"You're very kind, Zane. Thank you," Mohinder says like he means it, gazing into my eyes for just a little too long. He moves towards me, and isn't that just like Mohinder? Exploiting my one weakness: human connection. I won't lie, I enjoy being close to him and it's getting out of hand. It's more than the list now it's the way he smiles and--I shudder as he touches my arm in the most promising of ways. I cannot stop myself from cracking the Zane persona to leer at his backside as he prepares us tea in his ridiculously cluttered studio apartment. I only wish he had a different place, one without so many memories.

I look to the floor briefly, reconstructing my flawless Zane Taylor facade. The problem with this little routine is that Zane and Gabriel are a little too similar, and sometimes, when I am... otherwise indisposed Zane will say something very Gabriel-like and throw Mohinder way off.

"You have no idea how alone I used to feel; how insignificant. You've given me hope. " I have to force myself to breathe again when our eyes meet across the room. Maybe Zane said just the right thing after all, and before I can stop it there's my smirk splayed across Zane's face. But something about Mohinder's presence softens it, and I realize I am not in danger of being discovered... yet. At that particular stage of this journey new options will prevent themselves anyhow; it's best not to dwell.

"Hope is great," the doctor says jokingly. "We need caffeine." And there's that grin. What is it about that one expression that makes me forget my train of thought... my own name.

Mohinder pours us tea, giving me a rather appealing view of his ass. What is Zane saying? Does it even matter? No, I decide, it really doesn't. And then he's coming towards me with what looks to be a thimble of liquid, but that doesn't matter either because soon he will be invading my comfort zone and I will have to think again.

He raises his thimble to mine and we clink them cheerily together. The sound is enough to make me regret killing Zane Taylor. How useful is melting toasters anyhow?

"To new friends," I hear pass my lips as Mohinder and I take sips of the Himalayan tea (What? I kill people; I can't like tea?). He's looking at me with that warm look again. I hate this the most: pretending I understand the rules of interacting with other people. But if there is one thing I understand it's pretending and so I endure it for more glimpses of the unknown.

One of those unknowns is how the Indian scientist with his fleeting glances and touchable curls makes me feel. And it isn't just Gabriel. I must admit to have some feeling for him as well. Whether or not said feeling is much more than suppressed lust is inconclusive at this time. I am not used to having these crude fantasies about another person, or, at least, when these visions dance inside my head they include large amounts of blood. I don't even have any desire to harm Mohinder. None whatsoever. That, I am blaming on Gabriel, the soft coward that he is.

We've finished our tea and Zane is playing with Mohinder of the reptilian persuasian. Zane's mannerisms are difficult for me to entertain, but his open nature makes for instant trust. Something a serial killer has trouble eliciting from people, even if they are as oblivious as Mohinder, homo sapiens. I sigh. I seem to be doing a lot of that since travelling with this man.

I am looking over his shoulder again because I can. He refuses to sleep, and with his heartbeat all erratic and fluttery it will be impossible for me to get any sleep either. Who could have thought something as universal as a heartbeat could be so personal? Mohinder's makes me want to take his and Zane's little friendship to a new level.

Mohinder's eyes are closing and his head is lowering. Perfect. I grin. Zane pushes the power button on the scientist's laptop, snickering softly under our breath. That gets Mohinder's attention. My grin turns wry. His head snaps up from the keyboard, turning around to glare at Zane, who throws up his hands in surrender, goofy smile still pasted on.

"You can't work like this," I say softly, and not all the concern is fabricated. "You're sleep-deprived." Mohinder smiles, stretching his sinewy frame across the back of the chair. That one small movement causes my loins to stir.

I know this is too fast and all-wrong and will probably only fuck things up for me, but I don't care about any of it. Not right now. Not when those dark chocolate eyes are looking up into mine questioningly and all I can think about is how much I want to fuck that look off his face.

"Well," Mohinder starts, placing his hand on the table to lever himself out of his chair. "Let me just get you set you up first..." He stands, trying to pass me. I know I'm not going to move. I can't. I'm rooted to the spot and Zane's goofy grin widens. Mohinder looks confused, but not at all worried. I'm leaning towards him, and I pause, inches from his nose. He looks up at me and wrinkles his nose, grabbing my shoulders in an attempt to move me gently out of the way. It's just the invitation I need.

I push him down onto the table and I'm kissing him before he can move his hands. He's so tired, he doesn't even try to move, just stares up at me lazily. Despite his lethargic exterior I can feel the blood coursing through his veins, his heartbeat going wild. And I know he wants me.

His lips start to move against mine, but not to return the kiss. He's saying something. I pull my face away from his and quirk an eyebrow. It's too early for him to be spoiling my fun.

"Zane," he hums. "Could we... talk about..."

There isn't any urgency in his voice, not like the urgency surging through my body. And so I decide that my needs are more important than his. Our hips collide as I lower back onto him, and he lets out a small creak. Then my lips are on his again and he's not only returning my feverish kisses, he's dominating them. Our tongues slide together and it's like taking apart a thousand heroes all at once. Even though I'm barely asserting myself I feel more powerful in this one moment than I believe I ever have.

And set before me was the delicate task of pleasuring another human being. I don't do delicate, but Gabriel does. I wrestled for control with Gabriel as Mohinder invaded our mouth. What is it about the simple meeting of flesh that makes this experience so hot; that lays a fine layer of tantalizing physical need over me. This I am familiar with. Need is something I can do.

I'm unbuttoning that ridiculous plaid shirt, at the mercy of Mohinder's tongue. When I find those hardened mounds of flesh with my cold fingers we're both crying out, never breaking the kiss. I can hear every muscle, every tissue in the man beneath me shudder and thrum. His hands are rubbing up my back, and I do some trembling of my own. As I tease and drag my fingernails across Mohinder's taut chest he is positively screaming into my mouth, and I let the kiss brake so he can throw his head back in ecstasy.

"Vocal," I observe bemusedly. The doctor just screws his eyes shut and calls:

"Zaaaane" as I lower my mouth to one nipple. Zane who? Zane is most assuredly not here right now. I swirl my tongue around his flesh and he's gasping, such a beautiful sound.

I'm done playing.

I throw off my shirt and begin fumbling with Mohinder's pants. He smiles and helps me, still shuddering. My lips quirk to one side shortly as I turn him over as gently as possible. Gentle because I'm Zane, mind, not gentle because I care.

His heart rate speeds up a considerable amount and I can tell he's nervous. I place a reassuringly wet kiss at the base of his neck and he turns all to butter again. I use merely saliva to lubricate before I'm entering the trembling body below me more carefully than I can bear. I'm not sure Mohinder will be able to support himself so I grab his hips to stabilize him. He's keening in a way that's halfway between fear and anxiety and it goes right to my cock. I rock forward, moaning deeply, and clutching Mohinder to the point of bruising. The usually tender man doesn't seem to mind that I'm hurting and using him to my own content. That's good because at this point there's no stopping.

I create a tortuously slow pace, drawing sounds from Mohinder I hadn't thought possible. His voice is like pure sex in my ears, especially at its amplified tone. I make a series of my own interesting noises as the prudent scientist slams back into me forcefully.

Every time he croons my name (okay, a name, he's still addressing me!) I feel that much closer. He clenches tight around me, and it's over for me as I come inside him, fully sated. As I come down off my orgasm and slide out of him, I realize that Mohinder has not come yet despite the undertone of loss his cry suggests. I grin against his shoulder, taking his hardness in hand.

"Zane," he pants. "I love-unngh-you." It is barely a whisper but of course I hear it. It almost makes me freeze, but my hand slides down his length a few more times before his release is dripping down his thigh, and he's letting out contented spurts of air.

He turns around to face me, kissing me chastely and burying his head in the crook of my shoulder. It makes me ache and I don't know why. I hold him close because that is what Zane would do, but this is uncharted territory and even serial killers get scared.

What is love anyway? Before tonight I would have said that it doesn't exist, but looking into Mohinder's sated black eyes I knew it wasn't true.