Lucky Number Seven
Title: Lucky Number Seven
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, consensual incest
Word Count: 1,516
Spoilers: Through 3x23 “1961”
Disclaimer Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC et al.
Author’s Notes: Written for Kiss and Make Up challenge on flyingpetrellis, for the prompt “Kiss and Make Up.”
Summary: Peter demands forgiveness, and Nathan has to believe this seventh time will work…
“So, what do we do now?”
Peter’s voice was quiet in the darkness of the hotel room, nevertheless cutting through the shower-damp air like a knife. The question was only a courtesy to Nathan, of course. Peter might have given him some small crumb of forgiveness today, after they’d met in the diner, after they’d realized Sylar had taken Nathan’s form, but there was a long way to go for both of them.
“Try to figure out what Sylar is doing, Bennet already had some ideas-,” Nathan started, turning over to face Peter’s bed in the dark.
“No, not about him. About us.”
Nathan shut his eyes in the darkness. He was torn between wanting to believe and wanting to just will himself to sleep. He wanted Peter’s forgiveness, but could feel every ego-bruise from where he’d tried to reach out to him today, and needed more time to heal before trying again.
“I’m sorry Peter.”
“I wasn’t asking for more words, Nathan.”
Peter’s voice wasn’t too harsh, and Nathan sighed, hoping he wasn’t going to get more verbal daggers in the gut for his trouble.
“What else can I give you right now Pete? You know I’m going with you, you know I’m going to be right there beside you when we figure this thing out,” Nathan said softly.
“I think you know.” Peter’s voice hitched slightly, and there was a faint thread of need in it that sent a spear of longing and fear right through him.
Nathan could hear a faint slide of flesh-on-flesh from Peter’s side of the room, and had to turn and bite his own wrist for control. Why had Ma insisted her sons share a room? Why had Noah gotten a room alone? Why leave them together, knowing they had all this baggage between them?
It wasn’t just Nathan’s political ambitions, or his months of failed plans and misshapen deals that had done nothing but hurt hundreds of people. And it wasn’t just the broken promises, the lies, and betrayal, all of them deep and personal, all deeply involving Peter.
No, it was the damnable six times they’d been together. The twisted love, the too-close brotherly devotion that had brought them together closer than any two brothers had a right to be. It was those six times of poisonous perfection that had seemed to fix or break everything between them.
Peter’s eighteenth birthday party, Nathan and Peter frantically kissing in a too-small linen closet upstairs, rutting against each other until they’d cum hard enough to see stars.
Nathan’s acceptance into the district attorney’s office, Peter stroking Nathan’s naked cock while he was in his big wingback chair, lips sealed over each other, Nathan stroking Peter through his pants until they’d muffled their shouts of completion into each other’s mouths.
Peter’s college graduation, Nathan kneeling before him in Peter’s apartment, slowly learning every line of his body before swallowing him down.
Nathan’s first major solo court win, Peter returning the favor, kneeling on Nathan and Heidi’s bed and making Nathan sweat and cum like he was sixteen again.
After Nathan had decided to run for senator, crammed into a locked broom closet in Nathan’s campaign center, clothes completely off for the first time, exploring each other’s bodies in the Pine Sol-scented dimness, biting down on each other’s shoulders to stop from alerting the staff with their moans, frantic to slide and stroke against each other as if it might be the last time.
When Peter had returned from Ireland, right before the fateful press conference, when his powerful and potent little brother had completely given himself to Nathan, letting him inside his body, staring into Nathan’s eyes and clinging to him, begging for forgiveness.
Six times. Six complications. Six times that had brought them together or ripped them apart. And now Peter was asking for the seventh.
Nathan wanted it so badly that he was shaking, but clung to the sheets instead of reaching over to cling to Peter. It might bring them together, but Nathan couldn’t stand the idea that it would rip apart the fragile bond they’d reestablished.
“It’ll be ok,” Peter whispered. “Nathan, I know it will, all right?”
Nathan couldn’t talk, could barely breathe, seeing everything in his mind, exactly how he was going to climb over onto Peter’s bed, straddle his body…
“Please. I want to forgive you, just let me.”
God. Nathan’s control broke, and he barely even flinched as Peter turned on the lamp beside his bed. He felt drawn to him, like his limbs weren’t even under his control. Drawn to his little brother like a needle to north, damned and forsaken…
“Come on Nathan,” Peter coaxed.
It was just like he’d imagined, the sheets slipping from Peter’s body, not a stitch on him, beautiful, pale, and perfect. He felt just like he remembered, and not. Soft skin, and harder muscle underlying it, stronger now than he had been. Hair longer than the last time, enough for Nathan to run his fingers through like the first time. Nathan’s thighs fit perfectly around Peter’s, like they were made for each other.
“Yeah, we were,” Peter whispered. Nathan hadn’t realized he’d spoke out loud. Hands trembling, he leaned forward to cup Peter’s face and head, lips sliding into his like he’d never left. Perfect, like it always was. Each time was better, each time they touched, Nathan only wanted more.
“Peter,” he breathed, and killed a whimper in his throat when he felt Peter’s hardness trapped and throbbing against his own.
“I want to forgive you,” Peter repeated, his hand sliding down Nathan’s spine to his ass, massaging it firmly.
“I want you to,” Nathan said softly, and cast his eyes around frantically for what he needed. Peter barely moved his hand and he had come back with a small tube. Nathan couldn’t take his eyes off Peter as he unscrewed the top and slathered Peter’s hand with the slippery lube.
It was all he could do to brace himself as Peter’s hand slowly worked itself inside him, one aching finger at a time, stretching and burning yet somehow never actually hurting. It was Peter after all, and this was the seventh time.
Lucky number seven.
When Peter pulled his hand away, Nathan kissed him long and hard before gently pushing him away. Nathan watched, transfixed, as Peter slicked his own cock with lube, eyes fixed on Nathan, hooded, dangerous, and loving.
“Go on,” Peter said.
I want to forgive you.
Nathan pulled himself up, and then slowly, carefully lowered himself down. He had to bite his lip to keep from moaning, from whimpering, from shoving down too fast, too hard, wanting this so much, wanting Peter so much. He wanted to be forgiven, he wanted Peter to look at him again with unfettered love, with affection unclouded by regret and betrayal.
Peter arched his head back into the pillow as Nathan ensheathed him fully, and Nathan drank in the sight of Peter’s long neck, of his throat exposed and vulnerable. Peter’s hips twitched, and Nathan gasped, recalled to his task. He lifted himself and pushed back again, trying only to feel Peter’s reaction and not his own. Peter already had Nathan’s forgiveness, completely and fully, for every time he’d fought against the government and threatened everything his older brother had done.
After all, Nathan had brought all of that on himself.
Nathan tensed each time, clenching hard around Peter, changing the angle, the depth, the speed, trying to find exactly what Peter wanted, what made him writhe and scream and forget his own name. There was little pain for him; how many nights had he ridden his own lube-smeared fingers into exhaustion? How many more had he ridden a shamefully purchased toy, calling out Peter’s name as he came? As many as Peter had his, he suspected.
“Nathan, yeah, like that!” Peter moaned suddenly as Nathan gasped in pleasure. He’d accidentally found the best possible angle, and drove down frantically, wanting to hear Peter’s voice calling out like that again, losing control and loving it.
Nathan’s thighs trembled as he tried to keep himself aligned perfectly, and Peter bucked frantically under him, gasps devolving into incoherence.
“Yes, yes, God, Nathan, more, more, MORE!” Peter demanded, and Nathan clenched hard, sinking him in deeper than he thought possible, and nearly screamed out Peter’s name as the frantic, endless pulses of cum within him triggered an orgasm so powerful, Nathan could feel himself tearing up.
“God Peter,” Nathan whispered, dropping back down so he could kiss and mouth over Peter’s throat and chest. “God, Peter…”
Peter caught Nathan’s face in his hands and dragged him up for a long, slow kiss, releasing his lips to taste Nathan’s tears. He trembled under Peter’s touch, barely able to breathe, as he waited for what Peter would say.
“Forgiven,” Peter breathed, and Nathan wrapped his arms around him gratefully, wanting to feel him against him while they slept. Together.
Their seventh time, more perfect than the last. And this time, it had bound them together.
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, consensual incest
Word Count: 1,516
Spoilers: Through 3x23 “1961”
Disclaimer Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC et al.
Author’s Notes: Written for Kiss and Make Up challenge on flyingpetrellis, for the prompt “Kiss and Make Up.”
Summary: Peter demands forgiveness, and Nathan has to believe this seventh time will work…
“So, what do we do now?”
Peter’s voice was quiet in the darkness of the hotel room, nevertheless cutting through the shower-damp air like a knife. The question was only a courtesy to Nathan, of course. Peter might have given him some small crumb of forgiveness today, after they’d met in the diner, after they’d realized Sylar had taken Nathan’s form, but there was a long way to go for both of them.
“Try to figure out what Sylar is doing, Bennet already had some ideas-,” Nathan started, turning over to face Peter’s bed in the dark.
“No, not about him. About us.”
Nathan shut his eyes in the darkness. He was torn between wanting to believe and wanting to just will himself to sleep. He wanted Peter’s forgiveness, but could feel every ego-bruise from where he’d tried to reach out to him today, and needed more time to heal before trying again.
“I’m sorry Peter.”
“I wasn’t asking for more words, Nathan.”
Peter’s voice wasn’t too harsh, and Nathan sighed, hoping he wasn’t going to get more verbal daggers in the gut for his trouble.
“What else can I give you right now Pete? You know I’m going with you, you know I’m going to be right there beside you when we figure this thing out,” Nathan said softly.
“I think you know.” Peter’s voice hitched slightly, and there was a faint thread of need in it that sent a spear of longing and fear right through him.
Nathan could hear a faint slide of flesh-on-flesh from Peter’s side of the room, and had to turn and bite his own wrist for control. Why had Ma insisted her sons share a room? Why had Noah gotten a room alone? Why leave them together, knowing they had all this baggage between them?
It wasn’t just Nathan’s political ambitions, or his months of failed plans and misshapen deals that had done nothing but hurt hundreds of people. And it wasn’t just the broken promises, the lies, and betrayal, all of them deep and personal, all deeply involving Peter.
No, it was the damnable six times they’d been together. The twisted love, the too-close brotherly devotion that had brought them together closer than any two brothers had a right to be. It was those six times of poisonous perfection that had seemed to fix or break everything between them.
Peter’s eighteenth birthday party, Nathan and Peter frantically kissing in a too-small linen closet upstairs, rutting against each other until they’d cum hard enough to see stars.
Nathan’s acceptance into the district attorney’s office, Peter stroking Nathan’s naked cock while he was in his big wingback chair, lips sealed over each other, Nathan stroking Peter through his pants until they’d muffled their shouts of completion into each other’s mouths.
Peter’s college graduation, Nathan kneeling before him in Peter’s apartment, slowly learning every line of his body before swallowing him down.
Nathan’s first major solo court win, Peter returning the favor, kneeling on Nathan and Heidi’s bed and making Nathan sweat and cum like he was sixteen again.
After Nathan had decided to run for senator, crammed into a locked broom closet in Nathan’s campaign center, clothes completely off for the first time, exploring each other’s bodies in the Pine Sol-scented dimness, biting down on each other’s shoulders to stop from alerting the staff with their moans, frantic to slide and stroke against each other as if it might be the last time.
When Peter had returned from Ireland, right before the fateful press conference, when his powerful and potent little brother had completely given himself to Nathan, letting him inside his body, staring into Nathan’s eyes and clinging to him, begging for forgiveness.
Six times. Six complications. Six times that had brought them together or ripped them apart. And now Peter was asking for the seventh.
Nathan wanted it so badly that he was shaking, but clung to the sheets instead of reaching over to cling to Peter. It might bring them together, but Nathan couldn’t stand the idea that it would rip apart the fragile bond they’d reestablished.
“It’ll be ok,” Peter whispered. “Nathan, I know it will, all right?”
Nathan couldn’t talk, could barely breathe, seeing everything in his mind, exactly how he was going to climb over onto Peter’s bed, straddle his body…
“Please. I want to forgive you, just let me.”
God. Nathan’s control broke, and he barely even flinched as Peter turned on the lamp beside his bed. He felt drawn to him, like his limbs weren’t even under his control. Drawn to his little brother like a needle to north, damned and forsaken…
“Come on Nathan,” Peter coaxed.
It was just like he’d imagined, the sheets slipping from Peter’s body, not a stitch on him, beautiful, pale, and perfect. He felt just like he remembered, and not. Soft skin, and harder muscle underlying it, stronger now than he had been. Hair longer than the last time, enough for Nathan to run his fingers through like the first time. Nathan’s thighs fit perfectly around Peter’s, like they were made for each other.
“Yeah, we were,” Peter whispered. Nathan hadn’t realized he’d spoke out loud. Hands trembling, he leaned forward to cup Peter’s face and head, lips sliding into his like he’d never left. Perfect, like it always was. Each time was better, each time they touched, Nathan only wanted more.
“Peter,” he breathed, and killed a whimper in his throat when he felt Peter’s hardness trapped and throbbing against his own.
“I want to forgive you,” Peter repeated, his hand sliding down Nathan’s spine to his ass, massaging it firmly.
“I want you to,” Nathan said softly, and cast his eyes around frantically for what he needed. Peter barely moved his hand and he had come back with a small tube. Nathan couldn’t take his eyes off Peter as he unscrewed the top and slathered Peter’s hand with the slippery lube.
It was all he could do to brace himself as Peter’s hand slowly worked itself inside him, one aching finger at a time, stretching and burning yet somehow never actually hurting. It was Peter after all, and this was the seventh time.
Lucky number seven.
When Peter pulled his hand away, Nathan kissed him long and hard before gently pushing him away. Nathan watched, transfixed, as Peter slicked his own cock with lube, eyes fixed on Nathan, hooded, dangerous, and loving.
“Go on,” Peter said.
I want to forgive you.
Nathan pulled himself up, and then slowly, carefully lowered himself down. He had to bite his lip to keep from moaning, from whimpering, from shoving down too fast, too hard, wanting this so much, wanting Peter so much. He wanted to be forgiven, he wanted Peter to look at him again with unfettered love, with affection unclouded by regret and betrayal.
Peter arched his head back into the pillow as Nathan ensheathed him fully, and Nathan drank in the sight of Peter’s long neck, of his throat exposed and vulnerable. Peter’s hips twitched, and Nathan gasped, recalled to his task. He lifted himself and pushed back again, trying only to feel Peter’s reaction and not his own. Peter already had Nathan’s forgiveness, completely and fully, for every time he’d fought against the government and threatened everything his older brother had done.
After all, Nathan had brought all of that on himself.
Nathan tensed each time, clenching hard around Peter, changing the angle, the depth, the speed, trying to find exactly what Peter wanted, what made him writhe and scream and forget his own name. There was little pain for him; how many nights had he ridden his own lube-smeared fingers into exhaustion? How many more had he ridden a shamefully purchased toy, calling out Peter’s name as he came? As many as Peter had his, he suspected.
“Nathan, yeah, like that!” Peter moaned suddenly as Nathan gasped in pleasure. He’d accidentally found the best possible angle, and drove down frantically, wanting to hear Peter’s voice calling out like that again, losing control and loving it.
Nathan’s thighs trembled as he tried to keep himself aligned perfectly, and Peter bucked frantically under him, gasps devolving into incoherence.
“Yes, yes, God, Nathan, more, more, MORE!” Peter demanded, and Nathan clenched hard, sinking him in deeper than he thought possible, and nearly screamed out Peter’s name as the frantic, endless pulses of cum within him triggered an orgasm so powerful, Nathan could feel himself tearing up.
“God Peter,” Nathan whispered, dropping back down so he could kiss and mouth over Peter’s throat and chest. “God, Peter…”
Peter caught Nathan’s face in his hands and dragged him up for a long, slow kiss, releasing his lips to taste Nathan’s tears. He trembled under Peter’s touch, barely able to breathe, as he waited for what Peter would say.
“Forgiven,” Peter breathed, and Nathan wrapped his arms around him gratefully, wanting to feel him against him while they slept. Together.
Their seventh time, more perfect than the last. And this time, it had bound them together.