Title: Too late to say you're sorry
Author:![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
eonism
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to NBC. I'm just having a laugh at their expense
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Mohinder
Word Count: 1,982
Author's notes: Dedicated to/requested by/written forgatheringlight. Also, I proof-read this until my eyeballs fell out, so if I missed anything, just let me know.
Summary: There was no saying sorry.
it's too late you say you're sorry;
how would i know, why should i care?
There was no saying sorry. All his most furtive contemplations could foresee no polite way to mince the words that still pulled his tongue in knots when he thought about it. Even though he never really thought about it, he assured himself. Not in any way that counted, and certainly not aloud, even when alone in the empty apartment and the clutter of furnishing still misplaced from the fight there three days earlier. Mohinder on the ceiling and Peter the wall, and Sylar –
“I thought you were dead.”
There was nothing else Mohinder could think to say so he said that instead, with dry lips and a tight throat and hands cold around the rubber of the steering wheel cover, then clammy with sweat.
It was cold outside, November air seeping through the vents and passed his thin cotton t-shirt like a chill until the back door opened with a creak and the whine of the faux-leather upholstery. Tired eyes appeared in the narrow sliver of the rearview mirror, gold and green between the brown like fading starbursts. Brown now, not deathly white and glassy, as they had been the last time Mohinder had seen him, a shadow slumped and bleeding across his backseat.
When they blinked away the unkempt fringe of dark bangs, Mohinder’s face felt suddenly hot.
“I was,” came the cryptic reply, Peter’s voice was somehow hollow in the suddenly warm air between them. He smiled, small and crooked at one of its corners, but no humor passed the eyes in the rearview mirror. “I mean, sort of.”
“I see.” It was a lie, but what did Peter know? “How?”
“My niece – the cheerleader I met in Texas.” Mohinder’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “She pulled the glass out. She can heal herself, and so can I, apparently.”
“Ah – well that’s fortunate,” Mohinder said robotically, wanting to say something to make the exchange seem somehow natural.
When Peter said “Just take me somewhere,” Mohinder did. No destination in mind, just the press of the gas pedal to the rubber mat beneath the steering column and a familiar hum of blood in his eardrums.
Creeping through mid-town traffic down thirteen city blocks, Peter’s eyes taken and his attention caught by the passing of glimmer of neon light through the passenger window smudged with palm prints and sweat. Mohinder did not watch him. That would suggest something else entirely.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Behind him the upholstery moaned softly. “You took me to my mom’s house.”
“Yes.” Mohinder felt rather than saw the eyes now on him, looking ahead into the thick of slowly passing cars. “After Sylar attacked you.” Limbs limp like a loosely-stitched doll in his arms as he carried Peter down the steps, cold sweat on his ribs, carefully sliding the body into the back seat of his cab with a grunt.
Thinking of it now, Mohinder’s throat bobbed tightly. “I didn’t know where else to take you.”
“You could’ve left me.” The cynicism in Peter’s voice feels somehow contrived. “Saved yourself.”
“Would you have left me?” It was out of Mohinder’s mouth before he could stop himself, looking at Peter’s face in the rearview mirror. “If you were in my place?”
Peter looked away. “Pull in here.”
Here was a vacant parking lot situated between a caddy-corner of empty streets and two sectional rows of shops on either side, with closed signs in the doors and unlit windows. Parking outside the chalky margins of lamplight from a nearby street lantern Mohinder pulled the break and killed the engine.
“I should’ve called you,” Peter said. His voice suddenly felt closer in the space between them.
“You didn’t know.” Mohinder watched Peter’s slivered reflection for any sign of his intent, and was met only with his cautiously slanted gaze. “And what difference would it have made? You’re alive. That’s all that matters now.”
“I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for you.” A hot sigh on the side of Mohinder’s neck and Peter crept forward in his seat with a creak of upholstery. “I owe you so much and I barely know you. I don’t even really know what to think of you.”
“Something good, I hope,” Mohinder quipped mechanically, his mouth curving lightly into a nervous smile.
“Yeah.” Peter’s furtive smile did not fit within the perimeters of the rearview mirror, but Mohinder felt it rather than saw it. “I think so.”
Silence settled between them like a sheet. Mohinder meant to turn to the other man, to offer to take him home, but Peter cut off his train of thought with a muffled creak of upholstery. The curve of Peter’s cheek bone appeared in Mohinder’s peripheral and his eyes settled on his mouth, soft and red like a slice of ripened fruit in the milky edges of street light bleeding through the windshield.
With a sigh of breath Peter lifted his hand and lowered his lashes, tentative fingers threading into his hair and Mohinder felt suddenly lost.
Their mouths met in slow and careful degrees. Just lips and brushing fingers, that made Mohinder’s blood feel warm under his skin and brought some obscure and dusty pink to the apples of Peter’s cheeks. When they separated, Mohinder took a breath.
“I’m sorry,” Peter murmured with half-closed eyes and a sleepy disappoint beneath his breath. “I have to go.”
“I know.” Mohinder nodded and felt disappointed in a way he could not nail down. Tentative hands meant to let Peter go wherever he needed to be but Peter never moved, hovering within a span of breath, and kissed him again.
A clamber of limbs brought Peter between the spaces of the front seats as he climbed in to sit beside Mohinder. He bridged the distance between them with an eager mouth and fingers that caught in the rough fabric on Mohinder’s jacket and for it Mohinder moaned softly between their lips. His hands found their ways into Peter’s hair and clothes, bringing him close as his palms sought the comfort of Peter’s beating heart and warm, soft skin. Anything to prove to himself that this was not some fevered dream or guilty reverie, and that there was breath on these lips and heat in this body.
A sudden flash of twin headlights from a quietly passing car made Mohinder gasp despite himself.
“We can’t do this, Peter.” Reluctantly Mohinder pushed Peter against the back of his seat. “Someone could see us.”
“Hey,” Peter said gently, by way of shushing Mohinder as he reached out to brush a wayward curl from his brow. Shifting in his seat Peter leaned forward, gently easing Mohinder back across the seat with a soft push and a slow kiss. “S’ok,” he murmured reassuringly, craning his head beneath the roof of the cab to seat himself in Mohinder’s lap, “nobody’s gonna see…”
With a swallow breath Mohinder sat up against the car door, situating himself between the seat and the steering column in a position nearing comfortable. Tensing fingers on Peter’s hips belied his uncertainty as the other man leaned over him, slender white hands pulling his t-shirt up and his jeans open.
“Peter – ” Mohinder reasoned, or tried, blood humming in his ears in the thrill of shame or shame of the thrill, or some other unwanted combination of the two. But Peter was somehow possessed, lips flushed and eyes wet under cloudy shades of street light, and with a shaky breath Mohinder’s protests were plucked from his tongue by nipping kisses and a bite at his bottom lip.
Someone would see them. But Peter was alive, real and alive and kissing him, and that somehow made it okay, at least for now.
The tinny scrape of metal teeth and Peter shifted his unsteady perch in Mohinder’s lap, shrugging his jeans down his waist to rest under his knees to let his erection slip free, pink head swollen as it rubbed against Mohinder’s belly. At the sight Mohinder groaned, taking the length in hand with a gentle tug and earning a moan and a heady sigh, tenting his boxer-briefs at the sound.
It took three tugs before Mohinder’s jeans and briefs came down, pushed to his knees as Peter positioned himself above the jut of his erection. A saliva-slicked palm provided all the lubricant they could be afforded as Peter prepared Mohinder, petting up and down his length with a care and attention in his face that made what they were doing more intimate than it was. For it Mohinder held a breath, holding Peter’s waist with fondly stroking fingers, circling the indentions of hipbones with the pads of his thumbs and a sigh.
Sitting up Peter braced himself on the steering wheel and the headrest of the driver’s seat, and bringing himself down he sobbed, dry and tight, working himself carefully onto Mohinder’s length until they both groaned.
“Peter – ” Watching himself disappear into Peter’s body was without words. With a grunt Mohinder shuddered, feeling Peter’s ass sit flush against his balls.
“I know,” Peter echoed breathlessly. Bending forward he reached out to tangle a hand into Mohinder’s hair, fingers curling tightly through thick strands as though to keep himself grounded in place. “S’good – don’t worry, s’good.”
Peter was tight, dry from lack of preparation even with saliva. With a shallow rock of his hips Mohinder groaned, seeking rhythm as Peter shifted in his lap, widening his knees to the stretch and fill. It was slow at first, and careful, holding Peter as he moaned, eyes closed and head bent to breathe damply across Mohinder’s scalp with each thrust.
Denim rustled in the hot confines of the cab, skin sliding on skin under the sound of gasps and shared moans. Rocking up into the tight heat Peter’s body offered Mohinder panted, holding Peter’s waist in a grip that would certainly bruise by morning. He shifted his uncomfortable sprawl across the seat, changing the angle, bolder, sharper than before, ribs sweating and eyes tightly shut.
“Oh, fuck,” Peter sighed, breathless, reedy, “Mohinder, just – oh, Christ.”
His thighs tensed and his back arched. Fingers tightening across Mohinder’s scalp he pushed back down on Mohinder’s cock to meet each thrust, the pace quickening as they began to rock in unison, a see-saw of shared breaths. Another buck, harder than before, and Peter shivered. Against Mohinder’s belly Peter’s cock leaked with a whine, long and dry, leaving wet stripes across Mohinder’s stomach and in the fabric of his t-shirt.
The sound of Peter’s orgasm slipped down Mohinder’s spine like a current, curling down the length of his shaft and tightening in his sac with a grunt. He grasped Peter’s hips and slammed home in three quick thrusts, and letting out a tight, dry sob came as Peter fell limp against him, panting into his hair and on his brow.
They stayed that way for a silent moment, a tangle of limbs and clothing and hot panting breath. With a sigh Peter pulled away and let Mohinder slip out flaccidly to rest against his knee, adjusting his bent posture to tangle his free hand in Mohinder’s shirt as he brought their mouths together in a hot, open kiss. Holding Peter close, Mohinder dipped his tongue between his lips and sighed.
“I have to go,” Peter murmured again, either as a reminder or self-assurance of some kind.
In any case Mohinder simply nodded. “I know.”
In an hour Peter will disappear again, shrugging reluctantly into his clothes to face some other peril that Mohinder will not ask about as he watches Peter slip out of his cab. They will meet again in Kirby Plaza, in two day’s time, when the whole world seems to end in a burst of firelight. But for now there is only this.
Author:
eonismRating: NC17
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to NBC. I'm just having a laugh at their expense
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Mohinder
Word Count: 1,982
Author's notes: Dedicated to/requested by/written for
gatheringlight. Also, I proof-read this until my eyeballs fell out, so if I missed anything, just let me know.Summary: There was no saying sorry.
it's too late you say you're sorry;
how would i know, why should i care?
There was no saying sorry. All his most furtive contemplations could foresee no polite way to mince the words that still pulled his tongue in knots when he thought about it. Even though he never really thought about it, he assured himself. Not in any way that counted, and certainly not aloud, even when alone in the empty apartment and the clutter of furnishing still misplaced from the fight there three days earlier. Mohinder on the ceiling and Peter the wall, and Sylar –
“I thought you were dead.”
There was nothing else Mohinder could think to say so he said that instead, with dry lips and a tight throat and hands cold around the rubber of the steering wheel cover, then clammy with sweat.
It was cold outside, November air seeping through the vents and passed his thin cotton t-shirt like a chill until the back door opened with a creak and the whine of the faux-leather upholstery. Tired eyes appeared in the narrow sliver of the rearview mirror, gold and green between the brown like fading starbursts. Brown now, not deathly white and glassy, as they had been the last time Mohinder had seen him, a shadow slumped and bleeding across his backseat.
When they blinked away the unkempt fringe of dark bangs, Mohinder’s face felt suddenly hot.
“I was,” came the cryptic reply, Peter’s voice was somehow hollow in the suddenly warm air between them. He smiled, small and crooked at one of its corners, but no humor passed the eyes in the rearview mirror. “I mean, sort of.”
“I see.” It was a lie, but what did Peter know? “How?”
“My niece – the cheerleader I met in Texas.” Mohinder’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “She pulled the glass out. She can heal herself, and so can I, apparently.”
“Ah – well that’s fortunate,” Mohinder said robotically, wanting to say something to make the exchange seem somehow natural.
When Peter said “Just take me somewhere,” Mohinder did. No destination in mind, just the press of the gas pedal to the rubber mat beneath the steering column and a familiar hum of blood in his eardrums.
Creeping through mid-town traffic down thirteen city blocks, Peter’s eyes taken and his attention caught by the passing of glimmer of neon light through the passenger window smudged with palm prints and sweat. Mohinder did not watch him. That would suggest something else entirely.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Behind him the upholstery moaned softly. “You took me to my mom’s house.”
“Yes.” Mohinder felt rather than saw the eyes now on him, looking ahead into the thick of slowly passing cars. “After Sylar attacked you.” Limbs limp like a loosely-stitched doll in his arms as he carried Peter down the steps, cold sweat on his ribs, carefully sliding the body into the back seat of his cab with a grunt.
Thinking of it now, Mohinder’s throat bobbed tightly. “I didn’t know where else to take you.”
“You could’ve left me.” The cynicism in Peter’s voice feels somehow contrived. “Saved yourself.”
“Would you have left me?” It was out of Mohinder’s mouth before he could stop himself, looking at Peter’s face in the rearview mirror. “If you were in my place?”
Peter looked away. “Pull in here.”
Here was a vacant parking lot situated between a caddy-corner of empty streets and two sectional rows of shops on either side, with closed signs in the doors and unlit windows. Parking outside the chalky margins of lamplight from a nearby street lantern Mohinder pulled the break and killed the engine.
“I should’ve called you,” Peter said. His voice suddenly felt closer in the space between them.
“You didn’t know.” Mohinder watched Peter’s slivered reflection for any sign of his intent, and was met only with his cautiously slanted gaze. “And what difference would it have made? You’re alive. That’s all that matters now.”
“I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for you.” A hot sigh on the side of Mohinder’s neck and Peter crept forward in his seat with a creak of upholstery. “I owe you so much and I barely know you. I don’t even really know what to think of you.”
“Something good, I hope,” Mohinder quipped mechanically, his mouth curving lightly into a nervous smile.
“Yeah.” Peter’s furtive smile did not fit within the perimeters of the rearview mirror, but Mohinder felt it rather than saw it. “I think so.”
Silence settled between them like a sheet. Mohinder meant to turn to the other man, to offer to take him home, but Peter cut off his train of thought with a muffled creak of upholstery. The curve of Peter’s cheek bone appeared in Mohinder’s peripheral and his eyes settled on his mouth, soft and red like a slice of ripened fruit in the milky edges of street light bleeding through the windshield.
With a sigh of breath Peter lifted his hand and lowered his lashes, tentative fingers threading into his hair and Mohinder felt suddenly lost.
Their mouths met in slow and careful degrees. Just lips and brushing fingers, that made Mohinder’s blood feel warm under his skin and brought some obscure and dusty pink to the apples of Peter’s cheeks. When they separated, Mohinder took a breath.
“I’m sorry,” Peter murmured with half-closed eyes and a sleepy disappoint beneath his breath. “I have to go.”
“I know.” Mohinder nodded and felt disappointed in a way he could not nail down. Tentative hands meant to let Peter go wherever he needed to be but Peter never moved, hovering within a span of breath, and kissed him again.
A clamber of limbs brought Peter between the spaces of the front seats as he climbed in to sit beside Mohinder. He bridged the distance between them with an eager mouth and fingers that caught in the rough fabric on Mohinder’s jacket and for it Mohinder moaned softly between their lips. His hands found their ways into Peter’s hair and clothes, bringing him close as his palms sought the comfort of Peter’s beating heart and warm, soft skin. Anything to prove to himself that this was not some fevered dream or guilty reverie, and that there was breath on these lips and heat in this body.
A sudden flash of twin headlights from a quietly passing car made Mohinder gasp despite himself.
“We can’t do this, Peter.” Reluctantly Mohinder pushed Peter against the back of his seat. “Someone could see us.”
“Hey,” Peter said gently, by way of shushing Mohinder as he reached out to brush a wayward curl from his brow. Shifting in his seat Peter leaned forward, gently easing Mohinder back across the seat with a soft push and a slow kiss. “S’ok,” he murmured reassuringly, craning his head beneath the roof of the cab to seat himself in Mohinder’s lap, “nobody’s gonna see…”
With a swallow breath Mohinder sat up against the car door, situating himself between the seat and the steering column in a position nearing comfortable. Tensing fingers on Peter’s hips belied his uncertainty as the other man leaned over him, slender white hands pulling his t-shirt up and his jeans open.
“Peter – ” Mohinder reasoned, or tried, blood humming in his ears in the thrill of shame or shame of the thrill, or some other unwanted combination of the two. But Peter was somehow possessed, lips flushed and eyes wet under cloudy shades of street light, and with a shaky breath Mohinder’s protests were plucked from his tongue by nipping kisses and a bite at his bottom lip.
Someone would see them. But Peter was alive, real and alive and kissing him, and that somehow made it okay, at least for now.
The tinny scrape of metal teeth and Peter shifted his unsteady perch in Mohinder’s lap, shrugging his jeans down his waist to rest under his knees to let his erection slip free, pink head swollen as it rubbed against Mohinder’s belly. At the sight Mohinder groaned, taking the length in hand with a gentle tug and earning a moan and a heady sigh, tenting his boxer-briefs at the sound.
It took three tugs before Mohinder’s jeans and briefs came down, pushed to his knees as Peter positioned himself above the jut of his erection. A saliva-slicked palm provided all the lubricant they could be afforded as Peter prepared Mohinder, petting up and down his length with a care and attention in his face that made what they were doing more intimate than it was. For it Mohinder held a breath, holding Peter’s waist with fondly stroking fingers, circling the indentions of hipbones with the pads of his thumbs and a sigh.
Sitting up Peter braced himself on the steering wheel and the headrest of the driver’s seat, and bringing himself down he sobbed, dry and tight, working himself carefully onto Mohinder’s length until they both groaned.
“Peter – ” Watching himself disappear into Peter’s body was without words. With a grunt Mohinder shuddered, feeling Peter’s ass sit flush against his balls.
“I know,” Peter echoed breathlessly. Bending forward he reached out to tangle a hand into Mohinder’s hair, fingers curling tightly through thick strands as though to keep himself grounded in place. “S’good – don’t worry, s’good.”
Peter was tight, dry from lack of preparation even with saliva. With a shallow rock of his hips Mohinder groaned, seeking rhythm as Peter shifted in his lap, widening his knees to the stretch and fill. It was slow at first, and careful, holding Peter as he moaned, eyes closed and head bent to breathe damply across Mohinder’s scalp with each thrust.
Denim rustled in the hot confines of the cab, skin sliding on skin under the sound of gasps and shared moans. Rocking up into the tight heat Peter’s body offered Mohinder panted, holding Peter’s waist in a grip that would certainly bruise by morning. He shifted his uncomfortable sprawl across the seat, changing the angle, bolder, sharper than before, ribs sweating and eyes tightly shut.
“Oh, fuck,” Peter sighed, breathless, reedy, “Mohinder, just – oh, Christ.”
His thighs tensed and his back arched. Fingers tightening across Mohinder’s scalp he pushed back down on Mohinder’s cock to meet each thrust, the pace quickening as they began to rock in unison, a see-saw of shared breaths. Another buck, harder than before, and Peter shivered. Against Mohinder’s belly Peter’s cock leaked with a whine, long and dry, leaving wet stripes across Mohinder’s stomach and in the fabric of his t-shirt.
The sound of Peter’s orgasm slipped down Mohinder’s spine like a current, curling down the length of his shaft and tightening in his sac with a grunt. He grasped Peter’s hips and slammed home in three quick thrusts, and letting out a tight, dry sob came as Peter fell limp against him, panting into his hair and on his brow.
They stayed that way for a silent moment, a tangle of limbs and clothing and hot panting breath. With a sigh Peter pulled away and let Mohinder slip out flaccidly to rest against his knee, adjusting his bent posture to tangle his free hand in Mohinder’s shirt as he brought their mouths together in a hot, open kiss. Holding Peter close, Mohinder dipped his tongue between his lips and sighed.
“I have to go,” Peter murmured again, either as a reminder or self-assurance of some kind.
In any case Mohinder simply nodded. “I know.”
In an hour Peter will disappear again, shrugging reluctantly into his clothes to face some other peril that Mohinder will not ask about as he watches Peter slip out of his cab. They will meet again in Kirby Plaza, in two day’s time, when the whole world seems to end in a burst of firelight. But for now there is only this.
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