Three's Company fic: Dinner (Claire/Mohinder/Nathan, Heroes oneshot)
Title: Dinner
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up to 1x20 - Five Years Gone
Pairings: Claire/Nathan, Claire/Mohinder, some suggested Nathan/Mohinder
Characters: Nathan, Claire, Mohinder
Genre: PWP, AU, it also ended up a little cracky
Warnings: PWP, 'canon' relations, menage a trois
Summary: Dinners don't always consist of food, per se. Set in the same AU as Decency.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and be glad I don't.
AN: I really enjoyed the world of Decency, so I thought I'd play with it some more. And advance warning...there are definitely some weird characterization quirks in here, but I blame it on the crack.
---
Dinner
"You could always come to dinner sometime."
"Why? Is Claire not a good enough toy anymore?"
"Peter, it's not--"
He sighed irritably as the line went dead, and snapped the cellphone shut. He'd never really expected his brother to understand why he did what he had done so long ago. Even now, in a world like this, he thought it would have been better to have been blamed. As if Nathan had done it for himself.
He shook his head. Why did it even matter that the blame was on a man that was dead, anyway?
Firmly pushing the conversation out of his mind, he swung the front door open, and shouldered out of his heavy coat. The smell of roast filled his senses, and a gust of heated air warmed his chill face.
"If you don't shut that door, the food is going to be covered in icicles by the time you get in here!"
Nathan rolled his eyes at the paternal tone of the voice, before closing the door behind him, and locking it. The weather was unseasonably cold for New York. Given that they were in D.C., that probably warrented some investigating.
Mohinder was the one in charge of that section, not him.
"Would you like me to buy you an apron, Mohinder?" He drawled sarcastically, making his way into the living room. The olive-skinned man shot him a disapproving look from the kitchen.
"You're welcome. I know I don't have to cook for the least grateful President ever, I just fear that he'll poison himself, if left to his own devices."
"I'm glad we've reached a compromise."
Mohinder rolled his eyes, and gave an amused shake of his head.
"Thomas Jefferson."
Nathan frowned inquisitively at the new arrival.
"Thomas Jefferson was the least grateful President ever. Haven't you ever seen a picture of him?"
"Thomas Jefferson was not ungrateful!" Mohinder sounded mildly offended. "He just...didn't like portraits."
"Possibly because his cook mocked him the entire time." Nathan quipped, sitting at the dining table a few feet away.
"I am not a cook."
"That's part of the problem."
Mohinder made a vaguely threatening gesture with his wooden spoon.
The blonde laughed, and sat down next to him at the table. "Someone's uptight today."
"I hope you're not talking about me." Nathan snorted.
"Well you're certainly being substantially less tactful today." Mohinder said, carrying in a platter with bowls of food, and placing it on the table.
"I'm fine."
Claire frowned softly. "Did you speak to Peter today?"
"He'll understand, Nathan." Mohinder said quietly. "Just give him some time."
"I think I know my own brother."
"Do you?"
"We're not having this conversation."
Mohinder sighed, and Claire frowned at the stew-like food, before shaking her head and forcing a smile. "I talked to mom today!"
He frowned slightly. Meredith? It had been a long time since he had heard about her.
"Sandra." Claire said quickly, reading his expression. "She's good."
"Nice to hear."
The silence was more than awkward. It always was when Peter was brought up. Peter. The one whom none of them could save. Claire, who couldn't shoot, Mohinder, who couldn't find a cure...and him.
He had never told any of them that Peter's explosion was the reason that he sat in the Oval Office every day. That he'd known it would be. It wouldn't have mattered if they did know, though. No one could have stopped the bomb, no one could have stopped Peter from going up. If people would just realize and accept that, they would finally be able to start fixing things.
"C'mon, try it! It doesn't taste that bad."
"Excuse me?" Mohinder piped up. "Is there something wrong with it?"
"Aside from those funky Indian spices?"
"You, Claire, have a narrow palette."
Nathan shook his head in amusement. "I'm not hungry right now. Think I'll turn in."
Mohinder gave him a disapproving frown, but said nothing when he stood. It wasn't as if the man really had a say in anything he did, anyway. Claire fidgeted in her seat, and stirred the stew with her spoon.
He was getting a headache, and the cheery chatting was doing nothing for it. Peter was good at giving him headaches. Always had been...he was just better at it now. Intentionally or unintentionally so...he was never really sure.
He sighed as he fell back into the bed, loosening his tie. He wasn't certain how long he studied the ceiling, before a shadow filled the doorway. Soft footsteps were muffled in the thick carpet when the figure moved toward him, but he said nothing when the bed shifted slightly, and a hand touched his shoulder.
"Nathan..."
"You're going to hurt his feelings if you don't at least eat it."
She gave a soft chuckle. "Already finished!"
"...What do you want, Claire?" He frowned over at her. "And don't give me the 'don't shut us out' speech."
"Mohinder delivers it better than me."
"Scientists have to be good at selling crap like gold."
"Kinda like politicians?"
"Politicians convince you the gold is copper." Mohinder was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.
"Do you people have any concept of privacy?"
"You wouldn't love us if we did." Claire grinned cheekily.
"You throw that word around easily."
She didn't answer him at first, she just leaned across the pillow, and pressed a kiss against his lips. She smiled brightly, as she placed a hand on his chest, and loomed over him.
"I'll ask Matt."
"You will not."
"Yes I wiillll...." She taunted, sticking out her tongue. "I'll ask him 'Do you looove Mo-hin-der?'"
"Please don't." Mohinder said from the doorway. "I'm feeling violated just thinking about it."
"There's also the whole political meltdown that would follow Matt finding out where you've been hiding out the past two years."
"We can tempt him into moving in as well, then."
"And now I'm feeling sick." Mohinder said, sounding vaguely horrified.
"That's probably your stew talking."
"My food may be many things, but I don't believe its gained sentience just yet."
"At least you've admitted it. That's the first step."
"See how long you can live on canned beans, then."
Claire rolled her eyes. "You two just never quit."
"Neither do you."
She grinned again, straddling a leg over his waist, and busying her hands with the many buttons on his shirt. "But I do it in a good way."
"That's...really, very relative."
"You've gotten your jerk quota in for today, you know."
"He gets double on Peter days."
"Not helping, Mohinder." Nathan rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, whose side are you on?"
"I wasn't aware there were sides."
"There's always sides." She said, pushing his faintly pink shirt open, and running hands playfully along his chest and torso. "But they can be fun to choose."
"So says the all-knowing Claire."
"Fear me." She said through a grin. "If not for me, all you two would be left with are overtly homosexual gestures."
"Is it too much to ask to be kept out of your sick fantasies, Claire?" Mohinder had moved to a desk chair at some point, and was now idly rocking back in it.
"I think its only fair you suffer a portion of it." Nathan said, smirking. "Undiluted, they could be dangerous."
She rolled her eyes, lifting herself up slightly so that she could wrestle his loose slacks lower down his legs. "I'm sure you'll live."
"That's yet to be discovered." He helped her shrug out of her mauve sweater after she shot him a glare, but pointedly interlaced his hands behind his head afterward. She was, after all, the one who chased after him.
She put her hands on her hips, and made a disgusted sigh. "You know, Mohinder would help."
"I would?"
"What? You don't like girls?" She turned her head to give the man an accusing look.
"I never said that!" Mohinder lifted his hands innocently.
"He can go right ahead."
"You know, you're not very good at this receiving threats thing." She deadpanned, looking back at him.
"I'm the President of the United States. I receive threats every day."
She sniffed. "Fine! Mohinder can do it, then!"
"Aren't I getting any say in this?"
"Are you implying you don't want to help me get out of this?" She arched an eyebrow. "Your already suffering straight-bar's life is hanging in the balance here. Just thought you should know."
"I have a straight...'bar'?"
"Apparently you do now."
He seemed more hurt that its life was endangered than anything else.
"Its the pink slippers." Nathan provided. "They're murder."
"They're my mothers!"
Claire crossed her arms. "You know...I have some friends that might be good for you..."
"I'm going, I'm going!"
Claire preened as Mohinder approached, glancing at Nathan a couple times to make sure he was actually okay with it. As it was...he didn't particularly care. The man was around all of the time, and seemed to have no problem with Claire's adventures...what were a few pieces of cloth?
Claire continued to look triumphant, as the man's slim hands came around her front, to unclasp her bra, and carefully slip it off. She shot Nathan a vague look, and turned to cling to Mohinder's neck, lifting up her legs from the bed slightly. The Indian man looked understandably flustered by the contact, but managed to free her of her last satin under thing.
"Just so you know, learning to undress oneself is a useful skill, Claire." Mohinder said tactfully, sitting back on his knees and attempting to detach her arms from his neck.
"But its really boring."
Mohinder did not get a chance to properly respond to her, however, before she pressed a rather hasty looking kiss onto him. The immediate surge of reaction from Nathan was anything but pleasant...but that, of course, was her intention.
Mohinder, however, didn't have much of an excuse for kissing Claire back. Claire who was indisputably his.
"Well, at least I'll save on Pay-Per-View." He snarked irritably.
Claire broke away to stick her tongue out at him. Mohinder looked somewhat sheepish.
"Good for you." She snuggled into the man. "Because Mohinder's getting all the action tonight!"
"I am?" The man looked genuinely perplexed a moment, before shaking his head quickly. "I don't remember agreeing to that--and don't insult my manliness again."
"I'm just making observations." She almost succeeded in looking demure.
Nathan rolled his eyes and sat up, grabbing her arm and pulling her to him. "I beg to differ."
"Begging already?"
"There is no already in the equation."
She hardly looked chastised for a girl not getting her way.
"Okay...I'm going back to my book now." Mohinder said, pointing and moving to leave.
Her free arm lanced out and grabbed one of his, flashing Mohinder a toothy grin. She jabbed Nathan in the chest with a finger. "You sit here."
"Excuse me?"
She did not bother replying, however, as she had already bounced off of his legs, and straddled the other man rather awkwardly, who nearly fell off of the bed.
He rolled his eyes inwardly. She seemed pretty damned set on trying to make him pay for not cooperating...in the most childish way possible. It seemed pretty close to succeeding, too, before Mohinder abruptly stood up, and pushed her back toward Nathan.
"Sitting down now." He said stiffly.
"Are you done molesting my Scientific Advisor, now?"
She huffed slightly. "He liked it."
"I'm still not getting any say in this, am I?"
"Be happy she isn't clinging to your legs. She does that sometimes."
"I do not!"
"Well, if its all the same to you, I think I'll go to sleep."
She frowned down at him. "You are traversing that gap from jerk to ass."
"Finally."
She rolled her eyes again, and tugged down his blue plaid under thing, and ground her palms into his chest. "Fine then, Mister smart ass, no roses and champagne for you."
"I'll have to have Mohinder smuggle me some whiskey."
"Thank you for contributing daily to my nightmares." He didn't bother to look over where Mohinder was sitting.
This was likely due to her sliding abruptly down onto him. He closed his eyes momentarily, bringing his hands down to grip her thighs. He didn't particularly feel like seeing the smug look that would currently be on her face. It would have messed up the whole mood...or...half of it. Well, only a little, but it still would have been annoying.
The point of the thought had passed, however, because now she was moving, and the soft noises escaping her didn't allow for smugness or smirking. In the half light of the bedroom, he found himself fascinated by the lines written in her face, her eyebrows crossed, and mouth parted slightly. He would take a snapshot and use them for campaign posters, except that it was entirely personal. Entirely his--her little gasps, and spasming fingers digging into his skin. An erotic, seductive dance composed for him, drawing him along to a symphony of overly dramatized lines.
Sweat beaded freely across her smoothly curved body, helping his hands to slide lightly across her skin, catching her average sized breasts, watching them bounce in his palms, and studying her reactions when he would squeeze slightly.
Overall, he couldn't say they were anything less than pleasant. He doubted he would have argued anything contributing to that wonderful suffocating feeling of moving and dancing and sliding could have been unpleasant.
Her lips came crashing down on his, tongue roaming feverishly through his, as she ground her hips against his, gasping for breath between sweeps. Coherency was slipping from him, as his fingers flicked across her in time to her movements, and the moments bled into a heady haze of longing gasps, and needy nips.
For a few seconds, the world slipped away from his mind, and he was flying through the abyss with his blonde menacing angel. The darkness and death and pain was forgotten, and with a cry of something like defeat, he crashed once more into the world he left, savoring the lingering convulsions of the woman clinging to him.
Her breath was ragged in his ears, as she rested her head on his shoulder, and he held her loosely with one arm, gaze caught once more by the patterned ceiling.
This escape from reality, the three of them, her...it could never last. He didn't need to be a precognitive to know that. Maybe it helped that he didn't know when. He wasn't sure.
Mohinder's voice broke through his thoughts. "Next time, I think we should set up mirrors."
"What's wrong? Did I block off too much of his manly allure?"
Mohinder sighed. "One again...the twisted fantasies..."
"You don't need to see an allure."
"Not helping, Nathan."
He smirked.
END
---
AN: Alright, so it turned out a bit more cracky than I planned. Actually, was intending it to be more OT3-y, but the timeline I've set out for this universe just doesn't work for them to be all the way yet.
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up to 1x20 - Five Years Gone
Pairings: Claire/Nathan, Claire/Mohinder, some suggested Nathan/Mohinder
Characters: Nathan, Claire, Mohinder
Genre: PWP, AU, it also ended up a little cracky
Warnings: PWP, 'canon' relations, menage a trois
Summary: Dinners don't always consist of food, per se. Set in the same AU as Decency.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and be glad I don't.
AN: I really enjoyed the world of Decency, so I thought I'd play with it some more. And advance warning...there are definitely some weird characterization quirks in here, but I blame it on the crack.
---
Dinner
"You could always come to dinner sometime."
"Why? Is Claire not a good enough toy anymore?"
"Peter, it's not--"
He sighed irritably as the line went dead, and snapped the cellphone shut. He'd never really expected his brother to understand why he did what he had done so long ago. Even now, in a world like this, he thought it would have been better to have been blamed. As if Nathan had done it for himself.
He shook his head. Why did it even matter that the blame was on a man that was dead, anyway?
Firmly pushing the conversation out of his mind, he swung the front door open, and shouldered out of his heavy coat. The smell of roast filled his senses, and a gust of heated air warmed his chill face.
"If you don't shut that door, the food is going to be covered in icicles by the time you get in here!"
Nathan rolled his eyes at the paternal tone of the voice, before closing the door behind him, and locking it. The weather was unseasonably cold for New York. Given that they were in D.C., that probably warrented some investigating.
Mohinder was the one in charge of that section, not him.
"Would you like me to buy you an apron, Mohinder?" He drawled sarcastically, making his way into the living room. The olive-skinned man shot him a disapproving look from the kitchen.
"You're welcome. I know I don't have to cook for the least grateful President ever, I just fear that he'll poison himself, if left to his own devices."
"I'm glad we've reached a compromise."
Mohinder rolled his eyes, and gave an amused shake of his head.
"Thomas Jefferson."
Nathan frowned inquisitively at the new arrival.
"Thomas Jefferson was the least grateful President ever. Haven't you ever seen a picture of him?"
"Thomas Jefferson was not ungrateful!" Mohinder sounded mildly offended. "He just...didn't like portraits."
"Possibly because his cook mocked him the entire time." Nathan quipped, sitting at the dining table a few feet away.
"I am not a cook."
"That's part of the problem."
Mohinder made a vaguely threatening gesture with his wooden spoon.
The blonde laughed, and sat down next to him at the table. "Someone's uptight today."
"I hope you're not talking about me." Nathan snorted.
"Well you're certainly being substantially less tactful today." Mohinder said, carrying in a platter with bowls of food, and placing it on the table.
"I'm fine."
Claire frowned softly. "Did you speak to Peter today?"
"He'll understand, Nathan." Mohinder said quietly. "Just give him some time."
"I think I know my own brother."
"Do you?"
"We're not having this conversation."
Mohinder sighed, and Claire frowned at the stew-like food, before shaking her head and forcing a smile. "I talked to mom today!"
He frowned slightly. Meredith? It had been a long time since he had heard about her.
"Sandra." Claire said quickly, reading his expression. "She's good."
"Nice to hear."
The silence was more than awkward. It always was when Peter was brought up. Peter. The one whom none of them could save. Claire, who couldn't shoot, Mohinder, who couldn't find a cure...and him.
He had never told any of them that Peter's explosion was the reason that he sat in the Oval Office every day. That he'd known it would be. It wouldn't have mattered if they did know, though. No one could have stopped the bomb, no one could have stopped Peter from going up. If people would just realize and accept that, they would finally be able to start fixing things.
"C'mon, try it! It doesn't taste that bad."
"Excuse me?" Mohinder piped up. "Is there something wrong with it?"
"Aside from those funky Indian spices?"
"You, Claire, have a narrow palette."
Nathan shook his head in amusement. "I'm not hungry right now. Think I'll turn in."
Mohinder gave him a disapproving frown, but said nothing when he stood. It wasn't as if the man really had a say in anything he did, anyway. Claire fidgeted in her seat, and stirred the stew with her spoon.
He was getting a headache, and the cheery chatting was doing nothing for it. Peter was good at giving him headaches. Always had been...he was just better at it now. Intentionally or unintentionally so...he was never really sure.
He sighed as he fell back into the bed, loosening his tie. He wasn't certain how long he studied the ceiling, before a shadow filled the doorway. Soft footsteps were muffled in the thick carpet when the figure moved toward him, but he said nothing when the bed shifted slightly, and a hand touched his shoulder.
"Nathan..."
"You're going to hurt his feelings if you don't at least eat it."
She gave a soft chuckle. "Already finished!"
"...What do you want, Claire?" He frowned over at her. "And don't give me the 'don't shut us out' speech."
"Mohinder delivers it better than me."
"Scientists have to be good at selling crap like gold."
"Kinda like politicians?"
"Politicians convince you the gold is copper." Mohinder was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.
"Do you people have any concept of privacy?"
"You wouldn't love us if we did." Claire grinned cheekily.
"You throw that word around easily."
She didn't answer him at first, she just leaned across the pillow, and pressed a kiss against his lips. She smiled brightly, as she placed a hand on his chest, and loomed over him.
"I'll ask Matt."
"You will not."
"Yes I wiillll...." She taunted, sticking out her tongue. "I'll ask him 'Do you looove Mo-hin-der?'"
"Please don't." Mohinder said from the doorway. "I'm feeling violated just thinking about it."
"There's also the whole political meltdown that would follow Matt finding out where you've been hiding out the past two years."
"We can tempt him into moving in as well, then."
"And now I'm feeling sick." Mohinder said, sounding vaguely horrified.
"That's probably your stew talking."
"My food may be many things, but I don't believe its gained sentience just yet."
"At least you've admitted it. That's the first step."
"See how long you can live on canned beans, then."
Claire rolled her eyes. "You two just never quit."
"Neither do you."
She grinned again, straddling a leg over his waist, and busying her hands with the many buttons on his shirt. "But I do it in a good way."
"That's...really, very relative."
"You've gotten your jerk quota in for today, you know."
"He gets double on Peter days."
"Not helping, Mohinder." Nathan rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, whose side are you on?"
"I wasn't aware there were sides."
"There's always sides." She said, pushing his faintly pink shirt open, and running hands playfully along his chest and torso. "But they can be fun to choose."
"So says the all-knowing Claire."
"Fear me." She said through a grin. "If not for me, all you two would be left with are overtly homosexual gestures."
"Is it too much to ask to be kept out of your sick fantasies, Claire?" Mohinder had moved to a desk chair at some point, and was now idly rocking back in it.
"I think its only fair you suffer a portion of it." Nathan said, smirking. "Undiluted, they could be dangerous."
She rolled her eyes, lifting herself up slightly so that she could wrestle his loose slacks lower down his legs. "I'm sure you'll live."
"That's yet to be discovered." He helped her shrug out of her mauve sweater after she shot him a glare, but pointedly interlaced his hands behind his head afterward. She was, after all, the one who chased after him.
She put her hands on her hips, and made a disgusted sigh. "You know, Mohinder would help."
"I would?"
"What? You don't like girls?" She turned her head to give the man an accusing look.
"I never said that!" Mohinder lifted his hands innocently.
"He can go right ahead."
"You know, you're not very good at this receiving threats thing." She deadpanned, looking back at him.
"I'm the President of the United States. I receive threats every day."
She sniffed. "Fine! Mohinder can do it, then!"
"Aren't I getting any say in this?"
"Are you implying you don't want to help me get out of this?" She arched an eyebrow. "Your already suffering straight-bar's life is hanging in the balance here. Just thought you should know."
"I have a straight...'bar'?"
"Apparently you do now."
He seemed more hurt that its life was endangered than anything else.
"Its the pink slippers." Nathan provided. "They're murder."
"They're my mothers!"
Claire crossed her arms. "You know...I have some friends that might be good for you..."
"I'm going, I'm going!"
Claire preened as Mohinder approached, glancing at Nathan a couple times to make sure he was actually okay with it. As it was...he didn't particularly care. The man was around all of the time, and seemed to have no problem with Claire's adventures...what were a few pieces of cloth?
Claire continued to look triumphant, as the man's slim hands came around her front, to unclasp her bra, and carefully slip it off. She shot Nathan a vague look, and turned to cling to Mohinder's neck, lifting up her legs from the bed slightly. The Indian man looked understandably flustered by the contact, but managed to free her of her last satin under thing.
"Just so you know, learning to undress oneself is a useful skill, Claire." Mohinder said tactfully, sitting back on his knees and attempting to detach her arms from his neck.
"But its really boring."
Mohinder did not get a chance to properly respond to her, however, before she pressed a rather hasty looking kiss onto him. The immediate surge of reaction from Nathan was anything but pleasant...but that, of course, was her intention.
Mohinder, however, didn't have much of an excuse for kissing Claire back. Claire who was indisputably his.
"Well, at least I'll save on Pay-Per-View." He snarked irritably.
Claire broke away to stick her tongue out at him. Mohinder looked somewhat sheepish.
"Good for you." She snuggled into the man. "Because Mohinder's getting all the action tonight!"
"I am?" The man looked genuinely perplexed a moment, before shaking his head quickly. "I don't remember agreeing to that--and don't insult my manliness again."
"I'm just making observations." She almost succeeded in looking demure.
Nathan rolled his eyes and sat up, grabbing her arm and pulling her to him. "I beg to differ."
"Begging already?"
"There is no already in the equation."
She hardly looked chastised for a girl not getting her way.
"Okay...I'm going back to my book now." Mohinder said, pointing and moving to leave.
Her free arm lanced out and grabbed one of his, flashing Mohinder a toothy grin. She jabbed Nathan in the chest with a finger. "You sit here."
"Excuse me?"
She did not bother replying, however, as she had already bounced off of his legs, and straddled the other man rather awkwardly, who nearly fell off of the bed.
He rolled his eyes inwardly. She seemed pretty damned set on trying to make him pay for not cooperating...in the most childish way possible. It seemed pretty close to succeeding, too, before Mohinder abruptly stood up, and pushed her back toward Nathan.
"Sitting down now." He said stiffly.
"Are you done molesting my Scientific Advisor, now?"
She huffed slightly. "He liked it."
"I'm still not getting any say in this, am I?"
"Be happy she isn't clinging to your legs. She does that sometimes."
"I do not!"
"Well, if its all the same to you, I think I'll go to sleep."
She frowned down at him. "You are traversing that gap from jerk to ass."
"Finally."
She rolled her eyes again, and tugged down his blue plaid under thing, and ground her palms into his chest. "Fine then, Mister smart ass, no roses and champagne for you."
"I'll have to have Mohinder smuggle me some whiskey."
"Thank you for contributing daily to my nightmares." He didn't bother to look over where Mohinder was sitting.
This was likely due to her sliding abruptly down onto him. He closed his eyes momentarily, bringing his hands down to grip her thighs. He didn't particularly feel like seeing the smug look that would currently be on her face. It would have messed up the whole mood...or...half of it. Well, only a little, but it still would have been annoying.
The point of the thought had passed, however, because now she was moving, and the soft noises escaping her didn't allow for smugness or smirking. In the half light of the bedroom, he found himself fascinated by the lines written in her face, her eyebrows crossed, and mouth parted slightly. He would take a snapshot and use them for campaign posters, except that it was entirely personal. Entirely his--her little gasps, and spasming fingers digging into his skin. An erotic, seductive dance composed for him, drawing him along to a symphony of overly dramatized lines.
Sweat beaded freely across her smoothly curved body, helping his hands to slide lightly across her skin, catching her average sized breasts, watching them bounce in his palms, and studying her reactions when he would squeeze slightly.
Overall, he couldn't say they were anything less than pleasant. He doubted he would have argued anything contributing to that wonderful suffocating feeling of moving and dancing and sliding could have been unpleasant.
Her lips came crashing down on his, tongue roaming feverishly through his, as she ground her hips against his, gasping for breath between sweeps. Coherency was slipping from him, as his fingers flicked across her in time to her movements, and the moments bled into a heady haze of longing gasps, and needy nips.
For a few seconds, the world slipped away from his mind, and he was flying through the abyss with his blonde menacing angel. The darkness and death and pain was forgotten, and with a cry of something like defeat, he crashed once more into the world he left, savoring the lingering convulsions of the woman clinging to him.
Her breath was ragged in his ears, as she rested her head on his shoulder, and he held her loosely with one arm, gaze caught once more by the patterned ceiling.
This escape from reality, the three of them, her...it could never last. He didn't need to be a precognitive to know that. Maybe it helped that he didn't know when. He wasn't sure.
Mohinder's voice broke through his thoughts. "Next time, I think we should set up mirrors."
"What's wrong? Did I block off too much of his manly allure?"
Mohinder sighed. "One again...the twisted fantasies..."
"You don't need to see an allure."
"Not helping, Nathan."
He smirked.
END
---
AN: Alright, so it turned out a bit more cracky than I planned. Actually, was intending it to be more OT3-y, but the timeline I've set out for this universe just doesn't work for them to be all the way yet.