Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Sylar/Mohinder
Summary: Changes, and what we hide behind. Set in the future of 'Five Years Gone'.
"Please," Nathan had seemed to mouth against his shoulder, words a low mumble he didn't as much hear as felt vibrate against his skin. Mohinder complied in silence and walked to the bathroom, because Nathan never begged.
"Let me see" -- it was a small wish.
He let the hot water run and fill the sink as he observed his reflection in the mirror, dark-rimmed eyes staring back at him. His expensive dress shirt was untucked and unbuttoned halfway down his chest, hanging on a frame with lines sharper than what he remembered. He removed the cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves, once, twice, revealing skin nearly ashen in the sharp white lighting of the hotel bathroom.
He closed the tap, took off his glasses, and washed his face. The warm water comforted him briefly but cooled fast on his skin, tickling down his neck to raise goosebumps along his shoulders and arms. He always felt cold, recently.
He put his glasses back on, and reached to his side to take out a razor and a can of shaving cream from the cabinet. As he applied the cream, a shadow appeared behind him from the darkness of the bedroom. Before he could make out its exact shape, hands reached out to trace the line of his jaw up to his ears, smearing the white foam, and careless fingers twisted the bridge of his glasses to remove and discard them next to the sink.
"I can't see," he started, but was silenced as a hand covered his own, pressing the razor to his palm. The blade was guided up to his face, and Mohinder tensed as the coolness touched the soft skin of his neck, although he knew it was a safety razor, scarcely able to leave a flesh wound. The razor followed the contour of his face to his cheek bone, movement measured and precise. This was repeated, mechanically, a handful of times, then the razor was dropped from the hands with a loud clatter.
"Smile," Nathan said. Mohinder laughed, not because he was told to, but because the command was absurd. His hoarse voice rang in the room, and he saw a brief flash of teeth in the mirror before he was turned around with one powerful tug at his shoulders.
Nathan slowly knelt in front of him, large hands fondling him roughly through his clothes as if only to make sure he was still here. What followed, Mohinder would simply describe as worship; he was never a man to romanticize sex, in particular not sex with this man, but the mouth, the hands, the whispered words and hot breath against his skin spoke of undiluted adoration.
He came slowly, soundlessly, fingers combing through dark hair. In his blurred vision the white light and walls flowed into one, the shadow at his feet only that, a shadow. He mouthed a single word, tongue caressing teeth. Then they parted, and when he replaced his glasses, Nathan stood before him, smiling.