Gabriel Gray (Sylar) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
complexharmony) wrote2020-11-20 05:38 pm
complexharmony) wrote2020-11-20 05:38 pm
Overflow. Open Post. Captcha. Etc
( Brackets / Prose / Text / Audio / Video )
( Brackets / Prose / Text / Audio / Video )
[ ethan's emerald eyes track the offending drink, and he makes a mental note to down it later, if his new friend isn't going to. they flick back up to watch him interact with the waitress, and ethan barely remembers to give her a polite smile before his attention falls back to him.
he chooses to skip the etiquette comment. that's a conversation for another time. ]
well, ah. [ how to say this. ] let's just say i con and i've been conned enough in my life, yeah? anything more than that and i might have to kill you.
[ a playful, i'll-never-tell wink follows when he reaches over the table, bringing the vanilla latte to his lips. ]
he chooses to skip the etiquette comment. that's a conversation for another time. ]
well, ah. [ how to say this. ] let's just say i con and i've been conned enough in my life, yeah? anything more than that and i might have to kill you.
[ a playful, i'll-never-tell wink follows when he reaches over the table, bringing the vanilla latte to his lips. ]
( Sylar brings the latte to his lips as he listens to the reply. He pauses before taking a drink, his amusement evident. )
You can certainly try.
( That's not just overconfidence talking. His smile becomes a knowing smirk, the secret hidden in the depths of his dark eyes. There's a question there, too, or rather many: what kind of cons had this seemingly young man been involved with? How alike were they, really?
Too scruffy to be with the Company, or whatever remained of it anyway. No, no, there was something more to him that intrigued Sylar. Confident yet eager to please, easily excited. This could be fun. He sips his own drink finally, savoring the flavor and his thoughts hone entirely on the foamy liquid. No words, only drinking. )
You can certainly try.
( That's not just overconfidence talking. His smile becomes a knowing smirk, the secret hidden in the depths of his dark eyes. There's a question there, too, or rather many: what kind of cons had this seemingly young man been involved with? How alike were they, really?
Too scruffy to be with the Company, or whatever remained of it anyway. No, no, there was something more to him that intrigued Sylar. Confident yet eager to please, easily excited. This could be fun. He sips his own drink finally, savoring the flavor and his thoughts hone entirely on the foamy liquid. No words, only drinking. )
( Hank looks up from his bite of food as Gabriel talks about ramen. He was personally familiar with the noodles. Although, these days, it was more about take-out, fast food, and restaurants. Hank's income was enough to cover the bill for this place. Even a kid's meal was uncomfortably expensive.
He huffs gently and shakes his head as he contemplates on the inquiry. )
Hm. Mm, sometimes. ( He brings a napkin to his lips and wipes at his skin. He sets the napkin down on the table, beside his plate. ) Sometimes I don't enjoy their company. Though I don't typically meet them ... in a restaurant. More like, the scene of the crime, interrogating rooms, over the phone, undisclosed secret locations that make them feel safe... whatever.
He huffs gently and shakes his head as he contemplates on the inquiry. )
Hm. Mm, sometimes. ( He brings a napkin to his lips and wipes at his skin. He sets the napkin down on the table, beside his plate. ) Sometimes I don't enjoy their company. Though I don't typically meet them ... in a restaurant. More like, the scene of the crime, interrogating rooms, over the phone, undisclosed secret locations that make them feel safe... whatever.
lmao redid my icon keywords and now some don't exactly match
complexharmony
2020-12-08 05:14 am (UTC)(link)
( His heart's practically in his throat. Seeing Mohinder of all people looking at him so openly, unguarded, he can't get past it. But... Yes, waiting, that's a good plan, a very... good... plan indeed, and Sylar's nodding with agreement to that idea. The conviction to actually stick to it lasts only until Mohinder touches him again. His pulse is rapid, his eyes half-lidded, and he's as pliable as putty to that tugging.
The first touch of those lips shatter what little remained of his resolve. He moans deeply like a man dehydrated facing a mountain spring. He kisses deeply, his tongue eagerly meeting Mohinder's. He brings his other hand up to join the first, cupping around his neck and burying his long fingers into those bouncy dark curls. It helps ground him to the reality that this wasn't a dream, this was really happening...
He should hold back, a tiny voice in his mind tells him, but he can't. What felt like years of pining crash fourth, made worse by a recent forced trip south of the border, and this is something he's desperately wanted to do ever since his return. But the timing had been wrong, dreadfully so, and he'd thought Mohinder had moved on. That damned cop's scent had been everywhere like a bad hangover.
Sylar breaks the kiss to catch his breath, pressing his forehead against Mohinder's. )
Jesus...
The first touch of those lips shatter what little remained of his resolve. He moans deeply like a man dehydrated facing a mountain spring. He kisses deeply, his tongue eagerly meeting Mohinder's. He brings his other hand up to join the first, cupping around his neck and burying his long fingers into those bouncy dark curls. It helps ground him to the reality that this wasn't a dream, this was really happening...
He should hold back, a tiny voice in his mind tells him, but he can't. What felt like years of pining crash fourth, made worse by a recent forced trip south of the border, and this is something he's desperately wanted to do ever since his return. But the timing had been wrong, dreadfully so, and he'd thought Mohinder had moved on. That damned cop's scent had been everywhere like a bad hangover.
Sylar breaks the kiss to catch his breath, pressing his forehead against Mohinder's. )
Jesus...
( He delights in that response, grinning around his fork. The first two, two-and-a-half answers related to the job. Detective work, walking the beat, he could almost picture Hank in a proper uniform. Billy club, mace, checkerboard cap. Was that the style these days? They cycled out through the decades, he barely bothered to keep track anymore. 'Undisclosed secret locations' gets a slightly quirked brow. )
You make your work sound almost like a hook-up.
( The venturing statement held no judgment nor certainty. It might've even been taken as a joke, so casually flippant as it was. But his eyes were sharp--too much so, and he lowered his glance back to his plate. )
So, a cop then. No... more high ranking. Are you the... Captain, perhaps?
You make your work sound almost like a hook-up.
( The venturing statement held no judgment nor certainty. It might've even been taken as a joke, so casually flippant as it was. But his eyes were sharp--too much so, and he lowered his glance back to his plate. )
So, a cop then. No... more high ranking. Are you the... Captain, perhaps?
Tch. ( Hank thinks about how his description brought Gabriel to reflect on it like a hook-up. He got it, and he didn't necessarily disagree with that assessment either. He was, in a way, hooking up with these people to extract some intimate knowledge. To take whatever secrets they had to share, find out whatever they may be hiding. The exchange was more for his benefit, less for whoever he was meeting.
What would be more impressive to Gabriel? Telling him what he was or saying something false? Hank didn't imagine anyone was too impressed by him as of late. Was it wrong to want to feel that again? From a stranger? )
Lieutenant.
( He disliked the idea of talking about himself though, so he tried to turn the questions around. )
What about you, what's your story here?
What would be more impressive to Gabriel? Telling him what he was or saying something false? Hank didn't imagine anyone was too impressed by him as of late. Was it wrong to want to feel that again? From a stranger? )
Lieutenant.
( He disliked the idea of talking about himself though, so he tried to turn the questions around. )
What about you, what's your story here?
( To his credit, Gabriel does appear impressed. He always wanted to be a cop, had even considered trying it out for a few years, but ultimately decided against it. Too much risk involved. The government had begun its plans for people like him nearly two decades ago. Round them all up, put them in camps. Mark them as terrorists and no questions were asked. He'd even worked with them for a while but splintered off.
And now here he was. Eating a kid's meal.
He finishes the last couple bites of his pasta, then munches thoughtfully on the nuggets. Flaky, crispy, microwaved. )
Oh, I'm hardly as interesting as you. You've made a name for yourself. Accredited, accolades, reputation. I'm currently drifting. Trying to find my place in the world. I'm sure it's a story as old as time.
( It was an easy mold to fit into. Early thirties, fresh from college, or divorce, or on the flipside, newly married. The stories and lies became easy. )
And now here he was. Eating a kid's meal.
He finishes the last couple bites of his pasta, then munches thoughtfully on the nuggets. Flaky, crispy, microwaved. )
Oh, I'm hardly as interesting as you. You've made a name for yourself. Accredited, accolades, reputation. I'm currently drifting. Trying to find my place in the world. I'm sure it's a story as old as time.
( It was an easy mold to fit into. Early thirties, fresh from college, or divorce, or on the flipside, newly married. The stories and lies became easy. )
pfft I just scrolled up and finally noticed XD ah, the hazards of icon updates.
chase_evolution
2020-12-08 05:22 pm (UTC)(link)
[Their timing had always been terrible. If only Mohinder had met Sylar before Chandra had, if only he'd waited a few extra moments before calling 911. But they finally seemed to have connected, and it only took a major scientific breakthrough to do it.
And maybe Sylar was right and Mohinder was just high, but he was still joyfully passing the point of no return. He'd have to acknowledge his desires after this.
Mohinder groans with satisfaction as Sylar sinks his fingers into his hair. All of this, every moment, feels so right. When Sylar finally breaks the kiss, Mohinder lets him have the time to breathe. For once, Mohinder doesn't feel the exertion. But it does give him the time to study how the moonlight graces Sylar's face, and how vulnerable the man looks right now.]
I'm starting to think that I've taken the wrong approach with you, all this time.
[He rubs small whorls into Sylar's neck and shoulders, almost careless in the way he continues to seek touch.]
And maybe Sylar was right and Mohinder was just high, but he was still joyfully passing the point of no return. He'd have to acknowledge his desires after this.
Mohinder groans with satisfaction as Sylar sinks his fingers into his hair. All of this, every moment, feels so right. When Sylar finally breaks the kiss, Mohinder lets him have the time to breathe. For once, Mohinder doesn't feel the exertion. But it does give him the time to study how the moonlight graces Sylar's face, and how vulnerable the man looks right now.]
I'm starting to think that I've taken the wrong approach with you, all this time.
[He rubs small whorls into Sylar's neck and shoulders, almost careless in the way he continues to seek touch.]
[ the sort of knowing glance that comes from sylar tells ethan everything he needs to know. he's not kidding, he could probably fuck up ethan if he wanted to, and... he's onto his profession. way to be subtle.
he maintains the silence for a moment, his own curious questions ruminating under the surface of his tongue. he could let this lie, he could choose to gloss over it, part ways, never know the answer. but that sounded an awful lot like a challenge. ]
i don't think i want to try, [ he finally says, ] but... i've gotta get to work soon.
he maintains the silence for a moment, his own curious questions ruminating under the surface of his tongue. he could let this lie, he could choose to gloss over it, part ways, never know the answer. but that sounded an awful lot like a challenge. ]
i don't think i want to try, [ he finally says, ] but... i've gotta get to work soon.
( The cup moves away and Sylar catches the remaining foam on his lips with a swipe of his tongue. Or, most of it. A couple droplets strayed out of his reach, and as he wipes at his stubbled cheek with a napkin, he watches Ethan, wanting to see how he'll react. )
Ohh. Shall I ask what it is you do, make small talk? Or shall we skip to the part where you ask for my help?
( A little presumptuous, yes, but he wasn't a man who enjoyed subtleties too often. )
Ohh. Shall I ask what it is you do, make small talk? Or shall we skip to the part where you ask for my help?
( A little presumptuous, yes, but he wasn't a man who enjoyed subtleties too often. )
( Hank nods his head, the answer was vague and intentionally unspecific. There was an idea behind Gabriel's description of himself, but nothing concrete. The next thought was how he described Hank's achievements, which made him wonder if Gabriel had heard about him before. The only thing he managed was a bust some years ago, probably when this guy was still just a kid.
No, Hank doesn't think Gabriel's heard of him but considered what must be a prerequisite of becoming a lieutenant that a cop had to be someone to move into that position.
Gabriel described himself as drifting, a piece from earth having fallen off the bank and into the stream, dipping into the cold water, splashing against the ridges, and washing ashore.
Detroit was an odd place to wash up on; most of what ends up in the water here tends to drift out of the city. Was this just a place he'd caught onto before the tide takes him back out into the rapid waters? Or will he be entangled with whatever else is lost and forgotten on the banks of Detroit's rivers? )
It is. Sometimes people don't get to that answer.
No, Hank doesn't think Gabriel's heard of him but considered what must be a prerequisite of becoming a lieutenant that a cop had to be someone to move into that position.
Gabriel described himself as drifting, a piece from earth having fallen off the bank and into the stream, dipping into the cold water, splashing against the ridges, and washing ashore.
Detroit was an odd place to wash up on; most of what ends up in the water here tends to drift out of the city. Was this just a place he'd caught onto before the tide takes him back out into the rapid waters? Or will he be entangled with whatever else is lost and forgotten on the banks of Detroit's rivers? )
It is. Sometimes people don't get to that answer.
No, they don't. Some remain insignificant their entire lives. Collect snow globes, insist on staying in the same place forever. Never moving, always just... Trapped.
( His eyes softened with the memory. "You are not my Gabriel. You are damned!" The words haunt him, his mother's--no, not his mother's, just the woman who adopted him in a diner. Paid for him like buying a new car. It didn't make her death any easier to bear. She hadn't deserved that. There's no wetness to his eyes, no tears to shed anymore. He shifts in his seat, straightens, refocuses his mind. Who to pick on? The chef's gamblings weren't doing so hot. Those dark brows were furrowed, sweat pooling in his dreadlocks. Gabriel only hoped he would not drip anything onto the food he served, but then, doubted the man cared. )
Take the people in this shop. Perfect example. You've seen what I've seen, right? No one becomes a cop without that ability to observe. ( Gabriel nods his head towards the hostess, indicates with his eyes the chef, the other patrons. ) Tell me what you see. Where do you think their lives are headed?
( His eyes softened with the memory. "You are not my Gabriel. You are damned!" The words haunt him, his mother's--no, not his mother's, just the woman who adopted him in a diner. Paid for him like buying a new car. It didn't make her death any easier to bear. She hadn't deserved that. There's no wetness to his eyes, no tears to shed anymore. He shifts in his seat, straightens, refocuses his mind. Who to pick on? The chef's gamblings weren't doing so hot. Those dark brows were furrowed, sweat pooling in his dreadlocks. Gabriel only hoped he would not drip anything onto the food he served, but then, doubted the man cared. )
Take the people in this shop. Perfect example. You've seen what I've seen, right? No one becomes a cop without that ability to observe. ( Gabriel nods his head towards the hostess, indicates with his eyes the chef, the other patrons. ) Tell me what you see. Where do you think their lives are headed?
Edited 2020-12-09 07:29 (UTC)
( Confessions, apologies, promises, all collide in his mind in a messy jumble. Which one to start with first? It almost feels like there's too much time and not enough of it all at once. A feeling compounded by Mohinder's touch; it's embarrassing how even that minimal gesture makes him shiver. For all the words that push at the boundaries of his mind, all that rushes out first is a small chuckle. )
I've been flirting with you since Montana. But thanks for finally noticing.
( Even now he could recall vividly hesitating outside Mohinder's motel room that fateful night, and for a fleeting second had thought: what if I stayed with Mohinder, dealt with this tension between us, and let Dale live?
But in the end, that urge to kill had been greater. It'd held a certainty that time with Mohinder had lacked. He could see how the other man's mind worked, and thought he knew him as efficiently as a timepiece. That desire to make Chandra proud in all ways, including sexuality, practically seeped from Mohinder's pores; even Zane (the original Zane) could've noticed. Despite the fleeting touches, or unnecessary brush of fingertips when handing over tea, or a lingering glance or two, or a shoulder massage that went on a beat too long, Sylar knew they could not (or should not) be together. He'd had a plan, a mission, and that didn't involve a soft-spoken scientist who did very distracting things with a pen by his lips when studying at his laptop.
No. Their game was destined for a violent end, ones that didn't involve soft 'I love you's' on satin sheets. Better, he'd decided, to not allow feelings to get too involved at all. And yet...
One of his hands drifts lower, lightly, circling Mohinder's neck. It continues on, pressing into that hitch of bone beneath his throat. He permits a singular confession to spill forth, tempered by a thoughtful, rough purr. )
It's always been you, Mohinder. What I went through to get back to you... ( One finger continues its downward journey. It presses into Mohinder's shirt, and as if by a scalpel, his telekinesis cuts cleanly through the fabric with surgical precision. It was a skill he'd mastered several murders ago. His voice takes on a possessive edge. ) ...And I come back to being replaced by a cop.
I've been flirting with you since Montana. But thanks for finally noticing.
( Even now he could recall vividly hesitating outside Mohinder's motel room that fateful night, and for a fleeting second had thought: what if I stayed with Mohinder, dealt with this tension between us, and let Dale live?
But in the end, that urge to kill had been greater. It'd held a certainty that time with Mohinder had lacked. He could see how the other man's mind worked, and thought he knew him as efficiently as a timepiece. That desire to make Chandra proud in all ways, including sexuality, practically seeped from Mohinder's pores; even Zane (the original Zane) could've noticed. Despite the fleeting touches, or unnecessary brush of fingertips when handing over tea, or a lingering glance or two, or a shoulder massage that went on a beat too long, Sylar knew they could not (or should not) be together. He'd had a plan, a mission, and that didn't involve a soft-spoken scientist who did very distracting things with a pen by his lips when studying at his laptop.
No. Their game was destined for a violent end, ones that didn't involve soft 'I love you's' on satin sheets. Better, he'd decided, to not allow feelings to get too involved at all. And yet...
One of his hands drifts lower, lightly, circling Mohinder's neck. It continues on, pressing into that hitch of bone beneath his throat. He permits a singular confession to spill forth, tempered by a thoughtful, rough purr. )
It's always been you, Mohinder. What I went through to get back to you... ( One finger continues its downward journey. It presses into Mohinder's shirt, and as if by a scalpel, his telekinesis cuts cleanly through the fabric with surgical precision. It was a skill he'd mastered several murders ago. His voice takes on a possessive edge. ) ...And I come back to being replaced by a cop.
Hm. ( Just like driftwood, Hank thinks. It started out trapped, broke away from its roots, and peaced the fuck out downstream. He also did a mental check on if he owned any fucking snow globes. What a fucking tourist trap that was. ) Eh? ( He's redirected with Gabriel's encouragement to observe the surrounding environment. His lips part, and he looks around, wondering what the hell he was supposed to "see." No one becomes a cop without that ability to observe. He looks back to Gabriel, and his eyes focus on the dark edges of the young man's jawline. A five o'clock shadow is coming in strong. His eyes then trail off of his companion to those around them, finding the hostess with Gabriel's guiding eyes toward her. )
You want me to make up a story about who I see here and where they're going?
( No, Gabriel wants him to observe these people as if they're books. He was right, though. Part of being a good cop was being suspicious of everyone - well, Hank would say so. People watching became second nature to Hank. He picked up on little things here and there and stored bits of information for later, but he wasn't a fucking profiler. He was simply street smart. )
Okay. ( He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. He brings a napkin to his lips and pats at them before he exchanges the cloth for his beer bottle to moisten his palate. He sets the bottle down with a soft thud to the tablecloth and looks to Gabriel as he answers. The hostess didn't have a name tag. High-end restaurants like this didn't bother with such minuscule details. They sold the latest trends in meals, wine, and cakes. What was important was the patron would go home dreaming about the Skillet Cod with Lemon and Capers and not about Bob, Kate, Jen, or Shelly. So, without a name, Hank gives her one - not that it would be close to what it was, but for the sake of this weird little game(?) to remain inconspicuous, he makes one up: )
Rachel, too thin, gray, and the foundation she is wearing is cheap. She can't afford name brands because she has a habit to keep the itch away. ( The comment about her foundation is to indicate that Hank noticed the scars and scabs that freckled her face beneath that makeup. It wasn't acne or blemishes. It was the itch, the meth bug that also scattered bites across her fingers and hands. ) She's going to be fired and homeless, all her family has cut ties, and all her friends only stick around long enough to get high.
She'll be in and out of treatment, find some boyfriends, return to drugs, and eventually be picked up by law enforcement and entered into mandatory residential recovery houses to stave off criminal charges.
I'm not interested in judging if her life is significant, but it tends to work out that most people with the problem grew up feeling that way. I've seen my share of people coming in and out of the department, I know the look.
( He didn't feel good about this assessment, in fact, he felt shitty about making that judgment - telling that "story" about Rachel. Even if it were true, what business was it of his? ) Is that what you wanted me to say?
You want me to make up a story about who I see here and where they're going?
( No, Gabriel wants him to observe these people as if they're books. He was right, though. Part of being a good cop was being suspicious of everyone - well, Hank would say so. People watching became second nature to Hank. He picked up on little things here and there and stored bits of information for later, but he wasn't a fucking profiler. He was simply street smart. )
Okay. ( He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. He brings a napkin to his lips and pats at them before he exchanges the cloth for his beer bottle to moisten his palate. He sets the bottle down with a soft thud to the tablecloth and looks to Gabriel as he answers. The hostess didn't have a name tag. High-end restaurants like this didn't bother with such minuscule details. They sold the latest trends in meals, wine, and cakes. What was important was the patron would go home dreaming about the Skillet Cod with Lemon and Capers and not about Bob, Kate, Jen, or Shelly. So, without a name, Hank gives her one - not that it would be close to what it was, but for the sake of this weird little game(?) to remain inconspicuous, he makes one up: )
Rachel, too thin, gray, and the foundation she is wearing is cheap. She can't afford name brands because she has a habit to keep the itch away. ( The comment about her foundation is to indicate that Hank noticed the scars and scabs that freckled her face beneath that makeup. It wasn't acne or blemishes. It was the itch, the meth bug that also scattered bites across her fingers and hands. ) She's going to be fired and homeless, all her family has cut ties, and all her friends only stick around long enough to get high.
She'll be in and out of treatment, find some boyfriends, return to drugs, and eventually be picked up by law enforcement and entered into mandatory residential recovery houses to stave off criminal charges.
I'm not interested in judging if her life is significant, but it tends to work out that most people with the problem grew up feeling that way. I've seen my share of people coming in and out of the department, I know the look.
( He didn't feel good about this assessment, in fact, he felt shitty about making that judgment - telling that "story" about Rachel. Even if it were true, what business was it of his? ) Is that what you wanted me to say?
[Mohinder doesn't have anything so complex swirling within him at the moment. No, he is merely thrilled at Sylar's use of power and the revelation that he hadn't been reading into things all this time. It's a sort of clarity that he hasn't felt for ages.
It means that last sentence catches him by surprise, and he lets out a light chuckle.]
You were jealous of Matt?
[Mohinder hums a bit, pulling back far enough to see Sylar's entire face. He reaches up to cup his chin, running his thumb over Sylar's cheek.]
There wasn't anything there, you know. Not that you should be rewarded when you were the one who betrayed me first, but-
[He breaks contact to shrug off his broken shirt, then reaches back up, giving Sylar a short kiss.]
Maybe we've gotten each other back enough times, now.
It means that last sentence catches him by surprise, and he lets out a light chuckle.]
You were jealous of Matt?
[Mohinder hums a bit, pulling back far enough to see Sylar's entire face. He reaches up to cup his chin, running his thumb over Sylar's cheek.]
There wasn't anything there, you know. Not that you should be rewarded when you were the one who betrayed me first, but-
[He breaks contact to shrug off his broken shirt, then reaches back up, giving Sylar a short kiss.]
Maybe we've gotten each other back enough times, now.
( Gabriel watches Hank throughout, studying him as much as the older man studied the environment. He could practically see the cobwebs clearing out darkened corners, settled dust clearing off tools that might've gone a bit rusty. He follows the older man's gaze, beginning to see the reality as he illustrated.
He was tempted to paint the future for himself, to see just how accurate Hank's story would be. This he resists as he realizes, partway through Hank's audio book version of 'This Is Your Life', that he doesn't want to know. The reality proclaimed is enough. What are the chances he'd run into "Rachel" again after tonight? Slim to none, if he were the betting sort.
After Hank's story concludes, Sylar actually grins. He won't applaud him, as that'd draw in too much attention, but he does incline his head forward in a slight bow. )
More than what I wanted, Lieutenant. You were flawless. But you saw exactly what I needed you to see. These people have no escape. They're like mice running on a wheel. They may stop to grab a drink- ( His gaze shifts, just for a half-second, towards the collection of bottles on Hank's side of the table. ) -or some other vice, but ultimately? They run their routines like good little drones, never thinking for themselves or breaking free.
( He tosses the final piece of nugget into the air and catches it with a snap of his sharp white teeth. With another shift gesture, he retrieves a clicky pen from his pocket. )
However, there are some routines we must all abide by, isn't there? Certain... natural urges for our own survival.
( Sylar finishes writing, ducks his head down, and blows on the thin napkin so it sails over next to Hank's own napkin. On it would be the address of his motel and room number. )
Just in case the universe doesn't see fit for our phones to mis-align once again, that's where I'm staying for the next week. Just in case you want to talk or break out from your own routine, hm?
( The words are innocent enough, but in his dark eyes, there's something of a challenge within. He licks at a few stray crumbs from his index finger and thumb. )
He was tempted to paint the future for himself, to see just how accurate Hank's story would be. This he resists as he realizes, partway through Hank's audio book version of 'This Is Your Life', that he doesn't want to know. The reality proclaimed is enough. What are the chances he'd run into "Rachel" again after tonight? Slim to none, if he were the betting sort.
After Hank's story concludes, Sylar actually grins. He won't applaud him, as that'd draw in too much attention, but he does incline his head forward in a slight bow. )
More than what I wanted, Lieutenant. You were flawless. But you saw exactly what I needed you to see. These people have no escape. They're like mice running on a wheel. They may stop to grab a drink- ( His gaze shifts, just for a half-second, towards the collection of bottles on Hank's side of the table. ) -or some other vice, but ultimately? They run their routines like good little drones, never thinking for themselves or breaking free.
( He tosses the final piece of nugget into the air and catches it with a snap of his sharp white teeth. With another shift gesture, he retrieves a clicky pen from his pocket. )
However, there are some routines we must all abide by, isn't there? Certain... natural urges for our own survival.
( Sylar finishes writing, ducks his head down, and blows on the thin napkin so it sails over next to Hank's own napkin. On it would be the address of his motel and room number. )
Just in case the universe doesn't see fit for our phones to mis-align once again, that's where I'm staying for the next week. Just in case you want to talk or break out from your own routine, hm?
( The words are innocent enough, but in his dark eyes, there's something of a challenge within. He licks at a few stray crumbs from his index finger and thumb. )
( His expression matches his voice, flaring even brighter when Mohinder mentions the cop's damned name. First name basis, of course, had they shared the same bed, too? Or couch? He'd bet at least the couch, several times a week, that's what Sylar would've-
...Oh. That touch against his cheek. His expression softens; the scent of Mohinder and his touch is too overwhelming. Why is he so immediately entranced? Was this part of his new ability too, or was it natural? Perhaps one enhancing the other? (The word 'pheromones' floats to his conscious, then drifts away just as quickly, like smoke in a shady bar.) No matter what it was, it was definitely dangerous.
As dangerous as that beautifully bared chest in the moonlight, practically glowing. His hand returns there, splayed above his belly button. That beautifully tanned skin is strangely devoid of hair, Sylar notes, a part of the mutation, maybe...? He traces downwards, following with one finger that seductive little trail from belly button to waistband of Mohinder's slacks. Only there does he pause, his finger teasing at the edge of flesh he could reach. )
Betrayed you first? Why, Mohinder, that sounds like an accusation...
( He's practically cooing as he leans back on his haunches, bringing his hands back to himself. He brings both hands to the edge of his shirt, intending to pull it off himself... Unless Mohinder wanted to assist? )
...Oh. That touch against his cheek. His expression softens; the scent of Mohinder and his touch is too overwhelming. Why is he so immediately entranced? Was this part of his new ability too, or was it natural? Perhaps one enhancing the other? (The word 'pheromones' floats to his conscious, then drifts away just as quickly, like smoke in a shady bar.) No matter what it was, it was definitely dangerous.
As dangerous as that beautifully bared chest in the moonlight, practically glowing. His hand returns there, splayed above his belly button. That beautifully tanned skin is strangely devoid of hair, Sylar notes, a part of the mutation, maybe...? He traces downwards, following with one finger that seductive little trail from belly button to waistband of Mohinder's slacks. Only there does he pause, his finger teasing at the edge of flesh he could reach. )
Betrayed you first? Why, Mohinder, that sounds like an accusation...
( He's practically cooing as he leans back on his haunches, bringing his hands back to himself. He brings both hands to the edge of his shirt, intending to pull it off himself... Unless Mohinder wanted to assist? )
['Assist' may not be the correct term for it, as Mohinder takes over the whole operation immediately. The only reason he doesn't tear the shirt is because Mohinder becomes interested in feeling the skin underneath. While his left hand tugs the shirt up, the right rests on Sylar's chest, feeling the man's heart beat under him.]
Accusation? No, that is just fact.
[He says it like a sweet nothing into Sylar's ear. As he does, he tosses the shirt towards the car. Then he swings his legs under him and bounces up into a standing position. He doesn't give Sylar any of his personal space back, though- instead he keeps the man on his haunches by running fingers through his hair.]
It broke my heart when I found out you weren't Zane, you know. That you were using me. I'd fallen in love, and you- well, you were just laughing at me, behind your mask.
[His fingers curl under Sylar's chin, bringing it up so Sylar's looking him in the eye. Mohinder's eyes are half-lidded, expression inviting, even as he asks something so much heavier.]
Are you saying that's not how it was?
Accusation? No, that is just fact.
[He says it like a sweet nothing into Sylar's ear. As he does, he tosses the shirt towards the car. Then he swings his legs under him and bounces up into a standing position. He doesn't give Sylar any of his personal space back, though- instead he keeps the man on his haunches by running fingers through his hair.]
It broke my heart when I found out you weren't Zane, you know. That you were using me. I'd fallen in love, and you- well, you were just laughing at me, behind your mask.
[His fingers curl under Sylar's chin, bringing it up so Sylar's looking him in the eye. Mohinder's eyes are half-lidded, expression inviting, even as he asks something so much heavier.]
Are you saying that's not how it was?
( Hank's eyes narrow to Gabriel's mouth as the corners push into a soft smile. It's an indication that he was pleased, which words following that smirk confirm Hank's perception of Gabriel's body language. Gabriel's message didn't necessarily tumble from his lips with minced words. Derogatory adjectives such as mice and drones gave Hank a clear understanding that Gabriel did not think much of his fellow humanity.
Hank contemplates the blind date. Was it also important for Gabriel to break away from routine and give in to impulsive behaviors and divine interventions? Did Gabriel think he was proving to himself he was not a drone by meeting Hank tonight? Did Hank prove he wasn't a drone either? His light blue eyes lower to the napkin that glides above the table cloth and lands onto his own used napkin. He sees the writing on it for what it was, rather than reading it. After, he looks up to Gabriel to see an ignited expression on his face. Like he was watching the ball soar through the air, about ready to nestle into the net. )
Alright. Fuck routines.
Hank contemplates the blind date. Was it also important for Gabriel to break away from routine and give in to impulsive behaviors and divine interventions? Did Gabriel think he was proving to himself he was not a drone by meeting Hank tonight? Did Hank prove he wasn't a drone either? His light blue eyes lower to the napkin that glides above the table cloth and lands onto his own used napkin. He sees the writing on it for what it was, rather than reading it. After, he looks up to Gabriel to see an ignited expression on his face. Like he was watching the ball soar through the air, about ready to nestle into the net. )
Alright. Fuck routines.
( Sylar rises to meet those questing fingers, whilst still remaining on his knees; so similar, yet not, to a fateful encounter with a chair and duct tape. The image of a dog pushing against its master's hand springs to his mind, but he doesn't care. Mohinder wanted control, he'd gladly give it to him... for now.
He doesn't answer him, not at first, choosing instead to kiss that expanse on display for him, just at the edge of what he can reach. Sylar pauses, pressing his rough stubbled cheek to that too-smooth skin, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes. )
You. Piece of shit.
( Mirroring Mohinder's own sweet endearments, this one is a whispered praise of lust. He brings his hands up to Mohinder's knees, inching higher. )
I never laughed at you. Not until you pointed a gun in my face and spouted nonsense. I wanted something... so much more for us...
( His hands reach the clasp of his belt which he'll snap off. Sylar leans away, enough to remove the belt, pulling it taut through the loops like the snap-crack of a fine whip. )
He doesn't answer him, not at first, choosing instead to kiss that expanse on display for him, just at the edge of what he can reach. Sylar pauses, pressing his rough stubbled cheek to that too-smooth skin, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes. )
You. Piece of shit.
( Mirroring Mohinder's own sweet endearments, this one is a whispered praise of lust. He brings his hands up to Mohinder's knees, inching higher. )
I never laughed at you. Not until you pointed a gun in my face and spouted nonsense. I wanted something... so much more for us...
( His hands reach the clasp of his belt which he'll snap off. Sylar leans away, enough to remove the belt, pulling it taut through the loops like the snap-crack of a fine whip. )
[He watches Sylar work at his belt, practically smirking with satisfaction. Of course, the position they're in is part of the reason. Sylar on his knees looking up at him with adoration- that's just such a delicious picture. But the words, too, are exactly what he wants to hear.
He reaches down himself to undo the buttons to his trousers, pushing them down along with his underwear in one smooth movement. Muscles that are probably newly sculpted reveal themselves, and he stands like a statue one might make of a god. Of course, in this case, he still has his socks on, and most statues aren't carved to include intense, needy erections, but the case could be made.]
So much more, you say. [His voice is getting increasingly breathy, as the anticipation builds.] Why don't you show me? Give me a taste of what you've wanted...what we've both wanted...all this time.
[He was probably damning himself here, some small voice in his head finally managed to say. But nothing and no one was going to stop it, least of all him. Hormones, pheromones, or just his own emotions- they were all pointed directly at this moment. He's going to take what he wants, and that's the end of it.]
He reaches down himself to undo the buttons to his trousers, pushing them down along with his underwear in one smooth movement. Muscles that are probably newly sculpted reveal themselves, and he stands like a statue one might make of a god. Of course, in this case, he still has his socks on, and most statues aren't carved to include intense, needy erections, but the case could be made.]
So much more, you say. [His voice is getting increasingly breathy, as the anticipation builds.] Why don't you show me? Give me a taste of what you've wanted...what we've both wanted...all this time.
[He was probably damning himself here, some small voice in his head finally managed to say. But nothing and no one was going to stop it, least of all him. Hormones, pheromones, or just his own emotions- they were all pointed directly at this moment. He's going to take what he wants, and that's the end of it.]
( Sylar had stayed leaning back with hands moving away as Mohinder took over. He'd remained there, watching Mohinder's cock and had even licked his lips with all the slutty gusto he could put into that one small gesture. It was almost a parody, but his eyes, blackened with lust, remained sharp.
The predatory smirk dimpling the corner of his lips say more than words could express. Teasing, demanding, yet equally needy. He moves forward, keeping eye contact as he places his hands upon Mohinder's hips, fingers spread and gripping lightly. His movements are slow, deliberate, as if he'd prepared for this day for years and wasn't, in actuality, a bundle of nerves, eager and frayed. Dark eyes watch their matching pair as the pink of his tongue pokes out, tasting the base of that hard cock.
It doesn't stay there long, with Sylar pausing only long enough to inhale deeply of the likely altered scent. So like Mohinder, yet different, more... something that lit up his brain and made his own cock jump within its confines. Tongue and lips move, licking a trail to the sensitive head, which he'll take greedily into his warm mouth, swirling his tongue over it and moaning at the taste. There's no faking that, no playing it up; any semblance of of staying in control was already unravelling.
Eye contact again before he'll close them, taking as much of Mohinder into his mouth as he can. Even when the tip hits the back of his throat, causing the inevitable gag, he continues, holding his breath til his lips touch the base again. )
The predatory smirk dimpling the corner of his lips say more than words could express. Teasing, demanding, yet equally needy. He moves forward, keeping eye contact as he places his hands upon Mohinder's hips, fingers spread and gripping lightly. His movements are slow, deliberate, as if he'd prepared for this day for years and wasn't, in actuality, a bundle of nerves, eager and frayed. Dark eyes watch their matching pair as the pink of his tongue pokes out, tasting the base of that hard cock.
It doesn't stay there long, with Sylar pausing only long enough to inhale deeply of the likely altered scent. So like Mohinder, yet different, more... something that lit up his brain and made his own cock jump within its confines. Tongue and lips move, licking a trail to the sensitive head, which he'll take greedily into his warm mouth, swirling his tongue over it and moaning at the taste. There's no faking that, no playing it up; any semblance of of staying in control was already unravelling.
Eye contact again before he'll close them, taking as much of Mohinder into his mouth as he can. Even when the tip hits the back of his throat, causing the inevitable gag, he continues, holding his breath til his lips touch the base again. )
[There was a small war playing out in Mohinder's mind, even as he moaned in ecstacy and tousled Sylar's hair. One part of him wanted to grip Sylar's head and push, forcing the man to stay in place and gag as Mohinder took out every bit of aggression (sexual or otherwise) on this man who has caused him so much grief.
But the other part of him noticed the eagerness to please, the way Sylar was pushing himself. It's something familiar, welcome- and honestly unexpected. If Mohinder were more in his right mind, he might have analyzed where it was coming from, but for now it was enough to know it was here.
So while Mohinder gripped Sylar's head tightly when he hit a particularly good spot, it was quickly released. The gagging has Mohinder stroking Sylar's hair back.]
Take it easy. You're doing so well. It's so- nggh.
[Of course Sylar keeps going. Mohinder moans deeply, losing everything he'd been planning to say. He's not going to last very long here if Sylar insists on doing that.]
God, yes...
But the other part of him noticed the eagerness to please, the way Sylar was pushing himself. It's something familiar, welcome- and honestly unexpected. If Mohinder were more in his right mind, he might have analyzed where it was coming from, but for now it was enough to know it was here.
So while Mohinder gripped Sylar's head tightly when he hit a particularly good spot, it was quickly released. The gagging has Mohinder stroking Sylar's hair back.]
Take it easy. You're doing so well. It's so- nggh.
[Of course Sylar keeps going. Mohinder moans deeply, losing everything he'd been planning to say. He's not going to last very long here if Sylar insists on doing that.]
God, yes...
( Another moan escapes his throats, vibrating around the confines of Mohinder's cock. Everything was white-hot against his mind, burning at the edges. Mohinder's moans, how his words cut off, that grip in his hair...
Could he stay here for hours on his knees, saying 'I love you' over and over with his tongue? The answer was obviously 'yes'. If only there were not already other plans in place...
Finally, slowly, he pulls back, lingering until the very last second until he releases the tip from his mouth with an audible pop. He licks his lips lasciviously. )
How can I take it easy when... you taste... so fucking... good?
( Sylar punctuates each pause with a breathy kiss to a different spot on Mohinder's cock. One hand strays to his own jeans, unzipping and freeing his own straining erection. Unless stopped, he'll lean in again, and continue to praise Mohinder with his talented tongue. )
Could he stay here for hours on his knees, saying 'I love you' over and over with his tongue? The answer was obviously 'yes'. If only there were not already other plans in place...
Finally, slowly, he pulls back, lingering until the very last second until he releases the tip from his mouth with an audible pop. He licks his lips lasciviously. )
How can I take it easy when... you taste... so fucking... good?
( Sylar punctuates each pause with a breathy kiss to a different spot on Mohinder's cock. One hand strays to his own jeans, unzipping and freeing his own straining erection. Unless stopped, he'll lean in again, and continue to praise Mohinder with his talented tongue. )
[Losing Sylar's mouth on him is worth it, if only to look down at those dark eyes, full of lust, and those lips, red with the effort of pleasuring him. And then- then he speaks, that deep rumble even a little more gravelly than usual.
It is an attack on his senses that Mohinder wasn't expecting, and it sends a full-body shiver throughout him, as well as provoking a small, expectant whine.]
I suppose that's...fair...
[And now Sylar is freeing himself and getting back to it. Mohinder doesn't have the willpower to shift positions at the moment, but he eyes the scene with naked lascivious desire.]
And you- I'll have to try a taste myself. [He lets out a groan and looks straight up, stretching his neck out as he sighs and stares at the moon.] I'm too close. You're too good at this. I-
[His grip on Sylar's hair tightens once again as words fail Mohinder yet again. And all the tension comes crashing down, as his orgasm hits him hard. He'd be weak-kneed, if he hadn't just developed super powers. As it is, he's barely cognizant enough to release that grip after the first wave of bliss. For once, he doesn't want to hurt the man in front of him.]
It is an attack on his senses that Mohinder wasn't expecting, and it sends a full-body shiver throughout him, as well as provoking a small, expectant whine.]
I suppose that's...fair...
[And now Sylar is freeing himself and getting back to it. Mohinder doesn't have the willpower to shift positions at the moment, but he eyes the scene with naked lascivious desire.]
And you- I'll have to try a taste myself. [He lets out a groan and looks straight up, stretching his neck out as he sighs and stares at the moon.] I'm too close. You're too good at this. I-
[His grip on Sylar's hair tightens once again as words fail Mohinder yet again. And all the tension comes crashing down, as his orgasm hits him hard. He'd be weak-kneed, if he hadn't just developed super powers. As it is, he's barely cognizant enough to release that grip after the first wave of bliss. For once, he doesn't want to hurt the man in front of him.]
Page 3 of 6