Fic: You Can't Hide It Forever
Title: You Can't Hide It Forever
Author:
squills
Genre: Angst, romance?
Rating: R (some sex but nothing too graphic)
Summary: In the future of 5YG, Sylar broods over Mohinder while trying to convince himself that he isn't.
Word Count: 992
Notes: This is the first fanfic I ever wrote. The idea for the ending popped into my head and I couldn't get it out of there until I'd written it down. Apparently, I'm a romantic at heart. I originally posted this directly at
mylar_fic, and you can read the original comments there.
Mohinder's sweat always smelled as wild to him as it had the first time.
He hated feeling that way, hated desire. It implied a weakness, which was something that he had left behind. He did not need. He only took, sometimes just for the sake of taking.
He hated being Petrelli too. It was a mask to placate the world and he'd thought he was done with that as well. But it was a necessary means to an end, and so he tolerated it. Besides, a politician traveled a lot, met people, shook hands. And every so often, those hands belonged to someone who was...special.
That girl, last night, he'd been lucky to catch sight of her. Lucky in many ways: her telepathy would make it so much easier to deal with the Parkman situation. He'd hungered desperately for that ability and that had made it even harder to push down his own personality, cover it up, never knowing if he might have let something revealing slip. But Parkman could go places and watch people that the President couldn't, so the policeman had been allowed to live despite the danger and temptation that he presented. He regretted that decision now. Reading minds himself was already making things easier--he might even be able to locate Claire quietly on his own.
And of course, any traveling meant an excuse to meet with Mohinder on his return, to talk about progress on the research--and they both knew what would happen after the talking. He'd resisted the idea at first, not wanting to do anything that might cause problems for the Petrelli mask, not wanting to give in to anything like desire. But bit by bit it had overtaken him, and bit by bit he'd shown it to Mohinder.
Mohinder had resisted the idea at first, too, and had kept Petrelli at arm's length. He had no one but himself to blame for that. As he fumbled at the last button on the Indian's shirt, memories ghosted in front of him: coming back from his late-night visit to that mechanic, passing outside the door to number 23, hearing the rapid breathing and other soft rhythmic sounds behind it, hearing that borrowed name of his whispered in ecstasy. Taking power always gave him a rush of exhilaration that made him crave more, and that was what prompted him to knock and force his voice into a soft tone as he said, "Mohinder? I can't sleep." Heard the man's heart beat even faster as he answered, "Zane, I...I can't either." Heard a zipper being pulled shut, heard him swallow nervously as he turned the door handle. At that moment, he'd only seen it as another way of controlling Mohinder, of coaxing the scientist to hand over those names and driving him to add even more to the list. But he hadn't realized how sweet Mohinder's mouth would feel against his, or how his hands would--
He pushed the memory out of his mind even harder than he pushed Mohinder's shoulders down onto the desk. It had been a lie, another mask, with no future behind it. And when Mohinder had figured that out, everything had been broken irreparably, even Mohinder himself.
When he'd come to and found himself in that chair, the revulsion and disgust and hurt and even despair in Mohinder's eyes had stabbed him far more deeply than the terror of helplessness--later, he'd wondered why Mohinder hadn't just finished him off while he was unconscious to end the agony. A small piece of him, thinking about what he had lost, would actually have welcomed death. But for some reason Mohinder had hesitated to kill him, had put it off as long as possible, and all the events that led out of that hesitation had brought them to this, the alleged president and his scientific advisor, naked and intimate but yet somehow empty together.
Mohinder had eventually yielded to the President, but even after months of trysts, he never clutched Petrelli with frantic need the way he had Zane...the way he had the man pretending to be Zane. Even when he climaxed, a piece of him seemed to stay remote and untouchable, almost as if his mind were somewhere else, forever shut off from his lover.
The disappointment that welled up at that realization...it was just disappointment at the loss of control. Nothing more. Mohinder's body was something he took simply because he could. Nothing more. He tightened his grip on Mohinder's arm and dug his nails in. He heard Mohinder suppress a groan of pain, pressed his body more tightly against the dark man underneath him and thought no more, just drank in the feel of skin and bone and flesh surrounding him and the rush of Mohinder's breathing as it came faster and faster and the arching of his back as he--
"Sylar!"
He froze. He'd mentally prepared a dozen different plans for handling things if he were ever found out, but none of them had involved this. He pulled his concentration back to himself and tensed for battle. Then he glanced at Mohinder: head twisted to one side, eyes squeezed shut as he began to come, lips parted but no noise escaping except for low gasps of pleasure. And yet he could clearly hear, in a shuddering tone: "Sylar...yes...oh, don't stop...Sylar..."
He slowly reached up and brushed a thumb against Mohinder's open lips, let his hand drift gently down the velvety neck and come to rest on the collarbone below. Mohinder turned to him and opened his eyes--there almost seemed to be a hint of tears in them. With a small, sad smile, he said with his voice, "Nathan? Is something wrong?" But underneath that, almost like an echo, was, "I wish you were him...I wish..."
"Everything's fine," Sylar said as he caressed Mohinder's neck again. "Don't worry. Everything is going to be just fine. One day soon, you'll see."