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drive_through_rxValentine's Day ficlets. All Heroes, all the time. xD Collectively 4365 words.
Title: Simply Irresistible
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 280
Notes:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
piping_hot asked for Sylar playing with Mohinder's hair. Hello, personal kink! :D
Mohinder's happy whenever he feels long fingers slide into his curls, but he likes it best when it comes as a surprise: when he's hunched over the laptop, half-ready to throw it in frustration, and suddenly there are fingertips rubbing over his scalp soothingly; when he's on the couch, thoroughly engrossed in a novel, and only surfaces from the words when a finger twirls into an unruly curl and tugs gently; when he's asleep, or mostly, ignoring the alarm but opening his eyes with a sigh as Sylar's hands ruffle his tousled hair gently.
It's good when it's not a surprise, too. Half the time when Mohinder comes out of the bathroom towelling his hair off, Sylar will take the towel from him, pat the moisture out of his hair and then untangle every knot, until glossy curls reassert themselves. Most nights Mohinder falls asleep to the gentle, rhythmic stroke of Sylar's hand from his hairline to the nape of his neck.
Nobody really knows how much they enjoy these moments, simple contact, a little ritual that leaves them both more happy afterward. The one time Peter caught them in the act, he spun some anthropology bullshit about alpha males establishing dominance and how Mohinder should be careful etcetera etcetera. Once he was gone, Mohinder laid his head against Sylar's chest and laughed.
"Well, my dominant alpha male, could you finish that headrub? I believe my migraine mated with Peter's ignorance to breed an evolved strain of stupid migraines." Sylar chuckled, rubbing his thumb against Mohinder's temple.
"You know, serotonin's good for getting rid of migraines." Mohinder eyed him carefully. "What? It'll be quicker than the head rub."
"Good point."
Title: An Act Of Desperation
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: R
Word count: 570
Notes:cellshader wanted low-rise jeans and some time between midnight and 4 am.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and right now, Mohinder's about as desperate as he's ever felt.
Yes, Valentine's Day is a Western construct designed to stick commercialism in between New Year's and Easter. There's nothing real about it, except...
Except that Mohinder is lonely. No, he's not lonely: he is absolutely desperate for someone, anyone, to touch him. It's been long, far too long, and he knows what his only recourse is.
He puts on a tight pair of slacks, a snug shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and teases his curls in front of a mirror, trying not to look himself in the eye. "It's only once," he tells himself, "I just have to... get it out of my system."
The entire way to the club, his body draws him forward and his mind insists on going back. Once he's in, paid the cover charge and stepped into the colorful lights and steady thumping bass shaking the floor, his mind calls it a night and his instincts take over.
He knows very well that he has a type, and he wanders around the edges of the dance floor, looking for a likely target. Taller than him, dark hair, skinny and lanky and somehow graceful--
A pair of low-cut jeans catch his eye. They're tight over their wearer's narrow rear, cling to his slim hips, travel down long slender legs like they're painted on. His gaze travels back up: broad shoulders, big hands, dark hair spiked up. He silently wills the man to turn around, but his luck isn't quite that good; Mohinder steels his nerves, sternly tells his cock to settle down until they're sure of getting laid, please, and walks over to the man who fits his criteria to a T.
"Excuse me," he says, a hand on the back of the man's upper arm, and he looks up to see--
"Mohinder?" Sylar's eyes widen, and he reaches out, not to grab Mohinder but to press fingers to his cheek. "What are you doing here?"
All Mohinder can do is open and close his mouth. How perverse, how traitorous of his body, how... how did this happen?
"What are you doing here?" he demands back, and Sylar's lips quirk up.
"Same thing most of the other men here tonight are doing. Trying not to have to spend the night alone." He shrugs, the gesture pulling his black t-shirt tight over muscles Mohinder had never really noticed before. "And from how you approached me, I'm betting that's why you're here, too."
He shouldn't, really, but Mohinder nods. There's no derision in Sylar's gaze, no mockery, no hostility-- just the same sort of desperation he's been avoiding in his own eyes, that yearning to be close to someone, no matter how briefly.
Mohinder closes his eyes and breathes in. His body says yes him now, for god's sake YES, and his mind responds more slowly, but also says yes, you know he's the one. When he opens his eyes, he looks up at Sylar and smiles, hooking his fingers in the belt-loops of those low-slung jeans.
"Let's dance," he says, and Sylar's smile is stunned and relieved and oh, when he's at ease he goes from broodingly handsome to really quite stunning, and for once, Mohinder is in accords with both body and mind, because every part of him sings yes under Sylar's hands as they step onto the dance floor.
Title: And Then
Pairing: Mohinder/Zane
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 255
Notes:perdiccas asked for the Ramones t-shirt and 2 a.m.
It's two in the morning, and they should be asleep.
Really, that would be more sensible than deciding to trade off driving and sleeping in order to stay up now, but Mohinder can't stop talking, and Zane keeps urging him on, and then--
and then it's Mohinder urging Zane on, tilting his head to let the man get at his throat, moaning shameless encouragement and clutching that long body between his thighs, over him and under him in a laughing breathless tumble of clothes coming off, all the excitement of having someone who understands focused into hands and mouths, hips and cocks, shoving at each other recklessly, leaking slick precome over their stomachs and each other's dicks, a name moaned and hair grasped and lips that seal together like they'd been meant for each other all along--
and then it's breath, a sticky mess between their bellies, Zane's eyes closed and his mouth open and come shot so far up his stomach that it stains the t-shirt that never made it off but only got rucked up under his arms. It's Mohinder's sigh of contentment, the pop of his spine as he stands and stretches; it's the anxiety in Zane's eyes until he returns with a sleepy, sexy smile and a warm washcloth and endearments murmured in an ear that's no longer bright red from blushing.
It's two-thirty in the morning, and they're almost asleep, naked under the blankets and curled together, the warm happy center of the universe for just a few precious moments.
Title: Boxergram
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar/Adam
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 190
Notes:blossommorphine wanted boxers, after dinner.
Mohinder has just finished drying the last dish when someone knocks on the door. Sylar opens it, looming in the doorway as is his wont, and finds a blond man in the hallway, carrying heart-shaped balloons and wearing nothing but a pair of red silk boxers.
"Happy Valentine's Day," the man announces, "You've been sent a boxergram by--" He checks the tag attached to the balloons. "Peter Petrelli. 'Dear Sylar, have a nice day, p.s. brains?' All right..."
Sylar cocks his head to one side, heavy brows pulling together, and Mohinder comes over to ogle the man for a moment.
"Why's it a boxergram if you're wearing the boxers? If it was a candygram we'd get candy."
Blue eyes blink confusedly. "You can't have my boxers, mate. It's colder than a penguin's arse out here."
Mohinder and Sylar share a significant look, and then the taller man steps back. "Then come in," he purrs. The man looks from one to the other, steps past the doorway, and lets the balloons float to the ceiling.
For once, Petrelli did something that turned out for the better. Who knew?
Title: Officer Park-That-Ass-Right-Here
Pairing: Mohinder/Matt
Rating: R
Word count: 255
Notes:tiptoe39 wanted black socks at 7 a.m.
If there was anything less fair in the morning than watching Matt walk around in an undershirt, boxers, and black socks, Mohinder didn't know what it was. The whole time he was busy getting Molly ready, Matt seemed to be everywhere he looked: tousled head sticking out from the bathroom, thighs flexed with a tiptoe reach into a high cabinet, round and tempting ass on display as Matt dug through the fridge, bent to hand Molly her shoes, leaned over the back of the couch to fetch the tie he'd abandoned there the night before.
Finally, finally, it was seven a.m. and Molly kissed each of them on the cheek before heading down to catch her bus. Mohinder watched out the window until he saw her get on, as he did every morning, and only then did he whirl around and fix a dangerous stare on Matt.
"Matthew Parkman, you fucking tease." Matt blinked innocently, the most obvious who, me? expression on his face, not moving as Mohinder stalked toward him with a manic light in his eyes. "Do you know what I wanted to do to you?"
"Oh, yeah," Matt said, "I heard it all. You were thinking loud enough I could have heard you from the precinct."
"Speaking of the precinct." Mohinder pressed against Matt, one hand raking through his thick hair. "You'd better call and let them know you're going to be late."
"I did that twenty minutes ago," Matt said smugly, and grinned as Mohinder pulled him into the bedroom.
Title: It's Not Cheating If You Change The Rules
Pairing: Matt/Daphne/Ando
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 670
Notes:cruiscin_lan wanted a phrase that's in the first paragraph.
"If this is how it's going to be, Daphne, I don't know if I can do this." Matt rubs his forehead and sighs. "I mean... if this is how you roll, I'd rather be the one you cheat with than the one you're cheating on."
"I'm not cheating on you!" Daphne cries, hips cocked and hands braced on them. "Jesus, Matt, it was an idle fantasy, okay? No other woman in the world has to apologize for daydreaming!"
"That was a pretty graphic fantasy."
"Yeah, well, I had a lot of time to develop my imagination." She's furious, and now Matt really feels like an asshole, because-- yeah, she's entitled to her privacy, but when he walks into the house and the first thing he hears in his head is Ando Masahashi groaning into Daphne's skin, Daphne making those familiar breathless sounds as she rides him--
Whoa, okay, that thought had definitely not included him the first time Daphne went through it, but now she's just doing it on purpose. Think about it, Matt, he hears loud and clear, and he doesn't have to think about it when she's doing all the work.
She'd be so tiny between them, caught between Matt's strong bulk and Ando's corded muscle, so small that they'd have to look at each other, have to acknowledge exactly what they were doing. She wasn't a mind reader, but she caught the glances Ando had aimed at Matt, and she could lay her head back and watch them kiss each other, run her hands between them, track at the same time from collar to clavicle, ribs to hip, a lazy zigzag down to take them each in hand.
She knows what Matt is like under her, on her, in her, but Ando's all guesswork, extrapolation from his easy smile and his dedication and the crackle of amplification from his skin to hers. In her daydream, he's patient, satisfied at first to kiss her breasts, stroke her sides, dip one finger down just short of where Matt presses into her and tease her into a higher frenzy. She imagines her mouth red with kisses, Matt's possessive, Ando's hesitant; she wonders what it would be like if her body was a battleground, each man striving to win her pleasure.
Matt pulls her onto his lap, his forehead presses against hers while she thinks loud and clear, and her fantasies cycle down, as always a fast start that can ease down when she wants it to. What would it be like to kiss two people at once? Not "where would everyone's noses go," but what would it feel like to breathe the same air, another tongue to tease, two more lips to kiss, what it would be like to go after one person simultaneously, she and Ando licking into Matt's mouth, Matt and Ando teasing at the corners of her lips, she and Matt gently and thoroughly mapping Ando's mouth and spreading away with affectionate kisses.
What it might be like to cuddle with them both: Matt's arm around Ando's shoulder, and Daphne curled across both their laps as they watch a movie; falling asleep in the shelter of two men she was certain would do anything for her...
"Holy shit, Daphne," Matt swallows as he lets his head fall back on the couch. "That's what you think?"
"I think that I don't want to cheat on you. I think that it wouldn't be an issue..." She scoots up on his lap, settling very comfortably against his clothed erection. "And I think it's hot as hell, and you think so too."
"You can talk to him about it later, but right now, you're mine," Matt rumbles, hands spanning possessively across her ass, and Daphne could run to the fucking moon and back the way she feels right now.
"I'll always be yours, silly," she says, and gives up words and coherent thoughts as he rolls her over onto the couch and starts kissing his way down her throat.
Title: Anniversary
Pairing: Ando/Hiro
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 470
Notes:weslyn wanted Hiro's black work tie at noon.
"No peeking!" Ando said sternly, and flicked Hiro's ear. "I told you, it's a surprise."
"That doesn't explain using my tie as a blindfold."
"...it's because you'd look if it wasn't there, you're still trying to look!" Ando pulled Hiro back a step, flush against his chest, and clapped a hand over Hiro's eyes. "Fft, now I have to do this the hard way."
"Do what?" Hiro lifted a hand to curl around Ando's wrist, not pulling, just holding him there. "Ando, you know how I feel about surprises."
"If you would trust me for two minutes, you might change your mind," Ando said in exasperation. They walked forward a few steps, then Ando sat Hiro down in a chair, and pressed both hands against the blindfold. "If you look, I'm stopping," he warned.
"I won't look!" Hiro's brows furrowed and he bit his lip, like he had to concentrate to keep from peeking. Ando shook his head a little-- it was so hard to do anything for Hiro without him finding out, but this he'd been determined to try ever since Hiro went from a cubicle to an executive office.
"You know, it's coming up on the start of school," he said casually, kneeling on the floor in front of Hiro's chair.
"Uh-huh. I've already seen kids in their uniforms." Hiro smiled a little. "I almost wish I could go back to the high school uniform. It was more comfortable than suits all the time."
"Yeah. You remember when we met?" Ando was trying so hard to distract Hiro from the covert unbuckling of his belt, and he almost thought it was working.
"The first day of fourth-- no, third grade, right? You'd just moved."
"Okay, master of time and space, tell me why I'm asking all these questions." Careful-- the slip of the button was easy, but there was no way to be subtle about the zip of his pants. Wait-- wait--
"Um." Hiro sucked on his lower lip for a second, then his mouth dropped open. "Ando, we've been friends for twenty years!" Right then, that moment of excitement, Ando tugged down the zipper, pulled Hiro free of his underwear-- I knew he was peeking! he thought, but couldn't bring himself to care, licking wet and enthusiastic and bringing Hiro from half-hard to all the way there in a matter of seconds.
Hiro made an incredibly undignified keening sound, yanking the tie from around his eyes and digging a hand into Ando's hair, not to push or pull, just to be there, stabilizing himself against the one constant in his world.
"This-- is a very good surprise," he gasped, and the glance Ando gave him was pure mischief.
This was just lunch, after all. He had the rest of the day all planned out.
Title: Cherish
Pairing: Hiro/Ando
Rating: PG
Word count: 240
Notes:crash_it_yo wanted high school Hiro and Ando on Valentine's Day.
"I hate this day," Hiro sighed, propping his head on both hands and staring down at his lunch unhappily. Ando reached over and stole an onigiri from him.
"Don't think about it," he advised through a mouthful of rice. "It's a waste of money to have a girlfriend today. You know how many guys get dumped between now and White Day."
"That's not the point! The point is to have someone to cherish." He sighed again, then made a face at Ando. "Don't eat my lunch."
"Well, you're not eating it," Ando pointed out. He nudged his foot against Hiro's under the table. "You can always cherish me. I put up with more from you than any girl would."
"That would be totally one-sided," Hiro muttered, folding his arms on the table and burying his head in them after the words slipped out. After a second, Ando clicked his tongue.
"Hey. Stop moping." Hiro lifted his head, only to find a chocolate truffle held in front of him between Ando's chopsticks. "Stupid, you think I don't cherish you? You're my best friend. Now open up."
Hiro obeyed, looking for all the world like a surfacing koi until Ando popped the chocolate in his mouth.
"Can I have the rest of your onigiri now?" Chocolate melting on his tongue, Hiro studied his friend's grin, then nodded and pushed his lunch box across to Ando.
Maybe he didn't hate this day so much, after all.
Title: Dusk
Pairing: Sanjog/West
Rating: PG
Word count: 180
Notes:moorishflower asked for Valentine's lingerie, just after dinner.
"Why are you looking through that?" Startled, Sanjog flipped the Victoria's Secret catalog shut and looked up at West with wide eyes.
"Because..." He couldn't come up with a reason, besides boredom and curiosity, and West didn't give him a chance to voice either of those.
"Waste of time. I've been looking for you." West tossed the catalog aside, ignoring it hitting the wall, and grabbed Sanjog's hand. "It's almost sundown."
"Okay?" Sanjog let himself be guided out of the house, and then West wrapped his arms tight around him and his breath caught.
"Hold on tight," West murmured, and lifted off the ground, a gentle rush of air around them before they landed on the highest roof of the Petrelli mansion.
The western sky was ablaze, not in the sickly burning way of Sanjog's universe, but in pure reds and yellows that faded to lilac and violet overhead. Even though they were on solid footing, West didn't let go; he tipped his head against Sanjog's and they watched together as the sun sank into the skyline of New York City.
Title: Virtuoso
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Rating: R
Word count: 335
Notes:brandinsbabe (who will not let me claw free of the vortex! D: ) asked for sweatpants at 2 p.m.
Your last class of the day just ended, and you have barely enough time to go back to your apartment and change before, regular as clockwork--
Knock knock, who's there? It's Nathan, Nathan who? Nathan your big brother who's either here to chew you out or take you to bed, but either way there will be screaming...
You run a hand through your hair before answering the door, smiling at Nathan and swinging the door wider. "Hey, Nate."
"Peter." Your brother stands in the middle of the room and looks around critically, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Yeah, there's a stack of pizza boxes, yeah, you haven't done your dishes in a couple of days, yeah, your laundry isn't so much ready to go to the laundromat as it is post-tornado wreckage. "It's two o'clock and you're still wearing sweatpants," Nathan finally decides to pick on the one thing that isn't actually a problem.
"I just got back from class. Kind of thinking about a nap." You yawn, stretch your arms and watch Nathan's eyes plunge to where your t-shirt rides up and your sweatpants sit low on your hips. Three, two, one--
"Yeah? You want company?" Bingo. You are a virtuoso at playing the tricky but incredibly rewarding instrument called Nathan Petrelli. Lick your lips, lower your eyelashes, give him a sideways look... he'll follow you to your bedroom door, to Nantucket, the moon, the gates of hell, if you want.
"Aren't you busy this afternoon?" You're already walking toward your bedroom; he's already taking off his jacket and tie.
"I'm never too busy for you, Peter." Lean against the doorway, wait for him to come closer. His hair is thick under your fingers, a day or two away from the clockwork-regular buzz, and you can already tell you're going to drift off with your cheek pressed to Nathan's hair.
You look up, part your lips, and wait for your brother to play the sheet music you've already laid out.
Title: Eating Out
Pairing: Noah/Sandra
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 190
Notes:cruiscin_lan asked for Mr. Muggle's dog sweater and lunch.
"What do you think, honey? It goes well with his fur, doesn't it?" Sandra coddles Mr. Muggles on her lap, and Noah winces. He's seen ugly sweaters in his day, even worn a few, but this is an amazingly bad sweater considering how small it is.
"It looks great on him," he says brightly, and gently runs his fingers through his wife's hair. "He's not coming with us to the restaurant, so he doesn't really need to adhere to a dress code."
"Oh, you," Sandra laughs and swats his arm, then sets Mr. Muggles down and rises, hands going to Noah's and holding on. "You know, I was thinking about doing something else for lunch, if you want." Noah arches a brow questioningly, and Sandra rises to her toes, whispering something in his ear that makes his eyes widen and his breath hitch.
"We can go out for dinner," he says, and lifts Sandra into his arms, grinning when she squeals girlishly and throws her arms around his neck. "You are a minx, Sandra!"
"You love me for it." God, she loved when he had Valentine's Day off from work.
Title: Abandonment Issues
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 730
Notes:dana_norram requested a postep for 3x15 in which Mohinder helps pull Matt back together.
After Peter's not-so-inspirational speech, Matt disappears. Everyone else is too worried with their own plans to notice, but Mohinder's had a lump in his throat from the minute his hand found Matt's in the wreckage-- longing so sharp it hurts more than any pain from the crash.
When Daphne was shot, when Matt lashed out with his mind, everyone standing by could feel the rage and fear and heartbreak pouring off him in waves. He had to be dragged away, and now-- now he's gone off and god only knows what he might do to himself.
"I thought you knew me enough to know I won't kill myself," Matt says when Mohinder comes up behind him. "Not until I make them pay for her. As many times as I can make them."
"Matthew..." Mohinder sighs, sitting down next to Matt on the dusty ground. "I'm so sorry." He doesn't just mean about Daphne. There's so much about the past six months that he's done wrong, and being evicted from Matt's life only means he can't comprehend the full scope of his loss.
"I missed you, too." Matt's voice is gruff, quiet, and he leans hesitantly against Mohinder. "I just-- she was my world, you know? We were supposed to get married. Have a baby together. She was everything..."
Mohinder slides an arm around Matt's back and lets the other man cry against his shoulder. It's really all he can do. Matt's pain seems endless, and Mohinder would do anything to ease his sorrow.
"Anything?" Matt asks, brokenly. "Mohinder."
Matt's lips are salty with tears, and his cheeks are wet against Mohinder's. Mohinder kisses him reassuringly, but Matt pushes aggressively, fights into Mohinder's mouth with his tongue, shares his pain with kisses that will leave Mohinder's mouth hot and swollen for hours. He bears down with his weight and presses Mohinder into the ground, getting dust in black curls, holding himself up with one arm.
This isn't right, he hears Mohinder think, and he shakes his head, no no no no, no stopping now, not when this is the only chance to flush what he's seen from his mind for even a few seconds.
"Please," he begs. This is not like any other please he has ever spoken. This is heavy with heartache, weighty with the most desperate kind of need-- please, Mohinder, be the one to ease my pain.
He didn't mean for Mohinder to hear that, but he did, and Mohinder goes lax under him for a moment before surging up, pushing Matt onto his back and setting onto the fly of his pants with manic haste. Who knows how long they have. Who's looking for them. Who'll find them. Mohinder's not sure which would be worse: having Peter walk up and find him with his face in Matt's groin, or having the Hunter take him out mid-fellatio?
Fuck it. They have what they have, and right now Mohinder has Matt, and Matt needs him. He doesn't bother lowering Matt's pants, just pulls him out through the slit of his boxers and the V of his open fly; his hand curls around the base protectively, and the minute his tongue touches Matt's cock, he can almost imagine being home: blowjobs stolen before Molly got home, lazy kisses at night sharing their mixed taste, Matt's low even snore and the smell of his pillow and oh, god, this hurts both of them, god only knows if it'll help.
He carries on. There's nothing else he can do. He sucks Matt artlessly and hard, rough and quick to bring him off faster; Matt's wheezy gasps are a sure tell, and Mohinder moans when Matt comes, to protect his ears should a dead woman's name fall from his lips.
Mohinder swallows, like penance, tucks Matt into his pants and crouches next to him. "Did that help?" he asks quietly.
"I don't know," Matt says honestly. His eyes are glazed with tears again, but not for Daphne. It feels like he will be mourning his whole life eventually.
"Come on, the others will be wondering." Matt marvels at the strength with which Mohinder pulls him to his feet. Just one more thing he'd missed when his best friendship lapsed. "We'll get through this," Mohinder makes a promise he cannot possibly keep, and Matt accepts it though he knows it's a lie.
Title: Simply Irresistible
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 280
Notes:
piping_hot asked for Sylar playing with Mohinder's hair. Hello, personal kink! :DMohinder's happy whenever he feels long fingers slide into his curls, but he likes it best when it comes as a surprise: when he's hunched over the laptop, half-ready to throw it in frustration, and suddenly there are fingertips rubbing over his scalp soothingly; when he's on the couch, thoroughly engrossed in a novel, and only surfaces from the words when a finger twirls into an unruly curl and tugs gently; when he's asleep, or mostly, ignoring the alarm but opening his eyes with a sigh as Sylar's hands ruffle his tousled hair gently.
It's good when it's not a surprise, too. Half the time when Mohinder comes out of the bathroom towelling his hair off, Sylar will take the towel from him, pat the moisture out of his hair and then untangle every knot, until glossy curls reassert themselves. Most nights Mohinder falls asleep to the gentle, rhythmic stroke of Sylar's hand from his hairline to the nape of his neck.
Nobody really knows how much they enjoy these moments, simple contact, a little ritual that leaves them both more happy afterward. The one time Peter caught them in the act, he spun some anthropology bullshit about alpha males establishing dominance and how Mohinder should be careful etcetera etcetera. Once he was gone, Mohinder laid his head against Sylar's chest and laughed.
"Well, my dominant alpha male, could you finish that headrub? I believe my migraine mated with Peter's ignorance to breed an evolved strain of stupid migraines." Sylar chuckled, rubbing his thumb against Mohinder's temple.
"You know, serotonin's good for getting rid of migraines." Mohinder eyed him carefully. "What? It'll be quicker than the head rub."
"Good point."
Title: An Act Of Desperation
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: R
Word count: 570
Notes:
cellshader wanted low-rise jeans and some time between midnight and 4 am.Desperate times call for desperate measures, and right now, Mohinder's about as desperate as he's ever felt.
Yes, Valentine's Day is a Western construct designed to stick commercialism in between New Year's and Easter. There's nothing real about it, except...
Except that Mohinder is lonely. No, he's not lonely: he is absolutely desperate for someone, anyone, to touch him. It's been long, far too long, and he knows what his only recourse is.
He puts on a tight pair of slacks, a snug shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and teases his curls in front of a mirror, trying not to look himself in the eye. "It's only once," he tells himself, "I just have to... get it out of my system."
The entire way to the club, his body draws him forward and his mind insists on going back. Once he's in, paid the cover charge and stepped into the colorful lights and steady thumping bass shaking the floor, his mind calls it a night and his instincts take over.
He knows very well that he has a type, and he wanders around the edges of the dance floor, looking for a likely target. Taller than him, dark hair, skinny and lanky and somehow graceful--
A pair of low-cut jeans catch his eye. They're tight over their wearer's narrow rear, cling to his slim hips, travel down long slender legs like they're painted on. His gaze travels back up: broad shoulders, big hands, dark hair spiked up. He silently wills the man to turn around, but his luck isn't quite that good; Mohinder steels his nerves, sternly tells his cock to settle down until they're sure of getting laid, please, and walks over to the man who fits his criteria to a T.
"Excuse me," he says, a hand on the back of the man's upper arm, and he looks up to see--
"Mohinder?" Sylar's eyes widen, and he reaches out, not to grab Mohinder but to press fingers to his cheek. "What are you doing here?"
All Mohinder can do is open and close his mouth. How perverse, how traitorous of his body, how... how did this happen?
"What are you doing here?" he demands back, and Sylar's lips quirk up.
"Same thing most of the other men here tonight are doing. Trying not to have to spend the night alone." He shrugs, the gesture pulling his black t-shirt tight over muscles Mohinder had never really noticed before. "And from how you approached me, I'm betting that's why you're here, too."
He shouldn't, really, but Mohinder nods. There's no derision in Sylar's gaze, no mockery, no hostility-- just the same sort of desperation he's been avoiding in his own eyes, that yearning to be close to someone, no matter how briefly.
Mohinder closes his eyes and breathes in. His body says yes him now, for god's sake YES, and his mind responds more slowly, but also says yes, you know he's the one. When he opens his eyes, he looks up at Sylar and smiles, hooking his fingers in the belt-loops of those low-slung jeans.
"Let's dance," he says, and Sylar's smile is stunned and relieved and oh, when he's at ease he goes from broodingly handsome to really quite stunning, and for once, Mohinder is in accords with both body and mind, because every part of him sings yes under Sylar's hands as they step onto the dance floor.
Title: And Then
Pairing: Mohinder/Zane
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 255
Notes:
perdiccas asked for the Ramones t-shirt and 2 a.m.It's two in the morning, and they should be asleep.
Really, that would be more sensible than deciding to trade off driving and sleeping in order to stay up now, but Mohinder can't stop talking, and Zane keeps urging him on, and then--
and then it's Mohinder urging Zane on, tilting his head to let the man get at his throat, moaning shameless encouragement and clutching that long body between his thighs, over him and under him in a laughing breathless tumble of clothes coming off, all the excitement of having someone who understands focused into hands and mouths, hips and cocks, shoving at each other recklessly, leaking slick precome over their stomachs and each other's dicks, a name moaned and hair grasped and lips that seal together like they'd been meant for each other all along--
and then it's breath, a sticky mess between their bellies, Zane's eyes closed and his mouth open and come shot so far up his stomach that it stains the t-shirt that never made it off but only got rucked up under his arms. It's Mohinder's sigh of contentment, the pop of his spine as he stands and stretches; it's the anxiety in Zane's eyes until he returns with a sleepy, sexy smile and a warm washcloth and endearments murmured in an ear that's no longer bright red from blushing.
It's two-thirty in the morning, and they're almost asleep, naked under the blankets and curled together, the warm happy center of the universe for just a few precious moments.
Title: Boxergram
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar/Adam
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 190
Notes:
blossommorphine wanted boxers, after dinner.Mohinder has just finished drying the last dish when someone knocks on the door. Sylar opens it, looming in the doorway as is his wont, and finds a blond man in the hallway, carrying heart-shaped balloons and wearing nothing but a pair of red silk boxers.
"Happy Valentine's Day," the man announces, "You've been sent a boxergram by--" He checks the tag attached to the balloons. "Peter Petrelli. 'Dear Sylar, have a nice day, p.s. brains?' All right..."
Sylar cocks his head to one side, heavy brows pulling together, and Mohinder comes over to ogle the man for a moment.
"Why's it a boxergram if you're wearing the boxers? If it was a candygram we'd get candy."
Blue eyes blink confusedly. "You can't have my boxers, mate. It's colder than a penguin's arse out here."
Mohinder and Sylar share a significant look, and then the taller man steps back. "Then come in," he purrs. The man looks from one to the other, steps past the doorway, and lets the balloons float to the ceiling.
For once, Petrelli did something that turned out for the better. Who knew?
Title: Officer Park-That-Ass-Right-Here
Pairing: Mohinder/Matt
Rating: R
Word count: 255
Notes:
tiptoe39 wanted black socks at 7 a.m.If there was anything less fair in the morning than watching Matt walk around in an undershirt, boxers, and black socks, Mohinder didn't know what it was. The whole time he was busy getting Molly ready, Matt seemed to be everywhere he looked: tousled head sticking out from the bathroom, thighs flexed with a tiptoe reach into a high cabinet, round and tempting ass on display as Matt dug through the fridge, bent to hand Molly her shoes, leaned over the back of the couch to fetch the tie he'd abandoned there the night before.
Finally, finally, it was seven a.m. and Molly kissed each of them on the cheek before heading down to catch her bus. Mohinder watched out the window until he saw her get on, as he did every morning, and only then did he whirl around and fix a dangerous stare on Matt.
"Matthew Parkman, you fucking tease." Matt blinked innocently, the most obvious who, me? expression on his face, not moving as Mohinder stalked toward him with a manic light in his eyes. "Do you know what I wanted to do to you?"
"Oh, yeah," Matt said, "I heard it all. You were thinking loud enough I could have heard you from the precinct."
"Speaking of the precinct." Mohinder pressed against Matt, one hand raking through his thick hair. "You'd better call and let them know you're going to be late."
"I did that twenty minutes ago," Matt said smugly, and grinned as Mohinder pulled him into the bedroom.
Title: It's Not Cheating If You Change The Rules
Pairing: Matt/Daphne/Ando
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 670
Notes:
cruiscin_lan wanted a phrase that's in the first paragraph."If this is how it's going to be, Daphne, I don't know if I can do this." Matt rubs his forehead and sighs. "I mean... if this is how you roll, I'd rather be the one you cheat with than the one you're cheating on."
"I'm not cheating on you!" Daphne cries, hips cocked and hands braced on them. "Jesus, Matt, it was an idle fantasy, okay? No other woman in the world has to apologize for daydreaming!"
"That was a pretty graphic fantasy."
"Yeah, well, I had a lot of time to develop my imagination." She's furious, and now Matt really feels like an asshole, because-- yeah, she's entitled to her privacy, but when he walks into the house and the first thing he hears in his head is Ando Masahashi groaning into Daphne's skin, Daphne making those familiar breathless sounds as she rides him--
Whoa, okay, that thought had definitely not included him the first time Daphne went through it, but now she's just doing it on purpose. Think about it, Matt, he hears loud and clear, and he doesn't have to think about it when she's doing all the work.
She'd be so tiny between them, caught between Matt's strong bulk and Ando's corded muscle, so small that they'd have to look at each other, have to acknowledge exactly what they were doing. She wasn't a mind reader, but she caught the glances Ando had aimed at Matt, and she could lay her head back and watch them kiss each other, run her hands between them, track at the same time from collar to clavicle, ribs to hip, a lazy zigzag down to take them each in hand.
She knows what Matt is like under her, on her, in her, but Ando's all guesswork, extrapolation from his easy smile and his dedication and the crackle of amplification from his skin to hers. In her daydream, he's patient, satisfied at first to kiss her breasts, stroke her sides, dip one finger down just short of where Matt presses into her and tease her into a higher frenzy. She imagines her mouth red with kisses, Matt's possessive, Ando's hesitant; she wonders what it would be like if her body was a battleground, each man striving to win her pleasure.
Matt pulls her onto his lap, his forehead presses against hers while she thinks loud and clear, and her fantasies cycle down, as always a fast start that can ease down when she wants it to. What would it be like to kiss two people at once? Not "where would everyone's noses go," but what would it feel like to breathe the same air, another tongue to tease, two more lips to kiss, what it would be like to go after one person simultaneously, she and Ando licking into Matt's mouth, Matt and Ando teasing at the corners of her lips, she and Matt gently and thoroughly mapping Ando's mouth and spreading away with affectionate kisses.
What it might be like to cuddle with them both: Matt's arm around Ando's shoulder, and Daphne curled across both their laps as they watch a movie; falling asleep in the shelter of two men she was certain would do anything for her...
"Holy shit, Daphne," Matt swallows as he lets his head fall back on the couch. "That's what you think?"
"I think that I don't want to cheat on you. I think that it wouldn't be an issue..." She scoots up on his lap, settling very comfortably against his clothed erection. "And I think it's hot as hell, and you think so too."
"You can talk to him about it later, but right now, you're mine," Matt rumbles, hands spanning possessively across her ass, and Daphne could run to the fucking moon and back the way she feels right now.
"I'll always be yours, silly," she says, and gives up words and coherent thoughts as he rolls her over onto the couch and starts kissing his way down her throat.
Title: Anniversary
Pairing: Ando/Hiro
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 470
Notes:
weslyn wanted Hiro's black work tie at noon."No peeking!" Ando said sternly, and flicked Hiro's ear. "I told you, it's a surprise."
"That doesn't explain using my tie as a blindfold."
"...it's because you'd look if it wasn't there, you're still trying to look!" Ando pulled Hiro back a step, flush against his chest, and clapped a hand over Hiro's eyes. "Fft, now I have to do this the hard way."
"Do what?" Hiro lifted a hand to curl around Ando's wrist, not pulling, just holding him there. "Ando, you know how I feel about surprises."
"If you would trust me for two minutes, you might change your mind," Ando said in exasperation. They walked forward a few steps, then Ando sat Hiro down in a chair, and pressed both hands against the blindfold. "If you look, I'm stopping," he warned.
"I won't look!" Hiro's brows furrowed and he bit his lip, like he had to concentrate to keep from peeking. Ando shook his head a little-- it was so hard to do anything for Hiro without him finding out, but this he'd been determined to try ever since Hiro went from a cubicle to an executive office.
"You know, it's coming up on the start of school," he said casually, kneeling on the floor in front of Hiro's chair.
"Uh-huh. I've already seen kids in their uniforms." Hiro smiled a little. "I almost wish I could go back to the high school uniform. It was more comfortable than suits all the time."
"Yeah. You remember when we met?" Ando was trying so hard to distract Hiro from the covert unbuckling of his belt, and he almost thought it was working.
"The first day of fourth-- no, third grade, right? You'd just moved."
"Okay, master of time and space, tell me why I'm asking all these questions." Careful-- the slip of the button was easy, but there was no way to be subtle about the zip of his pants. Wait-- wait--
"Um." Hiro sucked on his lower lip for a second, then his mouth dropped open. "Ando, we've been friends for twenty years!" Right then, that moment of excitement, Ando tugged down the zipper, pulled Hiro free of his underwear-- I knew he was peeking! he thought, but couldn't bring himself to care, licking wet and enthusiastic and bringing Hiro from half-hard to all the way there in a matter of seconds.
Hiro made an incredibly undignified keening sound, yanking the tie from around his eyes and digging a hand into Ando's hair, not to push or pull, just to be there, stabilizing himself against the one constant in his world.
"This-- is a very good surprise," he gasped, and the glance Ando gave him was pure mischief.
This was just lunch, after all. He had the rest of the day all planned out.
Title: Cherish
Pairing: Hiro/Ando
Rating: PG
Word count: 240
Notes:
crash_it_yo wanted high school Hiro and Ando on Valentine's Day."I hate this day," Hiro sighed, propping his head on both hands and staring down at his lunch unhappily. Ando reached over and stole an onigiri from him.
"Don't think about it," he advised through a mouthful of rice. "It's a waste of money to have a girlfriend today. You know how many guys get dumped between now and White Day."
"That's not the point! The point is to have someone to cherish." He sighed again, then made a face at Ando. "Don't eat my lunch."
"Well, you're not eating it," Ando pointed out. He nudged his foot against Hiro's under the table. "You can always cherish me. I put up with more from you than any girl would."
"That would be totally one-sided," Hiro muttered, folding his arms on the table and burying his head in them after the words slipped out. After a second, Ando clicked his tongue.
"Hey. Stop moping." Hiro lifted his head, only to find a chocolate truffle held in front of him between Ando's chopsticks. "Stupid, you think I don't cherish you? You're my best friend. Now open up."
Hiro obeyed, looking for all the world like a surfacing koi until Ando popped the chocolate in his mouth.
"Can I have the rest of your onigiri now?" Chocolate melting on his tongue, Hiro studied his friend's grin, then nodded and pushed his lunch box across to Ando.
Maybe he didn't hate this day so much, after all.
Title: Dusk
Pairing: Sanjog/West
Rating: PG
Word count: 180
Notes:
moorishflower asked for Valentine's lingerie, just after dinner."Why are you looking through that?" Startled, Sanjog flipped the Victoria's Secret catalog shut and looked up at West with wide eyes.
"Because..." He couldn't come up with a reason, besides boredom and curiosity, and West didn't give him a chance to voice either of those.
"Waste of time. I've been looking for you." West tossed the catalog aside, ignoring it hitting the wall, and grabbed Sanjog's hand. "It's almost sundown."
"Okay?" Sanjog let himself be guided out of the house, and then West wrapped his arms tight around him and his breath caught.
"Hold on tight," West murmured, and lifted off the ground, a gentle rush of air around them before they landed on the highest roof of the Petrelli mansion.
The western sky was ablaze, not in the sickly burning way of Sanjog's universe, but in pure reds and yellows that faded to lilac and violet overhead. Even though they were on solid footing, West didn't let go; he tipped his head against Sanjog's and they watched together as the sun sank into the skyline of New York City.
Title: Virtuoso
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Rating: R
Word count: 335
Notes:
brandinsbabe (who will not let me claw free of the vortex! D: ) asked for sweatpants at 2 p.m.Your last class of the day just ended, and you have barely enough time to go back to your apartment and change before, regular as clockwork--
Knock knock, who's there? It's Nathan, Nathan who? Nathan your big brother who's either here to chew you out or take you to bed, but either way there will be screaming...
You run a hand through your hair before answering the door, smiling at Nathan and swinging the door wider. "Hey, Nate."
"Peter." Your brother stands in the middle of the room and looks around critically, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Yeah, there's a stack of pizza boxes, yeah, you haven't done your dishes in a couple of days, yeah, your laundry isn't so much ready to go to the laundromat as it is post-tornado wreckage. "It's two o'clock and you're still wearing sweatpants," Nathan finally decides to pick on the one thing that isn't actually a problem.
"I just got back from class. Kind of thinking about a nap." You yawn, stretch your arms and watch Nathan's eyes plunge to where your t-shirt rides up and your sweatpants sit low on your hips. Three, two, one--
"Yeah? You want company?" Bingo. You are a virtuoso at playing the tricky but incredibly rewarding instrument called Nathan Petrelli. Lick your lips, lower your eyelashes, give him a sideways look... he'll follow you to your bedroom door, to Nantucket, the moon, the gates of hell, if you want.
"Aren't you busy this afternoon?" You're already walking toward your bedroom; he's already taking off his jacket and tie.
"I'm never too busy for you, Peter." Lean against the doorway, wait for him to come closer. His hair is thick under your fingers, a day or two away from the clockwork-regular buzz, and you can already tell you're going to drift off with your cheek pressed to Nathan's hair.
You look up, part your lips, and wait for your brother to play the sheet music you've already laid out.
Title: Eating Out
Pairing: Noah/Sandra
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 190
Notes:
cruiscin_lan asked for Mr. Muggle's dog sweater and lunch."What do you think, honey? It goes well with his fur, doesn't it?" Sandra coddles Mr. Muggles on her lap, and Noah winces. He's seen ugly sweaters in his day, even worn a few, but this is an amazingly bad sweater considering how small it is.
"It looks great on him," he says brightly, and gently runs his fingers through his wife's hair. "He's not coming with us to the restaurant, so he doesn't really need to adhere to a dress code."
"Oh, you," Sandra laughs and swats his arm, then sets Mr. Muggles down and rises, hands going to Noah's and holding on. "You know, I was thinking about doing something else for lunch, if you want." Noah arches a brow questioningly, and Sandra rises to her toes, whispering something in his ear that makes his eyes widen and his breath hitch.
"We can go out for dinner," he says, and lifts Sandra into his arms, grinning when she squeals girlishly and throws her arms around his neck. "You are a minx, Sandra!"
"You love me for it." God, she loved when he had Valentine's Day off from work.
Title: Abandonment Issues
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 730
Notes:
dana_norram requested a postep for 3x15 in which Mohinder helps pull Matt back together.After Peter's not-so-inspirational speech, Matt disappears. Everyone else is too worried with their own plans to notice, but Mohinder's had a lump in his throat from the minute his hand found Matt's in the wreckage-- longing so sharp it hurts more than any pain from the crash.
When Daphne was shot, when Matt lashed out with his mind, everyone standing by could feel the rage and fear and heartbreak pouring off him in waves. He had to be dragged away, and now-- now he's gone off and god only knows what he might do to himself.
"I thought you knew me enough to know I won't kill myself," Matt says when Mohinder comes up behind him. "Not until I make them pay for her. As many times as I can make them."
"Matthew..." Mohinder sighs, sitting down next to Matt on the dusty ground. "I'm so sorry." He doesn't just mean about Daphne. There's so much about the past six months that he's done wrong, and being evicted from Matt's life only means he can't comprehend the full scope of his loss.
"I missed you, too." Matt's voice is gruff, quiet, and he leans hesitantly against Mohinder. "I just-- she was my world, you know? We were supposed to get married. Have a baby together. She was everything..."
Mohinder slides an arm around Matt's back and lets the other man cry against his shoulder. It's really all he can do. Matt's pain seems endless, and Mohinder would do anything to ease his sorrow.
"Anything?" Matt asks, brokenly. "Mohinder."
Matt's lips are salty with tears, and his cheeks are wet against Mohinder's. Mohinder kisses him reassuringly, but Matt pushes aggressively, fights into Mohinder's mouth with his tongue, shares his pain with kisses that will leave Mohinder's mouth hot and swollen for hours. He bears down with his weight and presses Mohinder into the ground, getting dust in black curls, holding himself up with one arm.
This isn't right, he hears Mohinder think, and he shakes his head, no no no no, no stopping now, not when this is the only chance to flush what he's seen from his mind for even a few seconds.
"Please," he begs. This is not like any other please he has ever spoken. This is heavy with heartache, weighty with the most desperate kind of need-- please, Mohinder, be the one to ease my pain.
He didn't mean for Mohinder to hear that, but he did, and Mohinder goes lax under him for a moment before surging up, pushing Matt onto his back and setting onto the fly of his pants with manic haste. Who knows how long they have. Who's looking for them. Who'll find them. Mohinder's not sure which would be worse: having Peter walk up and find him with his face in Matt's groin, or having the Hunter take him out mid-fellatio?
Fuck it. They have what they have, and right now Mohinder has Matt, and Matt needs him. He doesn't bother lowering Matt's pants, just pulls him out through the slit of his boxers and the V of his open fly; his hand curls around the base protectively, and the minute his tongue touches Matt's cock, he can almost imagine being home: blowjobs stolen before Molly got home, lazy kisses at night sharing their mixed taste, Matt's low even snore and the smell of his pillow and oh, god, this hurts both of them, god only knows if it'll help.
He carries on. There's nothing else he can do. He sucks Matt artlessly and hard, rough and quick to bring him off faster; Matt's wheezy gasps are a sure tell, and Mohinder moans when Matt comes, to protect his ears should a dead woman's name fall from his lips.
Mohinder swallows, like penance, tucks Matt into his pants and crouches next to him. "Did that help?" he asks quietly.
"I don't know," Matt says honestly. His eyes are glazed with tears again, but not for Daphne. It feels like he will be mourning his whole life eventually.
"Come on, the others will be wondering." Matt marvels at the strength with which Mohinder pulls him to his feet. Just one more thing he'd missed when his best friendship lapsed. "We'll get through this," Mohinder makes a promise he cannot possibly keep, and Matt accepts it though he knows it's a lie.
Tags:
- fandom: heroes,
- genre: drabbles,
- pairing: hiro/ando,
- pairing: matt/daphne/ando,
- pairing: matt/mohinder,
- pairing: mohinder/sylar,
- pairing: mohinder/sylar/adam,
- pairing: mohinder/zane,
- pairing: nathan/peter,
- pairing: noah/sandra,
- pairing: sanjog/west,
- rating: extra-spicy,
- rating: spicy,
- sex: blowjob,
- sex: comeshot,
- sex: frotting,
- sex: heterosexual,
- sex: threesome