Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar (very slight)
Word count: 214
Notes: Little end-of-the-month drabble for moorishflower
, for the lulz.
"That smells fantastic," Sylar said, coming up behind Mohinder, who nearly smacked him in the face with a spatula.
"For god's sake, stay out of my kitchen! If I've told you once..."
"But I wanted to see what smelled so delicious. That's not a crime."
"It is when I told you not to come in here." Sylar used his telekinesis to pull the oven door open; Mohinder bumped it shut with his hip and scowled, crossing his arms over his pink apron. "You'll know when it's done!"
"It's pie!" Sylar grinned, "You're making a pie. That's cute, I never saw you as the baking type. What kind is it?"
"What, your evolved nose can't tell?"
"I know it's not my favorite."
"That's because it's not for you," Mohinder said primly. "Now go, or I'll make an extra one just for Peter to throw at you when he gets here."
"You're making a pie for Peter? Oh, that hurts."
Looking down at the stovetop, Mohinder bit his lip on a smile. "He brought me the blueberries right from Maine. You bring me the fruit, and ask
before you come in, and I'll make you one."
"Really?" Sylar's eyes lit up. "I'll be back."
Georgia, not a problem. Heck, he'd bring back a whole peach tree.