Punk
Mohinder was visiting him at the station today.
Which sucked.
Not that Matt didn't enjoy Mohinder's company.
Enjoy that warm fuzzy completely and utterly terrifying feeling at the knowledge Mohinder sought him out, rearranged his schedule so they could have lunch together.
Just that Mohinder's presence always caused a bit of an uproar.
Which Mohinder was entirely oblivious to as he couldn't actually hear it.
Matt could.
He heard the storm of dirty thoughts in Mohinder's wake.
Single women, married women,--married men thinking things they should not be thinking. Cragen, that sonofabitch and his 'a mouth's a mouth' justification. Prick. How dare he look at Mohinder like one of the hustlers brought in by vice squad!
And Betty, the sweet little old lady from records. Imagining things with fuzzy handcuffs that had Matt longing to gouge out his inner eye.
He wanted to yell 'Back off!' Wanted to put his arm around Mohinder's shoulders, in a completely innocent and protective gesture, and lead him away from this seething pit of hormones.
Don't touch him! He's mine!
His what? His friend? His roommate? His no chance in hell with co-parent?
This is why Mohinder visiting the station sucked. Because Mohinder is gorgeous and brilliant and while Matt can reluctantly accept the idea that eventually Mohinder is going to one of these days look back at someone, Matt refuses to let it be someone he works with.
Been there, done that.
The very possibility of it ruins Matt's lunch. Sours his stomach and turns him into a moody monosyllabic jerk.
Makes Mohinder worry and wonder if he's done something wrong. Which of course only makes Matt feel worse.
This had to stop.
Matt decides he's staging an intervention.
He pulls Mohinder into an empty interrogation room and shuts the door.
"You can't visit me here anymore. I-I it's too much. The objectifying. The mental flinging of panties in your direction. I can't--I have to work with these people."
"I'm…I'm sorry. I don't understand. Are you saying I'm not allowed to see you at the station because your co-workers find me attractive? And this-this bothers you?"
Matt can't tell what Mohinder's expression means and his thoughts have switched to Tamil. This sends Matt into such a panic his words spill out, syllables tripping over each other.
"No! I mean-yes…It bothers me because it's more than finding you attractive. Everyone here from meter maids down to the guys in the holding cells want to do naughty things to you! It's sickening. It's embarrassing. It's the great Mohinder love fest. It's everywhere. Like disco."
Mohinder stares at him as if he just confessed he plans to run off with Angela Petrelli. But Matt has found a metaphor that works for him and his uncooperative brain is insisting he run it into the ground.
"It sucks. It's cliché. And I refuse to be a cliché. I don't like following the crowd, I've tried not to, but I am, and right now the crowd is clamoring for you and your dreamy accent. I know I don't have a chance in hell, but I refuse to stand behind the velvet rope and watch all the beautiful people pass me by. We need a new song and dance. Where's a punk movement when you need it?"
Matt's brain is screaming at him to shut up. He's ninety-nine percent sure he's revealed way more than he intended and-whoa! When did Mohinder get so close to him? Without realizing it, the other man has quietly invaded Matt's personal space so completely it's unsure anyone could fit a piece of paper between them.
"Matthew."
Mohinder's breath tickles the side of Matt's face.
"Y-yeah?" How about that? His voice just drifted up into ranges he hasn't heard since puberty.
"Did I ever tell you I love punk music?"
No, Matt honestly can't ever remember that conversation. Of course, he also can't remember his last name right now.
Oh man, Mohinder's lips are just barely brushing his ear. If he turns his head a little to the left, they'll be kissing. He could be kissing Mohinder.
"You-uh-you do?"
The smile Mohinder flashes is more than a little predatory. Very grandma what big teeth you have. Involuntarily he takes a step back, but Mohinder moves with him backing him into the wall.
"Of course I do. I lived in England. Punk music was born there."
Matt suddenly jerks back horrifically offended.
"It was not! Dude, the Ramones showed up on the scene in New York two years before The Clash!"
Mohinder takes less than a moment to recover at this non sequitor.
"And then when they came to England they were nothing more than second billing to the Flamin' Groovies. Just an opening act. Loud noise to get the crowd going."
He knows the Flamin' Groovies! Shut up about that, he was about to kiss you! But he's so totally wrong!
"Bullshit! The Ramones inspired The Damned, The Clash and the Sex Pistols."
A loud scoff of disbelief.
"Don't be naive, the Ramones wouldn't know originality if they found it in a dime bag. And their stage act was clearly derivative of The Beatles."
Matt smirks.
"The Beatles. Who also stole heavily from American music. Face it; your guys are always behind the times."
Mohinder grins at him, eyes laughing like someone who is just beginning to warm to a topic he truly enjoys. Matt doesn't think he's ever seen the other man this excited about something that didn't involve Molly or amino acids.
"Not stole, Matthew. Never stole. Merely improved. Perfected if you will. IfTthe Clash were influenced by American punk it was only to make it better."
"But, the Ramones had longevity! Twenty years together. The Clash fell apart in less than a decade."
Mohinder's eyes immediately go wide with false concern.
"I'm sorry, have you hit your head recently?"
"By the time London Calling came out, the Ramones were on their fourth album--"
"You must have hit your head, or maybe had another close encounter with a fire hydrant and lost all sense. The Clash were political. Thought provoking. Please, explain to me the deep social meaning behind 'Ay, Oh, Let's Go'"
"--Couldn't even keep a drummer. The Clash had what? Maybe three really good years? And Rock the Casbah sucks. There, I said it!—"
"Awareness of your surrounding, Matthew. It's essential to your profession. I can't always be there to rush to your aid."
Mohinder leans forward claiming he needs to check Matt's pupils and Matt punches him in the arm. They're both grinning like idiots. Matt feels happier than he remembers being in ages. He loves this version of Mohinder. Why can't he get this version all the time? This Mohinder jokes with him and they have things in common and he doesn't make Matt feel like a fat dumb cop and oh dear, lord. This version of Mohinder is kissing him!
Hands moving up to cup his jaw, his face, pressing up against him, devouring Matt's mouth.
This version of Mohinder is sucking on his tongue and moaning and Matt instantly decides they can agree to disagree. Hell, this version of Mohinder could confess an affinity for the Starland Vocal Band and Matt would be fine with it as long as they can keep doing this.
When they pull apart, Matt's hands are in the back pockets of Mohinder's pants and his suit jacket has ended up on the floor somehow.
Mohinder presses his mouth the shell of Matt's ear.
"People can look and think all they want. I don't want them. I want you, Matthew."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
The warm bubble of happiness building in Matt's chest is probably a very not-punk emotion. He doesn't care.
Mohinder focuses his gaze on Matt's mouth.
"Hurry home tonight. We'll talk. And if you're really lucky…I'll show you my vinyl collection."