"Do to me?" Mohinder's not looking at Sylar, not directly. He settles his glasses over his nose -- he really would need some contacts in the near future -- and uses a provided grease pen to circle some of the more obvious section of Sylar's brain to study later.

He's concerned about the lack of healing and finally turns towards the other man to do up his fly. That's rather more affectionate than even a kiss. Mohinder's trying to tend to Sylar while he's in pain.

"Nothing really. Turned me off of poker for good. I'm terrible at it, as it turns out, and playing with a telepath..." He just lets the thought go.