White Noise
This chapter is rated NC-17.

He'd been getting nothing but white noise nowadays.

Not that the normal, everyday musings of Mohinder were to be much missed. They usually had something to do with enzyme levels, or isotopes, or something equally obtuse. Occasionally it was something in an Indian dialect— a memory from his boyhood, perhaps, or a mantra to keep him focused, Matt guessed. But it was still thought, so the change worried him. In Matt's presence, Mohinder was purposely obscuring his thoughts. In other words, he was hiding something from him.

Matt worried about Mohinder, too. He wasn't the secret-agent type. Matt might— in a few years and with plenty of backup— be able to manage the kind of undercover sting he and Bennet were undertaking. But this was a professor, for God's sake! A boy who'd become a man with his nose firmly in a book the whole time! What Mohinder was doing, frankly, scared him. Because of what they'd done to Matt himself, of course, and because of the implications for Molly's safety. But it bothered him beyond that, and he wasn't entirely sure why.

Besides, the damned white noise was giving him a headache.

Occasionally, a phrase would slip through the fog, and when it did, Matt was even more disconcerted. Because one of the words was almost invariably his name.

Matt can't know...

our life... would chanage...

Stay focused... or Matt will...

...mustn't find out... control it...

He tried to give him opportunities, too. During a "family" dinner, he talked pointedly to Molly about how important it was that they share things, how a secret could turn into a lie that would break things. But he succeeded only in making her run away, and as he quietly washed the dishes, Matt waited patiently for Mohinder to start a conversation. But he didn't, and the white noise was worse than usual that night.

So confrontation it was.

When Mohinder arrived home, Matt was waiting for him at the door with a stern look. "Oh my God," Mohinder said, the blood draining from his face. "What happened? Molly?!" His voice rose to a shout and he sprinted past Matt to the hallway where the door to her bedroom lay.

"Shh!" Matt stage-whispered angrily. "She's fine!"

Mohinder's arms dropped to his sides and he whirled, looking distinctly annoyed. "What do you think you're doing, scaring me like that? Don't you know how frightened I am that one day I'll come home and all this'll be gone forever? It's a very real possibility to me!"

"Yeah. I know." And how dare you imply that I don't, he added inwardly, grateful that he was the only one who could read minds around here.

Mohinder could, however, read his tone. "I'm sorry," he relented. "It's just that you scared me, and..."

"I'm sorry, too," Matt said grudgingly, then corrected himself. "No, I'm really not. We have to talk."

That's when he got his first clue. Like a whisper, like a bird skitting across a sidewalk and out of sight again, the thought came.

Not yet, not THAT talk, I'm not ready...

Then white noise.

They sat down in the living room, Matt on his easy chair and Mohinder on the couch, and cracked open a pair of beers. The static from Mohinder's mind was nearly unbearable as he asked, in what he probably hoped was a casual tone, "So is this about Molly? Has her teacher talked to you again?"

"Molly's fine."

"Then it's something else? To do with the case you're working on? If I can be of any help..."

Matt leaned back with a heavy sigh. "You know what? I don't know what it's about, Mohinder. You won't tell me."

Oh my God. It IS that talk.

No, I can control it. I have to.

White noise...

"Would you stop that already?" Matt snapped. "It gives me migraines! Look, if there's something I should know—"

"You shouldn't know," Mohinder said in clipped tones. "That's why I'm hiding it." He turned up his nose and sucked defiantly on his beer, but Matt felt a small amount of triumph. At least something's out, he thought. If not the secret, then the fact that there is one.

Now it was his turn to guess. "Does it have to do with your mission, then?" The word "mission" felt strange to Matt, too noble and antiquated, but somehow it seemed much more appropriate when applied to Mohinder. "Information on the company?"

No. "Yes." Mohinder's face told Matt he realized he'd let the stray thought slip.

Exasperated, Matt slapped a hand to his forehead. "Don't lie to me, man!"

"I..."

"I've already lived with lies. I was hoping there wouldn't be any this time around!"

You're comparing me to your ex-wife.

"I'm not comparing you." It wasn't worth it to pretend he couldn't hear. "It's just that—"

Does that mean you think...

"I think what?" And then he gave a yelp; the white noise was ear-splitting. He clutched his head with both hands. "Mohinder! You're killing me here!"

The white noise stopped abruptly, as though the thought was slicing through the static, too clear to be dissuaded—

You're killing me too.

Matt blinked. "What?"

Mohinder gazed at him. The look on his face was one of resignation.

Matt set down his beer and leaned forward, finding the strength to look right into those sad eyes. "What is it? What am I doing that's hurting you so much?"

The answer didn't come, not from Mohinder's mind or his mouth. But he did speak. "If I tell you, it changes everything. And for all I know, you could decide it means I can never see Molly again. And I'd be powerless to stop you. You can see why I hesitate, I take it."

Now Matt was truly baffled. "What on earth," he sputtered, "could ever make me take Molly away from you? That girl needs you. She needs both of us."

So do I.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Maybe there's no problem." Mohinder averted his gaze. "Maybe everything will be OK. But I just can't afford to find out."

"It will be OK. I promise you." Matt moved to the couch, faced Mohinder, touched his shoulder. "Tell me, man. Just let it out."

Maybe there's some hope?

But Mohinder shook his head. "I can't." He still wouldn't look at him, and the white noise was replaced by the mournful, incoherent moan of fear.

"Yes, you can. Look, I'll sit right here. If you can't say it, then think it. I'll close my eyes and wait for you to be ready." Matt shut his eyes and listened as hard as he could.

He heard nothing. Once more, Mohinder neither spoke nor thought his secret.

But when Matt opened his eyes again, he understood exactly what it was.

Their lips parted; it had been a sweet and sad kiss, one of dying hope surrounded by fatalistic desperation. A kiss like the last gasp of a dying man.

Now Mohinder's eyes were closed, and there were twin pearls rolling down his cheeks.

And Matt caught his breath at how beautiful those tears were.

His face was still close, still tilted up despite the tears as though hoping for more despite himself. A gentle curl of hair fell awkwardly over one eye. Matt found himself reaching over to touch it, brush it away. His heart was racing. Some ancient conventions were tugging at his mind, to be sure— somehow this had to be wrong, or not normal, or something— but his inhibitions were dulled by alcohol and now all he knew were long, dark, tear-studded eyelashes and warm breath on his skin. And as he tucked that strand of hair behind Mohinder's ear, it shuddered, and Matt's hand found its way back across the tan face and the sandpaper of stubble on Mohinder's chin, and he realized he wasn't averse to this feeling at all.

What would happen if I...? he thought.

And as if in answer, though Matt was sure he hadn't yet learned to transmit a thought—

Please, just try.

Please. Please, just give it a chance.

And that voice was persuasive. Matt lifted his other hand to cup Mohinder's face, feeling the sandpaper beneath both palms. He bent his forehead forward to touch Mohinder's. Matt could feel the color creeping into Mohinder's cheeks, the blood rising through that rough jaw. He watched Mohinder's lips purse slightly. Those lips has touched his, but he couldn't remember now what it felt like. And he had to know.

Moving into the kiss— lips touching, seeking a connection, awkwardly brushing, settling— was slow and agonizingly delicious. So much so that Matt himself was surprised at how passionate the kiss became once those puzzle pieces had found their perfect fit. He pulled Mohinder close with one arm, feeling trembling hands settle on his shoulders, and realized he was harder than he'd been in a long time. And Mohinder's mind was no longer sending any messages— he was thinking entirely with his body now. For that matter, so was Matt.

He leaned forward, pushed Mohinder down onto the couch, feeling the need to crush his weight down against him. Their legs intertwined. Matt wanted desperately to grind himself into this man. His hips had a mind of their own. He had to have him, had to dominate him. It was an overpowering need, and he growled low in his throat as Mohinder's lips left his and sunk with a flutter into the skin of his neck. Oh. Oh, it was too much. "Oh, God," he muttered, unable to contain the words.

The sound, the first breaking of this silent madness that had overtaken them, shocked them both into stillness. Eyes wide open now, they blinked, stared at each other, sat up awkwardly, made sure not even fingertips or fabric or shoes were touching. Matt stared down at his clenched hands.

"T—- that's—" he tried to say. "Was that—"

"I did try to keep it from you," Mohinder said. "Just my luck to fall for a mind-reader."

"Did you—" The words would not string together. "I mean, are you— Are we...??"

"I don't know," Mohinder said. His voice was slow and clear. "I don't think there's a yes or no answer to that question."

"Isn't there?" Matt wanted there to be. He wanted a bright line that would put him on one side or the other. Either he liked men or he didn't. Granted, he couldn't for the life of him think of another man to whom he'd been attracted. But he couldn't think of a woman he'd felt this way about, either.

All he could think about was Mohinder.

Mohinder and Molly and this life they'd built without knowing it. This family. Molly wasn't his daughted, but he loved her. And Mohinder wasn't his wife— or husband, or co-parent, or whatever, but...

He found his lips curling around Mohinder's name. It was as though he were saying it for the first time.

Mohinder froze. "What?"

"We've got a good thing going here," Matt said lamely.

"Yes," sighed Mohinder, running his fingers through his hair. "I suppose you're right. N- no sense in upseting it." His voice wavered.

"No!" Matt said, impulsively taking the young professor's hands. "This. This," he repeated, squeezing those hands tightly. He knew he was blushing, knew he was taking a step into a place he never thought he'd be. But far from stopping him, that awareness seemed to be pushing him through that door. "It feels like a good thing. And— if it's good, I want—-"

For the first time that night, Mohinder gave a hint of a hopeful smile..

Matt lost his words again. "Damn it, I can't think. It's your damned white noise. I can't think about—" His voice trailed off, and as though taking great care not to break him, he ran two fingers down Mohinder's cheek to his throat, fingertips fluttering on the softness of the skin there. When he spoke again, his voice was weak. "All I know is, I want you— more than, I think, I've wanted anything." The words sounded so clear and true to Matt as he heard them spoken. "Mohinder, I'm not sure how to do this—"

"Me neither," grinned Mohinder.

That smile did something to him. Matt groaned and kissed him again. Hard this time. Colors and notes were flying through his head in a cacophony. The red heat rising up from the base of his spine caught fire again, and he crushed Mohinder in a bear hug, feeling arms snaking around his waist and neck and thinking he might not survive just how good they felt.

Bedroom, Mohinder thought.

Yes, bedroom, Matt answered in his own mind, and as though he'd heard, Mohinder pulled them both up, never breaking the embrace, guiding himself and Matt backwards across the room and toward the larger of the two bedrooms. It was where he slept on his once-rare visits home. Matt was used to smaller, cozier spaces, so he didn't care for large beds or open space. But tonight there would have to be plenty of room for them both.

How they managed to negotiate themselves onto Mohinder's bed without waking Molly, much less the neighborhood, was anyone's guess. Mohinder was clinging to him tightly, his lips eagerly exploring and nibbling where he could, and Matt's gasps were not too far short of moans. He worked his hands underneath Mohinder's shirt, finding his bare skin a wondrous landscape to discover. It was torture to break those long kisses even enough to get the sweater off him. When they came back together after such a break, they were like swimmers gasping for air. They breathed each other's kisses. They couldn't stand to part.

When Matt reached down beneath Mohinder's belt to grab him, Mohinder's whole body bucked upward as he sucked in a breah. His head arched backwards. The sight was unbearably sexy to Matt, who buried his head in Mohinder's neck and began whispering into his shoulder. "Oh my God, I've got to have you," he muttered, feeling his own hardness and Mohinder's, as the other man's hands clasped his buttocks possessively.

When Mohinder's eyes next opened, Matt felt his senses come to him again for a moment. "Mohinder, I really don't know how to do this. I don't know how it works. Shouldn't I get some, I don't know, lube or something?" The words— particularly that one word— sounded hopelessly awkward, and Matt was afraid he'd ruined everything.

"I don't think so," Mohinder managed between ragged breaths."I don't think I can wait that long." He was wriggling out of his pants as he spoke, striving to turn around to allow Matt access. It wasn't that he found the position— or the sight— terribly sexy, but it was Mohinder, and it transfixed Matt that Mohinder was saying those words, Mohinder was grabbing pillows for support and looking up at him, pleading—

"No, I can't wait either," Matt muttered, getting his own pants down and gripping Mohinder's waist. It was too much, he was too hard— and before he even knew it he was entering him. Mohinder was crying out. Matt could see Mohinder squeezing himself and hear him moaning. He realized with some distress that he was fucking another man, damn it, and that should be so wrong, but it was Mohinder, and Mohinder felt so, so right— so insanely right.

Matt couldn't just fuck him, as good and maddening as it felt to just rock forward into him, over and over. He had to lean forward, to kiss the skin of his bare back, to trail his hands along the line of that lean, dark body. He had to connect with him. He had to let him know he knew what he was doing, that he wanted to be here. He would not let Mohinder regret sharing his secret for one minute.

Mohinder turned his head back to make eye contact. He was biting his lip. It wasn't long, the glance that they shared— Mohinder's eyes rolled back into his head and he bit the pillow fiercely, letting out a groan— but it was long enough to tell Matt that Mohinder knew. And he closed his eyes and listened to the music of Mohinder's thoughts:

God, Matt— I've been dreaming of this—

Holy— that feels so good—

Oh— slower— yes, yes, just like that, slow and deep—

Need you, need more of you—

and the explosion of thought and sensation as Mohinder came was so loud, but this white noise Matt didn't mind as his mind released its hold on reality and he answered with a white-hot explosion of his own, one that seemed to throw him across the room with its intensity—

Then the thoroughly sweaty collapse of two bodies across a bed, nibbling kisses and frantic grabs and caresses as the last embers of the fire caught the wind and flared up before dying— and then all was still, inside and out.

"Holy shit," Matt mumbled into Mohinder's shoulder.

"My thoughts exactly," Mohinder gasped.

When he could bear to break the embrace, Matt rolled sideways off of him with a grunt.

Mohinder's eyes were still wide, clinging to Matt's as though he might disappear if he even blinked. "I don't know what to say," he ventured. "That was—"

"Me neither," Matt interrupted. "But yeah, it was."

Mohinder grinned and nodded. That smile disarmed Matt— it always did. He leaned in to kiss him. Mohinder responded with tenderness, and Matt felt a swelling of happiness that he barely knew what to do with. So he smiled too. Two grins on two men, thoroughly sated and giddily in love.

Will this still be OK tomorrow? The thought flew into Matt's mind with a sudden urgency, though Mohinder's smile never flickered. Then he realized that it wasn't Mohinder's thought he was hearing but his own.

But he heard Mohinder's answer all the same.