heroslayer | 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 is now thoroughly convinced that Sylar's telepathy is a gift, despite how gun shy it makes him personally. He trusts Sylar by now, not only to come for him so long as they are together (he'll likely kill him when they're through anyhow), but not to harm him in such a way. Being thrown around is one thing.

And honestly, having the ability to talk to the man in private is comforting.

Mohinder plays his part well, nuzzling under Sylar's chin, dropping kisses down his throat. Peter must still be here. He's the perfect candidate for any serum experiments. His body is primed to accept abilities. I should be quite able to discover your relation to them.

Sylar hums and slips his fingers up into his hair, enjoying the attention even if it's a pretext for having a silent conversation.

Or you could end up killing him if you don't get it right this time. He has faith in Mohinder's abilities, but he also doesn't want to see Peter dead. Hurt, maybe, for being the constant thorn in his side, for kidnapping Mohinder and breaking into his memories, but not dead. There's no point to it now. Peter is prey without adequate natural defenses -- a lion reduced to a rabbit. But you could tell if we're related or not based on a blood sample?

For all he knows about people and the way the human body works, he has no idea what a person can or can't tell from blood save for a few things that might be artistic liberty from the occasional rerun of criminal dramas on TV.

So much for faith in him. Mohinder does have a desire to hurt Peter, but kill him? No, Mohinder is not a killer. He has no intention of actually hurting anyone, no matter what he wants. Slipping his hand under Sylar's shirt, scratching teasingly at his ribs, Mohinder sighs.

He really hopes that they aren't being watched. He's not much of an exhibitionist.

It's called PCR testing. I should, very easily, be able to determine the likelihood that you are siblings in a few days.

He can't help but moan at that brush of fingers against his ribs. He arches his back into his hands, biting down on his lower lip, his thoughts against Mohinder's erratic and dark, like the flutter of wings against glass. He tightens his fingers in the Indian's hair, trying to catch his breath. If they were being watched, they're not now -- the others may like to pry, but they have no interest in where this looks as though it's going.

Do it, he manages, once he can pin down his thoughts again. I need to know.

It isn't as if they're hiding their relationship. Arthur knows, more than likely. And despite his happiness at being given this project, he's on guard. Arthur says he isn't monster and yet, he'd fed Sylar. Stray thoughts about how little Mohinder actually trusts that man pulling the strings makes it into the space housing their mental conversation.

It's not like Mohinder is in any way capable of blocking his thoughts, not without the sort of training that someone like Bennet mastered. Even if that might be a good idea if Arthur's a telepath now too.

Thanks Peter.

Leave me some of your blood tomorrow, he thinks purposefully, taking down the fly he only half an hour ago zipper up.

He makes a soft, affirmative noise, and lifts his hips into Mohinder's hands in an effort to help him with his fly, then reaches for Mohinder's to return the favor. Sex after a kill is always somehow better, he's learned -- he's excited to see how much more amazing still it'll be now that he can be in his head at the same time. Parkman had no idea what he was missing.

It's like being the centre of someone's universe. There's no other way to describe it. Mohinder's not a quiet man, vocally murmuring about his pleasure as he grips onto the headboard, toes finding purchase in the sheets. The same is true for his thoughts, all of which guide Sylar from becoming a talented lover to the best lover Mohinder could ever imagine.

He's left an almost sobbing mess, the strength and degree of his orgasm rocking him long after Sylar's found his own. He's still trembling, laughing from time to time, his joy in the other man almost surreal.

Sylar is a murderer that no one had ever wanted for who he truly is until now. He'll never have to doubt Mohinder's affection again.

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.

OOC: I've made another chapter for the time jump:
http://splice-of-life.livejournal.com/10857.html

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

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