Sylar

The sex he could at least say he understood. There had always been something between the two of them, something beyond the hate, as Mohinder's body had affirmed the first time he had come to him. That in place, that connection intact, it hadn't been that hard to get the Indian to be the one to initiate contact this time -- all he'd had to do was push the right combination of buttons and Mohinder's mouth had been ghosting his. He'd take that as a free pass to do what he'd wanted to for years, and they'd gone from there.

The fact that after, both of them spent and sated, Mohinder had curled up around him, however? That he couldn't quite say he followed. Nor did he understand why he'd mirrored the motion, wrapping his arms around the other man to hold him to his chest, or why Mohinder had fallen asleep like that. There might have been enough chemistry between them to warrant his fucking Suresh hard into the mattress, but the aftermath wasn't them. He couldn't help but wonder if Nathan was having a greater effect on him than he originally, though -- if this wasn't just one-sided, his influence bleeding into the senator without his meaning it to. He couldn't help but wonder if Mohinder had caught that, somehow, and latched onto it and the ghost of two men he'd become.

Frowning at the thought, he extricated himself from the sleeping geneticist carefully, and scooted to the edge of the bed. Whatever their reasons for what had happened after their stolen minutes of heat, and no matter how much he inexplicably may have wanted to, he knew he couldn't stay. He didn't get a morning after; he never really had. Not with Maya -- not that he'd wanted one. Not with Elle, thanks to Bennet. Not now. At least this time, it was his choice. Better to go out on his own terms than to shift involuntarily later, unable to hold his thoughts together, and have Mohinder watch and pity him.

He wanted so many things, but never that.

Casting a glance over his shoulder, watching the rise and fall of Mohinder's bare chest, and then sighed, looking away. He sat there for a moment, in the silence, and then soundlessly he was standing up, moving for the vanity case on the dresser. He opened it, palming Nathan's cufflinks -- the ones the senator had packed without real reason and carried so many of his memories -- and closed the box, heading back over to the bed. He settled back down on it lightly, stretched out next to the Indian, and draped an arm over his waist, slowly and carefully.

Mohinder stirred but didn't wake, and he waited a moment before putting his mouth near the other man's ear. He hesitated, poised to say something but unable to pin down the words, all the things he could say warring for a piece of the spotlight in his head. And he dismissed them all in the end, instead rehashing something he'd said earlier that night, the words barely a breath against Mohinder's ear. "Something beautiful before I die."

He leaned back, dropping his head to the pillow, and closed his eyes. Expertly, he shifted the cufflinks in his hand, pressing his thumb to the face of one, and slowly he pulled memory that wasn't his own from the jewelry. His breathing stuck in the back of his throat, he felt the change washing over him, hair suddenly short at the nape of his neck, bones and skin falling into riot. And sooner rather than later, the shifts quicker now for all the times he'd practiced them willingly or otherwise, black beyond what he could see on the insides of his eyelids swept down on him, stripping him of his consciousness.

Unaware, Nathan Petrelli slept through the night, fingers curled tightly around the cufflinks in his hand.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 656

There were plenty of things Sylar could say had happened in his life that just weren't fair. Chandra and Elle molding the innocent watchmaker into a super-powered psychopath, for one -- he'd never wanted that life, he'd just wanted to be someone special. The Shanti Virus, or the stabbing that had preceded it also ranked high on the list. Having to sleep with Maya, so she wouldn't find her brother's body. The Petrelli mindscrew and Mohinder beating his head in at Pinehearst. The list went on and on, really.

He thought he'd found the one thing that had taken the cake, ranked at the top of the list, in being forced to wear Nathan Petrelli's skin, however. In spite of all of his crimes and his own need for an eye for an eye, that was cruel and unusual punishment. He would have chosen dying -- really dying -- over being a prisoner to someone else's thoughts, but here he was. Trapped. Unable to even rely on himself, on the one person who had never left or betrayed him, and all because he wasn't around half the time, thanks to Ma Petrelli.

He thought that had been the worst possible injustice he would ever know, but he had been wrong. So wrong. And all because despite Mohinder's ultimate rejection of him in favor of the stranger in his head, despite telling Mohinder he quit -- that Nathan won, and he'd lock himself away forever, as had been the idea -- he was still aware. He couldn't hide in the senator's shadow or slip away to nothingness as he had hoped, letting Nathan become far more than just the dominant personality. He got to watch every waking moment, and with his latest decision to give in, it was more torture now than it had ever been.

( If he could have sighed, he would have, but instead he was stuck with what seemed to him to be a porn gone wrong. )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 862
Note: Mohinder is witnessof_fate and is used with permission. Nathan is, um, mine I guess, since he's a figment of Sylar's imagination?

Sylar can't help the feeling of deja vu that sweeps over him as he moves out to the lake. It was night last time, true, but he and Claire have done this dance before, her wading in near the exact same spot she had been last time, him hovering at the water's edge. He's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing--it could be a do-over for the other night, it could be a repeat of past performances--but it doesn't stop him from going through the same motions as last time.

He toes off his boots, moving them away from the water with an idle gesture, his other hand going to the buttons of his shirt. Deftly, he undoes them, shrugging out of his shirt to drape it over a low hanging tree branch a few feet away. His pants follow suit, and he's left standing in his boxers at the water's edge, staring out at it dubiously, knowing just how cold it will be. Like last time, though, he doesn't let it stop him, and with a deep breath, he slips into the water, fighting the urge to shiver. At least the sun has lent some warmth to the lake, this time.

In surprising silence, he moves over to where she's treading water and wraps his arms around her from behind. She starts a bit, tensing, and then she's relaxing back into him slowly, her shoulders pressing into his chest. They float there in silence for what seems like forever, both fixated on the shimmer of the water as it catches the sun and dances around them, and then she's tilting her head back so she can stare up at his chin. He lowers his head, looking down at her, trying to keep his expression unreadable.

"You're not gonna get all weird this time, are you?" she asks, after another moment of silence.

He shakes his head. He's not sure what his problem was, last time--that should have been his moment of triumph, given that she picked him over Peter--but he doesn't want to go there again. He doesn't want another half-fight or whatever the hell he should be calling the other night; he doesn't want to spend the night awake and alone without her, brooding. Funny how dependent he's gotten, how the admission of three little words have all but shaken up everything he is, but he doesn't comment on it. He doesn't comment on much, actually, content to watch her mutely, instead.

Claire quirks a little smile, like she was expecting that, and then she's nodding, more for her own benefit than his own. She turns in his arms, looking up at him, and then, "Good."

A soft noise by way of agreement, and he's reaching up to press his fingers to her mouth lightly, tracing the curve of her lips. She shivers a bit, and he can't help but crack a small, pleased smile before dropping his hand away, leaning down to kiss her in the wake of touch. She returns it, almost tenderly--funny how they can have that, too, given who they are and in spite of what she told Peter--and then he's pushing her back towards the rock at water's edge.

Her clothes are still there, and they're either going to get damp or dirty, depending on whether or not they stay on the rock with them, but he doesn't care. Neither does she, judging by the way her fingers curl against his shoulder, dragging him up onto it along with her as they reach it. She pulls away, once they're situated, looking up at him coyly, and he grins a bit, threading his fingers through her wet hair, slipping through it to rest on her chest, over her heart and dangerously close to sensitive skin.

Arching up into his hand, she moans as he lets his touch wonder down over her breast, and he lowers his head to catch the sound, mouth pressed to hers again. And as they stretch out on the rock, his fingers skating over water-slicked skin to press against her hip, he can't help but think this is a do-over. They didn't get as far as this the other night, after all, and even if they had, he wouldn't have been as gentle as he is now.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 720
Note: Claire is girl_ofsecrets and is used with permission. Yes, I copped out on the smut, but you can deal with it. :P

Claire had decided along the way somewhere that she liked the Jeep that she had chosen as she could fold down the back seat to make a sort of bed that she could lay on. Sylar would have to curl up just a bit to fit but it worked better than sleeping on the back seat. Not as comfortable as a hotel bed or any other bed but it worked for being on the run.

She wasn't sure what time it was, she figured it was late as the night was an inky onyx color, broken by tiny pinpricks of light that she could see through the tinted glass of the vehicle. She wasn't sure where they were either but she figured close to the border which was a comforting thought as well. Comfort would be nice as she had been feeling weird ... maybe from constantly looking at a female in the front seat or maybe it was because things felt different. She was no longer on the run because she had to be; she had chosen it.

Sylar, still wearing the female body they'd decided on, shot a glance back at her through the rear view mirror. Claire had been asleep for the better part of the afternoon, and considering the fact that she knew the other girl hadn't slept most of the time she'd been unconscious, she didn't blame her. In fact, it was almost a shock that she was awake now, and the killer spent a moment in silence, wondering whether she'd doze back off before bothering to speak up.

"It's late," she started, casually, as if she'd somehow read Claire's mind.

Perhaps it was the long drive doing it to her or maybe it was just pure exhaustion finally catching up to her from staying awake for days while plotting to get Sylar back. He had saved her the effort, he had made it back himself all on his own but it still had taken a toll on her. Laying there on her side, she glanced up at him -- her --and nodded a little at the comment.

( "You should sleep if you're tired, there should be a place to pull over." )

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count 7312

1. Tenth grade. Lisa Davies. I was a good Catholic boy, and well, impure thoughts and all that. Take a stab in the dark as to how many Hail Marys Father Cook made me do, after that--or how many he would have made me do, if I'd said a damn word about it.

2. The first time I used my telekinesis. Yes, I felt guilty afterward, when it hit me what I'd done, but before that? It felt so damn good.

3. Any of the times I met with Elle, before she brought Trevor to me. I say that I shouldn't have been aroused for two reasons, though. One, the bitch was just using me to get what she wanted--or what Angela and Bennet wanted--and yeah, hindsight is twenty-twenty and I'm aware that it wasn't really her fault as she was just following orders, but still. And two, at the time I was still a meek, little watchmaker, and thinking about women that way wasn't like me.

4. Before having my spinal fluid drawn by force. Not the most enjoyable experience of my life, but the guy doing it put his mouth to my ear and told me it was going to hurt beforehand. Subtext much, Suresh?

5. We're going to do one backwards, just because I feel it's worth mentioning. One time I wasn't aroused when I should have been, and that award goes to Michelle--Candice--whatever. She thought making me see a geisha or a pair of blonde twins or myself would turn me on? Hate to break it to her, but I hate all things Japanese, as well as things that remind me of certain cheerleaders, and I'm not that narcissistic.

6. Any time I was with Maya before I slept with her. I put it like that because actually kissing her, sleeping with her, turned out to be something of a chore--she was horrible in bed, and when a virgin can say that, you know it's pretty bad--but before that? She had a nice body, not to mention the fact that she and her brother technically saved my life, and I should have been more focused on getting my abilities back. Maybe if I had been, I wouldn't have had to screw her in the first place.

7. There's something intimate about having your fingers on someone's brain and them living through it. I'm pretty sure she's still jail bait, though--I may be a lot of things but I'm not a pedophile--and having a knife through your chest sort of puts a damper on things.

8. Being fried by Elle--at Pinehearst, not at Suresh's lab. Oh, I'm not saying it didn't hurt, but ever since taking Claire's ability, there's something wonderful about pain. Maybe because it's a high, knowing I'll survive no matter what they try and do to me. Or maybe the fact that I was turned on had nothing to do with pain--I ended up shirtless and I had a thing for Elle at one point. You do the math. I say I shouldn't have been turned on, though, because she killed me. Repeatedly.

9. When I gave Meredith the shot of adrenaline. There's just something attractive about seeing other people lose control, particularly when it's more or less guaranteed that they'll kill themselves or the people they care about, in the process. And the way she looked at me, afterward? Priceless. I probably should have been focusing more on the task at hand, but what can I say? I'm still human, despite arguments to the contrary.

10. Torturing Agent Simmons. Torture in general is usual pretty erotic on it's own, but there was just something about that instance that I can't put my finger on. Maybe because it was the first time I'd done anything like that in such a long time, and unlike Mendez, Simmons made all kinds of wonderful little noises. I bet if the Campbells hadn't come home, he even would have begged me to kill him.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 656