Heroes: "After Hours" (Mylar NC-17)
Title: After Hours
Author: airspaniel
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mylar
Word Count: 2345
Spoilers: none
Notes: The "director's cut" if you will, of Dream #2 from Five Dreams Sylar Had About Mohinder Suresh. Shameless PWP. I mean, completely unrepentant porn here.
Summary: Some things you can't control even in your own dreams.
The restaurant is dark and empty, black wooden chairs stacked neatly on top of black wooden tables. The only light filters through burgundy velvet curtains, the orange sodium glow of the streetlights diffused against the black and white floor. Music and voices from the adjacent bar thrum gently against the wall.
Mohinder is pressed against him, eyes dark and hungry and lips like wet red sin traveling over every exposed inch of his neck.
Sylar's head falls back, glasses slipping up his forehead as Mohinder worries his earlobe between sharp teeth, hot tongue laving the sensitive flesh.
"You are so fucking sexy." That accent, god, drawling such dirty things right in his ear, breath hot on his already burning skin.
"R-really?" he stutters, hating himself for the weakness, hating himself for saying anything in the first place.
He doesn't hate the reaction it gets, as Mohinder hooks his fingers in his belt and pulls him over to the window, forcing him to practically straddle the smaller man's hips to keep his balance. The glass steams up against Mohinder’s back, making a soft grey aura around his wild black curls.
He is so beautiful.
Mohinder's eyes travel up and down Sylar's body, devouring him with his eyes. Elegant brown hands pull at his sweater vest, untucking the shirt underneath from his pleated khakis.
And that’s how he knows he’s dreaming.
Christ, no wonder Gabriel never got laid.
Long fingers tease his sides, snaking around his back; nails raking light, intense trails down his spine.
Sylar can’t suppress a moan. He leans in closer and kisses Mohinder again, letting the doctor take control. It’s all dominating tongue and gently nibbling teeth and there… that long, hard suck to his lower lip that makes it impossible to think.
“Oh god, Mohinder” he sighs, tentatively running his hands down the man’s chest. Mohinder arches into it, forcing Sylar’s hands to flatten against his body.
“I want to fuck you so bad,” he gasps. “Want you to fuck me. God, I’ve never felt like this about a man before.”
Sylar closes his eyes, head falling forward against Mohinder’s shoulder, that gorgeous mouth panting, pleading right against his ear.
“We can’t,” he hears himself whine. “Mohinder, we can’t… not… someone might see us.”
Mohinder looks over his shoulder, seemingly realizing for the first time that they are up against a window. His long neck is entirely exposed; a thin sheen of sweat making his skin shine copper in the orange light, and Sylar bites his lip. He wants to taste that skin so badly.
Suddenly, he feels a hand at his fly. He makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, as Mohinder turns back to whisper in his ear.
“I don’t care. I want them to see,” he breathes, sliding his hand under the fabric of Sylar’s boxers.
His mouth closes on the spot where Mohinder’s neck meets his shoulder, teeth biting a little too deeply, as that hand wraps around his straining erection.
It’s hard to tell which one of them cries out louder.
His tongue presses against Mohinder’s pulse, tasting the sweet flavor of his skin as the man strokes him hard.
The world is spinning, just slightly, and he bucks into the hand that holds him firmly, helpless against the waves of pleasure that slam into him, one after the other. He’s never been this close without coming before; never been forced so close to the edge.
But Mohinder is dangerous, relentless, determined to pull him over with those sweet lips; those fucking dirty words that fall like raindrops from his mouth.
“Oh, god, come for me. Gabriel, please,” he pants, hand moving fast over Sylar’s erection, thumb sliding against the wet tip, dragging inhuman noises out of him.
If he were capable of rational thought, Sylar would have winced at the name. But he feels more Gabriel than he has in months, lost and helpless, nervous and afraid. Then Mohinder’s eyes meet his, and his spine turns to water.
“I… Oh, god, I…” Sylar gasps, “I can’t, I’ve never…” he thrusts helplessly into Mohinder’s fist, eyes rolling back as his head falls forward, leaning heavily against the doctor’s shoulder.
That maddening hand pulls hard over the head of his dick and he cries out, coming into Mohinder’s palm with a groan. Mohinder doesn’t miss a beat, sighing softly and rubbing Sylar through his release, coaxing him with long, elegant fingers.
He lifts his hand to his mouth, dark fingers stained with white disappearing between swollen red lips as he licks away all the traces of Sylar’s orgasm. He moans wantonly around his hand, hot pink tongue working furiously.
Sylar has never seen anything so erotic in his life. He snatches Mohinder’s hand away from his face, taking those long fingers into his own mouth, tasting himself faintly under the sweet spicy flavor of his lover’s mouth.
Mohinder pants wildly, eyes dark with lust, as Sylar’s tongue swipes over his feverish hands.
“Oh god, Gabriel. God, please let me fuck you,” he sighs, already nearly there.
Somehow, Sylar has the presence of mind to respond. “Just wait till we get home. Oh, please...”
They fall out the door, still connected at the mouth, and manage to hail a cab.
“BQE to the LIE,” Sylar calls to the cabbie, “Exit 23, as fast as you can,”
The windows of the cab are steamed up almost as soon as they get in, and the driver is considerate enough to slide the plexiglass panel shut, blocking out the soft noises they make sprawled across the backseat.
Sylar is almost hard again, pressed between the cool leather and Mohinder’s hot, wiry body. He is speaking, barely aware of his words, only certain in the knowledge that he wants to make Mohinder feel as good as he does.
“I’ve never done this before,” he says, voice a deep rumble in his chest. “I’ve never had anyone this close before.” Mohinder grinds against his lap, knees on either side of Sylar’s thighs.
“You mean you’re a…” the doctor’s voice catches on the last word, unable to finish the thought without moaning deep in his throat.
Sylar clutches his hips, strong hands digging hard into Mohinder’s skin, pulling him tight against him. “Yes…” he hisses, hating himself as much as ever for saying it aloud, wishing he could just know what to do. It’s his goddamned dream, after all. But he can’t. He doesn’t.
“But I want this. Oh, Jesus, Mohinder, I want you.”
The cab pulls up outside his apartment and he shoves two twenties through the window, knowing he’s tipping too much, but he doesn’t care. He yanks Mohinder out of the cab by his collar, the soft orange fabric stretching slightly under his hands.
They stumble up the stairs to Sylar’s apartment, him half walking backwards up the steps as Mohinder’s mouth latches onto the sensitive skin of his neck, sucking hard against his collarbone.
The door closes behind them, somehow, and Sylar thanks whatever powers there may be for the way Mohinder arches into his hands, so eager to give himself over. They fall into the immaculately neat bedroom and Mohinder laughs, a soft delicious sound under his lips.
“What?” he asks, kissing the long line of that dusky throat, pulling the dark curls back away from his skin.
“I never figured you for the fastidious type,” the doctor laughs, nibbling his earlobe gently. Sylar cries out, angling their bodies toward the bed. Mohinder pushes him back and he sprawls inelegantly against the bedding, legs splayed wide, arms thrown over his head.
Mohinder makes a noise deep in his throat as Sylar arches back, and he can’t seem to keep his hands from pulling his shirt up and over until his chest is bare, and his tongue is sweeping over that pale skin, drawing low keening sounds from Sylar’s throat.
“Please, Mohinder, don’t make me wait…”
Mohinder’s voice is a low growl against his stomach. “I don’t want to… if it’s your first…” he kisses Sylar’s navel, licking the soft trail of hair leading down towards his cock. “If you don’t want to…”
“I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life,” he sighs, and it’s true. No power has been as tempting, no ambition or desire greater than this slender man kneeling above him on his bed.
Mohinder’s hands peel his khakis away from his trembling body. The doctor’s hands slide up his thighs, nails digging lightly into his flesh.
“Mohinder.” He moans, pressing further into the touch, willing those elegant fingers further up. “Please… I want to feel you inside me…”
Saying the words out loud makes him feel ridiculous, like a stereotype, like… such a virgin, but he takes his glasses off regardless and leans back against the headboard, arms still over his head in an unmistakable gesture of submission.
The look in Mohinder’s eyes makes him shiver. “Turn over,” he rasps, running firm hands up over Sylar’s hips.
He does, lying on his stomach, half twisted up on his elbows in an attempt to keep looking at the beautiful man driving him crazy. A calming hand smoothes down his back, pressing him down to the bed, trying to keep him relaxed.
Not ready. He’s not at all ready for the soft kiss Mohinder plants at the base of his spine, for the hands that grab his ass a little too hard, exposing him further than he had ever dreamed possible.
And nothing could have prepared him for the sensation of that hot, devastating tongue lapping at his entrance, long tender swipes alternated with tight teasing circles that push ever so slightly inside. It’s all too much and not enough and he never imagined he could feel like this…
“Ah! God!” he cries out, muffled slightly by the pillows. Mohinder’s breathing is ragged and fast against his back as he replaces his mouth with mysteriously slick fingers, probing gently, not wanting to cause his lover any pain.
Sylar can’t take it, arching backwards onto Mohinder’s hand wantonly, only wincing a little at the newness of the feeling.
Instantly, he is desperate for more.
“Mohinder, please,” he pleads against the pillows, no longer caring how he sounds. He’s only dreaming, after all. Suddenly, Mohinder is lying on top of him, flush against his back, erection pressing against his ass with unmistakable intent.
“On your knees, then,” and his body obeys, drawing himself up. That voice is velvet in Sylar’s ears. He almost thinks he could come from that alone.
“All right,” the doctor purrs, adjusting himself, “Tell me to stop and I will.”
Sylar pants, mindless in his desire. “I won’t. Oh, god, I won’t. Please, Mohinder… just fuck me.”
Mohinder moans and presses forward as slowly as he can, giving his lover as much time to adjust as possible.
It hurts. Sylar had known it would. But there’s pleasure even in that, because this is Mohinder.
He’s finally getting what he always wanted.
Mohinder seats himself fully inside Sylar, holding him close by the waist, unwilling or unable to move until the man under him starts moving his hips slightly. The gentlest of movements, but each one seems designed to make him move faster, thrust deeper.
Of course, they are. Clockwork isn’t the only rhythm Sylar understands, experience or no.
“Oh, you feel so good…” Mohinder breathes harshly, voice shredded by lust. Sylar groans deeply, hips snapping back of their own volition, and the motion startles a cry out of both men. “Ah! Fuck, you’re amazing... So hot, so tight…”
Sylar is whimpering now, a pathetic needy noise he is powerless to control, as their pace quickens. He clenches the sheets in his hands, balling them in his fists, hanging on for dear life as his lover wrings pure torturous sensation out of him, one inch at a time.
He feels his orgasm building, but doesn’t want this to stop. Doesn’t want this to ever stop. But then the angle shifts, and every thrust of Mohinder’s cock is hitting something inside him that makes him want to cry; want to fly apart it’s so intense.
A few all too brief thrusts later, and Mohinder is shuddering into him, screaming his name as he comes hard. Helpless under the assault, he follows, arms shuddering as he struggles to support his weight.
With a quick kiss to the back of his neck, Mohinder rolls to the side, leaving one hand splayed possessively over the curve of Sylar’s hip.
They lay there for a long moment, breathing each other in…
Sylar rolls to his side, risking a look at the man who has just changed his life, That heat, that vulnerability, the sweat rolling down that caramel face, dark hair wet and matted… He has never seen anything so gorgeous in all his life.
He reaches out a hand, tentatively brushing the planes of Mohinder’s face. Those high cheekbones, the pervasive hint of stubble. Mohinder leans into the contact, as long pale fingers slick the sweat dampened hair from his forehead.
It is another moment before Sylar can trust his voice again. “You are so beautiful,” he manages, wishing the truth sounded less cheesy. But Mohinder curls their hands together, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.
“Can I stay?” he asks. As if Sylar has any intention of ever letting him go anywhere ever again. In response, he simply winds his arms around the doctor, throwing a possessive leg over Mohinder’s own.
Satisfied with that answer, Mohinder presses a kiss to the underside of Sylar’s jaw, tucks his head next to his lover’s.
They fall asleep like that, hopelessly entangled, and Sylar sleeps better than he ever has before.
-----
When he wakes up the next morning, really wakes up, he remembers the dream with a stab to the gut that’s almost physical. He turns over, regarding the empty side of the bed.
He wonders, not for the first time, how different things might have been if Mohinder Suresh had ever met Gabriel Gray.
Winner - "Best PWP" heroes_slash awards: Winter 2008
Author: airspaniel
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mylar
Word Count: 2345
Spoilers: none
Notes: The "director's cut" if you will, of Dream #2 from Five Dreams Sylar Had About Mohinder Suresh. Shameless PWP. I mean, completely unrepentant porn here.
Summary: Some things you can't control even in your own dreams.
The restaurant is dark and empty, black wooden chairs stacked neatly on top of black wooden tables. The only light filters through burgundy velvet curtains, the orange sodium glow of the streetlights diffused against the black and white floor. Music and voices from the adjacent bar thrum gently against the wall.
Mohinder is pressed against him, eyes dark and hungry and lips like wet red sin traveling over every exposed inch of his neck.
Sylar's head falls back, glasses slipping up his forehead as Mohinder worries his earlobe between sharp teeth, hot tongue laving the sensitive flesh.
"You are so fucking sexy." That accent, god, drawling such dirty things right in his ear, breath hot on his already burning skin.
"R-really?" he stutters, hating himself for the weakness, hating himself for saying anything in the first place.
He doesn't hate the reaction it gets, as Mohinder hooks his fingers in his belt and pulls him over to the window, forcing him to practically straddle the smaller man's hips to keep his balance. The glass steams up against Mohinder’s back, making a soft grey aura around his wild black curls.
He is so beautiful.
Mohinder's eyes travel up and down Sylar's body, devouring him with his eyes. Elegant brown hands pull at his sweater vest, untucking the shirt underneath from his pleated khakis.
And that’s how he knows he’s dreaming.
Christ, no wonder Gabriel never got laid.
Long fingers tease his sides, snaking around his back; nails raking light, intense trails down his spine.
Sylar can’t suppress a moan. He leans in closer and kisses Mohinder again, letting the doctor take control. It’s all dominating tongue and gently nibbling teeth and there… that long, hard suck to his lower lip that makes it impossible to think.
“Oh god, Mohinder” he sighs, tentatively running his hands down the man’s chest. Mohinder arches into it, forcing Sylar’s hands to flatten against his body.
“I want to fuck you so bad,” he gasps. “Want you to fuck me. God, I’ve never felt like this about a man before.”
Sylar closes his eyes, head falling forward against Mohinder’s shoulder, that gorgeous mouth panting, pleading right against his ear.
“We can’t,” he hears himself whine. “Mohinder, we can’t… not… someone might see us.”
Mohinder looks over his shoulder, seemingly realizing for the first time that they are up against a window. His long neck is entirely exposed; a thin sheen of sweat making his skin shine copper in the orange light, and Sylar bites his lip. He wants to taste that skin so badly.
Suddenly, he feels a hand at his fly. He makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, as Mohinder turns back to whisper in his ear.
“I don’t care. I want them to see,” he breathes, sliding his hand under the fabric of Sylar’s boxers.
His mouth closes on the spot where Mohinder’s neck meets his shoulder, teeth biting a little too deeply, as that hand wraps around his straining erection.
It’s hard to tell which one of them cries out louder.
His tongue presses against Mohinder’s pulse, tasting the sweet flavor of his skin as the man strokes him hard.
The world is spinning, just slightly, and he bucks into the hand that holds him firmly, helpless against the waves of pleasure that slam into him, one after the other. He’s never been this close without coming before; never been forced so close to the edge.
But Mohinder is dangerous, relentless, determined to pull him over with those sweet lips; those fucking dirty words that fall like raindrops from his mouth.
“Oh, god, come for me. Gabriel, please,” he pants, hand moving fast over Sylar’s erection, thumb sliding against the wet tip, dragging inhuman noises out of him.
If he were capable of rational thought, Sylar would have winced at the name. But he feels more Gabriel than he has in months, lost and helpless, nervous and afraid. Then Mohinder’s eyes meet his, and his spine turns to water.
“I… Oh, god, I…” Sylar gasps, “I can’t, I’ve never…” he thrusts helplessly into Mohinder’s fist, eyes rolling back as his head falls forward, leaning heavily against the doctor’s shoulder.
That maddening hand pulls hard over the head of his dick and he cries out, coming into Mohinder’s palm with a groan. Mohinder doesn’t miss a beat, sighing softly and rubbing Sylar through his release, coaxing him with long, elegant fingers.
He lifts his hand to his mouth, dark fingers stained with white disappearing between swollen red lips as he licks away all the traces of Sylar’s orgasm. He moans wantonly around his hand, hot pink tongue working furiously.
Sylar has never seen anything so erotic in his life. He snatches Mohinder’s hand away from his face, taking those long fingers into his own mouth, tasting himself faintly under the sweet spicy flavor of his lover’s mouth.
Mohinder pants wildly, eyes dark with lust, as Sylar’s tongue swipes over his feverish hands.
“Oh god, Gabriel. God, please let me fuck you,” he sighs, already nearly there.
Somehow, Sylar has the presence of mind to respond. “Just wait till we get home. Oh, please...”
They fall out the door, still connected at the mouth, and manage to hail a cab.
“BQE to the LIE,” Sylar calls to the cabbie, “Exit 23, as fast as you can,”
The windows of the cab are steamed up almost as soon as they get in, and the driver is considerate enough to slide the plexiglass panel shut, blocking out the soft noises they make sprawled across the backseat.
Sylar is almost hard again, pressed between the cool leather and Mohinder’s hot, wiry body. He is speaking, barely aware of his words, only certain in the knowledge that he wants to make Mohinder feel as good as he does.
“I’ve never done this before,” he says, voice a deep rumble in his chest. “I’ve never had anyone this close before.” Mohinder grinds against his lap, knees on either side of Sylar’s thighs.
“You mean you’re a…” the doctor’s voice catches on the last word, unable to finish the thought without moaning deep in his throat.
Sylar clutches his hips, strong hands digging hard into Mohinder’s skin, pulling him tight against him. “Yes…” he hisses, hating himself as much as ever for saying it aloud, wishing he could just know what to do. It’s his goddamned dream, after all. But he can’t. He doesn’t.
“But I want this. Oh, Jesus, Mohinder, I want you.”
The cab pulls up outside his apartment and he shoves two twenties through the window, knowing he’s tipping too much, but he doesn’t care. He yanks Mohinder out of the cab by his collar, the soft orange fabric stretching slightly under his hands.
They stumble up the stairs to Sylar’s apartment, him half walking backwards up the steps as Mohinder’s mouth latches onto the sensitive skin of his neck, sucking hard against his collarbone.
The door closes behind them, somehow, and Sylar thanks whatever powers there may be for the way Mohinder arches into his hands, so eager to give himself over. They fall into the immaculately neat bedroom and Mohinder laughs, a soft delicious sound under his lips.
“What?” he asks, kissing the long line of that dusky throat, pulling the dark curls back away from his skin.
“I never figured you for the fastidious type,” the doctor laughs, nibbling his earlobe gently. Sylar cries out, angling their bodies toward the bed. Mohinder pushes him back and he sprawls inelegantly against the bedding, legs splayed wide, arms thrown over his head.
Mohinder makes a noise deep in his throat as Sylar arches back, and he can’t seem to keep his hands from pulling his shirt up and over until his chest is bare, and his tongue is sweeping over that pale skin, drawing low keening sounds from Sylar’s throat.
“Please, Mohinder, don’t make me wait…”
Mohinder’s voice is a low growl against his stomach. “I don’t want to… if it’s your first…” he kisses Sylar’s navel, licking the soft trail of hair leading down towards his cock. “If you don’t want to…”
“I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life,” he sighs, and it’s true. No power has been as tempting, no ambition or desire greater than this slender man kneeling above him on his bed.
Mohinder’s hands peel his khakis away from his trembling body. The doctor’s hands slide up his thighs, nails digging lightly into his flesh.
“Mohinder.” He moans, pressing further into the touch, willing those elegant fingers further up. “Please… I want to feel you inside me…”
Saying the words out loud makes him feel ridiculous, like a stereotype, like… such a virgin, but he takes his glasses off regardless and leans back against the headboard, arms still over his head in an unmistakable gesture of submission.
The look in Mohinder’s eyes makes him shiver. “Turn over,” he rasps, running firm hands up over Sylar’s hips.
He does, lying on his stomach, half twisted up on his elbows in an attempt to keep looking at the beautiful man driving him crazy. A calming hand smoothes down his back, pressing him down to the bed, trying to keep him relaxed.
Not ready. He’s not at all ready for the soft kiss Mohinder plants at the base of his spine, for the hands that grab his ass a little too hard, exposing him further than he had ever dreamed possible.
And nothing could have prepared him for the sensation of that hot, devastating tongue lapping at his entrance, long tender swipes alternated with tight teasing circles that push ever so slightly inside. It’s all too much and not enough and he never imagined he could feel like this…
“Ah! God!” he cries out, muffled slightly by the pillows. Mohinder’s breathing is ragged and fast against his back as he replaces his mouth with mysteriously slick fingers, probing gently, not wanting to cause his lover any pain.
Sylar can’t take it, arching backwards onto Mohinder’s hand wantonly, only wincing a little at the newness of the feeling.
Instantly, he is desperate for more.
“Mohinder, please,” he pleads against the pillows, no longer caring how he sounds. He’s only dreaming, after all. Suddenly, Mohinder is lying on top of him, flush against his back, erection pressing against his ass with unmistakable intent.
“On your knees, then,” and his body obeys, drawing himself up. That voice is velvet in Sylar’s ears. He almost thinks he could come from that alone.
“All right,” the doctor purrs, adjusting himself, “Tell me to stop and I will.”
Sylar pants, mindless in his desire. “I won’t. Oh, god, I won’t. Please, Mohinder… just fuck me.”
Mohinder moans and presses forward as slowly as he can, giving his lover as much time to adjust as possible.
It hurts. Sylar had known it would. But there’s pleasure even in that, because this is Mohinder.
He’s finally getting what he always wanted.
Mohinder seats himself fully inside Sylar, holding him close by the waist, unwilling or unable to move until the man under him starts moving his hips slightly. The gentlest of movements, but each one seems designed to make him move faster, thrust deeper.
Of course, they are. Clockwork isn’t the only rhythm Sylar understands, experience or no.
“Oh, you feel so good…” Mohinder breathes harshly, voice shredded by lust. Sylar groans deeply, hips snapping back of their own volition, and the motion startles a cry out of both men. “Ah! Fuck, you’re amazing... So hot, so tight…”
Sylar is whimpering now, a pathetic needy noise he is powerless to control, as their pace quickens. He clenches the sheets in his hands, balling them in his fists, hanging on for dear life as his lover wrings pure torturous sensation out of him, one inch at a time.
He feels his orgasm building, but doesn’t want this to stop. Doesn’t want this to ever stop. But then the angle shifts, and every thrust of Mohinder’s cock is hitting something inside him that makes him want to cry; want to fly apart it’s so intense.
A few all too brief thrusts later, and Mohinder is shuddering into him, screaming his name as he comes hard. Helpless under the assault, he follows, arms shuddering as he struggles to support his weight.
With a quick kiss to the back of his neck, Mohinder rolls to the side, leaving one hand splayed possessively over the curve of Sylar’s hip.
They lay there for a long moment, breathing each other in…
Sylar rolls to his side, risking a look at the man who has just changed his life, That heat, that vulnerability, the sweat rolling down that caramel face, dark hair wet and matted… He has never seen anything so gorgeous in all his life.
He reaches out a hand, tentatively brushing the planes of Mohinder’s face. Those high cheekbones, the pervasive hint of stubble. Mohinder leans into the contact, as long pale fingers slick the sweat dampened hair from his forehead.
It is another moment before Sylar can trust his voice again. “You are so beautiful,” he manages, wishing the truth sounded less cheesy. But Mohinder curls their hands together, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.
“Can I stay?” he asks. As if Sylar has any intention of ever letting him go anywhere ever again. In response, he simply winds his arms around the doctor, throwing a possessive leg over Mohinder’s own.
Satisfied with that answer, Mohinder presses a kiss to the underside of Sylar’s jaw, tucks his head next to his lover’s.
They fall asleep like that, hopelessly entangled, and Sylar sleeps better than he ever has before.
-----
When he wakes up the next morning, really wakes up, he remembers the dream with a stab to the gut that’s almost physical. He turns over, regarding the empty side of the bed.
He wonders, not for the first time, how different things might have been if Mohinder Suresh had ever met Gabriel Gray.
Winner - "Best PWP" heroes_slash awards: Winter 2008