. But after a few minutes of sloppy licking and teeth crashing, Sylar suddenly was kissing Mohinder exactly the way he loved to be kissed, gently moving his lips over Mohinder’s with an occasional dip of his tongue into his mouth. Mohinder was aware that his mouth must taste terrible, which gave him an odd sense of satisfaction.
All of a sudden, Mohinder felt himself flying backward; he hit the bed with a bounce. Thirty seconds later, Sylar was in bed with him, naked and hard. He felt a twinge of panic - maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea. He jumped when Sylar laid a hand on his waist and pulled him closer. He drew Mohinder into a long kiss, then pulled back and began to slowly unbutton Mohinder’s shirt, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed. Mohinder started to feel aroused in spite of himself.
Sylar finally reached the last button and pulled him to a sitting position so he could slip the shirt off. The room lurched around him; he grabbed onto Sylar’s shoulders in an attempt to steady himself. Sylar started rubbing his hands up and down Mohinder’s body. It was very clinical at first, and Sylar had his head cocked as if he were listening for something. After a few minutes, his touch turned into a caress. He massaged the back of Mohinder’s neck briefly, and then moved his hands down his body, grazing his thumbs over his nipples along the way. He reached his waist and rubbed the sensitive areas just above his hip bones, and then he reached around to rub the small of his back before moving up again along his spine. He wrapped Mohinder in his arms and kissed him again.
Intuitive aptitude, Mohinder thought. He’s using his ability to learn what I like.He felt a surge of arousal at the thought and let out a moan before he could stop himself.
“Yes,” Sylar said against his lips. “Good, good…” He laid Mohinder on his back again and undid his fly, then coaxed him out of his trousers and underwear.
The alcohol pulsed through Mohinder’s body. His thoughts swirled; he felt like they were mixing together like paint, with shades of fear and loathing and lust and longing combining into one muddy mess. Sleeping with Sylar had started as a plan, but he wasn’t quite sure anymore what he’d hoped to accomplish. But this he still understood, the slow slide of two bodies together, the smell and taste of sweat, the moans and wet sounds. A bottle of lubricant appeared in Sylar’s hand - Mohinder wasn’t quite sure when or how that had happened; things were moving so quickly. Sylar slicked his fingers and took Mohinder’s cock in his hand, stroking it to full hardness. And when Sylar’s hand dipped lower, Mohinder opened his legs reflexively.
“I want to fuck you,” Sylar said.
Mohinder stared up at him. There wasn’t much light in the room; shadows flickered over his face, and Mohinder couldn’t read his expression. A moment of sobriety took hold, and a small wave of fear washed over him. He considered changing his mind: Sorry, I’ve decided I don’t want to do this, so why don’t we shake hands and forget this ever happened? “Okay,” he said instead. Oh well - no going back now.
Sylar slid a finger inside him. “Is that - is that okay?” Sylar asked. For the first time, he sounded unsure.
“Yes, it’s fine,” Mohinder said. He threw an arm over his eyes and let the sensations roll over him.
Sylar moved his finger in small circles, then after a minute, added a second one. Mohinder spread his legs wider and tilted his hips until Sylar’s fingers brushed against his prostate. He moaned loudly.
“Oh God,” Sylar said. “Mohinder.” Sylar removed his fingers. He moved over Mohinder, laying kisses on his stomach, his collar bone, his shoulder, his neck, until finally he reached his mouth. They kissed one another again until they were both panting, and after some wrestling and re-positioning, Mohinder ended up on his elbows and knees.
“Are you ready?” Sylar asked.
“Yes - now, please, now!” He knew he would hate himself in the morning for begging, but right now he didn’t care about anything other than finding release.
Mohinder heard some wet sounds as Sylar coated himself with more lube, and then, finally, he felt the head of his cock push against him. Sylar slid completely inside him with one long thrust.
“OH!” Sylar gasped. He grabbed onto Mohinder’s hips, holding him still. “Don’t. Move.”
Mohinder wasn’t planning to. It had been a long time since he’d done this, and it hurt. He breathed in through his nose and exhaled slowly.
After a minute, the burn subsided, and he let out a small sigh. He rocked his hips backward, and Sylar moaned and started to move slowly, shifting until he found the perfect angle. Mohinder keened and rested his head on his folded arms. He let himself drown in the pleasure as Sylar plunged in and out of him. For a few moments, there was nothing but this - no animosity, no manipulations, no fear - just bodies moving desperately against each other.
Sylar reached around and began stroking Mohinder’s cock in time with his thrusts, but it was too agonizingly slow. With a sigh of frustration, Mohinder dug his elbows into the bed and pushed back against him. Sylar gasped and let Mohinder set the pace while he continued to stroke him, and then with an undignified scream Mohinder came, spilling over Sylar’s hand and the mattress.
Sylar slung an arm around Mohinder’s waist to prevent him from collapsing and fucked him with quick, frantic strokes. A few minutes later, he pushed in as far as he could and came, his hips jerking desperately as he emptied himself into Mohinder’s body.
Sylar collapsed next to Mohinder, and they lay there panting for a few minutes. Mohinder turned his head to look at Sylar, who grinned at him like someone who had just won an argument.
Mohinder wanted to slap the smug expression off of his face. Instead, he got up and went into the bathroom. He went to the sink and splashed his face with water. He looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was a mess, his face glowed with sweat, and his lips were swollen - in short, he looked very well-fucked. He thought he should be feeling something right about now, but he was too tired to think about it.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Sylar was stretched out like a cat on the bed, breathing evenly and deeply. Mohinder climbed back into bed, hoping Sylar was asleep, but the minute his head hit the pillow, Sylar curled up behind him.
“Mmmm. Was it good for you?” Sylar said in his ear.
“Shut up,” Mohinder said. Sylar just laughed and pulled him closer. Mohinder thought about protesting, but what would be the point? Instead, he closed his eyes, and soon, he was asleep.
Onto Chapter Two!
A/N: I know some of you might be D:-ing since there are only three chapters in this book. Don't worry - it's just as long as Winter, but the scenes broke up in such a way that made three instead of four chapters. So each chapter is longer!
Book Two: Spring (1/3)
Author: seraphtrevs
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: NC-17
Word count: This part: 4,027
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, etc.
Spoiler alert: up through the end of season 2
Summary: AU - It's been a year and a half since the Shanti virus dropped and devastated the planet. After refusing to conduct inhumane experiments in the search for a cure, Mohinder is made into an unwilling test subject by his former colleagues. When Mohinder thinks that things can't get any worse, he is unexpectedly rescued by Sylar, who has plans that include world domination, ultimate power, and domestic bliss. Mohinder isn't sure he's better off.
As always, thanks to marenpaisley, an all-around awesome person and my favorite cheerleader (sorry Claire).
Previous Parts:
Book One:
Chapter One: A Dubious Rescue, an Improbable Savior, and the Subtle Pleasures of Accurate Time-Keeping
Chapter Two: Clockwork Comfort and Terrifying Tenderness at the Rest and Service Station
Chapter Three: The Trouble with Cockroaches, or Domestic Bliss in Piedmont, Missouri
Chapter Four: How to Keep Your Man: And Keep Him for Good
Book Two: Spring
“I want to start a garden,” Mohinder said.
“What?” Sylar said. It was the first time Mohinder had spoken to him in days.
They were sitting together in the living room, reading in front of the fireplace. After their last ‘disagreement,’ Sylar had tactfully left Mohinder to himself for the most part, surmising (correctly) that Mohinder had been pushed to the breaking point and needed time to cool down. However, Sylar still annoyingly insisted on sitting with him in the evenings. Mohinder refused to be chased away, since the fireplace made it the warmest room in the house and he still felt cold almost all the time, especially after sunset.
“I said I want to start a garden.”
Sylar put his book down. “We’ve already got a garden, remember?”
“No, not a vegetable garden - a flower garden, here, in the backyard.” The idea had been kicking around in Mohinder’s head for a couple of days.
Sylar looked confused. “Why?”
“Because I need something to do with myself,” Mohinder said. “If I don’t keep myself occupied, I’m going to go mad. Again.”
“Oh,” Sylar said. He thought about it for a moment. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”
Mohinder didn’t know the first thing about gardening, especially in North America, so he sent Sylar out to find him some books on the subject. He spent the next week or so reading and making notes, and when he decided exactly what he wanted, he and Sylar went to the WalMart down the road and raided the gardening section. There were plenty of tools and equipment, as well as bags of mulch and fertilizer. The plants were all dead, but there was a wide variety of seeds in packages that Mohinder thought were probably still viable.
Sylar helped Mohinder turn the basement into a mini-nursery; they set up several tables under fluorescent lighting to grow seedlings while they waited for the ground to thaw. Sylar suggested that they use the greenhouse where he grew their vegetables, but Mohinder nixed the idea. The greenhouse was already over-crowded, and it would be easier to transplant the seedlings if they were close to the house.
Mohinder found that he had a real knack for it. It was almost like conducting experiments - he had to carefully label and take meticulous notes on all of his seedlings and pay careful attention to how much light and water each variety of flower needed and how fast they grew.
A few weeks later, the ground thawed, and he was able to start moving some of his seedlings outdoors and sow some of the hardier seeds. Mohinder was a tropical creature - he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to this sort of weather. He was used to damp, but not damp and cold. Still, it felt good to be outside with his hands in the dirt and the sun on his face. Mohinder got a surprising amount of satisfaction from taking care of his garden. He had some failures, but for the most part, everything was coming together nicely.
He was frustrated, though, by how frail he still was. It had been about four months since Sylar had “liberated” him, and while he had some good days, for the most part, he was still next to helpless. He could work in the garden for about an hour; after that, he became dizzy and was sometimes overcome with tremors. Although he no longer looked dangerously skeletal, he was still underweight, and he often felt so nauseated that it was difficult for him to eat. He had headaches that never quite went away; the pain would reach a certain height and then recede for a while, only to return a few hours later.
And then there were the nightmares. He couldn’t remember what they were about, but he would wake up with feelings of unnamable terror and claustrophobic isolation that threatened to suck him under like tar. He reluctantly conceded that having Sylar in the bedroom with him wasn’t an entirely bad idea. Sylar’s presence should have made the fear worse, but in the dark, he was just a warm body with a soothing voice.
Mohinder found himself thinking a lot about fear. The thing about fear - the real deep-down, gut-wrenching, heart-stopping kind - was that it couldn’t keep its hold on you for too long. It could linger around the corners of your consciousness, and it could turn your dreams to nightmares, but when something terrible failed to happen, it ebbed away.
Which is why he found himself relaxing into his life with Sylar. He’d given up trying to guard against complacency; he simply didn’t have the energy for it. It was next to impossible to live in fear of a man who did nothing more menacing than scold him when he didn’t finish his dinner, and it wasn’t very productive. He decided instead to focus on getting well, and he could worry about everything else later.
Life was fairly peaceful for awhile. Mohinder gardened and read and rested. Sylar began to leave Mohinder alone more and more often, although he was never gone long enough for Mohinder to be able to do anything significantly subversive. He asked Sylar where he was going and what he was doing, but Sylar would only smile and said it was going to be a surprise. Mohinder was curious, but at the same time, it got Sylar out of his hair, so he was more inclined to just let the issue drop. They didn’t talk very much; when they did, it was mostly harmless chit-chat about the garden or things they were reading.
But then around the time that Mohinder’s garden began to thrive, Sylar started to put The Moves on him. One day Mohinder was out in the garden, weeding, when Sylar stuck his head out the door.
“I just want you to know that I appreciate you as a person,” he said.
“…what?” Mohinder said, but by then he was gone.
That was only the beginning. They began taking walks now that it was warmer, supposedly to help Mohinder regain his strength. However, Mohinder soon surmised that they were actually taking Long Walks In the Countryside when Sylar attempted to hold his hand one day. Mohinder had slapped his hand away and they finished the walk in silence.
Mohinder wasn’t quite sure what to do. Sylar’s advances were very prim; apparently, he was determined not to have a repeat of the incident in the parking lot at the rest stop. At first, Mohinder just tried to ignore it. But Sylar interpreted Mohinder’s refusal to respond as obliviousness and pushed his suit harder. He played footsie with him during dinner. He made him breakfast in bed. He left him little notes around the house wishing him a nice day.
It was driving Mohinder crazy.
One day in mid-April, Sylar suggested that Mohinder take their afternoon walk alone. It surprised him; Sylar was usually very nervous about Mohinder going anywhere on his own. Despite Sylar’s increasingly frequent absences, Mohinder had for some reason been reluctant to use that time to explore the town and surrounding areas. He supposed it was because he was nervous about having an attack far from the house while Sylar was away.
Right now, though, he felt fairly strong, and Sylar was waiting for him back at the house and could get to him if he needed it. He took his time, straying from their usual paths. He had never really appreciated nature in his life before all this; he was always busy with research, and he preferred cities to the countryside anyway. But now that he had none of the distractions that had occupied his time, he was finding that he really enjoyed taking in the scenery.
He walked until he reached the point where they usually turned back, right in front of the beginnings of a forest. He had no idea how big it was, or what could be found there. He wondered what would happen if he kept going. How far would he get before Sylar came to bring him back? After a moment’s hesitation, he turned around and headed back the way he came. Now was not the time to go exploring.
By the time he made it back to the house, a little over an hour had passed. He opened the door and was immediately overcome with a myriad of mouth-watering smells. Slightly puzzled, he made his way to the dining room.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness - all the curtains had been drawn and the only light came from a few candles set throughout the room. When they did, he saw that there was an incredible spread of Indian dishes on the table. There were dishes of various vegetable curries; a large bowl of sticky, steaming rice; a plateful of flat, round roti bread; three different chutneys in small silver bowls; and a dish of delicious-looking yellow daal. Piano music played lightly from a small stereo in the corner of the room.
At that moment, Sylar entered from the kitchen with a platter of samosas. “Puthandu Vazthukal,” he said.
Mohinder stared at him stupidly. “What?”
“April 14th - it’s Tamil New Year, right?” he said. He pulled out a chair. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
A date. This was a date.
Mohinder’s first reaction was to retreat. He spun around and headed back out the door, but Sylar intercepted him.
“Hey, where are you going?” he said. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“No,” he said, but just then his stomach growled.
“Come on,” Sylar said. “Try a samosa.”
Mohinder hesitantly took one and bit into it; it was so good that he almost moaned. It irritated him to no end - if the food was this good, he didn’t think he could walk away from it.
“Well?” Sylar asked. “How’d I do?”
“It’s delicious,” he snapped. Sylar grinned.
Mohinder reluctantly sat down while Sylar produced two wine glasses and a bottle. “Would you like some wine?”
Mohinder stared helplessly at the table. It was covered in flower petals, and the napkins had been folded to look like swans. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “What do you want from me?”
Sylar looked thoughtful as he poured the wine. “I want you to be happy, Mohinder.”
“You know I can’t be happy here,” Mohinder said.
“Why not?”
Mohinder stared at him. “Do you really need me to remind you?”
Sylar sat down beside him. “Look,” he said. “I know that things probably haven’t worked out the way you imagined they would.” He ignored Mohinder’s snort of derision. “But here you are, and all things considered, you could be a lot worse off.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s not a threat,” Sylar said with exasperation. “For Christ’s sake, Mohinder, would it kill you to enjoy a nice dinner?”
Mohinder crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing.
Sylar sighed. “Do you really hate me so much that you’re willing to make yourself miserable for the rest of your life just to spite me? What good is that going to do?” Sylar picked up one of the glasses of wine and held it out to Mohinder. “One night,” he said. “Just enjoy yourself for one night - where’s the harm in that? You can go back to pouting and scowling tomorrow.”
“I do not pout,” Mohinder sniffed. He looked at the glass of wine in front of him, then back at Sylar, who was wearing an expression that would have been endearing if it had been anybody else. Mohinder sighed and accepted the glass.
Mohinder was surprised at how hungry he was. A lot of it probably had to do with the food; Sylar was an incredibly good cook when he wanted to be. He was incredibly good at anything if he wanted to be, Mohinder thought sourly.
He was on his second helping and had just finished his second glass of wine when he noticed that Sylar was staring at him.
“What?” he said around a mouthful of rice.
“I like watching you eat.”
Mohinder nearly spit out his food. “That is really creepy, Sylar.”
“Why? I’m just being honest.” He floated the wine bottle over to Mohinder. “More wine?”
Mohinder held out his glass and didn't pull it away until it was filled to the brim. “You know, normal people have conversations over dinner.”
“All right,” Sylar said. “What do you want to talk about?”
That stumped him. In spite of everything that had happened between them, and in spite of the fact that they had been living together for four months, Mohinder realized he didn’t know very much about Sylar. He and “Zane” had actually had more in-depth conversations about themselves. Mohinder wondered how much of his impersonation of Zane was lies or if it had any truth to it at all.
He thought back to the conversation they had a few weeks ago when Mohinder had asked him to help build a lab. “You seem interested in watches - is it a hobby of yours?”
“I owned a watch repair shop, actually,” Sylar said. “It was my father’s business, and his father’s before him.”
“Oh.” Mohinder hadn’t really thought about what Sylar had done before he discovered his ability, but he never would have guessed that. Watch repair sounded so…well, harmless. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes,” Sylar said. “Although I always knew I was destined for something greater. I’ve always loved timepieces, though. They’re so complex in their mechanisms - every part has to be perfectly in tune with the others, but once everything is in place, it becomes…simple. It keeps the time.” Sylar swirled his wine around and took a sip. “A well-made watch is more steady than a beating heart.”
Mohinder looked down at his watch - or rather, Sylar’s. He still wore it all the time; it was embarrassing how much comfort he took from it. “It’s something you can always count on,” Mohinder said, almost more to himself than to Sylar.
“Yes, exactly,” Sylar said. Mohinder looked up and their gazes met for a long moment.
Mohinder broke eye contact and took a large gulp of wine. “So did you have any hobbies?”
“Yes. I repaired watches.”
“…so you repaired watches for a living and as a hobby.”
“Yes,” Sylar said.
“I see.” That was…weird, but somehow not surprising.
“So what did you do for fun?” Sylar asked.
Mohinder shrugged. “I used to play cricket - although I hadn’t really played in years. Work took up too much of my time.” He frowned. Maybe he didn’t really have room to judge Sylar for his single-mindedness. He swallowed that thought with another large mouthful of wine.
“You’re hitting that wine a little hard,” Sylar commented. “You might want to slow down.”
“And you might want to shut up,” Mohinder snapped back. “I can hold my liquor just fine.” Although now that Sylar mentioned it, he was feeling a little dizzy. However, he wasn’t about to let Sylar dictate how much wine he could have with dinner, so he took another large swig.
Sylar gave him a smile that was all teeth. “I just don’t want you to think I’m trying to get you drunk.”
Mohinder snorted.
The conversation petered out after that. Mohinder finished his wine and looked morosely at the bottom of the glass. A small amount of dark residue clung to the bottom. He suddenly felt ill. “I’m going upstairs,” he said. He left the room before Sylar could say anything.
Mohinder stumbled his way up the stairs and weaved his way into the bedroom. He barely made it to the toilet before throwing up. After he was finished, went to the sink and washed his mouth out. He sank down to the floor and rested his head against the wall. God, he had become such a lightweight. His head was swimming, and he felt very odd. The whole night had been very odd. This business of being “courted” by Sylar as if he were a blushing virgin absolutely had to stop. It was absurd. But how? It wasn’t as if Sylar was ever going to let up, until -
A very dim lightbulb went off over Mohinder’s head. He just had to sleep with him. That would solve everything.
A part of him was aware that this probably wasn’t a decision he should be making while he was drunk, but then again, he didn’t think he’d be able to go through with it sober anyway.
As if on cue, Sylar appeared in the doorway. “Are you feeling all right?” Sylar asked.
Mohinder crawled his way up the wall until he was standing. “No,” he said, and then launched himself off the wall and into Sylar’s arms.
Sylar was evidently not expecting that, so they both almost toppled over. Mohinder tried to kiss him, but missed his mouth on the first shot and ended up licking his chin. But once Sylar understood what was going on, he moaned loudly and captured Mohinder’s mouth with his own.
He was a terrible kisser. At least at first. But after a few minutes of sloppy licking and teeth crashing, Sylar suddenly was kissing Mohinder exactly the way he loved to be kissed, gently moving his lips over Mohinder’s with an occasional dip of his tongue into his mouth. Mohinder was aware that his mouth must taste terrible, which gave him an odd sense of satisfaction.
All of a sudden, Mohinder felt himself flying backward; he hit the bed with a bounce. Thirty seconds later, Sylar was in bed with him, naked and hard. He felt a twinge of panic - maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea. He jumped when Sylar laid a hand on his waist and pulled him closer. He drew Mohinder into a long kiss, then pulled back and began to slowly unbutton Mohinder’s shirt, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed. Mohinder started to feel aroused in spite of himself.
Sylar finally reached the last button and pulled him to a sitting position so he could slip the shirt off. The room lurched around him; he grabbed onto Sylar’s shoulders in an attempt to steady himself. Sylar started rubbing his hands up and down Mohinder’s body. It was very clinical at first, and Sylar had his head cocked as if he were listening for something. After a few minutes, his touch turned into a caress. He massaged the back of Mohinder’s neck briefly, and then moved his hands down his body, grazing his thumbs over his nipples along the way. He reached his waist and rubbed the sensitive areas just above his hip bones, and then he reached around to rub the small of his back before moving up again along his spine. He wrapped Mohinder in his arms and kissed him again.
Intuitive aptitude, Mohinder thought. He’s using his ability to learn what I like.He felt a surge of arousal at the thought and let out a moan before he could stop himself.
“Yes,” Sylar said against his lips. “Good, good…” He laid Mohinder on his back again and undid his fly, then coaxed him out of his trousers and underwear.
The alcohol pulsed through Mohinder’s body. His thoughts swirled; he felt like they were mixing together like paint, with shades of fear and loathing and lust and longing combining into one muddy mess. Sleeping with Sylar had started as a plan, but he wasn’t quite sure anymore what he’d hoped to accomplish. But this he still understood, the slow slide of two bodies together, the smell and taste of sweat, the moans and wet sounds. A bottle of lubricant appeared in Sylar’s hand - Mohinder wasn’t quite sure when or how that had happened; things were moving so quickly. Sylar slicked his fingers and took Mohinder’s cock in his hand, stroking it to full hardness. And when Sylar’s hand dipped lower, Mohinder opened his legs reflexively.
“I want to fuck you,” Sylar said.
Mohinder stared up at him. There wasn’t much light in the room; shadows flickered over his face, and Mohinder couldn’t read his expression. A moment of sobriety took hold, and a small wave of fear washed over him. He considered changing his mind: Sorry, I’ve decided I don’t want to do this, so why don’t we shake hands and forget this ever happened? “Okay,” he said instead. Oh well - no going back now.
Sylar slid a finger inside him. “Is that - is that okay?” Sylar asked. For the first time, he sounded unsure.
“Yes, it’s fine,” Mohinder said. He threw an arm over his eyes and let the sensations roll over him.
Sylar moved his finger in small circles, then after a minute, added a second one. Mohinder spread his legs wider and tilted his hips until Sylar’s fingers brushed against his prostate. He moaned loudly.
“Oh God,” Sylar said. “Mohinder.” Sylar removed his fingers. He moved over Mohinder, laying kisses on his stomach, his collar bone, his shoulder, his neck, until finally he reached his mouth. They kissed one another again until they were both panting, and after some wrestling and re-positioning, Mohinder ended up on his elbows and knees.
“Are you ready?” Sylar asked.
“Yes - now, please, now!” He knew he would hate himself in the morning for begging, but right now he didn’t care about anything other than finding release.
Mohinder heard some wet sounds as Sylar coated himself with more lube, and then, finally, he felt the head of his cock push against him. Sylar slid completely inside him with one long thrust.
“OH!” Sylar gasped. He grabbed onto Mohinder’s hips, holding him still. “Don’t. Move.”
Mohinder wasn’t planning to. It had been a long time since he’d done this, and it hurt. He breathed in through his nose and exhaled slowly.
After a minute, the burn subsided, and he let out a small sigh. He rocked his hips backward, and Sylar moaned and started to move slowly, shifting until he found the perfect angle. Mohinder keened and rested his head on his folded arms. He let himself drown in the pleasure as Sylar plunged in and out of him. For a few moments, there was nothing but this - no animosity, no manipulations, no fear - just bodies moving desperately against each other.
Sylar reached around and began stroking Mohinder’s cock in time with his thrusts, but it was too agonizingly slow. With a sigh of frustration, Mohinder dug his elbows into the bed and pushed back against him. Sylar gasped and let Mohinder set the pace while he continued to stroke him, and then with an undignified scream Mohinder came, spilling over Sylar’s hand and the mattress.
Sylar slung an arm around Mohinder’s waist to prevent him from collapsing and fucked him with quick, frantic strokes. A few minutes later, he pushed in as far as he could and came, his hips jerking desperately as he emptied himself into Mohinder’s body.
Sylar collapsed next to Mohinder, and they lay there panting for a few minutes. Mohinder turned his head to look at Sylar, who grinned at him like someone who had just won an argument.
Mohinder wanted to slap the smug expression off of his face. Instead, he got up and went into the bathroom. He went to the sink and splashed his face with water. He looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was a mess, his face glowed with sweat, and his lips were swollen - in short, he looked very well-fucked. He thought he should be feeling something right about now, but he was too tired to think about it.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Sylar was stretched out like a cat on the bed, breathing evenly and deeply. Mohinder climbed back into bed, hoping Sylar was asleep, but the minute his head hit the pillow, Sylar curled up behind him.
“Mmmm. Was it good for you?” Sylar said in his ear.
“Shut up,” Mohinder said. Sylar just laughed and pulled him closer. Mohinder thought about protesting, but what would be the point? Instead, he closed his eyes, and soon, he was asleep.
Onto Chapter Two!
A/N: I know some of you might be D:-ing since there are only three chapters in this book. Don't worry - it's just as long as Winter, but the scenes broke up in such a way that made three instead of four chapters. So each chapter is longer!