Guilty Pleasure
Title: Guilty Pleasure
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairing: Nathan/Hiro
Rating: NC-17 for sex
Word Count: 1,125
Spoilers: Up through 1x05 “Hiros”
Warnings: Slash
Disclaimer: Heroes is owned by Tim Kring, NBC, et al.
Notes: Written for a_cook1's day of power as CEO at heroes_exchange.
Summary: Being Nathan Petrelli never means having to say you’re sorry. And never feeling guilty. Unless you have nothing to apologize for.
Nathan knows he should feel more guilty. And he will, later. He promises he’ll feel as guilty as he’s supposed to, that there will be recriminations and possibly a trip to the confessional.
He ignores the fact that he’s promised himself to feel guilty a hundred times or more before now. For working for his father’s firm, for every time he hurt Peter, for every woman he ever loved and left, for Heidi, for Niki. And now for Hiro.
For using his unrelenting optimism as a way to feel better about himself. For pretending to be interested in what he said. For making him believe this was a totally normal thing for him. Yes, for all of these, a new penance. Just add it to his tab.
Add it to the pot, add it to the pile, here among the sewer rats, a breath away from Hell. You get accustomed to the smell.
It was infinitely amusing to Nathan that a line from a Victor Hugo musical, one sung by a conniving, opportunistic scavenger on the detritus of war, should be so appropriate to everything in his life.
“Good?”
Nathan looked down into Hiro’s smiling face, now loosely framed by his thighs. His cotton pajama pants were discarded into the corner of the limousine, the ridiculous t-shirt also discarded into an opposite corner. Hiro’s hands were slow and practiced on Nathan’s body, completely at odds with that innocent and happy face as they tickled up his thighs.
“Yes… very good.”
Nathan’s driver had known what was going on the second Nathan had raised the privacy screen. They were currently driving around on the lonely back roads of Las Vegas, and wouldn’t be anywhere they could be interrupted until Nathan was back in control again. His whole staff knew the drill by now. God knew they had enough practice.
“I want… make you happy,” Hiro murmured, hands sliding up farther. Nathan sucked in a surprised breath as Hiro fluttered his fingers around his balls, tickling the other hand up and down his cock. The technique was different, the accent, but the words… How many times had Peter said that to him?
“Go ahead,” Nathan murmured, resting a hand in Hiro’s dark hair, petting in encouragement. He had to quickly brace himself as Hiro took him in all at once, a fast and shockingly good slide into a beautiful, slick, tight heat.
“God…” Nathan breathed. Hiro pulled away very slowly, and began to stroke steadily with his hands, now sliding easily through the moisture that gleamed all along Nathan’s shaft.
“I want to make happy. Always wanted to be… special,” Hiro said, and leaned forward to suck briefly on the head, tongue swirling around it like lapping at ice cream before pulling away again. “You special too. You’re special too,” he corrected himself, brow furrowed as he tried to pick his way through an unfamiliar tongue.
Hiro bent his head again, and Nathan’s fists clenched hard into the seats. Hiro’s words might be clumsy, but his mouth and tongue were anything but. Taking Nathan into his mouth again, Hiro’s tongue unerring sought out every sensitive spot, tracing and teasing, humming with pleasure and accomplishment when Nathan swelled and twitched.
Repressing a whimper when Hiro pulled off of him, Nathan felt compelled to meet his eyes. Usually he didn’t, he just laid back and enjoyed the sensations, flashing a winning smile when he was done with his current conquest. His staff would take care of the particulars, money, or a favor, and Nathan wouldn’t have to even remember anyone’s name. He’d remember this young man. He’d remember the only person who’d ever gotten on his knees for him without having an alternate agenda. Hiro didn’t want political favor, or cash, or approval, or affection.
He was happy, and he wanted to make Nathan happy too. Because he believed in him. Flying man. Superman.
“Like?” Hiro asked again, stroking firmly, then lightly, smiling up at him like this was the most natural thing in the world.
“Yeah…” Nathan smiled genuinely down at him, dropping the shark-tooth’s grin he used with Linderman’s crew. Hiro seemed to take that as a great compliment, and Nathan had to clench the seats in a death grip as Hiro dove back in, his relentlessly happy little noises pushing Nathan right to the edge. Hiro rode him on that knife-edge of pleasure for long moments, hands busy stroking Nathan’s thighs, balls, and every other inch of him within easy reach.
Nathan finally had to reach down to those questing hands and catch them, hold them still, body wound so tight, lungs burning and heart pounding, cock hard and aching for relief, that he couldn’t stand it any longer. Hiro looked up at him, dark eyes bright with mischief, and smiled as best he could around Nathan’s girth.
“Please,” Nathan said breathlessly, quiet enough that he could convince himself he hadn’t really said it. Hiro flicked his tongue once, and Nathan came with a suddenness that shocked him, gripping Hiro’s hands tight and arcing into his mouth. Collapsing back onto the seat, half-boneless with the afterglow, he heard Hiro chuckle a little as he settled beside him.
Coming back to full alertness, Nathan found himself looking at Hiro as if he’d never seen him before. He’d never had anyone do that to him, hold him on the edge that long, not even if they wanted something from him.
“You are a good man, Nathan,” Hiro said decisively, as if a combination of a random meeting at a desert diner with a spontaneous backseat blowjob were the perfectly normal way for determining the moral fortitude of a man.
“You too,” Nathan said finally, reflexively reaching for the suit his staff had brought. He armored himself in the silk pinstripes as Hiro sipped some club soda from the bar, and waited for the other shoe to drop.
It never did. Hiro never asked for any kind of payment, implied or otherwise. He’d happily gone down on Nathan because he wanted to. Hiro Nakamura couldn’t be paid off and forgotten. Nathan’s guilt at having Hiro couldn’t be assuaged by giving him some trinket.
As the limousine pulled up outside Linderman’s hotel, Nathan fixed his best politician’s smile into place, and shoved his doubt to the back of his mind. As Hiro piled out, giving a happy shout of “Vote Petrelli!” Nathan only smiled. Yes, he would feel guilty for this latest transgression. For letting himself feel good when in less than a day he’d managed to nearly get kidnapped, and had cheated on his wife twice. For letting a special young man share his happiness with him for no price. He promised himself he’d feel guilty for that.
Tomorrow.
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairing: Nathan/Hiro
Rating: NC-17 for sex
Word Count: 1,125
Spoilers: Up through 1x05 “Hiros”
Warnings: Slash
Disclaimer: Heroes is owned by Tim Kring, NBC, et al.
Notes: Written for a_cook1's day of power as CEO at heroes_exchange.
Summary: Being Nathan Petrelli never means having to say you’re sorry. And never feeling guilty. Unless you have nothing to apologize for.
Nathan knows he should feel more guilty. And he will, later. He promises he’ll feel as guilty as he’s supposed to, that there will be recriminations and possibly a trip to the confessional.
He ignores the fact that he’s promised himself to feel guilty a hundred times or more before now. For working for his father’s firm, for every time he hurt Peter, for every woman he ever loved and left, for Heidi, for Niki. And now for Hiro.
For using his unrelenting optimism as a way to feel better about himself. For pretending to be interested in what he said. For making him believe this was a totally normal thing for him. Yes, for all of these, a new penance. Just add it to his tab.
Add it to the pot, add it to the pile, here among the sewer rats, a breath away from Hell. You get accustomed to the smell.
It was infinitely amusing to Nathan that a line from a Victor Hugo musical, one sung by a conniving, opportunistic scavenger on the detritus of war, should be so appropriate to everything in his life.
“Good?”
Nathan looked down into Hiro’s smiling face, now loosely framed by his thighs. His cotton pajama pants were discarded into the corner of the limousine, the ridiculous t-shirt also discarded into an opposite corner. Hiro’s hands were slow and practiced on Nathan’s body, completely at odds with that innocent and happy face as they tickled up his thighs.
“Yes… very good.”
Nathan’s driver had known what was going on the second Nathan had raised the privacy screen. They were currently driving around on the lonely back roads of Las Vegas, and wouldn’t be anywhere they could be interrupted until Nathan was back in control again. His whole staff knew the drill by now. God knew they had enough practice.
“I want… make you happy,” Hiro murmured, hands sliding up farther. Nathan sucked in a surprised breath as Hiro fluttered his fingers around his balls, tickling the other hand up and down his cock. The technique was different, the accent, but the words… How many times had Peter said that to him?
“Go ahead,” Nathan murmured, resting a hand in Hiro’s dark hair, petting in encouragement. He had to quickly brace himself as Hiro took him in all at once, a fast and shockingly good slide into a beautiful, slick, tight heat.
“God…” Nathan breathed. Hiro pulled away very slowly, and began to stroke steadily with his hands, now sliding easily through the moisture that gleamed all along Nathan’s shaft.
“I want to make happy. Always wanted to be… special,” Hiro said, and leaned forward to suck briefly on the head, tongue swirling around it like lapping at ice cream before pulling away again. “You special too. You’re special too,” he corrected himself, brow furrowed as he tried to pick his way through an unfamiliar tongue.
Hiro bent his head again, and Nathan’s fists clenched hard into the seats. Hiro’s words might be clumsy, but his mouth and tongue were anything but. Taking Nathan into his mouth again, Hiro’s tongue unerring sought out every sensitive spot, tracing and teasing, humming with pleasure and accomplishment when Nathan swelled and twitched.
Repressing a whimper when Hiro pulled off of him, Nathan felt compelled to meet his eyes. Usually he didn’t, he just laid back and enjoyed the sensations, flashing a winning smile when he was done with his current conquest. His staff would take care of the particulars, money, or a favor, and Nathan wouldn’t have to even remember anyone’s name. He’d remember this young man. He’d remember the only person who’d ever gotten on his knees for him without having an alternate agenda. Hiro didn’t want political favor, or cash, or approval, or affection.
He was happy, and he wanted to make Nathan happy too. Because he believed in him. Flying man. Superman.
“Like?” Hiro asked again, stroking firmly, then lightly, smiling up at him like this was the most natural thing in the world.
“Yeah…” Nathan smiled genuinely down at him, dropping the shark-tooth’s grin he used with Linderman’s crew. Hiro seemed to take that as a great compliment, and Nathan had to clench the seats in a death grip as Hiro dove back in, his relentlessly happy little noises pushing Nathan right to the edge. Hiro rode him on that knife-edge of pleasure for long moments, hands busy stroking Nathan’s thighs, balls, and every other inch of him within easy reach.
Nathan finally had to reach down to those questing hands and catch them, hold them still, body wound so tight, lungs burning and heart pounding, cock hard and aching for relief, that he couldn’t stand it any longer. Hiro looked up at him, dark eyes bright with mischief, and smiled as best he could around Nathan’s girth.
“Please,” Nathan said breathlessly, quiet enough that he could convince himself he hadn’t really said it. Hiro flicked his tongue once, and Nathan came with a suddenness that shocked him, gripping Hiro’s hands tight and arcing into his mouth. Collapsing back onto the seat, half-boneless with the afterglow, he heard Hiro chuckle a little as he settled beside him.
Coming back to full alertness, Nathan found himself looking at Hiro as if he’d never seen him before. He’d never had anyone do that to him, hold him on the edge that long, not even if they wanted something from him.
“You are a good man, Nathan,” Hiro said decisively, as if a combination of a random meeting at a desert diner with a spontaneous backseat blowjob were the perfectly normal way for determining the moral fortitude of a man.
“You too,” Nathan said finally, reflexively reaching for the suit his staff had brought. He armored himself in the silk pinstripes as Hiro sipped some club soda from the bar, and waited for the other shoe to drop.
It never did. Hiro never asked for any kind of payment, implied or otherwise. He’d happily gone down on Nathan because he wanted to. Hiro Nakamura couldn’t be paid off and forgotten. Nathan’s guilt at having Hiro couldn’t be assuaged by giving him some trinket.
As the limousine pulled up outside Linderman’s hotel, Nathan fixed his best politician’s smile into place, and shoved his doubt to the back of his mind. As Hiro piled out, giving a happy shout of “Vote Petrelli!” Nathan only smiled. Yes, he would feel guilty for this latest transgression. For letting himself feel good when in less than a day he’d managed to nearly get kidnapped, and had cheated on his wife twice. For letting a special young man share his happiness with him for no price. He promised himself he’d feel guilty for that.
Tomorrow.