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tiptoe39I might revise this yet....
Title: The Next Step
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tiptoe39
Rating: Hard R.
Summary: Mohinder's-eye-view of 3x02. You're not gonna like it.
He has never been anything before this moment. He will never be anything beyond it. This instant is so clear and present and true. This is his apex. His peak. The greatest moment of his existence.
He's still every bit himself, of course. He told her that, and it isn't a lie. He's himself, only better. Much better. Stronger, faster, smarter, more alive. He's the epitome of what he can become.
He still remembers all that came before. He remembers the men he'd loved and lost, the girl he'd sheltered. He remembers the hours of agonizing study and self-reflection. It's all still there, still part of him. It is all just so unnecessary now. Now that he's become what he was truly meant to be.
No-- he's become what all mankind was truly meant to be. He is the next evolutionary step. He is the father of the new generation of man.
She has given this to him. Through her extraordinary body, the power that pulses in every organ, she has given the world a new paradigm. He must give her something back. A gift.
He remembers the classical myth he learned as a young man. The concept of woman as the terrifying creature of love and death. They force your love, they kill you with their mystique, and they give birth to a new generation of hopeless, hapless humans who must go through the same cycle over and over again, loving and dying.
He used to think he was immune to such stereotyping. But here she was, love and death, Eros and Thanatos, personified. It would be folly not to admit the ancient truth from which flowed the legend.
It was an outgrowth of misogyny, he'd told himself. It was based on a time in which the human population had not yet overrun the earth. Objectify the woman, strip her of her power, make her a machine with which you reproduce, and your population, your genetic line, becomes dominant. But now in this world of six billion people such thinking was outmoded.
He'd held his own homosexuality dear to his heart. He had no need for the insanity that reproductive madness instilled in his fellow humans. His desire was quick, focused, self-indulgent, and did not produce another creature to taint the precious earth. Better yet, it was based upon the struggling of equals, physically and mentally, an analogue to the intellectual rigors he'd pursued his entire life. He still remembered those days, still recalled their appeal -- was that in itself not proof that he had not changed, that he was still the same man?
It was simply that the situation had changed. Now he had a reason to procreate. He would be the father of a new generation. And his gift to her would be the validation of her entire macabre existence.
He will give her his child, and she will be the mother of the new species of man.
It is so easy, now, like flexing a muscle, to emit the hormones and the pheromones necessary to lull her into the haze. He sees the desire overtake her resistance, watches her pulse speed up as it beats in her neck. He will take her, conquer her, destroy her and make her his. That is what a woman is for, has always been what a woman was for. As he was, he had no need for them. As he is, his imperative has changed. It is now an evolutionary imperative.
It is equally simple to touch her and devour her. Her skin sings to him of the places and ways it wants to be touched. Her hands convulse as they clench around his arms, as she pulls him down begging for more. She's half a breath from asphyxiation and locked up tight, hands to feet, keeping him within her. She screams, full-throated, sick with desire. She's an instrument he can play. Such simple calculus, almost unthinking, and he's brought her beyond reason. His reason is still intact. Enhanced, even. He is a creature of superior reason. That is why he must mate with her.
(Mate? What happened to making love? What is this--)
(My God. I've been unfaithful, I've broken every taboo--)
(What am I doing?)
But the white burn of pleasure washes every last doubt and remnant of the past from his mind.
Afterward, in the dark, he is half asleep as he feels his skin hardening. Later, it will unnerve him. But right now it feels like the natural outgrowth of what has come before. The next step.
He lets it happen.
END
Title: The Next Step
Author:
tiptoe39Rating: Hard R.
Summary: Mohinder's-eye-view of 3x02. You're not gonna like it.
He has never been anything before this moment. He will never be anything beyond it. This instant is so clear and present and true. This is his apex. His peak. The greatest moment of his existence.
He's still every bit himself, of course. He told her that, and it isn't a lie. He's himself, only better. Much better. Stronger, faster, smarter, more alive. He's the epitome of what he can become.
He still remembers all that came before. He remembers the men he'd loved and lost, the girl he'd sheltered. He remembers the hours of agonizing study and self-reflection. It's all still there, still part of him. It is all just so unnecessary now. Now that he's become what he was truly meant to be.
No-- he's become what all mankind was truly meant to be. He is the next evolutionary step. He is the father of the new generation of man.
She has given this to him. Through her extraordinary body, the power that pulses in every organ, she has given the world a new paradigm. He must give her something back. A gift.
He remembers the classical myth he learned as a young man. The concept of woman as the terrifying creature of love and death. They force your love, they kill you with their mystique, and they give birth to a new generation of hopeless, hapless humans who must go through the same cycle over and over again, loving and dying.
He used to think he was immune to such stereotyping. But here she was, love and death, Eros and Thanatos, personified. It would be folly not to admit the ancient truth from which flowed the legend.
It was an outgrowth of misogyny, he'd told himself. It was based on a time in which the human population had not yet overrun the earth. Objectify the woman, strip her of her power, make her a machine with which you reproduce, and your population, your genetic line, becomes dominant. But now in this world of six billion people such thinking was outmoded.
He'd held his own homosexuality dear to his heart. He had no need for the insanity that reproductive madness instilled in his fellow humans. His desire was quick, focused, self-indulgent, and did not produce another creature to taint the precious earth. Better yet, it was based upon the struggling of equals, physically and mentally, an analogue to the intellectual rigors he'd pursued his entire life. He still remembered those days, still recalled their appeal -- was that in itself not proof that he had not changed, that he was still the same man?
It was simply that the situation had changed. Now he had a reason to procreate. He would be the father of a new generation. And his gift to her would be the validation of her entire macabre existence.
He will give her his child, and she will be the mother of the new species of man.
It is so easy, now, like flexing a muscle, to emit the hormones and the pheromones necessary to lull her into the haze. He sees the desire overtake her resistance, watches her pulse speed up as it beats in her neck. He will take her, conquer her, destroy her and make her his. That is what a woman is for, has always been what a woman was for. As he was, he had no need for them. As he is, his imperative has changed. It is now an evolutionary imperative.
It is equally simple to touch her and devour her. Her skin sings to him of the places and ways it wants to be touched. Her hands convulse as they clench around his arms, as she pulls him down begging for more. She's half a breath from asphyxiation and locked up tight, hands to feet, keeping him within her. She screams, full-throated, sick with desire. She's an instrument he can play. Such simple calculus, almost unthinking, and he's brought her beyond reason. His reason is still intact. Enhanced, even. He is a creature of superior reason. That is why he must mate with her.
(Mate? What happened to making love? What is this--)
(My God. I've been unfaithful, I've broken every taboo--)
(What am I doing?)
But the white burn of pleasure washes every last doubt and remnant of the past from his mind.
Afterward, in the dark, he is half asleep as he feels his skin hardening. Later, it will unnerve him. But right now it feels like the natural outgrowth of what has come before. The next step.
He lets it happen.
END