aunt_zelda | The Quiet Life: Part 3

Title: The Quiet Life: Part 3

Rating: R. Non-con stuff had happened. Smut occurs quite a bit.

Warnings: If you haven’t watched all of Season 1 of Heroes, you shouldn’t be here, you should be watching the DVDs! (Which I STILL don’t have … damn amazon.com free shipping!)

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Tim Kring does. I did not write Romeo and Juliet. William Shakespeare most likely did. I do not own the song ‘Complicated.’ Avril Lavigne does.

Recap If You’re Lazy And Won’t Follow My Lovely Links: Sylar is fleeing a creepy guy who’s ‘just like him’ – the guy Molly is terrified of. Sylar kidnapped Mohinder and Molly and they’re on a crazy road trip, which is kinda cute if not for Sylar raping Mohinder in hotel rooms and threatening Molly. Sylar wants to work on the List.

Summary: Romeo and Juliet is read, the Mywalker family go to Applebee’s, a cracky discussion I stole from a past thread at IMDb happens, Sylar reads my book, and there’s a bit of smut.

My Thoughts: Last chapter before I go back to school to learn or teach or both (you’ll never know!) That means that Part 4 may take FOREVER to come out. Sorry about that … and I apologize for the Romeo and Juliet bits – but I was, after all, in the play this summer. I decided Sylar kidnapped Mohinder and Molly at the end of March, so April is fast approaching. Also, this is frakin’ long … hopefully it’ll hold you guys off until the next part … whenever that may be … and please follow and read my Brian Loveless and Azazeal links …

http://aunt-zelda.livejournal.com/17381.html - The Quiet Life

http://aunt-zelda.livejournal.com/17598.html - The Quiet Life: Part 2

http://aunt-zelda.livejournal.com/18274.html#cutid1 – Brian Loveless

http://aunt-zelda.livejournal.com/18583.html#cutid1 – Azazeal

“I thought we’d start with the List tonight.”

Mohinder felt ice flood his body.

Sylar unzipped the bag and switched on the laptop. “Show me what you’ve got so far.”

Mohinder closed his eyes. “No.”

A pause.

“Sorry, I don’t think I heard you right,” Sylar’s voice was tickling Mohinder’s ear. “Did you just refuse to do something for me?”

Mohinder’s eyes snapped open – Sylar was an inch or two away. “Threaten me. Torture me. Rape me. Kill Molly. I’ll never lead you to another victim.” Oh god … don’t kill Molly, please … take it out on me, leave her alone …

Sylar’s head cocked to the side.

Mohinder braced himself …

Sylar shrugged. “Ok, I’ll try again later,” he flopped onto the bed and began flipping through The Complete Works Of William Shakespeare.

Mohinder stared at him. This made no sense. “I – what?!” he made some small vowel noises. “You’re not going to … try to force me?’

Sylar looked up from the huge book. “If I try now, you’d never give it up. You’re still harboring the feeble hope that Peter or someone will rescue you. It’ll be months, maybe even a year or two, before people get serious looking for us. That’s plenty of time to break you down and get the List,” he swung his legs up onto the bed. “Care to join me?” it wasn’t a question.

Mohinder sighed, kicked off his shoes, and sat down next to Sylar, who wrapped his arm around the geneticist’s waist.

“Would you read this with me?” another not-a-question. Sylar’s hand was sliding up Mohinder’s shirt.

Mohinder tried to ignore this and raised his eyebrows. “Romeo and Juliet? I would have figured you for a Macbeth type.”

Sylar laughed. “You know, Romeo and Juliet has never really been a favorite of mine. It’s very central to about four characters, not very interesting. The Comedies have a wider range of subplots and groups and such, with is more engaging. A Midsummer Night’s Dream would have to be my favorite work … or Macbeth.”

Mohinder flinched. “Because you identify with the bloody tyrant?”

Sylar glared. “No. I identify with the manipulated, accidental murderer who only killed those he absolutely had to in order to stay in power and then lost control. It was really all Lady Macbeth’s fault, and those Witches,”

Mohinder raised an eyebrow. “So, if you’re Macbeth, who are the others?”

Sylar scowled slightly, his hand withdrawing from Mohinder’s skin. “I’d like it very much if you read this with me,” he seized Mohinder’s hand with his own and read aloud: “If I profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, read stand, to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

Mohinder wanted to laugh, call Sylar foul names, try to kill him, but thoughts of Molly next door made him reply: “Good pilgrim, you to wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands to touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

Sylar smirked. “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

Mohinder wanted to strangle him. “Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”

“Oh then, dear saint, let lips to what hands do! They pray. Grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.” Sylar leaned forward, and Mohinder drew away sharply.

“Saints do not move, though grant for prayer’s sake.” Mohinder snapped with a fury no Juliet had ever possessed.

Sylar smiled at this. “Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take.” he kissed Mohinder slowly and sweetly. “Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”

You wish …Mohinder thought to himself, recalling the wall painted with ‘Forgive Me Father.’ “Then have my lips the sin that they have took.” Murderer … evil, foul, blood-soaked …

Sylar looked convincingly taken aback. “Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” And once again he kissed Mohinder.

“You kiss by the book.” Mohinder said tersely.

Sylar snapped the volume shut. “That’s enough for tonight, I think,” he set the book on the bedside table and fell backward onto the bed.

Mohinder watched him cautiously. “Are you going to fuck me?” he asked quickly.

Sylar – whose eyes were closed – smiled slightly. “Just kiss me. For tonight, that’s all I want.”

Mohinder was relieved and caught off guard at the same time. Gingerly, he leaned down, trying to stay as far from Sylar as he could while angling his head so he could adequately kiss his father’s murderer.

Sylar snorted in amusement, and a wave of telekinesis shoved Mohinder down so that he was now straddling Sylar. Good god … Mohinder thought, leaning down and touching his lips to Sylar’s.

Give me my sin again.

~*~

I like,

You the way you are, when we’re,

Drivin’ in the car …

Mohinder gripped the steering wheel tightly. Three hours of Molly’s music and he was about ready to drive the car into the opposite lane of heavy traffic.

He shot an incredulous glance at Sylar. How can he stand this?!

Sylar smirked and pulled an earplug out of his ear.

Mohinder glared fiercely at him and stared at the road ahead.

When you strike a pose.

Take off

All your preppy clothes …

If he heard one more wailing teenage boy or screaming teenage girl Mohinder was going to …

Sylar stopped the disc. “Molly? I think Mohinder would like some quiet now,”

“Ok,” Molly barely glanced up from her Brian Loveless book.

Mohinder shot another incredulous glance at Sylar. Why did you do that? he asked with his eyes.

Sylar shrugged and smirked. I think you’ve suffered enough he mouthed.

~*~

They ate in an actual restaurant that day: an Applebee’s in a shopping mall complex.

“For your good behavior. I think we all deserve an actual meal,” Sylar smiled innocently as he looked over the menu.

Mohinder was tempted to make a snide comment about brains, but stopped himself. The restaurant was relatively crowded – lots of families that could be devastated by a wave of telekinesis.

A smiling waitress glided up. “Good afternoon, welcome to Appleebee’s, would you like some drinks to start off?”

Sylar shook his head. “I’m fine with water,”

The waitress turned to Mohinder. “You, sir?”

Mohinder chose a random soda he’d never heard of. The waitress jotted it down and looked at Molly. “And you, dear?”

“Um … could I have the strawberry milkshake?” Molly asked sweetly.

“Sure,” the waitress wrote it down. “That’s my favorite!” she smiled.

Molly giggled, and the waitress hurried off.

Sylar gazed around the restaurant. “I wonder if there are any special people in here besides us?” he murmured.

“Yes, I wonder how many lives you would ruin for oh, the ability to make things glow?” Mohinder hissed.

Sylar snorted. “The ability to make things glow? That’s got to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of!” he rolled his eyes. “Honestly … most useless power in the world!”

“No, I think … turning things orange would be more useless,” Molly said over her Brian Loveless book. “Making things glow would mean you’d never need to get batteries for your flashlight.”

There was a pause.

“Well, if you were a clothing designer, making things orange could be useful. What about … making ants dance?” Sylar cocked his head to the side. “Beat that!”

Molly set her book down. “That would be cool! You could make millions in a circus or something! What about …” she bit her lip. “Ooo! The ability to become a three-legged zebra!”

“Good for distraction!” Sylar fired back. “Er … the ability to know how many hairs a person has on their head!”

That stumped Molly for a while. “You could wow people with that … or average how many hairs a person looses in a day … so no, that wouldn’t be useless at all! What about, making plates into bowls?!”

Mohinder listened with fascination as Molly and Sylar debated what the most useless power in the world would be.

Their drinks came, they ordered, their food came, they ate, Sylar paid the bill, they got back into the car, and still the debate raged on.

“Time out!” Sylar insisted. “Please, we’ve got all the time in the world to figure it out, I need to think about something else for a while.”

Molly smirked. “I win!” she giggled and got back to her book.

Sylar stared at the pile of books in the backseat with her. “Mind if I borrow some of those?” he asked.

Molly shrugged. “You bought them, you’ve got first dibs,” she rummaged around and handed him the first book of Brian Loveless. “I’ve never met someone who didn’t like it.”

Sylar began to read.

Mohinder glanced in the mirror occasionally and saw that Molly was doodling on a pad of paper from one of the motels with a motel pen. She needs markers … colored pencils … crayons even … he remembered the star she’d given him and sighed. Mohinder very much doubted that Sylar would allow them to go into another mall for something as trivial as art supplies. The only reason he’d let them venture into such large crowds in the first place was so he could locate Peter Petrelli, and to obtain clothing and supplies to keep his hostages from going mad.

As the afternoon progressed, Sylar completed the first book and progressed into the second. When Mohinder noticed Molly nodding off in the back, he traded a look with Sylar.

“Can we stop soon? My eyes are stinging.”

Sylar shrugged. “Sure, take the next exit that has a decent place.”

Fifteen minutes later Mohinder pulled to a stop in front of the main office of another Motel 8.

Sylar grabbed the keys, got out, shut the door, and headed in.

Mohinder drummed his fingers on the steering wheel – and realized that Sylar had left the car unlocked.

After the initial shock wore down, Mohinder reached out and tentatively opened his door a few inches. He shut it again, as softly as he could.

Had Sylar made a mistake? Or was this a game to him? With Molly – who was sleeping in the back – Mohinder couldn’t get very far. And where would they go? Mohinder had no money and it was doubtful that he could manage to hitch a ride before Sylar caught up to them.

A sudden thought struck him. He switched the radio on, reached in the backseat and grabbed Molly’s notepad and a pen.

“Molly, wake up!” he hissed.

Molly stirred and moaned. “Mohinder? Where are we?”

“I don’t know, but whisper! So Sylar can’t hear us!” Mohinder began scribbling on the pad. “I want you to turn on your shower and then dial this number. Tell him I have a message for him and then read him what I’ve written here.”

Molly scanned the note. “Ok …” she tucked the pad into her bag. “Should I leave a message if he doesn’t answer?” she whispered.

Mohinder nodded, and glanced at the front office. “He’s coming back …” and he switched off the radio.

~*~

“What is it, Mohinder?” Sylar asked. “You look … troubled.”

Mohinder barked a laugh. “Just the usual worry of being held hostage by a serial-killer who murdered your father, knowing that you have to do everything he says and comply with everything he does – which includes some rather twisted sexual situations – or he’ll murder the ten-year old girl next door.”

Sylar smiles slightly. “Anything I could do to make you feel better?”

Mohinder is stunned how a man who has sliced open people’s heads and raped him two nights ago can display concern and compassion. He raises his eyebrows. “Besides letting me take Molly back to New York and continuing our lives? Or turning yourself into the police? Or, better yet, letting the Company arrest you?”

Sylar snorts. “I mean … little things. I could drive tomorrow, if you like. I can cut back on the number of times we have sex. I can be nicer about it,” to illustrate, he reached out and gently pulled Mohinder close, running his hand through Mohinder’s hair. “Like this,” he whispered into the geneticist’s ear.

Mohinder felt a tremor pass through his body. There was something oddly arousing about this. No … no, think about what he did to you two nights ago! He killed your father, and Dale, and the real Zane, and Molly’s parents, and Peter Petrelli …but he stood still and let Sylar slowly stroke him like a pet – which, Mohinder realized, he was. He was Sylar’s pet.

“Art supplies.” Mohinder said suddenly.

Sylar drew back a few inches. “What?” he cocked his head to the side.

“Art supplies. For Molly. She likes to draw …” memories of the star doodle flooded his mind. “Books can only last so long …” he took a few steps to the window. “I … I’d rather you didn’t … not like the first night … that was …” he closed his eyes, hands barely able to resist clenching. “If you have to … be as gentle as you possibly can. Please.” He’s begging his father’s killer.

Sylar comes to stand behind him, arms around Mohinder’s waist. “I want you, Mohinder. That first night was months of pent-up lust. I couldn’t control myself … I needed you. I still do, but now that I can think clearly …” he nipped Mohinder’s ear. “What I did is unforgivable. But as long as I’ve got you with me …” Sylar turned Mohinder around. “When’s Molly birthday?” he asked, tracing his lips over Mohinder’s face.

“Um … April 11^th …” Mohinder managed to say before Sylar’s mouth wrapped around his.

“We can stop and get her some art supplies tomorrow … for her birthday …” Sylar was slowly but surely leading Mohinder to one of the beds. “Does that work?”

Mohinder closed his eyes as his clothes were carefully taken off. “Sure …” he murmured.

“Sure …”