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heroslayer"Trust me."
On any other day, those words would have been a question, but at the moment they were a demand spoken in intentionally threatening tones against the shell of Mohinder's ear. The Indian shivered, palms pressing flat against his bare back, and for an instant Sylar was sure he could taste the fear on his skin as he pressed his lips there. Understandable, he supposed, given the fact that less than fifteen minutes ago, he'd be pacing the room like a caged animal, a sneer frozen on his mouth, full of anger at the situation and his inability to do anything about it or because of it, but it still annoyed him, somehow.
And so, viciously, he nipped at his earlobe before repeating the words with a little more force. "Trust me."
He whimpered, writhing under him in such a way that Sylar wasn't sure he if he was trying to get away or trying to get into his mouth. Then quietly, breathless, he was murmuring, "I trust you."
It wasn't a lie, despite the tang of unease that still clung to his skin, and it calmed him a little. Not enough to stop him from doing what he'd had in mind in the first place, perhaps, but enough to keep him from killing him in the process, maybe. Time and reaction would tell, he supposed, and that in mind, he pulled away, rocking back so that he could straddle his hips.
His knees dug into Mohinder's thighs a bit, and briefly his mind drifted to thoughts of Angela and murder. Mohinder all but jumped under him, eyes opening to stare up at him in something near horror, and he laughed quietly, reaching for his fly. "Don't worry, Mohinder," he assured him, unzipping his jeans slowly and deliberately in payback for the other night. "I won't kill you."
Hurt was another story entirely, however, but he failed to mention that.
Hands reached for him as he finished with the Indian's fly, trying to pull him back to him, but Sylar batted him away, telekinetically. His own fingers found Mohinder's cock, curling around it slowly but firmly so that he could pull him out of his jeans. While Mohinder moaned, hands finding purchase in the sheets rather than reaching for him again, and arched up into him pleadingly, however, he ignored him. He'd get to what the geneticist wanted in a minute -- right now his free hand was falling to his hips, sliding his pants away from them, slowly.
Suresh pressed up into him again, and this time he obliged, stroking down his length and then back up lazily. His thumb flicked over his head with just the right amount of pressure, pulling another hiss of pleasure from Mohinder, and then he was moving back down over him. And once he was sure Mohinder was ready, cock hard and all but twitching in his hand, he reached down with his free hand, closing his fingers around his throat, brutally.
Immediately Mohinder's eyes flew open, hands moving from the bed to wrap around his wrist tightly. It was reflex, he was sure -- suddenly deciding to strangle someone with no warning pulled that sort of panic out of anyone -- but he didn't let go. Didn't let him breathe. Nor did he stop stroking him, even as Mohinder's fingers tightened to a breaking point around his wrist.
Sylar made a soft, soothing noise at the back of his throat, and forced Mohinder to forget the fact that he couldn't breathe for an instant, twitching under him involuntarily as he slid his fingers over his head again. Then, calmly, he was leaning in close, mouth to Mohinder's ear again.
"I promised I wouldn't kill you," he murmured, fingers slipping back down over his cock, teasing at his balls. "I won't. This is just ... " He couldn't quite say it, so he avoided the two words. "... something different. Just trust me."
Sliding his fingers back down over Mohinder's length, he hummed approval as his grip released, his hands falling back to the bed as he arched up into him, a soundless moan caught on his lips as his eyes shuttered closed. His sunk back into the bed for an instant only thrust forward again a second later, his body demanding all on its own where the rest of him was still in a state of badly concealed panic, and it took a great deal of willpower on Sylar's part not to snap his neck, just like that. Just for that.
It wouldn't have been hard, and in the state he was in, to use the strength that Mohinder was funneling into him through his fear was a siren's call. He promised he wouldn't, though, and he was quick to remind himself of that, instead picking up the pace suddenly and sharply, not wanting to waste the precious seconds he had before this became dangerous.
Then, finally, he was pulling his hand away from the other man's throat, and then reaction was better than anything he could have hoped for.
Suresh gasped, first for air, and then in reaction as the orgasm Sylar's fingers on his windpipe had kept at bay ripped through him. It was immediate and intense, like being shoved off a cliff, zero to coming hard and fast in his hand in less than seconds, and Mohinder shuddered violently under him as he broke, short, hoarse moans falling out of his mouth as he tried to catch his breath. He managed something foul in Tamil, and Sylar made a tiny amused noise, before ducking his head to ghost his lips over the fingerprint-black bruises he'd left on Mohinder's skin.
He whimpered again, the sound near a whine, and rocked first away from his mouth as he sat on the edge of sensory overload, and then back into it. Sylar smirked cruelly against his skin. "Good?"
A nearly numb nod, and Mohinder shifted, almost wincing as he did, even the sheets too much against his skin at the moment. And for a half second, Sylar was tempted to cut into himself under the guise of healing the bruises at his neck. The smell of his blood would be a torturous assault on Mohinder's senses right now, he was sure -- and that was the real reason he even considered doing it so soon in the first place -- but he thought better of it. As much as true sensory overload would be fun to watch considering his mood, he didn't want to break him.
Maybe in a few minutes, he decided. When Mohinder had calmed down. And maybe a few minutes after that, he'd reach for the Indian's hand, close it over his own throat, and suggest a little payback.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1116
Note: Mohinder is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
witnessof_fate and is used with permission and with love. My muse is a sick sonovabitch. Set before anyone told Sylar that he could go kill the demon that was screwing with Claire.
On any other day, those words would have been a question, but at the moment they were a demand spoken in intentionally threatening tones against the shell of Mohinder's ear. The Indian shivered, palms pressing flat against his bare back, and for an instant Sylar was sure he could taste the fear on his skin as he pressed his lips there. Understandable, he supposed, given the fact that less than fifteen minutes ago, he'd be pacing the room like a caged animal, a sneer frozen on his mouth, full of anger at the situation and his inability to do anything about it or because of it, but it still annoyed him, somehow.
And so, viciously, he nipped at his earlobe before repeating the words with a little more force. "Trust me."
He whimpered, writhing under him in such a way that Sylar wasn't sure he if he was trying to get away or trying to get into his mouth. Then quietly, breathless, he was murmuring, "I trust you."
It wasn't a lie, despite the tang of unease that still clung to his skin, and it calmed him a little. Not enough to stop him from doing what he'd had in mind in the first place, perhaps, but enough to keep him from killing him in the process, maybe. Time and reaction would tell, he supposed, and that in mind, he pulled away, rocking back so that he could straddle his hips.
His knees dug into Mohinder's thighs a bit, and briefly his mind drifted to thoughts of Angela and murder. Mohinder all but jumped under him, eyes opening to stare up at him in something near horror, and he laughed quietly, reaching for his fly. "Don't worry, Mohinder," he assured him, unzipping his jeans slowly and deliberately in payback for the other night. "I won't kill you."
Hurt was another story entirely, however, but he failed to mention that.
Hands reached for him as he finished with the Indian's fly, trying to pull him back to him, but Sylar batted him away, telekinetically. His own fingers found Mohinder's cock, curling around it slowly but firmly so that he could pull him out of his jeans. While Mohinder moaned, hands finding purchase in the sheets rather than reaching for him again, and arched up into him pleadingly, however, he ignored him. He'd get to what the geneticist wanted in a minute -- right now his free hand was falling to his hips, sliding his pants away from them, slowly.
Suresh pressed up into him again, and this time he obliged, stroking down his length and then back up lazily. His thumb flicked over his head with just the right amount of pressure, pulling another hiss of pleasure from Mohinder, and then he was moving back down over him. And once he was sure Mohinder was ready, cock hard and all but twitching in his hand, he reached down with his free hand, closing his fingers around his throat, brutally.
Immediately Mohinder's eyes flew open, hands moving from the bed to wrap around his wrist tightly. It was reflex, he was sure -- suddenly deciding to strangle someone with no warning pulled that sort of panic out of anyone -- but he didn't let go. Didn't let him breathe. Nor did he stop stroking him, even as Mohinder's fingers tightened to a breaking point around his wrist.
Sylar made a soft, soothing noise at the back of his throat, and forced Mohinder to forget the fact that he couldn't breathe for an instant, twitching under him involuntarily as he slid his fingers over his head again. Then, calmly, he was leaning in close, mouth to Mohinder's ear again.
"I promised I wouldn't kill you," he murmured, fingers slipping back down over his cock, teasing at his balls. "I won't. This is just ... " He couldn't quite say it, so he avoided the two words. "... something different. Just trust me."
Sliding his fingers back down over Mohinder's length, he hummed approval as his grip released, his hands falling back to the bed as he arched up into him, a soundless moan caught on his lips as his eyes shuttered closed. His sunk back into the bed for an instant only thrust forward again a second later, his body demanding all on its own where the rest of him was still in a state of badly concealed panic, and it took a great deal of willpower on Sylar's part not to snap his neck, just like that. Just for that.
It wouldn't have been hard, and in the state he was in, to use the strength that Mohinder was funneling into him through his fear was a siren's call. He promised he wouldn't, though, and he was quick to remind himself of that, instead picking up the pace suddenly and sharply, not wanting to waste the precious seconds he had before this became dangerous.
Then, finally, he was pulling his hand away from the other man's throat, and then reaction was better than anything he could have hoped for.
Suresh gasped, first for air, and then in reaction as the orgasm Sylar's fingers on his windpipe had kept at bay ripped through him. It was immediate and intense, like being shoved off a cliff, zero to coming hard and fast in his hand in less than seconds, and Mohinder shuddered violently under him as he broke, short, hoarse moans falling out of his mouth as he tried to catch his breath. He managed something foul in Tamil, and Sylar made a tiny amused noise, before ducking his head to ghost his lips over the fingerprint-black bruises he'd left on Mohinder's skin.
He whimpered again, the sound near a whine, and rocked first away from his mouth as he sat on the edge of sensory overload, and then back into it. Sylar smirked cruelly against his skin. "Good?"
A nearly numb nod, and Mohinder shifted, almost wincing as he did, even the sheets too much against his skin at the moment. And for a half second, Sylar was tempted to cut into himself under the guise of healing the bruises at his neck. The smell of his blood would be a torturous assault on Mohinder's senses right now, he was sure -- and that was the real reason he even considered doing it so soon in the first place -- but he thought better of it. As much as true sensory overload would be fun to watch considering his mood, he didn't want to break him.
Maybe in a few minutes, he decided. When Mohinder had calmed down. And maybe a few minutes after that, he'd reach for the Indian's hand, close it over his own throat, and suggest a little payback.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1116
Note: Mohinder is
witnessof_fate and is used with permission and with love. My muse is a sick sonovabitch. Set before anyone told Sylar that he could go kill the demon that was screwing with Claire.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2009-08-29 09:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-29 09:31 pm (UTC)I spent most of this fic going, "OH GOD WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME WRITE THIS MUSE!"
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Date: 2009-08-29 11:43 pm (UTC)I have issues, clearly,
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Date: 2009-08-29 11:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-29 11:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-29 11:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-30 12:09 am (UTC)