splice_of_life | Famous Last Words

"With Nathan," Peter says, not bothering to look ashamed. "I was at least. I thought.. I thought I had another chance."

Mohinder can understand that. Before he and Sylar had ended up with John, they'd hoped to run away too. Far, far away. Far enough that they'd not be taken out of their world again.

It hadn't worked.

Mohinder lightly strokes Matt's hair as he stirs, as Sylar heals him, though his eyes are fixated on the other man-- Other vampire. He's shocked. He's enthralled. And he's heartbroken. Now that he knows what he's missing, now that he understands the tugging, he can't unfeel it.

John's gone.

Sylar pushes his free hand into Mohinder's hair, fingers threading through it in an effort to comfort him -- to comfort the both of them, the void in Mohinder's heart his too as closely tied as they are now. He drops his other hand on top of Mohinder's when he feels the wounds in Matt's throat close finally and entirely, and looks back at Peter, popping a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. He can't blame him for wanting to spend time with Nathan, even if a part of him is hurt that he didn't come looking for him when he's blood, too.

Matt, in the meantime, groans softly and tries to sit up when he comes to. He doesn't make it very far, in one piece again but entirely disoriented from waking up on the floor, the events that lead to that, and the fever dream of memories that assaulted him in the interim.

Keeping Matt down and against his chest, Mohinder comforts him softly with a: "Sśśśa, cupa rahō," and a light stroking of his stubbled cheek. Matt, for his part, lets his eyes roll back in his head as his eyelashes flutter closed for just a second.

"I feel like I've been run over," he admits, sheepishly, trying not to think about how he's not just tangled up with Mohinder, but Sylar too. Or that he has memories of years of sex with the other man too.

That's just awkward.

Sylar, at least, has enough to think about beyond that that he can ignore the fact that he and Matt slept together for almost three years. Mostly. Kind of. It doesn't help that Matt's thinking about just that and his thoughts are clear as a bell in his head from his blood at the moment.

He makes a face at Matt and tries to push the memories down again. "Sorry. It was ... instinct. I was hungry."

He still is, actually, but not like he was, not to the point where his mouth hurt and his veins felt like they were on fire, as was the case when he first woke up.

Eventually, Matt's quite able to get up. His thoughts are far more conflicted than just whose cock he's been messing around with. There's also his love for Mohinder playing up now, being held like this hurt him deeply. Mohinder had known it, known about this Matt's relationship with another version of him, but he'd never felt it.

Until now.

Through both of their bonds with Sylar. Mohinder doesn't fuss over him. He just lets him go. Peter's there to steady him just the same. The awkwardness is almost too thick. Mohinder glances at the time and blanches, however. "We don't have lapis lazuli. We need somewhere safe to stay and... We can discuss this later."

There's a flare of jealousy from Sylar to go with it; Mohinder is his, now more than ever.

He manages to get a handle on the feeling without looking like a lunatic, thankfully -- his first instinct was to show Matt his fangs again -- and follows the geneticist's gaze to the watch on his wrist. He's silent for a moment, thoughtful, and then, "My place has a wine cellar. No windows, no sunlight. We can stay there and Matt can go back and get your ring."

He has no idea what he, himself, will do about the sun. As far as he understands how this works, not just any lapis will do. He may be spending the rest of his days in hiding from the light.

After Peter and Matt have gone, when it's just the two of them now, Mohinder slowly works his hands through Sylar's hair. He's not sure what he's looking for. Some difference in skin, in hair texture--

He's not sure how he feels about this. Any of this. He'll forgive Matt easily, the man was just protecting someone he cared for. Perhaps loved. Or had come to feel the start of that. Matt's protectiveness had been extreme. Enlightening-- And Mohinder feels guilty over taking someone else away from the other man. Matt deserves so much more.

"I'm so sorry for this. For all of this."

He tilts his head into his hands, his eyes sliding closed, and wraps his arms around him. "Don't be. I never thought about this, about being like you -- I didn't even know it was possible, even if I had, because of my healing. But I don't regret it. I feel ... "

Beyond the hunger still nagging him, he feels good. Better than he did while human and under the influence of Mohinder's blood and somehow clearer-headed now. Being on his blood was like being on a drug with all the ups and downs; being a vampire entirely now is like being the drug, somehow.

And even beyond that, and more importantly, there's the solidity of his connection with Mohinder. He can feel him. Sense every change in his mood. Know what he's thinking without really having to look for it. It's more than he ever could have hoped for and he wouldn't trade it for anything. Not even if he's confined to shadows for the rest of his life.

"I'm sorry, too, though." For sleeping with Matt. For not recognizing him. For ordering him to be tortured. All of it. "It's -- I didn't know."

"None of us knew," Mohinder whispers, inching his way closer and closer and closer to Sylar until their chests and lips and tongues touch. It's all he cares about, right now. Even if he can feel Matt's discomfort at their closeness.

He'll be out of range soon. A single feeding won't connect them for too long.

Still. He's still sorry.

He doesn't pull away to try and argue that, though, nor does he pay much mind to Matt's lingering upset. He just pulls him closer, kissing him hungrily, having missed him terribly on some level even if he wasn't consciously aware of it until less than an hour ago. He doesn't press further than that, however, but it has nothing to do with lack of want. He wants to touch him, wants to be with him physically to match their mental connection, but as time wears on, as the dawn starts to come in, he becomes acutely aware of how exhausted he is. He pulls away finally when it starts to become almost overwhelming and rests his forehead against Mohinder's, silently, his eyes closed.

Mohinder grins up at Sylar and pulls him over to the blankets he'd set up. It has nothing to do with being cold, just comfortable. And really, that's all that they can hope for. "It's been a strange few days for me," he whispers, laying on his back.

Sylar's head is cradled on his chest. And Mohinder's hands find purchase against his scalp. He has no desire to go anywhere else. Not yet.

John might still exist here. He won't know him, Mohinder knows that, but he can help with another ring. Hopefully.

"Join the club."

He stretches just a bit, like a cat might, then settles down against him, one hand coming to rest over his heart. The sluggishness of his pulse isn't vaguely unsettling anymore, not knowing that his is the same. Not when it feels like that's how it should be and always should have been.

He nuzzles idly at his chest, like a child burying their head in a particularly fluffy pillow. "Get some sleep, Mohinder."

He's out before he can tell whether or not the other man actually plans on it.

Getting some sleep proves rather easy actually. Mohinder passes out with his hand on the back of Sylar's head and his hair swept across a pillow that smelled, of all things, like Matt. Mohinder's not sure how to reconcile this and it plays out in his dreams. Violent, bloody, dreams, so very opposite of what this Mohinder would experience. But Sylar's first version of him? He'd fallen readily into bloodshed.

Perhaps not that of friends--

At least the blood bond has worn off by the time Matt and Peter return. Matt'd likely not have been thrilled to know that, in his dreams, Mohinder was happily killing him slowly for sleeping with his pet.

Sylar lingers in Mohinder's dreams, capable of it not because he's figured out that particular aspect of his new strength, but because he's almost always been capable of it, and watches, vaguely disturbed. His discomfort has nothing to do with the bloody scene Mohinder's enacting, however -- if becoming a vampire sharpened his own animal instincts, and it has, he knows it has, then it makes sense it's done the same for Mohinder. No, he's more upset because it's Parkman, some small part of him attached to the telepath thanks to years of false memories and nearly draining him dry. He doesn't feel for Matt like he feels for Mohinder, but if pressed, he'd have to say that he was in love with him before he got his memories back, even if he would have denied it to the very last.

He's not sure how to reconcile that and so he lets Mohinder have his fantasy, never interrupting.

Meanwhile, back in the waking world, Sylar's former chief of security lingers in the doorway of the wine cellar, watching Mohinder and Sylar sleep, barely breathing, like corpses, and tries to make sense of the last few years. Of sleeping with Sylar and waking up in the Indian's arms. He's not doing so well.

Sylar's guilt seeps into his skin and Mohinder stirs long before Sylar does. He can smell Matt there, the scent of blood on Sylar's lips and his clothing. All over him really. It's easy for the Indian to displace Sylar. He gently lays him down in the not-so-warm spot he's left behind and moves a bit too quickly to Matt's side.

Taking him from the room is easy. They need to talk. There's too much not to have a good conversation right now.

Mohinder hadn't been lying when he told the larger man that he'd crushed on him. And the Mohinder from before had been in love with the larger man.

Matt had always been so very kind to him while Peter and Sylar were busy with their own tasks. The feelings, split between bonds of varying strengths, is complicated.

"How can this be fixable?"

Matt shakes his head, at a loss. "I don't know, man. This is all way too complicated. I mean, I have all these memories of him, and I ... "

He, like Sylar, is pretty sure he was in love with the other man. He doesn't say that, though, not willing to admit it, even if the feelings are lingering, and just shakes his head again.

He hardly needs to say it. Mohinder can taste the confession and he understands. He does. Even if he hates Matt for it. Dismay and pity and loathing and desire to make it better mix in his blood and in his stomach. He wipes his mouth as if to rid himself of the bitterness of it all.

"And you love him." No point in making it passed tense. "And you love me. Well, you love someone that I could potentially be. All I do is hurt people, Matt. And I'm so very sorry."

Matt winces at the accusation or whatever it's meant to be and looks away. "I'm not trying to get between you and him, and I sure as hell wouldn't feel like this if I didn't have all these memories, but I just ... yeah. Yeah, I think I do and I have no idea how to deal with any of it."

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and looks up, frowning at him. "And you're wrong, by the way. You don't hurt people. We just keep getting put in these lousy situations and that's not your fault."

Mohinder shakes his head. "I know everything there is to know, everything he knows. We've shared too much blood." He leads Matt back upstairs, ring firmly in place on his hand. John would be so proud to see him this way. Or perhaps he'd weep for him... "Mērē bhagavāna... A version of me destroyed his world by being careless. Trusted someone and was killed. It's been bad since. He's been wandering for years now. I am always to blame. Always. You don't need to sugar coat it."

Matt scrubs a hand over his face to hide the fact that he's rolling his eyes. "I wasn't trying to. I don't blame you, I don't blame Peter, and tell you the truth, I don't think I really even blame him anymore. Pointing fingers isn't gonna help anyone, we just have to -- to, I don't know, just deal with this. It's all we really can do right now."

On his toes, Mohinder leans against Matt's back, one hand on his shoulder. He's hungry. He's given away a lot of blood. And Matt's there-- If he gave it to Sylar, he might as well give it to him. Yes, of course Mohinder knows that they're suppose to be having a conversation right now, it's meant to be serious, but he really can't help himself.

"There's a very easy way to do this. We can talk without having to talk. Telepathy, only deeper. I can control myself. You're special. It should be fine--"

Unlike the other humans. Mohinder's frustration brought out the worst in him.

"It won't hurt. I can make sure of it. I don't want to have to hunt."

Matt's pulse quickens in something like fear, almost able to sense Mohinder's intent before he explains himself. He doesn't pull away, though -- he can't for more than any influence Mohinder may or may not have over him.

"It sure as hell hurt when Sylar did it ... "

Dark fingers move down the side of Matt's neck. Lips press close. Closer still. It's impossible to keep the danger and sex from this. It's part of the game and who he is now. Mussed up, frizzy curls tickle his earlobe. "It takes better when it hurts, when you're afraid. It doesn't have to."

He shivers, unable to help himself, and leans ever so slightly into Mohinder. He hopes Sylar doesn't come out while they're in the middle of this. Things are complicated enough without him catching them in the act for as sexually charged as this feels.

"Okay. Just ... okay."

Feeding is feeding. Of course, Mohinder had just been dreaming happily of torturing Matt like this. There's something dreadfully wrong about letting himself do this. The desire to hurt is still there, but so is the desire to reconcile it all between them.

The initial bit is ferocious. The rest is anything but as Mohinder catches the gasping, collapsing man in his arms and lowers them both to the floor. Matt's blood is savory where Sylar's is sweet. It reminds him a little of how John's had been when he was mortal. The tang against his tongue jolts pleasure through his nerves.

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