Sylar pulls him into his arms when they finish, ignoring the mess they've left between them and on the sheets, and still trembling from his own release, and presses a kiss to his temple. He shushes him softly, teasing, and buries his face in his hair, a lazy smirk catching in the corners of his mouth. Turns out he was right. Even if most of what was going through the geneticist's head was either in Hindi or broken on spikes of pleasure -- the latter more than the former near the end -- it was amazing to have it all. He could get used to this and he's glad to have found the perfect way of distracting Mohinder, lest he think too hard about what he did to come by it and start to hate him.

"You should get some sleep," he mumbles into his hair. They can worry about cleaning up later. "Big day tomorrow." Probably for the both of them.