(no subject)
That died 30 years ago...
Heroes | Sylar/Mohinder
PG13 | 301 words
“A disco?” A thick eyebrow rose curiously above the sheen of the club flyer, dark eyes staring down a wide, enthused smile.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun.” Mohinder exclaimed, the smile gaining width in reaction to the ever narrowing eyes cast his way. Sylar dropped the flyer into his lap, his right hand slapping instinctively over the music list, “My idea of fun is not going to a club whose theme died 30 years ago.”
Mohinder folded his arms across his chest, slumping down into the chair, choosing this time to jut out his bottom lip. Sylar shot him a look and the lip was pulled back, the owner straightening up. “I don’t see why you have to be so pessimistic…” he paused, meeting his gaze, “besides, I went to your little serial killing convention.”
Within seconds, Sylar’s hand bounced up, his index finger pointing accusingly at Mohinder as his back pushed away from the chair, “Hey, you had fun. Don’t lie.”
He had to admit, he was right; and the workshop on eliminating fingerprints from a crime scene had especially intrigued him. Even though every strand of his moral fiber had been broken the minute he stepped into that hallway.
His eyes drifted away for a moment, a heavy sigh following before Mohinder returned his gaze on Sylar. “Please?”
Sylar looked up from the advertisement, tapping his finger lightly against the tabletop. His eyebrows creased mischievously, a smile tugging on his lips. “What’s in it for me?” Mohinder made a face, pushing off the chair to lean over the table as he captured Sylar’s lips in his own.
The normally timid approach turned hard as Sylar returned the favor; breaking off only after the heat became too much.
“Fine…” he exhaled, short bouts of warm breath brushing against his lip, “You win.”
Heroes | Sylar/Mohinder
PG13 | 301 words
“A disco?” A thick eyebrow rose curiously above the sheen of the club flyer, dark eyes staring down a wide, enthused smile.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun.” Mohinder exclaimed, the smile gaining width in reaction to the ever narrowing eyes cast his way. Sylar dropped the flyer into his lap, his right hand slapping instinctively over the music list, “My idea of fun is not going to a club whose theme died 30 years ago.”
Mohinder folded his arms across his chest, slumping down into the chair, choosing this time to jut out his bottom lip. Sylar shot him a look and the lip was pulled back, the owner straightening up. “I don’t see why you have to be so pessimistic…” he paused, meeting his gaze, “besides, I went to your little serial killing convention.”
Within seconds, Sylar’s hand bounced up, his index finger pointing accusingly at Mohinder as his back pushed away from the chair, “Hey, you had fun. Don’t lie.”
He had to admit, he was right; and the workshop on eliminating fingerprints from a crime scene had especially intrigued him. Even though every strand of his moral fiber had been broken the minute he stepped into that hallway.
His eyes drifted away for a moment, a heavy sigh following before Mohinder returned his gaze on Sylar. “Please?”
Sylar looked up from the advertisement, tapping his finger lightly against the tabletop. His eyebrows creased mischievously, a smile tugging on his lips. “What’s in it for me?” Mohinder made a face, pushing off the chair to lean over the table as he captured Sylar’s lips in his own.
The normally timid approach turned hard as Sylar returned the favor; breaking off only after the heat became too much.
“Fine…” he exhaled, short bouts of warm breath brushing against his lip, “You win.”