Fic: God On The Wind (1/1)
Title: God On The Wind
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Word Count: 552
Summary: No matter what, Peter will always, always be Nathan's brother. For missy_useless, who requested “Nathan/Peter” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. Spoilers through 3.01 -The Second Coming.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: For missy_useless: I've been itching to write these two forever, so thank you for the opportunity! Just a little missing scene from the Season Three premiere :)
God On The Wind
“Pete...” his voice slurs a little, the loss of blood still dizzy in his head if not in the rest of his body, the thick fog of death still heavy on his limbs, his lips.
“Just,” and those hands, they’re different - forever the same; “be still, Nathan.”
And there’s power there, a firmness that Nathan needs to heed - wants to heed; he doesn’t listen to his brother like he should, but then again, look where it had gotten him this time around?
“I thought it wouldn’t hurt,” Peter whispers, looming over Nathan on the bed, the monitors humming, the IV line keeping him grounded as Peter runs the tip of his nose against Nathan’s cheek, down across the dip of his lips; sends shivers down his spine and peaks through his EKG. “I thought...”
“Because for me, you've been as good as dead for so long,” Peter’s fingertips on his neck, the slight of his nails on the skin just below; and Nathan doesn’t understand, so often doesn’t understand what Peter tries to tell him, what Peter tries to do - but this, this is different. “I thought I’d feel nothing, to see it finished. Finished before it could ever begin.”
The way Peter looks at him, like a specter, like Lazarus brought back from the dead - it scares him; but the depth there, the overwhelming depth like the sky against the sea, it makes it softer, dulls the fear. “Pete?”
“Forgive me, Nathan,” he breathes, the sound labored with emotion as he squints his eyelids shut, as he screws his features into perverse, angry folds - a betrayal of how beautiful that face had always been. “For everything. For what I’ve done,” his voice cracks, and whatever veneer, whatever hint of something out of place was gilding his tone - it falls away now; melts, dies. “For what I will do.” And he trembles, shivers - because no matter where, no matter when, his brother will always be his brother; no matter how many times that heart takes a beating, it will always shine like fucking gold.
No matter.
He kisses Peter’s forehead, his temple, speaks words into his skin like it matters, like the closer he gets, the stronger they are; “I love you, Pete.”
There are no words he says - no words he’s ever said - that he means more than those.
“Jesus,” Peter hisses through clenched teeth, and this time it’s Nathan’s hands, Nathan’s breath that keeps him, saves him, coaxes him back from his own sins. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
And their eyes meet like magnetic poles, north to south; and where Nathan knew which one, which pole he’d been before he’d died on the table, in his brother’s loyal arms, he doesn’t know it anymore. But knowing, somehow, isn’t what matters; knowing is second to knowing, to feeling in his gut, in his chest, how the truth keeps them caged, sets him free.
The scar’s not his brother’s - not yet - but the tears are; those lips belong to him.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Word Count: 552
Summary: No matter what, Peter will always, always be Nathan's brother. For missy_useless, who requested “Nathan/Peter” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. Spoilers through 3.01 -The Second Coming.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: For missy_useless: I've been itching to write these two forever, so thank you for the opportunity! Just a little missing scene from the Season Three premiere :)
God On The Wind
“Pete...” his voice slurs a little, the loss of blood still dizzy in his head if not in the rest of his body, the thick fog of death still heavy on his limbs, his lips.
“Just,” and those hands, they’re different - forever the same; “be still, Nathan.”
And there’s power there, a firmness that Nathan needs to heed - wants to heed; he doesn’t listen to his brother like he should, but then again, look where it had gotten him this time around?
“I thought it wouldn’t hurt,” Peter whispers, looming over Nathan on the bed, the monitors humming, the IV line keeping him grounded as Peter runs the tip of his nose against Nathan’s cheek, down across the dip of his lips; sends shivers down his spine and peaks through his EKG. “I thought...”
“Because for me, you've been as good as dead for so long,” Peter’s fingertips on his neck, the slight of his nails on the skin just below; and Nathan doesn’t understand, so often doesn’t understand what Peter tries to tell him, what Peter tries to do - but this, this is different. “I thought I’d feel nothing, to see it finished. Finished before it could ever begin.”
The way Peter looks at him, like a specter, like Lazarus brought back from the dead - it scares him; but the depth there, the overwhelming depth like the sky against the sea, it makes it softer, dulls the fear. “Pete?”
“Forgive me, Nathan,” he breathes, the sound labored with emotion as he squints his eyelids shut, as he screws his features into perverse, angry folds - a betrayal of how beautiful that face had always been. “For everything. For what I’ve done,” his voice cracks, and whatever veneer, whatever hint of something out of place was gilding his tone - it falls away now; melts, dies. “For what I will do.” And he trembles, shivers - because no matter where, no matter when, his brother will always be his brother; no matter how many times that heart takes a beating, it will always shine like fucking gold.
No matter.
He kisses Peter’s forehead, his temple, speaks words into his skin like it matters, like the closer he gets, the stronger they are; “I love you, Pete.”
There are no words he says - no words he’s ever said - that he means more than those.
“Jesus,” Peter hisses through clenched teeth, and this time it’s Nathan’s hands, Nathan’s breath that keeps him, saves him, coaxes him back from his own sins. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
And their eyes meet like magnetic poles, north to south; and where Nathan knew which one, which pole he’d been before he’d died on the table, in his brother’s loyal arms, he doesn’t know it anymore. But knowing, somehow, isn’t what matters; knowing is second to knowing, to feeling in his gut, in his chest, how the truth keeps them caged, sets him free.
The scar’s not his brother’s - not yet - but the tears are; those lips belong to him.
“I’ve missed you, too.”