Forgive Me Not
Pairing: Mohinder x Sylar
Summary: This had never been about happily ever after...
Word Count: 3352
Rating: R/NC 17
Warnings: slight dub con, violence, dark themes, mild torture, language, mild bondage, angst like whoa
Spoilers: Up to Vol. 2

AN: Follows post S2 canon. Many thanks to the amazing aurilly for the kick ass beta work. I heart you so! Thank you.

***

It had never been a fairy tale.

All the same, the moment they met, time slowed down to a standstill, and the world around them dropped away. They were drawn to one another in some inexplicable way that they would never understand.

And so the strange dance between them began - born of lies, but buried beneath truth. But truth mattered for naught when the weight of the lies between them was heavy enough to crush everything in its path.

The truth would rip them apart when all was said and done. Until then, it left them half alive, broken and aching.

Connection, however, cared nothing for truth. Connection would keep them together where circumstance had failed - kept them clawing at one another, desperate to break the skin, prying one another apart with cruel taunts and dangerous cat and mouse games.

Their games spanned continents and years until finally one day they found themselves at an impasse, no longer able to ignore all the hot, angry, desperate things that danced along the surface of their skin - itching and needing.

Their eyes held - a beat, a pulse. The rush of blood swimming to the surface quickening the heart as a breath was inhaled, exhaled.

It was in that moment Sylar remembered Mohinder as he had been, standing there on Zane Taylor's doorstep, wide-eyed and eager - desperate to prove himself.

The person in front of him now was not that man at all, but someone else - all fire and noise - and yet the look was the same.

That look - drowning out sound, drowning out the whirl of the ceiling fan above them. The noises of people walking the dusty, crowded streets below them took on the buzz of the indiscernible.

Sylar took a step, and then another, until he had Mohinder's face tight between his palms.

Mohinder did nothing, bated breath held - he waited.

Slowly, impossibly slowly - Sylar lowered his lips to Mohinder's own and kissed him.

A shared moan. It punctuated the stillness of the room around them. Time had run out. Seconds counted down to the reveal of the end game they both knew they were in for, one that had started the hands of time spinning towards eternity, the knowledge that they would never been done with each other.

Then it had gone wrong.

Somehow Sylar found himself being pressed face first into the mattress with his arms pulled behind him and Mohinder's belt looped around his hands. Then Mohinder was yanking down his pants and shoving his way inside him with one solid thrust.

Sylar bit the pillow beneath him to keep from crying out - the sharp pain spread across his lower half and settled in his bones where it continued to burn and throb.

And even though he could have broken free at any time, he gave himself over to Mohinder, gave him what he wanted. And he wanted it to hurt, demanded that it hurt.

Sylar grunted and shook with each rough and brutal thrust, took it as his due as Mohinder slammed his way inside him, gripping him by the hair and yanking his head back roughly to hiss in his ear.

"Is this what you wanted? You sick fuck! Is that what you have wanted from me?"

"Yes."

Mohinder threw his head down, holding his face down into the pillow so that he couldn't breathe, could do little more than angle his body upwards. The tight muscles of Sylar's ass clenched against the assault as he felt Mohinder suddenly still - crying out as he came inside him in before quickly pulling out.

Then he was up and running towards the bathroom. Sylar pulled himself free from his bonds as he heard the door close and the lock turn, followed by the sound of Mohinder retching violently.

Sylar didn't stick around for the aftermath. He dressed quickly, sore and aching in more places than he cared to think of, and left.

He hadn't planned on coming back. But the truth of the matter was he could never stay away. This time it was he who had Mohinder at his will.

He slammed Mohinder down onto the bed and held him firmly with his forearm locked against his throat. Mohinder bucked and clawed and tried to fight him off, but he was no match for Sylar's own strength coupled with his telekinesis.

Then he was reaching down to massage Mohinder into hardness beneath him, grinning as he felt his body responding to his rough caresses.

"Get off me," Mohinder snarled, still fighting him.

"Tell me you want it, Mohinder. Tell me you want me," Sylar all but begged him.

"I said get off me," Mohinder shouted once more.

Sylar felt the words go straight to his heart and lodge themselves there. This was spiraling beyond his control, beyond Mohinder's. He wanted to turn him over and tear his clothes off, fuck him hard and rough into the mattress. He wanted Mohinder to feel him for weeks afterwards, like he had felt him - wanted him to crave it and need it.

"You're fucking killing me," Sylar snarled.

There was a moment as they sized one other up and then Mohinder was arching up towards him, lips against his own and he whispered one word: "Good."

Sylar broke. He crushed his lips against Mohinder's, tugging on his lips until he tasted blood. The more brutal he was, the more savage, the more Mohinder responded to him.

Sylar released his hold, sighing as Mohinder's hands went under his shirt to rake his fingernails along the skin of his back. The passion between them was alighting in such a way that there was no turning back, no going forward. They were stuck in a moment that would forever alter both of them.

When he began to remove Mohinder's clothes, the gentleness of his hands forming a direct contrast to the absolute brutality of their kisses, he felt Mohinder suddenly stiffen underneath him.

It only served to add more fuel to the fire. He ground his erection down against Mohinder's own as if to remind him of how wanted and desired he was, how badly Sylar needed to have him and have him now. But Mohinder only turned away from him.

"Stop." That one word was all it took for all the hot-blooded lust that had settled in Sylar's gut to turn cold, frozen, as if his body was about to come apart from a combination of nerves and desire.

Yet beneath it all, there lay a simmering hatred for this man, this man who could command his body as easily as he breathed and who could shatter him with only a word.

"You want me to stop…"

To try and break Mohinder, he kept up the pace of his hand, sliding it up and down Mohinder's erection. However, although Mohinder's arousal was evident - slick and hot and heavy in his hand - the determination in eyes refused to budge. He only continued to fight, determined to not give in.

"Yes… don't…"

Sylar released him and sat back. He was so close to losing control, to losing his mind. God, he wanted him, but he wanted him to want him back.

Slowly it started to sink in - what had happened between them before wasn't finally allowing Mohinder to get his justifiable revenge in order to move them past everything that had come before - no, it was his last ditch effort to control the situation in some way, to control Sylar. It infuriated Sylar, the very idea that Mohinder thought he could play this game and come out the winner.

"Fine," he told him, breath even and measured. "I'll go and I won't come back…"

Sylar climbed off him, off the bed, and started to leave.

"You son of a bitch..." It was with those words that Mohinder was up and out of the bed, and before he could say anything else, Sylar turned and caught him in his arms, spinning them both around, and before they knew it they were kissing so hard that they had not even a chance to breathe.

Mohinder's hands were everywhere - buried in his hair, tearing into the skin on his arms and then at the buckle of his jeans, pushing down the zipper, undoing the clasp with hurried fingers.

Somewhere between a moan and another kiss. He heard Mohinder's voice in his ear, the whimper of "I hate you," and Sylar lifted him up, and carried him the short distance to the bed before laying him down on it, draping himself over him and holding him down by his hands.

"I hate you, too," he told him, but like everything else between them, that was only half of the truth.

This time Sylar snuck off like a thief in the night, leaving Mohinder naked, fucked into a half coma. He dressed quickly and debated leaving a note, but he didn't know what to write.

This time… this time it had been about something even more than the overwhelming lust that consumed them both whenever they were together.

Sylar didn't want to think of that, or worse still, to acknowledge what it all meant. Instead he went, carrying far more guilt than anyone would have ever believed him capable of.

Mohinder has done this, not him. If this thing they had was broken, if they were broken - it was Mohinder who had broken them, had broken him. It was his fault.

Mohinder didn't believe in forgiveness. He only believed in penance. Sylar would be damned if he would be the one of them to acknowledge that fact.

When they saw each other again, three years had passed.

In that time, Sylar had managed to elude company capture for years. His abilities making him cocky, which in time was his undoing. Cockiness had made him careless.

Truthfully, he had no one to blame now but himself for letting his guard down, for getting caught.

Sylar took his time, carefully studying the cold, cinder-block walls and concrete floor, quietly planning the escape he knew was forthcoming.

Still, it wasn't as easy as he imagined. The Company was careful; they weren't taking any chances with him. He was not only was restrained, but also drugged.

His powers for the time lay dormant. Still, even with these difficulties, he wasn't worried. Experience had taught him that he was adept at finding his way out of near impossible situations.

No, there was no need to panic, none. He would find a weak spot, and once he did, he would be out. They couldn't hold him. Not forever.

He looked up at the sound of the heavy metal door and was momentarily stunned for a moment to find Mohinder standing there in front of him. He was wearing a lab coat and had his hands clasped in front of him as if he didn't know quite what to do with them.

The stoic expression on his face was unreadable.

They looked at each other for a moment, then Sylar lifted his arms up, showing him that he was shackled to the floor, unable to move.

It was a way of trying to put Mohinder at ease, to assure him that he wouldn't be a threat to him, but even as that thought crossed his mind, another darker one replaced it.

What if Mohinder was all that stood between himself and freedom? Would he then care about Mohinder's safety? A quick clench of his gut gave him the answer.

It was an answer whose implications he refused to think about for even a second longer.

Mohinder spoke first. "Hello, Sylar," he said - still nothing readable on his face, but there was the smallest inflection of nervousness in his tone.

For the moment, it amused Sylar, made him feel as if he was still someone to be feared. It made him straighten up, determined to play the part Mohinder had written for him.

"Mohinder," he returned, letting the name roll over his tongue, delighted as he watched Mohinder repress a shudder in response.

Mohinder stepped farther into the room, the door closing behind him.

He glanced around for a moment before his gaze settled back on Sylar. "I never expected to see you here. To be honest, I thought you were smarter than this."

The jab hurt right where it was intended. Sylar's pride was a powerful thing. "Sorry to disappoint you," Sylar told him with a smirk, one that belied the pounding of his heart, the sudden rush of blood to his cock, making him impossibly hard just at the mere proximity of the other man.

Mohinder frowned, his eyes betrayed him. "You've always been a disappointment," he said, moving closer.

"Always?" Sylar chided, a husky lilt to his voice. He allowed his eyes to rake over Mohinder from head to toe, purposely dragging his tongue across his lips as he did so.

He was pleased to see Mohinder stop short in front of him, looking away and taking a deep breath as if he needed a second to compose himself.

Sylar could see he was getting to him, crawling under his skin ever so slightly. Mohinder wasn't nearly as tough as he liked to pretend to be. Sylar knew that, and knew it well.

"They're going to kill you. For all your ill-gotten abilities, you are disposable and no one will mourn your passing…"

"You mean no one but you, Mohinder." Sylar went right for the truth, holding nothing back.

Mohinder's eyes turned mean as he stormed up to Sylar, chained and helpless, and backhanded him across the face as hard as he could.

The blow stung. It rocked Sylar back, slamming his head against the wall behind him. He tasted blood instantly, and turning his head, he spat out a mouthful of blood, chuckling as he did so.

"You seem to forget that I know the real you, Mohinder…" He taunted. "The real you who is even more sadistic and twisted than I am. You want to hurt me, don't you? You want to fuck me until I scream. Until I bleed for you…"

"Shut up!" Mohinder hissed, raising his hand once more. The absolute ferocity on his face made Sylar all the harder. He could see the truth reflected in Mohinder's eyes. A truth that he knew was reflected back in his own. Still, Sylar was determined to get to him. To hurt him.

"Oh Mohinder, is this payback? Payback for fucking you and never calling?"

Mohinder pulled back from him as if he had now been slapped. His hand dropped to his side, and breathing deeply, he started to back up, going towards the door.

"Where are you going? We were just getting started," Sylar asked, chiding him.

Mohinder turned back, his gaze burning as he locked his eyes with Sylar's own. "I'm going to go and show you just how sadistic I can be. You really have no idea, do you?" he taunted as the doors opened for him. He flicked off the lights, leaving Sylar alone in the dark.

***

True to his word. Mohinder was sadistic.

Men in long white lab coats came into cell at all hours of the day and night, waking him from restless and broken sleep. They shoved needles into his arm, never gentle, nearly brutal as they took his blood, poking and prodding him. Sometimes Mohinder would be there, standing behind the glass, nodding his approval.

Sylar would try and catch his eyes, gritting his teeth against the pain, finding comfort in giving Mohinder one of his best smiles, slow and sinister, letting him think he enjoyed this treatment, that in some sick way he was getting off on it, getting a perverse thrill out of Mohinder watching it all.

In response, Mohinder would only glare at him. The rest of his face was coldly detached from the proceedings. Still there was something there, something Sylar was quick to catch.

It was a look of disgust, not for him, no, but himself. Mohinder was not proud of what he was doing. It brought him no pleasure, no comfort.

Sylar could see that. He did his best not to let that knowledge show. He knew that the more it continued the faster Mohinder's resolve would break.

Sure enough, Mohinder broke. He came into his cell one night, nearly two weeks after the torture had begun.

Sylar had been trying to rest, trying to seek reprieve from the continuous abuse, but he was in pain - bloodied and beaten, slowly being broken down.

He had lost a considerable amount of weight since coming here. Food deprivation had been part of the plan to break him. He was withering down to nothing but skin and bones, a mere shell of the strong and forceful man he had been before.

He opened his eyes - his face a mess of scars and bruises. "Mohinder, it's good to see you again," he said with a twisted, bloodied sneer.

"You bastard," Mohinder whispered as he sank down to his knees before Sylar and took his face in hands, gingerly and gently. His eyes searched Sylar's own for some clue as to what he was thinking.

"Is this what you wanted, Mohinder?" Sylar asked, closing his eyes and savoring the other man's touch.

There was the sound of Mohinder sucking in a painful breath before he lowered his forehead to Sylar's own.

He shook his head. "No," he moaned, "this is isn't… this isn't what I wanted."

Sylar was overcome by how close Mohinder was, close enough to taste his breath against his lips, hot and desperate, to feel the warmth of Mohinder's tears as they slid down his face, slow and silent.

Sylar took the chance and leaned in closer, pressing his lips to Mohinder's. He wasn't kissing him; it was simply skin against skin. They stayed like that for a long while.

He felt Mohinder shudder against him, his tears turning into full-out sobs that he was trying desperately to hold inside.

Sylar burned to touch Mohinder's face, to once more feel his skin beneath his fingertips, to explore the dark, flawless beauty kept from him, skin he had only touched once before and yearned to touch again.

"Find a way, Mohinder, find a way to get me out of here." Mohinder pulled back and his face was once more a mask of stoicism even though his eyes betrayed him.

Sylar could see him coming apart, breaking open at those words. "You never wanted this, Mohinder. There are far bigger things in this world: adventure, knowledge… You crave those things. You know I can give you that, if you'd just help me get away. We'll leave this all behind, start over."

"I can't -" Mohinder whispered. There was regret in his eyes as he moved away.

Sylar tried to pull his arms free from his binds but they wouldn't budge. "You can't hide from this. You belong to me, Mohinder."

Mohinder looked back at him, and Sylar saw those words leave their mark upon his face. He grimaced and nodded. "That may be - but it doesn't change anything," he told him sadly. "This is who we are."

"You'll change your mind," Sylar told him. Mohinder gave him one last lingering look before leaving.

Alone in the dark, Sylar was left to ponder Mohinder's words, the look on his face. He wasn't defeated, far from it. In fact his strength was renewed, given new life. He was getting out of here.

That much he knew, and this time, there would be no leaving without saying goodbye.