Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, these characters, or msn (it's mentioned once).
Prompt: Mohinder and Sylar get caught in the cold and have to rely on eachother to stay warm.
Warnings: snowstorm, car crash, language, mentioned past-deaths, smex
A/N: Such a long story...Took me a month to write because I was lazy, distracted by exams, and distracted by other plot bunnies. It took on a life of its own and my awesome Crazy Friend, Mabetini, finally forced me to get it done by setting a deadline for 23:59 Xmas Eve (got it done early).
The night breeze was cold and stinging when Mohinder separates from Zane, heading into his chilly motel room alone. He rubbed his arms furiously, plugged the computer into the wall, and leaned back to wait for the slow internet page to load. Mohinder's mind drifted to Zane, his quirky companion, as he waited and he felt a wave of gratitude wash over him.
Zane was so useful to have around and had kept Mohinder together after seeing Dale's mutilated body; his lingering touches, that meek little smile, all warmed Mohinder to the core, chasing away the despair and hopelessness he felt whenever he thought about Sylar.
A small smile teased at his lips as the webpage finally appeared. He moved the cursor up to the url bar and was about to type in his father's webpage when his eyes laid upon a news headline on the msn homepage. The wind outside howled, rattling the door with its mighty force as Mohinder felt the air get dragged out of his lungs.
'Zane Taylor Found Dead...' kept repeating in his emptied mind over and over again as his eyes scanned the webpage, reading the article.
Snow started falling, sprinkling ice shards against the ground, as Mohinder rose unsteadily to his feet; a chill like none he ever felt before tingling down his spine, filling his veins with ice, as he realized what was going on.
'Zane...Sylar...Dead is...He killed Zane! Dale...Dead...Both dead...No brain...Sylar...Sylar is Zane!'
Mohinder choked on a sob as his thoughts collected, arms wrapping tightly around himself as tears blurred his sight.
"No! Nononononono!" He gasped backing away from the computer screen, hand spreading out as if to ward off the image of that familiar living room, that unfamiliar face. "He can't be, he can't!"
Mohinder whimpers, hand closing over his mouth to stop the sound; Sylar can hear him after all, if that's really Sylar in the other room.
All evidence pointed that way but Mohinder's subconscious pointed out, but his heart wouldn't accept it. Sylar wouldn't comfort him—would never hold Mohinder's trembling body and wipe away the tears with gentle hands.
'That wasn't right!' Mohinder's mind screamed, 'Sylar can't be human!'
His arms were rubbed red, hands aching as Mohinder tried to rub the feeling of Za—Sylar away. He shook his head in denial but the logic was setting in and Mohinder felt ashamed, enraged at how easily he had been fooled.
The rage wasn't enough; Zane's body was still on the computer screen before his eyes and Mohinder felt fear—real terror—rise up and take control. It set him in motion, fuelled his desire to just get away, and Mohinder slammed his computer shut, tore the cord away from the wall, and took off running for the door.
The wind blasted his face, snow blinded his eyes, but Mohinder kept moving; he slid into the car and grappled for the door handle, ignoring the burning pain and cold.
The door slammed shut, he fumbled with the keys, and begged the gurgling car to start as he saw Za—Sylar's door bang open, warm orange light brightening the dark, and Mohinder felt as if his heart had stopped when his eyes met the worried brown eyes squinting out through the snow.
"Mohinder?!" Sylar cried rushing out towards the car just as its engine gave a mighty roar of life.
Mohinder shifted to reverse, slammed his foot on the accelerator, and pulled away from Sylar's reach. The car crashed into something hard, jolting Mohinder heavily into the steering wheel—he hadn't buckled up—but he shifted gears, ignoring the pain in his chest, and drove off into the blinding white with Sylar's screams echoing behind him, calling him back.
Mohinder had no idea where he was going or how long he drove, he only knew he had to get as much distance as he could between them. There were no doubts in his mind that Sylar would catch up, would find him and kill him. Mohinder stunted those thoughts, he would worry about that later, right now the fear thrummed too loudly in his ears and force him to drive.
He should have expected that he would run into the ditch--he had been told before that mountain roads were winding--but he wasn't thinking straight, wasn't experienced enough with winter driving, and had panicked when the car started to slide off the road.
Mohinder woke up slumped against the steering wheel, his chest aching and the car's front window piled high with snow. He groaned groggily leaning back into the seat, hissing as his hand rubbed at the bruises forming on his chest and noticed slowly, sluggishly, that the car was at an angle, slanting forwards; then realized it wasn't running at all.
Turning the keys in the ignition produced no sound, not even a sputter, and Mohinder cursed. His body shivered from the cold, ragged breaths coming out in ragged puffs of fog and continuous rubbing at his arms produced none of the warming effects he desired.
The fear of Sylar was dulled by this new predicate leaving behind only distant thoughts of betrayal and hate at himself for being so stupid. Mohinder was stranded in a car with no coat and no idea of where he could go. Means of communication were gone he noted as he stared down at the pieces of the laptop scattered on the floor and his cell phone was in his jacket pocket resting safely on the chair in his motel room.
Mohinder's mind told him to stay in the car—it was at least sheltered from the still howling winds—but he felt cramped, claustrophobic and vulnerable staying in one place—Sylar could come at any moment—so he foolishly opened the door and stepped out into the whirling snow, regretting it the moment he felt the sting.
He was freezing before taking even two steps from the car, feet sinking deep beneath the snow. Teeth chattering and eyelids freezing almost shut, Mohinder tried to look back up at the road but a gust a wind pushed him down back into biting snow.
"Fuck! Sss-so c-c-cold!" Mohinder stuttered crawling back into the car, relishing the little warmth it provide against his snow covered skin.
The door wouldn't close again when he tried to wrench it shut so he huddled into the far corner, crawling clumsily over the seats, and curled into a small ball with hope of preserving heat. His limbs wouldn't stop shaking, teeth wouldn't stop chattering, but Mohinder's mind was too numb to care; he was too tired to think and found himself drifting off, his mind softly whispering the wrongness of doing that.
Curses brought him back slowly awake of from sleep, warm hands—too warm they burned—stroking at his face and arms rubbing them with fervor and he blinked blurrily up at a face swimming above his uncomprehendingly.
"Mohinder? Are you awake? Can you hear me? Please say something!" Such a desperate sound and it annoyed Mohinder greatly because he was having such a nice deep sleep; now his body was tingling from the cold, muscles protested being used.
He shifted, groaning as pain sliced through his mind; the fabric of his clothing burned against his skin, scraping sensitive flesh and making him whine. The man above him kept rubbing at his skin, rubbing at his face regardless of the soft protests escaping Mohinder's mouth.
Mohinder slowly, so slowly, became aware of whom it was above him as wakefulness continued seeping in; those worried brown eyes sparked memories in his mind.
"No!" An agonized wail escaped Mohinder's throat, his body trying to twist away from the overpowering grip but being too weak, too cold, to truly offer any resistance. "No! N-no! S-stop! Get way! I d-don't want die! Leave!"
Sylar tensed above him, dark brown eyes narrowing slightly as he peered down into Mohinder's fearful face. Mohinder's heart was beating so fast it made him dizzy, made it hard to breath, and he watch silently—cautiously—as Sylar cocked his head, listening in.
"You…" He started, trailing off when Mohinder flinched away from the hand that was moving towards his face; to caress or tilt or just plain touch, Mohinder didn't care or even want to know.
Mohinder's eyes squinted shut, he tried shrinking in on himself but his limbs were so slow and sluggish. Sylar's name, stuttered and full of fear, escaped Mohinder's lips as the serial killer continued leaning in closer, way to close, "Sss—Ssy—Sylar!"
A smile, slow and predatory, spread across Sylar's lips and his body seemed to transform before Mohinder's eyes; going from tense and timid to relaxed and confident.
"So you figured it out." Sylar's voice changed too, it was harsher than before and sent tendrils of fear coiling down Mohinder's spine. "That'll make things easier."
Those pale hands were coming for Mohinder's face again and he couldn't keep a whimper from escaping his lip, he couldn't help but cower. It was a complete surprise when those hands, instead of fastening tight around his neck as Mohinder expected, looped around his shoulders to pull him up off the seat and closer to Sylar's oh-so-warm body.
He squirmed, eyes widening, as a strange sensation crawled across his skin; invisible hands held him up in an impossible gravity-defying hold that shouldn't be possible but was. Sylar's cradled Mohinder's chilled body to his chest maneuvering backwards out of the car and out into the still snowy night's air.
"Wha-What are you d-doing?" Mohinder demanded, the force of his words coming out as pitiful stutters, much to his annoyance, while his bare arms gripped at Sylar's shoulders tightly not trusting the strange power holding him up at all.
"Taking you someplace warm." Sylar snapped as if it were the most obvious thing the world, his body seeming to rise up above the snow as he walked effortlessly towards the road where Mohinder could see a car parked waiting.
He couldn't respond to Sylar's comment; his mind was overwhelmed by confusing thoughts that were trying to figure out what was going on as he clung to Sylar's body. Mohinder's brain screamed at him to fight, to pull away—'It's Sylar! Runrunrunrunrun!'—but the numbness of his body refused the commands and instead made him sink into the warmth, cling tighter as Sylar moved.
Opening eyes he hadn't been aware of closing Mohinder gasped in amazement as he saw the snow flying around them, never touching; an invisible barrier seemed to have formed, bubbling around them, and keeping the icy wind away.
Even though the snow wasn't stinging at his skin Mohinder was still cold, still trembling, and Sylar shifted his hold so he could meet Mohinder's confused brown eyes. Mohinder's hands gripped more tightly at the fabric of Sylar's shirt, frozen fingers burning with pain, as he stared back; afraid he'd be dropped back into the deep snow if he didn't keep his hold secure.
"What were you thinking running off like that?" A unexpected question, the accusation caught Mohinder off guard, the worry still reflected in those eyes—more guarded than before—was unsettling, too much like Zane.
"I…You…" Mohinder grasped for words totally put off; how was he supposed to respond to that?
"You really are stupid." Sylar shook his head, sighing, and Mohinder's eyes unconsciously rested on the fluffy snow that stuck to Sylar's dark messy hair. He wondered why it hadn't melted yet and completely forgot about offering a reply.
Mohinder found his head resting on Sylar's shoulder when the taller man slid a little back down the icy slope before the road, his strong arms tightening their hold around Mohinder before he managed to regain balance once more. Whatever strange power it was Sylar was using—'telekinesis' Mohinder's drowsy mind supplied—it easily cut short the amount of time it would have taken Mohinder to climb back up to the road by himself.
It was in almost no time at all before they were up on level ground where a car that Mohinder recognized as being his neighbors from the motel, though he couldn't recall the driver's window being broken, sat running and waiting for their return.
"Finally." Sylar huffed as he stepped next to the car and Mohinder saw the door opening as they arrived; Sylar obviously had good control over this power in order to do so many things at once.
Mohinder was going to comment on the broken window, the words were on the tip of his tongue, but Sylar suddenly shoved him unceremoniously into the backseat of the car, not being gentle about it at all, and Mohinder struggled to sit up glaring up at the man who stared unblinkingly back with a small smile gracing his face at Mohinder's flustered look.
"You're still trembling." He observed, head tilting in that strange fashion of his that had sent thrills down Mohinder's spine even when 'Zane' had done it.
"N-not like I c-can help it, b-bastard!" Mohinder snapped back annoyed at his stuttering and at Sylar's all too easy gaze; Sylar was supposed to be mean and evil, not keep reminding him of the fake 'Zane'.
Sylar frowned at the outburst but made no comment on it; instead his hands moved to his winter coat and started pulling it off. Mohinder leaned away; moving to the opposite side of the car as Sylar leaned forward offering his coat.
"You're freezing. Take it." Sylar ordered, shaking the coat a bit in his hand as his eyes connected with Mohinder's stubbornly defiant gaze.
There was a momentary staring contest between them where Sylar was trying to will Mohinder to take his coat and Mohinder was willing Sylar to die on the spot; it ended when Sylar tossed the coat into the shivering geneticists face and slammed the car door.
Mohinder was stunned, not expecting that reaction at all, and he slowly pulled the coat away from his eyes; Sylar's warmth still lingered on the fabric and he was reluctant to pull it all off. Sylar slammed the door shut as he got in, his dark brown eyes glaring at Mohinder in the review mirror while buckling up and he took off with an abrupt jolt; Mohinder toppled over in the backseat.
His skin burned from the heat of the car, cold skin not liking the change of temperatures and making him itch. If he rubbed at his skin it only got worse and his hands already were aching so much from the cold. Mohinder sighed under his breath, tugging the jacket more firmly around his frame—though difficult with his fingers refusing to clench properly—and settled with continuing to watch of his old 'friend'.
Cold wind rushed in from the broken window as they drove and Mohinder could see the serial killer start to shiver. He waited for the jacket to be asked for; kept his eyes fixed on the review mirror in hopes of catching those dark brown eyes but Sylar didn't glance his way or say anything at all and Mohinder didn't know why he was disappointed.
The stinging snow soon got to be too annoying for Mohinder to stand and he shuffled over to the opposite side of the seat grasping the jacket edges closer around him, finally enjoying the warmth. He stiffened when Sylar made a sudden movement, eyes going wide and body tense in fear but the serial killer didn't do anything but hold his hand before the broken glass.
A gasp left Mohinder's lips, his mind cleared of fear and filled with awe as he watched tendrils of glassy ice slide up from the jagged shards of glass and close the window shut. Sylar's finger's danced over the surface lightly, solidifying his creation and Mohinder missed the dark gaze shot towards him briefly in the rearview mirror—missed the pleased smile that flitted across pink lips—for he was too busy gawking at this new display of power; his scientific mind categorizing and puzzling over new mysteries being presented before his eyes.
The rest of the drive continued on his silence; Mohinder drifting in and out of consciousness for the vibrations of the car lulled him to sleep and then always watching with unrestrained wonder as Sylar repeatedly repaired his ice window whenever the car heater melted it. The fear in Mohinder's mind was slowly being smothered away by drowsiness and his curious contemplation on powers, but it gained strength again when the car slowed to a jerky halt.
"Where are we? What are you stopping for?" Mohinder demanded, wriggling up on the seat to stare out the window and try to make out the unfamiliar surroundings against the blowing snow.
A sense of dread welled up in his stomach, chilling tendrils spreading out through his limbs as images of his father's murder flashed within his mind; Sylar was going to kill him.
Mohinder expected Sylar to whirl around and face him, curl a pale hand against his head and slam him into the window; he hadn't been expecting the serial killer to lean against the wheel with a sigh and rub at his eyes tiredly, a too human-like gesture for the inhuman man.
"The road is blocked," Sylar's voice was silent, muffled against the howling wind outside and Mohinder almost missed it.
"What?"
"There's snow blocking the road. We can't get back to the motel."
The silence was heavy; Mohinder's mind not comprehending the words right away until his dark eyes rested on the wall of snow before them, sending his already over-worked heart into a fearful racing once more. He was trapped, trapped in a storm on a freezing winter night alone with a power-seeking serial killer.
"I wish you weren't so afraid…" Sylar mumbled under his breath while gripping his head, hand tightening slightly on the wheel as the rapid thudding of Mohinder's heart grated against his ear drums.
Mohinder attention caught on Sylar again, watching the man slump forward and rub at his eyes and a brief spout of guilt stabbed at his heart before he stamped it away. He shouldn't feel sorry for keeping the man awake so late at night. He should be angry at the betrayal, at the lies, but it was hard to muster up the energy.
Sylar's eyes flicked to his in the review mirror once again, the contact catching Mohinder's breath in his throat and he tensed.
"There's a cabin a little ways back…" Sylar started to explain, his words so much like how they used to be as 'Zane' that Mohinder couldn't stop himself from clenching his fist and narrowing his eyes; it felt mocking now.
Dark brown eyes narrowed in response, Sylar's mouth snapped shut and he shifted gears to reverse without finishing his thought. The car spun a little wildly around, sliding on the ice until Sylar brought it back under control—whether with his powers or just plain luck, Mohinder didn't know and couldn't bring himself to ask—and the drive continued in silence once more.
Mohinder fiddled with the jacket edge as a distraction, slipping it around to slide his arms through the fabric and pull the jacket warmth closer to his body. His eyes drifted out the window to take in the blowing snow, not coming down as fiercely as before but still enough to make it visibly difficult to drive.
The car jerked to the right, Sylar maneuvering onto a side rode that was sheltered by the mountain trees better than the main highway. There were faint tire tracks along the path ahead showing that a car had recently traversed this way and Mohinder felt the brief stirrings of hope in his heart at the thought of coming across someone else, but that joy was shuttered by fear when Mohinder thought of what Sylar would, could, do to that person.
Pulling up the driveway next to the cabin, Mohinder noticed there was no other car in sight and he breathed a little easier; the panic from before falling to nothing as he realized that it was probably Sylar who had been up here before because they were too far from the highway to be visible through the trees.
"This should work," Sylar stated, turning the ignition off with a click that echoed through the heavy silence that had befallen the car.
'Are you going to kill me now? Kill me and leave my body to freeze, then rot in this isolated cabin for weeks and weeks without being found.' Dangerous whisperings dance across Mohinder's mind, settling on his tongue but he doesn't voice the words; he doesn't want to know the answer or think about it anymore.
Sylar turns in his seat a bit as he unbuckles, he looks as if he's going to turn around and say something but instead opens the door. Mohinder flinches at the crunching of Sylar's shoes on the ground and he watches warily as Sylar steps around the car to his passenger door and pulls it open.
"Come, let's go inside." Sylar's voice is mild, his demanding aura just lying under the surface of his words, and Mohinder hesitates—he wants to fight back, wants to crawl to the other side and get away from the cold.
Sylar's hand hooks around his arm and drags him from the car. Mohinder's legs are weak and numb, he stumbles knee first into the snow and then shoves at Sylar's body. Scrambling away and sinking into the snow, Mohinder falls backwards into the harsh cold and struggles to get up.
"Don't…Don't touch me." He hisses teeth started their chatter again as he rises to a shaky stand, hand out and warding Sylar away.
Sylar's face is unimpressed, his eyes boring into Mohinder's fluttering gaze—the snow is still stinging from the chilly breeze, though not as fierce as before—and he snaps his wrist, hand pulling Mohinder forward until the Indian collides into his arms. Mohinder hisses, his bruised chest slamming into Sylar's unrelenting body, and he struggles against the iron hold as Sylar drags him up the cabin steps to the door.
"Stay still and don't run." Sylar orders as he releases Mohinder and crouches down before the door.
Mohinder's feet slid on the icy wooden surface, his hand gripping the snowy rail of the cabin's deck only to flinch away from the burning cold of powdery snow. His dark eyes watched intently Sylar's form, the urge to run away and fast almost overpowering except for a steady pressure that rises against his legs when he shuffles a little too far for Sylar's comfort.
Sylar's hand encloses around the chilled metal of the door knob. His dark eyes close away from the world as he contemplates the workings of the lock, stretching his telekinetic fingers inside to twist and poke at the cogs. There's a resounding click and Sylar straightens, hand motioning for Mohinder to follow him inside as he enters the dark, dusty dwelling that's safe from the blowing wind.
The clatter of aluminum skittering across the floor makes Mohinder jump, startled. He looks down at the mess of crushed cans under foot, the floor littered with various beer cans and the air thick with the musty smell of alcohol and sweat. An itch builds in his nose, dirt kicked up by their thudding steps filling his nostrils and lungs, and Mohinder lets loose a string of sudden sneezes.
"Interesting place, no?" Sylar's voice intrudes as the taller man's eyes scope out the small dirty room. Mohinder sniffles, rubbing at his nose to clear away the snot with Sylar's jacket sleeve. He avoids answering and Sylar's stare by snooping around the room.
There's a small kitchenette to the side full of more cans and dirt, there are three doors leading away from the main living room that Mohinder can only assume lead to a bathroom, a closet, and a bedroom—Sylar's further inspection proving the analysis right as the killer leaves the doors open wide as he further rummages through the room leaving Mohinder to stand alone in the center of the room, sneezing.
The hard, wooden furniture scattered about look too uncomfortable and unstable for Mohinder to want to sit in them. He kicked at a beer can sending it flying into a giant stack piled into the fireplace, wincing at the loud clattering sound as the cans fell out and onto the floor; the place wasn't exactly the most homey place they could have settled for, but it is oddly fitting if he were to be murdered here—in a dirty little cabin, much like how his father died in that dirty alley way.
"Some bad luck for us," Sylar's voice is as startling as the cans in the gloom and Mohinder flinches at the sound, his heart thundering in his chest from the shock. "There's one ratty old blanket and some matches, but not much to keep us warm."
Mohinder's slow to catch the blanket tossed into his face and Sylar chuckles a bit, smirking at the heated glare sent his way. Mohinder holds the blankets away to inspect in, the dirty fabric full of dust and the smell of sweat that makes him wrinkle his nose, wrapping it lightly over his shoulder to fight off the chill while trying not to think about the people who used it.
Mohinder turns his gaze to find Sylar once more and tenses when he finds them watching him again, that eerie looks once more in those deep brown eyes.
"It's so strange to see you so silent." Sylar muses, head tilting. "Even after seeing Dale's body, you wouldn't stop blabbering on and on about her powers and me and evolution—"
"Shut up!" Mohinder snapped, bristling at the casual way in which Sylar used Dale's name and Sylar's amusement.
"Oh, there's that beautiful voice of yours." Sylar chuckled.
Mohinder grit his teeth, hands balling into fists, and turned his eyes away to stare into the empty, ash filled fire pit instead. He could feel Sylar's gaze burn into his face but he didn't acknowledge it and refused to say anything more.
Sylar clucked his tongue, disappointed at Mohinder's lack of attention, and turned to drag a wooden chair from the wall and into the center of the room. The sound of grating wood made Mohinder glance Sylar's way once more, curiosity and confusion burning in his mind over what Sylar was doing when the taller man didn't sit down in the chair.
"What are you—" Mohinder started to ask but had to duck as a block of wood went flying from the chair with a flick of Sylar's wrist. "Hey!"
"Oops." Sylar murmured with a small smile, watching the wood collide with the wall. "I guess that's a little too much force."
"What are you—You're breaking—You can't do that!" Mohinder sputtered with his vow of ignoring the other man forgotten.
"Why not?" Sylar challenged, flicking another piece of wood off the chair which fell nicely to the floor aided by Sylar's other hand which used telekinesis to catch it.
"That's…We don't own it. You can't go destroying other people's things."
"We're already breaking and entering. We need wood to start a fire and I doubt you want to go back outside and fetch some." Sylar pointed out, another large slab being cut off from the chair. "Besides, I doubt the occupants of this cabin will even notice a missing chair." He sneered, head motioning to the beer bottles littering the floor before going back to his task of slicing and dicing the chair.
Mohinder didn't know why he was reacting so strongly to the chair being broken; he didn't even care about the stupid chair. It was probably Sylar's blatant display of power, of control, that was setting him on edge, making him grit his teeth, because he was fascinated by it. Fascinated by Sylar's control, by Sylar's power, and he didn't want to be—he didn't want to be interested in this man.
"That looks like enough." Sylar grinned, reaching down to pick up some slabs of wood and motioning the others to glide into the fire pit, scattering away the cans nestled there.
Mohinder watched Sylar fiddle with the matches, trying to light the wood that wouldn't light. Sylar was cursing with frustration at his failure when Mohinder crouched down beside him, ignoring the sideways burning stare, and tearing a long strip of the blanket to set ablaze with the matches. The blanket was quick to light, old alcohol stains advancing its glow, and soon the wood was casting a flame of its own from the licking reaches off the blanket scrap.
They sat silent next to each other, eyes watching the fire grow and drinking in the warmth of the blaze before Sylar's voice disrupted the momentary calm, "Thanks."
Mohinder shook his head and clenched his jaw, "It's nothing."
"Mmm…" Sylar hummed smiling as Mohinder crawled a little back to put distance between them, their shoulder's brushing as he moved away.
Sylar tended to the fire, adding more wood to make it grow until its warm orange glow invaded the shadows of the room and filled the musky air with the pleasant smell of campfire wood. Once the flame looked like it wouldn't die out from the slightest gust of wind, Sylar moved back to settle next to Mohinder's huddled form, his long legs stretching out before him.
Mohinder pulled the blanket closer, eyeing Sylar's pale hand which rested on the ground next to his knee with suspicious eyes. Sylar seemed all too content sitting there, a small smile flitting across his lips that made Mohinder feel even more uneasy—a smiling serial killer really wasn't a good thing.
"We got the fire going," Sylar noted, his voice carrying on as if there was some game plan going on. "Now it's time to get out of these clothes."
Mohinder blinked, not sure he had heard that right and his mind was buzzing with thoughts to try a piece the words together. "What?"
Sylar turned his head, his eyes glimmering with an amused glint as he took in Mohinder's gaping form. "We have to take off our clothes. They're wet and cold. If we want to warm up, they need to come off."
The casualness in which he said that made Mohinder question Sylar's sanity—then question his own for even trying to question a clearly insane man's sanity. There was no way he was taking off his clothes.
"No. That—There's no need to do that." Mohinder replied hand tightening around the blanket more securely for protection.
"You're wet and cold, Mohinder. And don't try to deny that, I can see that you're still shivering and trying to hide it." Sylar insisted, reaching out to pluck the blanket from Mohinder's shocked grasp, letting it drop to the floor, and interrupting Mohinder's protests before they even escaped his mouth. "If you don't want to get sick you're going to have to remove your clothes and don't worry, I won't look if it'll embarrass you."
His last words ended in a teasing smile that made Mohinder want to both blush at and punch the man across the jaw. He settled for staring incredulously at Sylar, trying not to let Sylar's sensible words penetrate his mind with their logic. Sylar raised a brow back, waiting for Mohinder to reply and when none came he reached out his hand to start unzipping the jacket.
"Stop it!" Mohinder snapped, slapping at the pale hand and shuffling back out of Sylar's reach.
"You either take it off on your own or I'll take it off for you." Sylar stated firmly, the humor washing off his face. "I'm not having you get sick on me." He ground out, eyes burning into Mohinder's.
Mohinder felt his face flush then, the prospect of Sylar forcing his clothes off was infuriating but he also couldn't help but wonder if he would really go that far. He shook the thought off, not wanting—or needing—to be thinking about those kind of things and settled for unzipping Sylar's—or was it Zane's?—jacket down and pulling it off.
The air felt too cool against his skin and Mohinder shivered, his teeth finally starting the chatter he had been fighting off for a while. He could feel the wetness of the coat as it peeled away from his skin and he started peeling the fabric of his shirt off as well. The idea of being sick in the serial killer's hands wasn't that appealing now that he thought of it; he needed to be healthy so he could think of a way to escape.
A shudder ran down Mohinder's spine when his shirt dropped to the floor next to the jacket. He skimmed his fingers lightly over the purpling bruises on his chest while wondering if he should remove his pants as well, they did feel wet and cold. Mohinder was, however, distracted from his thoughts by the sound of cracking bones coming from Sylar's direction—he had been ignoring the other man while undressing.
He glanced over at the taller man and couldn't help but stare as Sylar's pale skin came into sight; surprised brown eyes watching Sylar's black Ramones shirt flopped down on the floor while the Sylar stretched his muscles out, arms stretching forward to reach for the crackling flames with an appreciative hum.
"Get those pants off too, Mohinder." Sylar's voice sounded above more cracking bones, startling Mohinder from his staring and leaving the geneticist bewildered for Sylar hadn't even needed to look at him to know he wasn't taking his clothes off.
Mohinder hesitated, biting his lip slightly with discomfort because he really didn't want to be so bare before the serial killer's eyes. Sylar shimmied out of his jeans though, long pale legs becoming bare to the night's chill and forcing the man to scoot closer to the fire to add a couple more logs to the fury and make it grow.
A raised brow turned in Mohinder's direction, an unspoken question being passed between them before Mohinder hastily shucked his own pants off, curling into the blanket before Sylar could even tease or speak about him removing his boxers as well.
"I won't be able to convince you to share that blanket, will I?"
Mohinder glared, biting his cheek to keep from responding because they both knew Sylar would be able to 'convince' him if he wanted to. He breathed his fury out through his nose, pulling the blanket tighter, and waited for what was to happen next because there was no doubt in Mohinder's mind that something else would occur; Sylar's dark stare told him so.
He swallowed involuntarily when Sylar's flexed his left hand, eyes contemplating the appendage and putting Mohinder on edge; that hand seemed to be Sylar's favored one whenever he used telekinesis. His shoulders tensed, expecting something to go flying across the room as long fingers curled and expanded but nothing happened.
It was probably because he was expecting an invisible force that Mohinder was taken completely off guard to have Sylar lunge forward, pale hand encircling around his wrist through the blanket, and pulling him closer to the fire side.
Mohinder slid across the floor, knees scraping against the wooden surface, as he toppled onto his elbows next to Sylar's body after being thrown off balance by the sudden shift in weight. Sylar kept him from falling face forward into the fire, right arm curling around his shoulder while the left pushed his chest over the bruise—further making Mohinder incapable of fighting back with the sudden pain—to help him straighten back into a sitting position.
"What are you doing? Let me go!" Mohinder demanded, trying to twist his body away from Sylar's hold as the man pulled him closer to his chilled pale skin. He couldn't break free with the blanket bunching over his legs, keeping them immobile by his own weight.
"Trying to keep warm," Sylar breathed, his breath tickling across Mohinder's brow and making dark curls sway. "You won't share the blanket so I might as well share in your body heat."
"You can't do that! Let go!"
"I don't think so. I don't like being cold any more than you do. So you either sit still or I'll force you to."
The threat made Mohinder's struggles fall to nothing but he didn't relax into Sylar's hold, he stayed tense and angry. His mind kept screaming at him to start fighting—'It's too close. Get away! Move! Run'—but the heat radiating from Sylar's body and the flames crackling before his face made him reluctant to move; it felt too nice.
A silence fell between them once more, a more common thing now that Mohinder realized who Sylar really was, and Mohinder finally had to let go the breath he had been holding, his body's tenseness leaving a little with each breath as Sylar did nothing but sit there. He unconsciously matched his breathing to Sylar's heavily falling gusts and bit by bit he became adjusted to the closeness, head almost falling to rest upon the welcoming steady shoulder.
The flames were hypnotizing to watch, pulling Mohinder's mind into the blaze as the only sound he could hear was Sylar's deep breathing and the random snaps of from the wood. He was so out of focus of the surrounding world that he didn't notice, at first, when Sylar's hand started skimming lightly over his knee, brushing the blanket away to caress at warm golden skin.
The touch was so gentle, his body so relaxed, that he only realized he was being touched when it danced a little too far up his thigh; Mohinder's back straightened automatically, head jolting to the side as he tried to move away from the unwanted touch.
"Shh!" Sylar soothed, clamping his arm down to still Mohinder's attempts of breaking away, "Shh!"
Mohinder caught the hand still dancing up his thigh, Sylar's hand instantly going limp in his grasp, "Why are you doing that?"
Sylar's other hand, the one resting on his shoulder, started tracing a swirl on his arm through the blanket, sending a shiver down Mohinder's spine before the taller man responded, "Doesn't it feel nice? I can make you feel nice and warm again."
"That—That's besides the point!" Mohinder stuttered wanting to shift away from the new touch but knowing that would only bring him closer into Sylar's side.
"I think you like it," Sylar's rumbling chuckles felt way too good vibrating through Mohinder's body. The pale hand in his grasp tightened, fingers threading through his own.
"I don't!" He snapped yanking his hand away as if burned, elbowing hard into Sylar's side.
Sylar made a sound, not quite a grunt, as the elbow connected with his ribs. His breath came out heavy and Mohinder felt the pressure of telekinesis slide over his form, stilling his struggles, while Sylar forced their gazes to meet by grasping his chin and turning his head.
"Why must you always make things difficult?" He ground out, almost sounding like a growl. "It'd be so much easier for both of us if you just gave up with the struggle. I know you're not stupid Mohinder. You know what's going on."
'I don't want to know though.' Mohinder answered in his head, 'I don't even want to think about it. I shouldn't want this.'
"Ah, you're fighting in your mind even now, aren't you Mohinder." Sylar observed, finger caressing Mohinder's cheek lightly; eyes scanning over Mohinder's face and memorizing every detail.
"You killed him…" Mohinder whispered.
"Hm?" Sylar hummed but they both knew he heard every word.
Mohinder swallowed, "You killed him. My father, and Zane, and so many others. I shouldn't—" He choked off his last words as Sylar's thumb traced over his lips.
"You shouldn't what, Mohinder?" Sylar was way too close now, his breath was mingling with Mohinder's own and Mohinder couldn't keep his eyes from fluttering rapidly, his heart was beating so loudly.
"No!" Mohinder yanked his head away just before their lips could touch. "I hate you!"
Eyes closed, Sylar let his own breath go as the frustration started to build. "You can think that but you still want this. You want me." His eyes snapped open to lock on Mohinder's own, hand tightening their hold on Mohinder's shoulders—he didn't know when they were placed there, but the pressure of them made him want to struggle.
Mohinder shook his head in denial, mind shouting 'no' over and over again as he shifted under Sylar's hold. "I don't. It's your imagination. I don't want anything to do with you." He hissed.
"You're only fighting cause you feel you have to," Sylar hissed back, white teeth baring, "A son's duty to his father."
Mohinder latched onto that defense, it was the only thing his mind could think of, "You killed him. Why would I want my father's murderer? It's absurd!"
"No it's not. Your father's death brought you here, brought us together. It was destiny that he had to die, destiny that they had to meet." Sylar pulled Mohinder closer with each word, trying to force the truth into Mohinder's unwilling, fighting mind.
Mohinder laughed, the noise sounding bitter even to his own ears. "You're insane!"
"You know I'm right. You can feel it even now. Your heart is beating so loudly, so in tune with mine. You can't help but want me, can't help but need me. You tried to run away but you knew you would have come back because you can't stay away. I fascinate you, my powers are too irresistible. You want to observe and dissect my very being, just like how I want to do the same to you."
"You got it all wrong." Mohinder denied, shaking his head and pressing his hands against Sylar's chest to keep the small distance we had.
Sylar's forehead rested against his own, eyes boring into Mohinder's soul as he captured the geneticist's attention with his gaze. "I don't think I'm wrong. You're just trying to run away again." His chuckle chilled Mohinder to the core, his words filling Mohinder with dread, "You can't escape me now."
They were kissing then; hot and harsh and desperate, everything Mohinder's hoped and feared. He wanted to pull away but the taste was intoxicating, the feel of Sylar's tongue sliding against his own too wonderful and Mohinder knew he must be losing his mind to be wanting this so much.
"Why don't you kill me?" He gasped when they finally pulled away to get breath; Mohinder's coming out in uneven shudders as Sylar's hands slid the blankets down to traverse a path down his sweaty back.
"I can't." Sylar swooped in for another kiss, a brush of lips that was electric and hot. "I tried, but I can't. I've never had a friend before."
Mohinder jerked away from the third kiss; Sylar's nails digging into his skin in warning but he still snapped out, "We're not friends."
Sylar's laughter is painful to hear; it's not happy at all, "I might not be a friend to you, but to me you're the only friend I've ever had; possibly even more than one."
The arms that were holding him up were suddenly gone and Mohinder found himself falling back against the floor, Sylar's body sliding up above him. Hands rested on either side of Mohinder's head, trapping him from rolling away, and he could only stare up into Sylar's open, wanting eyes.
"Don't make me force this Mohinder. Please don't make me—"
Mohinder's lips cut him off, he's unable to stare into such raw emotional depths and the kiss is a distraction allowing him to close his eyes. He wants this so badly his body aches, but his mind is still fighting, still telling him it's wrong.
'Are you just going to give in like this? Your father died by these hands.' Mohinder thought gasping as Sylar's lips roamed over his skin, nipping and sucking over hardening nipples—one, then the other—making Mohinder writh under the ministrations of that heated mouth.
"This—Can't—Not—No!" Mohinder panted, back arching off the floor as Sylar breathed over drying saliva, the breeze cool against his fevered skin.
"Are you still going to fight me?" Sylar asked, kissing lightly against Mohinder's shoulder and letting his dark eyes rise up to meet Mohinder's desperate ones. "Will you cry if I fuck you into the floor? Beg for me to stop with each and every thrust? Or will you beg for more?"
It was escalating too fast for Mohinder. His erection was already hard and rocking into Sylar's leg, aching and wanting for the other man's touch. His hands were twitching, wanting to pull at that dark short hair, bring Sylar's head down so he could devour those lips until they were swollen and bruised.
He couldn't think straight anymore—didn't want to think of how it came to this—he only wanted release; from his thoughts, from his desires, from the cold, from everything.
"Please…Now…"He gasped, not knowing what he wanted and reaching up to pull Sylar down, down on top of him with their lips sliding together open mouthed as he lost himself wrapped around Sylar's tongue.
Sylar's mouth slid smoothly from Mohinder's lips to glide along the stubble of his throat, sucking and tasting every little inch as he went. Mohinder's hands slid down Sylar's back scraping his nails lightly at the pale skin that flickered from firelight. Their erections slid slick and hot against each other, heat pooling in their bellies, electric shocks dancing along their spines as breathing grew labored and movement became more intense.
Sylar's hand grasped around him, spreading the leaking pre-cum up and down Mohinder's shaft making him tremble and thrust into the hold. Breathy moans escaped dark bruised lips, formless sounds escaping that tried to be word, but words were unneeded in this breathy, sweaty dance of need and want.
Dark eyes admired the beauty of Mohinder's skin that glistened with sweat and a rosy flush. They roved over, devouring, every twitch and every squirm the Indian made with every squeeze and push of Sylar's pale hand. Sylar kissed over the fluttering muscles, lapped up the sweat of Mohinder's skin, and relished noise he could drag out of Mohinder's throat.
"Please…Please!" Mohinder finally got out, body arching up to press into Sylar's heat. He wanted more, so much more, and Sylar's tormenting hand was only making him more frustrated.
"It's going to hurt." Sylar panted harshly, nudging Mohinder over so he could rise up on his knees. "I don't have—There's nothing to make it gentle. Oh god, Mohinder! Going to hurt so bad!"
He was still babbling about pain when his saliva slicked finger slid in, none to gentle for his eagerness overwhelmed him. Mohinder bit his lip to keep in the scream pain, shuddering breaths slipping through clenched teeth as Sylar wriggled deeper and deeper until he thrummed against that one spot deep inside, instantly turning Mohinder's limbs into jelly.
"Fuck!" Mohinder cried as stars flashed before his eyes, body thrusting backwards to get more stimulation from Sylar's hand. It hurt, just like Sylar said, but the pain was too good; he craved for more of it, pleaded with whines until Sylar's stretched another finger in past his sphincter.
"Hnnnggh!"
Mohinder tried to hold in his cries as he was stretched and burned beyond conscious thought; the deed almost impossible as he thrust into Sylar's one hand and thrust back into the other, driving against the prostate with each push. Sylar's breath was hot against his back, erection grinding into Mohinder's leg as the serial killer got closer to being ready to thrust in.
"Sylar!" Mohinder cried when Sylar finally forced his way in, body tensing at the rough intrusion not relaxing no matter how hard he tried.
Sylar wriggled in deeper, pushing beyond Mohinder's restraints and that toppled the geneticist onto his elbows—unable to hold his weight up under the pain—and Sylar groaned as he slid further in. His insides were tearing, the pain stung tears in his eyes, but Mohinder still rocked backwards to meet Sylar's plunge; the pain was flowing away under the assault of pleasure every time Sylar pushed in deep.
'Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck' Mohinder's mind chanted vocal chords unable to do anything but cry out in whines as he was pushed closer and closer to the edge by Sylar's thrust and massaging hand.
Sylar jerked his erection fast and hard, counter-acting every push of his hips into Mohinder's tight heat. It was frenzied, erratic, moving on from slightly controlled to something faster, something harder, until the slap of flesh against flesh invaded the air along with rapid, unending moans.
Mohinder pushed back as hard as Sylar slammed forward, their hips colliding half way and making both of them groan. Mohinder's head was lulling, eyes rolling up into his head, when Sylar thrust in so deep Mohinder felt like they would never part again. His screams of release echoed with Sylar's off the cabin walls, body collapsing in a heap onto the sticky wet blanket tangled under his legs as they both tried to recapture their breath.
Sylar's fingers traced absentmindedly over Mohinder's skin, his hair damp and sticking to copper flesh as the geneticist's breathing calmed into sleepy snores, his body too exhausted to stay awake.
Mohinder awoke slowly from sleep, the feel of warm breath ghosting across his cheek, when the fire lay in orange glowing embers. He shifted against Sylar's warm, sturdy body that was pressed comfortably into his back keeping him warm. Sylar's pale arm strung lazily, possessively, over his waist, tightening around Mohinder when he twisted to face the sleeping serial killer.
"Mmm…Don't need to get up yet." Sylar mumbled, startling Mohinder a bit for those dark eyes were still closed away from the world.
Mohinder just stared at those lips, hand moving involuntarily up on its own to trace along the faint pink line. Sylar's tongue slipped out from within and tasted the finger startling his sleep, causing Mohinder to flinch back away from the heat, heart beat thrumming as drowsy brown eyes opened to meet his.
"Don't be afraid now Mohinder." Sylar sighed, his hand smoothing up and down Mohinder's side in a soothing manner. "It's too late for fear."
His heart seized at those words, an invisible hand clenching around the muscle and constricting its beats with fear. This was wrong, it shouldn't have happened, and yet Mohinder couldn't make himself believe he regretted the act.
"It—This was a mistake." He whispered, palm laying flat across Sylar's chest to feel the heart pounding strongly beneath.
"Shh!" Sylar's lips pressed gently across Mohinder's forehead, pulling the smaller man closer and dragging the blanket up to settle across their tangled forms. "Shh! Sleep now, worry in the morning."
Mohinder did as told, curling his head under Sylar's chin and drifting off to sleep in the warmth; he could worry in the morning, think this over later, now was the time for rest.
Sylar smiled into Mohinder's dark curls when the smaller man's breathing evened out. He had the geneticist right where he wanted him; trapped in his arms and soon to be incapable of escaping from his guilt and desire. A perfect new toy to obtain in his long pursuit for power and Sylar would cherish every moment, enjoy every struggle, until he could finally get Mohinder to call himself 'his'.
Dedicated to lauryn and Mabetini. I love you guys. Merry Xmas! Comments are loved and appreciated.