( 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.
no subject
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.