Not One
So I finally got off my butt and got to work on a drabblish thing for Heroes 15. I wrote it in my 2-D Design class while the prof was droning on and on and on about nothing important. It's sort of Nathan's stream-of-consciousness I don't know what's going on here, but it's big, I guess. Be nice to me, please. ;) I've never written fanfic before.
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Title: Not One
Author: Umm...yeah, that would be me.
Prompt: # 14: Wonder
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating: R (for language)
Warnings: Brotherly boy-kissing. You have been warned. ^_^
Spoilers: None; pre-series.
Summary: Nathan Petrelli does not know how he ended up with Peter astride his hips.
Nathan Petrelli does not know how he ended up with Peter astride his hips.
He wants to believe it was his decision; he wants to lay the blame on Peter. He has no fucking clue what he wants, not one. This is an unusual predicament for Nathan to find himself in.
At the tender age of five during one of his parents’ who’s who social gatherings, he told the sharp-eyed Mr. Linderman, “I want to be President of the United States when I grow up.”
Mr. Linderman had smiled, shark-like and sure, and replied, “And you will be, Son. You will be.”
When Nathan decided he would graduate summa cum laude from Yale, he did so, and when he set his heart on piloting Naval choppers, he easily attained his goal. But this… There are no words to describe this. It is neither a goal to be achieved, nor the means to an end.
This is Peter, his watery-eyed, idealistic baby brother, who dreams of flying and fantastical things, and how can Nathan let Peter sink down to the raw grit of his level? Peter is sensitive and needy, and surely Nathan will crush him, if not with the strength of his passion, then with the coldness he uses to conceal his passion. The thought of breaking Peter’s heart disturbs him almost as much as the fact that they are brothers. Almost.
Peter is stock still on his lap save for the subtle movements of his head as he peppers Nathan’s face with kisses, paying particular attention to his scars. His hands grip Nathan’s shoulders tightly but do not stroke or fondle; even his hips are still despite his obvious erection. He is waiting, as always, for Nathan to take the lead.
And Nathan would - he would, if only he knew which direction to lead Peter. All he can do is idly stroke Peter’s sides and tremble, torn between morality and something nameless that builds in his chest, expanding with each second that passes.
When Peter’s crooked lips risk a fleeting pressure against his own, Nathan kisses him back, fast and frantic, thinking that if it is only one kiss Peter wants, then he can give him that much. That much, but no more. And Nathan is stunned when Peter does not follow his lead as he expected, as Peter’s place as the younger brother dictates; Peter’s lips are feather-light and sweet, and he finds himself gentling the kiss, matching the push and pull as if he had been born for this moment. That thought terrifies him more than anything ever has.
Peter draws back then, his near-black curtain of bangs obscuring one brown-green eye, and smiles a truly happy smile that warms Nathan’s heart.
Nathan does not believe in special abilities the way Peter does, but in that moment, he can almost, almost… But no. Peter cannot possibly sense his fear. Peter did not pull away because he knew that even the great Nathan Petrelli sometimes needed to take baby steps. There has to be a logical reason for why Peter’s grip has slackened, why he is nuzzling at Nathan’s cheek rather than trying to kiss him again.
Nathan Petrelli still does not know how he ended up with Peter astride his hips. He only knows that, ten minutes ago, he had longed for it, and that Peter, somehow, understood.
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Title: Not One
Author: Umm...yeah, that would be me.
Prompt: # 14: Wonder
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating: R (for language)
Warnings: Brotherly boy-kissing. You have been warned. ^_^
Spoilers: None; pre-series.
Summary: Nathan Petrelli does not know how he ended up with Peter astride his hips.
Nathan Petrelli does not know how he ended up with Peter astride his hips.
He wants to believe it was his decision; he wants to lay the blame on Peter. He has no fucking clue what he wants, not one. This is an unusual predicament for Nathan to find himself in.
At the tender age of five during one of his parents’ who’s who social gatherings, he told the sharp-eyed Mr. Linderman, “I want to be President of the United States when I grow up.”
Mr. Linderman had smiled, shark-like and sure, and replied, “And you will be, Son. You will be.”
When Nathan decided he would graduate summa cum laude from Yale, he did so, and when he set his heart on piloting Naval choppers, he easily attained his goal. But this… There are no words to describe this. It is neither a goal to be achieved, nor the means to an end.
This is Peter, his watery-eyed, idealistic baby brother, who dreams of flying and fantastical things, and how can Nathan let Peter sink down to the raw grit of his level? Peter is sensitive and needy, and surely Nathan will crush him, if not with the strength of his passion, then with the coldness he uses to conceal his passion. The thought of breaking Peter’s heart disturbs him almost as much as the fact that they are brothers. Almost.
Peter is stock still on his lap save for the subtle movements of his head as he peppers Nathan’s face with kisses, paying particular attention to his scars. His hands grip Nathan’s shoulders tightly but do not stroke or fondle; even his hips are still despite his obvious erection. He is waiting, as always, for Nathan to take the lead.
And Nathan would - he would, if only he knew which direction to lead Peter. All he can do is idly stroke Peter’s sides and tremble, torn between morality and something nameless that builds in his chest, expanding with each second that passes.
When Peter’s crooked lips risk a fleeting pressure against his own, Nathan kisses him back, fast and frantic, thinking that if it is only one kiss Peter wants, then he can give him that much. That much, but no more. And Nathan is stunned when Peter does not follow his lead as he expected, as Peter’s place as the younger brother dictates; Peter’s lips are feather-light and sweet, and he finds himself gentling the kiss, matching the push and pull as if he had been born for this moment. That thought terrifies him more than anything ever has.
Peter draws back then, his near-black curtain of bangs obscuring one brown-green eye, and smiles a truly happy smile that warms Nathan’s heart.
Nathan does not believe in special abilities the way Peter does, but in that moment, he can almost, almost… But no. Peter cannot possibly sense his fear. Peter did not pull away because he knew that even the great Nathan Petrelli sometimes needed to take baby steps. There has to be a logical reason for why Peter’s grip has slackened, why he is nuzzling at Nathan’s cheek rather than trying to kiss him again.
Nathan Petrelli still does not know how he ended up with Peter astride his hips. He only knows that, ten minutes ago, he had longed for it, and that Peter, somehow, understood.