Heroes fic: In Context

[out_there]

Title: In Context
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit.
Notes: Spoilers for the end of S2. Thanks for storydivagirl for betaing.
Summary: Three kisses, in context.


There are times when Mohinder feels like your Mohinder. Times when the Mohinder you see in this apartment, the Mohinder that dotes on Molly and stands in a quiet kitchen with warm arms wrapped around you, is all there is.

After you've settled Molly into bed and closed her bedroom door, this is the version of Mohinder stretched out on the couch and watching a movie. The one who rolls back onto his side and reaches an arm out for you, tugging you down to him. It's ridiculous because this couch barely fits one adult lying down; with two, it's a case of both lying on your sides, squashed up close but it's still a precarious position.

You have to admit it’s a fun way to watch a movie, with Mohinder's breath warm on the back of your neck, his arm draped across your chest. Halfway through, that breath will be replaced by soft lips, by slow sucking kisses along your collar or a tongue playfully tracing the curve of your ear. The hand will slide down, blunt fingernails raking your side and then warm fingers will spread across your thigh, sometimes going so far as to tease along the inseam of jeans, sliding up until your breath catches on his name.

Turning your head, you'll catch Mohinder's mouth in a series of awkward, sweet kisses. Your neck's stretched uncomfortably and Mohinder's hard against your hip, but the difficulty makes it feel like a reward. Mohinder is pressed against you from ankle to shoulder, and twisting your arm a little lets you dig fingers into Mohinder's hair and mess up the unruly curls. You shift your hips, rock back and feel Mohinder moan softly into your mouth. Pulling one leg up, bracing a socked foot against the armrest and leaning your knee on the back of the couch, you allow Mohinder's hand enough space to really explore.

Then somewhere between Mohinder scraping teeth along your jaw and his fingers working their way under the waistband of your jeans, you forget where you are and try to roll over, try to make the kiss deeper and the body-contact more satisfying, and nearly overbalance you both. Sometimes, like tonight, you'll fall all the way off the couch and land on the floor with flailing arms and Mohinder's startled laughter.

"Eventually this floor is going to have a dent the shape of my ass," you mutter, more embarrassed than sore.

Standing up, Mohinder takes your hand and helps you to your feet. "Perhaps we should consider retiring for the night."

You shake his head. "Such a complicated way of saying let's take this to bed." Then you tuck fingers into Mohinder's belt and lead him into the bedroom.

***

There are times when Mohinder seems to belong to the Company, when he stays up most of the night, typing away on his laptop, occasionally staring off into space as he drinks his tea. You've seen him at the Company like this, white coat and icy professionalism, knowledgeable and arrogant; so certain of his own importance and deadly serious about the repercussions if his research fails.

You don't like seeing him like that. You try not to think it, but that's not a side of Mohinder you even like. You don't like the coldness, the distance that suddenly shows up in your comfortable home, and you especially don't like the way Mohinder lashes out when disturbed.

The simple suggestion of going to bed at a reasonable hour is met with cutting sarcasm that borders on downright mean. You've always known Mohinder's brilliant, but when he's like this, he smart enough to know the quickest way to make you feel oafish and unnecessary. To make you retreat into the bedroom, hurt and angry.

Sometimes it takes a few minutes for Mohinder to follow you, sometimes an hour, but always he'll step in looking apologetic. "I didn't mean that," he says uneasily.

You know what Mohinder thought as he said it, what he meant. "Yeah, you did."

"I did in that moment," Mohinder says, walking over to the bed and hovering, almost close enough to touch you, "but I'm sorry."

Crossing your arms, you know it's immature to hold the grudge. It doesn't fix anything and it certainly proves why he thinks of you like that. "You shouldn't have said it," you allow, and it's almost a compromise. You tell yourself it doesn't matter what Mohinder thinks of you, so long as he doesn't say it out loud.

"Exactly," Mohinder agrees quickly. But he's a smart guy, and he catches onto your meaning quick enough. "Matthew, no. I don't think-- I didn't mean it.”

"Forget it," you mutter. "Go finish what you were doing."

"Every time I think I understand why my blood acts as a cure, how it fights the virus, I get results that don't fit. It's frustrating to keep starting again." Mohinder sighs and sits down. He leans sideways, resting his head on your shoulder and then manages to capture one of your hands in his. "I shouldn't take my frustration out on you. I know that. I'm just... I'm not in the habit of guarding my temper."

You take a moment to really look at him. There are soft shadows under his eyes and frown lines across his forehead, and you know he’s tired. You know he's trying. And you know what he's working on is more important than moments of temper. Resting your other hand on top of Mohinder's, you squeeze it gently. "I'm just saying that sleep is a good thing."

Then Mohinder kisses you slowly and until the next morning, you can pretend that Mohinder only needs to be yours.

***

You return from the press conference tired and wishing the whole day could start over. You'd really hoped the worst thing to happen today would be flying across the country with hands clenched around Nathan Petrelli. Then you got thrown against a wall, stopped a virus from destroying the world's population and stood by as Nathan’s eyes glazed over and his breathing stopped.

Discounting the day you got shot -- and the day you signed divorce papers -- it's been the crappiest day ever.

And the minute you step into the apartment, it gets worse. Mohinder's waiting for you, pacing in the kitchen, and then suddenly snarling in your face, "Where the hell were you?"

"Odessa, Texas," You reply in surprise as Mohinder shoves you backwards, two hands hard on your shoulders. The kitchen counter digs into your back. "Then New York."

"Texas," Mohinder growls back, "means you could still answer your phone!"

You don't confess that Nathan’s flying made you clumsy and terrified, and you dropped your phone. You'll replace it later, but the idea of facing stores -- seeing newspapers with Nathan's sprawled body across the front page -- is too much to think about right now. "Have you even turned the news on? I was involved in something big today."

"Something big that meant you couldn't answer your phone?"

"Something big that meant, yeah, I couldn't answer my phone."

"Because Sylar coming in here and kidnapping Molly," Mohinder punctuates her name with a sharp shove to your shoulders, "is something too small to hold your attention."

"He was here?" You wrap hands around Mohinder's wrists. Mohinder's fingers are clawing into your shoulders so tightly it hurts, but what you notice is the way the tendons stand out beneath his skin. "Where's Molly?"

"With the Company."

"Oh, that's safe!" you yell back, because he was yelling, and it's not like this is your fault, not like you meant to be out of contact.

"It's safer than here!"

This isn't really a fight -- you're yelling at each other for no reason other than fear -- so you pull Mohinder close, sharp and sudden, and kiss him soundly. The fight eases out of Mohinder little by little, until his hands are loose on your shoulders.

You keep your arms around him. "Are you okay?" you ask softly, cupping his cheek with your palm.

Mohinder nods before he gets the answer out. "Yes. Extremely frightened, but otherwise unharmed."

"And Molly?"

"She's fine. She fell asleep, so I came back here." Mohinder eases forward, burying his head against your neck. After a long moment, Mohinder adds, "You didn't answer your phone."

You don't get it. Not until you peek inside Mohinder's mind and hear the worry. There’s a very real fear that Sylar might have found you first, might have sliced you open and left you in a pool of your own blood; it's not a nice mental image. It's followed by the thought that with or without his powers, Sylar is a monster, capable destroying anything Mohinder loves.

"I'm okay," you say, dropping a kiss into Mohinder's hair. "We're all okay."

Holding Mohinder close, you repeat those simple words until Mohinder breathes easy and slow. Then you both grab a few clothes, pack a hurried overnight bag, and head to the Company, to Molly.

For the first time it occurs to you that as much as Mohinder's yours, you might have become Mohinder's too.