I have two fics to post tonight. Otherwise I'll forget to post the other one tomorrow.
Also, it took the combined efforts of![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
tracker_lucifer and myself to edit this bitch for posting. So if there's any typos left, I don't know, throw a shoe at us or something.
Title: These matters of security
Author:eonism
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to NBC. I'm just having a laugh at their expense
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Mohinder, Elle
Word Count: 3,507
Author's notes: Takes place after The clawfoot bathtub. General season two spoiler stuff.
Summary: It was not something they spent a great deal of time discussing, catching as it did in the air between them, heavy, and slipping down Peter’s spine like molasses when he watched Mohinder dress for work from under the shade stretching across his now-cold side of the bed.
Peter hated having to come here.
The blank concrete walls made the hairs on the tops of his forearms seem to stand, tension ticking in the muscle in his right jaw when he tried not to look as hostile as he felt under the apologetic, sideways flicker of Mohinder’s eyes. Peter felt stupid just for being here, tricked all over again under the mechanical swivel of the security cameras following them down the wide berth of bland corridors and open laboratory set-ups. Tricked and somehow all the more naïve for it this time for coming and staying here, under sterile fluorescent light, the little guinea pig he swore he would never allow himself to be again.
More than anything, Peter hated that Mohinder worked for them.
It was not something they spent a great deal of time discussing, catching as it did in the air between them, heavy, and slipping down Peter’s spine like molasses when he watched Mohinder dress for work from under the shade stretching across his now-cold side of the bed. Mohinder had never lied to him about it, or about anything else for that matter. For that Peter was grateful, that and their strained and apologetic conversation over coffee one morning two weeks ago at a café down the street from the apartment. When Mohinder folded his hands on the polished wooden tabletop and spoke as though in confession about Bob, Elle, the research and everything.
Peter could not say he did not feel at least somewhat betrayed by the fact, angry at first, then just hurt to have been blind enough as to waltz right back into such a vulnerable position. Because Mohinder had known, about The Company and Adam, and the months spent in a concrete box; Peter had told him, softly and in private. First over coffee and tea and then over the slip of warm cotton sheets and the dim margins of orange lamplight, as Mohinder traced callused fingertips down the notches of Peter’s spine and breathed into Peter’s hair and just listened.
At least Peter had not lived with Bob, ate breakfast at his kitchen table or slept between his thin sheets, as he had with the man sitting before him, which had made the conversation less of an awkward admission and more like a bold-faced slap. But Mohinder could not lie to him, with his folded hands and always-sorry eyes and the tight bob of his throat whenever he stopped to clear it, visibly chewing on the words as though he could find a way to soften the blow. And for it Peter could not say no. That had to stand for something, however meager the comfort seemed as he watched Mohinder button up his shirt and slide on his laminated identification card.
He just bit the inside of his cheek, and said nothing about four months in a quiet cell. When Mohinder leaned across the bed to kiss him before he left Peter could only hope his easy smile would assure the other man that the thought did not set his teeth on edge.
“I would never turn you over to them,” Mohinder had said, voice sweet and faced completely certain. “I just, need this, if you’ll allow me.” The night after the conversation in the café, when lying in Mohinder’s bed Peter almost felt guilty for wanting to doubt him, and said, “Okay.”
The laboratory was cold, a seemingly hollow space. Its wide walls and high ceiling open and nearly bare, save a row of supply cabinets against the far right wall, an examination table and three rigid steel work stations, sanitary under the clean white hum of the fixtures running in strict lines of slender light bulbs overhead. A pristine lab coat ran the length of Mohinder’s already slender-looking frame, a clipboard in hand, professional and completely clinical. Despite the way he glanced at Peter in the elevator and the hallway among the passing facility staff, Mohinder’s face visibly lined with something he tried to hide with a heavy clear of his throat and stiff straightening of his posture. In any other place it would have been endearing, but here the gesture did little to comfort Peter under the unreadable scrutiny of passing cameras, guards and scientists.
Flight tests had him strapped with ankle sensors like miniature odometers. Peter flew laps the complex, tight circles over treetops and tall steel fence posts, to ascertain his maximum velocity and kinetic metabolism, which was just the long way of saying how fast he could fly and how hot he burned the energy around him to do it. He nearly burst the building’s copper wiring in conductivity experiments involving a myriad of wires and whining heart monitors, trying to determine his voltage capacity.
Even walking through walls was a chore, using plates of varying synthetic materials and amalgamated fibers to confirm the limits of intangibility, when slipping in concentration he became trapped between two sheets of glass and stone. It was a painful, airless six seconds before he regained his composure enough to phase through, falling through the floor and the concrete foundation before landing on the ground of the basement below with a cold and jarring thud of bone and meat on bare cement.
Somewhere in the world, Claude Raines was definitely laughing at him.
Telekinesis was an easy work out, by comparison, sitting uninterestedly on the examination table as he made four ball-bearings lift off the ground in the center of the lab. They glinted in the florescence above his head as he watched them hover, weightless and without effort, his left eye ticking in concentration and at the careful scratching of ink and paper as Mohinder stood behind Peter taking notations he would likely never see. His jaw was still sore from the fall through the floor, but if it had broken he did not notice it heal. Even for that it was still swollen and probably hideous, of which Peter was fairly certain, having dragged himself up with a groan and hobbled towards the elevators to find Mohinder already waiting with an ice pack and a very distressed look about him. It was another one of those cute things that did not seem to work here, as Peter took the proffered ice and called the scientist a sadistic prick, just for good measure.
Above Peter’s head the ball-bearings whirled gently, revolving in slow figure-eight patterns, easy to maintain. For a moment he considered sending the steel balls through the glass of the laboratory door, skittering through the hallways outside to smash windows and strike holes into the plaster and concrete walls, just for the fun of it. If he could call the look on the security guards’ faces fun when they burst in, weapons drawn as they inevitably seem to do in situations like this, and Mohinder has to explain that his test subject was simply enjoying a somewhat juvenile attempt at retribution.
If Mohinder was not there to have to take the blame for it – well, that would have been a different matter entirely. Especially if he ran into Bob, or Elle; if that were the case Peter knew he might have to invest in something larger than a ball bearing.
“I need to check your heart rate, if you don’t mind.”
With a blink Peter brought the ball-bearings toward him, setting down gently into his palms, cool to the touch and gleaming with his warped and bulbous reflection. “I didn’t break a sweat this time, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said, watching Mohinder set down the clipboard on the countertop of the nearby work station in exchange for a stethoscope. To that the scientist smiled gently.
“I wouldn’t doubt you, Peter – you did very well. I just need to make note of your resting heart rate for comparison. Now, take off your shirt, this will just take a moment.”
Tugging at his shirt collar Peter immediately complied, pulling the black tee over his head and rolling it up in his lap. A hand on his back Mohinder pretended not to look at Peter and pressed the instrument to his chest, cold to his skin, and on reflex Peter took a slow, deep breath. The instrument lingered, and after a few prolonged beats his mouth quirked.
“You could’ve checked my heart through my shirt,” Peter said, and meeting his eyes Mohinder drew away. “I used to do this sort of thing for a living, yaknow.”
“Oh, I know.” Sliding the instrument around his neck, Mohinder smirked and reached for his clipboard. “I just wanted to see you take off your clothes. Had I known it was that easy to get you to undress on command, I would have told you that you needed a full physical.”
“I kinda figured you knew how to get me undressed.” Pulling his shirt back on, Peter shot Mohinder a devious glance. “And are you this forward with all your subjects?”
“Fortunately not,” Mohinder answered, casually, jotting down notations onto the clipboard. “That sounded a bit jealous. I’d hate to be caught on my indiscretions by someone who can walk through walls and stop time. Puts me at a bit of a disadvantage, don’t you think?”
The word jealous made Peter’s face pinch uncomfortably. He ignored it, and whatever warm and strange feeling it conjured up as he slid off the examination table and stepped towards Mohinder, reaching inside the lab coat to place his hands on his hips. “A bit, yeah,” Peter said, and angled his head to nip gently at the other man’s very uninterested line of mouth.
“Cameras, Peter,” Mohinder lightly scolded, and squirmed in Peter’s hold, discarding the clipboard and stethoscope. “And this is hardly a productive use of our time – we already lost an hour and a half when you shorted out the third floor…”
“Yeah, well, it’s been fun.” Dipping his tongue between the other man’s lips Peter urged him back against the edge of the examination table, pinning Mohinder there as he gently licked his mouth open. “And it’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
Hands on his shoulders gently pushed Peter back, and clearing his throat Mohinder licked his lips. “Well,” he said, a bit breathless already, “at least you seem to be taking this in stride. I was afraid that my working here was going to further…complicate things.”
At that Peter pursed his lips, hands falling from their hold at Mohinder’s waist. “Actually, it still kinda pisses me off,” he said, and pulled away, “if that makes you feel any better.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Mohinder looked suddenly weary, and sighed. As soon as he had spoken Peter knew he should not have, but the other man’s response made him feel somehow justified, like the satisfying twinge that came from picking at a scab. “I’m not doing this to hurt you, Peter. I only asked you to come here because I needed your help. This has nothing to do with them – ”
Peter swallowed. “You know they lied to me,” he said, and felt his face line at the thought, “locked me up. I told you that at the beginning.”
“And I told you that if you didn’t have to do this if you didn’t want to.” Crossing his arms stiffly over his chest Mohinder straightened, chin up and looking eerily like Peter’s mother, and that meant that this was officially an argument. “And that the only reason I asked you to allow me to test you was because you’re so valuable to my work – ”
“Valuable to your work?” A scoff. “And what about The Company?” Peter took a step forward, voice louder than he anticipated and brow lowered in an angry line. “This is their lab, their research, right? Look, if I’m an assignment or something, just – tell me, okay? Don’t sleep with me then jerk me around like this, because I don’t need your pity.”
“My research,” Mohinder cut in, voice sharp, nearly a hiss, “Because I work for them in order to utilize their resources, which I need to complete my work. And what I do outside the parameters of my duties – including my relationship with you – is of no concern to Bob or anyone else.” Taking a breath Mohinder stabbed an accusing finger at him, eyes narrowed. “Every ability you allow me to study and catalogue theoretically means one more person that I can better help to understand what’s happening to them. I told you two weeks ago that you didn’t have to come if you weren’t comfortable, and if you think I’m sleeping with you out of pity – ”
Another sigh and rattling shake head, his posture sagging. Licking his lips and looking away the muscle in Mohinder’s jaw ticked, the way it did when he was going to throw something, or hit something. But when he did not, and looked somehow lost instead,
Peter flinched inwardly.
Peter was used to that kind of argument, the one that involved shouting and swearing and bravado. From the years spent fighting with Nathan until one of them would finally decide to throw a punch and things felt settled until the next blow was struck. Even the fights he and Mohinder had had before Nathan died, when just seeing the scientist standing behind his brother in his living room doorway was enough to set Peter off. Perhaps he had just been waiting for it, another argument like this, because if he said he had never wanted to take a swing at this man at least once in the months before Nathan’s death, Peter would have been lying. But swallowing down tightly, and feeling white lines grow around his knuckles, this was somehow different.
Maybe because he was the one who needed to be swung at this time?
“I don’t pity you,” Mohinder said instead of throwing something, looking tired instead of angry, “you’re the last person in the world that I would ever pity, in case you haven’t realized. And I’m not using you – I only wanted you here now because I was too, fucking stupid to see how badly I needed you six months ago.”
Peter blinked, seeing subway cars and broken glass behind his eyes “Six months ago?” That brought him up short, anger slowly smoothing from the lines of his face. “Okay, but – I said some stupid shit then, too. And you’re not stupid, and it’s not your fault.” Suddenly his face felt hot and his mouth dry, the way it always did when he could not think of anything intelligent to say, especially to cover up a mistake. “But, look, what does it matter now? I don’t care. Everything’s changed – whatever we’ve got going now, it means more than that. ‘Cause I’m not gonna go anywhere this time.”
Mohinder’s carriage changed, softening, his throat bobbing tightly. Peter took a step forward and placed his hands on the tops of Mohinder’s arms. “And I’m sorry, okay?” he said, gently, “I’m an asshole and you’re right.”
Lifting his chin Mohinder heaved a sigh and avoided Peter’s gaze, eyes darting to the slim space of gray tile floor between their feet. When he gave no response Peter leaned in to kiss him, soft and careful, until Mohinder’s hands found Peter’s hips and his fingers the belt loops of his jeans.
“Look, I – I just really wanna see you tonight,” Peter murmured into Mohinder’s lips, closing his eyes and the space between them until the tips of their noses brushed. “Just us? We can drive back to the city and stay at my place, or find a hotel or something in town – just, call and tell Matt it’s him and Molly tonight. I really need you to myself right now, okay?”
Taking a breath Mohinder nodded with a soft, “Okay,” his lashes lowered when their foreheads touched. With that Peter sighed and drew his arms around Mohinder’s shoulders, pressing his lips to his neck in a line soft kisses, slow and dry, cameras be damned.
“I was wondering where you guys got off to.”
The lilting taunt was followed by the sharp click-clack of shiny blue high-heels on the tile floor. Frowning Peter turned, catching sight of Elle’s broad smile from across the otherwise empty lab as she approached, gaze flitting capriciously over their intimate display. Without flinching Mohinder drew away, turning rigidly back to the examination table behind them, clearing his throat as he gathered his discarded clipboard.
“You’ve been holed up in here all day.” Affecting a pout Elle stopped to stand between the two men. She canted her head and lowered her lashes, ignoring their guarded expressions as she reached up to lightly finger the collar of Peter’s t-shirt. “I thought maybe you two slipped out without saying goodbye.”
“We were busy,” Peter answered, voice clipped, “do you need something?”
“I noticed. And Daddy wants to speak to you,” Elle said, tilting her head towards Mohinder, who nodded at her stiffly.
“Ah. I’m on my way then,” he said, looking over Elle’s head toward Peter, “if you would like to break for the day and resume testing in the morning?” Blinking slowly, Peter nodded his head and Mohinder cleared his throat. “Then I’ll meet up with you downstairs,” he excused himself, and with a tight smile turned, leaving briskly, the line of his white-draped body disappearing through the laboratory door. Watching him go, Peter swallowed thickly.
“Well. I probably should’ve seen this one coming.” Sing-songing Elle slid away, hopping onto the nearby table with a sigh. “The pretty ones are always gay.”
“Elle, I’m really not in the mood for this,” Peter shot back firmly. It took effort to refrain from tagging I just had a fight with my boyfriend onto the end of that sentence, as apt as it might have been. Even the boyfriend part, but that was another matter entirely. “And I can show myself out, so, thanks, but I don’t need the detail.”
“Whatever.” Swinging her legs over the edge of the table Elle ignored him and leaned back, propped on outstretched palms. “Watching you two scurry around is pretty entertaining, though. Following him around like a puppy, with that sad little face...” Regarding Peter with lidded eyes she smiled lazily. “It’s cute. In a clingy desperate kinda way.”
“Yeah, well – you’d know about clingy and desperate.” Frowning, Peter motioned to leave but two slender arms reached out for his waist, stronger than they looked in Elle’s gauzy black-and-white striped sweater. Pulling him close she smiled coyly, and dropped a hand between them to let red-tipped fingers toy with the edges of his t-shirt.
“He likes you, though – Mohinder, I mean. I haven’t seen him this…starry-eyed before.” Elle let out an impish giggle, sharp in the hollow space and too childlike for Peter’s comfort. “It’s almost gross. But then he’s been kinda messed up since the Sylar thing…”
“Sylar thing?” Peter flinched inwardly. Searching her face for some sign of tease or deceit he found nothing. “What Sylar thing?”
Sylar was dead. Or at least he was the last time Peter knew, six months earlier, in Kirby Plaza. Mohinder would not lie to him, or had not yet. Why would he start now?
In any case Elle lifted a shoulder to shrug, pushing up Peter’s t-shirt over the flat of his stomach. “I dunno.” A slender painted nail traced the outside of his navel, cold to his skin when her index finger trailed down the bisecting definition of his abs to hook in the waistband of his white boxer-briefs, peeking from over the top of his jeans. “Sylar showed up a couple of months ago, snagged Mohinder and his kid. It was when that cop boyfriend of his was in Texas, I think, right before you turned up in New York.”
Peter’s brow furrowed. “Mohinder never said anything about that.”
“Guess he lied to you. Guys are pigs, huh?” With a quirk of a thin brow Elle bit into the corner of her pink-lipstick mouth, and let her eyes trace up down the length of Peter’s frame. Straightening, it left him feeling somehow exposed beneath her gaze. “But, god, you two must be amazing to watch, though,” she ventured, in a voice suddenly distant as her eyes rested on the button of Peter’s jeans, “You look so pretty just kissing…”
Reaching for Elle’s hand Peter removed it from his shirt “We’re done here,” he said, and stepped away with narrowed eyes and an angry line of brow. “If Mohinder comes back tell him I’ll be downstairs.”
Behind him Elle huffed, sliding off the table with a click of her heels on the tiled floor as Peter pushed open the laboratory door, letting it slam shut with the sharp rattle of glass. Down the wide empty corridor his thoughts collided noisily over the geometry of Kirby Plaza and the faces arranged there in the dark, now jarringly hazy in his scarred mind’s eye, and the wet hard pounding sound of Sylar’s smirking face beneath his fists.
Title: Such a cautious display
Author:eonism
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to NBC. I'm just having a laugh at their expense
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Mohinder
Word Count: 2,802
Author's notes: Takes place directly after These matters of security. General season two spoiler stuff.
Summary: The half-eaten Chinese take-out they had ordered the hour before was left forgotten on the kitchen counter when Peter found himself drawn the lines of Mohinder’s back and the clean, warm smell of his skin.
The drive back in to the city was quiet, molasses-slow as Peter’s mind worked silently between sideways glances to Mohinder in the driver’s seat and the soft drone of the car radio.
His apartment still felt cold but somehow far less hollow for Mohinder’s presence, weary though it may have been. It was easier to forget how empty the place had been with him here, as Peter locked the apartment door behind them, and walking across the kitchen failed to think of Nathan for the first time in weeks. He did not think of Sylar either, or Elle, for that matter, his busy thoughts temporarily stilled when they pulled up to the curb outside his building. He had let his mouth run a bit too freely already, and it did not feel worth the effort to argue about now.
Shrugging off his jacket Mohinder had sighed, looking tired but no less desirable to the other man in the dying sunlight from through the spaces between Peter’s bedroom blinds. It painted his face and chest in narrow red bands, making his skin look warmer, richer when he came out of the shower in borrowed blue pajama pants that slid down the sharp jut of his hipbones. Another sigh, far more content than the first and Peter watched appreciatively as the other man stretched out across newly changed bed sheets, folding his arms around the nearest pillow and dragging it under his chin.
The half-eaten Chinese take-out they had ordered the hour before was left forgotten on the kitchen counter when Peter found himself drawn the lines of Mohinder’s back and the clean, warm smell of his skin. He crawled into the still-cold bed, the softer mattress protesting far less under his shifting weight than he was now used to as he stretched out to press his body to Mohinder’s, chest molding to the curve of the other man’s spine, a hand to a shoulder and thigh over thigh. Nose pressed to the still-damp curls at the nape of Mohinder’s neck, Peter felt something warm and slow pool in his stomach, and beneath him Mohinder made satisfied sound in the back of his throat, stretched out comfortably and closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Peter murmured, voice muffled by Mohinder’s skin as he pressed a dry kiss beneath the stubbled hinge of scientist’s jaw, “about today.”
Mohinder lifted his shoulder to shrug, limp and ineffective when pressed between Peter’s chest and the sheets. “I can’t really hold anything against you, can I? You have every right to be angry with me…this situation hasn’t been very fair to you, especially between us.” Voice thinning into a pause, Mohinder swallowed. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me today. It was wrong of me to expect your help, after everything they’ve put you through.”
“S’ok – you needed the help. And you’ve already done so much for me.” Another kiss, soft and quiet, pressed to Mohinder’s neck. Peter maneuvered a hand around his chest, holding the other man close, his fingers gliding affectionately through the thin hairs curled there. “It shouldn’t matter who you work for.”
“But it does.” Twisting around in Peter’s hold, Mohinder leveled him a suddenly pleading look. “They lied to you, Peter – locked you up like a criminal, drugging you with god knows what. I can’t forgive that. And if you couldn’t reconcile my…relationship, with The Company, I would understand.”
“Hey.” Canting his head Peter splayed his fingers across Mohinder’s chest, his face lining under the dying light still edging through the blinds above the bed. “I don’t like who you work for, but I’ll live, alright? You mean more to me than that.” With lidded eyes his gaze dropped to Mohinder’s bottom lip, and leaning forward Peter nipped at it gently. “I told you – I’m not going anywhere. Not even Bob’s gonna chase me off this time.”
At that Mohinder laughed, a soft purr of a chuckle, burying the sound in Peter’s lips as he turned over beneath him. “That’s reassuring.” Reaching up he put his hands to the back of Peter’s neck, fingers sliding between the short strands and pulling the other man close as he opened his mouth to the kiss. “I think.”
Dipping his tongue between Mohinder’s lips Peter sighed, drawing his arms around the other man’s waist, holding him against him. The softness of his mouth and scent of his skin, like clean cotton and aftershave and something warmer still, sent heat curling down the length of Peter’s spine like drops of warm honey. It pooled in his hips, as he felt himself begin to harden in the same jeans he had worn earlier in the day, forgetting to change after he slipped off his t-shirt and followed Mohinder to bed. Flexing his hips against Mohinder’s groin, the scientist moaned into the kiss, low and throaty, and Peter shivered and closed his eyes.
Hands left his hair, running down his shoulders to skate over the notches in his spine down to his hipbones, fingers fitting easily in the shallow definitions cutting above the waistband of his jeans. Long legs shifted in the sheets as Mohinder planted socked feet on either side of Peter, lean thighs coming up to frame his waist and with a roll of his hips Peter broke the kiss to breathe, earning another thick moan. He angled his head, running his teeth along Mohinder’s bottom lip with a sigh, fingers tightening on his hipbones. They kept him close with a sharp breath, Mohinder’s dark eyes already lidded and wet in a way that made Peter’s blood spike possessively.
“Peter,” Mohinder breathed sharply, voice ragged, greedy, bringing a hand between them and undoing the front of Peter’s jeans. Fear of being caught, especially by passing 10-year-olds in middle of the night had made the both of them not only careful but quick, as clever fingers slipped passed the opened jeans to the briefs beneath them, cupping Peter firmly until he gave a shallow buck and groaned.
He wriggled free of the other man’s tightening hold with one last biting kiss, reaching out an arm to blindly grope the front of the bedside table to his left. His fingers found the knob on the drawer, pulling it open and searching the pens, notepads, paper clips and other random contents for the small bottle of lubricant he knew he had placed in there, at least a year ago. Refusing to ponder as to whether or not such things as lube had expiration dates, Peter produced the familiar plastic container and sat back on his knees, straddling the other man.
Levering himself up Mohinder followed when Peter pulled away, pressing a kiss to his mouth, open and full, pushing his jeans down his hips until his erection slipped free between them to curve against Mohinder’s stomach. He took the bottle, opening it and pouring a generous amount of lube into his palm, and with a breathless moan Peter’s cock twitched as Mohinder took him in hand to coat him in the necessary oil, throbbing to his touch. Kicking off his jeans and briefs Peter tossed them aside before slipping his own tightening pajama bottoms from Mohinder’s hips, letting them fall to the floor by the footboard to join the rest of his clothes, their mouths meeting again, panting and fevered.
“I think this is the first time we’ve had sex with the bedroom door open,” Mohinder murmured between Peter’s lips, something wry quirking in the corners of his mouth. “And it’s only 8:30. This is a bit exciting, don’t you think?”
At that Peter laughed, a little harder than he meant to, sliding his fingers through Mohinder’s still-damp hair and sucking on his tongue. Thinking back perhaps Peter should have said something – about Elle, and Sylar, and all of it – but Mohinder was right. It was the only time in the two months since he had started staying with Mohinder that they could do this at a decent hour, without a knock at the door or fear of waking Molly and Matt in the next room. The argument would still be there in the morning, after all, but Mohinder would not be.
Breathing sharply into the kiss Mohinder pulled away, and giving Peter’s bottom lip a slow, deep bite turned to lie on his stomach, pulling the pillow over to rest his elbows on. The sight gave Peter brief pause, letting out a ragged breath, feeling momentarily lost. He trailed a hand down the length of Mohinder’s spine, tracing each elegant definition notch by notch, to stroke down the small of his back along the curve of his hip, skin rich and dark and thrilling to his touch. Slicking his fingers with lube Peter dropped a kiss between Mohinder’s shoulder blades and slid a hand in the cleft of his ass, circling his tightened entrance with the pad of his thumb.
Beneath him Mohinder tensed, the muscles in his back and legs tightening at the sensation, eyes closed, mouth falling open on a thick, breathless sound. Peter made a soothing noise in the back of his throat and pressed his lips to the top of Mohinder’s spine, sliding the tip of his index finger inside of him. He prepared Mohinder carefully, the way he always did – knowing that he preferred this to the slightly rougher sex that Peter tended to favor in receiving – gradually stretching his entrance on his first knuckle then the second, before adding his middle finger, mindful to the initial resistance.
With a groan Mohinder began to relax, voice heavy and sex-soaked, his limbs visibly sagging into the mattress despite the intrusion. He shifted his hips to accommodate the pressure, bringing his knee up to spread himself and accept the width of Peter’s fingers as he worked them in and out of him gingerly. “Oh – Peter....”
The sound of his voice, breathless and hungry as it was traveled down Peter’s spine to the tip of his cock like an electric current, making him shiver at the warmth punctuating his name. Giving the curve of Mohinder’s neck a gentle bite Peter withdrew his fingers and leaned in, pouring himself over the length of Mohinder’s body. He held a breath, molding himself to the contours of Mohinder’s long, dark back as his erection slipped easily in the cleft of the other man’s ass, earning each of them a shared moan, long and low.
Peter brought an arm around Mohinder’s shoulders, a hand splayed across his chest as he angled his head to kiss him, slow and deep and full. Dropping a hand to guide himself inside he shifted his hips forward, gently pressing into the tight heat Mohinder’s body offered, and beneath Peter let out a thick, dry sound and wound his fingers into the fabric of the pillow case. Eyes falling shut Peter swallowed Mohinder’s moan and sank in, taking slow and careful seat, working passed the initial resistance until his cock twitched in the hot clench of the other man’s body.
With a breathy moan Mohinder shuddered, bringing his knee higher, trying to open himself further. Peter pulled him close, shifting his hips.
“You okay?” he asked, and took a sharp breath. Hearing a breathless Yes and pressing his face to the salt-smelling crook of Mohinder’s shoulder, Peter rocked back then forward again until they both groaned.
Peter was never quite as patient as Mohinder tended to be, not as content with unhurried and shallow and slow to build. Thrusts were deep, measured, careful at first until Mohinder’s tell-tale moan and roll of hips, pushing him back, pushing him deeper. With a bite of his bottom lip Peter dropped a hand to Mohinder’s waist, held it there and let himself go.
The rhythm was found; fast to build in each thorough stroke, deep and full. Beneath him Mohinder was unashamed in a way that Peter was not used to, unhindered by the fear of eventually being heard or walked in on, by either Molly or Matt. It was nothing like the way Mohinder usually was when they had sex. He was careful and quiet, biting down on moans or swallowing Peter’s, and nearly always somehow tense, waiting for a knock at the door.
But this was good, he thought with a tilt of his hips, changing the trajectory to search for the measure that Peter knew from experience made his own limbs slacken and skin melt into the sheets. Finding it Peter shivered at Mohinder’s choked, dry sob, high and sharp, making his blood heat and his breath quicken. He angled his head to capture Mohinder’s mouth and with a biting kiss bucked harder, faster, spurred on by the sound of the other man’s ragged, needing voice.
“I wanna hear you,” Peter breathed into Mohinder’s lips, and feeling him buck back gasped.
Their bodies rocked, almost noiselessly on Peter’s newer, softer mattress, save their shared moans, unfettered from caution. A hand came back to thread fingers through his hair, tugging gently on his scalp to keep him close with a throaty moan and a nip at his bottom lip. Peter groaned into the open kiss, hands tightening on Mohinder’s hip and across his chest, and with an angle of his hips felt the other man’s body clench around him with a long and reedy whine. It took three impatient thrusts before Mohinder’s orgasm pulled Peter over the edge with him and he came with a strangled cry, burying it into Mohinder’s mouth, still open and panting in the spaces where their lips did not quite meet.
“I think,” Mohinder murmured breathily, blinking his darkly glazed eyes with a lazy smile that Peter felt rather than saw, “you are becoming quite the bad influence on me with talk like that.”
Smirking, Peter gave Mohinder’s mouth one last nip as he drew away, rolling over onto his back. “I think you love it,” he remarked, shifting in the still-cool sheets on his side of the bed, waiting for his breath to slow as he watched Mohinder turn to lie on his side.
“I think you may be right.” Snaking a hand across Peter’s stomach Mohinder drew him close, pressing a kiss to his bottom lip with a sigh. “But don’t expect to get away with that at my place, either. We’ll traumatize Molly.”
With a snort Peter looped an arm around Mohinder’s waist. “What about Matt?”
“Well, him too.” Smirking, Mohinder laid his head beside Peter’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “We’ll just have to have loud obnoxious sex at your place instead, then.”
“Guess so.” Eyes on the ceiling, Peter felt his skin begin to cool as darkness settled along the walls, casting a broad arc of shadow over the bed and across the floor. Something heavy began to pool in his chest, as Mohinder’s breathing slowed and his body relaxed beside him, easing into sleep. He took a breath, thought of Elle, and shook his head.
“Unless you stayed here?” Peter asked, instead of the obvious, glancing over his shoulder to the man lying beside him. “I mean, yaknow – permanently?”
Mohinder opened his eyes. Something unreadable flickered across his gaze, settling on the ceiling as though following Peter’s line of sight. “That would complicate things,” he said, and the answer made Peter’s mouth feel suddenly dry. “There’s no room for my things here, let alone enough space for Molly. And I can’t just leave her with Matt, that would be unfair to both of them.”
“Then we can find a bigger place,” Peter offered, his voice hopeful despite the furrow of his brow and the worried line of his mouth. Fuck Elle, fuck Sylar – fuck everyone. That argument was going to wait. “Somewhere with room for all three of us, then you and Matt can just share custody or something. Swap every weekend.”
Mohinder looked at him. “Are you sure?” Swallowing, he looked somehow wary.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Reaching up Peter placed a hand on Mohinder’s jaw, drawing his thumb across the line of his mouth before sliding his fingers into his hair. “We can work something out. It’s gotta be better than four people living in a two-bedroom, right?”
At that Mohinder chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. Especially since the line for the bathroom every morning seems to go out the front door these days.” Looking down, he slid a hand over Peter’s wrist and let out a sigh. “Just, let me think about it first. I don’t want to rush into anything, alright?”
Peter smirked. “I never rush into anything.”
“No, but you are a terrible liar.” With a smile Mohinder angled his head to kiss Peter, soft and chaste. “I just don’t want to be swept off my feet too quickly.”
Not thinking of Nathan, or Sylar, or anyone else, Peter simply nodded.
Ten bucks for the first person to name the songs the title lyrics are from! :D Except not really.
Also, it took the combined efforts of
tracker_lucifer and myself to edit this bitch for posting. So if there's any typos left, I don't know, throw a shoe at us or something.Title: These matters of security
Author:
eonismRating: PG13
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to NBC. I'm just having a laugh at their expense
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Mohinder, Elle
Word Count: 3,507
Author's notes: Takes place after The clawfoot bathtub. General season two spoiler stuff.
Summary: It was not something they spent a great deal of time discussing, catching as it did in the air between them, heavy, and slipping down Peter’s spine like molasses when he watched Mohinder dress for work from under the shade stretching across his now-cold side of the bed.
Peter hated having to come here.
The blank concrete walls made the hairs on the tops of his forearms seem to stand, tension ticking in the muscle in his right jaw when he tried not to look as hostile as he felt under the apologetic, sideways flicker of Mohinder’s eyes. Peter felt stupid just for being here, tricked all over again under the mechanical swivel of the security cameras following them down the wide berth of bland corridors and open laboratory set-ups. Tricked and somehow all the more naïve for it this time for coming and staying here, under sterile fluorescent light, the little guinea pig he swore he would never allow himself to be again.
More than anything, Peter hated that Mohinder worked for them.
It was not something they spent a great deal of time discussing, catching as it did in the air between them, heavy, and slipping down Peter’s spine like molasses when he watched Mohinder dress for work from under the shade stretching across his now-cold side of the bed. Mohinder had never lied to him about it, or about anything else for that matter. For that Peter was grateful, that and their strained and apologetic conversation over coffee one morning two weeks ago at a café down the street from the apartment. When Mohinder folded his hands on the polished wooden tabletop and spoke as though in confession about Bob, Elle, the research and everything.
Peter could not say he did not feel at least somewhat betrayed by the fact, angry at first, then just hurt to have been blind enough as to waltz right back into such a vulnerable position. Because Mohinder had known, about The Company and Adam, and the months spent in a concrete box; Peter had told him, softly and in private. First over coffee and tea and then over the slip of warm cotton sheets and the dim margins of orange lamplight, as Mohinder traced callused fingertips down the notches of Peter’s spine and breathed into Peter’s hair and just listened.
At least Peter had not lived with Bob, ate breakfast at his kitchen table or slept between his thin sheets, as he had with the man sitting before him, which had made the conversation less of an awkward admission and more like a bold-faced slap. But Mohinder could not lie to him, with his folded hands and always-sorry eyes and the tight bob of his throat whenever he stopped to clear it, visibly chewing on the words as though he could find a way to soften the blow. And for it Peter could not say no. That had to stand for something, however meager the comfort seemed as he watched Mohinder button up his shirt and slide on his laminated identification card.
He just bit the inside of his cheek, and said nothing about four months in a quiet cell. When Mohinder leaned across the bed to kiss him before he left Peter could only hope his easy smile would assure the other man that the thought did not set his teeth on edge.
“I would never turn you over to them,” Mohinder had said, voice sweet and faced completely certain. “I just, need this, if you’ll allow me.” The night after the conversation in the café, when lying in Mohinder’s bed Peter almost felt guilty for wanting to doubt him, and said, “Okay.”
The laboratory was cold, a seemingly hollow space. Its wide walls and high ceiling open and nearly bare, save a row of supply cabinets against the far right wall, an examination table and three rigid steel work stations, sanitary under the clean white hum of the fixtures running in strict lines of slender light bulbs overhead. A pristine lab coat ran the length of Mohinder’s already slender-looking frame, a clipboard in hand, professional and completely clinical. Despite the way he glanced at Peter in the elevator and the hallway among the passing facility staff, Mohinder’s face visibly lined with something he tried to hide with a heavy clear of his throat and stiff straightening of his posture. In any other place it would have been endearing, but here the gesture did little to comfort Peter under the unreadable scrutiny of passing cameras, guards and scientists.
Flight tests had him strapped with ankle sensors like miniature odometers. Peter flew laps the complex, tight circles over treetops and tall steel fence posts, to ascertain his maximum velocity and kinetic metabolism, which was just the long way of saying how fast he could fly and how hot he burned the energy around him to do it. He nearly burst the building’s copper wiring in conductivity experiments involving a myriad of wires and whining heart monitors, trying to determine his voltage capacity.
Even walking through walls was a chore, using plates of varying synthetic materials and amalgamated fibers to confirm the limits of intangibility, when slipping in concentration he became trapped between two sheets of glass and stone. It was a painful, airless six seconds before he regained his composure enough to phase through, falling through the floor and the concrete foundation before landing on the ground of the basement below with a cold and jarring thud of bone and meat on bare cement.
Somewhere in the world, Claude Raines was definitely laughing at him.
Telekinesis was an easy work out, by comparison, sitting uninterestedly on the examination table as he made four ball-bearings lift off the ground in the center of the lab. They glinted in the florescence above his head as he watched them hover, weightless and without effort, his left eye ticking in concentration and at the careful scratching of ink and paper as Mohinder stood behind Peter taking notations he would likely never see. His jaw was still sore from the fall through the floor, but if it had broken he did not notice it heal. Even for that it was still swollen and probably hideous, of which Peter was fairly certain, having dragged himself up with a groan and hobbled towards the elevators to find Mohinder already waiting with an ice pack and a very distressed look about him. It was another one of those cute things that did not seem to work here, as Peter took the proffered ice and called the scientist a sadistic prick, just for good measure.
Above Peter’s head the ball-bearings whirled gently, revolving in slow figure-eight patterns, easy to maintain. For a moment he considered sending the steel balls through the glass of the laboratory door, skittering through the hallways outside to smash windows and strike holes into the plaster and concrete walls, just for the fun of it. If he could call the look on the security guards’ faces fun when they burst in, weapons drawn as they inevitably seem to do in situations like this, and Mohinder has to explain that his test subject was simply enjoying a somewhat juvenile attempt at retribution.
If Mohinder was not there to have to take the blame for it – well, that would have been a different matter entirely. Especially if he ran into Bob, or Elle; if that were the case Peter knew he might have to invest in something larger than a ball bearing.
“I need to check your heart rate, if you don’t mind.”
With a blink Peter brought the ball-bearings toward him, setting down gently into his palms, cool to the touch and gleaming with his warped and bulbous reflection. “I didn’t break a sweat this time, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said, watching Mohinder set down the clipboard on the countertop of the nearby work station in exchange for a stethoscope. To that the scientist smiled gently.
“I wouldn’t doubt you, Peter – you did very well. I just need to make note of your resting heart rate for comparison. Now, take off your shirt, this will just take a moment.”
Tugging at his shirt collar Peter immediately complied, pulling the black tee over his head and rolling it up in his lap. A hand on his back Mohinder pretended not to look at Peter and pressed the instrument to his chest, cold to his skin, and on reflex Peter took a slow, deep breath. The instrument lingered, and after a few prolonged beats his mouth quirked.
“You could’ve checked my heart through my shirt,” Peter said, and meeting his eyes Mohinder drew away. “I used to do this sort of thing for a living, yaknow.”
“Oh, I know.” Sliding the instrument around his neck, Mohinder smirked and reached for his clipboard. “I just wanted to see you take off your clothes. Had I known it was that easy to get you to undress on command, I would have told you that you needed a full physical.”
“I kinda figured you knew how to get me undressed.” Pulling his shirt back on, Peter shot Mohinder a devious glance. “And are you this forward with all your subjects?”
“Fortunately not,” Mohinder answered, casually, jotting down notations onto the clipboard. “That sounded a bit jealous. I’d hate to be caught on my indiscretions by someone who can walk through walls and stop time. Puts me at a bit of a disadvantage, don’t you think?”
The word jealous made Peter’s face pinch uncomfortably. He ignored it, and whatever warm and strange feeling it conjured up as he slid off the examination table and stepped towards Mohinder, reaching inside the lab coat to place his hands on his hips. “A bit, yeah,” Peter said, and angled his head to nip gently at the other man’s very uninterested line of mouth.
“Cameras, Peter,” Mohinder lightly scolded, and squirmed in Peter’s hold, discarding the clipboard and stethoscope. “And this is hardly a productive use of our time – we already lost an hour and a half when you shorted out the third floor…”
“Yeah, well, it’s been fun.” Dipping his tongue between the other man’s lips Peter urged him back against the edge of the examination table, pinning Mohinder there as he gently licked his mouth open. “And it’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
Hands on his shoulders gently pushed Peter back, and clearing his throat Mohinder licked his lips. “Well,” he said, a bit breathless already, “at least you seem to be taking this in stride. I was afraid that my working here was going to further…complicate things.”
At that Peter pursed his lips, hands falling from their hold at Mohinder’s waist. “Actually, it still kinda pisses me off,” he said, and pulled away, “if that makes you feel any better.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Mohinder looked suddenly weary, and sighed. As soon as he had spoken Peter knew he should not have, but the other man’s response made him feel somehow justified, like the satisfying twinge that came from picking at a scab. “I’m not doing this to hurt you, Peter. I only asked you to come here because I needed your help. This has nothing to do with them – ”
Peter swallowed. “You know they lied to me,” he said, and felt his face line at the thought, “locked me up. I told you that at the beginning.”
“And I told you that if you didn’t have to do this if you didn’t want to.” Crossing his arms stiffly over his chest Mohinder straightened, chin up and looking eerily like Peter’s mother, and that meant that this was officially an argument. “And that the only reason I asked you to allow me to test you was because you’re so valuable to my work – ”
“Valuable to your work?” A scoff. “And what about The Company?” Peter took a step forward, voice louder than he anticipated and brow lowered in an angry line. “This is their lab, their research, right? Look, if I’m an assignment or something, just – tell me, okay? Don’t sleep with me then jerk me around like this, because I don’t need your pity.”
“My research,” Mohinder cut in, voice sharp, nearly a hiss, “Because I work for them in order to utilize their resources, which I need to complete my work. And what I do outside the parameters of my duties – including my relationship with you – is of no concern to Bob or anyone else.” Taking a breath Mohinder stabbed an accusing finger at him, eyes narrowed. “Every ability you allow me to study and catalogue theoretically means one more person that I can better help to understand what’s happening to them. I told you two weeks ago that you didn’t have to come if you weren’t comfortable, and if you think I’m sleeping with you out of pity – ”
Another sigh and rattling shake head, his posture sagging. Licking his lips and looking away the muscle in Mohinder’s jaw ticked, the way it did when he was going to throw something, or hit something. But when he did not, and looked somehow lost instead,
Peter flinched inwardly.
Peter was used to that kind of argument, the one that involved shouting and swearing and bravado. From the years spent fighting with Nathan until one of them would finally decide to throw a punch and things felt settled until the next blow was struck. Even the fights he and Mohinder had had before Nathan died, when just seeing the scientist standing behind his brother in his living room doorway was enough to set Peter off. Perhaps he had just been waiting for it, another argument like this, because if he said he had never wanted to take a swing at this man at least once in the months before Nathan’s death, Peter would have been lying. But swallowing down tightly, and feeling white lines grow around his knuckles, this was somehow different.
Maybe because he was the one who needed to be swung at this time?
“I don’t pity you,” Mohinder said instead of throwing something, looking tired instead of angry, “you’re the last person in the world that I would ever pity, in case you haven’t realized. And I’m not using you – I only wanted you here now because I was too, fucking stupid to see how badly I needed you six months ago.”
Peter blinked, seeing subway cars and broken glass behind his eyes “Six months ago?” That brought him up short, anger slowly smoothing from the lines of his face. “Okay, but – I said some stupid shit then, too. And you’re not stupid, and it’s not your fault.” Suddenly his face felt hot and his mouth dry, the way it always did when he could not think of anything intelligent to say, especially to cover up a mistake. “But, look, what does it matter now? I don’t care. Everything’s changed – whatever we’ve got going now, it means more than that. ‘Cause I’m not gonna go anywhere this time.”
Mohinder’s carriage changed, softening, his throat bobbing tightly. Peter took a step forward and placed his hands on the tops of Mohinder’s arms. “And I’m sorry, okay?” he said, gently, “I’m an asshole and you’re right.”
Lifting his chin Mohinder heaved a sigh and avoided Peter’s gaze, eyes darting to the slim space of gray tile floor between their feet. When he gave no response Peter leaned in to kiss him, soft and careful, until Mohinder’s hands found Peter’s hips and his fingers the belt loops of his jeans.
“Look, I – I just really wanna see you tonight,” Peter murmured into Mohinder’s lips, closing his eyes and the space between them until the tips of their noses brushed. “Just us? We can drive back to the city and stay at my place, or find a hotel or something in town – just, call and tell Matt it’s him and Molly tonight. I really need you to myself right now, okay?”
Taking a breath Mohinder nodded with a soft, “Okay,” his lashes lowered when their foreheads touched. With that Peter sighed and drew his arms around Mohinder’s shoulders, pressing his lips to his neck in a line soft kisses, slow and dry, cameras be damned.
“I was wondering where you guys got off to.”
The lilting taunt was followed by the sharp click-clack of shiny blue high-heels on the tile floor. Frowning Peter turned, catching sight of Elle’s broad smile from across the otherwise empty lab as she approached, gaze flitting capriciously over their intimate display. Without flinching Mohinder drew away, turning rigidly back to the examination table behind them, clearing his throat as he gathered his discarded clipboard.
“You’ve been holed up in here all day.” Affecting a pout Elle stopped to stand between the two men. She canted her head and lowered her lashes, ignoring their guarded expressions as she reached up to lightly finger the collar of Peter’s t-shirt. “I thought maybe you two slipped out without saying goodbye.”
“We were busy,” Peter answered, voice clipped, “do you need something?”
“I noticed. And Daddy wants to speak to you,” Elle said, tilting her head towards Mohinder, who nodded at her stiffly.
“Ah. I’m on my way then,” he said, looking over Elle’s head toward Peter, “if you would like to break for the day and resume testing in the morning?” Blinking slowly, Peter nodded his head and Mohinder cleared his throat. “Then I’ll meet up with you downstairs,” he excused himself, and with a tight smile turned, leaving briskly, the line of his white-draped body disappearing through the laboratory door. Watching him go, Peter swallowed thickly.
“Well. I probably should’ve seen this one coming.” Sing-songing Elle slid away, hopping onto the nearby table with a sigh. “The pretty ones are always gay.”
“Elle, I’m really not in the mood for this,” Peter shot back firmly. It took effort to refrain from tagging I just had a fight with my boyfriend onto the end of that sentence, as apt as it might have been. Even the boyfriend part, but that was another matter entirely. “And I can show myself out, so, thanks, but I don’t need the detail.”
“Whatever.” Swinging her legs over the edge of the table Elle ignored him and leaned back, propped on outstretched palms. “Watching you two scurry around is pretty entertaining, though. Following him around like a puppy, with that sad little face...” Regarding Peter with lidded eyes she smiled lazily. “It’s cute. In a clingy desperate kinda way.”
“Yeah, well – you’d know about clingy and desperate.” Frowning, Peter motioned to leave but two slender arms reached out for his waist, stronger than they looked in Elle’s gauzy black-and-white striped sweater. Pulling him close she smiled coyly, and dropped a hand between them to let red-tipped fingers toy with the edges of his t-shirt.
“He likes you, though – Mohinder, I mean. I haven’t seen him this…starry-eyed before.” Elle let out an impish giggle, sharp in the hollow space and too childlike for Peter’s comfort. “It’s almost gross. But then he’s been kinda messed up since the Sylar thing…”
“Sylar thing?” Peter flinched inwardly. Searching her face for some sign of tease or deceit he found nothing. “What Sylar thing?”
Sylar was dead. Or at least he was the last time Peter knew, six months earlier, in Kirby Plaza. Mohinder would not lie to him, or had not yet. Why would he start now?
In any case Elle lifted a shoulder to shrug, pushing up Peter’s t-shirt over the flat of his stomach. “I dunno.” A slender painted nail traced the outside of his navel, cold to his skin when her index finger trailed down the bisecting definition of his abs to hook in the waistband of his white boxer-briefs, peeking from over the top of his jeans. “Sylar showed up a couple of months ago, snagged Mohinder and his kid. It was when that cop boyfriend of his was in Texas, I think, right before you turned up in New York.”
Peter’s brow furrowed. “Mohinder never said anything about that.”
“Guess he lied to you. Guys are pigs, huh?” With a quirk of a thin brow Elle bit into the corner of her pink-lipstick mouth, and let her eyes trace up down the length of Peter’s frame. Straightening, it left him feeling somehow exposed beneath her gaze. “But, god, you two must be amazing to watch, though,” she ventured, in a voice suddenly distant as her eyes rested on the button of Peter’s jeans, “You look so pretty just kissing…”
Reaching for Elle’s hand Peter removed it from his shirt “We’re done here,” he said, and stepped away with narrowed eyes and an angry line of brow. “If Mohinder comes back tell him I’ll be downstairs.”
Behind him Elle huffed, sliding off the table with a click of her heels on the tiled floor as Peter pushed open the laboratory door, letting it slam shut with the sharp rattle of glass. Down the wide empty corridor his thoughts collided noisily over the geometry of Kirby Plaza and the faces arranged there in the dark, now jarringly hazy in his scarred mind’s eye, and the wet hard pounding sound of Sylar’s smirking face beneath his fists.
Title: Such a cautious display
Author:
eonismRating: NC17
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to NBC. I'm just having a laugh at their expense
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Mohinder
Word Count: 2,802
Author's notes: Takes place directly after These matters of security. General season two spoiler stuff.
Summary: The half-eaten Chinese take-out they had ordered the hour before was left forgotten on the kitchen counter when Peter found himself drawn the lines of Mohinder’s back and the clean, warm smell of his skin.
The drive back in to the city was quiet, molasses-slow as Peter’s mind worked silently between sideways glances to Mohinder in the driver’s seat and the soft drone of the car radio.
His apartment still felt cold but somehow far less hollow for Mohinder’s presence, weary though it may have been. It was easier to forget how empty the place had been with him here, as Peter locked the apartment door behind them, and walking across the kitchen failed to think of Nathan for the first time in weeks. He did not think of Sylar either, or Elle, for that matter, his busy thoughts temporarily stilled when they pulled up to the curb outside his building. He had let his mouth run a bit too freely already, and it did not feel worth the effort to argue about now.
Shrugging off his jacket Mohinder had sighed, looking tired but no less desirable to the other man in the dying sunlight from through the spaces between Peter’s bedroom blinds. It painted his face and chest in narrow red bands, making his skin look warmer, richer when he came out of the shower in borrowed blue pajama pants that slid down the sharp jut of his hipbones. Another sigh, far more content than the first and Peter watched appreciatively as the other man stretched out across newly changed bed sheets, folding his arms around the nearest pillow and dragging it under his chin.
The half-eaten Chinese take-out they had ordered the hour before was left forgotten on the kitchen counter when Peter found himself drawn the lines of Mohinder’s back and the clean, warm smell of his skin. He crawled into the still-cold bed, the softer mattress protesting far less under his shifting weight than he was now used to as he stretched out to press his body to Mohinder’s, chest molding to the curve of the other man’s spine, a hand to a shoulder and thigh over thigh. Nose pressed to the still-damp curls at the nape of Mohinder’s neck, Peter felt something warm and slow pool in his stomach, and beneath him Mohinder made satisfied sound in the back of his throat, stretched out comfortably and closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Peter murmured, voice muffled by Mohinder’s skin as he pressed a dry kiss beneath the stubbled hinge of scientist’s jaw, “about today.”
Mohinder lifted his shoulder to shrug, limp and ineffective when pressed between Peter’s chest and the sheets. “I can’t really hold anything against you, can I? You have every right to be angry with me…this situation hasn’t been very fair to you, especially between us.” Voice thinning into a pause, Mohinder swallowed. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me today. It was wrong of me to expect your help, after everything they’ve put you through.”
“S’ok – you needed the help. And you’ve already done so much for me.” Another kiss, soft and quiet, pressed to Mohinder’s neck. Peter maneuvered a hand around his chest, holding the other man close, his fingers gliding affectionately through the thin hairs curled there. “It shouldn’t matter who you work for.”
“But it does.” Twisting around in Peter’s hold, Mohinder leveled him a suddenly pleading look. “They lied to you, Peter – locked you up like a criminal, drugging you with god knows what. I can’t forgive that. And if you couldn’t reconcile my…relationship, with The Company, I would understand.”
“Hey.” Canting his head Peter splayed his fingers across Mohinder’s chest, his face lining under the dying light still edging through the blinds above the bed. “I don’t like who you work for, but I’ll live, alright? You mean more to me than that.” With lidded eyes his gaze dropped to Mohinder’s bottom lip, and leaning forward Peter nipped at it gently. “I told you – I’m not going anywhere. Not even Bob’s gonna chase me off this time.”
At that Mohinder laughed, a soft purr of a chuckle, burying the sound in Peter’s lips as he turned over beneath him. “That’s reassuring.” Reaching up he put his hands to the back of Peter’s neck, fingers sliding between the short strands and pulling the other man close as he opened his mouth to the kiss. “I think.”
Dipping his tongue between Mohinder’s lips Peter sighed, drawing his arms around the other man’s waist, holding him against him. The softness of his mouth and scent of his skin, like clean cotton and aftershave and something warmer still, sent heat curling down the length of Peter’s spine like drops of warm honey. It pooled in his hips, as he felt himself begin to harden in the same jeans he had worn earlier in the day, forgetting to change after he slipped off his t-shirt and followed Mohinder to bed. Flexing his hips against Mohinder’s groin, the scientist moaned into the kiss, low and throaty, and Peter shivered and closed his eyes.
Hands left his hair, running down his shoulders to skate over the notches in his spine down to his hipbones, fingers fitting easily in the shallow definitions cutting above the waistband of his jeans. Long legs shifted in the sheets as Mohinder planted socked feet on either side of Peter, lean thighs coming up to frame his waist and with a roll of his hips Peter broke the kiss to breathe, earning another thick moan. He angled his head, running his teeth along Mohinder’s bottom lip with a sigh, fingers tightening on his hipbones. They kept him close with a sharp breath, Mohinder’s dark eyes already lidded and wet in a way that made Peter’s blood spike possessively.
“Peter,” Mohinder breathed sharply, voice ragged, greedy, bringing a hand between them and undoing the front of Peter’s jeans. Fear of being caught, especially by passing 10-year-olds in middle of the night had made the both of them not only careful but quick, as clever fingers slipped passed the opened jeans to the briefs beneath them, cupping Peter firmly until he gave a shallow buck and groaned.
He wriggled free of the other man’s tightening hold with one last biting kiss, reaching out an arm to blindly grope the front of the bedside table to his left. His fingers found the knob on the drawer, pulling it open and searching the pens, notepads, paper clips and other random contents for the small bottle of lubricant he knew he had placed in there, at least a year ago. Refusing to ponder as to whether or not such things as lube had expiration dates, Peter produced the familiar plastic container and sat back on his knees, straddling the other man.
Levering himself up Mohinder followed when Peter pulled away, pressing a kiss to his mouth, open and full, pushing his jeans down his hips until his erection slipped free between them to curve against Mohinder’s stomach. He took the bottle, opening it and pouring a generous amount of lube into his palm, and with a breathless moan Peter’s cock twitched as Mohinder took him in hand to coat him in the necessary oil, throbbing to his touch. Kicking off his jeans and briefs Peter tossed them aside before slipping his own tightening pajama bottoms from Mohinder’s hips, letting them fall to the floor by the footboard to join the rest of his clothes, their mouths meeting again, panting and fevered.
“I think this is the first time we’ve had sex with the bedroom door open,” Mohinder murmured between Peter’s lips, something wry quirking in the corners of his mouth. “And it’s only 8:30. This is a bit exciting, don’t you think?”
At that Peter laughed, a little harder than he meant to, sliding his fingers through Mohinder’s still-damp hair and sucking on his tongue. Thinking back perhaps Peter should have said something – about Elle, and Sylar, and all of it – but Mohinder was right. It was the only time in the two months since he had started staying with Mohinder that they could do this at a decent hour, without a knock at the door or fear of waking Molly and Matt in the next room. The argument would still be there in the morning, after all, but Mohinder would not be.
Breathing sharply into the kiss Mohinder pulled away, and giving Peter’s bottom lip a slow, deep bite turned to lie on his stomach, pulling the pillow over to rest his elbows on. The sight gave Peter brief pause, letting out a ragged breath, feeling momentarily lost. He trailed a hand down the length of Mohinder’s spine, tracing each elegant definition notch by notch, to stroke down the small of his back along the curve of his hip, skin rich and dark and thrilling to his touch. Slicking his fingers with lube Peter dropped a kiss between Mohinder’s shoulder blades and slid a hand in the cleft of his ass, circling his tightened entrance with the pad of his thumb.
Beneath him Mohinder tensed, the muscles in his back and legs tightening at the sensation, eyes closed, mouth falling open on a thick, breathless sound. Peter made a soothing noise in the back of his throat and pressed his lips to the top of Mohinder’s spine, sliding the tip of his index finger inside of him. He prepared Mohinder carefully, the way he always did – knowing that he preferred this to the slightly rougher sex that Peter tended to favor in receiving – gradually stretching his entrance on his first knuckle then the second, before adding his middle finger, mindful to the initial resistance.
With a groan Mohinder began to relax, voice heavy and sex-soaked, his limbs visibly sagging into the mattress despite the intrusion. He shifted his hips to accommodate the pressure, bringing his knee up to spread himself and accept the width of Peter’s fingers as he worked them in and out of him gingerly. “Oh – Peter....”
The sound of his voice, breathless and hungry as it was traveled down Peter’s spine to the tip of his cock like an electric current, making him shiver at the warmth punctuating his name. Giving the curve of Mohinder’s neck a gentle bite Peter withdrew his fingers and leaned in, pouring himself over the length of Mohinder’s body. He held a breath, molding himself to the contours of Mohinder’s long, dark back as his erection slipped easily in the cleft of the other man’s ass, earning each of them a shared moan, long and low.
Peter brought an arm around Mohinder’s shoulders, a hand splayed across his chest as he angled his head to kiss him, slow and deep and full. Dropping a hand to guide himself inside he shifted his hips forward, gently pressing into the tight heat Mohinder’s body offered, and beneath Peter let out a thick, dry sound and wound his fingers into the fabric of the pillow case. Eyes falling shut Peter swallowed Mohinder’s moan and sank in, taking slow and careful seat, working passed the initial resistance until his cock twitched in the hot clench of the other man’s body.
With a breathy moan Mohinder shuddered, bringing his knee higher, trying to open himself further. Peter pulled him close, shifting his hips.
“You okay?” he asked, and took a sharp breath. Hearing a breathless Yes and pressing his face to the salt-smelling crook of Mohinder’s shoulder, Peter rocked back then forward again until they both groaned.
Peter was never quite as patient as Mohinder tended to be, not as content with unhurried and shallow and slow to build. Thrusts were deep, measured, careful at first until Mohinder’s tell-tale moan and roll of hips, pushing him back, pushing him deeper. With a bite of his bottom lip Peter dropped a hand to Mohinder’s waist, held it there and let himself go.
The rhythm was found; fast to build in each thorough stroke, deep and full. Beneath him Mohinder was unashamed in a way that Peter was not used to, unhindered by the fear of eventually being heard or walked in on, by either Molly or Matt. It was nothing like the way Mohinder usually was when they had sex. He was careful and quiet, biting down on moans or swallowing Peter’s, and nearly always somehow tense, waiting for a knock at the door.
But this was good, he thought with a tilt of his hips, changing the trajectory to search for the measure that Peter knew from experience made his own limbs slacken and skin melt into the sheets. Finding it Peter shivered at Mohinder’s choked, dry sob, high and sharp, making his blood heat and his breath quicken. He angled his head to capture Mohinder’s mouth and with a biting kiss bucked harder, faster, spurred on by the sound of the other man’s ragged, needing voice.
“I wanna hear you,” Peter breathed into Mohinder’s lips, and feeling him buck back gasped.
Their bodies rocked, almost noiselessly on Peter’s newer, softer mattress, save their shared moans, unfettered from caution. A hand came back to thread fingers through his hair, tugging gently on his scalp to keep him close with a throaty moan and a nip at his bottom lip. Peter groaned into the open kiss, hands tightening on Mohinder’s hip and across his chest, and with an angle of his hips felt the other man’s body clench around him with a long and reedy whine. It took three impatient thrusts before Mohinder’s orgasm pulled Peter over the edge with him and he came with a strangled cry, burying it into Mohinder’s mouth, still open and panting in the spaces where their lips did not quite meet.
“I think,” Mohinder murmured breathily, blinking his darkly glazed eyes with a lazy smile that Peter felt rather than saw, “you are becoming quite the bad influence on me with talk like that.”
Smirking, Peter gave Mohinder’s mouth one last nip as he drew away, rolling over onto his back. “I think you love it,” he remarked, shifting in the still-cool sheets on his side of the bed, waiting for his breath to slow as he watched Mohinder turn to lie on his side.
“I think you may be right.” Snaking a hand across Peter’s stomach Mohinder drew him close, pressing a kiss to his bottom lip with a sigh. “But don’t expect to get away with that at my place, either. We’ll traumatize Molly.”
With a snort Peter looped an arm around Mohinder’s waist. “What about Matt?”
“Well, him too.” Smirking, Mohinder laid his head beside Peter’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “We’ll just have to have loud obnoxious sex at your place instead, then.”
“Guess so.” Eyes on the ceiling, Peter felt his skin begin to cool as darkness settled along the walls, casting a broad arc of shadow over the bed and across the floor. Something heavy began to pool in his chest, as Mohinder’s breathing slowed and his body relaxed beside him, easing into sleep. He took a breath, thought of Elle, and shook his head.
“Unless you stayed here?” Peter asked, instead of the obvious, glancing over his shoulder to the man lying beside him. “I mean, yaknow – permanently?”
Mohinder opened his eyes. Something unreadable flickered across his gaze, settling on the ceiling as though following Peter’s line of sight. “That would complicate things,” he said, and the answer made Peter’s mouth feel suddenly dry. “There’s no room for my things here, let alone enough space for Molly. And I can’t just leave her with Matt, that would be unfair to both of them.”
“Then we can find a bigger place,” Peter offered, his voice hopeful despite the furrow of his brow and the worried line of his mouth. Fuck Elle, fuck Sylar – fuck everyone. That argument was going to wait. “Somewhere with room for all three of us, then you and Matt can just share custody or something. Swap every weekend.”
Mohinder looked at him. “Are you sure?” Swallowing, he looked somehow wary.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Reaching up Peter placed a hand on Mohinder’s jaw, drawing his thumb across the line of his mouth before sliding his fingers into his hair. “We can work something out. It’s gotta be better than four people living in a two-bedroom, right?”
At that Mohinder chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. Especially since the line for the bathroom every morning seems to go out the front door these days.” Looking down, he slid a hand over Peter’s wrist and let out a sigh. “Just, let me think about it first. I don’t want to rush into anything, alright?”
Peter smirked. “I never rush into anything.”
“No, but you are a terrible liar.” With a smile Mohinder angled his head to kiss Peter, soft and chaste. “I just don’t want to be swept off my feet too quickly.”
Not thinking of Nathan, or Sylar, or anyone else, Peter simply nodded.
Ten bucks for the first person to name the songs the title lyrics are from! :D Except not really.
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