Fic: Well Played
Title: Well Played
Authors: liritarofrohan andveetvoojagig
Pairing: Thompson/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Very little plot and a lot of sleaze. Thompson being his usual self.
Knuckles tapped lightly against the door. There was an opportunity laying behind it, one he’d kill himself if he let slip through his fingers. Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open and stepped in confidently. The man was still there, of course-he’d left him only a few minutes ago.
A quickly veiled flash of annoyance crossed Nathan Petrelli’s features at the uninvited intrusion. “Did you forget something, Mr. Thompson?” he asked in his customary soft tones.
“You know, I rather think I did.” The smirk he habitually wore firmly in place, he strode into the room, pushing Petrelli back against his desk, effectively pinning him. Their lips met with bruising force. He always found it easier to take what he wanted; begging was a sign of weakness.
There was a moment of stillness, a moment of hesitation before hands came up and pushed at shoulders with just enough clout to pry his mouth from the other man’s. Nathan drew in a sharp breath. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed between his teeth.
Those flashing eyes mere inches away were enough to confirm that this was exactly what he wanted from this evening. He smiled slowly. Petrelli was going to be a challenge, and he’d had far too few of those recently. “I should think it was fairly obvious,” he said drily.
“What’s obvious is that you’re leaving. Now.”
Petrelli’s body was hard against his, all tight muscles and rigid planes. And the only thing that was obvious was that nothing short of physical incapacitation could make him leave. “No, I really don’t think so.” He pushed back at the man’s hands, not quite enough to bridge the gap between them, but enough to show he meant business. He could feel the man’s breath on his lips, practically taste it on his tongue. It was too much. Fuck patience. His hands slid into Nathan’s hair, yanking his head forward. Just one more taste…
There was a brief, exhilarating instant of struggle before Petrelli’s lips parted the slightest bit-and of course he took advantage of the situation, tongue sinuously sliding inside. He could feel the man responding, back arching towards him, breath quickening into his mouth.
Then a hard shove sent him back two paces. He reeled, trying to regain his balance. It was refreshing, really, to have a chance to face off against someone so… set in his purpose. He approached at a rush, forcing Petrelli’s arms to the sides and getting right up in there. He inserted his knee between the man’s legs, pressing gently upwards. His lips found his throat, and his fingers joined the assault, scraping down his arms.
Nathan writhed in his grasp, though whether he was attempting to escape or get closer Thompson couldn’t say. There was no denying, however, that his knee had found fertile ground.
“Get out of my office,” Petrelli spat acerbically, though with a small trace of breathlessness.
“And if I say no?” That was almost a growl. A disappointment, really. Nathan was making him lose a sliver of his hard-earned control. But then, he seemed to be having a similar effect. He let his teeth graze skin.
Petrelli’s only answer was an incomprehensible mutter as he brought his arms up in a feeble attempt to push him away, weakened more by his surprising choice to simultaneously press himself against his thigh. Thompson’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. Promising. Very promising. He let his hand migrate lower to cup that delightful bulge in the man’s slacks.
A low groan escaped Nathan’s lips. “Let go of me. Get the fuck off of me,” he said around harsh pants.
“Oh, I couldn’t, Nathan,” he purred. “Not while you’re enjoying it so much.” His hand moved, stroking through the expensive material.
Fingers closed convulsively around his tie, pulling him closer and threatening his air supply in one quick move. A soft laugh bubbled up. “What are you trying to do, Petrelli?” he murmured.
The grip tightened briefly, then released him. “Fuck you,” the younger man said, closing his eyes, a stubborn set to his jaw.
“Now, that’s an interesting idea,” he chuckled, “but I think I have other plans.” He pushed Petrelli back ‘til he was leaning precariously over his desk in a way that was probably hell on his spine.
Nathan’s palms hit the desk behind him, bracing him-not resignedly; no, the man was trying to wriggle out from under him. Now, that was less than ideal. Thompson pressed his advantage while he still could, hands gripping the man’s legs and tipping him even more.
Anger flared in the other pair of eyes, hot and unrestrained. Hands fisted in his hair, hands that were no longer holding the man up, he noticed absently. Before he could act on that, however, the hands yanked him down, crushing his lips ruthlessly against Petrelli’s.
Disquieting, really, that sudden change of heart on Petrelli’s part. But far too hot to ignore, even if it was possibly a trap. He kissed him back, plundering his mouth with more force than an entire invading Mongol horde. That much spirit was rare, and God, how he longed to break it. He didn’t have that luxury; Nathan was too valuable to their cause-was their cause. That spirit was what would pull the world together after the coming apocalypse. He let out a choked groan into the man’s mouth, shifting his hips to grind against him. He could still have his fun, at least.
And lord, what fun it was going to be.
Nathan’s back was flat against the hard surface of his desk. Thompson gripped the far edge, hands to either side of the man’s shoulders. A gasp was startled from him as Nathan’s teeth caught his lower lip.
The room seemed full of a feverish heat, possibly radiating off of them, however external the source felt. Hell was actually a good analogy, as clichéd as it was: the briefest taste of what he wanted and could never truly have. He banished his musings; introspection like that was for lesser men, those without Nathan Petrelli writhing beneath them. Thompson shifted his weight to one arm, sliding the other between them to work loose Petrelli’s belt.
Moaning, the man bucked against his hand, his whole being silently begging. At least, that was how Thompson interpreted it, and Nathan wasn’t doing much to disabuse him of that opinion. He unzipped his fly in one smooth motion. It didn’t take him long to find the treasure he sought, and his fingers slid along the man’s hard cock, teasingly light. Each moan he coaxed from him went straight to his own groin. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. A few more strokes, then he stood back to yank Petrelli’s slacks down and off.
Petrelli propped himself up and gazed at him, his expression unreadable. “Why are you doing this?” he said softly.
He quirked a small smile. “Why not?” A hand firmly set in the center of the man’s chest, he pushed him back down. When he was relatively certain Petrelli wasn’t going to move again, he pulled his attention away long enough to deal with his own zipper and take himself firmly in hand. He bit back a moan at the contact. Soon. Soon he’d have all that and more. His other hand gripped a thigh and shoved, giving him space to get where he wanted, needed to be.
Quick, shallow breaths passed between Nathan’s lips. His eyes were hard, but he wasn’t fighting. He lay there, legs spread by Thompson’s insist hands, gazing up at the man.
“I think the question really should be ‘Why are you doing this, Nathan?’” Thompson spat on his hand, swiftly slickening his fingers. He had no doubt that Nathan Petrelli was going to be anything but tight.
“Fuck off,” Nathan answered, but without venom. His eyes followed Thompson’s hand.
Stubborn. Thompson flashed a grin. He really was going to enjoy this. “You might want to relax. I’ve heard it makes it easier.” His finger pressed against his asshole, slowly sliding in.
The man gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, drawing in a hissed breath. That had to be the fucking hottest thing he’d ever seen. He pushed in further, slowly stretching him with-for him-unusual care. But then, like he’d mentioned earlier, it was a good idea to be gentle with your investments. He had a lot riding on this, and one bad ride could fuck it all up.
With that in mind, he wrapped his other hand around Petrelli’s dick, stroking him firmly, hopefully distracting him from the work he was doing. By the deep groan that reverberated in his throat it was working. Another finger, twisting them, curling inside him, searching, searching… there! He smiled somewhat smugly as he pressed against Petrelli’s prostate.
Soft, indecipherable sounds fell from Nathan’s mouth as he arched under Thompson’s ministrations. His fingers clutched the edge of the desk.
The smirk that was never far from the man’s face was on in full force as he probed that spot again. It was as difficult as many would think to make someone warm up to you. You just had to have the right leverage. “You like that, don’t you?” he purred, pressing harder. “Not that good at hiding it.”
With a sharp gasp, Nathan tipped his head back, jaw tightening in defiance. In stark contrast to that, the man’s muscles clutched hungrily around his fingers. Oh, yes. Thompson’s breathing grew a bit ragged. That, right there, was a thing of beauty. A work of art, with him the sculptor. Each light touch made such delightful things happen.
He took more time preparing him than strictly necessary; it would have been a shame to cut that masterpiece short. But even as patient as he could be, he had his needs. He slowly pulled his hands away, sliding them along Nathan’s legs as he shifted him into a more amenable position.
The man’s thighs tightened under his touch as his eyes glared up at him, challenging, almost daring him to go on. And he was never one to back down from a dare.
A slow grin crawled across his features, then he spat on his hand again. The viscous stuff slid between his fingers as he lowered his hand to grip himself firmly. Oh, fuck, that was good. He kept his eyes locked with Nathan’s as he stroked himself, thoroughly coating his cock with his handmade lube. Mouthmade, at any rate.
He could almost blow his load just watching Petrelli’s chest heaving with those so careful breaths, legs spread so wantonly for him. And that would be such a shame.
Hands flew to Nathan’s thighs once more, forcing them upwards until knees touched the man’s chest. Before he could react, one slow, fluid thrust had him buried to his nuts in the man’s ass. He stilled, reveling in the glorious tight grip of Nathan’s muscles. Oh fuck yes.
Nathan drew in a hissed gasp of air, his eyes closing. His face was almost expressionless; what emotions did reveal themselves flickered too quickly to be determined. His hands moved up, gripping Thompson’s shoulders with bruising strength.
Eyes never leaving Nathan’s face, he flexed his hips, sliding in and out, in and out, smoothly and slowly for now. The flash of pain from the man’s rough grasp was a new exhilaration, an added spice that he rarely partook of. Nathan felt amazing beneath him, around him.
He wanted to hear that man scream.
His movements became harsher, more frenzied. He wanted Nathan to feel every inch of him, deep inside him, to know who owned him- No. Not this time. Nathan wasn’t his to own. He had to remember that, had to take care that he didn’t overstep his boundaries… He let out a groan, choked and needy, and slowed his pace again.
Petrelli’s face was a mask of marble, each hard line chiseled and cold, intransigence sparkling in half-lidded eyes. He was just too fucking gorgeous to let him stay that way. Thompson’s fingers slid around his cock, jerking him off in time with his quickening thrusts.
Ah, that was it. The façade was cracking-Nathan’s lips trembled as each breath was sucked in, his fingers tightening almost impossibly on his shoulders. He ran his thumb over the head of his dick, and was rewarded with a barely suppressed groan.
Oh fuck yes fuck yes sweet mother of fuck! He felt again that heady sensation of taking something already beautiful-Nathan Petrelli-and coaxing it just that infintessimal bit higher into perfection. He growled in the back of his throat as he rocked into the man, harder and faster; Petrelli was in no state to object, or even mind. He was desperate to see the finished work, the brilliant masterpiece that was this perfect man in the throes of orgasm. He needed to feel him shudder beneath him, hear whatever slight noises he made. Need an end to the intensity of this decadent experience. Thrust, and thrust, and thrust, fingers flying over heated flesh.
Nathan let out a low, keening sound, almost a whimper, as his head rolled back, arching exquisitely beneath him. Fucking beautiful. He couldn’t take much more of that. He tightened his hand, squeezing Nathan’s cock just the tiniest bit more as he pounded into him. Ah, yes, yes, Jesus fuck, that was it.
He groaned as Nathan’s body clenched around him and hot spunk covered his hand. Nerves singing, he drove himself ruthlessly into the man one more time. His eyes flickered shut as bliss slammed into him, a wall of flame consuming him, burning him from the inside out.
Tension drained from his muscles, and he fell limply to stretch across Petrelli’s chest. Short, heaving gasps burst from him as he scrambled weakly for some semblance of control.
“Get off me.” The man’s voice was quiet but firm. As he spoke, his fingers finally released their death grip on his shoulders.
A dry chuckle passed his lips. “I rather think I like it here.” Before Nathan could get violent, he shoved himself up and stepped back. A box of tissues on the desk let him clean off his hand, and, with mutters of irritation, his shirt and suit jacket. Yet another trip to the dry cleaners. His fly zipped up, and he was relatively presentable.
Nathan climbed slowly from the desk and wordlessly found and donned his pants. He turned, crossing his arms, and gazed coldly at Thompson.
A quirked eyebrow and a sardonic smile were all that met his glare. “Yes?”
“The door’s behind you.”
“And I thought they’d moved it,” he smirked. “Thanks for keeping track of that.”
There was no answer. Nathan Petrelli had rounded his desk and was flipping through a sheaf of papers, seemingly engrossed in skimming its contents. He watched him for a long, silent moment. He had to hand it to the man; that look of cool detachment was almost Oscar-worthy. And he wasn’t one to spoil something like that.
Well, not quite. He stopped on the threshold, looking back over his shoulder. “Consider that my campaign contribution,” he tossed back, then he stepped out, letting the door click shut behind him.
Authors: liritarofrohan andveetvoojagig
Pairing: Thompson/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Very little plot and a lot of sleaze. Thompson being his usual self.
Knuckles tapped lightly against the door. There was an opportunity laying behind it, one he’d kill himself if he let slip through his fingers. Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open and stepped in confidently. The man was still there, of course-he’d left him only a few minutes ago.
A quickly veiled flash of annoyance crossed Nathan Petrelli’s features at the uninvited intrusion. “Did you forget something, Mr. Thompson?” he asked in his customary soft tones.
“You know, I rather think I did.” The smirk he habitually wore firmly in place, he strode into the room, pushing Petrelli back against his desk, effectively pinning him. Their lips met with bruising force. He always found it easier to take what he wanted; begging was a sign of weakness.
There was a moment of stillness, a moment of hesitation before hands came up and pushed at shoulders with just enough clout to pry his mouth from the other man’s. Nathan drew in a sharp breath. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed between his teeth.
Those flashing eyes mere inches away were enough to confirm that this was exactly what he wanted from this evening. He smiled slowly. Petrelli was going to be a challenge, and he’d had far too few of those recently. “I should think it was fairly obvious,” he said drily.
“What’s obvious is that you’re leaving. Now.”
Petrelli’s body was hard against his, all tight muscles and rigid planes. And the only thing that was obvious was that nothing short of physical incapacitation could make him leave. “No, I really don’t think so.” He pushed back at the man’s hands, not quite enough to bridge the gap between them, but enough to show he meant business. He could feel the man’s breath on his lips, practically taste it on his tongue. It was too much. Fuck patience. His hands slid into Nathan’s hair, yanking his head forward. Just one more taste…
There was a brief, exhilarating instant of struggle before Petrelli’s lips parted the slightest bit-and of course he took advantage of the situation, tongue sinuously sliding inside. He could feel the man responding, back arching towards him, breath quickening into his mouth.
Then a hard shove sent him back two paces. He reeled, trying to regain his balance. It was refreshing, really, to have a chance to face off against someone so… set in his purpose. He approached at a rush, forcing Petrelli’s arms to the sides and getting right up in there. He inserted his knee between the man’s legs, pressing gently upwards. His lips found his throat, and his fingers joined the assault, scraping down his arms.
Nathan writhed in his grasp, though whether he was attempting to escape or get closer Thompson couldn’t say. There was no denying, however, that his knee had found fertile ground.
“Get out of my office,” Petrelli spat acerbically, though with a small trace of breathlessness.
“And if I say no?” That was almost a growl. A disappointment, really. Nathan was making him lose a sliver of his hard-earned control. But then, he seemed to be having a similar effect. He let his teeth graze skin.
Petrelli’s only answer was an incomprehensible mutter as he brought his arms up in a feeble attempt to push him away, weakened more by his surprising choice to simultaneously press himself against his thigh. Thompson’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. Promising. Very promising. He let his hand migrate lower to cup that delightful bulge in the man’s slacks.
A low groan escaped Nathan’s lips. “Let go of me. Get the fuck off of me,” he said around harsh pants.
“Oh, I couldn’t, Nathan,” he purred. “Not while you’re enjoying it so much.” His hand moved, stroking through the expensive material.
Fingers closed convulsively around his tie, pulling him closer and threatening his air supply in one quick move. A soft laugh bubbled up. “What are you trying to do, Petrelli?” he murmured.
The grip tightened briefly, then released him. “Fuck you,” the younger man said, closing his eyes, a stubborn set to his jaw.
“Now, that’s an interesting idea,” he chuckled, “but I think I have other plans.” He pushed Petrelli back ‘til he was leaning precariously over his desk in a way that was probably hell on his spine.
Nathan’s palms hit the desk behind him, bracing him-not resignedly; no, the man was trying to wriggle out from under him. Now, that was less than ideal. Thompson pressed his advantage while he still could, hands gripping the man’s legs and tipping him even more.
Anger flared in the other pair of eyes, hot and unrestrained. Hands fisted in his hair, hands that were no longer holding the man up, he noticed absently. Before he could act on that, however, the hands yanked him down, crushing his lips ruthlessly against Petrelli’s.
Disquieting, really, that sudden change of heart on Petrelli’s part. But far too hot to ignore, even if it was possibly a trap. He kissed him back, plundering his mouth with more force than an entire invading Mongol horde. That much spirit was rare, and God, how he longed to break it. He didn’t have that luxury; Nathan was too valuable to their cause-was their cause. That spirit was what would pull the world together after the coming apocalypse. He let out a choked groan into the man’s mouth, shifting his hips to grind against him. He could still have his fun, at least.
And lord, what fun it was going to be.
Nathan’s back was flat against the hard surface of his desk. Thompson gripped the far edge, hands to either side of the man’s shoulders. A gasp was startled from him as Nathan’s teeth caught his lower lip.
The room seemed full of a feverish heat, possibly radiating off of them, however external the source felt. Hell was actually a good analogy, as clichéd as it was: the briefest taste of what he wanted and could never truly have. He banished his musings; introspection like that was for lesser men, those without Nathan Petrelli writhing beneath them. Thompson shifted his weight to one arm, sliding the other between them to work loose Petrelli’s belt.
Moaning, the man bucked against his hand, his whole being silently begging. At least, that was how Thompson interpreted it, and Nathan wasn’t doing much to disabuse him of that opinion. He unzipped his fly in one smooth motion. It didn’t take him long to find the treasure he sought, and his fingers slid along the man’s hard cock, teasingly light. Each moan he coaxed from him went straight to his own groin. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. A few more strokes, then he stood back to yank Petrelli’s slacks down and off.
Petrelli propped himself up and gazed at him, his expression unreadable. “Why are you doing this?” he said softly.
He quirked a small smile. “Why not?” A hand firmly set in the center of the man’s chest, he pushed him back down. When he was relatively certain Petrelli wasn’t going to move again, he pulled his attention away long enough to deal with his own zipper and take himself firmly in hand. He bit back a moan at the contact. Soon. Soon he’d have all that and more. His other hand gripped a thigh and shoved, giving him space to get where he wanted, needed to be.
Quick, shallow breaths passed between Nathan’s lips. His eyes were hard, but he wasn’t fighting. He lay there, legs spread by Thompson’s insist hands, gazing up at the man.
“I think the question really should be ‘Why are you doing this, Nathan?’” Thompson spat on his hand, swiftly slickening his fingers. He had no doubt that Nathan Petrelli was going to be anything but tight.
“Fuck off,” Nathan answered, but without venom. His eyes followed Thompson’s hand.
Stubborn. Thompson flashed a grin. He really was going to enjoy this. “You might want to relax. I’ve heard it makes it easier.” His finger pressed against his asshole, slowly sliding in.
The man gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, drawing in a hissed breath. That had to be the fucking hottest thing he’d ever seen. He pushed in further, slowly stretching him with-for him-unusual care. But then, like he’d mentioned earlier, it was a good idea to be gentle with your investments. He had a lot riding on this, and one bad ride could fuck it all up.
With that in mind, he wrapped his other hand around Petrelli’s dick, stroking him firmly, hopefully distracting him from the work he was doing. By the deep groan that reverberated in his throat it was working. Another finger, twisting them, curling inside him, searching, searching… there! He smiled somewhat smugly as he pressed against Petrelli’s prostate.
Soft, indecipherable sounds fell from Nathan’s mouth as he arched under Thompson’s ministrations. His fingers clutched the edge of the desk.
The smirk that was never far from the man’s face was on in full force as he probed that spot again. It was as difficult as many would think to make someone warm up to you. You just had to have the right leverage. “You like that, don’t you?” he purred, pressing harder. “Not that good at hiding it.”
With a sharp gasp, Nathan tipped his head back, jaw tightening in defiance. In stark contrast to that, the man’s muscles clutched hungrily around his fingers. Oh, yes. Thompson’s breathing grew a bit ragged. That, right there, was a thing of beauty. A work of art, with him the sculptor. Each light touch made such delightful things happen.
He took more time preparing him than strictly necessary; it would have been a shame to cut that masterpiece short. But even as patient as he could be, he had his needs. He slowly pulled his hands away, sliding them along Nathan’s legs as he shifted him into a more amenable position.
The man’s thighs tightened under his touch as his eyes glared up at him, challenging, almost daring him to go on. And he was never one to back down from a dare.
A slow grin crawled across his features, then he spat on his hand again. The viscous stuff slid between his fingers as he lowered his hand to grip himself firmly. Oh, fuck, that was good. He kept his eyes locked with Nathan’s as he stroked himself, thoroughly coating his cock with his handmade lube. Mouthmade, at any rate.
He could almost blow his load just watching Petrelli’s chest heaving with those so careful breaths, legs spread so wantonly for him. And that would be such a shame.
Hands flew to Nathan’s thighs once more, forcing them upwards until knees touched the man’s chest. Before he could react, one slow, fluid thrust had him buried to his nuts in the man’s ass. He stilled, reveling in the glorious tight grip of Nathan’s muscles. Oh fuck yes.
Nathan drew in a hissed gasp of air, his eyes closing. His face was almost expressionless; what emotions did reveal themselves flickered too quickly to be determined. His hands moved up, gripping Thompson’s shoulders with bruising strength.
Eyes never leaving Nathan’s face, he flexed his hips, sliding in and out, in and out, smoothly and slowly for now. The flash of pain from the man’s rough grasp was a new exhilaration, an added spice that he rarely partook of. Nathan felt amazing beneath him, around him.
He wanted to hear that man scream.
His movements became harsher, more frenzied. He wanted Nathan to feel every inch of him, deep inside him, to know who owned him- No. Not this time. Nathan wasn’t his to own. He had to remember that, had to take care that he didn’t overstep his boundaries… He let out a groan, choked and needy, and slowed his pace again.
Petrelli’s face was a mask of marble, each hard line chiseled and cold, intransigence sparkling in half-lidded eyes. He was just too fucking gorgeous to let him stay that way. Thompson’s fingers slid around his cock, jerking him off in time with his quickening thrusts.
Ah, that was it. The façade was cracking-Nathan’s lips trembled as each breath was sucked in, his fingers tightening almost impossibly on his shoulders. He ran his thumb over the head of his dick, and was rewarded with a barely suppressed groan.
Oh fuck yes fuck yes sweet mother of fuck! He felt again that heady sensation of taking something already beautiful-Nathan Petrelli-and coaxing it just that infintessimal bit higher into perfection. He growled in the back of his throat as he rocked into the man, harder and faster; Petrelli was in no state to object, or even mind. He was desperate to see the finished work, the brilliant masterpiece that was this perfect man in the throes of orgasm. He needed to feel him shudder beneath him, hear whatever slight noises he made. Need an end to the intensity of this decadent experience. Thrust, and thrust, and thrust, fingers flying over heated flesh.
Nathan let out a low, keening sound, almost a whimper, as his head rolled back, arching exquisitely beneath him. Fucking beautiful. He couldn’t take much more of that. He tightened his hand, squeezing Nathan’s cock just the tiniest bit more as he pounded into him. Ah, yes, yes, Jesus fuck, that was it.
He groaned as Nathan’s body clenched around him and hot spunk covered his hand. Nerves singing, he drove himself ruthlessly into the man one more time. His eyes flickered shut as bliss slammed into him, a wall of flame consuming him, burning him from the inside out.
Tension drained from his muscles, and he fell limply to stretch across Petrelli’s chest. Short, heaving gasps burst from him as he scrambled weakly for some semblance of control.
“Get off me.” The man’s voice was quiet but firm. As he spoke, his fingers finally released their death grip on his shoulders.
A dry chuckle passed his lips. “I rather think I like it here.” Before Nathan could get violent, he shoved himself up and stepped back. A box of tissues on the desk let him clean off his hand, and, with mutters of irritation, his shirt and suit jacket. Yet another trip to the dry cleaners. His fly zipped up, and he was relatively presentable.
Nathan climbed slowly from the desk and wordlessly found and donned his pants. He turned, crossing his arms, and gazed coldly at Thompson.
A quirked eyebrow and a sardonic smile were all that met his glare. “Yes?”
“The door’s behind you.”
“And I thought they’d moved it,” he smirked. “Thanks for keeping track of that.”
There was no answer. Nathan Petrelli had rounded his desk and was flipping through a sheaf of papers, seemingly engrossed in skimming its contents. He watched him for a long, silent moment. He had to hand it to the man; that look of cool detachment was almost Oscar-worthy. And he wasn’t one to spoil something like that.
Well, not quite. He stopped on the threshold, looking back over his shoulder. “Consider that my campaign contribution,” he tossed back, then he stepped out, letting the door click shut behind him.