Fic: Tabula Rasa
Title: Tabula Rasa
Pairing: Nathan/Peter, Arthur/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warning: See pairings. Also, dub-con leaning toward non-con. Angst. Emotional abuse. Bad things happening.
Author's note: Thanks to redandglenda for the beta.
Summary: Sequel to Five Times Nathan Petrelli Didn’t Figure It Out (And One Time He Did). Nathan convinces Peter to confront his father.
“We don’t have to go,” Peter said. “I can tell Mom I’m sick.”
“No. No more running.” Nathan appeared next to Peter in the mirror, straightening his tie. “He doesn’t control you anymore.” Nathan’s voice was cold and flat, as impersonally beautiful as his Dolce and Gabbana suit.
“It’s okay,” Peter said. He took Nathan’s hand-even that was cold-and gave it a squeeze. “It’s just a wedding reception. It’s not about us.”
“Right.” Nathan turned away from the mirror and went to find his cufflinks.
Peter went back to struggling with his own tie with fingers that suddenly felt like lead. Nathan had been like that-distant, almost robotic-since Sunday. Since he’d finally figured out what was going on between Peter and their father. Peter had never wanted this. Yes, he was relieved that he didn’t have to hide anymore, and that Nathan hadn’t left him in disgust, but he was started to get concerned about the haunted look in Nathan’s eyes.
“Hey. You don’t have anything to prove,” Peter called into the other room.
Nathan returned, fastening his cuffs. “We’re going. It’s settled.”
“I know you want to help, but we don’t need to make this harder for ourselves. And we don’t want to make a scene in public.” Peter didn’t go any closer. He didn’t want to scare Nathan off, and this past week Nathan had gotten antsy any time Peter touched him. So for now, the rule was give him space.
“Then where, Peter?” Nathan met his eyes in the mirror. “Where does it end?”
“I don’t know. We’ll figure this out together.”
Nathan turned away. “I don’t know how you can even-.”
“What?” Peter broke his own rule and went to press a kiss to the back of Nathan’s shoulder. “None of this is your fault, Nathan.”
“I should have known. I should have done…something.”
“It’s not your fault.” Nathan didn’t respond. “It’s not.” Peter kissed the side of Nathan’s neck, and this time he got the barest of nods in return. “Come on. We’ll go get some drinks before we have to be there.” Peter headed for the door.
Nathan caught his wrist to stop him. “There’s something I need to know,” he said. He didn’t look at Peter, but he kept a firm hold on his arm. “How long?”
Peter didn’t want to answer that. He didn’t want to twist the knife. But Nathan clearly wasn’t moving until he got his answer. “High school.”
Nathan nodded again, a tiny movement. His forehead creased as another thought struck him. “Before we…?”
“No,” Peter said quickly. Nathan had been his first, and for that he’d always been grateful. “No. He knew, somehow.”
“He knew?” Nathan’s head snapped up at that. “He knows? That we-? That I-?”
“I don’t know how he found out, but he said if I didn’t…” Peter trailed off, unwilling to complete that thought.
“What?” Nathan’s grip tightened on his wrist.
“He said if I didn’t cooperate, he’d hurt you.”
“Peter…” Nathan swallowed hard. “You did this because of me?”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Stop saying that,” Nathan snapped. Seeing Peter flinch, he immediately softened. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” Peter hadn’t wanted to hurt Nathan any more. He’d already done enough damage. He turned to offer Nathan a hug, but Nathan shrugged him off.
“There’s something I have to do,” Nathan said, stepping away. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Nathan, don’t. You don’t have to-.”
“I do, Pete. Let me go.”
--
Peter felt a buoyant sense of half euphoria, half terror. This was just another family function, another place to wallow in guilt and shame and pretend to be part of a normal family. Aunt Cecelia’s huge old house in New Rochelle was packed full of familiar faces fixed in masks of happiness. He wondered if they even knew whose wedding they were celebrating. Peter couldn’t help but feel out of place, even more so than usual. Now that Nathan shared his secret, everything was different. Peter didn’t have to be afraid.
Peter hovered by the bar and kept an eye on the door while he emptied several martinis. He called Nathan once, but it went right to voicemail. He didn’t try again. He trusted Nathan not to ditch him, not tonight, when Nathan knew Peter needed him. Nathan had been upset earlier, but he’d also been pretty clear about what he wanted Peter to do: face his fear.
A hand touched his shoulder, and Peter barely avoided dumping his drink all over his suit. Angela smiled at him. “Stop lurking by the liquor, dear.” She led him out into the crowd. “You avoid your family too often. It’s time to socialize.”
“’M Waiting for Nathan,” he muttered.
“Mmm.” Her lips pressed into a disapproving line. “He and your father just arrived.”
Peter followed his mother’s sightline to the entryway of the ballroom. Nathan had his head thrown back in laughter, and Arthur’s hand rested firmly on Nathan’s shoulder.
“Give Nathan a minute before you pester him. He and your father were holed up in his study when I left. It sounded serious” Angela patted him to the shoulder and drifted off into the crowd, but Peter remained.
As if he could feel Peter’s eyes on him, Arthur turned and met Peter’s gaze. He broke into a satisfied smile and tightened his grip on Nathan’s shoulder. Nathan said something, Arthur chuckled, and then they both turned toward the bar.
Peter stood rooted to the spot, staring at the space where his father and brother had just been. He must have misunderstood, somehow. Or perhaps Nathan had some plan Peter wasn’t in on. He couldn’t possibly be back to the casual camaraderie he’d enjoyed with Arthur before he knew. He couldn’t.
Arthur got his drink from the bar first and downed the scotch in one gulp. Peter watched, transfixed, as Arthur gave Nathan one more friendly pat on the back before making a bee-line for Peter.
“Dad, what-?”
Without breaking stride, Arthur’s hand closed on Peter’s arm, just above the elbow. “Come here.” He steered him out of the ballroom and down a hallway until they came to a narrow staircase: the building’s old servants’ stairway. “Up.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Peter spat.
“Fine.” Arthur straightened his tie, the very picture of disinterest. “Then I’ll go back to the party. Nathan and I have more we need to discuss.”
“What did you do to him?”
“You want answers? Upstairs. Now.”
Peter glared at Arthur for another long moment, reminding himself that he didn’t have to be afraid anymore, that this was all over and that Arthur didn’t have the power to hurt him. Somehow, no matter how strongly he told himself that, the sick feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. He turned and went up the stairs.
Arthur was only a few steps behind him. When they reached the second floor, Arthur opened the nearest door and pushed Peter inside the large, stone-tiled bathroom. Arthur closed the door gently and turned the lock before turning, striding over to Peter and three long steps, and pressing him against the wall with an arm against his chest. Peter refused to be intimidated, despite the barely-leashed rage radiating from his father.
“You’ve disappointed me again, Peter.”
“What did you do to Nathan?” he demanded. Nathan had wanted him to face his fear, and he was determined to do so. He wouldn’t let Arthur manipulate him any more.
“Your mother’s little friend owed me a favor.”
“What do you mean? What did you do?”
“He doesn’t remember, Peter.” Arthur smiled at Peter’s confusion. “I made him forget your little indiscretion.”
“What?” Peter tried to push Arthur away, but Arthur was always stronger, always inexorable, and he flipped Peter around to shove him against the wall with his arm wrapped around Peter’s throat.
“He came to my office with a gun.” Arthur’s voice was dangerous, restrained menace that sent an involuntary shiver through Peter. “My son tried to kill me. My son.”
“I’m your son too.”
“No, Peter. You’re a parasite. A mistake.” Arthur’s arm tightened around Peter’s throat. “You put your brother’s life in jeopardy with your selfishness.”
“He wanted to help me,” Peter snarled. “To protect me from you.”
“Is that so? You’re the danger, Peter.” Arthur swung Peter around and shoved him to the floor. Peter’s head missed the tub by inches. He had just scrabbled back to his hands and knees when Arthur followed up with a kick that landed flat against Peter’s solar plexus. He collapsed in debilitating pain as bile and alcohol threatened to climb up his throat.
Arthur had never hurt him like this before. He preferred to inflict pain with his words, or with body parts other than his fists. But even now, he didn’t look pleased with himself. He stood tall, taking a moment to smooth out the immaculate lines of his suit before grabbing Peter by the hair and pulling him to his knees. “Nathan is the one that needs protecting,” he said calmly. “From seeing what you really are.”
Peter drew in a sharp breath that stung his whole body. “This isn’t what I am,” he wheezed.
Arthur tugged his handful of hair sharply, and Peter fell forward, his face pressed into Arthur’s crotch.
“Would you really want him to see you like this? He’ll know what you are. He’ll see the real you.”
Peter tried to pull away, but Arthur held him firmly in place, with his cheek pressed against the hard ridge straining against the front of Arthur’s dress pants. “He found out, and he didn’t care. He still loved me. Loves me.”
“Or he didn’t want to lose his favorite cock holster.” Arthur sank down on one knee to look Peter in the face. “That’s all you are to Nathan. A convenience. A way to blow off steam. He was smart enough to figure out that he can use you any way he wants.”
“Fuck you, Dad.” Peter tried half-heartedly to pull away again, but Arthur held on easily. “Nathan was willing to defend me. He wanted to kill you.”
“He was just being territorial,” Arthur said dismissively. “He thinks you belong to him. Like a kind of exotic pet. Do you want him to know the goods aren’t worth the price?”
“I’m not his property.”
“No, Peter.” Arthur leaning forward, and Peter found himself shrinking back against the tub. “You’re his slave. You may be a whore for me, but you’re a slave for your brother. Is that true, Peter?”
It was true. It was a million times true, but Arthur had no right to say it. Peter didn’t have words to protest, so he struggled to pull away. Arthur pulled him up and shoved him against the counter. Peter caught himself against the sink, and immediately Arthur was behind him, pressing Peter’s hands down on either side of the sink and grinding his clothed erection into Peter’s ass.
In the mirror above the sink, Arthur’s cold eyes met Peter’s defiant ones. “How did he take it, when he found out? I’m his idol, Peter. His father. His hero. You’re just his toy.” Arthur tugged roughly at Peter’s pants until they slid down his skinny hips, leaving his ass bare. “You think he was happier knowing what you really are? What you allow to be done to yourself?”
“He wanted to help me,” Peter insisted. He knew he couldn’t give up; no matter what Arthur did to him, it didn’t mean he was right about Nathan. Peter had to remember that Arthur had no power over him anymore.
“Selfish, Peter. You were always spoiled. You’re willing to ruin Nathan’s life so you can get a little sympathy. You must hate him.”
“No!” Peter tried to stand, but Arthur pressed one strong hand between Peter’s shoulder blades, easily pinning him.
“You’re so jealous of his success that you want to drag him down to your level.” With his free hand, Arthur opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink and rummaged around. “You’re trying to destroy him.”
“I love Nathan,” Peter said fiercely. He couldn’t listen to Arthur. He had to stay focused. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.”
“Is that so?” Arthur seized upon a small bottle of baby oil and, fastidious as always, closed the cabinet. “When he came to see me today, he was distraught. You’re certainly your mother’s son, Peter: manipulating those closest to you without a care for who gets hurt as long as you get what you want.”
“Nathan loves me,” he said, but a note of doubt crept into his voice. It was true that Nathan hadn’t been himself today, or any day since he’d found out. “He loves me.” Peter repeated it like a mantra and closed his eyes, trying to shut out Arthur’s voice and the sound of him rubbing oil on his fingers.
“And Nathan knows what love means. You only care about yourself.”
“I love him.”
“Wrong, Peter. You want to hurt him.” Arthur twisted two slick fingers into Peter’s ass, and Peter bit back a gasp of pain. No one had touched him in a week, not since the encounter Nathan had walked in on. Usually he ran to Nathan as soon as possible after on of his father’s visits, but this time had been different. Worse. Nathan couldn’t bear to touch him. Everything between them had been wrong.
Arthur screwed his fingers in deeper. “You must want to hurt him, or you wouldn’t have let him find out. Do you want him to see you like this? Do you want to call him up here and let him see this?”
Peter shook his head in automatic response to the horrible memory of the look on Nathan’s face when he’d seen Peter, lying on his bed covered in semen like a cheap whore. His father’s whore. He didn’t want Nathan to see anything like that again. He hadn’t wanted Nathan ever to see it.
“He would never have looked at you again. Has he touched you since this big revelation?”
Peter closed his eyes. There was nothing to hold onto, so he pressed his palms onto the counter and tried to relax. Arthur slipped his fingers out and rubbed the blunt head of his cock against Peter’s hole.
“Answer me, Peter. Has he touched you?”
The truth came out, unbidden. “No.”
“No.” Arthur pressed his hips forward slowly. Peter tried to relax and breathe through the first stab of pain as the large head of Arthur’s cock slipped inside. “Of course he hasn’t touched you.” He continued to feed his dick into Peter, unrelenting. “And he wouldn’t have ever again.”
Finally Arthur was all the way in: the hair on his belly pressed to Peter’s back, his balls nudging against Peter’s ass. Peter tried to concentrate on breathing and not on his body’s automatic response to the cock in his ass, one of his body’s favorite physical sensations.
“I gave that back to you. I gave Nathan back to you. I thought you’d be grateful.” Arthur drew out halfway, and began to fuck Peter in long, lazy thrusts.
“Grateful?” Peter struggled uselessly in Arthur’s grip. Without breaking his rhythm, Arthur planted a hand on Peter’s back to hold him down.
“You never wanted him to know what kind of a man you really were. How much you need this.” Arthur stilled, except for his hand, which began to drift lazily up and down Peter’s cock. Peter couldn’t hide the fact that he was getting harder. “You do want to drag Nathan down. You want him to feel humiliated and filthy, knowing that he touched something like you.” Arthur chuckled low in his throat as he thrust into Peter again. “I know you, Peter. You soil everything you touch.”
“Nathan loves me.” Peter clung to the idea like a lifeline.
“Do you want to remind him? Tear the scales from his eyes? Do you want him to see you like this?”
Peter looked at his reflection: face flushed, the long line of his back leading to where he joined with Arthur. His cock was hard in his father’s hand, chafing against the front of the sink. “No,” he whispered.
Arthur leaned over, close to Peter’s ear. “What was that? You want me to give the memories back?”
“No,” Peter said, stronger this time. He had been selfish, letting Nathan get caught in the crossfire of this thing between him and his father. He would face his fear, and take what he had to. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m grateful.”
“That’s it, Peter. That’s right. Show me how grateful you are.”
Peter stared at his father in the mirror, uncomprehending.
“Touch yourself.” Arthur gave Peter’s dick a shake before letting it go. “Do it.”
Peter let his hand close around his erection. His touch felt good, but distant, as if it were happening to someone else. Maybe someone who deserved to feel pleasure, someone who didn’t get achingly hard when his father fucked him over a sink. Someone who didn’t feel a dizzying sense of relief at his sins being re-hidden.
“That’s it.” Arthur began to move again, thrusting into Peter at a punishing speed. Peter just held onto his erection, letting it slide in and out of his hand with the movement of his body against Arthur’s. He spread his legs further to signal his surrender, and Arthur took full advantage, penetrating him deeper, plowing through Peter’s resistance and violating every part of him he could reach.
The hands gripping his hips squeezed hard, and Arthur shuddered to a stop as he came inside Peter. “Finish it,” he ordered. “Look at me.”
Peter jerked himself faster. He refused to look away from his father’s expressionless face in the mirror, but he didn’t come until Arthur reached his warm hand around to cover Peter’s. Then Peter closed his eyes, hiding from the humiliation of spurting over his own hand and his father’s.
Arthur pulled out abruptly, and Peter swayed, stumbling away from the sink. He lowered himself onto the edge of the tub and waited for the high, painful thrum rolling through him to subside.
Arthur stood calmly at the sink and washed his hands. “I trust we won’t need to have this conversation again,” he said evenly.
Peter tried to center himself and let his heart rate slow to normal levels. He felt strangely calm. “No,” he said.
Arthur shot him an expectant look.
“No sir.” Barely a twinge of resentment when he said it. He wondered if Arthur had finally beaten out of him the capacity for shame.
“Good.” Arthur straightened his tie in the mirror. “I’d hate to think you weren’t appreciative of my little mercies.” He tipped Peter’s chin up to see his eyes. “What do you say?”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Good boy.” He patted Peter’s cheek, and Peter felt a sharp stab of shame at the pride those words evoked. “Be back out in five minutes. You don’t want to miss the toasts.”
--
Peter washed his face first. He hadn’t been crying-he was too wrung out and hollow to cry-but every time he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he looked guilty. It was a look that wouldn’t wash off. He knew he smelled like sex, but there was nothing he could do about that. After smoothing out the wrinkles in his jacket as best he could, he slipped out of the bathroom to re-join the party.
Nathan was at the bar across the ballroom. Peter watched him for a moment, laughing as he slipped the cute blonde bartender a five dollar tip for his scotch. He looked whole, not at all like the grim, broken creature he’d been earlier tonight. As Nathan turned with drink in hand, he saw Peter. He flashed a mischievous, shark-toothed grin and waved Peter over.
“Heidi called,” he said. “She and the kids are staying over one more night in Massapequa. That means I have the house to myself tonight. Or…” He lowered his voice. “We have the house to ourselves tonight.
Peter managed a reasonable facsimile of a smile. “Great.”
Nathan threw an arm over Peter’s shoulder to pull him close. “Haven’t seen you in weeks. It’s about time.”
So those memories were gone, too: Nathan’s suspicion, their fight, the make-up sex. The flare of righteous anger when Nathan thought Peter had betrayed him, the look of loss and desolation when he finally figured it out: what their father was, what Peter was. Peter swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” Peter said. “I missed you too.”
“We can slip out once the dancing starts.” Nathan caught Peter’s elbow, led him to a stool at the end of the bar, and sat him down. Peter suppressed the wince.
Nathan must have noticed something though, because his eyes narrowed in concern. “Hey, Pete. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” So he was back to that again: hiding from Nathan. Protecting him from a truth that could only cause him pain. “Nothing,” Peter said again. “I’m just grateful.”
Pairing: Nathan/Peter, Arthur/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warning: See pairings. Also, dub-con leaning toward non-con. Angst. Emotional abuse. Bad things happening.
Author's note: Thanks to redandglenda for the beta.
Summary: Sequel to Five Times Nathan Petrelli Didn’t Figure It Out (And One Time He Did). Nathan convinces Peter to confront his father.
“We don’t have to go,” Peter said. “I can tell Mom I’m sick.”
“No. No more running.” Nathan appeared next to Peter in the mirror, straightening his tie. “He doesn’t control you anymore.” Nathan’s voice was cold and flat, as impersonally beautiful as his Dolce and Gabbana suit.
“It’s okay,” Peter said. He took Nathan’s hand-even that was cold-and gave it a squeeze. “It’s just a wedding reception. It’s not about us.”
“Right.” Nathan turned away from the mirror and went to find his cufflinks.
Peter went back to struggling with his own tie with fingers that suddenly felt like lead. Nathan had been like that-distant, almost robotic-since Sunday. Since he’d finally figured out what was going on between Peter and their father. Peter had never wanted this. Yes, he was relieved that he didn’t have to hide anymore, and that Nathan hadn’t left him in disgust, but he was started to get concerned about the haunted look in Nathan’s eyes.
“Hey. You don’t have anything to prove,” Peter called into the other room.
Nathan returned, fastening his cuffs. “We’re going. It’s settled.”
“I know you want to help, but we don’t need to make this harder for ourselves. And we don’t want to make a scene in public.” Peter didn’t go any closer. He didn’t want to scare Nathan off, and this past week Nathan had gotten antsy any time Peter touched him. So for now, the rule was give him space.
“Then where, Peter?” Nathan met his eyes in the mirror. “Where does it end?”
“I don’t know. We’ll figure this out together.”
Nathan turned away. “I don’t know how you can even-.”
“What?” Peter broke his own rule and went to press a kiss to the back of Nathan’s shoulder. “None of this is your fault, Nathan.”
“I should have known. I should have done…something.”
“It’s not your fault.” Nathan didn’t respond. “It’s not.” Peter kissed the side of Nathan’s neck, and this time he got the barest of nods in return. “Come on. We’ll go get some drinks before we have to be there.” Peter headed for the door.
Nathan caught his wrist to stop him. “There’s something I need to know,” he said. He didn’t look at Peter, but he kept a firm hold on his arm. “How long?”
Peter didn’t want to answer that. He didn’t want to twist the knife. But Nathan clearly wasn’t moving until he got his answer. “High school.”
Nathan nodded again, a tiny movement. His forehead creased as another thought struck him. “Before we…?”
“No,” Peter said quickly. Nathan had been his first, and for that he’d always been grateful. “No. He knew, somehow.”
“He knew?” Nathan’s head snapped up at that. “He knows? That we-? That I-?”
“I don’t know how he found out, but he said if I didn’t…” Peter trailed off, unwilling to complete that thought.
“What?” Nathan’s grip tightened on his wrist.
“He said if I didn’t cooperate, he’d hurt you.”
“Peter…” Nathan swallowed hard. “You did this because of me?”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Stop saying that,” Nathan snapped. Seeing Peter flinch, he immediately softened. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” Peter hadn’t wanted to hurt Nathan any more. He’d already done enough damage. He turned to offer Nathan a hug, but Nathan shrugged him off.
“There’s something I have to do,” Nathan said, stepping away. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Nathan, don’t. You don’t have to-.”
“I do, Pete. Let me go.”
--
Peter felt a buoyant sense of half euphoria, half terror. This was just another family function, another place to wallow in guilt and shame and pretend to be part of a normal family. Aunt Cecelia’s huge old house in New Rochelle was packed full of familiar faces fixed in masks of happiness. He wondered if they even knew whose wedding they were celebrating. Peter couldn’t help but feel out of place, even more so than usual. Now that Nathan shared his secret, everything was different. Peter didn’t have to be afraid.
Peter hovered by the bar and kept an eye on the door while he emptied several martinis. He called Nathan once, but it went right to voicemail. He didn’t try again. He trusted Nathan not to ditch him, not tonight, when Nathan knew Peter needed him. Nathan had been upset earlier, but he’d also been pretty clear about what he wanted Peter to do: face his fear.
A hand touched his shoulder, and Peter barely avoided dumping his drink all over his suit. Angela smiled at him. “Stop lurking by the liquor, dear.” She led him out into the crowd. “You avoid your family too often. It’s time to socialize.”
“’M Waiting for Nathan,” he muttered.
“Mmm.” Her lips pressed into a disapproving line. “He and your father just arrived.”
Peter followed his mother’s sightline to the entryway of the ballroom. Nathan had his head thrown back in laughter, and Arthur’s hand rested firmly on Nathan’s shoulder.
“Give Nathan a minute before you pester him. He and your father were holed up in his study when I left. It sounded serious” Angela patted him to the shoulder and drifted off into the crowd, but Peter remained.
As if he could feel Peter’s eyes on him, Arthur turned and met Peter’s gaze. He broke into a satisfied smile and tightened his grip on Nathan’s shoulder. Nathan said something, Arthur chuckled, and then they both turned toward the bar.
Peter stood rooted to the spot, staring at the space where his father and brother had just been. He must have misunderstood, somehow. Or perhaps Nathan had some plan Peter wasn’t in on. He couldn’t possibly be back to the casual camaraderie he’d enjoyed with Arthur before he knew. He couldn’t.
Arthur got his drink from the bar first and downed the scotch in one gulp. Peter watched, transfixed, as Arthur gave Nathan one more friendly pat on the back before making a bee-line for Peter.
“Dad, what-?”
Without breaking stride, Arthur’s hand closed on Peter’s arm, just above the elbow. “Come here.” He steered him out of the ballroom and down a hallway until they came to a narrow staircase: the building’s old servants’ stairway. “Up.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Peter spat.
“Fine.” Arthur straightened his tie, the very picture of disinterest. “Then I’ll go back to the party. Nathan and I have more we need to discuss.”
“What did you do to him?”
“You want answers? Upstairs. Now.”
Peter glared at Arthur for another long moment, reminding himself that he didn’t have to be afraid anymore, that this was all over and that Arthur didn’t have the power to hurt him. Somehow, no matter how strongly he told himself that, the sick feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. He turned and went up the stairs.
Arthur was only a few steps behind him. When they reached the second floor, Arthur opened the nearest door and pushed Peter inside the large, stone-tiled bathroom. Arthur closed the door gently and turned the lock before turning, striding over to Peter and three long steps, and pressing him against the wall with an arm against his chest. Peter refused to be intimidated, despite the barely-leashed rage radiating from his father.
“You’ve disappointed me again, Peter.”
“What did you do to Nathan?” he demanded. Nathan had wanted him to face his fear, and he was determined to do so. He wouldn’t let Arthur manipulate him any more.
“Your mother’s little friend owed me a favor.”
“What do you mean? What did you do?”
“He doesn’t remember, Peter.” Arthur smiled at Peter’s confusion. “I made him forget your little indiscretion.”
“What?” Peter tried to push Arthur away, but Arthur was always stronger, always inexorable, and he flipped Peter around to shove him against the wall with his arm wrapped around Peter’s throat.
“He came to my office with a gun.” Arthur’s voice was dangerous, restrained menace that sent an involuntary shiver through Peter. “My son tried to kill me. My son.”
“I’m your son too.”
“No, Peter. You’re a parasite. A mistake.” Arthur’s arm tightened around Peter’s throat. “You put your brother’s life in jeopardy with your selfishness.”
“He wanted to help me,” Peter snarled. “To protect me from you.”
“Is that so? You’re the danger, Peter.” Arthur swung Peter around and shoved him to the floor. Peter’s head missed the tub by inches. He had just scrabbled back to his hands and knees when Arthur followed up with a kick that landed flat against Peter’s solar plexus. He collapsed in debilitating pain as bile and alcohol threatened to climb up his throat.
Arthur had never hurt him like this before. He preferred to inflict pain with his words, or with body parts other than his fists. But even now, he didn’t look pleased with himself. He stood tall, taking a moment to smooth out the immaculate lines of his suit before grabbing Peter by the hair and pulling him to his knees. “Nathan is the one that needs protecting,” he said calmly. “From seeing what you really are.”
Peter drew in a sharp breath that stung his whole body. “This isn’t what I am,” he wheezed.
Arthur tugged his handful of hair sharply, and Peter fell forward, his face pressed into Arthur’s crotch.
“Would you really want him to see you like this? He’ll know what you are. He’ll see the real you.”
Peter tried to pull away, but Arthur held him firmly in place, with his cheek pressed against the hard ridge straining against the front of Arthur’s dress pants. “He found out, and he didn’t care. He still loved me. Loves me.”
“Or he didn’t want to lose his favorite cock holster.” Arthur sank down on one knee to look Peter in the face. “That’s all you are to Nathan. A convenience. A way to blow off steam. He was smart enough to figure out that he can use you any way he wants.”
“Fuck you, Dad.” Peter tried half-heartedly to pull away again, but Arthur held on easily. “Nathan was willing to defend me. He wanted to kill you.”
“He was just being territorial,” Arthur said dismissively. “He thinks you belong to him. Like a kind of exotic pet. Do you want him to know the goods aren’t worth the price?”
“I’m not his property.”
“No, Peter.” Arthur leaning forward, and Peter found himself shrinking back against the tub. “You’re his slave. You may be a whore for me, but you’re a slave for your brother. Is that true, Peter?”
It was true. It was a million times true, but Arthur had no right to say it. Peter didn’t have words to protest, so he struggled to pull away. Arthur pulled him up and shoved him against the counter. Peter caught himself against the sink, and immediately Arthur was behind him, pressing Peter’s hands down on either side of the sink and grinding his clothed erection into Peter’s ass.
In the mirror above the sink, Arthur’s cold eyes met Peter’s defiant ones. “How did he take it, when he found out? I’m his idol, Peter. His father. His hero. You’re just his toy.” Arthur tugged roughly at Peter’s pants until they slid down his skinny hips, leaving his ass bare. “You think he was happier knowing what you really are? What you allow to be done to yourself?”
“He wanted to help me,” Peter insisted. He knew he couldn’t give up; no matter what Arthur did to him, it didn’t mean he was right about Nathan. Peter had to remember that Arthur had no power over him anymore.
“Selfish, Peter. You were always spoiled. You’re willing to ruin Nathan’s life so you can get a little sympathy. You must hate him.”
“No!” Peter tried to stand, but Arthur pressed one strong hand between Peter’s shoulder blades, easily pinning him.
“You’re so jealous of his success that you want to drag him down to your level.” With his free hand, Arthur opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink and rummaged around. “You’re trying to destroy him.”
“I love Nathan,” Peter said fiercely. He couldn’t listen to Arthur. He had to stay focused. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.”
“Is that so?” Arthur seized upon a small bottle of baby oil and, fastidious as always, closed the cabinet. “When he came to see me today, he was distraught. You’re certainly your mother’s son, Peter: manipulating those closest to you without a care for who gets hurt as long as you get what you want.”
“Nathan loves me,” he said, but a note of doubt crept into his voice. It was true that Nathan hadn’t been himself today, or any day since he’d found out. “He loves me.” Peter repeated it like a mantra and closed his eyes, trying to shut out Arthur’s voice and the sound of him rubbing oil on his fingers.
“And Nathan knows what love means. You only care about yourself.”
“I love him.”
“Wrong, Peter. You want to hurt him.” Arthur twisted two slick fingers into Peter’s ass, and Peter bit back a gasp of pain. No one had touched him in a week, not since the encounter Nathan had walked in on. Usually he ran to Nathan as soon as possible after on of his father’s visits, but this time had been different. Worse. Nathan couldn’t bear to touch him. Everything between them had been wrong.
Arthur screwed his fingers in deeper. “You must want to hurt him, or you wouldn’t have let him find out. Do you want him to see you like this? Do you want to call him up here and let him see this?”
Peter shook his head in automatic response to the horrible memory of the look on Nathan’s face when he’d seen Peter, lying on his bed covered in semen like a cheap whore. His father’s whore. He didn’t want Nathan to see anything like that again. He hadn’t wanted Nathan ever to see it.
“He would never have looked at you again. Has he touched you since this big revelation?”
Peter closed his eyes. There was nothing to hold onto, so he pressed his palms onto the counter and tried to relax. Arthur slipped his fingers out and rubbed the blunt head of his cock against Peter’s hole.
“Answer me, Peter. Has he touched you?”
The truth came out, unbidden. “No.”
“No.” Arthur pressed his hips forward slowly. Peter tried to relax and breathe through the first stab of pain as the large head of Arthur’s cock slipped inside. “Of course he hasn’t touched you.” He continued to feed his dick into Peter, unrelenting. “And he wouldn’t have ever again.”
Finally Arthur was all the way in: the hair on his belly pressed to Peter’s back, his balls nudging against Peter’s ass. Peter tried to concentrate on breathing and not on his body’s automatic response to the cock in his ass, one of his body’s favorite physical sensations.
“I gave that back to you. I gave Nathan back to you. I thought you’d be grateful.” Arthur drew out halfway, and began to fuck Peter in long, lazy thrusts.
“Grateful?” Peter struggled uselessly in Arthur’s grip. Without breaking his rhythm, Arthur planted a hand on Peter’s back to hold him down.
“You never wanted him to know what kind of a man you really were. How much you need this.” Arthur stilled, except for his hand, which began to drift lazily up and down Peter’s cock. Peter couldn’t hide the fact that he was getting harder. “You do want to drag Nathan down. You want him to feel humiliated and filthy, knowing that he touched something like you.” Arthur chuckled low in his throat as he thrust into Peter again. “I know you, Peter. You soil everything you touch.”
“Nathan loves me.” Peter clung to the idea like a lifeline.
“Do you want to remind him? Tear the scales from his eyes? Do you want him to see you like this?”
Peter looked at his reflection: face flushed, the long line of his back leading to where he joined with Arthur. His cock was hard in his father’s hand, chafing against the front of the sink. “No,” he whispered.
Arthur leaned over, close to Peter’s ear. “What was that? You want me to give the memories back?”
“No,” Peter said, stronger this time. He had been selfish, letting Nathan get caught in the crossfire of this thing between him and his father. He would face his fear, and take what he had to. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m grateful.”
“That’s it, Peter. That’s right. Show me how grateful you are.”
Peter stared at his father in the mirror, uncomprehending.
“Touch yourself.” Arthur gave Peter’s dick a shake before letting it go. “Do it.”
Peter let his hand close around his erection. His touch felt good, but distant, as if it were happening to someone else. Maybe someone who deserved to feel pleasure, someone who didn’t get achingly hard when his father fucked him over a sink. Someone who didn’t feel a dizzying sense of relief at his sins being re-hidden.
“That’s it.” Arthur began to move again, thrusting into Peter at a punishing speed. Peter just held onto his erection, letting it slide in and out of his hand with the movement of his body against Arthur’s. He spread his legs further to signal his surrender, and Arthur took full advantage, penetrating him deeper, plowing through Peter’s resistance and violating every part of him he could reach.
The hands gripping his hips squeezed hard, and Arthur shuddered to a stop as he came inside Peter. “Finish it,” he ordered. “Look at me.”
Peter jerked himself faster. He refused to look away from his father’s expressionless face in the mirror, but he didn’t come until Arthur reached his warm hand around to cover Peter’s. Then Peter closed his eyes, hiding from the humiliation of spurting over his own hand and his father’s.
Arthur pulled out abruptly, and Peter swayed, stumbling away from the sink. He lowered himself onto the edge of the tub and waited for the high, painful thrum rolling through him to subside.
Arthur stood calmly at the sink and washed his hands. “I trust we won’t need to have this conversation again,” he said evenly.
Peter tried to center himself and let his heart rate slow to normal levels. He felt strangely calm. “No,” he said.
Arthur shot him an expectant look.
“No sir.” Barely a twinge of resentment when he said it. He wondered if Arthur had finally beaten out of him the capacity for shame.
“Good.” Arthur straightened his tie in the mirror. “I’d hate to think you weren’t appreciative of my little mercies.” He tipped Peter’s chin up to see his eyes. “What do you say?”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Good boy.” He patted Peter’s cheek, and Peter felt a sharp stab of shame at the pride those words evoked. “Be back out in five minutes. You don’t want to miss the toasts.”
--
Peter washed his face first. He hadn’t been crying-he was too wrung out and hollow to cry-but every time he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he looked guilty. It was a look that wouldn’t wash off. He knew he smelled like sex, but there was nothing he could do about that. After smoothing out the wrinkles in his jacket as best he could, he slipped out of the bathroom to re-join the party.
Nathan was at the bar across the ballroom. Peter watched him for a moment, laughing as he slipped the cute blonde bartender a five dollar tip for his scotch. He looked whole, not at all like the grim, broken creature he’d been earlier tonight. As Nathan turned with drink in hand, he saw Peter. He flashed a mischievous, shark-toothed grin and waved Peter over.
“Heidi called,” he said. “She and the kids are staying over one more night in Massapequa. That means I have the house to myself tonight. Or…” He lowered his voice. “We have the house to ourselves tonight.
Peter managed a reasonable facsimile of a smile. “Great.”
Nathan threw an arm over Peter’s shoulder to pull him close. “Haven’t seen you in weeks. It’s about time.”
So those memories were gone, too: Nathan’s suspicion, their fight, the make-up sex. The flare of righteous anger when Nathan thought Peter had betrayed him, the look of loss and desolation when he finally figured it out: what their father was, what Peter was. Peter swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” Peter said. “I missed you too.”
“We can slip out once the dancing starts.” Nathan caught Peter’s elbow, led him to a stool at the end of the bar, and sat him down. Peter suppressed the wince.
Nathan must have noticed something though, because his eyes narrowed in concern. “Hey, Pete. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” So he was back to that again: hiding from Nathan. Protecting him from a truth that could only cause him pain. “Nothing,” Peter said again. “I’m just grateful.”