Fic: The Wrong Move (Sylar/Mohinder, PG-13)
Title: The Wrong Move
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Mohinder/Sylar
Words: 660
Warnings: None, really - just mild slash.
Spoilers: Through 1-18 ("Parasite")
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not writing this for profit.
A/N: This was written for the table I claimed at
un_love_you , prompt #16: "I want to break you."
X-posted at
un_love_you and
mylar_fic
Summary: Sylar doesn't take kindly to being manipulated into losing control.
After Mohinder pulls the needle out of his neck, he gives an extra unnecessary shove to the back of his head. Every square inch of Sylar’s skull throbs at this point, but he looks up carefully and says, “Mohinder.”
He’s not sure what he’s going to do next, but he has to do something to keep this from continuing to slip along out of his control.
And Mohinder stops, turns, looks back at him. Mohinder gives the next move to him.
Between the pain and the fear and the lingering memory of that whisper in his ear, he has no idea what the right one is. But Mohinder won’t wait forever and he doesn’t want to lose through inaction.
“Are you really sure you want to do this?” It's as good a starting point for an argument as any.
Mohinder’s eyes narrow questioningly. He reaches down and wraps his hands around Sylar’s wrists where they’re taped to the chair and leans on him - an attempt to remind them both of just who’s in charge here. Sylar tries not to think about the syringe that’s still in Mohinder’s hand, pressing against his skin.
“Am I sure I want to do what? Complete my father’s work? Rid the world of a cancer? You’re not going to be able to talk your way out of this. This is the end.” His gaze is steady and full of promise, and Sylar shivers inside.
“You’re not going to like how this ends,” Sylar says. Better false bravado than open nervousness.
Mohinder smiles dangerously. His hands slide up to Sylar’s elbows, until Sylar’s arms are held immobile as much by Mohinder’s body weight as by his bonds. He leans forward until his face is level with Sylar’s and just a couple of inches away.
“Oh, I think I’m going to like it. Quite a lot.”
Sylar suddenly can’t think. At all. He stares into Mohinder’s dark eyes as Mohinder’s hands tense on him, and he knows - he knows - that Mohinder feels the current between them, too. It’s been there from the beginning, and it doesn’t matter why Mohinder is so close to him, all that matters is that he’s close, just waiting to be touched. Asking to be touched. He leans forward slowly and tilts his head.
He can actually feel Mohinder’s breath along his lips - and then, just before they meet, Mohinder pulls back.
He tries to reach after him and says pleadingly, “Mohinder...”
Mohinder’s mouth curls up into a smirk. He lets his fingers trail softly down the length of Sylar’s arms as he stands and turns and leaves - leaves, dammit, resolutely walking away like Sylar's want means nothing to him. Sylar thrashes futilely against the duct tape holding him down for a couple of seconds before choking down his fury and getting control of himself again.
He glares at Mohinder’s back - there’s something in Mohinder’s bearing that says he’s immensely proud of himself right at the moment. A calm, disconnected piece of Sylar’s mind points out that he’s got a right to be, after playing him so expertly. But it can’t be allowed to go on.
Sylar closes his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath. Imagines what it would be like to have Mohinder in front of him again, only this time Mohinder is the one immobilized, helpless. Imagines the look in Mohinder’s eyes as he explains what’s going to happen next. Imagines how Mohinder would shake as he closed the distance between them.
He looks up languidly and watches the lines of Mohinder’s body as the geneticist busies himself with his little slides and pipettes, pointedly ignoring him. Then Sylar glances up at the IV stand and flexes his numb fingertips.
Oh, Mohinder. It was fun while it lasted. Well, it’s going to keep on being fun, for me, at any rate.
Let’s see if I can get you to beg, too.
He closes his eyes one more time.
I can do this. Just like I did back in that cell in Texas. I can do this.
He concentrates on the little valve on the IV tubing.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Mohinder/Sylar
Words: 660
Warnings: None, really - just mild slash.
Spoilers: Through 1-18 ("Parasite")
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not writing this for profit.
A/N: This was written for the table I claimed at
un_love_you , prompt #16: "I want to break you."
X-posted at
un_love_you and
mylar_fic
Summary: Sylar doesn't take kindly to being manipulated into losing control.
After Mohinder pulls the needle out of his neck, he gives an extra unnecessary shove to the back of his head. Every square inch of Sylar’s skull throbs at this point, but he looks up carefully and says, “Mohinder.”
He’s not sure what he’s going to do next, but he has to do something to keep this from continuing to slip along out of his control.
And Mohinder stops, turns, looks back at him. Mohinder gives the next move to him.
Between the pain and the fear and the lingering memory of that whisper in his ear, he has no idea what the right one is. But Mohinder won’t wait forever and he doesn’t want to lose through inaction.
“Are you really sure you want to do this?” It's as good a starting point for an argument as any.
Mohinder’s eyes narrow questioningly. He reaches down and wraps his hands around Sylar’s wrists where they’re taped to the chair and leans on him - an attempt to remind them both of just who’s in charge here. Sylar tries not to think about the syringe that’s still in Mohinder’s hand, pressing against his skin.
“Am I sure I want to do what? Complete my father’s work? Rid the world of a cancer? You’re not going to be able to talk your way out of this. This is the end.” His gaze is steady and full of promise, and Sylar shivers inside.
“You’re not going to like how this ends,” Sylar says. Better false bravado than open nervousness.
Mohinder smiles dangerously. His hands slide up to Sylar’s elbows, until Sylar’s arms are held immobile as much by Mohinder’s body weight as by his bonds. He leans forward until his face is level with Sylar’s and just a couple of inches away.
“Oh, I think I’m going to like it. Quite a lot.”
Sylar suddenly can’t think. At all. He stares into Mohinder’s dark eyes as Mohinder’s hands tense on him, and he knows - he knows - that Mohinder feels the current between them, too. It’s been there from the beginning, and it doesn’t matter why Mohinder is so close to him, all that matters is that he’s close, just waiting to be touched. Asking to be touched. He leans forward slowly and tilts his head.
He can actually feel Mohinder’s breath along his lips - and then, just before they meet, Mohinder pulls back.
He tries to reach after him and says pleadingly, “Mohinder...”
Mohinder’s mouth curls up into a smirk. He lets his fingers trail softly down the length of Sylar’s arms as he stands and turns and leaves - leaves, dammit, resolutely walking away like Sylar's want means nothing to him. Sylar thrashes futilely against the duct tape holding him down for a couple of seconds before choking down his fury and getting control of himself again.
He glares at Mohinder’s back - there’s something in Mohinder’s bearing that says he’s immensely proud of himself right at the moment. A calm, disconnected piece of Sylar’s mind points out that he’s got a right to be, after playing him so expertly. But it can’t be allowed to go on.
Sylar closes his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath. Imagines what it would be like to have Mohinder in front of him again, only this time Mohinder is the one immobilized, helpless. Imagines the look in Mohinder’s eyes as he explains what’s going to happen next. Imagines how Mohinder would shake as he closed the distance between them.
He looks up languidly and watches the lines of Mohinder’s body as the geneticist busies himself with his little slides and pipettes, pointedly ignoring him. Then Sylar glances up at the IV stand and flexes his numb fingertips.
Oh, Mohinder. It was fun while it lasted. Well, it’s going to keep on being fun, for me, at any rate.
Let’s see if I can get you to beg, too.
He closes his eyes one more time.
I can do this. Just like I did back in that cell in Texas. I can do this.
He concentrates on the little valve on the IV tubing.