S&M
Title: S&M
Paring: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: none
Warnings: Kinda cracky? Vague kink reference? Nothing much, really.
Word Count: 752
Summary: After a night of drinking, Mohinder wakes to an unpleasant surprise.
For the mylar_fic May challenge, week 1 prompt: "Something permanent, something dark."
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Mohinder slouched towards consciousness at a sloth’s pace. At first all he was aware of was warmth. Calm and comforting, it covered him from head to toe and he basked in it. Then the gentle sounds of breathing washed over him, combined with a scent that was getting more familiar with every passing day. Awareness seeped in, as Mohinder’s eyes flickered reluctantly open. The expanse of pale skin, the rise and fall of Sylar’s chest was hypnotic. Mohinder had nearly let it lull him back to sleep once more when his sleep-filled eyes latched onto something very much out of place. A splash of pure white, unnoticed under blurred vision, crystallized into focus.
There was a bandage taped to Sylar’s shoulder.
Mohinder bolted upright as a distinct absence of memory hit him with an accompanying wave of panic. He regretted the move instantly, as a bolt of pain lanced through his skull. Dry mouth, throbbing head, loss of memory, he groaned and flopped back onto the bed. Apparently their drinking had gotten more out of hand than either had intended, because Mohinder had a raging hangover.
Sylar let out a soft groan to his left, expressing his irritation at either the noise or the jostling of the mattress. Mohinder ignored it as he was immediately distracted by an itchy irritation, an odd sort of pain hiding under the hangover. Sitting up had aggravated it and now the patch of skin was all Mohinder could focus on. His eyes fell on a frighteningly similar white bandage plastered over his own hip and abdomen.
“Sylar?” His trembling, worried voice snapped Sylar awake in an instant. For all of their sordid past, any sort of panic on Mohinder’s part now always sent Sylar into overdrive. Still, his own hangover and previous state of deep sleep was a hindrance.
“Whazzat?” He mumbled as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
“Tell me we didn’t do what I think we did.” Mohinder’s voice was desperate, pleading now as he stared down at the glaring patch of white on his abdomen as if it might fly up and attack him at any moment.
“Umm…” Half-expecting some sort of attack, and not a questioning of the events that led them to sharing the same bed, Sylar was momentarily confused. There’d been a moment eerily similar to this one the morning after they’d first slept together, and now all Sylar could think of was that, regretfully, there hadn’t been any sex the night before. The fact that he was still in his boxers was evidence enough of that. “What?”
Mohinder glared at him in a way that Sylar was far too familiar with. It signaled danger and imminent bodily harm. The prospect of facing Mohinder’s wrath -at best meaning no sex for an indeterminate amount of time and at worst ducking bullets, drugs and tuning forks- was enough to startle Sylar the rest of the way awake.
The splash of white against Mohinder’s dark skin was impossible to miss and Sylar’s eidetic memory happily supplied the rest. Sylar glanced at the matching square of gauze on his shoulder and grimaced. This was not going to be good.
“We were very drunk, as I recall.” He offered cautiously, smoothing his face into the most harmless, loveable expression he could muster.
Mohinder was going to kill him.
Momentarily distracted by the admission that, in fact, his dread was well founded, Mohinder turned his attention back to the gauze. He grasped one corner of the tape holding it in place and pulled with trepidation, wincing as the adhesive pulled at flesh and stray hairs.
He saw what was underneath, and his jaw dropped.
Sylar was already in his pants and ready to bolt out the bedroom door should Mohinder decide to start throwing things.
“You thought it was hilarious last night.” Sylar offered with a wince, his own regrets at their rash, inebriated actions would have to wait. Though honestly, he still thought it was pretty funny.
Mohinder’s hands clenched the sheets in disbelief, “I… we…”
Clearly rage had bowed out and handed control over to shock. Really, he couldn’t have expected a better reaction. As such, Sylar let his guard down and the joke hovering on the tip of his tongue spilled out.
“Hey at least if we ever break up you can always say it’s homage to your S&M kink. Even better that it’s true.”
The lamp exploded into pieces mere inches from Sylar’s head and, quite wisely, he fled.
A/N: So, the mental image of that tattoo popped into my head and I just had to create it... and then write a fic to go with it. XD
Paring: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: none
Warnings: Kinda cracky? Vague kink reference? Nothing much, really.
Word Count: 752
Summary: After a night of drinking, Mohinder wakes to an unpleasant surprise.
For the mylar_fic May challenge, week 1 prompt: "Something permanent, something dark."
---------------
Mohinder slouched towards consciousness at a sloth’s pace. At first all he was aware of was warmth. Calm and comforting, it covered him from head to toe and he basked in it. Then the gentle sounds of breathing washed over him, combined with a scent that was getting more familiar with every passing day. Awareness seeped in, as Mohinder’s eyes flickered reluctantly open. The expanse of pale skin, the rise and fall of Sylar’s chest was hypnotic. Mohinder had nearly let it lull him back to sleep once more when his sleep-filled eyes latched onto something very much out of place. A splash of pure white, unnoticed under blurred vision, crystallized into focus.
There was a bandage taped to Sylar’s shoulder.
Mohinder bolted upright as a distinct absence of memory hit him with an accompanying wave of panic. He regretted the move instantly, as a bolt of pain lanced through his skull. Dry mouth, throbbing head, loss of memory, he groaned and flopped back onto the bed. Apparently their drinking had gotten more out of hand than either had intended, because Mohinder had a raging hangover.
Sylar let out a soft groan to his left, expressing his irritation at either the noise or the jostling of the mattress. Mohinder ignored it as he was immediately distracted by an itchy irritation, an odd sort of pain hiding under the hangover. Sitting up had aggravated it and now the patch of skin was all Mohinder could focus on. His eyes fell on a frighteningly similar white bandage plastered over his own hip and abdomen.
“Sylar?” His trembling, worried voice snapped Sylar awake in an instant. For all of their sordid past, any sort of panic on Mohinder’s part now always sent Sylar into overdrive. Still, his own hangover and previous state of deep sleep was a hindrance.
“Whazzat?” He mumbled as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
“Tell me we didn’t do what I think we did.” Mohinder’s voice was desperate, pleading now as he stared down at the glaring patch of white on his abdomen as if it might fly up and attack him at any moment.
“Umm…” Half-expecting some sort of attack, and not a questioning of the events that led them to sharing the same bed, Sylar was momentarily confused. There’d been a moment eerily similar to this one the morning after they’d first slept together, and now all Sylar could think of was that, regretfully, there hadn’t been any sex the night before. The fact that he was still in his boxers was evidence enough of that. “What?”
Mohinder glared at him in a way that Sylar was far too familiar with. It signaled danger and imminent bodily harm. The prospect of facing Mohinder’s wrath -at best meaning no sex for an indeterminate amount of time and at worst ducking bullets, drugs and tuning forks- was enough to startle Sylar the rest of the way awake.
The splash of white against Mohinder’s dark skin was impossible to miss and Sylar’s eidetic memory happily supplied the rest. Sylar glanced at the matching square of gauze on his shoulder and grimaced. This was not going to be good.
“We were very drunk, as I recall.” He offered cautiously, smoothing his face into the most harmless, loveable expression he could muster.
Mohinder was going to kill him.
Momentarily distracted by the admission that, in fact, his dread was well founded, Mohinder turned his attention back to the gauze. He grasped one corner of the tape holding it in place and pulled with trepidation, wincing as the adhesive pulled at flesh and stray hairs.
He saw what was underneath, and his jaw dropped.
Sylar was already in his pants and ready to bolt out the bedroom door should Mohinder decide to start throwing things.
“You thought it was hilarious last night.” Sylar offered with a wince, his own regrets at their rash, inebriated actions would have to wait. Though honestly, he still thought it was pretty funny.
Mohinder’s hands clenched the sheets in disbelief, “I… we…”
Clearly rage had bowed out and handed control over to shock. Really, he couldn’t have expected a better reaction. As such, Sylar let his guard down and the joke hovering on the tip of his tongue spilled out.
“Hey at least if we ever break up you can always say it’s homage to your S&M kink. Even better that it’s true.”
The lamp exploded into pieces mere inches from Sylar’s head and, quite wisely, he fled.
A/N: So, the mental image of that tattoo popped into my head and I just had to create it... and then write a fic to go with it. XD