heroes ficsnip - 482 words
One Last Memory

Author: gabriellemb
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Heroes (Property of NBC. I’m not making any money, please don’t sue!)
Pairing: Sylar/Mohinder
Warnings: Some not so detailed sexing? This is also my first Mylar fic and unbetaed, so it’s very probable that it sucks butt. Ahaha?
Notes: A sort of prequel for 1x18, so there’s a spoiler for that episode. I don’t think it was mentioned in canon how many people they visited during their road trip, so I just made that one up :D



When they return from their road trip, Mohinder already knows. There were too many bodies, too many coincidences, too many nights spent listening to Zane’s motel room door opening and closing after he thought Mohinder was already asleep. The knowledge burns behind Mohinder’s eyes (five innocent people, dead because I did nothing) but he manages to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth for the time being, hatred bubbling underneath his skin. He has a plan.

“Wow, it sure is good to be home,” Zane says, flashing his shy smile and taking off his coat. Mohinder smiles back at him, teeth biting into his lower lip (five people and who knows how many more) and strides past Zane to drop his bag next to his bed. Zane follows him quietly. Mohinder closes his eyes.

Zane’s hands are strong but gentle, his skin radiating an almost burning warmth. Despite himself, Mohinder leans back into the touch, starved for any kind of affection. It has been too long since anyone touched him like this, and for the span of one heartbeat it doesn’t matter who Zane really is.

Zane’s lips settle on the nape of Mohinder’s neck, trailing small sucking kisses along his skin, the tip of his nose nudging Mohinder’s curls. Zane steps closer and his body presses against Mohinder’s back, hot and demanding. Mohinder grinds his teeth together, but relaxes his fingers from painful fists and reaches back to draw Zane’s arms around his waist. Zane must not find out that Mohinder knows, not before it’s too late.

The sheets on Mohinder’s bed smell old and musty, damp from disuse. Zane trails his hands down over Mohinder’s bare chest, the tips of his thumbs pressing into the grooves of Mohinder’s hips. He breathes in deeply, smelling Zane’s shampoo, his skin, his death, and it helps him do this.

Zane’s kisses are still clumsy, his mouth and lips fumbling over Mohinder’s, unused to giving attention and receiving it. He opens his mouth, letting Zane in, forgetting for just a moment what he has underneath his hands. Mohinder digs his fingers into Zane’s shoulders, pulling him closer. He arches his body, drowning in warmth.

“Forgive me, father,” Mohinder mouths into the junction of Zane’s, Sylar’s, neck and shoulder when he comes in a blinding rush of hatred and agonizing passion. It feels strangely like a prayer on his lips.

When it’s all over, their bodies heavy with sleep, Mohinder can no longer suppress the shudder of fear when Zane trails his fingertips over his forehead and down his cheekbones. Mohinder turns away from Zane’s touch, smiling distractedly, eyes averted. He presses his ear to Zane’s chest, settling close and letting his eyes drift shut. Zane wraps his arms around Mohinder, presses a kiss to his curls.

And for an endless moment Mohinder listens to the tick tock tick tock of a dying man’s heart.