"How horrible," Sylar breathed, the epitome of sympathy as he drew his eyebrows together in sorrow. Your father screamed so pretty, Mohinder. I wonder if you would do the same. But his wolfish grin stayed internal and his every feature remained Zanelike. He was nothing if not convincing.
Which is exactly how he had killed the middle aged grease monkey. Her screams were still at the forefront of his mind, but with his growing headache that wasn't as appealing a memory as it should have been. Seeing Mohinder sick at the very sight of his work sobered him a bit. Completely irrationally, he felt angered at the sight. His inner Zane wished to comfort the scientist, and his inner murderer wanted to beat him bloody. But no part of him actually wanted to kill Mohinder. And the largest part of him? Honestly? Wanted to fuck him against the nearest wall.
But gentle Zane was not one for being forward, so he would have to be more clever than that. If Mohinder said his name one more time though, Sylar thought he would become sick himself.
"I think we should report it from the road," he said in his most timid Zane voice. His mother really should have let him continue drama. He was killing. But out in the middle of nowhere, 100 miles from the body, Mohinder still had not called and that perplexed him.
After a lot of car-silence, which is the most awkward of the awkward silences, Sylar couldn't stay quiet. "Are you sure this is your father's killer?" Zane whispered.
"Sylar has a very specific modus operandi, Zane," Mohinder said as if something was bothering him. He didn't even look at Sylar when he spoke.
"Mohinder?" he tried in his most vulnerable tone. "Do you think we could pull over?" The dark brows furrowed.
"Is everything alright, Zane?" He pulled the car over obediently. Sylar grinned.
"Quite," he said, for once not thinking of power or heroes or powers or genes. Just simple pleasures. It was refreshing to feel human again even if he so desired to be different. "Just wondering if we could talk a while." Mohinder risked a glance and smiled warmly. Everything the man did was warm, Sylar thought not without some annoyance.
"We could both use a break, hm?" It was hard not to find that erotic, especially when he could now sense the other man's arousal in the simple tones of his innards. He recalled the way Mohinder had said "Sylar" before, in that half-sick fear and he shuddered. Zane was such a stupid name. It was better than Gabriel, but he wished Mohinder would have a reason to say his name more often. Mohinder reached over and touched his arm lightly. He started, half-hard at the simple touch. The darker man withdrew his arm as if burned, but Sylar caught it midway, pulling it back across the car.
Mohinder's breath caught in his throat and his heart sped up, and all of it was in picture-perfect surround sound, and then it was just too late for Sylar. He leaned forward, capturing the scientist's lips in a kiss that was hard and demanding, and then that heartbeat exploded into a delicious rush and pump of blood and he let out a moan, half-muffled in the other man's mouth. He remembered that Zane was not at all domineering and tried to back off a little bit, licking at Mohinder's lips gently and settling against the taller man rather than struggling. It was so difficult for him to do this but the results were beautiful.
Mohinder stroked his hardness through his pants and he couldn't help it, he whimpered. Mohinder smiled into the kiss and really, that shouldn't have been so sexy. Sylar reached out to begin unbuttoning the Indian's shirt even if his companion did not seem as accommodating in the way of his restrictingly tight pants. He moved his lips as quickly as his fingers, and soon, his hips joined the glorious rhythm. It had been such a long time since Sylar had had sex just to have it.
As soon as his nails hit the man's nipples, Mohinder cried out into the kiss, and Zane was well and truly gone from any aspect of this game. Sylar pinned Mohinder against the car window, nipping at his lips and dragging his hands across his chest. The superhumanly enhanced sounds of Mohinder's cries were enough to undo him, but he needed to hear it, just once more.
"Who killed your father, Mohinder?" And when he only got a glazed and unseeing look he prodded, squeezing a nipple almost painfully hard and pulling back to bite into the man's earlobe: "What was his name?" It was merely a breath but just the sound of his own voice undid some more of his control. He moaned, coming in spurts as Mohinder bit out that one fatalistic syllable,
"Sylar."
