Want and Need
Title: Want and Need
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Peter/OCs, implied Peter/Nathan, implied Peter/Simone, implied Peter/others, Caitlin, Ricky
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,627
Spoilers: Early S2
Warnings: Sex, slash, consensual incest, prostitution, a little BDSM
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC et al.
A/N: Written for a_cook1’s, No iPods? No Problem! meme. I think I started off trying to be funny but then Peter went all introspective on me. Huh.
Summary: Ricky wants something. Peter needs something.
“Are you insane?” Caitlin asked, hands on her hips. The bloodstained rag she had used to clean up Peter still dangled from her hand.
Ricky just glared at her witheringly, but she let it roll right off her.
“McSorley wants his money, and he won’t give us too long to get it.”
“That’s why I’m going to have Peter help us with a little job-.”
“That’s what’s insane!” Caitlin glared. “Peter barely knows what he’s doing. You throw him into danger and I think he could kill someone. Or get killed. That’s the last thing we need.”
“If the job goes right, no one’ll get hurt.”
“When have jobs always gone right? You know as well as me that they always go wrong when you need them to go right.”
“Do you have something in mind then?” Ricky asked, exasperated. “Something that’ll cover the whole bill with enough to spare for Tuko and Will by next week?”
“Have you looked at Peter?” Caitlin asked.
“What, has he gone and hurt himself?”
“No, I mean have you really looked at him?” Caitlin insisted.
Ricky shook his head, looking confused. “What about him?”
“He’s pretty,” Caitlin said, as if that should explain everything. Ricky still looked blank. “You know I’ve never bothered to give you advice on what jobs you do, but I thought this’d be obvious.”
“Caitlin, just say it!”
“You find a half-naked man with amnesia in the cargo container, find out he can do all kinds of crazy things including heal himself… and since you had me clean him up, I can tell you that he rather enjoys being tied up,” Caitlin said slowly.
The light bulb suddenly went off over Ricky’s head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You want me to… you want to rent me out?” Peter repeated Ricky’s words carefully, as if trying to figure out if they were even English.
Ricky only nodded sympathetically, as if informing Peter of some little technicality that had to be taken care of before he could enter the country. Like it was routine. Commonplace.
“You see, that container you were in was supposed to secure me a big payday. Now I can’t just explain to McSorley that he can’t get his money next week, now can I? And as I see it, I only have a couple of choices. I can either try to get the money with a little bit of rough stuff, or you can have a few nights of action and take care of this problem you created,” Ricky said.
“But I don’t even know how I got here or who I am-,” Peter started.
“How do you know that’s not what you were?” Caitlin broke in. Peter blinked at her in bemusement. “Naked, handcuffed, can’t remember anything… sounds like you just left a really good party.”
Peter blushed furiously, and felt the heat flash over his entire body. Something more than the cold was making his nipples peak and his groin throb. Having his hands tied behind his back had been doing things to him that he really couldn’t explain, until Caitlin had put forth her strange explanation.
“That’s… that can’t be true,” Peter said, keeping his eyes down. At the same time he almost wished it were. If they were right, if anything would help him remember… He’d take being a whore, a party favor, over this not knowing.
“Are you sure?” Ricky said, and held up something between his hands. “This was in the container with you. It might tell you everything you want to know. And if you do this for me, I’ll give it back to you.”
Peter looked up and almost strained towards the box, as desperate for clues to his identity as he was for freedom. Caitlin stepped forward and rubbed a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“Peter, we have to get this money to McSorley by next week or things go badly. Will you help us?” she asked.
Caught between the feelings running through his body and the almost palpable connection to the box in Ricky’s hands, Peter nodded.
“Good man.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter wasn’t sure if it should be so easy to slip into a role when you didn’t know who you were. Or maybe that was supposed to make it easier. He had no expectations, no framework to work from, and no fear. What you did not know, you could not dread.
“Kiss me,” the woman had said. And it was easy to do that, to kiss and hold her, to pay attention to everything she said, to enclose her in warmth and sink into her heat, listening to every urging to go faster, slower, harder, easier, where to stroke and rub. Peter welcomed every order, hoping something would spark a memory in him.
Long dark curly hair, pale sad eyes, weeping and release…
“Hold still, boy. I want to hear you count this out,” the man ordered, stroking the skin of his ass with a calloused hand. The belt cracked down again and again, Peter shouting out the numbers through a throat horse with screams. Held down, open and helpless, Peter had to bite the pillow to keep from spurting onto the blankets below him.
Some part of him urged him to enjoy this, and Peter perversely welcomed every hint of awakening memory. As the numbers climbed past ten, and the heat became as powerful as the pain, Peter arched into the blows, hoping the next strike would crack his mind open.
A rumbling voice promising him punishment for his teasing, numbers whispered so they couldn’t be overheard, a hand stroking him to release, mouth muffled in the pillow when he came so hard he saw stars.
“Let me ride you, pretty,” the girl giggled, blonde and wanton. No ties or chains for him, just her in the sinful school uniform, winking at him in her fantasy of forbidden compliance. She whispered to him about parties and relatives he was supposed to know, and nodded and smiled like she wanted him to. He called her his angel, and ghosted his hands under her sweater, teasing her like she wanted him to, like he’d known her all his life.
She’d called him her hero, and loved him from the first. They couldn’t have known what lay between them…
“Slut,” the man rumbled. “Such a slut for it. You know you love it. Come on, beg for it, sweet thing…”
“I want you, I want to feel it in my mouth, please…” Peter begged without shame, knowing that was exactly what the man wanted to hear, knowing that was exactly what he wanted to say. “I want to feel you down my throat-.” He choked a little when the man pushed in impatiently, hard, thick, unyielding, unhesitating. The cliched words didn't matter, just the want in the man's eyes, his voice, the eagerness that made him choke Peter into silence for want of his pleasure.
Memory swelled and tickled, blooming and fading as the man above him cursed and sighed at skill Peter didn’t remember having, chuckling indulgently when Peter took himself in hand. When they crested, slick on Peter’s hand and salt on his tongue, he could almost see a remembered face.
He’d always put Peter on his knees when time was short, and Peter had learned to take what he was given without complaint. But it wasn’t indifference, wasn’t hate, it was only love. Fast and on his knees because later he’d be taken care of, reciprocated, stroked inside and out, taken so skillfully that Peter would forget his own name and only be able to shout out his…
“Nathan! Oh God, Nathan, please!” Peter cried, lost as he exploded at the pinnacle of teasing, a strong and formal man determined to see something beautiful writhe and come apart at his touch, something that wouldn’t make him feel guilty. He hadn’t given him a name, and Peter blushed in mingled embarrassment and triumph as the man smiled down at him, stroking him through the aftermath, wringing a few final moans with the last drops of Peter’s passion.
“I got you, Pete,” the man said, and Peter almost came all over again at that, writhing in the blonde man’s grip.
“I love you, Pete. I got you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Caitlin came to see him after the man had left, when Peter was still damp from his shower.
“Doing all right?” she asked anxiously.
“Yeah,” Peter said quietly, trying to not disturb the fragments of memories still floating around in his mind.
“Look, Ricky just checked the books, and we’re back in the black. Well in the black. You did good, Peter. He says you can have your box,” she said, holding it out to him.
Peter took it numbly, opened it and flipped through the contents. None of the numbers looked familiar. His last name rang no bells. He couldn’t remember what New York might have looked like. The man in the picture tugged only lightly at his memory. Useless. Just paper. Words. Pictures.
“Caitlin,” Peter whispered. “Don’t stop.”
“Stop…?” she asked.
“Every time I-. I remember. Every time I do this, I remember something.”
“Peter, you don’t have to-.”
“I want to remember. I want to, so badly…” Peter closed his eyes, body flushing with heat as the memories fitted into the little corners of his mind, etched there with pleasure, pain, and gasped words.
“You’re sure?”
“First thing I’m sure of,” Peter said, smiling crookedly. “Please.”
“Got to say, I’m glad Ricky found you instead of those stupid little players,” Caitlin said, a strange expression on her face. “If you keep going at this rate, we’ll all be respectable millionaires by the time you get all your memories back.”
Peter squeezed her hands in reassurance, and she lost the haunted look on her face. “Just let me do this for myself.”
Caitlin squeezed his hands back and went to go find another memory for Peter.
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Peter/OCs, implied Peter/Nathan, implied Peter/Simone, implied Peter/others, Caitlin, Ricky
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,627
Spoilers: Early S2
Warnings: Sex, slash, consensual incest, prostitution, a little BDSM
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC et al.
A/N: Written for a_cook1’s, No iPods? No Problem! meme. I think I started off trying to be funny but then Peter went all introspective on me. Huh.
Summary: Ricky wants something. Peter needs something.
“Are you insane?” Caitlin asked, hands on her hips. The bloodstained rag she had used to clean up Peter still dangled from her hand.
Ricky just glared at her witheringly, but she let it roll right off her.
“McSorley wants his money, and he won’t give us too long to get it.”
“That’s why I’m going to have Peter help us with a little job-.”
“That’s what’s insane!” Caitlin glared. “Peter barely knows what he’s doing. You throw him into danger and I think he could kill someone. Or get killed. That’s the last thing we need.”
“If the job goes right, no one’ll get hurt.”
“When have jobs always gone right? You know as well as me that they always go wrong when you need them to go right.”
“Do you have something in mind then?” Ricky asked, exasperated. “Something that’ll cover the whole bill with enough to spare for Tuko and Will by next week?”
“Have you looked at Peter?” Caitlin asked.
“What, has he gone and hurt himself?”
“No, I mean have you really looked at him?” Caitlin insisted.
Ricky shook his head, looking confused. “What about him?”
“He’s pretty,” Caitlin said, as if that should explain everything. Ricky still looked blank. “You know I’ve never bothered to give you advice on what jobs you do, but I thought this’d be obvious.”
“Caitlin, just say it!”
“You find a half-naked man with amnesia in the cargo container, find out he can do all kinds of crazy things including heal himself… and since you had me clean him up, I can tell you that he rather enjoys being tied up,” Caitlin said slowly.
The light bulb suddenly went off over Ricky’s head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You want me to… you want to rent me out?” Peter repeated Ricky’s words carefully, as if trying to figure out if they were even English.
Ricky only nodded sympathetically, as if informing Peter of some little technicality that had to be taken care of before he could enter the country. Like it was routine. Commonplace.
“You see, that container you were in was supposed to secure me a big payday. Now I can’t just explain to McSorley that he can’t get his money next week, now can I? And as I see it, I only have a couple of choices. I can either try to get the money with a little bit of rough stuff, or you can have a few nights of action and take care of this problem you created,” Ricky said.
“But I don’t even know how I got here or who I am-,” Peter started.
“How do you know that’s not what you were?” Caitlin broke in. Peter blinked at her in bemusement. “Naked, handcuffed, can’t remember anything… sounds like you just left a really good party.”
Peter blushed furiously, and felt the heat flash over his entire body. Something more than the cold was making his nipples peak and his groin throb. Having his hands tied behind his back had been doing things to him that he really couldn’t explain, until Caitlin had put forth her strange explanation.
“That’s… that can’t be true,” Peter said, keeping his eyes down. At the same time he almost wished it were. If they were right, if anything would help him remember… He’d take being a whore, a party favor, over this not knowing.
“Are you sure?” Ricky said, and held up something between his hands. “This was in the container with you. It might tell you everything you want to know. And if you do this for me, I’ll give it back to you.”
Peter looked up and almost strained towards the box, as desperate for clues to his identity as he was for freedom. Caitlin stepped forward and rubbed a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“Peter, we have to get this money to McSorley by next week or things go badly. Will you help us?” she asked.
Caught between the feelings running through his body and the almost palpable connection to the box in Ricky’s hands, Peter nodded.
“Good man.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter wasn’t sure if it should be so easy to slip into a role when you didn’t know who you were. Or maybe that was supposed to make it easier. He had no expectations, no framework to work from, and no fear. What you did not know, you could not dread.
“Kiss me,” the woman had said. And it was easy to do that, to kiss and hold her, to pay attention to everything she said, to enclose her in warmth and sink into her heat, listening to every urging to go faster, slower, harder, easier, where to stroke and rub. Peter welcomed every order, hoping something would spark a memory in him.
Long dark curly hair, pale sad eyes, weeping and release…
“Hold still, boy. I want to hear you count this out,” the man ordered, stroking the skin of his ass with a calloused hand. The belt cracked down again and again, Peter shouting out the numbers through a throat horse with screams. Held down, open and helpless, Peter had to bite the pillow to keep from spurting onto the blankets below him.
Some part of him urged him to enjoy this, and Peter perversely welcomed every hint of awakening memory. As the numbers climbed past ten, and the heat became as powerful as the pain, Peter arched into the blows, hoping the next strike would crack his mind open.
A rumbling voice promising him punishment for his teasing, numbers whispered so they couldn’t be overheard, a hand stroking him to release, mouth muffled in the pillow when he came so hard he saw stars.
“Let me ride you, pretty,” the girl giggled, blonde and wanton. No ties or chains for him, just her in the sinful school uniform, winking at him in her fantasy of forbidden compliance. She whispered to him about parties and relatives he was supposed to know, and nodded and smiled like she wanted him to. He called her his angel, and ghosted his hands under her sweater, teasing her like she wanted him to, like he’d known her all his life.
She’d called him her hero, and loved him from the first. They couldn’t have known what lay between them…
“Slut,” the man rumbled. “Such a slut for it. You know you love it. Come on, beg for it, sweet thing…”
“I want you, I want to feel it in my mouth, please…” Peter begged without shame, knowing that was exactly what the man wanted to hear, knowing that was exactly what he wanted to say. “I want to feel you down my throat-.” He choked a little when the man pushed in impatiently, hard, thick, unyielding, unhesitating. The cliched words didn't matter, just the want in the man's eyes, his voice, the eagerness that made him choke Peter into silence for want of his pleasure.
Memory swelled and tickled, blooming and fading as the man above him cursed and sighed at skill Peter didn’t remember having, chuckling indulgently when Peter took himself in hand. When they crested, slick on Peter’s hand and salt on his tongue, he could almost see a remembered face.
He’d always put Peter on his knees when time was short, and Peter had learned to take what he was given without complaint. But it wasn’t indifference, wasn’t hate, it was only love. Fast and on his knees because later he’d be taken care of, reciprocated, stroked inside and out, taken so skillfully that Peter would forget his own name and only be able to shout out his…
“Nathan! Oh God, Nathan, please!” Peter cried, lost as he exploded at the pinnacle of teasing, a strong and formal man determined to see something beautiful writhe and come apart at his touch, something that wouldn’t make him feel guilty. He hadn’t given him a name, and Peter blushed in mingled embarrassment and triumph as the man smiled down at him, stroking him through the aftermath, wringing a few final moans with the last drops of Peter’s passion.
“I got you, Pete,” the man said, and Peter almost came all over again at that, writhing in the blonde man’s grip.
“I love you, Pete. I got you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Caitlin came to see him after the man had left, when Peter was still damp from his shower.
“Doing all right?” she asked anxiously.
“Yeah,” Peter said quietly, trying to not disturb the fragments of memories still floating around in his mind.
“Look, Ricky just checked the books, and we’re back in the black. Well in the black. You did good, Peter. He says you can have your box,” she said, holding it out to him.
Peter took it numbly, opened it and flipped through the contents. None of the numbers looked familiar. His last name rang no bells. He couldn’t remember what New York might have looked like. The man in the picture tugged only lightly at his memory. Useless. Just paper. Words. Pictures.
“Caitlin,” Peter whispered. “Don’t stop.”
“Stop…?” she asked.
“Every time I-. I remember. Every time I do this, I remember something.”
“Peter, you don’t have to-.”
“I want to remember. I want to, so badly…” Peter closed his eyes, body flushing with heat as the memories fitted into the little corners of his mind, etched there with pleasure, pain, and gasped words.
“You’re sure?”
“First thing I’m sure of,” Peter said, smiling crookedly. “Please.”
“Got to say, I’m glad Ricky found you instead of those stupid little players,” Caitlin said, a strange expression on her face. “If you keep going at this rate, we’ll all be respectable millionaires by the time you get all your memories back.”
Peter squeezed her hands in reassurance, and she lost the haunted look on her face. “Just let me do this for myself.”
Caitlin squeezed his hands back and went to go find another memory for Peter.