Sylar looked deeply into Mohinder's eyes and leaned in close enough to lick his stubble. Mohinder had to remind himself to breathe as he thought of what was about to happen---it was so heinously wrong, and yet they had been hurtling inevitably towards this moment since the day they first met. Mohinder thought he would die from longing when Sylar paused just millimeters away from his lips, delaying going in for what was sure to be a bruising, burning kiss.
"How many times have you dreamed of this, Mohinder?" he asked. "How many times have you daydreamed about it?"
Two years worth of never-ending mind games, biting sarcasm, and excruciating unresolved sexual tension had left Mohinder sick and tired of it all. He wasn't going to put up with it for another moment.
"Sylar, you've got me telekinetically pinned up against the wall with your thigh between my legs and your hand fisting my shirt. And now, instead of fucking, you want to talk? Ask me about my feelings? Jesus fucking Christ, Sylar, I thought we were going to finally do this; I didn't expect---"
Halfway through this speech, Sylar's eyes began to glint with an unprecedented level of lust and desire. Mohinder could tell that it was working and that Sylar would shut him up with a kiss before he finished. So, while he was still speaking, he closed his eyes so he could better anticipate how deliciously satisfying it would be, and also so he wouldn't see the killer's face and be reminded of how wrong this all was. Therefore, he didn't see the door open and three men dressed in bright red robes come swooping in.
"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" cried the foremost of them.
"What the---?" Mohinder's eyes snapped open and both he and Sylar turned to look at the intruders. Sylar released Mohinder's shirt and stepped back. The telekinetic hold was loosened as well, and Mohinder crumpled to the floor. He was startled to see all the color draining from Sylar's face and his hands start to tremble.
"Our chief weapon is surprise," one of the men began. "Surprise and fear---"
"Actually that's two."
The lead cardinal, whose name was Ximinez, heard the remark and realized his mistake. "We will come in again."
"Sylar, do you know what's going on?" Mohinder asked as they all trudged out and politely closed the door behind them.
"It's the Spanish Inquisition, Mohinder! We are lost! Lost!" Sylar tried to tug at his hair and pull it out in a picture of crazed dismay, but after his recent capture by and escape from the Company, his hair wasn't long enough to get a grip on, so he had to settle for simply looking like a lobster doing the cha-cha.
"Why are we lost? Why don't you try to do some---" Mohinder began, but was interrupted by the door bursting open again and the three men running back into the room.
"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" Ximinez cried, confident this time that he had the syntax correct. "Amongst our weaponry are such diverse elements as surprise, fear, and a ruthless---"
"Is… is he wearing aviator goggles?" Mohinder whispered incredulously and pointed at one of the cardinals.
"Shh!" admonished Sylar, his entire body trembling.
"Cardinal Biggles, read the charges," commanded Ximinez.
Mohinder had been disappointed by the interruption, but now that the moment had obviously passed, his righteous anger returned. He had no idea who these men were (their confused explanations had not made things any clearer), but finally, here were people who were out to convict Sylar of his crimes, and of whom Sylar, for some reason, seemed mortally afraid. It made no sense; there was Sylar, wigging out right in front of him, and somehow, the sight was more frightening than the time Mohinder had watched him try to de-brain Peter Petrelli.
"You are hereby charged that you did on diverse dates commit heresy against the Holy Church," Biggles read solemnly to Sylar.
Mohinder couldn't believe his ears. "Heresy? Heresy?! Of all the things to charge him with! What about murder? Countless charges of murder! And theft! And… and… sodomy!" he finally sputtered, pointing dramatically.
"Thankfully I was saved from that last sin by the intervention of the good churchmen here," Sylar said repentantly, and crossed himself.
The cardinals gave Mohinder a confused glance and looked at one another as if to question how to respond to this new development.
"Sodomy?" they asked each other in unison.
Biggles checked his scroll. "It isn't on the list, my lord."
"Drat, we forgot to bring the scroll on sodomy. What shall we do?"
Their unanimous decision was to ignore it. Ximinez walked towards Sylar and pushed him down to his knees. To Mohinder's astonishment, Sylar allowed him to do it.
"How do you plead?" Ximinez demanded. Sylar burst into tears.
"Of course he's guilty, but not of that! Who cares about heresy when he's done all those other things?" Mohinder asked the cardinals, who now truly noticed him for the first time.
"A heathen!" cried Fang, and rubbed his hands together in excitement. Biggles's eyes boggled. Sylar was all but forgotten in the face of this new, more interesting victim.
"Poke him with the soft cushion!" Ximinez ordered.
Fang proceeded to poke Mohinder with a couch cushion produced from behind his back. It obviously didn't hurt, and Mohinder was too stunned by the insanity around him to react or bother to push Fang off. He was still concerned about Sylar, who was now on his knees, imploring Fang to spare Mohinder this awful torture, and mumbling promises to convert him at the earliest possible opportunity. The cardinals ignored the wide-eyed serial killer at their feet and focused on Mohinder.
"Confess! Confess! Confess!" yelled Ximinez.
"I confess!" cried Fang, broken down by the tension.
"Not you, him! Confess!" Ximinez continued to bellow at Mohinder.
Mohinder just looked at all of them like the madmen they were. "Confess what? What are you talking about?"
"It doesn't seem to be hurting him, lord," Biggles whispered conspiratorially at a loud volume.
"Have you got all the stuffing at one end?" Ximinez asked.
"You have got to be joking," Mohinder spat in disbelief.
"Yes, lord," Biggles replied in complete seriousness.
Ximinez stroked his beard in wonder. "Ah, he must be made of stronger stuff," he said, impressed. Mohinder groaned, not from pain, but from the ridiculousness of it all.
"You have no idea," Sylar muttered. "He's really defiant, quite a fire---" Even in the throes of a religiously-fuelled repentance, Sylar was still prey to his irresistible fascination with Mohinder, and couldn't let pass an opportunity to talk about him to anyone who would listen.
"Wait, my lord! What about the heretic?" Biggles asked suddenly.
"Ah, yes, thank you for reminding me," replied Ximinez. "Fang, fetch… the comfy chair!"
"Where are all these clashing minor chords coming from?" Mohinder asked, as he turned his head from side to side in search of the source of the unearthly music.
"Not the comfy chair," whimpered Biggles in terror, as Fang pushed a small armchair through the apartment door. They led a bawling Sylar to it and sat him down.
"Do you confess to your heresy?" demanded Ximinez.
Now that he was comfortably seated, Sylar finally had a chance to think about the charges. "Actually, I don't think I've ever committed heresy. When was I supposed to have done it?" he asked.
"About two seconds before we entered the room."
A lightbulb went off in Sylar's brain as he remembered his interrupted conversation with Mohinder.
"That wasn't me! That was Mohinder! There's your heretic right there! I am innocent!" Sylar pointed at Mohinder.
Mohinder rolled his eyes. "Yes, fine it was me. I guess I did take the Lord's name in vain, or whatever. What are you going to do about it? Force me to take a bubble bath?"
Everyone in the room went still as the cardinals looked at one another in shock and confusion.
"Oh my! We've never actually had someone confess under the pain of the torture before," Ximinez mused.
"Yes, that cushion is dynamite!" Biggles marveled.
Ximinez was checking his scrolls. "Since we've never had a documented case of confession before, the scrolls give no indication of what punishment he deserves."
"What should we do with him, lord?" asked Fang.
"What about… what about forgiveness?" Biggles offered.
Ximinez considered this and stroked his beard. "Biggles, thatt's genius. Surprising, fearsome, efficient… it's perfect!"
"Thank you!" cried Sylar, on Mohinder's behalf.
"And this one hasn't done anything, so we don't have to worry about him," Biggles reminded everyone.
By this time, Mohinder had decided that these people were too inept and insane after all to handle Sylar, so he let this pass. With a series of bows, mumbling, and then a coordinated rush out of the room, the cardinals were gone. Mohinder and Sylar were left alone, just as they had been before.
"So, here we are again," Mohinder said suggestively, assuming they would pick up where they had left off.
Sylar just looked at him. All the desire was gone from his eyes. "I've gotta go," he said.
"What? What about… you know?" Mohinder nudged Sylar playfully with his elbow and winked.
Sylar shook his head. "Say no more. That was a really close call… spiritually. I have to go to mass. I'm turning a new leaf. Sorry, Mohinder, but I can't get involved with you. See ya around." And he ran out of the room, leaving Mohinder terribly disappointed and sexually frustrated.