Pandora
Title: Pandora
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairing: Peter, girl!Peter, girl!Peter/Noah Bennet
Rating: NC-17 for descriptions of sex
Word Count: 6,811
Spoilers: Vague early S4
Warnings: Solo F, het, shapechanging shenanigans, gender swap, pronoun confusion
Disclaimer: Heroes is owned by Tim Kring, NBC, et al.
Notes: Written for the Heroes Kink Meme Rides Again for the prompt: “Peter, shapeshifting, acquires a female-shaped alter-ego and tries to deal with male and female.” Thanks to brighteyed_jill for help with the dialogue. I don’t even do gender swap. WTF, brain?
Summary: Peter wants to walk a mile in her shoes.
Using a new power was always chancy. Peter knew that, and knew that something like shapeshifting would be fraught with all sorts of dangers. He already knew it was painful, and required contact with somebody else to use as a template. Probably he’d need to be careful about staying too long as someone else, just in case there were other side effects, mental ones. But right now Peter was only concerned about some of the extremely obvious side effects he should have thought of earlier.
Like how it would feel to be a woman. With some experimentation, and with the concern that he didn’t want to co-opt someone else’s life, he’d managed to shift himself into a woman that didn’t actually exist, a blending of several people he’d touched. She looked, Peter thought, rather like himself, if he’d been born a girl. It was incredibly strange to look in the mirror and see the face of a sister he’d never had.
He’d tried the woman’s shape mostly out of simple curiosity. He really didn’t want to be anyone else; he was happy as himself. The few brief minutes he’d been the president had been some of the strangest of his life. Peter didn’t want people to look at him and want him to be someone else. He’d had his fill of that growing up. But this woman, this half-familiar stranger, made him feel uncertain.
Peter thought of himself as an empathetic person, able to connect to other people and feel their pain. But seeing himself as female, his jeans fitting oddly on her hips, his shirt straining over her breasts, made him realize he could never actually know how a woman felt. He didn’t know how Claire had really felt, having everyone try to save her. He couldn’t know how Simone had really felt, having to be strong in the face of her father dying, Isaac’s problems, and Peter’s own set of issues. He didn’t really know how a woman felt under his hands.
This was something he wanted to understand, and Peter knew he’d probably never get this sort of opportunity ever again. Feeling a curious heat in his, her stomach, Peter opened her eyes to look at herself in the mirror in his apartment, to really look at himself as a woman. His own eyes, more thickly lashed now, stared back at her, curious and hungry, and Peter blushed. Even though he’d shut every shade and drawn every curtain, the incredible strangeness of the situation couldn’t be denied.
Dropping his gaze from his eyes, Peter looked at her in the mirror, taking in every nuance of her. She was softer, more delicate than him. Nose a little shorter, hair much longer, dropping in soft, dark waves down her back. Peter raised her hands up, studying them for a long moment. Slimmer, longer-fingered, with short, smooth nails, they stroked through her soft, thick hair, tugging softly. It was strange, feeling hair being pulled from such a distance. Peter had never had hair long enough to really tug at, and the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. She gripped a handful and gave it a harder pull, tugging her neck back, and Peter’s eyes were riveted by the way she looked in the mirror. Her long, pale, slender throat was exposed and her shoulders were pulled back, pushing her breasts forward.
The whole pose was thoroughly wanton, and Peter felt suddenly ashamed for treating a woman like that. A blushed colored her cheeks and a curious shiver of heat went through her body. The sensations were confusing, on one hand slightly embarrassing, on the other, slightly arousing. But the arousal didn’t feel the same, and Peter felt more heat flush her checks as he saw and felt her nipples harden. An all-over body blush was combining with a slow, roiling heat in her low belly, combined with a tingling in her breasts. Peter had kept expecting to feel like it usually did, every bit of pleasure focused on a single body part, but the sensations to her were much more diffuse.
Shaking her head, he let go of her hair, and Peter took several steadying breaths. He looked up in the mirror again, and she stared back, unafraid. He felt ridiculous. She was him; he couldn’t hurt her. He just wanted to know how things felt. If anything hurt, he’d know right away, and he would stop.
“It’s ok,” she said. “I know you just want to feel the differences. It’s different on the other side of the fence. It’s natural to be curious. It’s ok, I want you to see me. Go on…”
Her voice was higher than his, more dulcet, and she laughed a bit in nervousness. Her chuckle was low and pleasant, and Peter felt the heat and tingle run through her again. She sounded better than he did. Peter wondered if she could sing.
Feeling self-conscious, she tried to sing the first thing that came to mind, the first line of “Amazing Grace.” Her sense of tempo and pitch wasn’t much better than Peter’s, which was middling, at best, but her notes sounded sweeter. Chuckling again, she brought her hands up, and Peter really looked at them this time.
Not only were they smaller, as were her arms, but they bore only the faintest fuzz of hair. Peter was strong, he worked out several days a week, and she was strong too, but it was a leaner strength. A feminine strength, Peter realized, trying not to laugh again. Nervousness settled over them both as she put her hands on the hem of his t-shirt. A moment of fear overtook Peter, but she just shrugged and pulled the t-shirt off quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
When the cloth had cleared her head and hair, landing in a heap behind her, Peter stared at her in the mirror. She was beautiful, shapely, with a narrower waist than him, and high breasts, small and perfect. Her hands curved around her breasts, just feeling the strange weight of them, the way they fit easily into her hands, and Peter sighed in contentment. What had felt strange a second ago now felt completely normal, at least for her. Mischievously, and experimentally, she gently squeezed an erect nipple, and Peter’s knees shook at the small bolt of pleasure that seemed to shoot directly to her pussy.
Peter’s mind stalled right there, and while her hands absently explored and gently squeezed her breasts, Peter stared at his jeans in the mirror. Under the denim was her pussy, her labia, clitoris, and vagina, strange/familiar things sending strange sensations through them both. The curious heat in her low belly was growing, and there was a feeling of wetness, openness, a deep throbbing inside her that Peter was eager to explore.
“Go on, it’s ok,” she whispered, and Peter moved her hands down to his jeans. Like before, she didn’t waste any time, just unzipping them quickly, getting the jeans and the now too-large briefs off her body. Peter stared at her feet for long moments, forcibly distracting himself, seeing how small and shapely they were compared to his own. Then her arm accidentally brushed a nipple, and Peter moaned, her voice low and husky with arousal. Peter’s arousal.
Looking up, Peter slid her hands down her sides, feeling the soft, soft skin, then gliding down over her round hips, and finally trailing down her smooth legs, curved and fleshier than his. But sexier. So much sexier. Another bolt of arousal speared through them, and Peter brought her hands up to slide down her ass, squeezing just because she could.
Peter stared at her in the mirror, completely naked, smiling, flushed, aroused, and welcoming.
“I’m beautiful,” she whispered. Peter agreed, enthusiastically. He wanted to please her, wanted to make her feel good, desperately wanted to know how this would feel to her.
He slid her hands around her hips and smoothed over the front of her mons, feeling the curly dark hair there, and the softness and radiating heat beneath. Setting her feet apart, she took a deep breath as he tentatively moved her fingers in, body jolting when the light touch over her swollen and damp flesh sent another bolt of pleasure through her. Her other hand almost involuntarily moved back to her breast, cupping it and squeezing the nipple, making her moan.
Peter felt the need for more start to climb, that wanting to be touched, and moved her fingers in, rubbing across her wet slit. She gasped when Peter felt another surge of wetness, and he recklessly dove her hand in, delving deep into the tight slickness inside. The feel of being penetrated, of the pleasure coming from something being inside, made Peter gasp, her knees going weak and nerveless. She had to kneel, her knees far apart, as her finger slid in and out in a rhythmless pattern, just getting used to the feeling.
The strangeness faded after several long minutes, and Peter realized there was so much more to touch, so much more that needed his attention. He moved her thumb over the sensitive, throbbing little knob of flesh, biting down on a loud moan as he massaged and circled her clitoris, letting her other fingers slide up and down her labia, teasing and stroking every inch she could reach. Her other hand switched from breast to breast, stroking, squeezing, pinching, sending little sparks of pleasurable fire down to her pussy, making her gush over her hand.
Peter was lost in the feelings, letting her take over, showing him what felt the best. When to add more fingers for a delicious stretch inside. When to change the pressure and tempo on her clit to keep her moving higher and higher. When it was ok to pinch hard on her nipples for that extra edge of sensation… The throbbing inside her had reached an incredible pitch, and Peter felt like there was something inside her, ready to explode. Her hands started to move faster, muscles burning as they delved deeper, moved faster, and pinched harder, the crescendo building and building until Peter felt it getting ready to crash over him.
Peter stared at her in the mirror, watching her watching him, seeing him racing for completion at her silent urging, her body red and beautiful and wanton. A bolt of fear raced down his spine when he realized he was going to come as a woman, and then Peter’s world exploded. Pleasure bloomed up from his pussy and spread over his entire body, every muscles tightening as she came for long moments, hands still churning and moving inside her. Peter felt himself clamping down on her fingers inside him, wetness pouring over her hand as she continued to stroke and rub, and to his surprise, felt it building again, like a rising wave barreling in before the second had finished crashing over the shore.
“No, no, no, yes!” she cried, the burst of exquisite pain coming over her again… and then again as Peter writhed, back now on the floor as she arched her hips up, knees wide. Her hands slowed after the last quakes of pleasure had gone, pulling away from her slightly sore flesh and pushing herself upright. Peter stared at her in the mirror, admiring the satisfied flush on her face, knees still shaky from experiencing a pleasure he’d never dreamed was possible for a man to have.
“That was good for me,” she murmured, winking. “Was it good for you, baby?”
Peter laughed out loud at the question, running her hands down their body, just celebrating this new part of himself.
“I want to try this on someone else,” Peter said out loud, her voice making his words sound much sweeter. And sexier. “I want to make someone I care about feel like this.”
“Yeah…” she agreed, and slid a hand up her stomach, slowly. “And get someone to do this to me.”
Peter felt another bolt of fear at her words. She was articulating desires he wasn’t sure if he wanted to explore. Yes, he’d wanted to be able to empathize with women better, but to have someone else touching her? Him? A man, touching him, as her? He closed their eyes, imagining how it might feel to be in the arms of someone stronger than her, his flesh penetrating hers. That’s what this was really about, right? To walk a mile not only in her shoes, but in her flesh?
“Someone that’ll care about you. I don’t want to see you hurt,” Peter cautioned. He knew the dangers that could befall a woman…
“I know you’ll take care of me. You’re very good at doing that,” she said contritely.
“How do we do this?” Peter asked.
“Think. I’d be awkward to explain to anyone you knew.”
She had a point. Peter stared at her, seeing her from outside eyes, thinking about the men he knew. It was doing the strangest things to his insides, trying to think about the guys he knew as sex objects. It was making her throb inside, pleasantly, and Peter felt his brain almost getting bent out of shape. Who did he know that would treat a one-night stand with kindness and compassion? Who did he know that would have a one-night stand? Most of the former were married and wouldn’t have one-night stands. Most of the latter were jerks.
Peter shied away from trying to pick up a stranger for her. He wanted someone he could trust. Someone who would keep anything strange a secret. Someone that wanted the company, but didn’t want commitment right now. Then he had it.
She smiled when Peter mouthed his name, and cocked her head in the mirror.
“What about you, hot stuff? What lucky lady gets the benefits of your experiments with me?”
Peter didn’t know yet. He didn’t have a girlfriend right now, and his track record with girlfriends as of late was frankly horrible. But later, if he found someone that he cared about, that liked him back…
“Sounds like we have a double date. Sort of,” she said with a laugh.
“What’s your name? You have to have a name,” Peter insisted.
Her name popped into mind immediately, as if he’d always known it. He wondered why he hadn’t realized it before.
“Pandora.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter never suspected he was so popular. For the week that week Pandora had been coming to this bar, doing her best imitation of a woman coming off of an office job, she’d had to quickly learn how to turn away a half-dozen or more free drinks from enterprising men that wanted to catch her eye. She didn’t have Peter’s tolerance for alcohol, hard-won from a lifetime of Petrelli family experience, and had been irritated with herself beyond all sense and reason when she’d let herself get drunk the first night. She’d had to let Peter take her home, her clothes hidden under his jacket.
He was keeping her safe, but he took a back seat when she turned on the right amount of charm to those around her. She didn’t want to blow her one chance at this, at finding the one man for her, because she knew she might not stay around if this didn’t go well. Everything had to be perfect, from how she acted, to how she looked.
If Peter thought about that too hard, it made him nervous. How Pandora had seemed to know what sort of clothes were right to wear, how she hadn’t made more than a few mistakes in guessing her right size. How she’d effortlessly finessed the woman in the lingerie department to fit her for a bra, “Oh, I think I’ve been wearing the wrong size…” What colors flattered her, what shoes were right to wear. Because it was Peter who knew all of that, really. Had he really picked up so much knowledge about feminine fashion?
The rituals of make-up and hair… well, that had defeated him, at least. Pandora had to go to a department store for “tips” to find the right way to put on all the different liners and powders and glosses, and to a salon for an appropriate styling. Though Peter had still been a little disconcerted that he hadn’t had to think too hard to find the right places to go. Were all guys as knowledgeable, hiding it under a layer of masculine denial?
Did Peter really know how to flirt that well too? Because Pandora was pretty good at it, better than Peter had ever been with girls. She was also more cutting than him when it came to shutting down guys that were trying too hard. It was actually a relief she hadn’t been born Pandora, because it had already been a week and the “Pandora’s Box” jokes were already unbearable. That made her choice, Peter’s choice of companion, all the more important. She had to be able to talk to him without tripping over her own tongue or giving away that she knew him. Because Noah Bennet was no fool.
It was a strange relief, on several levels, to have picked Noah. He might be too smart for Pandora’s ploy, but Peter thought he might need this. Claire had said her parents were divorcing, and Noah was living alone in Manhattan now. Peter would have been nervous to approach him as himself; worried that Noah would have tried to wrangle him back into the Company. But as Pandora, Peter didn’t have to worry about that. Yes, Noah was not quite twenty years older than her, but he was still attractive, enough so to her that Peter worried about himself a little.
She’d gotten a little closer each night, starting out at a table close to Noah’s spot at the bar (back to a wall, with a good view of the door), and eventually abandoning the table all together for a spot next to him.
“Mind if I sit here?”
He’d looked up, a bit surprised, but had just shaken his head.
“It’s a free country,” he said, a hint of bitter irony in his voice that was very clear to Peter.
Pandora sat, watching him carefully as she smoothed her suit skirt. Noah was watching her too, but not with the predatory, assessing gaze of the younger guys she’d had to rebuff. He didn’t linger on her breasts, but quickly slid his eyes to just under her shoulder, looking for the telltale bulge of a gun. Seeing no obvious threat, he didn’t exactly dismiss her, but seemed to relax just a hair. He took a sip of his drink, eyes sliding away from her so casually that if she hadn’t been watching for his assessment, she might not have noticed it. Idly she wondered if he was still wearing his gun. The answer was probably yes.
“Thanks,” she said sincerely. “I’m tired of…” Pandora subtly waived a hand, nails painted a pale pink, in the direction of the guys huddled at the other end of the bar near the TV. Every woman that passed near them was subject to scrutiny, like a wolf pack hunting for the perfect deer to eat.
“Once the game picks up they wouldn’t notice if the roof fell on their heads,” Noah said, staring into his glass. “You can make your escape halfway through the second quarter and I don’t think they’ll bother you.”
“Thanks for the tip…” she trailed off, a question in her tone.
“Noah,” he supplied briefly.
“Pandora,” she offered, and took another sip of her drink. She waited for his reaction while the sweet, fruity alcohol burned down her throat. Another advantage of being a woman- you could order the most frou-frou drinks on the menu and no one looked at you twice. And they definitely tasted better than some of the beer and hard liquor you could get at a bar like this.
“Greek?” Noah asked, looking mildly interested.
Pandora smiled widely, feeling a bit more confident when Noah paid more attention to her. Unlike Peter, Pandora’s smile was perfect, not crooked from a numb lip, and that gave her an assurance that she hadn’t had as Peter.
“I think you’re the first person I’ve met in five years that hasn’t made the obvious joke,” she said with relief. “And yeah, my grandmother was, but my parents didn’t really keep with the old world traditions. They liked the names though. Pandora means ‘all gifts.’ I guess they had high hopes for me. You? You’re supposed to save the world from its wickedness?”
Pandora kept a teasing smile in place even though she knew the “innocent” comment would cut Noah to the quick. She didn’t want to be mean, definitely didn’t want to hurt him, but she could either spend weeks slowly worming her way into his life, or cut right under his skin and help them both out. Pandora was a lot bolder than Peter.
Noah winced slightly, and she saw him grip his glass tighter for a moment. “I suppose I was. Things never go as planned.”
He curled his left hand up on his lap, and Pandora saw him flipping something small and shiny over and over in his fingers.
“How long were you married?” she asked.
Noah shot a glance over at her and she nodded pointedly at the ring he was worrying in his hand.
“Eighteen years,” he said tightly, and started to turn away.
“Did she-?” Pandora stopped herself, making the question seem like she was asking after the worst, and tried to look chagrined and ashamed.
“No, no, nothing like that,” Noah assured her, seeming to forcibly relax himself. He turned back to Pandora and put his left hand back on the bar. “I… Should have been better. More there.”
“Job ate you alive? I have a brother like that,” she murmured in sympathy. "I know how it feels when someone you love, someone who's like family, or is family, just… goes away."
Noah paled a little as he looked at her, and nodded solemnly. “Something a lot like that,” he agreed.
“Nikolas just… He went for this huge promotion, and I couldn’t do anything good enough for him anymore. I couldn’t be perfect, couldn’t show everyone how great his family was. And he just cut me out, pushed me away. And that was that. Every time I try to get back in, I get burned. I lost friends, my boyfriend, my job, everything for my family.”
Peter was nervous as hell at Pandora’s story, so very close to his own, and so very calculated to play right to Noah. Part of him felt wrong, trading on his inside knowledge to get to him, and part of him was scared, afraid Noah would see right through them and demand to know what the hell Peter was doing. If his mother found out, Peter didn’t even want to contemplate her reaction to the fact that Peter was trying to pick up one of her former employees as a woman.
But the part of Peter and Pandora that wanted to help wasn’t going to be dissuaded. Noah was alone, achingly alone, without purpose or plan, without a single person to confide in, even for a single evening. For one night, surely Pandora could fill that need.
Noah stared at Pandora as if trying to stare through her, willing her to make some kind of sense. Her heart sped up, but she didn’t hesitate.
“Simon, my boyfriend, he was really good for me. I thought we really had something going; he understood things without me having to explain them, could keep my secrets, but I was just… My priorities were screwed up. Things got bad. So, fresh start,” Pandora said, using her glass to gesture to the bar. “New job, new bar, new friends.”
“How’s that working for you?” Noah asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“Hard as hell,” she confessed whole-heartedly. “There’s just so much I have to fill. All the holes in my life… You?”
“My wife-,” he started, and then stopped and shook his head. Partially out of caution, but also out of genuine reluctance to speak of it.
“You really loved her,” Pandora said sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.”
Noah turned the ring over in his hand and took another sip of his drink. “Me too.” His voice was soft, and he crushed his fist around the circle of gold.
"I'd like to feel close to someone again, even if I know it won't be the same. I need to feel like I still can...open up like that. Do you know what I mean?" Pandora asked softly.
Noah sat back slightly his bar stool to look at her, probably trying to figure out if she was serious. She gave back everything she was feeling, nervousness and hope and need. Swallowing, she reached over to his left hand and placed hers over it. He slowly relaxed his fist, and she drew out the ring. Moving carefully, she slid her hand just inside his jacket, put the ring into his inside pocket, and pressed it over his heart.
“There. Now she’s still with you,” Pandora said, and took her hand away slowly. Noah caught it gently, just holding it, not caressing her knuckles or offering any other kind of suggestive touch. He looked incredibly conflicted for a long minute, and finally looked straight into her eyes.
“Would you like to get something to eat? There’s a sushi place just up the street,” he offered. Pandora felt herself blushing, but nodded.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Noah unlocked his apartment upstairs with all the grace of badly-oiled automaton, the whisky at the bar and the two cups of sake downstairs having scarcely given him the courage to ask Pandora to come home with him. Pandora knew she couldn’t have done much better, even if she’d been able to take Noah to Peter’s place.
It wasn’t just because of the strangeness of the situation, or her nervousness, or even Noah’s reputation as a man who uncovered secrets. Part of it was just a simple, fundamental attraction. Pandora liked him. She liked his clear eyes, his steady hands, his stoicism overlaying vulnerability. He was fit, lean, and tall. Somehow she hadn’t noticed that so much as Peter, but Noah Bennet was ridiculously tall. He made her feel tiny, petite, like he could shelter her from anything. And she liked that. Pandora knew she could take care of herself, but the option to let him protect her was… nice. Comforting.
Noah was apologizing for the generalized bachelor’s mess in the apartment, putting away their coats like a true gentleman, when Pandora finally took his hand, arching her eyebrow to remind him she wasn’t here for the décor.
“Hey, it’s ok,” she soothed, and belatedly realized she was going to have to stand on tiptoe to reach his face. “Come down here, skyscraper.”
Noah actually unbent enough to smile, chuckling softly, and Pandora felt him start to relax. There was a rush of gray wool, aftershave, and heat, and he was kissing her, strong and easy. She had to hold on hard, feeling warmth flood through her body as he pressed his lips to hers, gently teasing her mouth open, using his hands to move her head perfectly against him. He effortlessly slid them into perfect alignment, and Pandora opened up to him, heart starting to pound.
He was good at this, better than Peter had ever been, assured and poised. The confidence wasn’t the kind of arrogance some guys had, that everything they did should be admired simply because they’d performed the perfect sort of trick. No, Noah’s confidence came from experience. From Sandra.
Peter mentally choked on that thought, even as Pandora only relaxed, pulling herself close as possible. She was tingling inside, the feelings of openness and wetness, the heat and throb of arousal overriding Peter’s sudden reluctance. Pandora wanted Noah, badly. She was tired of the lying and the waiting, needy as Peter ever had been for contact, and not as scrupulous as him to get it. She was his other half, not as passive, not as quiet, and not nearly as accepting. Peter would wait. Pandora would seek.
You wanted the full experience, brother. It’s time to get it.
“Noah, please,” she whispered, and tried to slide a hand under his jacket, anything to get the barriers of cloth out of the way. The waves of tingling heat were spreading all over her body, and she wanted to feel his hands on her, now.
He caught her wrist in an implacable grip and deepened the kiss even further, until Pandora was practically gasping for air, feeling like there wasn’t a part of her mouth that hadn’t been mapped and explored, conquered and laid to waste. Noah pulled away slowly, and Pandora felt dizzy.
“The bedroom’s right through there,” he said softly, pointing. “Bathroom’s on the right. I’ll be right in.”
He has to ditch the gun before I find it, she realized, and pulled away. Ditch the gun, and put his wedding band in a safe place. Safe, but no longer on his hand. Sandra wasn’t going to be hurt by this…
Blinking, Pandora staggered to the tiny bathroom, looking at her swollen lips and slightly tousled hair in the mirror with satisfaction. Peter was still stunned, reeling by the feelings coursing through her body, but she forced her hands to action, quickly removing her shoes and pantyhose, cleaning up, making sure the all-important foil packets were in her purse where she left them. This had to be perfect…
She looked in the mirror again and practiced a smile, confidence rising as she loosed her hair from its pins and barrettes, letting it cascade down her back.
You’re beautiful, Peter whispered in her mind.
“I know,” she agreed, her voice barely audible. “He deserves this. Me. Us.”
Head high, she walked to the bedroom, stopping herself from yelping as Noah stepped out behind her. His hands descended on her shoulders, sweeping her hair back from her neck and putting his intensely clever mouth to work. Pandora groaned when heat seemed to spiral from his lips through the rest of her body, and melted against him. Thoughts of control started to vanish when he slowly began to unravel her, easing off each article of clothing with such finesse that she was down to her underwear before she realized what he was doing.
Panic seized her and she stiffened, turning in his grasp. His hands were all over her, touching, claiming, awakening, so much more intense than it ever had been when Peter had touched her that it seemed almost unreal. Pandora smiled tremulously, reaching a hand up to run through his short, sandy hair, suddenly painfully aware that for all her experimentation with Peter, she was as new to this as he was. Noah was the only one who really knew what he was doing, and Peter was suddenly profoundly grateful for that. He could count on Noah Bennet.
“Ok?” Noah asked, hands never ceasing sweeping over her shoulders, running down her back and flanks, fingertips tickling and soothing at the same time.
“It’s my first time,” she managed to squeak out. A flash of confusion crossed Noah’s face and she quickly amended her statement, “…doing something like this. Let me just- try-.” She stopped trying to explain and forced her own hands to move, looking up into his face as she worked his shirt open, letting her nails rake the skin revealed below. A few tugs had it free of his pants, and he helped her drop it to the ground. To her shock, she realized the scar on his right side was from a bullet, something Peter recognized from time spent in the ER as a nursing student.
Unconsciously her hand pressed over it, and Noah hissed.
“Does it hurt?” Pandora asked, and Noah’s clear eyes were haunted. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to say anything…”
She tried to get her hands to move again, to tug at his belt, undo his pants, but fear froze her fingers. She could see the bulge, knew Noah was hard from wanting her. Wanting her, what she’d said she’d wanted, what she wanted to give him. Connection, opening up, sharing something beautiful for one night…
“Please don’t stop,” Pandora pleaded suddenly, and tilted her head up to him. “Please, I want you.”
Noah twined the fingers of her hand with his own and moved it away from the scar on his side, setting it around his shoulders. His mouth descended on hers again, and she let herself be swept away, let him lead for the moment, letting him soothe her fears. With greater finesse than Peter ever had, he slid her bra and panties off her in a few smooth motions, and Pandora moaned a little at the way her breasts felt pressed against his chest.
A half-dozen steps backwards and he helped her slide up the bed to nestle her head in his pillows. She pushed herself up as he managed to divest himself of his own clothes in no time at all, and felt herself smiling as the entire lean length of him was revealed. Noah wasn’t some muscle-bound athlete, but he had something far better than perfect beauty. He had character, confidence, and didn’t see the need to parade himself like some people (like himself sometimes, Peter realized with chagrin) did.
“Please,” Pandora whispered again, gesturing at him entreatingly, and gasped as he covered her. His only kissed her for a second, mouth quickly trailing down her neck, across her shoulder… Noah’s hand barely touched her breast, and she bit back a moan behind her teeth. “More,” she begged.
His mouth moved lower, lower, and Pandora suddenly had to bite her hand to stifle a shout of pleasure when his wickedly clever tongue wrapped around one of her nipples. Peter had loved that as a man, and to Pandora, it was ten times better. She arched into his touch, encouraging him with incoherent voice and every bit of body language she could muster to continue, to not let it end. Every suck from his mouth and tweak from his fingers sent bolts of pleasure right to her core, and she squeezed her thighs together until they trembled to try to increase the sensations.
“Noah, please, God, please, it’s just…. So good, Noah!” she babbled, her hands pressed into his head to keep him suckling at her breast, lost to the glory of her senses. He shifted, and one hand began to trace along her stomach, caressing the line of her hip, to rest at the juncture of her thighs. He pressed in a little, just as a test, and Pandora arched her head back and opened herself to him.
When his hand touched her sex, sliding expertly over her clit, smoothly pushing a finger inside her, Pandora was too far gone to think of muffling herself. Her hands slammed to the bed to grip the sheets, trying to anchor herself to reality. The difference between Peter’s hands and Noah’s was night and day, dreaming and waking, and she cried out, body clenching the finger inside her as her orgasm broke over her.
“More, more, Noah, please!” Pandora was completely shameless at this point, body starved for the touch Peter had denied himself for too long, that Noah had done without for longer than he should.
Noah’s hands didn’t even stop, just penetrated her deeper, further, adding another finger inside when she pushed down on his hand, wanting everything he could give her. Despite her inexperience, Pandora’s body was no virgin, because Peter wasn’t, and she could take everything wanted to give to Noah.
Moaning luxuriously, Pandora finally tugged Noah’s head up from her breast and fumbled for the condom she’d left on the beside table in her purse. He took it without a word, kissing her on the mouth, his hand in her pussy never stopping it’s steady stroking. Gasping, Pandora sat up a bit as Noah moved to his knees, hand curiously reaching out to touch Noah’s erection. This, she knew extremely well, what felt good, where to touch, and she put every bit of Peter’s experience to work as she closed her smaller hand on Noah’s hardness.
This time, he was the one to gasp, and Pandora felt her eyes widening as he hardened and swelled even more in her grasp. He was no monster, no over-large freak of nature, but still, she was small and-. Noah’s hips thrust into the circle of her hands, and she felt another bolt of arousal deep inside her. Fears were being crushed under need, and she snatched the condom back to gently tear open the wrapper and smooth it down his length.
“Please,” she pleaded again, and Noah pulled his hand away from her. He started to lean down over her, and quirked a single eyebrow, everything asking one last question. “Noah,” she breathed, her voice breaking as he guided himself into her, slow and smooth. Stretch and pressure, pain quickly subsiding from the invasion, and the minute her brow smoothed out, he was moving inside her.
“God, Noah,” she whispered, body on fire as he settled into a steady rhythm, slowly opening her up from the inside out. Little moans were being forced out of her with every thrust, and she opened her eyes to look at him, his own eyes closed in concentration, being so careful not to hurt her. His arms were trembling from the strain, and she reached her hands up to caress his face, feeling the faint roughness of stubble after a long day.
Pandora smiled, knowing what needed to happen, and quickly pressed on one of Noah’s arms and pulled on the other, flipping him over. She fell with him, landing on top, gasping as the new position pushed her deeper. A breathless moan from her, and she began to rock back against him, thighs flexing as she drove herself down. Peter was shaking within her at the pleasure of something being inside while Pandora was racing for even more to push her over the edge again.
“Noah, please, touch me,” she whispered, and saw his eyes were closed as his hands slid up her sides to cup and smooth her breasts, tweaking her nipples to send new shocks of pleasure through her. Everything Peter knew about him felt into place for Pandora, and she rested her hands on his as she clenched around his hardness on the downstroke. He groaned deep in his throat and thrust up to meet her, matching her easily as she drove herself hard. Fire built inside her with astonishing swiftness, bursting into an inferno when he moved on hand to the joining of their bodies, rubbing her into ecstasy when his hips arched up into her, his other hand pulling her down onto him.
When he cried out “Sandra!” as he climaxed, she didn’t move, only twined her fingers with his as he spilled into her, tension leaving him as the aftershocks of what they’d done shook them both.
Pandora leaned over him, pressing her lips to his forehead when he was finally able to look at her again. There was guilt there, Peter recognized that, but Pandora also saw satisfaction, contentment, an ease about him he hadn’t had before.
“I didn’t-.” Pandora stopped him from talking with a kiss, her lips trembling as her body tried to come down from its high. Everything in her felt changed, touched deeper inside than she’d known possible, and Peter was reeling from everything they’d felt together.
“You love her,” Pandora murmured, and kissed him again, hard. Noah let his return kiss be his rallying cry, and Pandora could feel the remaining tension in his body relax into the bliss he deserved. “You love her, and that’s beautiful.”
She slowly pulled herself away, body crying out at the loss of heat and penetration, and started to grab for her clothes.
“Pandora,” Noah said firmly, and put a hand on her wrist. “It’s cold, it’s late… Stay here for the night.”
“I don’t think-.”
“I do,” he said, and pulled just a bit. Pandora let herself be drawn back into his warmth, the naked length of his body completely enclosing her smaller one. She rested her head on his chest, and could hear the thunder of his heart. The protectiveness, security, the willingness to, for a moment, surrender to a strength greater than her own…
Peter slumbered with her as Pandora drifted off to sleep, feeling like his eyes and heart were truly open for the first time in his life. He understood… really and honestly, with no barriers between the different parts of himself. Herself. And tomorrow, who knew what they could understand together?
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairing: Peter, girl!Peter, girl!Peter/Noah Bennet
Rating: NC-17 for descriptions of sex
Word Count: 6,811
Spoilers: Vague early S4
Warnings: Solo F, het, shapechanging shenanigans, gender swap, pronoun confusion
Disclaimer: Heroes is owned by Tim Kring, NBC, et al.
Notes: Written for the Heroes Kink Meme Rides Again for the prompt: “Peter, shapeshifting, acquires a female-shaped alter-ego and tries to deal with male and female.” Thanks to brighteyed_jill for help with the dialogue. I don’t even do gender swap. WTF, brain?
Summary: Peter wants to walk a mile in her shoes.
Using a new power was always chancy. Peter knew that, and knew that something like shapeshifting would be fraught with all sorts of dangers. He already knew it was painful, and required contact with somebody else to use as a template. Probably he’d need to be careful about staying too long as someone else, just in case there were other side effects, mental ones. But right now Peter was only concerned about some of the extremely obvious side effects he should have thought of earlier.
Like how it would feel to be a woman. With some experimentation, and with the concern that he didn’t want to co-opt someone else’s life, he’d managed to shift himself into a woman that didn’t actually exist, a blending of several people he’d touched. She looked, Peter thought, rather like himself, if he’d been born a girl. It was incredibly strange to look in the mirror and see the face of a sister he’d never had.
He’d tried the woman’s shape mostly out of simple curiosity. He really didn’t want to be anyone else; he was happy as himself. The few brief minutes he’d been the president had been some of the strangest of his life. Peter didn’t want people to look at him and want him to be someone else. He’d had his fill of that growing up. But this woman, this half-familiar stranger, made him feel uncertain.
Peter thought of himself as an empathetic person, able to connect to other people and feel their pain. But seeing himself as female, his jeans fitting oddly on her hips, his shirt straining over her breasts, made him realize he could never actually know how a woman felt. He didn’t know how Claire had really felt, having everyone try to save her. He couldn’t know how Simone had really felt, having to be strong in the face of her father dying, Isaac’s problems, and Peter’s own set of issues. He didn’t really know how a woman felt under his hands.
This was something he wanted to understand, and Peter knew he’d probably never get this sort of opportunity ever again. Feeling a curious heat in his, her stomach, Peter opened her eyes to look at herself in the mirror in his apartment, to really look at himself as a woman. His own eyes, more thickly lashed now, stared back at her, curious and hungry, and Peter blushed. Even though he’d shut every shade and drawn every curtain, the incredible strangeness of the situation couldn’t be denied.
Dropping his gaze from his eyes, Peter looked at her in the mirror, taking in every nuance of her. She was softer, more delicate than him. Nose a little shorter, hair much longer, dropping in soft, dark waves down her back. Peter raised her hands up, studying them for a long moment. Slimmer, longer-fingered, with short, smooth nails, they stroked through her soft, thick hair, tugging softly. It was strange, feeling hair being pulled from such a distance. Peter had never had hair long enough to really tug at, and the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. She gripped a handful and gave it a harder pull, tugging her neck back, and Peter’s eyes were riveted by the way she looked in the mirror. Her long, pale, slender throat was exposed and her shoulders were pulled back, pushing her breasts forward.
The whole pose was thoroughly wanton, and Peter felt suddenly ashamed for treating a woman like that. A blushed colored her cheeks and a curious shiver of heat went through her body. The sensations were confusing, on one hand slightly embarrassing, on the other, slightly arousing. But the arousal didn’t feel the same, and Peter felt more heat flush her checks as he saw and felt her nipples harden. An all-over body blush was combining with a slow, roiling heat in her low belly, combined with a tingling in her breasts. Peter had kept expecting to feel like it usually did, every bit of pleasure focused on a single body part, but the sensations to her were much more diffuse.
Shaking her head, he let go of her hair, and Peter took several steadying breaths. He looked up in the mirror again, and she stared back, unafraid. He felt ridiculous. She was him; he couldn’t hurt her. He just wanted to know how things felt. If anything hurt, he’d know right away, and he would stop.
“It’s ok,” she said. “I know you just want to feel the differences. It’s different on the other side of the fence. It’s natural to be curious. It’s ok, I want you to see me. Go on…”
Her voice was higher than his, more dulcet, and she laughed a bit in nervousness. Her chuckle was low and pleasant, and Peter felt the heat and tingle run through her again. She sounded better than he did. Peter wondered if she could sing.
Feeling self-conscious, she tried to sing the first thing that came to mind, the first line of “Amazing Grace.” Her sense of tempo and pitch wasn’t much better than Peter’s, which was middling, at best, but her notes sounded sweeter. Chuckling again, she brought her hands up, and Peter really looked at them this time.
Not only were they smaller, as were her arms, but they bore only the faintest fuzz of hair. Peter was strong, he worked out several days a week, and she was strong too, but it was a leaner strength. A feminine strength, Peter realized, trying not to laugh again. Nervousness settled over them both as she put her hands on the hem of his t-shirt. A moment of fear overtook Peter, but she just shrugged and pulled the t-shirt off quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
When the cloth had cleared her head and hair, landing in a heap behind her, Peter stared at her in the mirror. She was beautiful, shapely, with a narrower waist than him, and high breasts, small and perfect. Her hands curved around her breasts, just feeling the strange weight of them, the way they fit easily into her hands, and Peter sighed in contentment. What had felt strange a second ago now felt completely normal, at least for her. Mischievously, and experimentally, she gently squeezed an erect nipple, and Peter’s knees shook at the small bolt of pleasure that seemed to shoot directly to her pussy.
Peter’s mind stalled right there, and while her hands absently explored and gently squeezed her breasts, Peter stared at his jeans in the mirror. Under the denim was her pussy, her labia, clitoris, and vagina, strange/familiar things sending strange sensations through them both. The curious heat in her low belly was growing, and there was a feeling of wetness, openness, a deep throbbing inside her that Peter was eager to explore.
“Go on, it’s ok,” she whispered, and Peter moved her hands down to his jeans. Like before, she didn’t waste any time, just unzipping them quickly, getting the jeans and the now too-large briefs off her body. Peter stared at her feet for long moments, forcibly distracting himself, seeing how small and shapely they were compared to his own. Then her arm accidentally brushed a nipple, and Peter moaned, her voice low and husky with arousal. Peter’s arousal.
Looking up, Peter slid her hands down her sides, feeling the soft, soft skin, then gliding down over her round hips, and finally trailing down her smooth legs, curved and fleshier than his. But sexier. So much sexier. Another bolt of arousal speared through them, and Peter brought her hands up to slide down her ass, squeezing just because she could.
Peter stared at her in the mirror, completely naked, smiling, flushed, aroused, and welcoming.
“I’m beautiful,” she whispered. Peter agreed, enthusiastically. He wanted to please her, wanted to make her feel good, desperately wanted to know how this would feel to her.
He slid her hands around her hips and smoothed over the front of her mons, feeling the curly dark hair there, and the softness and radiating heat beneath. Setting her feet apart, she took a deep breath as he tentatively moved her fingers in, body jolting when the light touch over her swollen and damp flesh sent another bolt of pleasure through her. Her other hand almost involuntarily moved back to her breast, cupping it and squeezing the nipple, making her moan.
Peter felt the need for more start to climb, that wanting to be touched, and moved her fingers in, rubbing across her wet slit. She gasped when Peter felt another surge of wetness, and he recklessly dove her hand in, delving deep into the tight slickness inside. The feel of being penetrated, of the pleasure coming from something being inside, made Peter gasp, her knees going weak and nerveless. She had to kneel, her knees far apart, as her finger slid in and out in a rhythmless pattern, just getting used to the feeling.
The strangeness faded after several long minutes, and Peter realized there was so much more to touch, so much more that needed his attention. He moved her thumb over the sensitive, throbbing little knob of flesh, biting down on a loud moan as he massaged and circled her clitoris, letting her other fingers slide up and down her labia, teasing and stroking every inch she could reach. Her other hand switched from breast to breast, stroking, squeezing, pinching, sending little sparks of pleasurable fire down to her pussy, making her gush over her hand.
Peter was lost in the feelings, letting her take over, showing him what felt the best. When to add more fingers for a delicious stretch inside. When to change the pressure and tempo on her clit to keep her moving higher and higher. When it was ok to pinch hard on her nipples for that extra edge of sensation… The throbbing inside her had reached an incredible pitch, and Peter felt like there was something inside her, ready to explode. Her hands started to move faster, muscles burning as they delved deeper, moved faster, and pinched harder, the crescendo building and building until Peter felt it getting ready to crash over him.
Peter stared at her in the mirror, watching her watching him, seeing him racing for completion at her silent urging, her body red and beautiful and wanton. A bolt of fear raced down his spine when he realized he was going to come as a woman, and then Peter’s world exploded. Pleasure bloomed up from his pussy and spread over his entire body, every muscles tightening as she came for long moments, hands still churning and moving inside her. Peter felt himself clamping down on her fingers inside him, wetness pouring over her hand as she continued to stroke and rub, and to his surprise, felt it building again, like a rising wave barreling in before the second had finished crashing over the shore.
“No, no, no, yes!” she cried, the burst of exquisite pain coming over her again… and then again as Peter writhed, back now on the floor as she arched her hips up, knees wide. Her hands slowed after the last quakes of pleasure had gone, pulling away from her slightly sore flesh and pushing herself upright. Peter stared at her in the mirror, admiring the satisfied flush on her face, knees still shaky from experiencing a pleasure he’d never dreamed was possible for a man to have.
“That was good for me,” she murmured, winking. “Was it good for you, baby?”
Peter laughed out loud at the question, running her hands down their body, just celebrating this new part of himself.
“I want to try this on someone else,” Peter said out loud, her voice making his words sound much sweeter. And sexier. “I want to make someone I care about feel like this.”
“Yeah…” she agreed, and slid a hand up her stomach, slowly. “And get someone to do this to me.”
Peter felt another bolt of fear at her words. She was articulating desires he wasn’t sure if he wanted to explore. Yes, he’d wanted to be able to empathize with women better, but to have someone else touching her? Him? A man, touching him, as her? He closed their eyes, imagining how it might feel to be in the arms of someone stronger than her, his flesh penetrating hers. That’s what this was really about, right? To walk a mile not only in her shoes, but in her flesh?
“Someone that’ll care about you. I don’t want to see you hurt,” Peter cautioned. He knew the dangers that could befall a woman…
“I know you’ll take care of me. You’re very good at doing that,” she said contritely.
“How do we do this?” Peter asked.
“Think. I’d be awkward to explain to anyone you knew.”
She had a point. Peter stared at her, seeing her from outside eyes, thinking about the men he knew. It was doing the strangest things to his insides, trying to think about the guys he knew as sex objects. It was making her throb inside, pleasantly, and Peter felt his brain almost getting bent out of shape. Who did he know that would treat a one-night stand with kindness and compassion? Who did he know that would have a one-night stand? Most of the former were married and wouldn’t have one-night stands. Most of the latter were jerks.
Peter shied away from trying to pick up a stranger for her. He wanted someone he could trust. Someone who would keep anything strange a secret. Someone that wanted the company, but didn’t want commitment right now. Then he had it.
She smiled when Peter mouthed his name, and cocked her head in the mirror.
“What about you, hot stuff? What lucky lady gets the benefits of your experiments with me?”
Peter didn’t know yet. He didn’t have a girlfriend right now, and his track record with girlfriends as of late was frankly horrible. But later, if he found someone that he cared about, that liked him back…
“Sounds like we have a double date. Sort of,” she said with a laugh.
“What’s your name? You have to have a name,” Peter insisted.
Her name popped into mind immediately, as if he’d always known it. He wondered why he hadn’t realized it before.
“Pandora.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter never suspected he was so popular. For the week that week Pandora had been coming to this bar, doing her best imitation of a woman coming off of an office job, she’d had to quickly learn how to turn away a half-dozen or more free drinks from enterprising men that wanted to catch her eye. She didn’t have Peter’s tolerance for alcohol, hard-won from a lifetime of Petrelli family experience, and had been irritated with herself beyond all sense and reason when she’d let herself get drunk the first night. She’d had to let Peter take her home, her clothes hidden under his jacket.
He was keeping her safe, but he took a back seat when she turned on the right amount of charm to those around her. She didn’t want to blow her one chance at this, at finding the one man for her, because she knew she might not stay around if this didn’t go well. Everything had to be perfect, from how she acted, to how she looked.
If Peter thought about that too hard, it made him nervous. How Pandora had seemed to know what sort of clothes were right to wear, how she hadn’t made more than a few mistakes in guessing her right size. How she’d effortlessly finessed the woman in the lingerie department to fit her for a bra, “Oh, I think I’ve been wearing the wrong size…” What colors flattered her, what shoes were right to wear. Because it was Peter who knew all of that, really. Had he really picked up so much knowledge about feminine fashion?
The rituals of make-up and hair… well, that had defeated him, at least. Pandora had to go to a department store for “tips” to find the right way to put on all the different liners and powders and glosses, and to a salon for an appropriate styling. Though Peter had still been a little disconcerted that he hadn’t had to think too hard to find the right places to go. Were all guys as knowledgeable, hiding it under a layer of masculine denial?
Did Peter really know how to flirt that well too? Because Pandora was pretty good at it, better than Peter had ever been with girls. She was also more cutting than him when it came to shutting down guys that were trying too hard. It was actually a relief she hadn’t been born Pandora, because it had already been a week and the “Pandora’s Box” jokes were already unbearable. That made her choice, Peter’s choice of companion, all the more important. She had to be able to talk to him without tripping over her own tongue or giving away that she knew him. Because Noah Bennet was no fool.
It was a strange relief, on several levels, to have picked Noah. He might be too smart for Pandora’s ploy, but Peter thought he might need this. Claire had said her parents were divorcing, and Noah was living alone in Manhattan now. Peter would have been nervous to approach him as himself; worried that Noah would have tried to wrangle him back into the Company. But as Pandora, Peter didn’t have to worry about that. Yes, Noah was not quite twenty years older than her, but he was still attractive, enough so to her that Peter worried about himself a little.
She’d gotten a little closer each night, starting out at a table close to Noah’s spot at the bar (back to a wall, with a good view of the door), and eventually abandoning the table all together for a spot next to him.
“Mind if I sit here?”
He’d looked up, a bit surprised, but had just shaken his head.
“It’s a free country,” he said, a hint of bitter irony in his voice that was very clear to Peter.
Pandora sat, watching him carefully as she smoothed her suit skirt. Noah was watching her too, but not with the predatory, assessing gaze of the younger guys she’d had to rebuff. He didn’t linger on her breasts, but quickly slid his eyes to just under her shoulder, looking for the telltale bulge of a gun. Seeing no obvious threat, he didn’t exactly dismiss her, but seemed to relax just a hair. He took a sip of his drink, eyes sliding away from her so casually that if she hadn’t been watching for his assessment, she might not have noticed it. Idly she wondered if he was still wearing his gun. The answer was probably yes.
“Thanks,” she said sincerely. “I’m tired of…” Pandora subtly waived a hand, nails painted a pale pink, in the direction of the guys huddled at the other end of the bar near the TV. Every woman that passed near them was subject to scrutiny, like a wolf pack hunting for the perfect deer to eat.
“Once the game picks up they wouldn’t notice if the roof fell on their heads,” Noah said, staring into his glass. “You can make your escape halfway through the second quarter and I don’t think they’ll bother you.”
“Thanks for the tip…” she trailed off, a question in her tone.
“Noah,” he supplied briefly.
“Pandora,” she offered, and took another sip of her drink. She waited for his reaction while the sweet, fruity alcohol burned down her throat. Another advantage of being a woman- you could order the most frou-frou drinks on the menu and no one looked at you twice. And they definitely tasted better than some of the beer and hard liquor you could get at a bar like this.
“Greek?” Noah asked, looking mildly interested.
Pandora smiled widely, feeling a bit more confident when Noah paid more attention to her. Unlike Peter, Pandora’s smile was perfect, not crooked from a numb lip, and that gave her an assurance that she hadn’t had as Peter.
“I think you’re the first person I’ve met in five years that hasn’t made the obvious joke,” she said with relief. “And yeah, my grandmother was, but my parents didn’t really keep with the old world traditions. They liked the names though. Pandora means ‘all gifts.’ I guess they had high hopes for me. You? You’re supposed to save the world from its wickedness?”
Pandora kept a teasing smile in place even though she knew the “innocent” comment would cut Noah to the quick. She didn’t want to be mean, definitely didn’t want to hurt him, but she could either spend weeks slowly worming her way into his life, or cut right under his skin and help them both out. Pandora was a lot bolder than Peter.
Noah winced slightly, and she saw him grip his glass tighter for a moment. “I suppose I was. Things never go as planned.”
He curled his left hand up on his lap, and Pandora saw him flipping something small and shiny over and over in his fingers.
“How long were you married?” she asked.
Noah shot a glance over at her and she nodded pointedly at the ring he was worrying in his hand.
“Eighteen years,” he said tightly, and started to turn away.
“Did she-?” Pandora stopped herself, making the question seem like she was asking after the worst, and tried to look chagrined and ashamed.
“No, no, nothing like that,” Noah assured her, seeming to forcibly relax himself. He turned back to Pandora and put his left hand back on the bar. “I… Should have been better. More there.”
“Job ate you alive? I have a brother like that,” she murmured in sympathy. "I know how it feels when someone you love, someone who's like family, or is family, just… goes away."
Noah paled a little as he looked at her, and nodded solemnly. “Something a lot like that,” he agreed.
“Nikolas just… He went for this huge promotion, and I couldn’t do anything good enough for him anymore. I couldn’t be perfect, couldn’t show everyone how great his family was. And he just cut me out, pushed me away. And that was that. Every time I try to get back in, I get burned. I lost friends, my boyfriend, my job, everything for my family.”
Peter was nervous as hell at Pandora’s story, so very close to his own, and so very calculated to play right to Noah. Part of him felt wrong, trading on his inside knowledge to get to him, and part of him was scared, afraid Noah would see right through them and demand to know what the hell Peter was doing. If his mother found out, Peter didn’t even want to contemplate her reaction to the fact that Peter was trying to pick up one of her former employees as a woman.
But the part of Peter and Pandora that wanted to help wasn’t going to be dissuaded. Noah was alone, achingly alone, without purpose or plan, without a single person to confide in, even for a single evening. For one night, surely Pandora could fill that need.
Noah stared at Pandora as if trying to stare through her, willing her to make some kind of sense. Her heart sped up, but she didn’t hesitate.
“Simon, my boyfriend, he was really good for me. I thought we really had something going; he understood things without me having to explain them, could keep my secrets, but I was just… My priorities were screwed up. Things got bad. So, fresh start,” Pandora said, using her glass to gesture to the bar. “New job, new bar, new friends.”
“How’s that working for you?” Noah asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“Hard as hell,” she confessed whole-heartedly. “There’s just so much I have to fill. All the holes in my life… You?”
“My wife-,” he started, and then stopped and shook his head. Partially out of caution, but also out of genuine reluctance to speak of it.
“You really loved her,” Pandora said sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.”
Noah turned the ring over in his hand and took another sip of his drink. “Me too.” His voice was soft, and he crushed his fist around the circle of gold.
"I'd like to feel close to someone again, even if I know it won't be the same. I need to feel like I still can...open up like that. Do you know what I mean?" Pandora asked softly.
Noah sat back slightly his bar stool to look at her, probably trying to figure out if she was serious. She gave back everything she was feeling, nervousness and hope and need. Swallowing, she reached over to his left hand and placed hers over it. He slowly relaxed his fist, and she drew out the ring. Moving carefully, she slid her hand just inside his jacket, put the ring into his inside pocket, and pressed it over his heart.
“There. Now she’s still with you,” Pandora said, and took her hand away slowly. Noah caught it gently, just holding it, not caressing her knuckles or offering any other kind of suggestive touch. He looked incredibly conflicted for a long minute, and finally looked straight into her eyes.
“Would you like to get something to eat? There’s a sushi place just up the street,” he offered. Pandora felt herself blushing, but nodded.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Noah unlocked his apartment upstairs with all the grace of badly-oiled automaton, the whisky at the bar and the two cups of sake downstairs having scarcely given him the courage to ask Pandora to come home with him. Pandora knew she couldn’t have done much better, even if she’d been able to take Noah to Peter’s place.
It wasn’t just because of the strangeness of the situation, or her nervousness, or even Noah’s reputation as a man who uncovered secrets. Part of it was just a simple, fundamental attraction. Pandora liked him. She liked his clear eyes, his steady hands, his stoicism overlaying vulnerability. He was fit, lean, and tall. Somehow she hadn’t noticed that so much as Peter, but Noah Bennet was ridiculously tall. He made her feel tiny, petite, like he could shelter her from anything. And she liked that. Pandora knew she could take care of herself, but the option to let him protect her was… nice. Comforting.
Noah was apologizing for the generalized bachelor’s mess in the apartment, putting away their coats like a true gentleman, when Pandora finally took his hand, arching her eyebrow to remind him she wasn’t here for the décor.
“Hey, it’s ok,” she soothed, and belatedly realized she was going to have to stand on tiptoe to reach his face. “Come down here, skyscraper.”
Noah actually unbent enough to smile, chuckling softly, and Pandora felt him start to relax. There was a rush of gray wool, aftershave, and heat, and he was kissing her, strong and easy. She had to hold on hard, feeling warmth flood through her body as he pressed his lips to hers, gently teasing her mouth open, using his hands to move her head perfectly against him. He effortlessly slid them into perfect alignment, and Pandora opened up to him, heart starting to pound.
He was good at this, better than Peter had ever been, assured and poised. The confidence wasn’t the kind of arrogance some guys had, that everything they did should be admired simply because they’d performed the perfect sort of trick. No, Noah’s confidence came from experience. From Sandra.
Peter mentally choked on that thought, even as Pandora only relaxed, pulling herself close as possible. She was tingling inside, the feelings of openness and wetness, the heat and throb of arousal overriding Peter’s sudden reluctance. Pandora wanted Noah, badly. She was tired of the lying and the waiting, needy as Peter ever had been for contact, and not as scrupulous as him to get it. She was his other half, not as passive, not as quiet, and not nearly as accepting. Peter would wait. Pandora would seek.
You wanted the full experience, brother. It’s time to get it.
“Noah, please,” she whispered, and tried to slide a hand under his jacket, anything to get the barriers of cloth out of the way. The waves of tingling heat were spreading all over her body, and she wanted to feel his hands on her, now.
He caught her wrist in an implacable grip and deepened the kiss even further, until Pandora was practically gasping for air, feeling like there wasn’t a part of her mouth that hadn’t been mapped and explored, conquered and laid to waste. Noah pulled away slowly, and Pandora felt dizzy.
“The bedroom’s right through there,” he said softly, pointing. “Bathroom’s on the right. I’ll be right in.”
He has to ditch the gun before I find it, she realized, and pulled away. Ditch the gun, and put his wedding band in a safe place. Safe, but no longer on his hand. Sandra wasn’t going to be hurt by this…
Blinking, Pandora staggered to the tiny bathroom, looking at her swollen lips and slightly tousled hair in the mirror with satisfaction. Peter was still stunned, reeling by the feelings coursing through her body, but she forced her hands to action, quickly removing her shoes and pantyhose, cleaning up, making sure the all-important foil packets were in her purse where she left them. This had to be perfect…
She looked in the mirror again and practiced a smile, confidence rising as she loosed her hair from its pins and barrettes, letting it cascade down her back.
You’re beautiful, Peter whispered in her mind.
“I know,” she agreed, her voice barely audible. “He deserves this. Me. Us.”
Head high, she walked to the bedroom, stopping herself from yelping as Noah stepped out behind her. His hands descended on her shoulders, sweeping her hair back from her neck and putting his intensely clever mouth to work. Pandora groaned when heat seemed to spiral from his lips through the rest of her body, and melted against him. Thoughts of control started to vanish when he slowly began to unravel her, easing off each article of clothing with such finesse that she was down to her underwear before she realized what he was doing.
Panic seized her and she stiffened, turning in his grasp. His hands were all over her, touching, claiming, awakening, so much more intense than it ever had been when Peter had touched her that it seemed almost unreal. Pandora smiled tremulously, reaching a hand up to run through his short, sandy hair, suddenly painfully aware that for all her experimentation with Peter, she was as new to this as he was. Noah was the only one who really knew what he was doing, and Peter was suddenly profoundly grateful for that. He could count on Noah Bennet.
“Ok?” Noah asked, hands never ceasing sweeping over her shoulders, running down her back and flanks, fingertips tickling and soothing at the same time.
“It’s my first time,” she managed to squeak out. A flash of confusion crossed Noah’s face and she quickly amended her statement, “…doing something like this. Let me just- try-.” She stopped trying to explain and forced her own hands to move, looking up into his face as she worked his shirt open, letting her nails rake the skin revealed below. A few tugs had it free of his pants, and he helped her drop it to the ground. To her shock, she realized the scar on his right side was from a bullet, something Peter recognized from time spent in the ER as a nursing student.
Unconsciously her hand pressed over it, and Noah hissed.
“Does it hurt?” Pandora asked, and Noah’s clear eyes were haunted. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to say anything…”
She tried to get her hands to move again, to tug at his belt, undo his pants, but fear froze her fingers. She could see the bulge, knew Noah was hard from wanting her. Wanting her, what she’d said she’d wanted, what she wanted to give him. Connection, opening up, sharing something beautiful for one night…
“Please don’t stop,” Pandora pleaded suddenly, and tilted her head up to him. “Please, I want you.”
Noah twined the fingers of her hand with his own and moved it away from the scar on his side, setting it around his shoulders. His mouth descended on hers again, and she let herself be swept away, let him lead for the moment, letting him soothe her fears. With greater finesse than Peter ever had, he slid her bra and panties off her in a few smooth motions, and Pandora moaned a little at the way her breasts felt pressed against his chest.
A half-dozen steps backwards and he helped her slide up the bed to nestle her head in his pillows. She pushed herself up as he managed to divest himself of his own clothes in no time at all, and felt herself smiling as the entire lean length of him was revealed. Noah wasn’t some muscle-bound athlete, but he had something far better than perfect beauty. He had character, confidence, and didn’t see the need to parade himself like some people (like himself sometimes, Peter realized with chagrin) did.
“Please,” Pandora whispered again, gesturing at him entreatingly, and gasped as he covered her. His only kissed her for a second, mouth quickly trailing down her neck, across her shoulder… Noah’s hand barely touched her breast, and she bit back a moan behind her teeth. “More,” she begged.
His mouth moved lower, lower, and Pandora suddenly had to bite her hand to stifle a shout of pleasure when his wickedly clever tongue wrapped around one of her nipples. Peter had loved that as a man, and to Pandora, it was ten times better. She arched into his touch, encouraging him with incoherent voice and every bit of body language she could muster to continue, to not let it end. Every suck from his mouth and tweak from his fingers sent bolts of pleasure right to her core, and she squeezed her thighs together until they trembled to try to increase the sensations.
“Noah, please, God, please, it’s just…. So good, Noah!” she babbled, her hands pressed into his head to keep him suckling at her breast, lost to the glory of her senses. He shifted, and one hand began to trace along her stomach, caressing the line of her hip, to rest at the juncture of her thighs. He pressed in a little, just as a test, and Pandora arched her head back and opened herself to him.
When his hand touched her sex, sliding expertly over her clit, smoothly pushing a finger inside her, Pandora was too far gone to think of muffling herself. Her hands slammed to the bed to grip the sheets, trying to anchor herself to reality. The difference between Peter’s hands and Noah’s was night and day, dreaming and waking, and she cried out, body clenching the finger inside her as her orgasm broke over her.
“More, more, Noah, please!” Pandora was completely shameless at this point, body starved for the touch Peter had denied himself for too long, that Noah had done without for longer than he should.
Noah’s hands didn’t even stop, just penetrated her deeper, further, adding another finger inside when she pushed down on his hand, wanting everything he could give her. Despite her inexperience, Pandora’s body was no virgin, because Peter wasn’t, and she could take everything wanted to give to Noah.
Moaning luxuriously, Pandora finally tugged Noah’s head up from her breast and fumbled for the condom she’d left on the beside table in her purse. He took it without a word, kissing her on the mouth, his hand in her pussy never stopping it’s steady stroking. Gasping, Pandora sat up a bit as Noah moved to his knees, hand curiously reaching out to touch Noah’s erection. This, she knew extremely well, what felt good, where to touch, and she put every bit of Peter’s experience to work as she closed her smaller hand on Noah’s hardness.
This time, he was the one to gasp, and Pandora felt her eyes widening as he hardened and swelled even more in her grasp. He was no monster, no over-large freak of nature, but still, she was small and-. Noah’s hips thrust into the circle of her hands, and she felt another bolt of arousal deep inside her. Fears were being crushed under need, and she snatched the condom back to gently tear open the wrapper and smooth it down his length.
“Please,” she pleaded again, and Noah pulled his hand away from her. He started to lean down over her, and quirked a single eyebrow, everything asking one last question. “Noah,” she breathed, her voice breaking as he guided himself into her, slow and smooth. Stretch and pressure, pain quickly subsiding from the invasion, and the minute her brow smoothed out, he was moving inside her.
“God, Noah,” she whispered, body on fire as he settled into a steady rhythm, slowly opening her up from the inside out. Little moans were being forced out of her with every thrust, and she opened her eyes to look at him, his own eyes closed in concentration, being so careful not to hurt her. His arms were trembling from the strain, and she reached her hands up to caress his face, feeling the faint roughness of stubble after a long day.
Pandora smiled, knowing what needed to happen, and quickly pressed on one of Noah’s arms and pulled on the other, flipping him over. She fell with him, landing on top, gasping as the new position pushed her deeper. A breathless moan from her, and she began to rock back against him, thighs flexing as she drove herself down. Peter was shaking within her at the pleasure of something being inside while Pandora was racing for even more to push her over the edge again.
“Noah, please, touch me,” she whispered, and saw his eyes were closed as his hands slid up her sides to cup and smooth her breasts, tweaking her nipples to send new shocks of pleasure through her. Everything Peter knew about him felt into place for Pandora, and she rested her hands on his as she clenched around his hardness on the downstroke. He groaned deep in his throat and thrust up to meet her, matching her easily as she drove herself hard. Fire built inside her with astonishing swiftness, bursting into an inferno when he moved on hand to the joining of their bodies, rubbing her into ecstasy when his hips arched up into her, his other hand pulling her down onto him.
When he cried out “Sandra!” as he climaxed, she didn’t move, only twined her fingers with his as he spilled into her, tension leaving him as the aftershocks of what they’d done shook them both.
Pandora leaned over him, pressing her lips to his forehead when he was finally able to look at her again. There was guilt there, Peter recognized that, but Pandora also saw satisfaction, contentment, an ease about him he hadn’t had before.
“I didn’t-.” Pandora stopped him from talking with a kiss, her lips trembling as her body tried to come down from its high. Everything in her felt changed, touched deeper inside than she’d known possible, and Peter was reeling from everything they’d felt together.
“You love her,” Pandora murmured, and kissed him again, hard. Noah let his return kiss be his rallying cry, and Pandora could feel the remaining tension in his body relax into the bliss he deserved. “You love her, and that’s beautiful.”
She slowly pulled herself away, body crying out at the loss of heat and penetration, and started to grab for her clothes.
“Pandora,” Noah said firmly, and put a hand on her wrist. “It’s cold, it’s late… Stay here for the night.”
“I don’t think-.”
“I do,” he said, and pulled just a bit. Pandora let herself be drawn back into his warmth, the naked length of his body completely enclosing her smaller one. She rested her head on his chest, and could hear the thunder of his heart. The protectiveness, security, the willingness to, for a moment, surrender to a strength greater than her own…
Peter slumbered with her as Pandora drifted off to sleep, feeling like his eyes and heart were truly open for the first time in his life. He understood… really and honestly, with no barriers between the different parts of himself. Herself. And tomorrow, who knew what they could understand together?