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

[mentalmastery.livejournal.com]

"Do you blame us? We have enough problems without whatever they hell it is you are," he snaps, angry that Mohinder feels betrayed when he would have murdered Sylar if not for whatever it was that brought him back to life. He doesn't have the right to be upset. "But fine. You wanna get this over with?"

He gestures back at his escort and one of them ducks out of the room. He doesn't return. Instead, a section of the wall slides away, built in to keep the afternoon sun from making the room unusuable, and as it does, sunlight starts to fill the room a little at a time as the screen withdrawals.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

At first, all Mohinder did is blink languidly. It just doesn't dawn on him at first what was happening until the pool of light moved towards him. Mohinder hisses lightly. His heart is racing-- well. For a vampire. He frowns at Matt as presses himself back against the wall. "Don't. Don't. Please Matt. Don't."

[mentalmastery.livejournal.com]

"So it does hurt you," Matt concludes, his expression somewhat amazed. He doesn't call the man he sent out back just yet, however. Over the last few years, he's developed something of a cruel streak where torturing the truly guilty are concerned, and Mohinder is definitely guilty. Plus, he's a little curious as to what will happen when the sun touches him? Will he burst into flames? Will he powderize? What?

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Turning his head away from the light, Mohinder just winces and waits for the light to hit him. Oh God. He can't actually breathe when the light bathes over him. His mouth opens. His dark skin sizzles, the smell truly terrible. Shaking hands move over his face. He crumples, trying to make his body smaller. His arms move over his head.

[mentalmastery.livejournal.com]

Matt calls something over his shoulder and gets to his feet, crossing the distance between the table and where Mohinder has himself pressed against the wall to stand over him, trying to shield him from the light as the partition slides back up. It's not perfect -- he's one person, not a wall -- but he's at least trying. Sylar said to keep him alive and, well, he has to admit to a certain amount of guilt seeing how violently Mohinder's reacting. This is a man who, up until a day before, was a friend, and regardless of how dangerous he is now, that tie isn't completely severed.

Behind him, the light dies finally and entirely, and Matt takes a step back, then another, going for the bag on the table. He pushes it into the hands of one of his guards and makes for the door. "Take him back to his cell and get him something to eat. We'll keep going with this later."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Mohinder's doing his best not to hyperventilate, but he's shaking so violently that getting the bag over his head almost isn't an option. He's not made for torture, he's never experienced it before, and it's enough to harden his heart as he lays in his cell later, face down and curled around the pillow. It's either break or be angry. He chooses the latter.

[heroslayer]

An armed guard steps in at some point to bring him some tea and toast, as he requested earlier, but Mohinder's left to stew in his cell for a very long time otherwise. It's well after dark when the door opens again, even if the Indian has no way of telling that, and Nathan (Sylar) lets himself in, carrying a bag, something alive inside, if the fact that it's squirming is any indication. He sets it down on the floor somewhere between him and Mohinder, then retreats to the door, leaning back against it, his arms folding over his chest.

"I brought you something to eat. Not sure how you feel about cat, but ... it's the best I could do."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Mohinder simply ignores him, or worse, really. He makes a show of doing it by turning over to face the wall.

[heroslayer]

Sylar shrugs, mostly for his own benefit since Mohinder has his back to him now, and crosses the room again. He doesn't stop at the cat in its sack, however, intent on leaving that for Mohinder whether or not he wants it, curious to see if he'll eat it right away or later, whenever he reaches that starving point, and whether it helps any. Instead, he moves up to the edge of his bed, reaching into his pocket to palm the syringe he came with him.

Something flickers somewhere, the lights or something else, it's hard to tell, as he cuts the security feed to the room telekinetically -- he doesn't want Matt watching, assuming he even is -- and once that's done, pushes the tip of the needle into Mohinder's shoulder, drawing blood. He wants more for his coffee tomorrow morning and he doesn't want any eyebrows raised if the samples in the lab go missing.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Mohinder wets his lips as he stares at the ceiling. Sylar's in his nostrils and he tries to hold his breath to no avail. The moment that the needle breaks his skin, Mohinder grabs for the other man to pin him beneath him. He's in no mood for this, not after the sunlight torture. He really might tear out his throat for it.

[heroslayer]

Mohinder may be weakened from lack of blood, and he might be stronger for it, but he's still faster and stronger than he is. He lets out a hissed breath when the Indian lands on top of him, dropping the syringe, and puts his hands on his shoulders, trying to push him away with all the strength he's gained from him. Next time he comes, he'll come with a muzzle.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Angry though he is, it isn't Mohinder's intention to hurt anyone. Well, not further than he needs to for this particular exercise. A cat's not going to cut it. Not after today. "Why are you trying to take my blood? What other tests--" Oh. No. Sylar's thoughts are his own, and that makes him shudder. It's the last thing he wants.

[heroslayer]

Sylar is silent and still for a moment, trying to gauge whether or not he understands what he wants his blood for and, if not, how much it would benefit him to lie. The way that he looks at him leads him to believe that he knows, though, and he goes back to struggling, shoving Mohinder both physically and telekinetically with as much force as he can muster.

"You never should have given me your blood, Suresh. It's ... amazing I feel amazing. I haven't felt this good in more than five years and I want more. I want to keep feeling like this forever. And now that we're both apparently immortal ... "

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

A bit too roughly, Mohinder pushes up Sylar's chin to expose his throat. "Two options," he says, losing his fight at keeping him pinned. "I kill you and escape. Or you let me have your blood and you can have mine. No more pointless tortures. I'll stay here and I'll behave."

[heroslayer]

"Can I get that in writing?" he asks, offering Mohinder a crooked smile that looks entirely out of place on Nathan's face. Thankfully, the expression is quick to evaporate, and he turns his head to one side, exposing his throat properly, his eyes never leaving Mohinder's face. His pulse spikes faintly, deliciously, as an echo of fear of pain runs through him. "Do it. But if you're lying to me, if you try to get out ... "

His eyes harden, though the threat goes unspoken.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

No pain this time. Mohinder's trying to be careful. He can live up to his end of the bargain. At least until he figures out how to reverse this. Or better yet, they come up with a cure. He really does want a cure. He can't see his entire life going on this this. Vampires are meant to be immortal aren't that?

The dread that fills him evaporates when the blood hits his tongue. It's all downhill from there, delicious and satisfying.

[heroslayer]

Sylar chokes out a swear and arches up into him, though neither reaction has anything to do with pain. Much to the contrary and unlike last time, beyond the initial sting of his teeth breaking skin, the pull of blood feels just as good as everything else today has. Better. Better than anything he's ever done to Matt or let Matt do to him. He's suddenly glad he agreed to this and his arms hook around his waist, holding him against him even as his hold on Nathan's face flickers, not wanting it to end.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Mohinder's fingers slip up into Sylar's hair and tug lightly at the ones that cling to the nape of his neck. He exhales slowly through his nostrils, controlled only because he forced himself to be. It's over much too fast, though he laps at the blood until it clots and half purrs as he nudges his nose at the underside of Sylar's throat. He ignores the erection he feels against his thigh. He's really not interested in that.

[heroslayer]

It takes Sylar far too long to catch his breath, his eyes closed, eyelids fluttering. When he does, he still can't quite form words, though the thoughts pertaining to how he feels about the experience are bright and clear in his head, if not in his body, and so he says nothing. He does, however, slip his fingers -- his own fingers, Nathan's form entirely giving way to his own -- up into Mohinder's hair in turn.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

The trouble is that it's comforting. Much too comforting. All that Mohinder wants is just a little kindness after years of trying his best only to wake up like this...to feel this. He never asked for any of it. He'd give it up for a second just to go back to being the professor who had no idea that he was working for Sylar of all people. Still, his scent is nice and Mohinder sinks happily into his arms, eyes closing before he remembers his end of the deal. He slashes up the length of his forefinger. Sylar only needs a little taste.

[heroslayer]

He can smell his blood, can practically taste it already, and a little shiver of anticipation runs through him. If he's salivating like a dog who just heard its dinner bell, he takes no notice, he just curls his fingers around Mohinder's wrist, pulling his hand to his mouth, and closes his lips over the wound at his finger, drinking as deeply and greedily as he can manage from such a small cut. His breathing and his pulse stutter again as it hits his system.

[telecognition.livejournal.com]

With 'Nathan Petrelli' adjusting his tie as he entered the back room, Matt leans back into his chair and taps his fingers on the desk. "The point of surveillance is to have them on. And working. What were you doing in there?"

[heroslayer]

"It's rude to watch people eat," Sylar answers, shrugging. He moves to sit in one of the chairs next to Matt and folds his hands over his stomach, looking over at him. "I brought him Chinese takeout and tried to level with him. Like I said, I don't want him dead. Just ... understood."

[telecognition.livejournal.com]

"And?" Matt's a man of few words. He's waiting for 'Nathan' to fill him in on what Mohinder might have said. How else can he have hope to protect him? He's use to the President keeping him in the dark, though. So use to it that Matt never finds the need or desire to go delving for answers.

[heroslayer]

"It's a work in progress. He wasn't feeling particularly chatty after what happened this afternoon." He's not blaming Matt, seeing as how the man had only done what he'd ordered, he's just making a statement. "One of us might get more out of him tomorrow."

He'll have more blood, at least. He has no idea how long it takes to wear off, but he doesn't want to find out. Like he told Mohinder, he wants to feel like this forever.