Series: 9/12 Matt is, Mohinder isn't
Title: Have You Met My Serial Killer?
Series Title(s): The ‘Matt is, Mohinder isn’t’ Series; Section Three: Denial, or Not a River at All
Author: JLB
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder, discussion of Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: R for almost sex and lots and lots of swearing
Disclaimer: Oh man, what am I gonna do with all this money that I’m making from slash? Wait. What? Oh-I don’t make money from this? Huh. No wonder I have so much debt.
Notes: Finally, the infamous Matt finds about Sylar chapter you’ve all been waiting for. Well, I’ve
been waiting for.
Mohinder’s POV
It was literally the worst sound in the world. The alarm clock. And I’d already pressed snooze. Twice.
As soon as it goes off I’m awake enough to stretch, just past arm’s length, to hit the snooze. Then I can get another ten minutes of sleep. But apparently, Matt didn’t like that.
When I got up to stop the sound, the terrible, terrible sound, which I had to do by climbing over Matthew, I was stopped. He held me around the chest and already the sound was going on longer than it needed to. I pulled myself away by the edge of bed, and had myself nearly off it entirely, when he grabbed me, firmly, by the hips. I was barely aware of what was going on. I had no idea why he was doing this I just knew I had to stop the alarm.
My entire body was stretched as far as I could stretch. Yet the alarm was still blazing in my ears.
I was so close it was painful.
Matt jerked back violently, throwing me on the other side of him. I briefly struggled with him for escape but he pinned both my wrists over my head. And he sat on my hips as I was in mid-turn, capturing me between his thighs. The entire while Matt was grinning, his tongue half sticking out of his mouth, like a child working very hard on concentrating.
"The alarm clock is for waking up, not ignoring," he said in bemused reprimand, as I squirmed underneath him.
I was making the most undignified sounds, pleading with Matt to let me go. He clearly didn’t understand my aversion to that sound. He wouldn’t let up. The alarm kept going off... I thought was going to die.
"Matt," I said, my voice higher than I wanted. "Turn it off. Let me go!"
I tried pulling my arms out, but his one-handed grip was inescapable. I felt completely helpless. The alarm wasn't making it better. Neither was the fact I couldn't do anything with my legs, as my hips were turned to the side, while my shoulders were flat against the bed, making movement very awkward. I tried bucking him off my hips, but it clearly wasn’t working.
"Matt!" I squirmed. "Let me go. I need to turn it off!"
"You need to wake up," he laughed. I could feel him getting hard against my hipbone. I very much doubted he was doing this for my personal growth. And I was really beginning to regret telling him he could touch me whenever he wanted. He should’ve known by then that before nine in the morning was not a good time to touch me.
Suddenly Molly walked in, with an angry, dismissive look on her face. We both stopped moving. Matt titled his hips, and me with them, to the side. I hoped she couldn’t see anything untoward, but I couldn’t see myself. Nor could I bloody move.
"Hey, Molly-doll!" Matt shouted brightly.
Under Matt’s arm, I could see her shoot Matt a scathing look. "It's Saturday!" She shouted. She promptly unplugged the alarm from the wall and walked away just as quickly.
"Thank you!" I shouted, somewhere over Matt’s massive shoulder. Molly more or less slammed the door behind her. Matt grinned happily at me.
"That was cruel," I accused.
He ground his erection a little into my hip and leaned down lower on me, but didn't let go of my wrists.
"That was fun," he said, rubbing his stubble heavy chin on my exposed side, as my shirt had rode all the way up to my ribs in the struggle.
When his other hand, quite cold, touched my stomach, I gasped. Loudly. And my stomach jumped. My eyes went wide, as did his. We both had the same realization. One of the reasons I didn’t like people to touch me was very apparent between us now. Matt sat up a little and looked at me in awe, like the world had changed. I shook my head in terror.
"Oh my god," he said reverentially, "you're ticklish."
"No! No I'm not!" I lied. This was the exact position I didn’t want to be in. Pinned, completely immobile, at the mercy of a comedy fiend who had just discovered I was ticklish.
"Oh, good sweet God of heaven, this is going to be incredible," he said with a mischievous grin and held his hand above his head.
"NO!" I shouted, to no avail.
He attacked my back, with tickling spider motions and I couldn't stop the laughter. Not happy laughter, but anguished, please stop laughter. He moved his hand all along his rib cage as I squirmed to get away, my chest heaving with laughter and tension. I wanted to tell him to stop and that it was quite uncomfortable to have your body completely seize up with laughter. But I could only get out the echoes of ‘Noo-no-oo-oooo!’ through my squalling and uncontrollable, exhausting laughter.
When he finally let up on my wrists, I tried to get up and flee the bed, but that only succeeded in him catching me from behind and flattening me on my stomach.
"Ooh, you're quick," He chuckled, rubbing his chin on my neck, which made my whole body tense up.
I was completely breathless and shaking from his sadistic torture. He was completely hard at this point. I didn't know why he wouldn't stop with the embarrassing tickling and just fuck me instead. At least then I'd be able to breathe. Well... hopefully. I thought that to him, hoping he’d be paying attention enough, since I couldn't speak through the laughter.
"Oh this is fun. I love this, but I guess... Sure, I'll fuck you. I mean, I suppose I can," he said through laughter. "Oh I'm the KING!" He shouted, holding his arms up in victory.
I turned to lie straight on my back, to catch my breath. I pulled down my shirt angrily. Even though it felt like the strength was completely gone from my arms, I pulled him by the collar until he fell on me. I hitched my knees around his waist to hold him there. I didn’t trust him to gain too much ground.
"I’ll have you know I hated that," I said in a breathy voice.
Matt rested his head on my stomach and chuckled, making me vibrate from the laughter. "That was fun. I love seeing you all flustered."
"That’s precisely why I hated it!" I touched my wrists, where he’d held me down for so long. I was a little amazed how very little trouble it took to pin me with one hand. One hand. I felt terribly weak.
"Hey," he said sympathetically, "you’re not weak. I’m just a big oaf. It’s not your fault I’m twice your size."
"Thank you, Matthew, but I don’t need comfort. I’m completely aware of physics and the fact that you are a police officer and I’m a scientist. There’s really no contest in the strength department. And, actually, I’d say about one and a half times my size. And stop reading my mind!"
Matt chuckled, "Mmm, but you’re feisty!"
"Feisty?"
"A firecracker, I tell ya," he said in a funny voice, before kissing me. He started to slide his hand down my leg, but stopped and made a show of warming up his hands before he did.
I couldn’t suppress a smile, but tried to sound put upon, "You never stop, do you?"
"Oh no. Not on your life," he said, sliding his hand under my boxers and palming me with his warm hand. Our lips met and we slowly, exquisitely made out like teenagers, while he made me hard with his right hand, and let his left hand roam around my body.
His left hand slid up my ribcage, making me shudder a little, but stopped once his hand reached the side of my neck. Then, just for a second, his hand moved slightly, caressing the front of my neck, his thumb coming up to trace my jaw line. I felt the strongest sensation of déjà vu. It was an extremely possessive touch for Matt, something he’d never done before. But I knew someone else had touched me that exact way. Possessively over the throat, dangerous for someone you don’t trust…
I ignored it and stretched upward to steal another kiss, but Matt dodged me. It was then that I noticed his face. He stopped with the roving hand and stopped with the other one too. He looked a little fearful, but also extremely offended.
Then I remembered whose hand it was that had touched me that way.
Sylar.
I had thought about Sylar while fooling around with Matt, and not even under the veiled guise of Zane. My body burned with shame. Had I said his name in my head? Certainly not with any type of lust, if I had. Maybe it was Matt’s ever-increasing powers that just recognized the visuals. I thought of a hand and Sylar and there was his answer.
Matt’s eyes turned very dark, "What the fuck was that?"
I felt the anger and shock rolling off him. For my part, I was trapped in that spot in my own guilt. We’d both stopped moving, but locked in a position of pseudo-intimacy. One of the reasons why I was so attracted to Matt, his size, his weight, his shoulders, were now all the same factors forcing me look at him and stay underneath him in my guilt.
"Please tell me that wasn’t a serial killer you just thought of having sex with. Please tell me that was just some random, what-the-fuck-how-did-that-get-in-my-head thought. You did not sleep with Sylar."
I couldn’t speak because I couldn’t lie. Sure, he could just search my head if he wanted, but I didn’t want to lie to him. Not about this. I probably should have told him before we started sleeping together, but it wasn’t anything I could fix anymore.
Matt’s head was tilted, like he was listening for something specific. The same repeating motion. He did it over and over again. He was double-checking. He was delving in my brain for thoughts about Sylar. I thought Zane hoping to give myself a reprieve, hoping to make him understand. I was fooled. He betrayed me, Matt. I thought he was someone else. The voice in my head sounded desperate.
I was desperate.
After so long, he didn’t say anything.
"Matt," I said tentatively.
He punched the bed on the side of me, making me jump a little. I cursed the thought of Sylar. Being nervous and afraid around Matt was Sylar’s fault. Sylar wouldn’t hesitate to inflict pain; Matt was just angry. He pushed himself off the bed and began to pace the floor furiously. Matt rubbed his temples, like he was trying to erase the thought from the outside of his head.
I swallowed the bitter, coppery taste welling in my mouth. "Let me explain-"
"You had sex-" Matt bellowed, then stopped, adjusting his voice level. In a furious, restrained voice he continued, "You had sex with a serial killer! What the fuck, Mohinder?"
"Matt-"
"He killed your father! He killed Molly’s parents! He almost killed me!"
"I wasn’t-"
"Jesus Fucking Christ! You know what he’s done. What the fuck? Oh my fucking God, I can’t believe you fucked a fucking serial killer. I was investigating his fucking case while you were having sex with him in this fucking apartment! Fuck! In this fucking bed!"
"Matt!" I yelled. "Are you going to let me explain?"
Matt’s faced turned darker than it had already been, "What’s to fucking explain?"
It hit me worse than if he had hit me. That Matt would regard me so callously. That he’d see the situation so black-and-white. I shook my head. He was in shock. He was angry. We’d talk about it. Then everything would be fine.
I hoped.
I moved to the edge of the bed. No longer paralyzed, but feeling heavy and sick. "I would think a lot would matter…"
Matt started pacing again.
I looked at my feet. The dusty floorboards. I felt an intense rush of anger. Sylar had a way of making everything turn to shit in matter of seconds. Usually that involved a random fucking phone call. The memory of his sickly sweet voice over the receiver, too familiar, too comfortable, saying "Mohinder?" as if he were calling like any friend might… It gripped my mind. Matt choked out an angry sounding laugh.
"I slept with a man named Zane Taylor. He was… sweet. And he wanted to help me… with my research. I found out too late what he was."
"You slept with him," He said, as though, this time, he couldn’t believe it.
"Yes. I did," I said shakily. It wasn’t something I really liked to think about, let alone say out loud.
He shook his head. He was beyond having trouble with it. He’d heard the idea, read my mind again, listened to me say it and was still trying to deny it. He paced around the floor for a while longer, making frustrated hand movements and shaking his head.
And I just sat there, waiting for him to speak, because I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have words to make the situation better. I’d been used and for the first time I had to admit it to someone else. I’d been fooled and the consequences had almost been dire. And I thought I would have been able to keep my shame and anger about Sylar to myself. For months, it was only a personal failure. Now it was a failure in my relationship.
Suddenly, broke from his pacing. He pulled his jeans from a stack on the floor and put them on hastily. He grabbed a jacket from the coat rack.
"Where are you going?" I asked more nervously than I wanted to sound.
"I’ve got to get out of here for a while."
"Matt," I said because I couldn’t say anything else.
He looked me in the eyes for the first time in a while. He looked hurt and angry. I felt hurt and angry. And the fact that he found me so repulsive that he felt compelled to leave frightened me. We had, literally, just gotten into the swing of a real relationship. Just gotten familiar with the sex. Just gotten used to trusting each other.
I lamely walked behind him as he walked out of the room. I was completely dumbstruck. He slammed the door behind him. Twenty minutes ago, we were about to have morning sex. Now doors were being slammed. How did that happen? I wondered if I had told him openly before, would he have reacted the same way? Would it have been better or worse? If I had told him early on, would we even have been sleeping together?
Molly ran out of her room, still in her pajamas, looking alarmed.
"What happened?" She looked around. "Where’s Matt?"
"Nothing. Matt and I had a fight. He’s just gone out for a moment."
She looked confused. She had a bit of panic in her voice. "Where did he go?"
"Uh, a, a walk," I said. She wasn’t listening to me. She was making the same face Matt made when he was reading minds. She was looking for him, even though he couldn’t have even made it out of the building yet.
"When’s he coming back?"
"I don’t know," I said, looking around the apartment. "Shouldn’t be too long."
"Why were you yelling? What did you fight about?"
I shook my head. The truth was so terrifying and awful, I couldn’t even think of a lie. Normally, I tried as hard as possible to tell Molly as much as possible. This time I copped out.
"Adult things," I muttered.
"What does that mean?"
"I don’t know!" I snapped. "Just don’t worry about it, Molly!"
We both stood and stared at each other in silence, a little amazed and a little frightened. I had never raised my voice to Molly before. I had chastised her plenty of times. I’d been terse, even angry, with her before. But I had never, ever yelled at her. And it being for no real reason made me even angrier.
"I’m sorry," I said. "I didn’t mean to yell at you, Molly, sweetheart. I’m very sorry. Matthew and I just had a fight and I had no business snapping at you. I’m so very sorry."
She tipped her head to the side and considered the issue coldly. She didn’t look at all happy with me.
"Okay," she said flatly. She didn’t follow it up or even look at me, but I suppose it was more gracious than most children. I had been fearing an outburst. Crying, maybe a ‘You’re not my real father’, and some more door slamming.
"W-would you like to watch some television?" I asked nervously.
"Maybe later," she said curtly. "I’m gonna go back in my room."
"Molly," I called. She ignored me and didn’t slam her door, but wasn’t quiet about shutting it.
I slid to the floor with a groan.
How was it possible to do something like that? Piss off and alienate both Matthew and Molly in the span of a half an hour? It didn’t seem possible for any normal human to accomplish. Thankfully, when it came to ruining relationships with one stupid word, I happened to be exceedingly proficient.
Only with Matt it wasn’t a word, it was a thought. And that was beginning to strike me as unnecessarily unfair. But I was convinced Matt would come back with reason set in. He’d been cruelly surprised, as had I, and he was allowed to be angry about it for a while. With some time alone, he’d realize that he couldn’t be mad at me for what Sylar did.
Matt came home an hour later, which brought Molly out of her room. The good news was that Molly was in much better spirits. She even smiled at me when she said she wanted waffles for breakfast. When I got Matt into an aside, as he didn’t say anything when he first came in the door, he said we couldn’t even mention it in front of Molly. I agreed. He said we’d talk later. I agreed.
I spent the entire day in a tense, nervous knot. My stomach was so unsettled by the evening, that I could only eat rice at supper. I’d spent the entire day trying to glean something, anything from Matt’s complete and total avoidance of me. I felt like I was waiting for a judgment. It was driving me crazy.
Molly noticed of course and asked again what was going on. I decided to let Matt answer because I was a little angry he left without saying much of anything. But, of course, he had the savvy to lie and say it was about money and bills, thus insuring her complete non-interest for the rest of the evening.
The moment Molly’s door was shut, I broke, "I’m sorry I hadn’t told you before, but you have to understand that I was tricked and manipulated in the worst of ways and I would do virtually anything to take back that period of my life. It was excruciatingly embarrassing and painful for me to be used in such a way and I really haven’t gotten over it yet, so that’s why I didn’t tell you sooner. And I had no intention of thinking of him at that time; it just happened. I never have before, never will, and never have ever wanted to think about him during sex or at anything other time with you."
He didn’t roll his eyes, but he sighed heavily. His features had been less angry and more tied throughout the day, but he was still avoiding my eyes.
"Were you working on that all day?" He said, but the sharpness he might have had earlier was gone and instead he just sounded sad.
"No. I-Sort of. I think it’s my 90th revision."
He arched an eyebrow, "Needs work."
I swallowed nervously. I was struck by how he was still trying to use comedy, as he always did, but it just wasn’t him. He wasn’t dry or mean, he was Matt. He was only half-heartedly trying to strike a blow. The rest of him was too sad, or too angry.
"Matt, I’m sorry," I tried again, but he cut me off.
"I know, I know-I just… God, I’ve been thinking about this all day, Mohinder, and I’m still so angry."
"For not telling you? For accidentally thinking of him?"
"For having sex with him in the first place!" He blurted loudly.
"Matt, I thought he was someone he wasn’t. I had no idea until after-"
"I know!" He said with a grimace. "I know that, but Jesus Christ, he was on the run from the FBI at the time. You couldn’t have had all that time together before you found out. And-THREE DAYS?!"
I looked down the hallway, "Keep it down! And stop reading my mind, goddamn it!"
"Three fucking days, Mohinder?" He shouted at a whisper. "How long did you wait before you jumped in the sack? One day? Two days? I hope he took you someplace nice first."
I had to work to unclench my jaw to speak, "Yes, it was fast. It was unusual. And as I said before I regret it immensely. It wasn’t just a bad mistake; it was disastrous. But you will not speak to me like that. You don’t get to judge me like that. You can be mad at me for not telling you. Even for accidentally thinking of him, even though it is incredibly unfair that you can just pull that information from my mind without-"
"I mean, fucking Christ," he continued, as though I hadn’t even spoke, "what the hell does that say about your character, Mohinder?"
Suddenly every muscle in my body was thrown into alert. "My character?" I spat.
We were both looking at each other challengingly. His nose and his eyes flared angrily. "Yes, you’re character. I’m-"
"FU-" I stopped out loud and continued in my head. Fuck you, you fuck! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you in ways you can’t even imagine, you self-righteous asshole!
Serial killer aside, he projected, you fucked a guy you barely knew and let him into your home.
"I did the same for you!"
"You didn’t sleep with me for six months," he whispered, and then yelled in my head, and I’m not a fucking serial killer!
For the last fucking time, I didn’t know--
"That’s not the point!" He said, throwing his hands in the air.
"Then what is the goddamn point?" I added, Because you just seem to be generally pissed about the fact that I wasn’t cautious enough to wonder if a guy I was picking up might be a fucking serial killer. I’m sorry, but who ever thinks that is going to be an option? And can I even mention that you shouldn’t be reading my mind unless I say you can?
"No, you can’t mention it," he growled.
My hands flew to my hair to prevent me from strangling him. I strung together a string of expletives and phrases that I doubt had punctuation or pauses and thought it as intensely as I could.
"Okay, that wasn’t even in English," he said haughtily.
I made sure he caught my eye before I screamed inside my head, FUCK YOU!
After I stood for a moment, by myself, in my room, awaiting the sleepless night, where I had nothing to look forward to but rage and guilt. My stomach clenched at the thought and I could feel me shaking a little from the whole thing. And even though, as far as consolations go, it was pretty stupid and petty and not a consolation at all, I was glad that at least once in the goddamn day I got to slam the door on someone.
Next: Part Ten: Hilarity Ensues
~love from WI
JLB