A/N: I hope this made a bit of sense, it's my first slashy fic and I put as much in as I could handle.Set during "Parasite."

Rated M for mild slash

Mohinder's eyes could only be glued to the computer screen for so long. Without thinking, he glances to his prisoner.

Sylar, in a rare moment of exhaustion, has his eyes closed and his head bowed. Mohinder smiles at the steady rise and fall of his chest under the black Ramones t-shirt. Sylar's hands are still, and Mohinder momentarily fantasizes about what they could do when not locked in unnatural paralysis.

Sensing the absence of Mohinder's constant typing, Sylar's eyes flutter. He lifts his head and sees Mohinder watching him.

The young scientist is taken aback when Sylar's head rises and his burnt caramel eyes gaze back, affectionate. He cracks a groggy smile and tilts his head, coming back to awareness.

"Mohinder, you need a break?" The evil grin that spreads across Sylar's face is enough to wipe all emotion from Mohinder's face. The blush that spreads is a little too deep to dissolve quick enough though, and Sylar smirks, pleased.

"You know, this whole session would be a lot more interesting if I wasn't duct-taped to a chair."

When Mohinder doesn't look at him, Sylar leans back. "I know you agree with me…"

It's just getting you to admit it, he added silently.

"That's the thing about you, Mohinder," he said, "you hide so much, yet you're not all that hard to figure out."

"I suppose that's easy for you to say?"

Sylar lets Mohinder's voice finally wash over him, the soft cadences caressing his ears, but he doesn't react. That would be giving him too much.

Mohinder was still staring at the screen with his hand on the mouse. Sylar wasn't fooled though; Mohinder's eyes bore a hole in one spot, never moving. Sylar could almost see the willpower it took to keep himself that way. Why resist it? He didn't. But then again, what fun is anything if there's no build up or challenge?

It was a full hour before Mohinder moved again. He had gone back to his work, albeit grudgingly, but now… he needed some tea. Perhaps the hot drink would calm his nerves. Sylar never took his eyes off him, and the attention was… annoying. Or was it erotic? Certainly not calming, that's for sure.

When he came back into the living room, Sylar eyed his mug.

"Didn't you make me some?" he looked genuinely hurt.

"You won't need anything to drink once you've got a bullet in your head."

That one hurt. Sylar's eyebrows drew together and his expression wilted.

His reaction almost made Mohinder smile. Almost. He glanced to the gun on his desk, always ready. He doubted it would be any help, because if Sylar escaped, it would be with his abilities. His glorious abilities. Mohinder took a gulp of the tea. He had to be content with studying specials, and not goad over the fact that he had none himself. He had entertained the thought of one day having a power, but kept that little hope to himself. People thought he was crazy enough.

But did Sylar? He quickly flashed a look; saw the perfect arch of his brow, and then the screen again. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and daydream, forcing himself back to work.

Not for long, Sylar thought. He let his gaze slip to the IV and back. He estimated he had a few more hours until he could safely attempt to free himself. Until then…

"So what are you working on anyway?"

Mohinder ignored him.

"It's my bodily fluids; you could at least tell me what you're doing with it." Sylar's expression soured when Mohinder didn't even blink.

"You know the Walkers?"

Mohinder froze.

"Small family. Mother, father… They were the easiest kill. It was morning when I came, and the house just reeked of power." As Sylar drew out the tale he watched Mohinder closely, seeing the growing pain in his eyes.

"I came in, no need to be secretive, and I saw the girl's parents at the kitchen table. I was desperate for her power. I sliced through his head and had his ability in seconds. He didn't even have a chance to scream."

Mohinder tried to tune him out, but the images came freely now. He ground his teeth and it was becoming increasingly difficult not to give the serial killer the satisfaction of seeing his reaction to the gristly tale.

"I froze him and pinned the mother to the wall. She screeched and wailed. That was fun. But I realized too late that the girl ran off somewhere. I couldn't find her. Little brat. But one day I will, and then her ability will be mine and her scream will be—"

"Stop." Mohinder said forcefully.

Sylar grinned. He was willing enough to stop. Truthfully, seeing the agony in Mohinder's eyes made him almost regret recounting one of his previous murders.

Mohinder got up and came around so he was facing Sylar. He leaned on the front of his desk and crossed his arms, looking increasingly cold. Sylar couldn't tell if it was the black glint in his eyes or the way the Indian set his jaw, but it was making him nervous.

"Mohinder…?" Sylar asked, his voice low and cautious.

Mohinder lifted his chin a fraction.

"Look, I'm… I'm sorry I said all those things to you, I—I thought—" What? What did he think? Did he think Mohinder would just up and leave everything for a few stolen kisses? That the nights spent together could actually change his mind? Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he shouldn't have trusted Mohinder so explicitly with his feelings.

That small voice inside of him was scared of that idea. Scared of the emptiness that threatened to engulf him the moment Mohinder rejected him.

If Mohinder saw the beginnings of a broken man, he didn't show it. He continued to glare until he saw his Sylar begin to slip away, and the hard exterior seep to the surface.

When he did, he pushed away from the table and came right up to Sylar, who would not look up to meet his eyes.

Seconds later, Sylar was hit on the jaw with a shock that physically jolted him.

"OWW!"

He twisted his face and coughed, spitting the blood that had accumulated in his mouth onto the floor.

"What the hell Mohinder?" he raged, growling curse words through the intense pain in his jaw. If he could move his hands they would have thrown the Indian into the wall first chance they got, or he would just strangle the man himself. He deliberated just what exactly he would do to him after that through the silence, until he could stand it no more. He looked up, about to defend himself.

Mohinder's eyes were red and he was on his knees, his hands hanging limp by his sides. There was anguish in those brown eyes and despite what he had just done, Sylar wanted to comfort him.

Mohinder saw Sylar's bloodied face twist into disgusted confusion and had to close his eyes.

"I did that…" he gulped, taking slow breaths, "because you made me do this."

Before Sylar could react the Indian's lips were on his, their softness urging a reaction out of him. He didn't need to be told twice.

He pushed himself as much into the kiss as he was able, still strapped to a chair that he was. Mohinder's hands wrapped themselves around his face, massaging the sore spots and exploring everything else.

Sylar expected the doctor to go for his exposed neck next, but Mohinder avoided it, moving his hands down until they found Sylar's soft middle. He was confused for a millisecond before getting caught up in what Mohinder was doing. Sylar flexed, staying with the action and letting Mohinder really feel him.

Sylar grinned when Mohinder's lips trailed kisses around his navel, but faltered when the feeling evaporated.

Mohinder knelt at eye-level to him and was looking deep into his eyes. Sylar must have looked bewildered because Mohinder was suddenly very determined.

It was then that Sylar felt soft hands holding his neck captive. He relaxed completely, giving Mohinder all of his trust, and was rewarded with deft fingers probing the space under his jaw. He was practically humming, and Mohinder could feel it.

The Indian tilted Sylar's head up and gently held it there with long fingers.

Sylar looked into Mohinder's dark, chocolate eyes, taking in the wisps of curly hair with growing hunger. When the fingers retreated from his face he hoped they would go somewhere a bit lower down, but he felt nothing. Except for a kiss on the head and warm hands dragging through his hair. Just once. That was it.

He gaped, feeling his heart rate speed up in growing anxiety. That was it? He battled confused emotions as a once more blank-faced Mohinder turned to escape into the kitchen.

He was just beginning to feel the heat that came from hands and bodies intermingling, and it was already over? He gulped and realized exactly where that heat was going. He felt himself slowly blush. He could almost feel the anger and disappointment and shame wash over him.

Something inside of him told him that it wasn't his fault, it wasn't rejection. But why did it feel that way? He fought tears and had to force himself to calm down. He ground his teeth and didn't even realize that it wasn't working.

It was a few minutes later that Mohinder entered the living room again, but he didn't get very far. He stopped dead in his tracks and had to set the mug down on the table for fear he would drop it.

Sylar had his head down once again, but this time there were tears streaming down his face. He did nothing to hide them, and the soft sobs that met Mohinder's ears tore at him.

Seeing the murdered in this vulnerable state was more than Mohinder ever imagined he would get. And now he felt himself regret it. No. He steeled himself and sat down at his desk. For all that he was worth; he couldn't get himself to look at Sylar again that evening. It was never his intention to break him this completely, and now that he had, he knew that one move was all it took; one ill-considered look, for his Sylar to snap, and disappear completely.

But Mohinder had no idea what he had just done. As he began to slowly get back to work, Sylar's tears stopped, and the hunger returned. His eyes dried, and morphed from crimson to charcoal. He never lifted his head, yet still knew the Indian's every move. Every sip, every keystroke. Sylar listened, especially, to his heart. The fragile beating that would one day race for him. Pushed to the limits by his hands. Sylar hungered, and he hungered now.