He was at peace, content, safe, calm. Mohinder floated in that pleasant state between sleep and awareness. Memories hadn't yet had their chance to filter in and instead he simply existed in the moment. He vaguely knew that he shouldn't be so comfortable, that his life had been filled with nothing but stress lately, but his concerns felt so very distant and unimportant. He rolled over, dimly expecting to find a source of warmth at his side, and found only a cold and empty spaceinstead.

The sudden disappointment triggered a flash of memories and with a jolt Mohinder shot upright. His heart pounded as a plethora of emotions surged through his system. He couldn't even begin to quantify them all. All he could do was sit there as his head swam and try very hard not to panic. He fervently wished that it all been some sordid dream or nightmare. He couldn't have possibly- no, not with Sylar.

Please let it all have been a dream.

There was no trace of warmth in the bed beside him, a fact that was momentarily reassuring. Then Mohinder felt the crusted bodily fluids stuck to his chest and stomach. As he shifted there was a brief spike of pain in his ass that faded smoothly into a persistent, throbbing ache. Mohinder groaned and fell back against his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut in shame, hurt and anger. Perhaps the worst of it all was that fleeting feeling of disappointment at the cold, empty place beside him. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if it had meant something, but instead he felt used.

Again.

"Are you just going to sit there panicking or are you going to come have breakfast?" Sylar's voice, tinged with both amusement and annoyance, floated in from the kitchen and snapped Mohinder out of his thoughts.

Oh shit.

Mohinder's already pounding heart nearly doubled in speed. A fact that, if the loud sigh that drifted in from kitchen was any indication, was picked up immediately by Sylar's sensitive hearing. There was no other response.

Mohinder took a few deep breaths and forced himself to relax. Now that he concentrated on it he could hear the clattering of dishes and detect the faint scent of eggs. Something about Sylar, Molly's boogieman, the infamous serial killer, doing something as mundane and domestic as cooking breakfast went a long way towards calming Mohinder down.

He rather desperately wanted a shower but quickly decided that he had a much stronger desire for the protection of clothes. He was suddenly far too aware of his nakedness and felt rather horribly exposed. Mohinder scrambled out of bed, wincing somewhat at the movement and feeling his face flush with embarrassment. He fumbled slightly with the drawers of his dresser before pulling on a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt. He would have gotten fully dressed, complete with multiple protective layers, if he weren't somewhat afraid of insulting the murderer in his kitchen.

For now this would have to do.

He certainly wasn't going out there without cleaning up a little, however, and he was quite happy to put off standing in the same room as Sylar by dashing into the bathroom to tidy up.

-------------

It was a good fifteen minutes before Mohinder finally summed up the courage to enter the kitchen. He'd managed to wash away most of the evidence of what had happened the night before. He had even attempted to shave but had quickly given that up as a bad idea. His hands were simply trembling too badly and he would only have ended up hurting himself. That aside, it had at least given him a chance to pull himself together a little.

The sight that met Mohinder's eyes when he finally reached the kitchen was decidedly surreal. Sylar sat at one side of the small dining table, sipping from a cup of tea. A plate of scrambled eggs and toast sat before him, still visibly steaming and untouched. An identical plate and mug sat at the other side of the small table, waiting expectantly for Mohinder. Sylar's eyes flickered over to Mohinder as he casually placed his cup back on the table. Mohinder felt curiously like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, complete with the sense of impending doom.

"There wasn't much in your fridge that hadn't gone bad, but I did what I could." Sylar spoke smoothly and calmly but there was an odd quality to his voice that Mohinder found disarming. Maybe it was simply that those words couldn't, in any possible way, be construed as threatening. Perhaps it was the small shrug of his shoulders as Sylar turned to his own portion. Then again, it could simply have been that the idea of Sylar cooking breakfast was far too normal. Whatever the reason, Mohinder found his feet moving of their own accord over to the table where he eased himself cautiously into the other chair.

Sylar proceeded to ignore Mohinder and slowly the geneticist's thoughts turned from self-defense to hunger. The eggs were surprisingly tasty and Mohinder hadn't really eaten much of anything in the lasttwenty-four hours. He'd barely touched his lunch the previous day and there hadn't been any dinner. He was nearly finished eating when a half-strangled string of chuckles erupted from the other side of the table.

Mohinder's head snapped up to see Sylar struggling not to choke on his toast amid grunts of laughter. Mohinder restrained the urge to demand that he be told what was so funny. Looking upon the man once again seemed only to steal any and all words from his throat.

It only took a few moments for Sylar to regain control and throw Mohinder his trademark grin.

"Breakfast was satisfactory then?" Sylar asked with a smirk. "I'm surprised you haven't passed out from lack of oxygen."

Mohinder felt his face burn with embarrassment. He had been shoveling his eggs and toast down rather hastily, but damnit he was hungry!

"I haven't eaten since yesterday morning." Mohinder mumbled, dropping his fork like it had suddenly decided to burn him. He folded his arms and averted his gaze from Sylar's haughty one. "Hardly tasted it."

There was nothing but silence for a long moment before the scraping of cutlery told Mohinder that Sylar had gone back to his own breakfast. Mohinder risked a glance and was surprised to see Sylar, rather than appearing pleased for having gotten under Mohinder's skin, was looking vaguely upset. Strangely, the sight wasn't a pleasant one. Mohinder frowned, finding himself unable to look away.

A few different responses came to mind. Some were fueled by a desire to lash out, others by a positively bizarre urge to comfort Sylar. Mohinder couldn't figure out what to do, he was at a complete loss. There were so many reasons for him to hate the man sitting on the opposite side of the table. On the other hand, he couldn't deny what had happened last night. He had mingled feelings of revulsion, disgust and self-hatred, and yet at the same time it had felt so damn good. In the moment it had just felt right. It hadn't been anything at all like he might have expected.

Thetenderness Sylar had shown in Mohinder's moments of weakness was paradoxical. Mohinder felt off-balance, like the solid foundation of reality he'd always stood on had suddenly shifted and changed irreparably. It had been altered, perhaps forever, and this new terrain was completely unknown and unexplored.

The fact that this had happened with Sylar was really only one part of a complex tangle of confusion. Having sexual feelings for another man was fairly unnerving in and of itself. This wasn't the first time, as there had been a fellow student in University, but Mohinder had come out of that experience with the view that it had only been youthful experimentation. After all there had been Mira and then his feelings towards Eden. He'd felt an attraction to Sylar-as-Zane almost immediately, sure, but he hadn't really contemplated what it meant; especially not after he'd found out the truth.

With all the other reasons that feeling this way towards Sylar was wrong, the fact that he was a man ranked pretty damn low on the list. After last night though, well it was impossible not to at leastthink about it a little. It probably said something significant about this whole sordid affair when pondering what this meant to his sexuality was one of the easier trains of thought for Mohinder's mind to follow.

Then there was the utter lack of protection. Mohinder was only slightly worried about that, but only because Claire's blood had probably purged any and all illnesses from Sylar's system. So unless Sylar had picked something up from being elbow-deep in Nathan's blood he was probably safe. Still, it had been stupid and dangerous. Though, given the fact that he'd had sex with a serial killer, it was perhaps not so dangerous in comparison.

So now what? That was the most pressing worry. What the hell did this mean for the future? It almost would have been more welcome for Sylar to have simply vanished during the night. It certainly would have made more sense. Mohinder wanted to ask about it but he was finding himself strangely reluctant to speak. Part of him really didn't want to hear the answer.

"So is Petrelli a giant plague rat then?" Sylar's ice-laced words snapped Mohinder out of his musings. Sylar was sitting tall in his seat, arms folded, looking at Mohinder with that intense, searching stare that made Mohinder feel horribly exposed.

"There is some foreign substance in his blood," Mohinder answered cautiously, finding his voice once more.

Sylar sighed, his entire posture screaming discontent with the answer. It wasn't hard to figure out why; restraint was not in Sylar's nature. Mohinder waited for some sort of reaction, but Sylar seemed to be lost in introspection.

Once it appeared clear that no response was forthcoming Mohinder quietly gathered up the dishes and took them to the sink. He couldn't think of anything to say or do, but the more the silence stretched on the more his mind dwelled on just how wrong the previous night had been. There was nothing he could say that wouldn't either sound idiotic or be horribly embarrassing and the last thing he needed to do was give Sylar more ammunition.

Unfortunately Sylar really didn't need any.

Familiar hands brushed against Mohinder's shoulders, sliding down his arms in a manner far too sensual for Mohinder's liking. He didn't even bother to wonder how Sylar had managed, once again, to sneak up on him without making a sound.

"You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?" Sylar mused in a resigned fashion.

Mohinder tensed, angry and uncomfortable with the tiny thrill that raced up his spine. He didn't know what he wanted but he certainly wasn't going to let Sylar pull the same trick twice. He whirled around and shoved Sylar back and away from him. The further away the better, it seemed the only way he could think clearly.

"You're a murderer!" Mohinder shot back, his words laced with agony. "And it's not like you've stopped or shown any sign of remorse or repentance! How the hell do you expect me to be ok with that?"

At first Sylar was amused, letting himself be pushed back. Then he heard the flutter in Mohinder's heart and saw the tiniest hints of tears in the corner of his eyes.

"Would it make a difference?" Sylar asked neutrally, not betraying even the slightest hint of emotion in either direction. Mohinder peered at him guardedly, eyes still shimmering with loathing both for himself and the killer in his kitchen.

"Would what make a difference?"

"If I stopped," Sylar replied evenly. He was studying Mohinder with that eerily intense gaze, head tilted ever so slightly in curiosity. It was as if he was dissecting Mohinder with his eyes, peeling back the layers to reveal his inner workings.

Mohinder stilled, eyeing Sylar cautiously. He didn't believe that Sylar ever would, ever could stop. Still, that small part of him that wanted this, beyond all logic, was desperate to know if it was possible.

"Yes." Mohinder had meant to say maybe but the yes had slipped out before he could stop it. He supposed it was the more honest answer. It might not make much of a difference but maybe it could make a small one.

Sylar seemed to consider this for a moment and then shrugged a little.

"Shame." He replied, amusement creeping back into his voice. "I have absolutely no intention of stopping." He took another step forward, invading Mohinder's personal space relentlessly. "You'll just have to get used to it."

"Get used to it?" Mohinder gaped at Sylar in total disbelief as he instinctively pressed himself further back against the kitchen counter. "You're crazier than I thought if you believe for even a moment that I would stand idly by while you go on another killing spree!"

"Oh really?" Sylar raised an eyebrow as he loomed over the geneticist. "It wouldn't be the first time though, now would it? You've certainly had enough chances to stop me in the past."

Mohinder averted his eyes, not wanting to meet Sylar's calculating gaze. Before he would have denied that sentiment vehemently, but Mohinder had spent the last few days running over past events in his mind. As much as he wished it were otherwise, Sylar's words were painfully true. He wanted to try and justify himself, claim monumental stupidity if nothing else, but words caught in his throat.

"Don't you see Mohinder? We work so well together." Sylar moved in a flash, grabbing Mohinder around the waist and tugged him abruptly forward, grinding their pelvises together. "We just fit."

Mohinder bit back a moan at the intimate contact and braced his hands against Sylar's chest, pushing him firmly and insistently away. Sylar, however, had no intention of moving this time and refused to budge. His combination of strength and telekinesis made escape impossible.

"Get away from me Sylar." Mohinder growled out, focusing on where his hands were pressed up against Sylar's chest, refusing to meet the taller man's gaze. He didn't dare.

Sylar grasped Mohinder's chin in his hand, taking even that choice away from him. He forced Mohinder to look upwards and meet his eyes.

"You can't deny it Mohinder." Sylar returned confidently. "You can lie to yourself but not to me."

Mohinder's fists clenched reflexively. He tried to wrench himself from Sylar's grip but found himself now pinned by telekinesis as well. No way out. No escape.

Time to face the music.

"I hate you." Mohinder's eyes were misting with the beginnings of tears but his voice was as cold as steel. It was as if he were willing the words to stab Sylar through the heart like a dagger and end this torment once and for all.

Something passed through Sylar's expression. Just for a moment it flickered, changed, and became something utterly foreign. In the next instant it was gone.

"Maybe," he continued on, not skipping a beat. "But you still want me. I can hear it in your heart. Besides," his lips curled into that quintessential bastard grin. "I seem to recall you begging for me last night."

"Temporary insanity." Mohinder lied through his teeth, but he did it with all the conviction he could muster.

For a moment Sylar looked like he wanted very much to hurt Mohinder. The dangerous intent behind his eyes was unmistakable. Mohinder felt himself shuddering in response. He knew provoking Sylar like this could lead to violence, but he simply couldn't accept this newfound reality. He would fight against it and Sylar with every ounce of strength he possessed.

The moment passed and Sylar smiled. He released his physical grip on Mohinder's chin, running a thumb along Mohinder's jaw line before twining his fingers into Mohinder's soft curls.

"You're so cute when you're terrified." Sylar teased the smaller man, reveling in his startled reaction and renewed attempts to escape. Sylar had Mohinder completely wrapped in telekinetic bonds. The struggle wasn't visible, but he could feel every frantic tug against the restraints. His senses flared every time Mohinder's muscles tensed and twitched in his feeble struggle for freedom.

"Its ok, Mohinder," Sylar went on patronizingly, "You just need some time to get used to the idea. I understand."

Sylar cupped the back of Mohinder's head and pulled him into a bruising kiss. He assaulted Mohinder's lips, remorseless and unrelenting. He drank in Mohinder's taste, savoring it and storing it away in his perfect memory. Mohinder made some strangled noise of protest but Sylar simply swallowed it whole.

Only when he had Mohinder gasping for breath did Sylar pull back, running the tip of his tongue lightly down caramel skin until he reached the perfect spot. A little over an inch from the collar bone he stopped his journey downwards and sucked. He pulled smooth skin into his mouth, listening to the blood vessels rupturing with satisfaction.

"Sylar- what- don't!"

Sylar ignored Mohinder's squeaks of protest and when he finally pulled back to admire his work he was quite pleased. It wasn't as striking as it would have been against pale, Caucasian flesh, but the bruise was still quite visible. It was such a little thing, but it held a powerful meaning. The hickey marked Mohinder as taken and claimed as Sylar's, should anyone be foolish enough to get too close while he was gone.

"Mine." Sylar hissed into Mohinder's ear,

Sylar wasn't sure just what he was going to do about this in the long run, but for now it was simple enough. Mohinder Suresh was his. He might not be particularly willing at the moment, but the previous night was proof enough that it would only take a bit of time before Sylar could claim him body, mind and soul.

"I'm not- you can't-" Mohinder's indignant, spluttering protests were cut off as Sylar wrapped his right hand around Mohinder's neck, pressing his thumb gently but firmly and threateningly against the shaking, caramel throat.

"Now, I'm leaving town for a few days." Sylar declared with that patronizing smile of his. "I'm sure you're going to be tempted to try something stupid and I would tell you not to but I doubt you'll listen. You can try and run if you really want to. I do enjoy a good chase. Just don't fool yourself into thinking you can hide from me. I may not have gotten my hands on dear, sweet Molly's power, but her father's will be more than enough to track you down again."

Mohinder's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and fear when Molly's name tumbled from Sylar's lips and Sylar had to bite back a chuckle. He wanted to preserve his air of nonchalance.

He dropped his handand turned his back on Mohinder, taking a few quick strides towards the door and willing his possessions to come to his hands. Sliding on his jacket, he tilted his head to take in Mohinder once more and this time he failed to suppress a smile. Mohinder looked so utterly torn. He kept opening his mouth to speak and then seemed to think better of it. When Sylar's eyes met his again, however, he made up his mind.

"If you lay so much as a finger on her Sylar, I swear I'll-" The rest of the words got stuck in his throat, but he really didn't need to verbalize the rest. Sylar didn't give him a chance to say more anyway.

"She's safe, for now." He shrugged and thrust a hand into his jacket pocket, brushing against a small piece of plastic. Mohinder's keycard, he'd almost forgotten all about it. "You'll be wanting this back, I expect." He plucked the card out with nimble fingers and with a flick of his digits sent it sailing to land on the kitchen table. "Have fun explaining that to your boss." Sylar shot Mohinder one last decidedly evil grin and strode out the door

-------------

Mohinder stood frozen in place for several long moments, his mind whirling. It was only the sight of his keycard that stopped the frantic spinning. He stumbled over to the nearest chair and fell into it, sliding the keycard to rest in front of him. If Sylar had 'borrowed' his keycard then that meant he had taken a midnight excursion into the Company building. Mohinder could only stare at the small piece of plastic in horror. Had Sylar gone on another killing spree while Mohinder had been sleeping? Why use Mohinder's access to sneak in though? Had he been after something else instead?

Mohinder tried hard not to picture Elle, Bob and Maya lying dead in a pool of their own blood with their skulls sliced open. If they were dead then his world had been tilted even more on its side then before. If they were,then Sylar was going to be his biggest problem. If they weren't dead though, if Sylar had snuck in during the middle of the night to purposefully avoid being detected, then Mohinder had a whole new set of issues to deal with. When they eventually discovered that they'd had an intruder they would be able to track his entrance to Mohinder's access card and he'd have some serious explaining to do. From Sylar's parting words, that was probably the case. How the hell was he going to explain this? How long did he have before he got a phone call, or worse a visitor, demanding answers?

Curse Sylar for adding this to his troubles on top of everything else! Mohinder had to keep the Company from becoming suspicious. He was the only insider that the Company currently trusted. Denial seemed the obvious choice, but would they believe him?

Possibilities and questions flooded his mind. Would they know it was Sylar, or would they be looking for a name for the intruder as well? There were ups and downs to both options, but realistically Sylar needed to be the one, in the end, that the Company pinned the break-in on.

Use the truth. Sylar stole my card then returned it. I didn't know anything about it. Should I call them first? Tell them I found my card on the kitchen table, not where I left it? How do I explain Sylar being in my apartment and not harming me? I can't play dumb forever; they won't believe that I haven't figured it out. Do I tell bits of the truth in that case too?

Mohinder dropped his head into his hands and groaned. Why couldn't his life ever just be simple?

-------------

Eventually Mohinder settled on a shower. He felt dirty beyond measure, and it would give him some time to think. It did help a little, but he still ached in embarrassing places and more than one bruise coloured his body. The finger marks on his hips were by far the worst. No one would be able to see them but they were an all too vibrant reminder of what had happened.

Shaving had been highly unpleasant to say the least. He'd been unable to stop from shifting his gaze back to the blotch marring his neck, Sylar's last demeaning act. As a result he'd ended up with a plethora of small nicks and cuts that he'd managed to inflict on himself in his distracted state.

Far from helping him to clear his mind, the shower had only succeeded in bringing his emotional distress to the fore. Mohinder didn't really want to think about either of his problems, but the one involving the Company was of more immediate importance. He had to forget what happened between himself and Sylar. He had to forget his current state of self-loathing. He had to figure out how to explain Sylar's possession of his keycard without betraying the slightest hint of what had happened.

Mohinder slid into a pair of khakis and pulled out a turtleneck to hide the hickey. There was no more obvious sign of what had happened then the blemish marring his neck. Which was, he was sure, precisely what Sylar wanted

Mohinder returned to the kitchen, eyeing the keycard warily. Running a hand through his damp curls, Mohinder sat down and picked up the slim piece of plastic, gazing at it with disdain. It seemed far too small a thing for the massive amount of trouble it was going to cause.

There was a knock at the door.

Speaking of trouble.

Mohinder was pretty damn sure it wasn't Sylar on the other side of the door. Sylar definitely wouldn't knock. So Mohinder got up with a sigh, pulling himself together. It certainly hadn't taken them long.

He peered through the peephole and felt a jolt of surprise. It was someone from the Company, as expected, but it was the last person Mohinder thought they would send.

Mohinder pulled the door open and fixed a hard stare on the man standing outside.

"Hello Bennet."