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( Sylar thinks of telling him how little harm punching him would actually do. (Which begs the thought: has the nerd thrown a punch in his life? Ever?) He thinks of being a show off but, ultimately, decides the surprise later will be worth the wait. )

Yet you want to find out. I know you, Mohinder. The results don't matter, it's the discovery. That's the thrill of it for you.

( His fingers spread and the syringe launches itself forward. It freezes at Mohinder's throat, stopping just short of piercing the skin. )

You know what I can do. How I could help. ( He steps closer, circling him, keeping the needle poised. ) Shall we rob a hospital, a chemistry lab?

[Mohinder flinches. That's just a normal human reaction to a sharp thing flying at one's throat. He looks down at it as it threatens(?) his neck. He knows that Sylar could completely impale him with it. He also knows that Sylar's curious about this, too.

And yes, he even knows how Sylar could help, if he chose to do so. The man's understanding of special abilities and how they work put him in a unique position, which only made it more infuriating that Sylar chose to take from those people instead of help. But that was not the pressing topic here.

He clears his throat and thinks hard about what to do next. He knows from experience that Sylar has decided what he wants, and that means everything would happen very quickly from here.]

I don't want to rob a hospital. If you'd just left me home-- but fine. There might be an empty tube in the test kit. If so, we can take blood now. We'll have to put it on ice and find a centrifuge within a day. Slides and petri dishes. Those shouldn't be hard to find- or pay for, assuming my wallet is in there somewhere. We can analyze it all after whatever it is we're doing here.

[This is a terrible idea. Still, he can feel his adrenaline pumping at the very thought of actually going through with this. He might actually manage to have his own ability!]

( Sylar rolls his eyes as he finishes his circling and steps around until he's in front of him again. Leaving Mohinder home was never an option. There were too many fun things planned, and now this syringe on top of his own carefully constructed plans. It was just that spark of chaos he didn't realize he needed. The syringe flies back to his hand, floating aimlessly once more, and Sylar even steps back a couple paces. )

Trunk's open, grab what you need. I do not have command over ice... yet... so we'll need another way. I did see a sign for a truck stop diner and rest stop some mile or so back.

( Laying out options, offering tips and insight. The role of assistant, only this time, he had no intentions of sabotaging Mohinder's work. There was no one to hunt right now, no abilities to steal. There was only Mohinder and his project, and permitting him the space (within certain parameters) to work. Absently, he waggles his fingers downwards and up, with the syringe acting as his telekinetic yo-yo. He waits until Mohinder had walked towards the trunk before he turns and calls after him. )

By the way? I wasn't going to stab you. I just wanted to see what you'd do.

( Testing boundaries, crumbling those feeble denials to lay bare the true desires beneath, and syringes. The trifecta that made up their entire relationship. )

Edited 2020-12-05 01:20 (UTC)

Mmm-hmm. Well, I'm not a mind-reader yet, so you'll just have to forgive the trepidation.

[He speaks matter-of-factly, but his eyes are alight with the reality of what they're about to do. Maybe it would even the playing field a little, at least.

Mohinder is quick to head to the trunk and open his briefcase and test kit. There are, in fact, three empty test tubes available for use, along with the rest of his phlebotomy equipment. He shuts the case with a satisfied smile.]

Just the ice, then. The truck stop will do. We'll get a cooler if they have one, and- hmmm. Perhaps we should pick up some snacks. I've noticed, between you and Peter Petrelli, that the metabolism increases pace with the use of abilities.

[You both eat like you're starving, he means. Mohinder carries his briefcase with him to the passenger seat, where he makes himself comfortable. He pulls out a couple notes to peruse while Sylar drives.]

( 'Not a mind-reader yet.' Something about the finality of it ticks loudly in his mind, the seconds hand striking twelve. If this works, if his Mohinder gets an ability, then the power balance between them will shift drastically.

Suppose he gets the ability to alter time and space? What if he prevents his father's death, or worse? Sylar looks down at the floating syringe in his palm. He could take that all away, right now, with just a touch of electricity. But, as trepidatious as he was, well, he shared in Mohinder's curiosity, too. Something about seeing the man so ecstastic, all but aroused by possibilities; what kind of monster would he be if he took that away?

Mohinder's voice pulls him from his thoughts, as it always did, and he follows him back to the trunk. There he'll set the syringe back in its proper case, secured snugly by the physical realm instead of telekinetic. As he meanders back the driver's seat it occurs to him: the power dynamic has already changed.

Perhaps that is why, some odd time later at the truck stop, he petulantly steals a candy bar. Mohinder had said on arrival that he didn't want any killing, or stealing, his Company credit card was still active... And some other things too, but Sylar was too distracted by the righteous fire in his eyes, how his jaw had been defiantly set, and that velvety steel authority in his voice that sent Sylar's mind down a rabbit hole of imagination. That same voice ordering Sylar to his knees, to unzip Mohinder's jeans with his teeth, and don't you dare use your powers, Gabriel...

As revenge, Sylar had thickened his accent to a more classical New York, and struck up small talk with the clerk, shamelessly flirting throughout the entire time they were there. It helped they were the only ones in the small store, and could be heard as far back as the coolers. For his portion of the supplies, he'd grabbed various crackers, snacks, some of the sandwiches under the heater that didn't look too dried out, and various caffeinated teas and bottled waters.

"Big trip planned, y' understand," he'd said with a wink, as if that had a double meaning. "Long overdue honeymoon."

The clerk had looked between the two of them, smiled knowingly, and continued with their purchase. Sylar blew a kiss as they departed the store. )

[Mohinder had known from the start that keeping Sylar in check was going to be a job in and of itself- but he didn't care. The ends were worth it, even if he wasn't thinking of the implications just now.

He did, of course, hear everything Sylar is saying in the store. The flirting tugged on some sort of uncomfortableness, something he really couldn't define and didn't care to evaluate. But the lie at the end- well. As they walked out of the store, he shook his head, looking amused.]

You are such a child. But if it makes you feel any better, we are technically stealing all this from the Company. I'm sure they can afford it.

[The dynamic has definitely shifted. Mohinder takes his blood while in the car, as his hands are steady and he is impatient. He only waits about a mile before ordering Sylar to pull off the road.]

This patch of grass is as good as any other. Now, there is a final component to start the process- adrenaline. But at this very moment, I don't think I'm going to need any help in that department. The changes should occur as soon as I'm injected.

( After that completely baseless accusation against his maturity, Sylar had made a 'Who, me?' gesture, then enjoyed the stolen midnight milky way for the next half hour. He decides against pointing out that they needn't have paid for anything at all, and saved the funds - which might get cut off at any moment - for when it they were in more dire need. They'd had that argument already on the short drive there. It was better to hold back for the inevitable 'I told you so' later anyhow.

For his part, he keeps the speed and radio low as Mohinder took his blood, keeping an eye on him just in case he had to intervene. He hadn't, of course, and when instructed to, he pulls over. By now the sun had long since set and darkness, pierced by the bright full moon, settles over them like a cloak.)

But, are you really sure you don't need any help? I can think of many ways we could get your heart pumping.

( Pleasurable. Painful. All the same to him. He stands a few feet from Mohinder; much as he wants to do all manner of things to him, there was still an injection going on. He has enough respect to give him the space he needed. )

[Getting out of the car, Mohinder is struck by the beauty of the scene. The moon bathes them in a gentle glow, giving him plenty of light to see by. Mohinder takes a moment to pack his blood vial into the cooler.]

I'm sure you can. But thankfully there are no ceilings to plaster me to, here.

[He takes the syringe out of the kit, holding it carefully for a moment and just staring. The voice in the back of his head telling him this is a terrible idea has been silenced for the moment- instead all he can hear are the whispers of promise. He pops the cover off the needle. When he speaks, his voice is breathy and quiet.]

Besides, this is a life-changing moment. It's enough.

[He makes a fist and injects himself with the full contents. Aside from him tossing the syringe to the ground and flexing his arm, nothing seems to happen for a long moment. Then-

He can feel it, something cascading inside his system. It overwhelms his senses and he immediately starts to seize. He has an appointment with the ground, unless Sylar has something to say about that.]

( Sylar does indeed have something to say about that. He has lots to vocalize, actually, but they're all a mix of exclamations, curses, and thinly-veiled concerns. When Mohinder meets the ground - gently, aided by telekinesis, and turned onto his side - one of the pillows from the car will meet him.

Sylar kneels beside Mohinder, feeling the most powerless he's ever felt since the Shanti virus had ravaged his system. Nothing at his disposal could help him in this moment, short of using his blood like a vampire to revive him. But that was worse case scenario and one he didn't like to think about. He does the only thing he can: hold one of Mohinder's hands in both of his own and look on, genuinely concerned for the outcome.

Once the seizing stops, and he appears at rest, Sylar remains quiet. What if Mohinder gave himself super-hearing? The sound of a tuning fork still makes Sylar wince after their eventful night together, and the last thing Sylar wanted to do was deafen him. He continues the comforting gestures, using his other hand to lightly brush away dark curls from his flushed forehead. )

[Mohinder stops seizing after about a minute, but remains unconscious for another few after that. When he comes to, he blinks up at Sylar, bleary-eyed. Sweat drips off his brow. And he can feel Sylar holding his hand. The physical comfort, not common in his adult years, is welcome. He squeezes it back.

And he feels the snap of bones under his fingertips. It doesn't feel right. He lets go.]

Wha-? Sylar? What's--

[It's possible he's been artificially unconscious too many times today.]

( Sylar barely has time to appreciate the fact Mohinder reflexively clung to him before he's crying out. It's more in surprise than pain, and soon he's pressing his lips together quickly and groaning beneath them, grimacing. He knows you're not supposed to startle a person coming out of a seizure, but also, Jesus pole-dancing Christ. There's no warning for what to do when the person you're helping breaks several bones; or at least, none in the books he read.

He wrests his hand from Mohinder's, holding it steady above his supine friend. For what feels like too long, he breathes sharply between clenched teeth, then a sigh of relief when the healing finally kicks. There's some hesitation where he very clearly wants to hold Mohinder's hand again, but instead, settles for resting it idly on his side. )

You're damn lucky I can heal now. ( His irritation is more for the sudden pain than the man who inflicted it. That fades quickly into concern. ) How're you feeling, Mohinder?

Edited 2020-12-06 03:10 (UTC)

[Information starts coming to Mohinder in chunks, such as 'Sylar is supposed to be here' and 'That hand is broken.' It's also noticeable how it heals, too. As he sits up, he watches the hand pop back into its intended form. He's beginning to piece together the situation, but the question scatters his thoughts.]

How am I feeling? [He looks down at himself and smiles, wide and unrestrained.] Fantastic, actually. Did I just break your hand?

[He reaches for it immediately, without a thought. Holding it gently, he runs his fingers over the skin with a feather touch. He wants to make sure the hand is working properly again. (He did always have a thing for Sylar's hands.)]

( Sylar is completely stunned into silence, his brain working (overtime, in fact, trying to figure things out) but no words form in his throat. That smile of unburdened joy was like an arrow right to his heart; the last time he'd witnessed that was when 'Zane' showed off his powers. Suddenly they hadn't been scientist and (unknown) serial killer. They were like children delighting in the destruction of whatever 'Zane' could get his hands on.

Ever since his identity had been revealed, Mohinder didn't look at him with smiles any more. Only hate, fear, disgust, flinching away from his touch. It'd been too late to talk about feelings or wants and so he'd burned that away, turned into to rage and violence. He'd bloodied Mohinder's lips like a parody of 'ravis me red' and pined him to the ceiling when, in all actuality, he'd wanted to pin him to the cheap apartment mattress and hear that voice speak only through begging.

And now Mohinder was touching his hand. No fear, no flinching, only the passion for puzzles burning in his eyes. Sylar permits the exploratory touch, of course he does. He can't prevent the way his breath hitches, soft thoughtful noises escaping from parted lips. )

Uh-hm. Yes. You did but it's... fine...

( Clearly distracted, downright mystified, with words proving difficult. He shifts his hand within that grasp, interweaving their fingers, ever the bratty difficult 'patient', but now wanting more of that touch, however he's able. His thoughts become more focused, something that scientific glee returning. )

Ah, so. Super strength, huh? Gonna hulk out on me?

[Mohinder takes the intertwining as a perfectly acceptable change. He even squeezes Sylar's hand- but since he is now both awake and aware of what he's doing, it's the actual soft squeeze he'd originally intended.]

I hope not. I happen to like this shirt. [He chuckles at his own joke.] Besides, I'm not sure that's all. I feel so much lighter. More energetic. Perhaps it's more about muscle control, or some form of heightened system to signal messages to the muscles from the brain, or something to use the glycogen more effectively-

[He's leaning towards Sylar as he speaks, a consequence of holding his hand this way. He follows the natural movement and leans his head against Sylar's, speaking with quiet excitement into his ear.]

We are going to have to test everything. This is beyond my wildest dreams. And to think I would have thrown it away, if you hadn't come along.

( Sylar tenses, holding his breath with that little hand squeeze, a natural reaction given what just transpired. He doesn't realize he's still holding the shaky exhalation escapes his lips. Mohinder's voice right in his ear and suddenly past and present are colliding in his mind. "It's going to hurt" becomes "We're going to test everything" and that should be terrifying, but it's exhilarating, a thrill of an entirely different sort.

He'd heard the rest of what Mohinder had said, paying half-attention at least. While he recalls the words, he scrambles to recollect the shambles of his sanity. Count to twelve. Every(tick). Second(tock). Counts(tick). The inclination to kiss Mohinder right now is overwhelming. But there's still something in the back of his mind, not just his need to solve the puzzle, but an uncertain hesitation that is, normally, quite silent.

Sylar reaches up, cupping Mohinder's cheek with his other hand, and while his intent might've been to look into his eyes more closely, his thumb's still stroking those fine cheekbones, rough with stubble. He wants to kiss every spot his fingers touch. )

Mohinder. ( The word's a desperate grasp for salvation and damnation in equal measures. He clears his throat, licks at his lips, and when he speaks again his voice is steadier, more in control. ) Mohinder. You're... Are you certain you're not high? This excitement. Euphoria. You are not in any position to test anything right now.

[Mohinder watches Sylar with an observer's gaze- clearly the man is unsure, perhaps even a little uncomfortable with this new development. But he's also excited, and Mohinder presumes this is the emotion that will win out.

The hand on his face has probably the opposite effect that Sylar wants. Mohinder leans into it, looking directly at Sylar with clear appreciation. It takes him a moment before Sylar's words really sink in.]

Hmm, you might be right. After all, we don't have many supplies right now, so we should wait until the adrenaline and any other chemicals produced by the change have settled to normal levels.

[He reaches up his fingers tracing over the shell of Sylar's left ear and down the curve of his neck. More exploratory touches, perhaps, except for the way his smile turns into something slightly more wicked as he continues.]

But if we're waiting, whatever are we going to fill our time with? Hmm?

[He tugs (rather gently, considering his new ability) on Sylar's shirt collar, bringing him close enough for a kiss. A million moments Mohinder had buried come to the forefront as their lips meet. So many times he'd wanted to do this, and now he's finally free to do so.]

Edited 2020-12-07 19:44 (UTC)

( 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...

[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.]

( 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.

[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.

( 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? )

['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?

( 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 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.]

( 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. )

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lmao redid my icon keywords and now some don't exactly match

pfft I just scrolled up and finally noticed XD ah, the hazards of icon updates.

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<-one of my most important icons

it IS

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