Hello this is a fun little thing I did for the Back To Mylar Ficathon on LJ. People liked it there, so it's migrating over to fanfiction. Hope you guys enjoy!
ac-the-brain-supreme does not own Heroes. If she did, there would be lots of Mylar and Mott goodness.
Dancing is one of the few international things. Every culture does it, in some way or another. Some dance by the tribal thumps of ceremonial drums. Some skip to the joyous whistles of flutes. Some twist passionately to the thrums of a guitar. Whatever the moves by whatever music, the dancing is almost always the same: to celebrate, to mourn; to attract, to repel; to tell a story, to make a wish.
In the animal world, dancing is sometimes used to attract a mate. From the graceful crane, dipping and flapping, to butterflies, whose flipping and clutching to its partner creates the next generation of fluttering gems. But the one animal who practices this type of dancing most often is the human being. Huge buildings are dedicated to this act of sensual movements, of finding the perfect mate for the night or for the rest of your life. Music is made for people that gets them to start dancing. It's a talent, it's an art form.
It's how they met.
(----------)
Somehow, his heart is in perfect synch with the bass trembling the floor he is standing on. He knows that his heart is not the only one experiencing this change. But he wonders if any of these other women or men are having their dance partners slide their hands up their stomach, then back down to the waist band of their pants or skirts. He wonders if he's the only one this stranger has ever touched like this.
Mohinder looks up into the brown-black eyes of the man he is dancing with. There is something in them. Something that looks like lust, but not quite. Is it the alcohol that is dimming them? Has this man even had anything to drink? Mohinder has, but he's sure that not even half a beer is enough to impair judgment.
Mohinder's hand slides down his dance partner's neck. The way they're dancing is a little strange: Mohinder's back is to the stranger, swaying back and forth while the stranger holds Mohinder by the waist, hips moving forward, bumping against Mohinder in an attractive, arousing way. Mohinder moans softly when he thinks of how they are dancing. He needs to remember to thank his friends for dragging him out of his apartment for once in his life, for taking him to this dance club, for encouraging him to dance with this handsome stranger. Mohinder leans completely on the stranger, feeling his body mold against the man behind him.
The stranger leans down a little, his mouth right next to Mohinder's ear. "You feel just as beautiful as you look."
Mohinder doesn't know why, but that statement makes something click in his mind. In less than a second, Mohinder's turned around, hands deep in the stranger's short hair, lips and body pressed as hard as possible against the man's. His partner wraps his arms around Mohinder's waist again. One hand finds a patch of warm, exposed skin and sits there, enjoying it.
Maybe half a beer does impair one's judgment.
(----------)
It's almost like a dance, how they get to the bedroom.
At first, Mohinder is leading. Leading his dancing partner to his apartment, because it's closer. Leading him through the door before he finds himself pressed against the nearest wall. Lips and tongue attack Mohinder's, all the while the Indian man is smiling. He's never felt so alive.
Mohinder finally regains control, pushing the stranger onto the couch, then climbing on top of him to continue their kissing. Now, their hands dance across each other. To get off shirts, to unbutton buttons, to get the other naked first; to touch warm skin, to feel the other's hair, to gain the control that has been temporarily thrown as a free-for-all.
The stranger finally gains control, pushing Mohinder into a sitting position against the arm of the couch. They stay like that: Mohinder defeated, the stranger leaning over him. They are both panting, but only the stranger seems to be conscious of what is happening. Mohinder had gotten lost in the excitement, the movements, the leading, the being led. It's only when the stranger's hands are sliding down his sides that Mohinder realizes what's going on, what may be happening soon. He hears a smile and a chuckle, then feels the stranger move closer to him and whisper, "You're beyond beautiful, Mohinder. You're perfection."
Mohinder wonders where this stranger learned his name.
(----------)
The dance underneath the sheets, in the bed, has to be the most exhilirating.
The stranger is gentle, but fierce and rough. Cautious, but risky.
Mohinder can't describe it, can't even think about it. Whatever this man is doing, whoever he is, he's just about the best damn fuck Mohinder's had in a long, long time. Maybe ever, even. He makes Mohinder's skin burn with each breath, makes his head fall back whenever he touches his hair, makes him moan with each bite. And when it's all over, he makes Mohinder want more.
(----------)
The awkward dancing around the loud creaks in the floorboards the next morning is probably the most painful thing he has to go through.
The stranger is the first to wake up the next morning, eyes foggy before finally focusing on the Indian beauty he had gone home with. The first thing he notices is the relaxed expression on Mohinder's face, followed closely by the scent of his hair. It smells warm, soft, and like love. Or at least an incredible substitute. He knows it's the incredible substitute, but Gabriel Gray has found a way to dance around the truth and interpret things however the hell he wants.
That's it. There may be a "sequel" on it's way. I have nothing to do this weekend, so maybe I'll write it then.
Later!
--ac-the-brain-supreme