A/N: Wrote a long while ago (in October) and I don't think I posted it here (someone please tell me if I did).
Mohinder clawed at the arm holding him to the wall, cutting off the air to his lungs. Choking gasps escape his lips as pain shot through his back from the force of the blow. The dark shadow loomed closer, drinking in his fear and life as it seeped out of his limbs.
"You still smell like him," Sylar snarled; his nostrils flaring in anger as he drove Mohinder into the wall more intensely, that hand cutting off more and more air as the seconds passed.
Mohinder gaped like a fish, words coming out in garbled wheezing tones as he tried begging for his life. He wasn't supposed to die like this; not now, not here. He kicked out blindly, reflexively, hoping to stop Sylar in any way he can. Great relief flooded him as pain spiked through his leg, he connected with Sylar's shin, and that hand loosened it grips.
Sliding down the wall Mohinder drank in the life-giving air, burning away into his lungs and making him cough and sputter. Sylar hopped above him cursing under his breath and Mohinder wondered, once his mind cleared, why he wasn't being thrown back into the wall, into the dumpster, or anywhere else, by Sylar's telekinesis.
"You little shit!"
Again with the hands, not with the power, hoisting him up but not slamming quite as hard this time; just holding him against the wall and staring deep into his face, those eyes so dark and deep and scary. So penetrating, deep into Mohinder's soul and stealing his breath away quite as effectively as a hand at his throat would.
Teeth glint in the harsh orange light, shadows passing across Sylar's face as he looms in close again. That breath is so warm, the hand on his shoulder so hot against the chill of the night; seeping through the cheap fabric of his shirt and making his skin burn underneath.
"Do you like it? Do you enjoy being fucked by him?"
The anger is still there but underlying is curiosity. Sylar's hand trembles as he holds back his rage, forces himself to be gentle because the anger before hadn't worked. Mohinder can already feel the bruises colouring his throat, Sylar had been ready to kill him and the regret in those dark eyes scare Mohinder more than death; Sylar actually cares for him.
"No." His voice is raspy, it comes out barely above a whisper but Mohinder knows Sylar hears it anyways.
But Sylar doesn't hear, those dark eyes narrowing and that hand, way too warm, clenches as he asks, "What?"
Puzzling, strange, and Mohinder's stomach drops as he realizes something's wrong. Sylar couldn't hear it; he couldn't throw him around in his rage. Sylar's powerless and the thought isn't as comforting as Mohinder would like it to be. He's doomed if Sylar can't fight for him, can't take revenge against those who are still blessed or cursed by evolution's hand.
Those eyes are still piercing, Sylar's rage is building from the lack of response, and Mohinder raises his chin up.
"No. I didn't like it."
More clearly this time, loud enough so that it echoes off the walls of the alley and Sylar's eyes widens in surprise; he hadn't expected Mohinder to figure him out so quickly. He starts to pull away, fear flashing in those dark depths and Mohinder finds his hand hooking around Sylar's shoulder, stopping his getaway.
"Don't leave me now." He snaps, not sure why he's so frustrated with the serial killer's fear.
Their lips clash in frenzied movements, Mohinder propelling Sylar's shocked body into the opposite wall; legs tangling together as he presses forward and up into the hardening heat. Mohinder swallows Sylar's groan, pushes and pulls until Sylar starts fighting back, recovers from the shock. Their hands paw at each other; too much fabric, too much heat, not enough skin.
This is insane, but Mohinder needs it. He's tainted, he's ill and only Sylar's touch will heal him. Only Sylar's touch feels right and the thought makes him sick so he grinds into that pliant body, chases away all thoughts in the pursuit of pleasure and pain.
The world spins, Mohinder's back against the wall and he's wrapping his legs around Sylar's waist. His pants are rumpled on the ground; how they got undone he doesn't know, when he took off his shoes doesn't matter right now, all that matters is the feel of Sylar's hand, of his cock rubbing against his own, the teeth biting at his throat.
He hisses in pain when Sylar's fingers nudge at his entrance, he's still tender from the earlier assault and Sylar growls deeply in his throat. He thrusts in brutally making Mohinder scream, making the Indian want more and more; anything to get rid of the memories, the taint.
The speed increases, the pleasure builds and Mohinder's sobbing in pain, in joy, as light sparks behind his eyes and lighting courses through his veins. He strains with the third finger penetrating his body, the world exploding in a rush as he feels Sylar tense when their erections collide, forcefully, one last time. Sylar's name slips off his tongue like so many other nights only this time he isn't smacked for it, he's kissed deeply instead.
"Mine!" Sylar growls tearing the flesh of his lip, Mohinder's blood dribbling down his chin.
Mohinder sighs, nodding his head and rests it against that broad shoulder shivering. The taint is still there at the back of his mind but he knows it's better now. Even without powers, Sylar will still be useful.
A/N: I'm going through my fic folder right now because I have writer's block. Might be putting more fics up on here.
