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21 August 2008 @ 01:09 am
 
Heroes: Sylar/Mohinder (20)


Heroes: Sylar/Mohinder

The Death of Thought by puckkit (Sylar/Mohinder, PG-13)

He is numb at first, for a long while, and he clings to that numbness as he lies straight to Sylar’s face and insists he’s too tired to keep driving tonight. Insists he needs sleep even though it’s barely 6pm and they’ve been driving for a little under seven hours. The sun is still glaringly bright above the black asphalt and it seems to scream you’re a terrible liar as he drums his fingers on the steering wheel and looks away from those eerie eyes, those murderous eyes.


Alternate Universe by Violet Anchovy (Sylar/Mohinder, R)

It's third grade when the kids learn a new word not on any vocabulary test and he acquires the nickname that will haunt him for the rest of his school career. At first most of them don't even know what it really means, and his mother won't tell him (she calls the school, and that makes the teasing worse--he never should have told her). Over time, Gabriel comes to understand that it belongs to the category of Sin and Sickness and If-You're-Not-Careful-You'll-Turn-Out-Just-Like-Your-Uncle (the uncle they Don't Talk About), and even at that young age, he knows himself well enough to worry.


Gravity by cerebel (Sylar/Mohinder, NC-17)

The creak of the door opening slides across the surface of Mohinder’s mind, not deep enough to wake him fully, just enough to make him stir, his cheek brushing against the fabric of the pillow. The bed shifts behind him, the sheets move against Mohinder’s skin, and he murmurs, his fingers clenching.


Unsingable Name by cerebel (Sylar/Mohinder, NC-17)

The first kiss is war-torn, star-crossed. Doomed from the second they touch, and Sylar doesn’t want to pull away. He finds magic in Mohinder’s touch, a kind of redemption in the pliant tenderness just afterward.
When Sylar makes his escape, Mohinder’s cheeks are dotted with tears.


What You Wish For by cerebel (Matt, Sylar/Mohinder, PG-13)

Before he withdraws, he catches half an image – a feeling, really, of looking up at Nathan’s face (eyes shut, mouth open, panting shallowly), hard heat in his mouth, his jaw stretched just so


Complications by Isagel (Sylar/Mohinder, NC-17)

But Sylar has heard a lot of people beg, and this is nothing like it. There is too much pride in Mohinder, as unconscious as the elegant straightness of his spine, breathing class and privilege and the expectation that asking politely will get you what you want. How much pain would it take to pull that out of him? he wonders. How many broken limbs, how many pieces of flesh peeled slowly from the bone? It’s tempting to find out, and he knows it would be beautiful, but there’s something so right about that pride.


Split by aheartfulofyou (Sylar/Mohinder, R)
http://aheartfulofyou.livejournal.com/28147.html
He wakes up and wipes his eyes roughly with his calloused fingertips. "I cannot even save myself, let alone those around me," he mutters to himself, and weakly gets out of bed, noting in the small mirror limp curls on his head and stubble flecking his face. He hasn't showered in several days, he remembers vaguely.


The Love Song of Gabriel 'Sylar' Grey by hackthis (Sylar/Mohinder, R)

Sylar only thinks about Mohinder on days ending in 'y'. This does not explain why he – they -- know Mohinder's mobile phone number by heart. It's not as though Gabriel – Sylar -- they -- have very many people they call in the first place. Most people are not worthy of their time or notice anyway.


I Will Follow You Into the Dark by cerebel (Sylar/Mohinder, NC-17)

Sylar moves to Mohinder’s side. “She was never meant to die that young,” says Sylar, low, hypnotic. “You know the police will never find him.”
“Yes, I know,” murmurs Mohinder.



Sanctuary of Mine by cerebel (Sylar/Mohinder, NC-17)

Sylar will find him – in the darkness, always in the darkness – rouse him from sleep, touch him, fingertips to the smooth skin on the inside of Mohinder’s arm, to the lines of his chest. He likes to listen, feel the blood rushing in Mohinder’s veins, the soft whisper of a muscle, tensing, relaxing.


It's What all the Post-Post-Modern Villains are Wearing by hackthis (Sylar/Mohinder, PG-13)

i.
The first order of business is for Sylar to get his powers back. This powerless business is bullshit.

ii.
The second order of business is to get Mohinder back. This Mohinder-less business is even more bullshit.


Forbidden Words by cerebel (Sylar/Mohinder, NC-17)

The chair across the table pulls away; Sylar sits, his elbows braced on the edge of the table. “Mo-hind-er,” he taunts, softly, and Mohinder would stand up, would leave, but he feels a curious reluctance. Something heavier than gravity holds him to the chair.

Sad and Sunshine Days by cerebel (Sylar/Mohinder, NC-17)

There’s a soft touch to Mohinder’s dreams – a strange, ethereal quality that Sylar’s don’t have. Even if the dreams are grotesque, insane, or just nonsensical, Mohinder’s reactions stay the same. There’s a truth, inside him, that Sylar would give anything to touch.


Sunlight on Ripened Grain by toestastegood (Sylar/Mohinder, PG)

Even now, after years of adapting, he's surprised by how his old, weak heart seems to race as Sylar steps into the room. "I didn't think you'd want me to."


Something Like Seduction by toestastegood (Sylar/Mohinder, PG-13)

"Seriously," Samantha – Sam, Sylar thinks, she always wanted to be called 'Sam' – said. She was too close to him as she spoke, close enough that he could smell her hair and see every eyelash. Sylar thinks her hair smelled of coconut conditioner, but that might be a detail added by the white-washing effect of time. "We're going to be great. Don't worry about it."


A Lesson in Breathing by puckkit (Sylar/Mohinder, PG-13)

He is lying on the floor. He is lying on the floor and counting his ribs, one by one by the pressure gravity places upon them. His chin is tilted at an odd angle as he watches the corner, cheek pressed against the cold floor. So cold. Hard and flat and cold.


The Last Two Men by toestastegood (Sylar/Mohinder, R)

His hands have clenched into fists by now, gone stiff through the hours of hiding here. He isn't sure how long it has been – it feels like endless, drawn-out lifetimes, like a hellish eternity spent listening to the sound of destruction. Whimpers and screams and growls and the smashing, thumping, crashing sound of a city being torn apart. Night after night after night.


Silence is Golden by juka (Sylar/Mohinder, NC-17)

Ache. That’s the feeling in his eye sockets. It spreads like a cancer, itching and wriggling its way into each and every crevice... like cancer does. It does that, you know. Makes itself known. Makes itself heard. Even if you’re deaf and dumb and damn fucking blind it still screams at you until you’re hoarse. It’s hoarse. Whichever. Either or.


Jigsaw by levitatethis (Sylar/Mohinder, PG-13)

The unwritten rule is to start from the outside and work inwards. Logic dictates that with the edges in place the rest will come together. Still, there are methods to ensure fluidity to the staggering endeavor set upon: similar colours and surface patterns, a final image to peek at for guidance.
by d>