Famous Last Words

[splice_of_life]

"And the way I can feel you...its...I never want to lose that."

Mohinder wakes with a start and stares up at the ceiling. Those weird dreams again. They need to stop. They're starting to affect his ability to do his job. Well, not that he'd slept much these five years since Sylar blew up. The alarm goes off a moment later and he pulls himself to his feet.

Another day in the lab. Another report due. A meeting with the president that afternoon? He'd have to check his schedule.

He's in the shower when he gets the call. That meeting with the president? Moved up to a breakfast briefing. Mohinder groans and slips on a silver and lapis lazuli ring before he heads down to the waiting limo.

Comments

[heroslayer]

"I don't know," he all but sing-songs, tracing one hand over the lapels of Matt's blazer under the pretense of straightening them. The material, like everything else thus far, feels amazing. "I might need something to help me de-stress, first. Otherwise I'm just gonna lay in bed for those couple of hours, counting ceiling tiles."

A beat. "Which, by the way, there are 347."

In five years, he hasn't slept much, for more than the perks of his ability.

[telecognition.livejournal.com]

Nathan's body is strange to him, even now. It's still strange that Sylar can change the illusion of himself. Be a woman. Tease him with Janice-- look. Feel. Smell. Everything. But there's something weird about this particular illusion. The pupils. Why?

Grabbing his chin, Matt tilts back his head to look down into his. Sylar's eyes. Not Nathan's. So it's illusion but not quite illusion. Reality is breaking through.

"Hey. Hey. Let's get you home. You're slipping."

[heroslayer]

He's torn between acquiescing to ignoring the request, the latter a stronger impulse than the former, wanting to touch him, wanting to see what his skin tastes like and drown in the smell of him, and wanting all of it now, impatient and hungry, though not for blood, not like Mohinder. That, perhaps, is why his thoughts keep wandering away from worrying about what he might have done to himself with that little vial of the vampire's blood; it's not enough to keep him from wondering about his apparently crumbling hold on Nathan's form, however.

He steps back, euphoria muted for the time being and only vaguely, and fishes the keys to his personal car out of his pocket, dangling them in front of Matt. "Maybe you're right about needing an hour or two."

[telecognition.livejournal.com]

Right. No driver then. Matt takes the keys from the President and leads the way out of the room. "No need for the driver, Dominic. I'm going to take him home."

It's not an odd statement at all. Matt's often driven him home. It's just down the street in the Presidential complex after all. The White House hadn't exactly been standing since the terrorist attack three years before, led by Nakamura.

[heroslayer]

He rests his hand on Matt's thigh as they drive, his fingers twitchy, considering wandering, worry ebbing away again. He manages to contain himself only as long as it takes them to get home and get inside, and then he's pushing the other man back against the door. He sheds Nathan's skin as he presses against him and buries his face in his throat, lips attaching to space just below his ear, the bastard child of a moan and a hum catching at the back of his throat.

"You smell amazing," he murmurs, one hand fisting in his slacks at the hip to pull him tight against him or to keep him from escaping. One or the other. Maybe both. He's not entirely sure.

[telecognition.livejournal.com]

And this use to be such a problem. Matt had never said no, the first time had simply been an escape from pain, a little too much alcohol and some sweetness on Sylar's part. But over times, all of this has since become normal. Something Matt looks forward to.

He serves. He protects. Sylar needs both. Matt gets someone to care for. It's the most perfect arrangement possible in this terrible world.

Matt's head hits the back of the door and he groans. "Not that I don't appreciate this, but what did you take?"

[heroslayer]

"Nothing," he answers, dragging teeth that are just a touch too sharp over his skin. His tongue follows, soothing the raised red lines he's traced over his throat, and his hands wander now that he knows that Matt isn't going to try to escape, tugging at his shirt to free it from under the waist of his pants so he can press his fingers to his side.

He might be trying to distract him on top of testing his seemingly new, heightened senses. It's not really a lie -- he didn't actually take anything, not a drug anyway -- but it's not the whole truth, either, and he doesn't want Matt to go looking.

[telecognition.livejournal.com]

Matt comes off as pretty stupid, but he isn't stupid. He's already got a good guess under his belt that this has to do with what Mohinder did to him. Perhaps it was a product of coming back to life. Either way, he tells himself not to worry so much.

Not yet at least. Sylar might just be on a high from not dying. An adrenaline rush.

"Hey, hey, careful there," he groans, even as Sylar tongues up his throat, rough like sand paper from his stubble.

[heroslayer]

He mumbles an apology he doesn't really mean and moves his lips from his throat, mouth seeking his eagerly.

That's a good word for everything that follows, too. Eager. When they're together, Sylar usually takes it slow, their romps in bed a wonderfully terrible sort of torture that usually end with making Matt beg for an end before he finally obliges him. Now, though, there's none of that. He's frenetic and potentially more outwardly responsive than he's ever been, more vocal, and he doesn't bother holding the other man cruelly on edge. He gives him his release easily and quickly, somehow gentle in spite of the overpowering want in his thoughts the entire time, and he falls apart just behind him, dropping his head to his shoulder when he's spent, panting.

If both their clothes are on the wrong side of destroyed at the end of it, he takes no notice, nor does he realize he'd done it in the first place, controlling his new found strength not really possible when he's not aware he has it in the first place.

[telecognition.livejournal.com]

Matt's pretty sure he's thrown his back out, and while that's pretty damned amusing, it's also a little terrifying. He's use to Sylar's ways. These are not Sylar's ways. It takes some time for Matt to get up the urge to turn over and when he does, he pulls Sylar against his chest and lightly strokes his hair. There's something wrong here, but Matt promised a long time ago never to enter Sylar's thoughts without permission. And he's nothing if not loyal. That doesn't stop him from laying awake, eyes blank and fixed on the ceiling.

[heroslayer]

Sylar falls asleep in his arms and dozes for almost exactly two hours, as if he set some kind of internal alarm just long enough to keep his word to Matt. He awakes with a start, the same dreams that have been haunting him the last few times he's slept clinging to him like a shadow, and relaxes only once they fade into a handful of disjointed, meaningless images. He shifts a bit against Matt, getting comfortable again, and listens to his breathing, the sound impressively magnified still but not unpleasant.

He can tell he's not asleep. " ... you know, I should have made you promise me to get some sleep, too."

[telecognition.livejournal.com]

"You can order me to do a lot of things, but sleeping isn't one of them," Matt says absently, turning his lips against Sylar's hairline. They've never kissed outside of sex, and Matt's only rarely offered this sort of comfort before. Sylar's rarely interested in having a cuddle. Matt takes the time to nose into his hair before he thinks better of it. This is an arrangement, though loyalty and long term companionship has made Matt really quite willing to delve into romance.

When and if Sylar allows for such things.

It's not often.

He brushes his knuckles down his arm and flattens it against the other man's ribs. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about yet?"

[heroslayer]

Sylar makes a small noise of protest when Matt takes his mouth away from his hair. The other man is right in thinking that cuddling's not normally his speed -- it still isn't, truth be told -- but when taking into account how amazing touch feels right now, he thinks he's entitled to a little hedonism, and if that includes cuddling, so be it.

"What what is about, Parkman?"

[telecognition.livejournal.com]

'Parkman' again. Fine. Matt let's it drop. "Nothing. So what do you want us to do about Suresh? See if sunlight burns him or if he has a reflection in the mirror?"

[heroslayer]

It's force of habit, not a means of closing himself off -- it's feel weird to call Matt by his first name, and so he simply doesn't -- and he frowns at the other man for a moment as if he can sense he doesn't get that before putting the real walls in place. If his chief of security wants his boss, he can give it to him and all without ever changing his face.

"He's got a reflection, that much I know for sure," he says, thinking back to when he first walked into the apartment earlier. "But I wouldn't mind seeing what happens if we take him outside during the day. Maybe swing by a church and see about some holy water. That sort of thing."

It sounds ridiculous coming out of his mouth, but well, this whole situation would seem entirely absurd if it weren't actually happening.

[telecognition.livejournal.com]

Matt chuckles. This is better. It feels better. Sylar ought to be Sylar and sex should never change that. It's too unrealistically grandiose to think of their relationship as complicated, deep, and meaningful. Matt doesn't do much thinking about it at all. "Few more hours then until sunrise. I think I will take that nap after all. Something tells me we're going to be busy tomorrow."

[heroslayer]

"Incredibly." He stays close for the time being, even if he's playing the boss at the moment. He might move later, still feeling restless and full of energy, but he can at least enjoy the feel of Matt at his side and the cloying scent of their time spent together until he falls asleep. "Oh, and one more thing. I want him kept alive, so try to keep anything wooden and pointy away from his heart. Just in case."

[telecognition.livejournal.com]

Matt yawns, hot breath catching in Sylar's hair as he curls slightly into him. He'll take his moments where he can get them. "I'll pack the sunscreen then too. Just in case."

Matt moves down the hallways easily, temples greying and suit pressed. He takes pride in his presence, he even has started eating healthier, working out more the passed year or so. It gives him that edge. And still makes him look the part of a father figure just the same. He's ten years older than Sylar. It shows. And he thinks that's a lot of why Sylar likes him around.

"Get Suresh up. And be careful all right? Shoot him in the head if you have to."

Mohinder's hooded and bound and sluggish when he's brought before Matt, breathing a bit hard.

[mentalmastery.livejournal.com]

Matt waves his guard away, though doesn't dismiss them entirely, letting them linger on the edges of the room, just in case. He steps forward to remove the hood, mindful of his hands and fingers, just in case, and sets it down on a the table at the center of the room, gesturing Mohinder into a chair on the opposite side of it.

"You look like hell, man," he comments, a bit unkindly. Mohinder is, after all, a murderer and some kind of freak even by his broad standards.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Mohinder only offers a ghost of a smile. "I feel like hell," he mentions, sitting gingerly on the 'offered' chair. He rubs his face with his hand and lets the heavy chains hit the table as he slides in behind it. "I might even be in hell at the moment. And how are you, Matt?"

[mentalmastery.livejournal.com]

"Kinda tired, but hey -- what's new, right?" He shrugs, taking a seat in the only other chair in the room, and sets his hands down on the table. "So, I figure you can guess why I'm here."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

"To take my breakfast order? I'd really just like some tea." He's not feeling the need to be kind right now. He's hungry. Shedding blood last night, so soon after feeding, hadn't exactly kept him nourished. "I won't say no to toast though."

[mentalmastery.livejournal.com]

"Sorry," Matt offers, waving to one of the guards. They disappear outside briefly, then return with a glass of water, setting it down at Matt's elbow. He pushes it across the table to Mohinder. "Water's the best I can do. I'd get you some bread to go with that, but we're fresh out."

As Sylar wanted, the glass is full of holy water.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

"Now I think that might be a little mean," Mohinder groans, sniffing at the water. "Heating it up and adding some flavour is against the rules here?" He drinks it anyway. Without issue. "Perhaps ice would have been nice."

[mentalmastery.livejournal.com]

Well, that puts that particular myth to bed -- as well as the one about crosses, presumably. He frowns faintly and rolls his eyes at the comment. "I hate to break it to you, Suresh, but this is a holding facility, not a hotel. You don't exactly get to make requests."