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Fic: The Road of Destiny (8/?)

Title: The Road of Destiny (8/?)
Author: crystal_mk
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder
Rating: NC-17 for this part and as a whole
Summary: Destiny writes the road, but do we get to choose whether or not we follow?
Warnings: angst, character death
Disclaimer: I own nothing nor am I making money
AN: Jeez it’s taken me so long to update! *is ashamed of self* Hopefully the next part won’t be such a bitch to write. And I’ve been so busy lately but things are starting to calm down so it shouldn’t take me so long to update next. 
When I woke the next morning, I was dissappointed to find myself alone in the bed. There was a small indent in the pillow next to my head where Matthew had rested during the night that brought a content smile to my face. The lingering smell of aftershave, coffee, and something so uniquely Matthew assured me that his return last night had not be a hallucination brought about by my longing and lonely heart. I sat up, stretching slowly to crack my spine in a series of satisfying pops. I had almost forgotten how stiff my back got from sharing the tiny bed with Matthew at night. It was the best feeling in the world.
I made my way out to the kitchen, the scent of coffee getting stronger and stronger as I got closer. I hate that smell. I smiled a silly grin at the sight of the coffee maker filled about halfway with the dark liquid that Matthew swore by. I shook my head, trying to clear the giddy cobwebs from my mind. If I wasn’t too careful I’d be floating to work and I’m quite positive that would be noticeable to the passengers I shared the train with. A part of me really didn’t care.
Humming happily I filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove to boil. I was pouring some soy milk into my cup on the counter when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight in strict attention. I could feel another person in the room, watching me. I quickly glanced around the countertop in search of potential weapons. Matthew must have cleaned up a bit because I’m pretty sure there was a knife sitting on the counter last night. My fingers curled around the handle of the coffeepot. The glass would work as a weapon and the scalding coffee could be painful enough to distract the burglar (I wasn’t ready to acknowledge that it might be Sylar just yet) long enough for me to run or at least get a more adequate weapon with which to defend myself. I caught sight of movement out of the corner of my and whipped around, coffeepot held at the ready to smash on the face of the intruder.
“Mohinder,” Matthew shouted, “It’s me!”
He stepped forward quick enough to grab my wrist and stop it from arcing towards his face. My heart was pounding hard and fast and I was breathing heavily. I couldn’t do much more than stare in stunned disbelief as he took the pot from my hand and put it back on the burner.
“Matthew?” I squeeked, finally recovering my voice. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing close to stop the tremors that shook my body as the adrenaline rushed out of my system and left me weak with relief and left-over fear. 
His arms went around my shoulders and pulled me close. His one hand massaged the back of my neck was the other rubbed a slow circle across my shoulders.   I took calming breaths into his shoulder, breathing deeply of skin and cotton as my heart slowed to it’s normal rhthym and my breathing returned to normal as well.
“What are you doing?” I ask sharply, pulling back out of his arms, “Are you trying to kill me here?”
He stepped back, thunder rolling across his features, “No Mohinder, you’re doing a pretty damn good job of that yourself.”
I narrowed my eyes, gritting my teeth in annoyance. My happiness at his return fled in a rush of anger at the fact that he was still judging and criticizing my decision. I had actually fooled myself into thinking that he had returned to support me.
“Don’t be stupid Mohinder,” he snapped at me, “I’m only here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed. I refuse to be the one who has to tell Molly you’re dead.”
“Oh, well I’m sorry to have thought differently. I’m sorry for wanting to believe that the man I love, the man who spent the last two years saying he loved me, is here because he wants to be with me.”
“And that there is your problem Mohinder, you always believe what you’re told,” Matthew said harshly.
“I have to get to work,” I said shortly, feeling inches from slapping him. I started walking towards the bedroom, making sure to avoid touching him as I passed him.
He nodded, “So do I.”
I stopped, pausing to turn around and look at him, “I thought you were on leave from the department?”
“I am. I need to set these cameras and microphones up for Bob.”
I blinked rapidly, staring at him to make sure it was actually him and not some guy in a very convincing Matthew suit, “What?”
“Bob asked me to set up some cameras and stuff so that they can better monitor what’s going down. This way if things get out of control they can be here before the screaming starts,” Matthew explained, not even looking at me as he started pulling out cables and wires from the duffel bag he set on the couch.
“You’re working with Bob now?” I asked, still not quite comprehending what was going on.
“I trust him more than I trust Benner at the moment.”
“Why? How? Weren’t you the one who insisted that Bob was nothing but trouble and quite possibly Satan’s mistress?”
“No, Angela Petrelli is Satan’s mistress. And Bob is trouble. I just trust him more then I trust Bennet now.” He stood up from hooking the wires and faced me. He had that determined, I-know-something-you-don’t-know look. “I heard him yesterday Mohinder. Not just what he said but also what he thought. He wants Sylar dead. Probably as much as we do. And because of that I trust him. I don’t trust him not to turn on us eventually, but at least I know for sure that he is going to do everything in his power to make sure that when the day is done Sylar won’t be walking away. I can’t be that sure with Bennet.”
“What makes you think that Bennet isn’t as invested in this? It’s his plan Matthew,” I argued.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind seeing Sylar dead, I just don’t think he wants it as much as us; as much as Bob. And he’s betrayed us before. Bob has lied and manipulated and kept things from us but he’s never shot us when our backs were turned. Bennet has.”
“You are not making any sense Matthew,” I huffed and stomped back to our bedroom. Grumbling to myself I pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, purposely choosing the pink shirt that I knew Matthew hated, before stomping back to the living room.
I wanted to stay angry, I really, really did. But there was Matthew, stretching up to the top of the bookshelf to place a camera between my copy of The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and his copy of The Innocent Man. His shirt rode up his back, revealing a smooth expanse of pale skin and his feet were arched as he stood on his toes to push the camera all the way to the back. I wanted to lightly rest the tip of my finger on that arch of his foot, slowly tracing the outside edge where he was only slightly ticklish to watch his toes curl inwards. I wanted to kiss the small of his back, following the ridge of his spine with my tongue, sinking in each groove between his vertebrae.
“Dammit Mohinder,” Matthew suddenly snapped. 
He whipped around and strode across the room, gripping my upper arms and pushing me against the wall. There was a fire in his eyes that should have frightened me, would have if there wasn’t a fire in my soul matching his, flame for flame. I shrugged off his hands to wrap my arms around his neck as his lips captured mine in a fierce kiss. I opened my mouth and immediately felt Matthew’s tongue surge in, stroking the roof of my mouth. I moaned into his mouth, wrapping a leg around his waist and wanting nothing more than to strip the cumbersome clothes off and make up for two weeks of being alone and not feeling him move inside me.
“Mohinder,” he groaned, grabbing my backside and pushing me against him while thrusting against me at the same time. I moaned again, feeling his desire hard against my thigh, an answer to mine pressed against his stomach.
He continued to thrust against me as his hand slipped between our bodies to unbutton my pants, the sound of the zipper being pulled down echoed in the apartment.
Matthew,” I groaned as he curled his large hand around me, pulling my erection fully out of my boxers.
He kissed my neck, nipping at my jaw, as his hand around me drove me closer and closer to the brink. I threw my head back, moaning as I thrust into his hand, needing more contact.   Suddenly he thrust against me hard, pushing me against the wall and holding me there as he groaned my name and squeezed on last time. I moaned, leaning my head against his shoulder to suck his shirt into my mouth, gritting my teeth as my own orgasm broke and spilled warm and sticky on his hand.
“I love you Mohinder,” Matthew whispered against my neck.
I unwound my leg from his hips, pressing soft kisses into his hair, whispering my love in his ear. We stood there for a moment; each of us trying to catch our breaths before Matthew finally stepped away, laughing.
“I think you’re going to need to change before you go to the lab,” he told me with a grin. I looked down, seeing the mess that decorated our pants and shirts. I looked up and grinned back at him.
“You know Matthew, if you hate my shirt that much why don’t you just “lose” it in the wash?”
“Because then I wouldn’t get to defile it.”
I shook my head in mock exasperation. “You stay here while I get new clothes. I can’t trust you not to take advantage of me.”
“Me?” he said, widening his eyes in innocence, “I wasn’t the one thinking dirty thoughts about my feet and my back.”
“Or were you?” I asked, raising a mischievous eyebrow at him.
“Get out of here you goof,” he laughed, making shooing motions with his hands. If I had looked close enough I would have seen that his smile, his laughter, didn’t reach his eyes.
It took all my effort to concentrate at the lab, to keep the cells and chemical bonds from swimming together to form Sylar’s hateful face. We were so close now and the full impact of what was happening, what I was dong hit me like a ton of bricks. I was trying to bring down Sylar. The man who killed my father, Molly’s biological parents, Elle. The man who tried to kill Molly and me and nearly succeeded in killing Matthew. He had even managed to kill Peter, the most powerful of us all, if even for a brief moment. Yet, I, the one whose greatest ability was the antibodies my immune system carried, was the one who had to face him. I was the one being depended on to kill him.
What had I gotten myself into?
I worked nonstop for hours, trying to discover the breakthrough that was diligently eluding me. It finally came in a moment of scientific clarity as the sun sunk low in the sky. I had it, I actually had it. The virus, designed to attack Sylar’s genetic code specifically and no one else was finally complete. I did it. Twenty minutes later, Bennet and Bob were next to me, watching the computer screen as the virus attacked Sylar’s blood.
“You actually did it,” Bennet said, clapping me hard on the back.
“Yes he actually did,” Bob said, turning to me, “Now all that remains is to make sure that Sylar arrives and Mohinder manages to infect him.”
“The virus should take effect immediately. Sylar will be incapacitated and powerless within seconds of infection,” I explained.
“Are you positive this is going to work?” Bob asked seriously.
“Honestly, no. I can’t say for sure whether or not the effects will occur directly after the infection. It isn’t like the cure where what happens in the lab is set in stone. With the virus there’s no saying anything for sure. For all we know his immune system could be exceptionally strong and he might be able to fight it off for a period of time,” I explained.
“That’s why we’ll be there as back-up. The Company is very invested in seeing Sylar dead. We’ll be there if anything goes wrong,” Bob assured me. I glimpsed his fists tightening at his sides as he said Sylar’s name. Perhaps Matthew was right; perhaps Bob was the one to trust at this moment.
Suddenly Bennet’s phone went off, startling us. He pulled his phone out and checked the number. “I have to take this,” he told us, flipping the phone open and barking out a greeting as he turned and walked away.
“So will everything be ready soon?” Bob asked me, drowning out the background noise of Bennet’s conversation
“If the simulation is correct everything is ready to go right now. I want to run a few more tests but there’s not much more I can do with it. All we can really hope is that everything goes as planned and I’m a better virologist than I thought I was,” I answered, straining to pick up the trails of what Bennet was saying. I must have gone pale or looked surprised when I heard Bennet say “Sylar” into the phone because Bennet narrowed his eyes at me and turned away, stepping further away.
“Is everything alright Mohinder?” Bob asked softly.
Before I could answer Bennet was walking back towards us and asking, “So you can be ready by tonight if need be?”
I nodded in confirmation, “If necessary. However, I would not mind a bit longer to prepare.”
“That is good,” Bennet said, leveling a stare at me as he rejoined us beside Bob, “Sylar will be here by tomorrow evening.”
“That soon,” Bob said sharply, turning to look at him.
“My sources confirmed it just now,” Bennet said with a grave nod in his direction.
“Well then we’d best leave Mohinder to himself so he can put the finishing touches on the virus,” Bob said, leading Bennet towards the door with a hand on his arm. “We’ll see you in a couple hours for one last check.
I worked on the virus until nearly eight o’clock when Bob and Bennet came back. I wasn’t lying to Bob when I said I didn’t have much else to do with it. There really was not anything more I could do. As a last minute precaution I added a sedative to the mix after checking to make sure that the introduction of the chemical properties of the sedative wouldn’t affect the virus’ effectiveness. Just in case the virus didn’t work. This way if it didn’t Sylar would still be rendered unconscious. I might still die but in the very least The Company could capture him and find a way to kill him for good.
I was capping the syringe with the virus when Bob and Bennet walked in. I turned to face them, setting the syringe on the counter.
“Is everything ready for tomorrow?” Bob asked me.
I nodded to the syringe, “Everything is ready.”
“Are you sure this is going to be enough?” Bennet asked, coming to stand beside me. He picked up the syringe and turned it over in the light, clear liquid inside reflecting the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting.
“Of course it will be enough,” I retorted, “That little syringe contains enough of the virus to take out ten Sylars.”
“I want you to take a gun,” Bob said suddenly.
I snapped my head over to look at him, “What?”
“I want you to take a Company gun. Even if the virus works immediately like it’s supposed to, Sylar could still do some damage before we get there. I’d feel more comfortable knowing that you had the gun just in case,” Bob calmly explained.
I nodded mutely, too astonished to do much more. He was looking off into the space behind my shoulder, expression wistful and anguished but determined at the same time. For the first time I felt a real kinship with Bob. Here, he wasn’t the head of The Company, he wasn’t running the coordination operatives around the world in the monitoring and occasional exploitation of extraordinary individuals. He wasn’t Midas; here he was just the father of Elle. In this moment he was just the father of a girl, the father of a daughter murdered by a psychopath, the father determined to destroy the man who stole his little girl’s life. Sylar killed my father, tried to kill my daughter, and almost killed Matthew. In the end Bob and I were the same. We both wanted Sylar dead for his sins he committed against us and to prevent him from committing those same sins against another family.
I looked him in the eyes and nodded more firmly this time, confirming my understanding of not only his request but also of his motivations, “I’ll take the gun.”
His eyes held mine for a minute and he nodded. The clink of Bennet setting the syringe back on the counter broke the spell of the moment and we both jumped to face him.
“So let’s go over the plan one more time,” Bob said brusquely, all business once again.
“Where’s Parkman, I thought he wanted to be here?” Bennet asked.
“Don’t worry about me Noah,” Matthew’s voice came from behind us. We all turned to look at him standing a couple feet from us. “I’m here right now.”
“Practicing for tomorrow Parkman?” Bennet asked with a feral grin at Matthew.
Matthew just smiled calmly, coming to stand next to me. “Let’s get this over with.”
We spent another two hours at the lab, going over the plan again and again to the point I’m positive I could do it in my sleep if necessary.   I put the syringe in my carrying case, slipping the case inside my bag before shutting everything down and getting ready to leave.
“Mohinder won’t be in tomorrow,” Matthew said suddenly. I looked up from the lock I was trying to secure. Bob and Bennet were looking questioningly at him as well. “It’s best if Mohinder stays close to the apartment that way there’s no chance of missing Sylar. If he comes around and Mohinder’s nowhere to be found he might decide it’s not worth it and take off.”
“Good point,” Bob agreed.
“Okay, so Mohinder stays in the apartment. The earliest Sylar could get here is early afternoon,” Bennet said.
“We’ll have our people set up by nine,” Bob said.
I walked home in a daze, Matthew’s hand in mine the only thing keeping me from getting lost. I was fine discussing the plan and working on the virus but now that it was actually happening I felt lost. I wasn’t sure if I could do this now. We finally made it to the apartment and I quickly locked the door.
“Are you okay?” Matthew asked.
I turned to face him with a smile, “I’m fine, I just can’t believe it’s actually happening. It all seems a little sudden.”
He smiled and grabbed my hand, pulling me into his arms. “You are going to be just fine Mohinder. I promise you that. Now why don’t you take a shower and I’ll make you some tea.”
I nodded, leaning my head against his shoulder and pressing a small his to his chin before stepping out of his arms to go down the hall to the bathroom. I stripped quickly, letting the water run so that when I stepped under the spray the water was scalding hot. I reached down to grab the shampoo and accidentally dropped it. It fell into the tub with a loud clatter, causing me to jump. I stared at the bottle, trying to will myself to pick it up. When I squatted and reached down to grab it, I saw that my hand was trembling. Not trembling, shaking. My hand was shaking and was too weak to pick the almost empty bottle up. I stood up, staring at my hand, willing it to stop moving.
Oh god, oh godohgodgodgod
Suddenly my whole body was wavering and I had to lean on the wall to keep from collapsing. The warmth of the water did nothing to stop the tremors that shook me, did nothing to relieve that cold that settled in my bones. What was I doing? What the hell was I doing? How could I have been so stupid to think I could take on Sylar and actually stand a chance? I was so absorbed in my thoughts I didn’t notice the momentary blast of cold as the shower curtain was drawn open, didn’t realize that I was no longer alone until I felt Matthew’s arms go around me and I was crushed against his chest.
“Shhhh, it’s alright Mohinder,” he hushed me, whispering softly into my ear. He gently rocked me side to side, leaving little kisses on my shoulders and in my hair. He comforted me, seemingly oblivious to the water that pounded on our shoulders and soaked the clothes he still wore. The cotton of his t-shirt clung to the skin of my back pressed against his chest while the rough slide of the saturated denim of jeans abraded the back of my thighs. I turned around in his embrace, standing on tip toes to wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer for a frantic kiss. I pressed closer reaching a hand between us to struggle with his fly, needing to feel his skin touching mine.
“Shh, shh,” Matthew murmured, cupping my chin with a hand to tilt my head back and slow the kiss. His other hand had settled on my hip and was pushing me back. I pressed closer, dropping earnest little kisses across his jaw and down his neck.
“Please Matthew…love me Matthew…please, please…I need you to love me…please,” I pleaded hoarsely between kisses.
He reached in behind me to turn off the shower, the sudden loss of the warm water causing me to start to shiver. I moved closer to Matthew, needing his warmth and strength, but he stepped away and out of the shower. I quickly followed him, allowing him to wrap the towel around my waist. I grabbed his hand and he led me down the hall into the bedroom, shutting the door behind us with a quiet click.
I pressed closer again, tried to draw him into a kiss but he just led me to the foot of the bed, turning me around to face the bed. His arms went around my chest and he held himself flush against me, the cold water from his clothes dripping down my back and legs while the warmth from his body seeped into my skin despite the wet clothes.
“I do love you Mohinder. I will always love you,” he whispered in my ear, kissing my shoulder briefly. Then he was gone and it took a physical effort for me to resist turning around when I heard the soft suction of wet cotton being pulled off a broad chest and the squish of wet denim being wiggled off of long, strong legs.
Then Matthew was back, leaning in close and tugging the towel free around my waist. I moaned lightly, biting my lip as the rough terrycloth brushed across my erection teasingly. I wanted desperately to turn around and see what Matthew was planning but resisted. Then his weight disappeared and the next thing I felt was the towel sliding up my right leg. He gently rubbed the towel up one leg and down the other, drying the lingering droplets from my skin. He continued up my body, just barely making contact with my straining erection before drying my chest from behind. His lips followed the trail of the towel, leaving their own trail of moisture up my spine and across my shoulders. He slowly dried my arms, taking time for each finger. 
It was agonizing and beautiful and frustrating and oh so sweet. It was everything I could ever need but nothing I wanted. I wanted his mouth where the towel dominated, wanted to feel the slide of the towel replaced by his skin. He suddenly whipped me around and rubbed the towel playfully in my hair. I laughed, batting at his hands. When he wrapped the towel around my neck, my laughter died in my throat when I saw the dark intensity in his eyes. It was more than desire, more than want, more than love. There was a sort of desperation in his eyes, a kind of raw need you only saw in the eyes of a man who was starving after you had just placed a feast within his reach.
I wanted to ask him what was wrong but as I opened my mouth to speak he used the towel to tug me forward, taking advantage of my open mouth to surge inside and wrap his tongue around mine. I was lost. Lost in the moment, in his arms, in the movement of his slightly chapped lips against mine and the press of his skin to mine; chest to chest, thigh to thigh, every point of contact shooting heat down to my toes and up to my head and for one crazy moment I wondered why I wasn’t on fire. In a single instance I was lost in his scent, that strong smell that overpowered my nostrils and sent signals to my brain screaming Matthew. I was lost in the heat of his gaze, in the quiet desperation that pleaded for me to answer it.
Somehow we made it to the bed, falling in a tangle of arms and legs. He fell on top of me, erection sliding against my own in the most wonderful sort of friction. I gasped, arching against him and digging my fingers into his arms, wrapping a leg around his hips.
“Matthew,” I moaned. I could barely recognize my own voice in that needy exhalation of air. But I could recognize the hand that traced up and down my side, could recognize the lips and teeth that nibbled and soothed along my collarbone, could recognize the legs, tangled and sliding around mine.
I grabbed at the headboard, trying to keep my hands from digging in his hair when his tongue flicked first one nipple, then the next, tonguing them languidly until I was bucking against him. He left a trail of kisses down my stomach, dipping briefly at my navel before nipping up my sides, sharp teeth grazing each rib in stinging nips that were closely followed by the comforting softness of his tongue.
“Matthew, Matthew…I…please,” I moaned, thrusting my hips at him, trying so very hard to guide him to where I needed him to be. His laughter rumbled across the inside of my thigh as he pressed a series of soft, tickling kisses to my knee. He sat back on his heels, pulling my leg up with him. I sucked in a hard breath, struggling not to choke on it when he kissed the heel of my foot and slid a hand up my leg at the same time.
He retraced his path with the other leg, starting with a kiss to the bottom of my foot before traveling up the calf, leaving soft kisses along the way, pausing to lick the back of my knee, before finally reaching my thigh. The soft air from his breath teased me, an exquisite torture that forced me to hold my own breath in anticipation.
And here was the fire I knew was there from the beginning. I could smell singed hair and burning skin as Matthew took me deep in his mouth. I was aflame, burning with want and need and Matthew was gasoline, turning the little flame of my match into a raging inferno with his touch. If the world ends in this kind of fiery apocalypse than I would await my death with eager anticipation, welcome it.
There was no one else in the world but Matthew and I. Nothing else but the feel of what his warm and wet and wonderful mouth was doing to me, the curling of his tongue around me, the vibrations that echoed up my spine and down my toes as he hummed around me.
“Oh god,” I panted, twisting in his grasp at the overwhelming feeling of having him make love to me.
He crawled back up my body, dropping kisses to my stomach and chest and neck, and captured my lips in a fierce kiss. I could taste the bitterness of his coffee blending with the taste of me on our tongues. His hand ran up and down my side slowly, as if memorizing every contour and groove for future reference.
“I do love you Mohinder,” he whispered, kissing my eyelids tenderly, “Say I can make love to you, please tell me I can love you.” He begged with his words, huskily spoken, and with his hand, reaching down to grasp me, with his body, erection digging into my stomach in needy abandon.
“Please Matthew, please,” I managed to choke out between gasping moans and gulping breaths.
It seemed to me that the sun had truly died when his weight lifted fro me, leaving me cold and bereft. When he returned the sun rose again, burning hot and bright in my sky and I was bathed in the exquisite heat of his body against mine. Warm and slick, he stretched me and kissed me while I gasped into his mouth, pleading for him. I wrapped my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his backside to urge him forward.
Matthew smiled against my cheek, kissing me, teasing me with shallow strokes before he finally slid home. I held my breath, pressing my face into his neck, reveling in the sensations of him pressed against me, stoking me, filling me. There was never a more perfect feeling than what I was feeling now, the feeing of being one and the same with Matthew. We were so close the only way I could tell my body from his was the soft luminescence of his pale skin in the moonlight.
He thrust carefully, slowly, ignoring my pleas for him to move faster.   Each thrust was measured and controlled and I knew the moment he gave that control up. His thrusts sped up, went deeper. He pulled back and fell forward and I rose to meet him, drawing him deeper with each movement. I dug my fingers into his shoulder, straining up to kiss him.
There was such pure honesty in the hand that ran up my side and down my stomach to stoke me, such adoring devotion in the force of his hips moving against mine, such unadulterated love in the mouth that kissed endearments into my ear and across my eyelids. I came with a murmur, muffling my shout into his mouth and taking his scream of release into mine.
I held him close, shuddering with love and release, feeling his heart beating against my skin and his breath brushing across my neck. When I finally let him go it was only long enough to clean up before tumbling back in bed with him curled around me. 
I was drifting off when I heard him whisper, “I love you Mohinder. I’m so sorry.”
I wanted to ask why he was sorry but the oblivion of sleep overcame me before I could


( 10 comments — Leave a comment )
Mar. 26th, 2008 07:32 am (UTC)
Oh the hurt! And the sex! And the intrigue! The last part was just too, too intense - what has Matt done?

I do't know how you do it, but you make me squee and go 'Owwww' at the same time! Can't wait for the next part!
Mar. 27th, 2008 01:39 pm (UTC)
Thank you!! What has Matt done? Honestly, I'm not quite sure myself.

Thanks for reading!
Mar. 26th, 2008 08:33 pm (UTC)
Oh...I really want to know what Matt did or is going to do that he's sorry for, but at the same time, I'm pretty much a useless puddle on the floor from how damn hot this was...twice!! God damn, woman, are you trying to KILL me?! Not a bad way to go, though... :D
Mar. 27th, 2008 01:40 pm (UTC)
Of course I'm not trying to kill you! If I kill you I can't enjoy your yummy stories! Although that really wouldn't be a bad way to go.

Thanks for reading!
Mar. 26th, 2008 08:41 pm (UTC)
Suspense!!!!!!! What did Matt dooooooooooooooooooooo?

It's interesting how you made Bob almost likeable in this story. He tends to really be Stan's mistress in my mind. Of course, with Angela being Satan I guess that means I'm somehow a Bob/Angela shipper >:P

(Also, in the last part? When Bob started crying, my first reaction was the somewat spazzing one of 'Bob had a crush on Mohinder?' It made Elle's death less traumatizing to me.)
Mar. 27th, 2008 01:42 pm (UTC)
Stan's mistress? :D I love typos. I'm not so much trying to make Bob likeable as I'm trying to make Bennet even more unlikeable.

Ummm...I'm not quite sure if that's meant as a good thing....

Thanks for reading!!
Mar. 27th, 2008 11:46 pm (UTC)
Well, after after being wrongfully imprisoned in Azkaban, I suppose Stan has to be getting some from somewhere...


Honestly, I'm not too sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing myself. I mean, you probably weren't going for giggling followed by awkward silence at that scene. It's more amusing that anything else, I guess?
Mar. 28th, 2008 03:20 am (UTC)
LOLZ. Don't do the head desk thing, it gives you black eyes. Trust me, I know.

You laughed at my dramatic moment!!! Waaaahh!!! *hides in corner and sobs*
Mar. 26th, 2008 09:14 pm (UTC)
Yay, I caught the reference to "The man who mistook his wife for a hat"!! That made me smile. Mohinder would so own that book.

I love how you explored one of the greatest benefits of having a telepathic boyfriend: Mind!sex. Yeah, that was hot, especially when mind!sex leads to mind-blowing sex. and I don't know how you did it, but you made terrycloth towels very exciting.

I don't know what Matt did. My guess is he had forgot take out the trash. He's Matt, he's pretty much perfect. Can't wait to find out what he's sorry for.
Mar. 27th, 2008 02:10 pm (UTC)
Great minds think alike! ;D

Terrycloth is exciting! Right up there with black silk.

Thanks for reading!
( 10 comments — Leave a comment )