The idea for this hit me square in the face one day out of absolutely nowhere and decided it absolutely had to be written. And now I've decided to post it so ya'll can share in the adorable. There was originally a lot more to the story than this, but this is all I've written and all I plan to write. If you want to take it and run with it though, go ahead. Just send me a link. I'd be ecstatic to find out what you do with them.
And in case anyone's actually noticed and is wondering, the sudden plethora of stories is the result of me attempting to post all the stuff I wrote over my hiatus at once. Because I really have nothing better to do.
With love, Jiia.
It was Godsend's first real gig. An open air concert at the local fairgrounds, the cool air of the glimmering summer night thrumming with the breath of a hundred anxious fans. They were only opening for a bigger band, the band all those people were waiting to see, but that didn't matter. Standing up on that stage looking down, it was like all the world had stopped to watch.
Mohinder stood behind the stage, looking up through the coloured lights at the man trying to tune his guitar with shaking fingers. The man was a dream, slender, beautiful body draped in the familiar folds of a band shirt, although the logo was his own instead of that of one of his strange favourites. His washed-out jeans hung from his narrow hips, dangerously close to falling off altogether. The barest sliver of skin shimmered under the garish lights.
Mohinder would have been jealous of the audience, the teaming mass who all got to share in this pure, delightful view of the man he called his own. Would have been, where it not for the slight shadow of a bruise just there, on the edge of his hip, the dark paint left by the brushes of Mohinder's fingers. There was no need to be jealous of any of this faceless mass. Mohinder had left his signature on his lover, and none of the foolish fans throwing themselves at the stage would ever be close enough to see it.
Peter shot him a glance, looking pointedly at the guitarist's trembling hands. Mohinder just shook his head. He knew what the lead wanted, and nothing in the universe could make him do it.
The decision had already been made. It would be Gabriel playing tonight or no one at all.
The dark-haired man must have caught the doubt in the singer's eyes, if the sudden tension arching its way through his already stiff shoulders was any indication. He turned, and suddenly Mohinder was looking into the dark, endless eyes of the man he loved.
They'd been together for over a year. They no longer needed words to express themselves. They could hold whole conversations without ever uttering a single word.
What if I can't do it?
Of course you can. Stop worrying.
Maybe I should just switch. He isn't nervous at all.
No, Gabriel. This is your night.
The man bit his lip, dark brows furrowing in an absolutely irresistible frown. It was all Mohinder could do not to rush out onto the stage and ravish him right there, up on the stage, before the whole world. Gabriel took a deep breath and closed his eyes, obviously battling with the dominating, abusive personality holed up inside his pretty little head.
Sylar wasn't what Mohinder would call the ideal lover. He was rough, inconsiderate, sometimes cruel. Sex with Sylar was as much pain as it was pleasure. It was usually humiliating in some way, and always left some a mark in a place that was impossible to hide. Not to say he didn't like it. It
was fun, exciting, unpredictable to the point of being surprising. He never knew what the darker half would come up with next.
But Sylar wasn't the one that Mohinder loved. Sylar was an add-on, a coping mechanism, nothing more. His easy confidence and arrogant swagger could be useful at times, especially times like this, when Gabriel was so nervous he ceased to function. But even the alternate grudgingly admitted that he was nothing more than a branch. Gabriel was the tree, and it was Gabriel who Mohinder really, truly loved.
The shy young man had never been able to understand that. In his mind, he was worthless, little more than a body to be used and abused by whatever cruel entity decided to screw with him next. Years and years of being hurt over and over had driven his self-esteem into the mud, and Mohinder and the rest of the damaged man's friends and band mates had only just begun to pull it out. Hopefully, this concert would be the first step forward of many to come.
If Gabriel didn't chicken out and switch with his alternate.
An idea lit up inside his head like the metaphorical light bulb. Snatching a pen and clipboard from a passing administrator, he quickly scrawled a message on the back of a random sheet.
The pen whizzing past his head caught his lover's attention. He looked up, momentarily confused until he caught sight of the scrawny Indian waving at him from the sidelines. The man seemed to have written a sign of some sort. For a minute, he couldn't figure out what the messy letters said.
It suddenly became clear, and everything was somehow alright.
Gabriel smiled, really smiled. It was the first true smile to grace his beautiful features since they had left the fleabag hotel Peter's brother had grudgingly paid for. When he turned away, his hands were steady.
When the first chords of the impromptu solo began to glide through the air like teardrops in the wind, the world stood still. For two full minutes, the crowd stood in awe as the magician on the stage transformed everything warm and loving and caring into pure, lovely sound. Every note was an expression of love, meant for one and one alone, and felt by all.
The last chord faded into the still evening air. Peter and the others stood in silent wonder, staring at the soft young man who normally had all the confidence of a piece of cheese. The expression on their faces was clear. They couldn't tell if the man before them was Gabriel or Sylar, dark or light, good or evil.
Mohinder knew. He always knew.
Without saying a word, he clambered up onto the stage and wrapped his arms around the man he loved.
The hand-made sign lay forgotten on the floor, its words looking up at none and everyone all at once.
You're my hero, Gabriel.