Closer
Title: Closer
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Nathan/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 719
Spoilers: Up through 4x11 “Thanksgiving”
Warnings: Consensual incest, slash
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC et al.
A/N: Written for tiptoe39, because she told me to.
Summary: If Peter can get closer, he can keep Nathan with him.
Kiss. A press of lips to his forehead, allowed out of a killer’s indulgence or his brother’s need, Peter didn’t know. Just that the long shock of dark hair shifted under his hands to lighter brown, shorter, stiff with gel, a precise style Nathan had worn since he started campaigning.
Again, lower, between his eyebrows, feeling them shift from a heavy line of anger to Nathan’s kinder and easier features. The eyes beneath were no longer so deep-set, no longer so dark, closer to hazel. Closer to home. The skin shifted, from Sylar-pale to Nathan’s tan, and Peter kissed again to see the longer nose shrink, the cheeks reform, the lips shift from Sylar’s thickness to Nathan’s pained scowl he wore to cover want. The jaw shifted, squarer, harder, scars writhed across the chin, settling into place to mark the location of a childhood accident.
They didn’t speak, he didn’t move, only a hand coming up to rest on Peter’s back. Twisting, Peter pulled it to him and kissed that too, watching the shorter limb pull back, heavier and more worn, showing scars on the knuckles, blunter fingers, the ring now fitting properly.
He opened his mouth to speak and Peter desperately kissed his throat, running his hands along it, feeling things shift and change inside and out, so when the breathless groan became audible, it was in Nathan’s voice.
Don’t stop, Peter said to himself, and forced himself to move.
“Don’t stop,” Nathan whispered.
Peter didn’t as he unbuttoned the shirt and kissed over his heart, watching the spreading stain of Nathan overwhelm the lean paleness of the killer inside him. He couldn’t stop now; the cost had been too high for both of them. Everywhere Peter put his hands, his mouth, Nathan formed under him. The curl of his thighs, the ticklish spot behind his knee, his heavily-muscled runner’s calves, the smell of him, rich and loved. The heaviness of his cock, shifting under Peter’s mouth from an unfamiliar nuance of shape and tracing of veins to something he knew intimately better than his own. Nathan. Nathan in his mouth and filling his nose…
“Good Peter, so very good.”
Sylar’s voice. Desperately, Peter surged upward, kissing and biting at his throat to hear Nathan again, to see Nathan again. When Peter’s hands left, things shifted back, and Peter frantically kept rubbing, kissing, biting all over, anything to keep Nathan with him. Close. Closer.
“Pete, I’m trying, I swear I am.”
Nathan’s voice, and Peter almost cried in relief.
“Peter, more, I have to have more… please.”
He sounded so desperate, body a mosaic of conflicting desires and dreams as Peter clutched and held to the one thing he’d always loved.
“Closer, Peter!”
Opening to him, like he’d never done before, like Sylar would never do, and that was the only thing that gave Peter the strength to go on, the trust in Nathan’s eyes. Peter’s jacket, the inner pocket, slick against his fingers so fast, and then inside, Nathan shuddering, wholly himself at the unusual touch. Holding back a sob, Peter moved his hand again and again, reveling in pure Nathan, clenching and writhing, encouraging with voice and body.
Closer, he had to get closer and somehow make this stick, make this last. Slicking himself, Peter replaced his fingers, sinking into Nathan’s tightness and heat a fraction at a time, biting and kissing at his throat, cradling his cock, his balls, the vulnerable touch and danger combined with utter trust keeping Nathan near.
Closer, deeper, Nathan finally raising his legs to wrap around Peter’s waist and pulled him in flush, clutching him, kissing him, trying to drown in him.
“More, Peter. I need, God, need to stay, I want to stay, he won’t let me-.” Losing, voice sliding, and Peter kissing him into silence before pulling away for air.
“Stay with me!” Punctuating every word with a thrust, pushing the truth they wanted deep inside, trying to give Nathan enough of himself to win.
Skin swirled, a kaleidoscope of pale and tan, and Nathan pushed to the forefront again, kissing Peter hard enough to bruise, fighting, clawing, clutching at the lifeline Peter represented.
“Don’t give up, Nathan, please!”
“Pete!”
Warmth pulsed between them and within them, Nathan and Peter entwined together, for another fleeting moment, brothers.
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Nathan/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 719
Spoilers: Up through 4x11 “Thanksgiving”
Warnings: Consensual incest, slash
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC et al.
A/N: Written for tiptoe39, because she told me to.
Summary: If Peter can get closer, he can keep Nathan with him.
Kiss. A press of lips to his forehead, allowed out of a killer’s indulgence or his brother’s need, Peter didn’t know. Just that the long shock of dark hair shifted under his hands to lighter brown, shorter, stiff with gel, a precise style Nathan had worn since he started campaigning.
Again, lower, between his eyebrows, feeling them shift from a heavy line of anger to Nathan’s kinder and easier features. The eyes beneath were no longer so deep-set, no longer so dark, closer to hazel. Closer to home. The skin shifted, from Sylar-pale to Nathan’s tan, and Peter kissed again to see the longer nose shrink, the cheeks reform, the lips shift from Sylar’s thickness to Nathan’s pained scowl he wore to cover want. The jaw shifted, squarer, harder, scars writhed across the chin, settling into place to mark the location of a childhood accident.
They didn’t speak, he didn’t move, only a hand coming up to rest on Peter’s back. Twisting, Peter pulled it to him and kissed that too, watching the shorter limb pull back, heavier and more worn, showing scars on the knuckles, blunter fingers, the ring now fitting properly.
He opened his mouth to speak and Peter desperately kissed his throat, running his hands along it, feeling things shift and change inside and out, so when the breathless groan became audible, it was in Nathan’s voice.
Don’t stop, Peter said to himself, and forced himself to move.
“Don’t stop,” Nathan whispered.
Peter didn’t as he unbuttoned the shirt and kissed over his heart, watching the spreading stain of Nathan overwhelm the lean paleness of the killer inside him. He couldn’t stop now; the cost had been too high for both of them. Everywhere Peter put his hands, his mouth, Nathan formed under him. The curl of his thighs, the ticklish spot behind his knee, his heavily-muscled runner’s calves, the smell of him, rich and loved. The heaviness of his cock, shifting under Peter’s mouth from an unfamiliar nuance of shape and tracing of veins to something he knew intimately better than his own. Nathan. Nathan in his mouth and filling his nose…
“Good Peter, so very good.”
Sylar’s voice. Desperately, Peter surged upward, kissing and biting at his throat to hear Nathan again, to see Nathan again. When Peter’s hands left, things shifted back, and Peter frantically kept rubbing, kissing, biting all over, anything to keep Nathan with him. Close. Closer.
“Pete, I’m trying, I swear I am.”
Nathan’s voice, and Peter almost cried in relief.
“Peter, more, I have to have more… please.”
He sounded so desperate, body a mosaic of conflicting desires and dreams as Peter clutched and held to the one thing he’d always loved.
“Closer, Peter!”
Opening to him, like he’d never done before, like Sylar would never do, and that was the only thing that gave Peter the strength to go on, the trust in Nathan’s eyes. Peter’s jacket, the inner pocket, slick against his fingers so fast, and then inside, Nathan shuddering, wholly himself at the unusual touch. Holding back a sob, Peter moved his hand again and again, reveling in pure Nathan, clenching and writhing, encouraging with voice and body.
Closer, he had to get closer and somehow make this stick, make this last. Slicking himself, Peter replaced his fingers, sinking into Nathan’s tightness and heat a fraction at a time, biting and kissing at his throat, cradling his cock, his balls, the vulnerable touch and danger combined with utter trust keeping Nathan near.
Closer, deeper, Nathan finally raising his legs to wrap around Peter’s waist and pulled him in flush, clutching him, kissing him, trying to drown in him.
“More, Peter. I need, God, need to stay, I want to stay, he won’t let me-.” Losing, voice sliding, and Peter kissing him into silence before pulling away for air.
“Stay with me!” Punctuating every word with a thrust, pushing the truth they wanted deep inside, trying to give Nathan enough of himself to win.
Skin swirled, a kaleidoscope of pale and tan, and Nathan pushed to the forefront again, kissing Peter hard enough to bruise, fighting, clawing, clutching at the lifeline Peter represented.
“Don’t give up, Nathan, please!”
“Pete!”
Warmth pulsed between them and within them, Nathan and Peter entwined together, for another fleeting moment, brothers.