heroslayer | the enemy of my enemy is my friend (rp for factnotbelief)

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the enemy of my enemy is my friend (rp for factnotbelief)

He doesn't like this.

Sylar knows he needs help if he's going to take on Parkman and Petrelli -- he might be smarter than both of them, but they're better armed, and he's never been good at fighting on two fronts -- but people don't just offer people like him help without a catch. Arthur's going to want something from him in return, and as good as he usually is about repaying kindness where kindness is offered, he likes to do it on his own terms. He wants to be the one who decides what and when people get something out of him, not have a debt held over his head, and he knows that's how it's going to go with Arthur. The Petrelli patriarch's already tried it, feeding him some bullshit story about how he's his son to him over the phone to try and make him feel obligated, and he doesn't owe him a damn thing yet. It can only get worse from here on out, he figures, and it's not like he can't find Suresh on his own. He's done it before, biding his time until the heroes let their guard down and move on to more important things, and he's got all the time in the world to wait now. They don't.

Unfortunately, however, neither does Suresh and as angry as he is, he's not too keen on waiting to reclaim what's his and what should belong to him, and that probably explains why, against his better judgement, he gets out of the car and stalks up to the building. If this goes badly, he'll just kill Arthur and go his own way. He makes a show of making sure Arthur knows that's in the cards, too, blowing the door off the hinges as he reaches it in a disturbing display of power. Arthur told him not to kill anyone on his way up here, and he didn't, but he never said he couldn't wreck his little house of cards when he got here.

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Mohinder doesn't take Sylar's hand at all, he stand up on his own, graceful in rumbled mismatched clothes that Peter had grabbed from his apartment a few days ago. For a moment, they simply look at each other before Mohinder flings his arms around Sylar's neck.

Flint makes a comment and picks Peter up like a piece of meat to fling over his shoulder. Daphne's not paying attention at all.

Mohinder's lips curl up.

"You're late."

Sylar hums and wraps his arms around the Indian slowly, his chin coming to rest against his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, his eyes slipping closed momentarily as he breathes in his scent, and then he pulls back, a crooked smile on his lips. "Sorry. I got a little sidetracked."

Setting back on on his heels, Mohinder's hands move to Sylar's shoulders before he surveys the damage and winces slightly. "Don't hurt them. What they did, it was horribly stupid. But they mean well. They just don't understand."

He can not be responsible for their deaths. He can't. Bridget was bad enough.

He's about to nose at Sylar's chin when it dawns on him that he's not alone. Both eyebrows raise for that one. "Who...are your friends?"

"I wasn't planning on it." Not yet, anyway, but Mohinder doesn't need to know that. He hesitates, looking dubious, and rolls one shoulder in a shrug -- he hasn't come to believe Arthur's story about their relation in the last twenty minutes or so, but he might as well keep playing along. Better he does than have one of his new friends turn on him when they realize he's not really Arthur Petrelli's son. "My father wants them alive."

He glances back at Flint. "He sent them with me to help me get you back. From the look of things, though, I didn't really need it."

Mohinder's eyes dart again to Daphne and to Matt. The speedster. Peter's mentioned her several times and now he understands why. She was the key to getting them to open the door, she was keeping track of them.

It's worrying how easily people can betray others. At least he's not alone in that respect.

He's about to mention how Sylar really didn't need his backup when something else dawns on him. "Wait, what? I'm sorry? Your father? You'll need to tell me about this sidetracking."

"It's a long story." His eyes follow Mohinder's back to Matt and Daphne, then over to Flint, and after a moment, he orders, "Take them back to Arthur. Tell him I'll be back with the good doctor in a little while."

He wants to explain all of this to Mohinder, but he doesn't want to do it while his new friends are standing there, listening, nor does he want to risk Matt waking up while he's in the middle of it all.

Daphne makes two trips, though it only takes her about as many minutes to get the others from Manhattan down to Jersey. Mohinder's rather fascinated by it, the way the wind behind her swoops everything off of the counter and then blows his hair back away from his face again.

He blinks languidly before taking Sylar's hands. He wants to know about his father, but he needs to get this out because it's been building and bottled up for days.

"He tried to take you out of my memories," he whispers when they're alone, the horror of that almost too much for him to bear. Mohinder's addicted, desirous, and painfully attached to Sylar like he's been to no other. His fingers curl almost painfully into Sylar's hand. "You were almost gone."

"What?"

He stares at him, stunned. That Matt's capable of that, he's not surprised, but that he'd actually do something like that shakes him on some level. Matt's supposed to be one of the good guys, and while he himself might do something like that, Parkman's not supposed to. His views on the way the world works are painfully black and white, it seems.

He tightens his fingers around Mohinder's after a moment, the anger that had disappeared the second the fight had been over and Mohinder had been his again returning abruptly. If Arthur doesn't let him have Matt as promised, he's dead set on killing him anyway for this. He took what belonged to him and tried to destroy it. He deserves it.

It Mohinder finds that upsetting, imagine what he'd feel if he knew what he and Peter had done to his mind. Peter Petrelli thought that erasing minds was a form of rape, but certainly it's even more of a violation to view all of his memories. Mohinder's a little bit bruised because of it. He doesn't even know why thinking about Sylar hurts. It will pass, these things heal, but oh, he'd be destroyed to know what was done to him.

Mohinder wets his lips and blinks away the moisture from his eyes as he shakes his head.

"I'm fine now. I'm fine." He's not. "But tell me about your father." He's just not going to let go of his hand for now.

He knows he's lying, but he's not cruel enough to call him on it. He'll fix this by bringing Mohinder Parkman's head on a plate -- possibly literally -- and that's all that matters. That in mind, he's more than willing to change the subject.

"The speedster was waiting for me when I went to search Parkman's car," he explains, frowning in spite of himself. "She left me a business card for a place called Pinehearst. I called it and Arthur Petrelli answered. He promised to help me. He also fed me some stupid story about how I'm his long lost son or whatever, and I figured I'd play along just to get what I wanted." Namely Mohinder. "Looks to me like it worked."

Petrelli. "What? Peter's father is-- No, you don't believe him, but you could certainly pass for Peter's older brother. Same colouring, eyes, facial structure is more similar to Nathan--" When Mohinder has a conundrum, he sets out on it, trying to puzzle it out loud. "I could do a paternity test. Exceptionally easy. Siblings don't always seem to have the same powers, but complimentary ones... I've never understood why Peter's an ability sponge but his older brother has a relatively tame ability."

And there he is, looking back at Sylar again. Appraisingly.

"You've a complimentary ability. I'll need his blood."

"One of us can try and get it from him when we get back to Pinehearst," he answers, shrugging. He doesn't expect Mohinder will find anything to validate Arthur's story, but he doesn't see any harm in knowing for sure. "He wants us both back there. He offered you a lab and he owes me something for bringing Peter and Matt back alive."

It ought to make him question what it is that Sylar's promised, but his mind is somewhere else, focused on this mythical lab that Peter Petrelli's supposedly dead father has promised to the lover of his long lost or given away son. "We ought to go then. But first--"

Sylar alluded to Matt that he loved him. And while Mohinder wasn't sure if he felt the same way before Sylar appeared in that doorway a few minutes ago, now? Now he's positive it's true.

He loves him. And his mouth, his lips, feel the need to express that in a deep, intense, and passionate kiss.

He sighs, his eyes sliding closed, and kisses him back just as passionately, his fingers slipping into his curls to nest there. Eventually, unfortunately, he has to pull away to catch his breath, however, but he doesn't stray far, not too keen on leaving as much as they probably should, if only because it means he'll lose the heat of his body against him.

"We should go," he murmurs, though the words are more an effort to drum up the motivation to actually do so than anything else.

Mohinder sighs as well, moving his arms and his core away from Sylar, eyelids opening very slightly as he gazes upwards through long lashes. He's not sure why, but the words that come out of his mouth are almost beyond what he'd normally suggest.

"There's a bed here."

"So there is."

Arthur can wait another half an hour or so until they start making their way back, he figures, and that in mind, he tugs him back towards the bedroom, his fingers groping for the hem of his shirt. Part of him wants to tell him that he missed him, but he supposes this will do just as well.

Much of Mohinder's motives are based on needing to know that Sylar is real. He's been having such intense dreams of him the past few days that he needs this connection. He does most of the work, allowing Sylar to just lounge back against Peter's pillows. The younger Petrelli isn't going to be pleased about this. Not at all.

And that doesn't stop Mohinder from breathing wickedly against Sylar's ear as his hips move in rhythm of their joined pleasure. His fingers move through Sylar's chest hair. He whines.

"Almost...can't tell that I-- Mērē bhagavāna... Shaved you."

"Thank God for small miracles," he breathes in return, a moan on the end of the statement. He'd explain that yes, it itched as Mohinder suggested it was going to, and threaten to get him back one of these days, but he's too distracted to keep the thought in his head for too long, let pin it down with words, so he lets it go. He nips at Mohinder's lower lip instead, hips bucking more viciously against his, hoping to mark him or bruise him or both. That, he figures will get his point across, as well as being far more satisfying.

Such bruises will have to be much more brutal than those given to lighter skinned men, but when they come, when the imprints of Sylar's fingers on his hips begin to appear, Mohinder presses one sweaty palm to the wall over his head and trembles as orgasm hits him.

They'll smell like each other soon, perhaps something a little more animalistic than Mohinder has ever fancied himself being, but he has no intention of showering before leaving this apartment.

He'll takes the bruises and the markings in pain and in sex as badges to remind him that yes, he belongs somewhere and is someone important.

He breaks a second later, the tension in his stomach snapping in a rush of heat. He cries out, kissing him again in a belated attempt to mute himself, then breaks away to drop his head to his shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. It's a good few minutes later before he finally moves again, his fingers finding his way to Mohinder's hair, brushing it out of his face with surprising tenderness, still trying to tell him through touch that he missed him.

He knows. That look they shared when Sylar entered the apartment had been pure heat. And despite the somewhat violent finish of this sex act, it had been the most passionate, loving experience they've managed yet. Mohinder's fingers slip up the back of Sylar's neck and tug through his hair to feel the curves and perfect contours of his skull. There within lies his brain and Mohinder kisses Sylar's sweaty temple to confess his devotion.

A bit of a towelling off and a change of clothes sees Mohinder in another stolen car, dozing lightly against the passenger side door.

His dreams feel somewhat course and familiar, but he wakes up at Pinehearst really rather refreshed. It's only then, in the elevator, that he asks after his friends.

Sylar glances over at Mohinder. "What about them?"

Peter is Arthur's son -- he doubts much harm will come to him, even if he's not entirely sure he believes the Petrelli patriarch's story about wanting his family close -- and Matt was promised to him. There might be some awkward family reunion beforehand, depending on whether or not Maury knows what's going to become of his son and if Arthur's the kind of man that'd let them say their goodbyes, but other than that, Matt should be safe, too. For now.

"I've had bad luck with companies of late," Mohinder teases lightly, his look towards Sylar nothing but fond. The elevator stops at the penthouse and Mohinder hooks on his ID badge received in the lobby. It seems overly legitimate, this pharmaceutical company's headquarters. It's actually very similar to a place he'd thought he'd end up before he started after his father and began university work.

He's impressed by the number of employees here, no doubt most of them are normal, like himself. The place is the exact opposite of how Primatech was. It's encouraging.

Still, he hangs back when the doors are open for them. Sylar hadn't done that. "Welcome back. And hello, Doctor Suresh. My son thinks so very highly of you."

"Which one?" Sylar asks, flashing him a smirk, one tinted with sarcasm, as he leads the way into the penthouse. He's not at all impressed by the show Arthur put on in opening the doors for them -- if his power is so similar to his and Peter's, it only makes sense he'd have picked up something like that over the years. Telekinesis, as he understands it, isn't all that rare a gift.

"All three, incidentally, though for different reasons." Arthur laughs, another glass of whiskey in his hand. "Come in. You've taken your time getting back. I was starting to wonder if you wanted your gift, Gabriel."

the enemy of my enemy is my friend (rp for factnotbelief)

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