I'm Going To Break You: Part 1 (Mylar slash fanfic)

[aunt_zelda]

Title: I’m Going to Break You: Part 1

Rating: Probably R

Genre: Angsty, nasty stuff

Warnings: Rather sick build up to a non-con ‘love’ scene

Summary: Sylar shows up at Mohinder’s apartment and … well, read it …

 

Mohinder had just gotten home after dropping Molly off with Niki, DL, and Micah for the week. He needed a break from her constant presence, when after all these years the only thing that had depended on him solely was a lizard with his name that had mysteriously vanished a few months back.

Not that he minded, Molly was a joy to have around, always cheerful and happy and eager to help with his tests and research. Mohinder smiled as he remembered her last joke ...

A pair of hands grabbed his shoulders, whirled him around, and shoved him up against the door. Even in the semi-darkness, Mohinder recognized that face. Even though its owner had worn someone else's clothes and carried another name the last time they’d been within three feet of each other, he knew Sylar when he saw him.

Before the cold, petrifying fear could take affect, Sylar's face rushed forward, his lips colliding with Mohinder's.

Mohinder's eyes, already wide with terror, widened even more with shock. What the hell?! raced through his head, trying desperately to link this bizarre action to something Sylar could use to gain access to the List or find more 'heroes' as they were being called nowadays. 

It would have been more surprising if Sylar's hands, which were still clutching his shoulders, forcing him back into the door, hadn't been hurting him so much. The day Sylar was gentle would be the day when the sky went permanently green and people started speaking in tongues. 
Sylar drew back, still abnormally close, staring into Mohinder's eyes. “I needed that,” he said, closing his eyes slowly, as if already savoring the memory.

“W-why are you here?” Mohinder demanded, both thankful that he had no neighbors and cursing himself for not living closer to a 'hero.' Matt, his wife, and their incredible son lived four blocks away, and they were vacationing in Florida now.

Sylar cocked his head to the side in that odd way of his. “Maybe I should elaborate ...” he went forward again and began kissing Mohinder's lips again with an increased fervor. Now, though, the gripping hands were leaving Mohinder's shoulders, one going up to entwine in the Indian's hair, the other sliding down, down below his belt. Mohinder tensed when he felt Sylar's hand there, wishing for some powerful hero to rush into the hallway and save him, or for Sylar to drop dead, if that was faster.

“Get ... off ... of ... me!” Mohinder choked through Sylar's lips.

“Or else what?” Sylar broke apart from Mohinder's mouth, leaving his hands where they were, much to Mohinder's displeasure. “There aren't any heroes,” he mocked the word. “Around to save you. You can't possibly fight me,” the hand in Mohinder's hair slid down and wrapped around his throat, nearly cutting off his air supply. “Or are you a hero too, now? Did someone give you a power to make you feel special?” now both hands were around Mohinder's throat, though that was oddly comforting. Now, at least, Mohinder could fathom Sylar's actions.

Sylar stared at him, squinting quizzically. He let go of Mohinder’s throat abruptly, and the other man slid to the floor, clutching his neck, gasping like a fish.

“You’re not special,” Sylar sneered, gazing down at Mohinder, looking thoroughly irked. Then he shrugged.  “Too bad, guess I can’t kill you just yet,” Sylar glanced at the door, which flew open. Mohinder toppled backwards and slammed into the floor.

“I’ve been thinking about the first time we ‘met,’ Mohinder,” Sylar jerked his hand, and Mohinder shot backwards across the floor, nearly ramming into the coffee table, which Sylar flicked away, like an annoying fly. “You know, the crazy road trip chapter of our relationship?” Mohinder levitated up from the floor and found himself lying down on the couch. He had decided to let Sylar say what he wanted to: interrupting powerful psycho-murderers was never a good idea.

Sylar knelt down on the floor next to Mohinder’s head, continuing his rant.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to remind myself I was Zane, some idiot with a low-self-esteem who wore band shirts?” he spat the words. “That night at the motel, I was almost certain you'd gotten us the same room ... what a tease you were back then, saying and doing things, leading 'Zane' on, stuff you'd never dare to do when I was around.”

“I never –” Mohinder tried to protest, but Sylar silenced him with a glance and a wave of telekinesis. 

“Come on, Mohinder,” Sylar purred, his cheek against the other man's. “You know you want me.” he nipped Mohinder's ear.

“Please … stop,” Mohinder moaned. “Leave me alone … get away from me …”

Sylar drew back, the fire back in his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he stood up, getting a vice-like grip on Mohinder’s shoulder and wrenching him up to his feet as well. “I’ve been going about this all wrong,” he propelled the other man towards the bedroom, shoving him down onto the bed, beginning to telekinetically undress them both. 

“No ...” Mohinder whimpered, trying desperately to convey his intense discomfort. “Please ... stop ... no!”

Sylar just laughed. Not his timid, lovely Zane laugh, but his cold, cruel, maniacal laugh, one Mohinder had heard twice:

 

You’re just like your father, murderers, the both of you.

I’m a scientist.

*laughter* That’s what he said …

 

Peter dragged him up and punched him with a horrifying strength once, twice, three times, four times.

And yet, Sylar still came up laughing.

 

That laugh would haunt Mohinder for the rest of his life, however long that might be.

Comments

[napthia9.livejournal.com]

Hey!

I don't know if you've chosen not to get comment notifications, or if this will languish in the pits of LJ posting limbo, but I was browsing mylar_fic and was wondering if you'd like a beta on any of your fics? I'm terribly bored this summer, and I thought I might offer my services, especially since I like the premise of your fic.

[aunt-zelda.livejournal.com]

Yes, I'm getting notified (via my flooded hotmail account) about comments, but what's a beta? (I'm new to livejournal, very, very new, and confused.)

[napthia9.livejournal.com]

Well hey, welcome to LJ!

A beta reader is basically someone who reads the first draft of whatever you've written. They function sort of as an editor, in that they check for spelling, punctuation, and grammar; as well as providing feedback on story, dialogue, word choice and that sort of thing.

[aunt-zelda.livejournal.com]

Hmm ... that would be nice! A fellow Mylar fan who has nothing to do! (I've been so stressed these past few weeks, but soon, summer!)
How do I employ you as an editor? That would be very nice of you!

[napthia9.livejournal.com]

Ahh, summer!

I'm more of a Heroes fan than a pure-Mylar fan, but fanfic's fanfic! And I certainly don't have much to do.

Ahhh... okay, I'm going to reply to this comment with an e-mail address you can send any story you want betaed to. I'm only going to leave it up for a day though- I'm a wee paranoid about unwanted spam. Okay?