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Avoiding these thoughts is like battling a tidal wave.
Sylar does not enjoy the rush of sexuality that has hit him in the past month. It makes things messy, untidy, unruly. His life should be neatly ordered, and yet there is a brilliantly dim geneticist that forces his mind to wander from its task.
He should've killed him. He should've killed him and taken the list – if he had stuck to that plan, then he could've had so much more power by now.
Instead he keeps him around and watches that intriguing face, and those eyes when they light up in excitement, and the white-toothed smiles that Mohinder reserves for him alone. It's bizarre and it interests him. He wishes it didn't.
*
Avoiding this sin is like running through honey.
He can try and try but he never gets anywhere. He watches Zane when he should be working. He's self-conscious about his discoveries and about the awe-filled looks that Zane presents him with.
It makes an unseen shiver run down his spine when Zane steps too close, and he can't breathe. He can't breathe but it's beautiful; he wouldn't ever want Zane to step away.
They smile with their discoveries, with each person they find and warn. Mohinder feels like he's making a difference. He's saving lives – perhaps, in a way, he's avenging his father's murder by preventing his killer from striking again.
"Thank you," he tells Zane as they drive. "I couldn't have done this – any of this – without you."
*
Avoiding this need is like withholding the sun.
Need is an inefficient word to describe the hot-dry want that clogs up his throat, when all Sylar can think about is manipulating Mohinder's hands onto his body. With Eden's, pretty Eden's, power he could have done it. A few muttered words and he would have what he wanted.
He wonders if she saw this coming and that's why she turned the gun on herself – but he doubts it. Even he did not see this complication arising, and he had previously thought that he'd calculated every possible risk. It just irritates him that this has to be done the hard way.
Mohinder sips his scalding tea and blows over the steaming liquid to cool it. Sylar wants to slap him for being a tease, for drawing this out, for tempting him with what he shouldn't even want, but that isn't what Zane would do. Zane just watches with greedy eyes and wishes that he could touch.
*
Avoiding Zane's eyes is like resisting a magnet.
The tea has not helped to wet his throat and his thoughts still waver to places they shouldn't go. He should be focusing on his father's theories, on the list. He needs to. He can't afford to indulge himself like this.
His voice trembles and then Zane's hand is on top of his. Fingers caress and those dark eyes are staring right at him, right into him. There's a foreign hunger there that sends a hot rush of need and desire shooting through his body.
Mohinder swallows hard and places his tea down on the table. His mind scrambles for something intelligent to say, for anything – anything – that will stop what he's sure is about to happen. "Zane…" he says, but it's hardly a whisper.
Zane's finger closes over his lips. "Don't speak," he commands.
Mohinder finds that he no longer wants to. He gives in. He stops avoiding.