Fandom: Heroes RPS
Pairing: GG/SR with mentions of ZQ and Olga
Summary: World Tour. Grunny finds himself with a handful of drunk and horny Sendhil.
Masi made excuses about an early morning talk show and retreated to his own hotel room around midnight, some half an hour ago. Or that's what Greg thinks. He's been taking tiny sips of the liquor from the small cup, just enjoying the company more than the drinking, and hadn't noticed it was already close to what he'd call morning until Sendhil points to the clock on the wall and observes that it's about time for early dinner back home in California. They're sitting in the lounge of Greg's hotel room, Greg on the couch and Sendhil in a chair before him, empty bottles scattered on the small table between them.
"Call her, if you miss her," Greg says. He laughs at the way Sendhil grimaces as he finishes the cooling sake in his cup, and notices with surprise that the laughter makes the room spin, striped wallpaper and cream-colored lounge chairs and the extravagant gift baskets left in the corner and everything swimming around him. It's later than he thought, and he's evidently more drunk than he thought. He's mentally calculating how many of the bottles in front of him he's consumed, and doesn't notice that Sendhil has crawled out of his chair and over to the couch until a head full of dark curls lands in his lap. He nearly jumps in his seat in surprise, removing his hands from his lap as though Sendhil's head scorched them.
"No," Sendhil says.
"No what?" Greg asks, reaching back to settle his arms on the back of the couch.
"Not gonna call," Sendhil says, squirming and wriggling, trying to fit his body comfortably onto the small sofa. At last he gives up and just throws his feet over the end, the toes of his grey socks pointing straight up. He then reaches over to the open pack of cigarettes they bought earlier, and lits one. Greg coughs and waves the smoke away from his face. Sendhil giggles and blows some more in Greg's direction.
"I could call her, yeah," Sendhil says, "but it's not her voice I miss, exactly."
Greg grunts and looks down at Sendhil. His eyes are glazed over behind his glasses, and long fingers with flat, smooth nails cover his mouth as he takes a long drag. He reches out to ash in a cup on the table, and dry lips open to lazily blow smoke halos.
Sendhil's face is completely solemn when he speaks again. "Fuck, I wish she were here so could lift up her skirt and eat her out."
Laughing out loud is Greg's first reaction, and he hopes the way his body shudders at Sendhil's words will be interpreted as him shaking from the laughter. And that the blush on his face is masked as a flush from the alcohol. "Okay! Okay!" he yells, and shoves Sendhil up and away with both hands on his shoulders.
Sendhil sits up and blinks, then pushes up the glasses that slid off his nose at Greg's rough shoving. "What?" His tone isn't as much annoyed as befuddled, and he squints a few times before he seems able to focus on Greg again.
"You're drunk and horny, I get it," Greg says, "and believe me I consider you a friend, but I'm not going to sit here and listen to you tell me how wonderful it is to give your wife head, okay?"
At that, a grin spreads on Sendhil's face. His teeth are blinding, as always, and Greg winces but can't look away. "Why not? Most guys love hearing sordid tales about my wife." Sendhil pulls a leg up under him and now sits facing Greg with his head resting against the back of the sofa. The line of his crooked neck from the open dress shirt up to his ear arches beautifully; Greg follows the white line of the collar down, to where two buttons are left open to expose dark hair, but quickly catches himself and looks up again to glare at Sendhil.
"Because I'm a decent kind of guy, and I'd actually like to be able to look her in the face?"
"I don't believe a word you're saying," Sendhil says, his voice steady but colored with amusement. His grin slowly turns into a close-mouthed smile, lips pursed like he's dying to say something, probably a smart-ass comeback or a provocative joke. Greg has seen that expression on his face before, usually when Sendhil is drunk and usually when Zach is with him, equally drunk and staring at Sendhil's face in a way that's decidedly not platonic.
"What," Greg says. Sendhil's smile widens, reaching his eyes. Still he says nothing, waiting for Greg to take the bait. "Forget it. I'm not playing this game."
Sendhil raises his eyebrows in a perfect Mohinder expression. "Oh, so you think this is a game?"
Greg snorts. "Oh yeah." He tries not to back away as Sendhil leans forward, closer. Greg can see under his open shirt now, follow the line of the well-defined chest, glimpse a nipple. He has never, ever looked down someone's shirt like this before (well, not with a man, anyway), and it makes him feel dirty in the pit of his stomach. "For you it is," he says finally, looking up. "And I'm not Zach. What you do to that poor kid--I feel sorry for him, I do."
Sendhil hums, and there's that tight-lipped smile again. "Why you feel the need to mention Zach when all I'm saying is that I want to go down on my wife is beyond me, Greg." He inches closer. Greg leans back slightly, sinking into the soft pillows behind him. "You're the one with the dirty mind, not me."
"Sleep it off, Ramamurthy." Greg tries to scoff, he really does, but the -thy comes out closer to a whine. He averts his eyes from the man crawling closer, trying not to seem too desperate as he looks around for a way out, an escape route that'll get him out of this situation without seeming like he's panicking. But then his head starts spinning again as he looks over the edge of the couch--"Oh shit!"--and he flails and clutches at whatever he can reach, his hand grabbing the fabric of Sendhil's shirt.
Sendhil takes advantage instantly, and soon he has dragged himself up and half on top of Greg, guided by Greg's strong grip, his flat stomach pushing down on Greg's crotch. "My," he says, simply, clearly noticing the state of Greg's pants. How can he not?
"Sendhil, you're such a fucking ... don't you dare."
"Not doing anything," Sendhil says, shifting to get more comfortable. Greg wants to squeeze his eyes shut, close his mouth and stop breathing, anything to get away from this ... creature. Sendhil is heavy, made of strong bones and firm muscles, much heavier than what Greg is used to having on top of him, and the weight on his hips grinding down on him is nearly painful. Although Greg always knew that Sendhil's clothes were deceiving and he was a muscular guy, it's the first time Greg has felt it for real, felt the hardness of that chest and those abs, and there's just that hint of another hot hardness against his leg--
--which Greg promptly stops thinking about when Sendhil opens his mouth and darts out his tongue to lick along his bottom lip, then reaches up with one hand to touch the tips of his index and middle fingers to his wet, extended tongue. The fingers are quickly sucked inside the mouth, Sendhil's eyes closing with a low moan as his lips curl around his knuckles. Wet noises ring in Greg's ear as he watches Sendhil eagerly lick and suck on his own fingers, sometimes opening his mouth wide enough for Greg to see him rub his tongue, then closing it again to thrust the fingers in and out, in and out, slippery and glistering.
"Fuck." It's honestly all Greg can say.
Sendhil pulls the fingers from his mouth and opens his eyes. He's still smiling but all mischief is gone from his expression now, replaced by a subtle flush of the cheeks. Wet fingers reaches back to touch Greg's hand, still clutching Sendhil's shirt, gently opening the fist and pulling Greg's arm up between them. Sendhil's middle finger rubs along Greg's, aligning the two, and Greg's hand is lifted to Sendhil's lips. Looking directly into Greg's eyes, Sendhil opens his mouth again and gently places the two fingers on his tongue before closing his lips around them. Greg feels as though the soft, hot flesh is encompassing all of him, touching every nerve ending in his body. Then, Sendhil sucks.
"Oh. My. Fucking. God."
Sendhil laughs out loud at that, and their fingers slip out of his mouth. "You keep saying that word, fuck. Am I supposed to take it as a hint?"
"Fuck! No, I mean, fuck no!"
Sendhil laughs again, throwing his head back and exposing all his teeth. When his body finishes shaking with the force of that obnoxiously loud laughter, he slides off Greg and settles on the carpet, his back to the couch. "Aw, you're no fun. No fun at all," he says, voice still colored with laughter.
"Rather be no fun than a cheating bastard," Greg shoots back, wiping his finger on his trousers. Sendhil just chuckles. "I'll have so much explaining to do when I get home ..."
"You're going to tell your wife? I only sucked your finger, not your dick." Sendhil takes a quick glance at Greg's crotch as the man gets up from the couch. "However it may have felt to you."
"Shut up. Of course I'm going to tell her, you fucking bastard."
"I wish I were a fucking bastard," Sendhil says, and the sigh that accompanies those words is so heart-felt, Greg can't help but snicker. He reaches down and pulls Sendhil up by the shoulders, straightens out his shirt, adjusts the glasses on his nose, and pushes Sendhil towards the door.
"Why can't I hate you?" Greg asks, opening the door and holding it as Sendhil passes him with a self-satisfied smile on his lips, a smart-ass comeback just waiting to form. "That was rhetorical," Greg adds, raising a finger in warning.
He can hear Sendhil's crackling laughter even after he closes the door.