With or Without You (Fic, Nathan/Peter, NC-17)
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Title: With or Without You
Pairing, Characters: Peter, past Nathan/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Implied Incest, Past Character Death, Masturbation, Slight Misuse of Ability, Angst.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes; if I did, this wouldn’t even be written.
Spoilers: Everything up until Season 4, Episode 14, (not sure) “Upon This Rock”
Summary: After Nathan’s death, Peter struggles to find himself again.
A/N: Written very quickly for the Nathan Petrelli Memorial Kink Meme. Inspired by the song “With or Without You” by U2.
Peter doesn’t know who he is anymore, without Nathan.
He still doesn’t believe it, even though he sees it everywhere he goes. The newspapers, the television broadcasts. Nathan Petrelli is dead.
The headlines are a lie that he had no choice but to create. Because of the lies of his mother. But is it a lie, really? He had watched Nathan fall to earth, no longer able to fly.
It’s been a week. But it’s really been months. Nathan died in April. If he’d have known then, he wonders, would it still hurt this much half a year later?
Stupid rhetorical question. Of course it would. Nathan was half of what made Peter whole. It would hurt forever, a hole inside him he’ll never be able to fill.
Peter does whatever he can to keep his mind off the fact he’ll never see Nathan again in this life…never hear him speak, never feel his touch, never again.
Peter almost gets himself killed trying to stop a deranged shooter. And if not for Claire, he might have surely wanted to join his brother in Purgatory, forever damned for their sins in this life.
But Peter lives.
He works a twenty-four hour shift and saves the lives of seven people. They thank him, but none of them really matter. He is jealous that because of him, they live. At the end of the day, Nathan is still dead.
He is exhausted when he crashes into his bed, pushes his face into his pillow and lets the tears come. It’s a ritual.
His body racks with sobs. Deep inside, he knows he can’t go on like this. But it’s easier than accepting the truth. Once you move on, you forget. He never wants to forget Nathan. He wants to die hating him and loving him and needing him and remembering him just as he does right here, right now.
He promised Nathan he’d be ready. That he’d carry on for the both of them. He’s not so sure he can do it anymore.
He presses his lips to Nathan’s Navy ring, worn on a golden chain around his neck. He doesn’t even remember why he wanted it; he’d just slipped it off Nathan’s finger in the storage facility, before he was even sure that body was really his brother’s.
But it was.
Peter lies on his back and turns his head to the mirror on the far wall. He barely recognizes himself. He’s too thin, too pale. Dark shadows under his tired eyes. His hair too long, even by his own standards.
Peter closes his eyes tightly and slides his pants off his narrow hips, the fabric rubbing pleasantly along the sensitive flesh of his dick, already hard. This is part of the ritual as well.
He imagines how it would be if Nathan were here beside him. He remembers Nathan’s touch with such great clarity he can almost feel it.
Soft. Eager. Possessive.
A brush of fingers through his hair, a pull at his nipple. Fingertips pressing into his hip, his belly, searching, finding their destination. A strong, firm hand wrapping around his cock.
Peter can’t help the gasp that leaves his lips: he does feel it. He knows it’s only his own hand on himself, but, God, it’s almost like Nathan is here right now. He’s almost embarrassed at his own vivid imagination. It’s never felt like this before.
His hand moves faster, and he spins into the ascent toward ecstasy.
“Mine,” Peter chokes suddenly, startling himself. The sound of his own voice isn’t even right. Something is different this time.
Nathan’s voice? I’m imagining things…
Peter is momentarily sure that his grief and insistent denial have finally driven him mad. But it hasn’t. It’s something else.
Peter laughs, and the sound is forgotten music that fills the hole in his heart. The smile that spreads across his face feels wrong; his teeth are too straight, and his lower lip works perfectly.
Nathan’s mouth.
There is a slight ache in his left leg, and when he presses his other hand against his thigh, he feels the rough scar tissue there.
Nathan’s injury.
Peter continues his self-exploration: the shaft under his frantic fingers is too thick, and not long enough to be his own. He runs his left hand up to his chest. He’s never had that much hair there.
Nathan’s body.
He feels like he might cry again, now that he’s sure he knows what has happened. But he keeps his eyes shut against the tears until they pass, because Nathan hardly ever cried.
He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, still jerking himself erratically, not quite able to find the right rhythm, though he’s been doing this to himself for years, just like any man.
He almost doesn’t want to look now. Would seeing his brother’s face, his brother’s body, manifested from his own ability, hurt him inside even more, or would it help?
Only one way to know.
Peter brings himself to release, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, because the deep ripples of pleasure that burst through him, though felt in every nerve, in his heart, in his soul, they are not his own.
Peter catches his breath and gets to his feet, eyes still squeezed shut, and he crosses the room, presses his face against the mirror.
He opens his eyes finally, and they stare back at him, the eyes he’s always known, the same color as his own, of course. Deep brown with a slight bit of green. Peter’s heart sinks, and the tears come down hot against his cheeks. Just my imagination.
He steps back, wiping his face, intending to collapse into his bed once more, finish the ritual. Sleep. Wake up. Do it all over again.
As he turns, he catches the reflection of himself in the corner of his eyes. His heart aches and rejoices at the sight of Nathan looking back at him.
“I love you,” Peter says, very softly, in Nathan’s voice, grazing his fingertips along the reflection of himself in the mirror. “I miss you.” He knows they’re his words, though they’re in Nathan’s voice. But wherever his brother is, Peter is sure Nathan would say the same words if he could.
Peter then fingers the Navy ring that rests against his chest, and sees it: the dark rust-colored spot that made this happen.
Nathan’s blood.
Peter licks the tip of his finger without hesitation and shines it away. Goodbye, Nathan. I’ll see you again.
With a deep breath that tears him to his very soul, he calls himself back, lets Nathan go. Peter is himself again, and it still hurts. Nathan is still dead. But Peter knows who he is now, with or without Nathan.
Peter studies his reflection: his tear-stained cheeks, his crooked smile, his hair falling across his face. He sees himself in a whole new light. He doesn’t have to see Nathan to know what’s right in front of him.
Nathan’s love.
Something that will never die.