FIC: If You Were the Last Man on Earth: Book Three (1/4)
Title: If You Were the Last Man on Earth
Book Three: Summer (1/4)
Author: seraphtrevs
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: NC-17
Word count: This part: 3,926
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.
A/N: This book is WIP right now - it's about halfway finished. I'll be making posts when I can (hopefully once a week-ish), but since it's not done, I can't say exactly when parts will go up.
Thanks always to my beta, marenpaisley, who is awesome and amazing.
Previous Parts:
Book One: Winter
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
Chapter One: Better Homes and Gardens and a Happy New Year
Chapter Two: The Morning After, Or a Prophecy Fulfilled
Chapter Three: Lies and Stormy Skies
Book Three: Summer
Familiarity breeds consent.
-Oscar Wilde
He’s standing naked in a scorched and empty landscape. There are large, grey mounds surrounding him, and when he gets closer, he sees that they’re piles of corpses; he looks closer at one mound, and the faces of the bodies seem familiar, but he can’t quite identify them. Panicked, he runs until he comes to a door. He opens it and sees a beautiful garden in a white room. He steps inside and touches a rose, and it wilts; decay radiates from the flower to the rest of the garden, and soon everything is brown and dead. He turns around to leave, but the door has been replaced with a large grandfather clock. It strikes midnight and begins to chime. At the last ring, the clock face shatters, pelting him in shards of broken glass. A swarm of cockroaches bursts from the broken clock face and scuttle down the clock towards him…
Mohinder sat bolt upright in bed with a half-formed scream in his throat. Sylar was there immediately, hands rubbing his shoulders comfortingly while he made reassuring noises in his ear. It was a familiar scene.
“It was just a dream, Mohinder - it’s all right, I’m here.” Sylar pressed a cool glass of water into Mohinder’s hand; he gulped it down gratefully.
“What time is it?” Mohinder mumbled after his heart stopped pounding and his breathing returned to normal.
“Five fifty-two. It’s early - why don’t you go back to sleep?”
Mohinder shook his head. “No,” he said. He didn’t think he’d be able to fall back asleep after that. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Okay,” Sylar said. He kissed Mohinder’s shoulder. “I’m going to go make breakfast.”
Mohinder didn’t really wake up until he’d been in the shower for a few minutes. It seemed like any other morning - as if yesterday hadn’t been completely cataclysmic. As the water ran down his body, he tried to determine what he was feeling. It was as if there had been a festering wound inside him, and last night it had been lanced and drained. He felt emptied out, but he couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad feeling.
He stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out. After getting dressed, he headed downstairs, unsure of what exactly awaited him.
Sylar was standing at the stove, cooking something in a frying pan. He turned around when Mohinder entered the kitchen.
“Hi,” Sylar said a little hesitantly. “Would you like an omelette?”
“Yes, please.” Mohinder sat down at the table.
“How are you feeling?” Sylar asked as he continued to cook.
“Tired.” Mohinder knew Sylar was probably looking for a more substantial answer, but he didn’t know that he had one.
“Do you want some coffee? I’ll get you some coffee.” Sylar motioned with his finger to the coffee pot - and sent it crashing into the wall.
The two of them stared at the remnants of the pot for a long moment. Mohinder had never seen Sylar lose control of his telekinetic ability before; for him, it seemed as natural and easy as using his hands. Apparently, Sylar was also still shaken about last night. Mohinder found that strangely comforting.
Sylar grabbed a dish towel and went to clean up the mess. Mohinder got up and stood at the stove, not wanting the eggs to burn.
“You don’t have to do that,” Sylar said. “Just turn the burner off - I’ll finish them as soon as I clean this up.”
“I do know how to make an omelette, you know.”
“No, it’s all right, really,” Sylar said firmly.
“Why are you so against me making a damned omelette ?” Mohinder said, annoyed. “My cooking isn’t that bad.”
“Well,” Sylar said. “The last time I let you cook, I got a frying pan to the face.”
Mohinder laughed - an honest, open laugh. He clamped a hand over his mouth, surprised at the sound. A second later, Sylar started to laugh, too, and soon the two of them were doubled over in laughter. It wasn’t that funny, but it effectively broke the tension.
After their laughter had faded into weak giggles, Sylar said, “Besides, I like cooking for you.”
Mohinder felt oddly touched by the admission. “All right,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Then I’ll clean up the coffee.”
“Hold on.” Sylar lifted a hand, and the shards of glass rose from the floor. He made a sweeping motion, sending them into the garbage. He threw the towel to Mohinder. “Wouldn’t want you to get cut.”
Sylar finished the omelettes just as Mohinder finished cleaning up the coffee. He placed the plates on the table and the two of them sat down to eat; they ate in companionable silence. Once they were finished, Sylar took Mohinder’s hand in his own. “There’s something I want to show you,” he said. “I was going to wait until I had everything perfect, but I think you ought to see it now. I do need to finish one thing, though, so I thought we could go tomorrow?”
“You mean the project you’ve been working on?” Mohinder asked. “Where is it?”
Sylar smiled coyly. “You’ll see. It’s not far from here.”
“All right,” Mohinder said. He’d waited this long - he could wait another day.
After Sylar left, Mohinder got out his gloves and tools and went out to the garden. The sun had just risen. He wasn’t usually up this early, and he thought he might as well make the most of it - he’d be able to get some serious work done without having the sun beating down on him.
Now that it was summer, his garden was in full bloom. When he’d planned the garden, he’d decided not to try for any particular color scheme - he wanted a rainbow of bright colors, all mixed together in happy chaos. Along the borders of the house, he’d planted azalea bushes that were peppered with red and white blossoms. As they wrapped around the house, they were gradually replaced with Mohinder’s favorite flowers -the tall red and pink astilbes that bloomed with flowers that tapered into points, like evergreen trees; they framed the porch leading to the front door.
Red, orange and tiger-striped tulips bloomed in the raised flower beds, along side the yellow sunbursts of goldenrod. One of the small white snowdrops that Mohinder first found in winter still bloomed, shaded and protected by the larger flowers.
In the lower beds, he planted blankets of wildflowers - pale yellow African daises, stalks of mauve foxgloves, vivid orange wallflowers, purple irises, downward-facing trumpet flowers with blossoms that faded from yellow to red. By the pool, he’d placed pots of hydrangeas that bloomed in blue and pink flowers clustered together in spheres.
There was a path leading from the house to a small gazebo in the backyard, which Mohinder lined with pink and white peonies and purple coneflowers, which seemed to bloom upside down with the petals below the stamens. By the gazebo were several rose bushes that Sylar had missed in his pruning. They were blooming now, too - all a deep, velvety red. Woven around the gazebo were vines of blue morning glories.
Mohinder worked until about eleven o’clock, when the sun began to bother him. He cracked his aching back and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. It was setting out to be a very hot day, and he decided that a swim in the pool might be nice. He picked up his tools and went inside to get a towel.
He shed his clothes and dived into the pool; the cool water felt incredible. He swam a few half-hearted laps before giving up and deciding to float on his back while watching the clouds drift through the sky. He felt…relaxed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this. He hadn’t realized what a terrible weight his animosity towards Sylar had been until it was gone. He knew his wariness would probably return, but for now, he enjoyed the luxury of a peaceful mind.
He allowed his mind to wander, feeling more able to sort out his mixed up emotions now that he was no longer in the heat of the moment. When Sylar was masquerading as Zane, Mohinder had liked him. He seemed sweet and earnest, if a little socially awkward, and he looked at Mohinder with such open admiration. Mohinder had been flattered by the attention. He found Zane attractive, but he was more interested in finding a potential friend than a lover. He was still recovering from the loss of Eden. He hadn’t known her for very long, but she had been there when he first arrived in the country, and when she had died, he felt the distance between America and his home much more keenly. He was alone in a strange land, experiencing strange things, without anyone he could turn to for support. So when he discovered “Zane’s” true identity, it had been a double blow: Sylar had both killed his father and taken away a chance for Mohinder to feel less alone.
After that, Sylar became the focus for all of Mohinder’s fear and rage. He made Sylar the embodiment of every horrible thing that had happened to him. Even Sylar’s apparent death hadn’t extinguished his anger. It was almost as if he needed Sylar - or at least the idea of Sylar, as someone who could take all the blame for the things that Mohinder had been put through.
And then the plague came, and everything fell apart. He thought that Molly and Matt’s deaths had broken him completely, but then he’d been imprisoned and he found out that he still had so much more to lose. Everything he thought he knew about himself began to unravel, and he knew that eventually there would be no trace of the man he once was.
Then Sylar had saved him. He did more than rescue him from the base - he’d also given him back some of his lost sense of self. His hatred for Sylar was part of him, and he used it as a starting point to rebuild himself.
But as Mohinder gradually regained more and more of himself, he realized that those feelings of anger had outlived their usefulness. He found that he still needed Sylar - not only for physical survival, but also to help him move forward and become someone who could live in the newly emptied world.
After a while, he got out of the pool. His clothes were dirty from his earlier work, so he didn’t bother to put them back on. He dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He then picked up his clothes and went into the house, up the stairs, and into the bedroom.
He put his dirty clothes in the hamper and then noticed his clothes from the previous day lying in a heap on the floor where they had been tossed in the throes of passion. He picked them up and went to put them away, but then he noticed the keys to the truck he’d found in the pocket of his trousers. He sat down on the bed and held them in the palm of his hand. There were only two keys on the ring, but somehow, they felt very heavy.
For the first time, he questioned his desire to escape. Where would he go? And could he make it on his own? Sylar was right - having the luxury of running water, electricity and fresh food was something that he imagined very few of the remaining people on earth enjoyed. And Mohinder was very much a creature of the modern world - he’d never even been camping. Was being with Sylar so bad that he was willing to throw all of that away for the slim chance that he’d be able to last long enough on his own to find other survivors?
He stood up and opened the top drawer of the dresser. After pulling out a pair of sweat pants, he placed the keys in the back of the drawer and closed it. He wasn’t hiding them, exactly. He just liked knowing they were there.
He checked his watch - it was around noon. He’d fallen asleep late last night; after eating dinner with Sylar in their room, he’d gone downstairs and put in a movie to watch. Sylar, thankfully, left him alone. He’d watched two more movies before finally feeling tired enough to go to bed; he couldn’t even remember what they’d been about. That coupled with his early morning awakening left him feeling exhausted. He decided to go down to the kitchen to make a sandwich and then come back up to take a nap.
He woke up to a gentle shake of his shoulder. When he opened his eyes, he saw Sylar peering down at him, a concerned expression on his face. He was probably worried about a repeat performance of yesterday.
“It’s six o’clock,” Sylar said. “I thought you might want me to wake you up so you can get back on a regular sleeping schedule.”
Mohinder sat up and yawned. “Yes, thank you,” he said.
Sylar seemed very uncomfortable. He looked down at his hands, fidgeting, and finally looked back at Mohinder. “I think maybe we should talk.”
Mohinder didn’t think that there was anything quite as terrifying as those words. He supposed it would be too much to ask that they not directly address whatever had happened between them. “I don’t want to ‘talk about my feelings,’ if that’s what you want.”
“Well, too bad,” Sylar said fiercely. Mohinder was taken aback at the sudden anger in his voice. “I have tried so hard to make you comfortable and happy here, and you act like everything’s fine and all of a sudden, you throw it all back in my face, and I still don’t understand why, so from now on, I’m going to ask you how you’re feeling every day, and you’re going to tell me, because I can understand how most everything works, but for some reason, I can’t understand you.”
“Fine,” Mohinder said. “You want to know what my innermost feeling is right now?”
“Yes.”
“I feel hungry.”
Sylar blinked. “That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Sylar pursed his lips in thought. “Wait here.” He left the room.
Mohinder rubbed his face with his hands. For once, he wasn’t simply being contrary. He had no idea what he was feeling. Was he simply resigned to staying here with Sylar, or was he beginning to truly accept it? He didn’t hate Sylar, but did that mean that he actually liked him? And what about the sex - did he still want to continue that, or would it be better to stop until he figured out what his feelings were? And how was Sylar going to feel about that?
Sylar reappeared in the doorway, carrying two bowls. “Here you are,” he said, handing one to Mohinder.
Mohinder accepted it. “Ice cream?” he said in surprise.
“Yes. I made it yesterday - churned with telekinesis and frozen with cryokinesis. We could eat dinner first, if you want?”
“No, this is fine,” Mohinder said. It was more than fine - he loved ice cream. He scooped out a spoonful and put it in his mouth; it was so good that he actually moaned. Vanilla - his favorite.
Sylar grinned. “It’s good, huh?” He sat down next to Mohinder and started in on his bowl.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Mohinder said, “I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. I think that there was a part of me that was denying what was happening in the world, and that eventually, everything would go back to normal. And I think that if I admitted to myself that things were changing between us, it would be like admitting that nothing was ever going to be the same again. But things aren’t going to be the same, and you aren’t the person I thought you were anymore - maybe you never were. But now that I’ve admitted that, I feel like I don’t know who you are at all.”
Sylar looked thoughtful for a moment. “My favorite color is black,” he said.
“…what?”
“You said you feel like you don’t know me, so I’ll tell you about myself.”
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Mohinder said, and to his surprise, he felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Well, what were you thinking of, then?”
“I don’t know - I suppose we ought to talk more. Have conversations.”
Sylar frowned. “I thought we already did that.”
Mohinder didn’t quite know how to tell Sylar that many of their ‘conversations’ had been entirely one-sided. “Well, I mean - I suppose I ought to talk about myself sometimes. Things that I’m thinking.”
“Okay,” Sylar said. He thought for a moment. “So what’s your favorite color?”
Mohinder burst out laughing - he couldn’t help himself. “That - isn’t quite what I had in mind, either.”
“Why not? We have to start somewhere,” Sylar said. He was grinning now, too. “Is it blue?”
Mohinder took another bite of ice cream. “No.”
“Yellow?”
“No.”
Mohinder ate his ice cream as Sylar worked his way through the rest of the rainbow. “I give up,” he said finally.
“…it’s pink,” Mohinder said.
“Pink?” Sylar said. He started to laugh.
Mohinder whacked him with his spoon. “I’ll have you know that pink as a solely feminine color is a western convention,”* he said with mock-indignity, but he was laughing, too. “And at least it’s a real color.”
“Hey! Black is a real color!”
“Actually, black is the visual impression experienced when no visible light reaches the eye, so it is therefore a lack of color.”**
“Whatever you say, professor,” Sylar said. He put a dollop of ice cream on Mohinder’s bare shoulder and licked it off. He moved in for a kiss, but Mohinder pulled away.
Sylar frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Mohinder said. “I was just thinking - maybe we ought to lay off the sex. For now.”
“What?” Sylar said, alarmed. “Why?”
“I just think - well, last night…complicated things. For me.”
“I don’t understand.”
Mohinder sighed and tried again. “I’m still trying to sort out how I feel about you, and sex might get in the way of me working those things out.”
“…okay, if that’s what you want,” Sylar said, but he still looked completely confused. He took Mohinder’s empty bowl and got up to leave, but then he put the bowls on the nightstand and turned back to Mohinder. “Can I still kiss you?”
Sylar looked so earnest that Mohinder couldn’t say no. “All right.”
Sylar bent down and kissed Mohinder on the lips. He pulled back and met Mohinder’s gaze for a long moment. Then he leaned in again and kissed Mohinder on the neck.
“Sylar…” Mohinder began.
“No sex, I know,” Sylar said. “But this is just kissing, and that’s okay, right?” He laid a kiss right below Mohinder’s ear.
“R-right,” Mohinder said.
Sylar sat down beside him on the bed. He lifted up Mohinder’s hand and kissed the inside of his wrist. “Still okay?” he asked, his lips moving tantalizingly against his skin.
“Yes,” Mohinder said, rapidly realizing that he was going to lose this battle, and more importantly, that he didn’t think he minded.
Sylar laid gentle kisses up Mohinder’s arm and then swooped in for another kiss on the mouth, parting his lips only slightly and keeping the kiss frustratingly chaste. Mohinder leaned forward and made a disappointed noise. After a moment, Sylar put one hand on the back of Mohinder’s neck and curved the other around his waist and drew Mohinder closer. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss.
As they kissed, Sylar slipped the hand at his waist down into the band of Mohinder’s sweat pants. He pulled back and looked into Mohinder’s eyes. “Can we be undressed while we kiss?”
Mohinder nodded. “Absolutely.”
Mohinder lifted his hips and let Sylar tug off his sweatpants. Mohinder pulled Sylar’s t-shirt over his head and threw it aside. They kissed again, hungrier this time. Sylar pulled away and gently pushed Mohinder back until he was lying down.
“Can I touch you while I kiss you?” Sylar asked. Mohinder felt a surge of arousal so strong that he gasped. He couldn’t quite find his voice, so he nodded.
Sylar leaned down and kissed him. He ran his fingers down Mohinder’s body, ghosting over his skin lightly, until he reached Mohinder’s cock; he enveloped it in his fist and squeezed gently. He ran a thumb over the head and spread the wetness gathered there over his length. After giving his cock a few light strokes, he let go of Mohinder briefly to spit in his palm. When he took Mohinder in his hand again, he began to stroke him in earnest, looking down on him with heavy-lidded eyes.
Mohinder moaned and spread his legs slightly, giving himself leverage to thrust up to meet Sylar’s strokes. Sylar took his other hand and began to roll Mohinder’s balls in his palm.
Mohinder could feel the climax building in him; he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. “Kiss me?” he asked, panting.
“Yes,” Sylar moaned, and the moment his lips touched Mohinder’s, Mohinder’s hips bucked up one last time and he came, gasping into Sylar’s mouth.
Sylar pulled back and smiled down at him as Mohinder tried to catch his breath. “Was that okay?”
Mohinder smiled and shut his eyes. “Mmmm,” he hummed drowsily.
Sylar turned his attention to the bathroom, and a moment later, a damp washcloth floated into the room. He took it and gently wiped Mohinder’s chest and stomach clean. “How are you feeling now?”
“Sleepy.” It didn’t seem quite fair to drift off and leave Sylar unsatisfied, so Mohinder pushed himself up and reached for Sylar’s fly, but Sylar pushed his hand away gently.
“It’s fine,” he said. “You’re tired.”
Mohinder frowned. “Are you sure?”
Sylar smiled. “Yes. I got what I wanted.” He kissed Mohinder one last time and then stood up. “I’m going to go make dinner - do you feel like anything in particular?”
Mohinder stretched lazily while he thought. “How about samosas? Like -” He almost said ‘like the first time we slept together,’ but he didn’t want to evoke that night of drunken desperation. “Like before,” he finished lamely.
“You got it.” He went to leave, but then paused at the door and looked back at Mohinder. He stared at him for what seemed like a long moment, and then he suddenly crossed the room and jumped into the bed, kissing Mohinder fiercely.
Mohinder laughed and moved his hand down to Sylar’s still-hard cock. “Change your mind?”
Sylar shook his head. “No, I just - ” He stopped.
Mohinder looked away. He still wasn’t ready to hear that. “I know,” he murmured.
He looked back up at Sylar, who seemed disappointed, but not surprised. Sylar got up from the bed again. “I’ll call you when they’re ready,” he said.
“Why not bring them up here?”
Sylar raised an eyebrow. “Dinner in bed again?”
“Why not?”
Sylar laughed. “Can’t think of a reason. All right, I’ll be back. Try not to fall asleep.”
Mohinder yawned. “I’m not making any promises.”
After Sylar left, he curled up around a pillow and sighed contentedly. There was a part of him that nagged that this was still wrong, that nothing had changed, but he ignored it. He was so tired of being miserable.
Onto Chapter Two!
*Interestingly, it's not only a western idea, but also a recent one. Apparently, the idea of pink as a girl's color and blue as a boy's color was something that started in the 1950s.
**So says wikipedia, although Mohinder is being pretty pedantic.
Book Three: Summer (1/4)
Author: seraphtrevs
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: NC-17
Word count: This part: 3,926
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.
A/N: This book is WIP right now - it's about halfway finished. I'll be making posts when I can (hopefully once a week-ish), but since it's not done, I can't say exactly when parts will go up.
Thanks always to my beta, marenpaisley, who is awesome and amazing.
Previous Parts:
Book One: Winter
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
Chapter One: Better Homes and Gardens and a Happy New Year
Chapter Two: The Morning After, Or a Prophecy Fulfilled
Chapter Three: Lies and Stormy Skies
Book Three: Summer
Familiarity breeds consent.
-Oscar Wilde
He’s standing naked in a scorched and empty landscape. There are large, grey mounds surrounding him, and when he gets closer, he sees that they’re piles of corpses; he looks closer at one mound, and the faces of the bodies seem familiar, but he can’t quite identify them. Panicked, he runs until he comes to a door. He opens it and sees a beautiful garden in a white room. He steps inside and touches a rose, and it wilts; decay radiates from the flower to the rest of the garden, and soon everything is brown and dead. He turns around to leave, but the door has been replaced with a large grandfather clock. It strikes midnight and begins to chime. At the last ring, the clock face shatters, pelting him in shards of broken glass. A swarm of cockroaches bursts from the broken clock face and scuttle down the clock towards him…
Mohinder sat bolt upright in bed with a half-formed scream in his throat. Sylar was there immediately, hands rubbing his shoulders comfortingly while he made reassuring noises in his ear. It was a familiar scene.
“It was just a dream, Mohinder - it’s all right, I’m here.” Sylar pressed a cool glass of water into Mohinder’s hand; he gulped it down gratefully.
“What time is it?” Mohinder mumbled after his heart stopped pounding and his breathing returned to normal.
“Five fifty-two. It’s early - why don’t you go back to sleep?”
Mohinder shook his head. “No,” he said. He didn’t think he’d be able to fall back asleep after that. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Okay,” Sylar said. He kissed Mohinder’s shoulder. “I’m going to go make breakfast.”
Mohinder didn’t really wake up until he’d been in the shower for a few minutes. It seemed like any other morning - as if yesterday hadn’t been completely cataclysmic. As the water ran down his body, he tried to determine what he was feeling. It was as if there had been a festering wound inside him, and last night it had been lanced and drained. He felt emptied out, but he couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad feeling.
He stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out. After getting dressed, he headed downstairs, unsure of what exactly awaited him.
Sylar was standing at the stove, cooking something in a frying pan. He turned around when Mohinder entered the kitchen.
“Hi,” Sylar said a little hesitantly. “Would you like an omelette?”
“Yes, please.” Mohinder sat down at the table.
“How are you feeling?” Sylar asked as he continued to cook.
“Tired.” Mohinder knew Sylar was probably looking for a more substantial answer, but he didn’t know that he had one.
“Do you want some coffee? I’ll get you some coffee.” Sylar motioned with his finger to the coffee pot - and sent it crashing into the wall.
The two of them stared at the remnants of the pot for a long moment. Mohinder had never seen Sylar lose control of his telekinetic ability before; for him, it seemed as natural and easy as using his hands. Apparently, Sylar was also still shaken about last night. Mohinder found that strangely comforting.
Sylar grabbed a dish towel and went to clean up the mess. Mohinder got up and stood at the stove, not wanting the eggs to burn.
“You don’t have to do that,” Sylar said. “Just turn the burner off - I’ll finish them as soon as I clean this up.”
“I do know how to make an omelette, you know.”
“No, it’s all right, really,” Sylar said firmly.
“Why are you so against me making a damned omelette ?” Mohinder said, annoyed. “My cooking isn’t that bad.”
“Well,” Sylar said. “The last time I let you cook, I got a frying pan to the face.”
Mohinder laughed - an honest, open laugh. He clamped a hand over his mouth, surprised at the sound. A second later, Sylar started to laugh, too, and soon the two of them were doubled over in laughter. It wasn’t that funny, but it effectively broke the tension.
After their laughter had faded into weak giggles, Sylar said, “Besides, I like cooking for you.”
Mohinder felt oddly touched by the admission. “All right,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Then I’ll clean up the coffee.”
“Hold on.” Sylar lifted a hand, and the shards of glass rose from the floor. He made a sweeping motion, sending them into the garbage. He threw the towel to Mohinder. “Wouldn’t want you to get cut.”
Sylar finished the omelettes just as Mohinder finished cleaning up the coffee. He placed the plates on the table and the two of them sat down to eat; they ate in companionable silence. Once they were finished, Sylar took Mohinder’s hand in his own. “There’s something I want to show you,” he said. “I was going to wait until I had everything perfect, but I think you ought to see it now. I do need to finish one thing, though, so I thought we could go tomorrow?”
“You mean the project you’ve been working on?” Mohinder asked. “Where is it?”
Sylar smiled coyly. “You’ll see. It’s not far from here.”
“All right,” Mohinder said. He’d waited this long - he could wait another day.
After Sylar left, Mohinder got out his gloves and tools and went out to the garden. The sun had just risen. He wasn’t usually up this early, and he thought he might as well make the most of it - he’d be able to get some serious work done without having the sun beating down on him.
Now that it was summer, his garden was in full bloom. When he’d planned the garden, he’d decided not to try for any particular color scheme - he wanted a rainbow of bright colors, all mixed together in happy chaos. Along the borders of the house, he’d planted azalea bushes that were peppered with red and white blossoms. As they wrapped around the house, they were gradually replaced with Mohinder’s favorite flowers -the tall red and pink astilbes that bloomed with flowers that tapered into points, like evergreen trees; they framed the porch leading to the front door.
Red, orange and tiger-striped tulips bloomed in the raised flower beds, along side the yellow sunbursts of goldenrod. One of the small white snowdrops that Mohinder first found in winter still bloomed, shaded and protected by the larger flowers.
In the lower beds, he planted blankets of wildflowers - pale yellow African daises, stalks of mauve foxgloves, vivid orange wallflowers, purple irises, downward-facing trumpet flowers with blossoms that faded from yellow to red. By the pool, he’d placed pots of hydrangeas that bloomed in blue and pink flowers clustered together in spheres.
There was a path leading from the house to a small gazebo in the backyard, which Mohinder lined with pink and white peonies and purple coneflowers, which seemed to bloom upside down with the petals below the stamens. By the gazebo were several rose bushes that Sylar had missed in his pruning. They were blooming now, too - all a deep, velvety red. Woven around the gazebo were vines of blue morning glories.
Mohinder worked until about eleven o’clock, when the sun began to bother him. He cracked his aching back and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. It was setting out to be a very hot day, and he decided that a swim in the pool might be nice. He picked up his tools and went inside to get a towel.
He shed his clothes and dived into the pool; the cool water felt incredible. He swam a few half-hearted laps before giving up and deciding to float on his back while watching the clouds drift through the sky. He felt…relaxed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this. He hadn’t realized what a terrible weight his animosity towards Sylar had been until it was gone. He knew his wariness would probably return, but for now, he enjoyed the luxury of a peaceful mind.
He allowed his mind to wander, feeling more able to sort out his mixed up emotions now that he was no longer in the heat of the moment. When Sylar was masquerading as Zane, Mohinder had liked him. He seemed sweet and earnest, if a little socially awkward, and he looked at Mohinder with such open admiration. Mohinder had been flattered by the attention. He found Zane attractive, but he was more interested in finding a potential friend than a lover. He was still recovering from the loss of Eden. He hadn’t known her for very long, but she had been there when he first arrived in the country, and when she had died, he felt the distance between America and his home much more keenly. He was alone in a strange land, experiencing strange things, without anyone he could turn to for support. So when he discovered “Zane’s” true identity, it had been a double blow: Sylar had both killed his father and taken away a chance for Mohinder to feel less alone.
After that, Sylar became the focus for all of Mohinder’s fear and rage. He made Sylar the embodiment of every horrible thing that had happened to him. Even Sylar’s apparent death hadn’t extinguished his anger. It was almost as if he needed Sylar - or at least the idea of Sylar, as someone who could take all the blame for the things that Mohinder had been put through.
And then the plague came, and everything fell apart. He thought that Molly and Matt’s deaths had broken him completely, but then he’d been imprisoned and he found out that he still had so much more to lose. Everything he thought he knew about himself began to unravel, and he knew that eventually there would be no trace of the man he once was.
Then Sylar had saved him. He did more than rescue him from the base - he’d also given him back some of his lost sense of self. His hatred for Sylar was part of him, and he used it as a starting point to rebuild himself.
But as Mohinder gradually regained more and more of himself, he realized that those feelings of anger had outlived their usefulness. He found that he still needed Sylar - not only for physical survival, but also to help him move forward and become someone who could live in the newly emptied world.
After a while, he got out of the pool. His clothes were dirty from his earlier work, so he didn’t bother to put them back on. He dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He then picked up his clothes and went into the house, up the stairs, and into the bedroom.
He put his dirty clothes in the hamper and then noticed his clothes from the previous day lying in a heap on the floor where they had been tossed in the throes of passion. He picked them up and went to put them away, but then he noticed the keys to the truck he’d found in the pocket of his trousers. He sat down on the bed and held them in the palm of his hand. There were only two keys on the ring, but somehow, they felt very heavy.
For the first time, he questioned his desire to escape. Where would he go? And could he make it on his own? Sylar was right - having the luxury of running water, electricity and fresh food was something that he imagined very few of the remaining people on earth enjoyed. And Mohinder was very much a creature of the modern world - he’d never even been camping. Was being with Sylar so bad that he was willing to throw all of that away for the slim chance that he’d be able to last long enough on his own to find other survivors?
He stood up and opened the top drawer of the dresser. After pulling out a pair of sweat pants, he placed the keys in the back of the drawer and closed it. He wasn’t hiding them, exactly. He just liked knowing they were there.
He checked his watch - it was around noon. He’d fallen asleep late last night; after eating dinner with Sylar in their room, he’d gone downstairs and put in a movie to watch. Sylar, thankfully, left him alone. He’d watched two more movies before finally feeling tired enough to go to bed; he couldn’t even remember what they’d been about. That coupled with his early morning awakening left him feeling exhausted. He decided to go down to the kitchen to make a sandwich and then come back up to take a nap.
He woke up to a gentle shake of his shoulder. When he opened his eyes, he saw Sylar peering down at him, a concerned expression on his face. He was probably worried about a repeat performance of yesterday.
“It’s six o’clock,” Sylar said. “I thought you might want me to wake you up so you can get back on a regular sleeping schedule.”
Mohinder sat up and yawned. “Yes, thank you,” he said.
Sylar seemed very uncomfortable. He looked down at his hands, fidgeting, and finally looked back at Mohinder. “I think maybe we should talk.”
Mohinder didn’t think that there was anything quite as terrifying as those words. He supposed it would be too much to ask that they not directly address whatever had happened between them. “I don’t want to ‘talk about my feelings,’ if that’s what you want.”
“Well, too bad,” Sylar said fiercely. Mohinder was taken aback at the sudden anger in his voice. “I have tried so hard to make you comfortable and happy here, and you act like everything’s fine and all of a sudden, you throw it all back in my face, and I still don’t understand why, so from now on, I’m going to ask you how you’re feeling every day, and you’re going to tell me, because I can understand how most everything works, but for some reason, I can’t understand you.”
“Fine,” Mohinder said. “You want to know what my innermost feeling is right now?”
“Yes.”
“I feel hungry.”
Sylar blinked. “That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Sylar pursed his lips in thought. “Wait here.” He left the room.
Mohinder rubbed his face with his hands. For once, he wasn’t simply being contrary. He had no idea what he was feeling. Was he simply resigned to staying here with Sylar, or was he beginning to truly accept it? He didn’t hate Sylar, but did that mean that he actually liked him? And what about the sex - did he still want to continue that, or would it be better to stop until he figured out what his feelings were? And how was Sylar going to feel about that?
Sylar reappeared in the doorway, carrying two bowls. “Here you are,” he said, handing one to Mohinder.
Mohinder accepted it. “Ice cream?” he said in surprise.
“Yes. I made it yesterday - churned with telekinesis and frozen with cryokinesis. We could eat dinner first, if you want?”
“No, this is fine,” Mohinder said. It was more than fine - he loved ice cream. He scooped out a spoonful and put it in his mouth; it was so good that he actually moaned. Vanilla - his favorite.
Sylar grinned. “It’s good, huh?” He sat down next to Mohinder and started in on his bowl.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Mohinder said, “I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. I think that there was a part of me that was denying what was happening in the world, and that eventually, everything would go back to normal. And I think that if I admitted to myself that things were changing between us, it would be like admitting that nothing was ever going to be the same again. But things aren’t going to be the same, and you aren’t the person I thought you were anymore - maybe you never were. But now that I’ve admitted that, I feel like I don’t know who you are at all.”
Sylar looked thoughtful for a moment. “My favorite color is black,” he said.
“…what?”
“You said you feel like you don’t know me, so I’ll tell you about myself.”
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Mohinder said, and to his surprise, he felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Well, what were you thinking of, then?”
“I don’t know - I suppose we ought to talk more. Have conversations.”
Sylar frowned. “I thought we already did that.”
Mohinder didn’t quite know how to tell Sylar that many of their ‘conversations’ had been entirely one-sided. “Well, I mean - I suppose I ought to talk about myself sometimes. Things that I’m thinking.”
“Okay,” Sylar said. He thought for a moment. “So what’s your favorite color?”
Mohinder burst out laughing - he couldn’t help himself. “That - isn’t quite what I had in mind, either.”
“Why not? We have to start somewhere,” Sylar said. He was grinning now, too. “Is it blue?”
Mohinder took another bite of ice cream. “No.”
“Yellow?”
“No.”
Mohinder ate his ice cream as Sylar worked his way through the rest of the rainbow. “I give up,” he said finally.
“…it’s pink,” Mohinder said.
“Pink?” Sylar said. He started to laugh.
Mohinder whacked him with his spoon. “I’ll have you know that pink as a solely feminine color is a western convention,”* he said with mock-indignity, but he was laughing, too. “And at least it’s a real color.”
“Hey! Black is a real color!”
“Actually, black is the visual impression experienced when no visible light reaches the eye, so it is therefore a lack of color.”**
“Whatever you say, professor,” Sylar said. He put a dollop of ice cream on Mohinder’s bare shoulder and licked it off. He moved in for a kiss, but Mohinder pulled away.
Sylar frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Mohinder said. “I was just thinking - maybe we ought to lay off the sex. For now.”
“What?” Sylar said, alarmed. “Why?”
“I just think - well, last night…complicated things. For me.”
“I don’t understand.”
Mohinder sighed and tried again. “I’m still trying to sort out how I feel about you, and sex might get in the way of me working those things out.”
“…okay, if that’s what you want,” Sylar said, but he still looked completely confused. He took Mohinder’s empty bowl and got up to leave, but then he put the bowls on the nightstand and turned back to Mohinder. “Can I still kiss you?”
Sylar looked so earnest that Mohinder couldn’t say no. “All right.”
Sylar bent down and kissed Mohinder on the lips. He pulled back and met Mohinder’s gaze for a long moment. Then he leaned in again and kissed Mohinder on the neck.
“Sylar…” Mohinder began.
“No sex, I know,” Sylar said. “But this is just kissing, and that’s okay, right?” He laid a kiss right below Mohinder’s ear.
“R-right,” Mohinder said.
Sylar sat down beside him on the bed. He lifted up Mohinder’s hand and kissed the inside of his wrist. “Still okay?” he asked, his lips moving tantalizingly against his skin.
“Yes,” Mohinder said, rapidly realizing that he was going to lose this battle, and more importantly, that he didn’t think he minded.
Sylar laid gentle kisses up Mohinder’s arm and then swooped in for another kiss on the mouth, parting his lips only slightly and keeping the kiss frustratingly chaste. Mohinder leaned forward and made a disappointed noise. After a moment, Sylar put one hand on the back of Mohinder’s neck and curved the other around his waist and drew Mohinder closer. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss.
As they kissed, Sylar slipped the hand at his waist down into the band of Mohinder’s sweat pants. He pulled back and looked into Mohinder’s eyes. “Can we be undressed while we kiss?”
Mohinder nodded. “Absolutely.”
Mohinder lifted his hips and let Sylar tug off his sweatpants. Mohinder pulled Sylar’s t-shirt over his head and threw it aside. They kissed again, hungrier this time. Sylar pulled away and gently pushed Mohinder back until he was lying down.
“Can I touch you while I kiss you?” Sylar asked. Mohinder felt a surge of arousal so strong that he gasped. He couldn’t quite find his voice, so he nodded.
Sylar leaned down and kissed him. He ran his fingers down Mohinder’s body, ghosting over his skin lightly, until he reached Mohinder’s cock; he enveloped it in his fist and squeezed gently. He ran a thumb over the head and spread the wetness gathered there over his length. After giving his cock a few light strokes, he let go of Mohinder briefly to spit in his palm. When he took Mohinder in his hand again, he began to stroke him in earnest, looking down on him with heavy-lidded eyes.
Mohinder moaned and spread his legs slightly, giving himself leverage to thrust up to meet Sylar’s strokes. Sylar took his other hand and began to roll Mohinder’s balls in his palm.
Mohinder could feel the climax building in him; he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. “Kiss me?” he asked, panting.
“Yes,” Sylar moaned, and the moment his lips touched Mohinder’s, Mohinder’s hips bucked up one last time and he came, gasping into Sylar’s mouth.
Sylar pulled back and smiled down at him as Mohinder tried to catch his breath. “Was that okay?”
Mohinder smiled and shut his eyes. “Mmmm,” he hummed drowsily.
Sylar turned his attention to the bathroom, and a moment later, a damp washcloth floated into the room. He took it and gently wiped Mohinder’s chest and stomach clean. “How are you feeling now?”
“Sleepy.” It didn’t seem quite fair to drift off and leave Sylar unsatisfied, so Mohinder pushed himself up and reached for Sylar’s fly, but Sylar pushed his hand away gently.
“It’s fine,” he said. “You’re tired.”
Mohinder frowned. “Are you sure?”
Sylar smiled. “Yes. I got what I wanted.” He kissed Mohinder one last time and then stood up. “I’m going to go make dinner - do you feel like anything in particular?”
Mohinder stretched lazily while he thought. “How about samosas? Like -” He almost said ‘like the first time we slept together,’ but he didn’t want to evoke that night of drunken desperation. “Like before,” he finished lamely.
“You got it.” He went to leave, but then paused at the door and looked back at Mohinder. He stared at him for what seemed like a long moment, and then he suddenly crossed the room and jumped into the bed, kissing Mohinder fiercely.
Mohinder laughed and moved his hand down to Sylar’s still-hard cock. “Change your mind?”
Sylar shook his head. “No, I just - ” He stopped.
Mohinder looked away. He still wasn’t ready to hear that. “I know,” he murmured.
He looked back up at Sylar, who seemed disappointed, but not surprised. Sylar got up from the bed again. “I’ll call you when they’re ready,” he said.
“Why not bring them up here?”
Sylar raised an eyebrow. “Dinner in bed again?”
“Why not?”
Sylar laughed. “Can’t think of a reason. All right, I’ll be back. Try not to fall asleep.”
Mohinder yawned. “I’m not making any promises.”
After Sylar left, he curled up around a pillow and sighed contentedly. There was a part of him that nagged that this was still wrong, that nothing had changed, but he ignored it. He was so tired of being miserable.
Onto Chapter Two!
*Interestingly, it's not only a western idea, but also a recent one. Apparently, the idea of pink as a girl's color and blue as a boy's color was something that started in the 1950s.
**So says wikipedia, although Mohinder is being pretty pedantic.