(no subject)
Title: The Veil Lifted.
Rating: R.
Pairing: Adam/Nathan.
Summary: Adam's almost completed his Petrelli Sexual Collection. The only one he needs to finish the set is Nathan, so he's trying to provoke him to make a move. Nathan is reluctant and pretends to be disgusted, but when he snaps, he really snaps.
Notes: Written for YAHAKM. Pretty much my first slash fic outside of G-rated Matt/Mohinder stuff. Furture!fic based on the virus future seen in S2.
There's a car alarm outside the the Petrelli mansion that's been going off continuously for three days. Frankly it's fucking irritating; Adam makes a note to have someone deal with it.
Aside from this, Hyde Park, New York is the picture of silence and solitude. Leaves blow gently down the street, just on the turn from summer's green to the beginnings of fall's golden brown, and the wind carries the faint scent of burning.
Adam smiles, and amid this almost-silence, a door slams open, and a shotgun is cocked. Adam knows this shotgun, knows it intimately, even, having had it made especially for his time in the Confederate Army, and then presenting it to Arthur as a gift for his thirtieth birthday. This relic has been handled by every Petrelli since, much like Adam himself.
Or, almost, at least.
Two bullets take out the car's window, the remnants of glass easily smashed in with an elbow. Adam watches this display of power passively, as the door is swung open violently and strong fingers rip at wires indiscriminately.
Finally, thankfully, the alarm screams its final complaints. “Ah, my ears,” he says, shaking his head from side to side.
The butt of the gun is swung towards him. “You,” its owner growls witheringly.
“Now, now,” Adam replies soothingly. “Nathan, go to your happy place.”
Nathan's finger twitches against the trigger. “Get away from me,” he hisses, “before I shoot you in the head.”
Adam shrugs. Smiles. “Don't let me stop your fun.”
Nathan grinds his teeth, baring his pearly whites, and turns on his heel, disappearing back into the house.
It's almost an invitation to follow.
-
Nathan's home is like a castle after the pillaging, and Nathan the king deposed. Furniture has been pushed against the walls, pictures are smashed and broken, and all manner of other detritus litters the floor; the empty wine bottles don't escape Adam's attention.
“What part of 'shoot you in the head' did you not understand?” Nathan asks, his back turned to Adam.
“Oh really, Nathan, don't be so melodramatic. I've come here to help you. To extend the hand of friendship.”
Nathan's shoulders tense, and Adam's continues. He takes the boy not immediately shooting him as a good sign.
“Do you even have food, Nathan? I passed some convenience stores on the way here. They're quite... ransacked. You look thin, you must be hungry.”
Still, Nathan does not speak, resting the butt of the gun on the scratched hardwood floor.
“I have plenty at my disposal, and I'm willing to share. Your daughter misses you, Nathan.”
This is what breaks his silence. Nathan turns, jabbing the gun uselessly at him. His anger is immense but unfocused, leaving him struggling to gain purchase. “You want me to join your harem?” he asks in a rough voice.
“That's a very... sexual way of putting it,” Adam replies, “but I suppose it works, yes. You and I are not so different, you know.”
Nathan cocks an eyebrow. “Ninety three percent of the world's population died because of you,” he says, almost able to keep his voice even.
“And you were willing to let poor sweet Peter explode and kill all those people.” He smiles wide as Nathan's features drop, just a touch. “Claire tells me things sometimes, in between the... you know.”
Sadly, Nathan is not quite as easily riled as he first thought. Quick to anger, but also quick to recover. So like his father.
“But the difference is, Adam,” Nathan says slowly, “that I didn't. I didn't kill anyone.”
He is brilliant, of this Adam is quite sure, and it only furthers his desire to have him. To complete the set. He wishes he could have got to Nathan before his personality had solidified so, but as a child of Angela and Arthur, Nathan's mind is open to manipulation. Arthur would never have had it any other way. “Oh, but you wanted to,” he says, and takes a step forward, curling a hand around Nathan's bicep. Ah, he is strong.
“Is this honestly how you come on to people?” Nathan asks, laughing a little. “You have got to be kidding me. I'd rather kill myself.”
Adam catches Nathan's chin in his hand, only to have his wrist wrenched away and twisted behind his back. It doesn't phase him. “You came very close once, but I saved you. Perhaps a little gratitude?”
Nathan shoves him away. “Go fuck yourself, Adam.”
He stumbles, but regains his balance quick enough. “That wasn't quite what I was angling for, actually. Come on, you were raised by Angela Petrelli and she's a whore! High class, but the fact remains: a whore.”
Nathan rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says, and Adam sees then parts of Claire's personality in him. He sees flickers of Peter's idealism, the shape of Angela's sharp, brilliant mind, Arthur's aggression, face and body.
This family is so wonderfully incestuous.
“Maybe it would be a better use of my time to find your adorably sluttish brother instead...” he drawls, and Nathan's eyes snap to him. It would seem he's found a nerve. “I don't suppose you know where he is?” he asks.
The hardening of Nathan's eyes says he doesn't. Peter is somewhere off saving kittens from trees, no doubt, leaving behind both of the most important men in his life. This doesn't matter a bit to Adam; he has forever for Peter to learn his lesson and come back to him, but Nathan... Nathan doesn't have the time to wait. Like most everyone else, his time is finite, perhaps more so in this new world order.
He approaches Nathan, reaching out and resting his hands on his shoulders. “You miss him, don't you? Or maybe you just miss what he gave you. Peter used to talk too, you know.”
This time, when Nathan shoves, Adam goes down, and in an instant, Nathan is on him, half hard erection grinding into Adam thigh. Now this is more like it.
“I hope you are your father's son, you'll be far more likely to hold me down in the same... forceful... manner,” he gasps out, but there's no need; Nathan's hands are already on his chest, his knees on his legs. A man without Adam's range of experience might be intimidated; it's patently obvious that Nathan is far stronger, and that Adam won't be getting up until Nathan lets him.
“So this is what you want, is it?” Nathan growls, his mouth to Adam's ear, and he hasn't shaved in a while; his stubble scratches against Adam's cheek.
“Oh yes,” Adam replies, shivering as Nathan tastes him, his tongue licking a trail along his jaw. It's such a simple thing, pleasure, but worth the trouble every time.
Nathan's dark eyes stay on him the whole time, watching him with a mixture of confusion and anger and (dare he believe it?) desire. Nathan's been alone for quite some time, and Adam's proud that he still has the ability to draw out this special brand of insanity from all the Petrellis.
Nathan snaps his teeth together. “Right,” he says, and roughly flips him over.
There's nothing to kneel on or lean against here, just the rough floor and the wall, and Adam props himself up his elbows as Nathan strips his bottom half. “Stay still,” he says when Adam shifts for a more comfortable position, his fingers digging into Adam's waist. This is all he says throughout their encounter. Again, just like his father.
Adam is hard, achingly so, and Nathan is paying him no mind as he spits into his hand and works Adam open. No gentleness here, the boy is playing hardball, and it only serves to arouse Adam further. When he tries to reach for his own cock, Nathan's hand slaps his away, and Adam concedes to giving Nathan this one time. Next time will be different, of this he is quite sure.
The ripping sound of a zipper coming down too fast tells Adam that Nathan's ready, and moments later he pushes into Adam, stretching him far too wide, slamming into him far too hard, but ah, Adam will live.
Nathan's hand splays put across Adam's stomach, though he still will not deign to let Adam crack even one off, and his forehead is pressed into Adam's back as he makes pathetically desperate noises into his skin. Adam's knees scrape across the floor as the intensity of Nathan's thrusts push them along until Adam's head bumps into the wall, and honestly, the indignity of it all.
Nathan keens and whines in what sounds like half pain, half pleasure, and Adam takes this opportunity to take his erection in an iron grip and pump fast fast fast while Nathan's too oblivious to notice. They come at much the same time, all Adam's muscles tensing and making Nathan scream, muffled in his sweaty back.
He slumps forward, shutting his eyes and letting the last of his orgasm wash over him. By his feet, he feels the floorboards move, then creak, listens as Nathan walks away. He lies there a moment longer, then sits up and collects his pants. The floor is sticky and stained now, but personally he thinks it suits the room.
When Nathan comes back, he's settled himself into one of Arthur's old smoking chairs, idly flicking through an old newspaper. They used to twitter on about such pointless things.
“I don't suppose there's a cigar going, is there-” He stops as the point of a katana almost splits his lip open.
“Hiro Nakamura's friend gave this to me,” Nathan says coolly. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
He leaves, not one to outstay a welcome, but it doesn't mean a thing. Now Nathan just has two things that belong to Adam.
Rating: R.
Pairing: Adam/Nathan.
Summary: Adam's almost completed his Petrelli Sexual Collection. The only one he needs to finish the set is Nathan, so he's trying to provoke him to make a move. Nathan is reluctant and pretends to be disgusted, but when he snaps, he really snaps.
Notes: Written for YAHAKM. Pretty much my first slash fic outside of G-rated Matt/Mohinder stuff. Furture!fic based on the virus future seen in S2.
There's a car alarm outside the the Petrelli mansion that's been going off continuously for three days. Frankly it's fucking irritating; Adam makes a note to have someone deal with it.
Aside from this, Hyde Park, New York is the picture of silence and solitude. Leaves blow gently down the street, just on the turn from summer's green to the beginnings of fall's golden brown, and the wind carries the faint scent of burning.
Adam smiles, and amid this almost-silence, a door slams open, and a shotgun is cocked. Adam knows this shotgun, knows it intimately, even, having had it made especially for his time in the Confederate Army, and then presenting it to Arthur as a gift for his thirtieth birthday. This relic has been handled by every Petrelli since, much like Adam himself.
Or, almost, at least.
Two bullets take out the car's window, the remnants of glass easily smashed in with an elbow. Adam watches this display of power passively, as the door is swung open violently and strong fingers rip at wires indiscriminately.
Finally, thankfully, the alarm screams its final complaints. “Ah, my ears,” he says, shaking his head from side to side.
The butt of the gun is swung towards him. “You,” its owner growls witheringly.
“Now, now,” Adam replies soothingly. “Nathan, go to your happy place.”
Nathan's finger twitches against the trigger. “Get away from me,” he hisses, “before I shoot you in the head.”
Adam shrugs. Smiles. “Don't let me stop your fun.”
Nathan grinds his teeth, baring his pearly whites, and turns on his heel, disappearing back into the house.
It's almost an invitation to follow.
-
Nathan's home is like a castle after the pillaging, and Nathan the king deposed. Furniture has been pushed against the walls, pictures are smashed and broken, and all manner of other detritus litters the floor; the empty wine bottles don't escape Adam's attention.
“What part of 'shoot you in the head' did you not understand?” Nathan asks, his back turned to Adam.
“Oh really, Nathan, don't be so melodramatic. I've come here to help you. To extend the hand of friendship.”
Nathan's shoulders tense, and Adam's continues. He takes the boy not immediately shooting him as a good sign.
“Do you even have food, Nathan? I passed some convenience stores on the way here. They're quite... ransacked. You look thin, you must be hungry.”
Still, Nathan does not speak, resting the butt of the gun on the scratched hardwood floor.
“I have plenty at my disposal, and I'm willing to share. Your daughter misses you, Nathan.”
This is what breaks his silence. Nathan turns, jabbing the gun uselessly at him. His anger is immense but unfocused, leaving him struggling to gain purchase. “You want me to join your harem?” he asks in a rough voice.
“That's a very... sexual way of putting it,” Adam replies, “but I suppose it works, yes. You and I are not so different, you know.”
Nathan cocks an eyebrow. “Ninety three percent of the world's population died because of you,” he says, almost able to keep his voice even.
“And you were willing to let poor sweet Peter explode and kill all those people.” He smiles wide as Nathan's features drop, just a touch. “Claire tells me things sometimes, in between the... you know.”
Sadly, Nathan is not quite as easily riled as he first thought. Quick to anger, but also quick to recover. So like his father.
“But the difference is, Adam,” Nathan says slowly, “that I didn't. I didn't kill anyone.”
He is brilliant, of this Adam is quite sure, and it only furthers his desire to have him. To complete the set. He wishes he could have got to Nathan before his personality had solidified so, but as a child of Angela and Arthur, Nathan's mind is open to manipulation. Arthur would never have had it any other way. “Oh, but you wanted to,” he says, and takes a step forward, curling a hand around Nathan's bicep. Ah, he is strong.
“Is this honestly how you come on to people?” Nathan asks, laughing a little. “You have got to be kidding me. I'd rather kill myself.”
Adam catches Nathan's chin in his hand, only to have his wrist wrenched away and twisted behind his back. It doesn't phase him. “You came very close once, but I saved you. Perhaps a little gratitude?”
Nathan shoves him away. “Go fuck yourself, Adam.”
He stumbles, but regains his balance quick enough. “That wasn't quite what I was angling for, actually. Come on, you were raised by Angela Petrelli and she's a whore! High class, but the fact remains: a whore.”
Nathan rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says, and Adam sees then parts of Claire's personality in him. He sees flickers of Peter's idealism, the shape of Angela's sharp, brilliant mind, Arthur's aggression, face and body.
This family is so wonderfully incestuous.
“Maybe it would be a better use of my time to find your adorably sluttish brother instead...” he drawls, and Nathan's eyes snap to him. It would seem he's found a nerve. “I don't suppose you know where he is?” he asks.
The hardening of Nathan's eyes says he doesn't. Peter is somewhere off saving kittens from trees, no doubt, leaving behind both of the most important men in his life. This doesn't matter a bit to Adam; he has forever for Peter to learn his lesson and come back to him, but Nathan... Nathan doesn't have the time to wait. Like most everyone else, his time is finite, perhaps more so in this new world order.
He approaches Nathan, reaching out and resting his hands on his shoulders. “You miss him, don't you? Or maybe you just miss what he gave you. Peter used to talk too, you know.”
This time, when Nathan shoves, Adam goes down, and in an instant, Nathan is on him, half hard erection grinding into Adam thigh. Now this is more like it.
“I hope you are your father's son, you'll be far more likely to hold me down in the same... forceful... manner,” he gasps out, but there's no need; Nathan's hands are already on his chest, his knees on his legs. A man without Adam's range of experience might be intimidated; it's patently obvious that Nathan is far stronger, and that Adam won't be getting up until Nathan lets him.
“So this is what you want, is it?” Nathan growls, his mouth to Adam's ear, and he hasn't shaved in a while; his stubble scratches against Adam's cheek.
“Oh yes,” Adam replies, shivering as Nathan tastes him, his tongue licking a trail along his jaw. It's such a simple thing, pleasure, but worth the trouble every time.
Nathan's dark eyes stay on him the whole time, watching him with a mixture of confusion and anger and (dare he believe it?) desire. Nathan's been alone for quite some time, and Adam's proud that he still has the ability to draw out this special brand of insanity from all the Petrellis.
Nathan snaps his teeth together. “Right,” he says, and roughly flips him over.
There's nothing to kneel on or lean against here, just the rough floor and the wall, and Adam props himself up his elbows as Nathan strips his bottom half. “Stay still,” he says when Adam shifts for a more comfortable position, his fingers digging into Adam's waist. This is all he says throughout their encounter. Again, just like his father.
Adam is hard, achingly so, and Nathan is paying him no mind as he spits into his hand and works Adam open. No gentleness here, the boy is playing hardball, and it only serves to arouse Adam further. When he tries to reach for his own cock, Nathan's hand slaps his away, and Adam concedes to giving Nathan this one time. Next time will be different, of this he is quite sure.
The ripping sound of a zipper coming down too fast tells Adam that Nathan's ready, and moments later he pushes into Adam, stretching him far too wide, slamming into him far too hard, but ah, Adam will live.
Nathan's hand splays put across Adam's stomach, though he still will not deign to let Adam crack even one off, and his forehead is pressed into Adam's back as he makes pathetically desperate noises into his skin. Adam's knees scrape across the floor as the intensity of Nathan's thrusts push them along until Adam's head bumps into the wall, and honestly, the indignity of it all.
Nathan keens and whines in what sounds like half pain, half pleasure, and Adam takes this opportunity to take his erection in an iron grip and pump fast fast fast while Nathan's too oblivious to notice. They come at much the same time, all Adam's muscles tensing and making Nathan scream, muffled in his sweaty back.
He slumps forward, shutting his eyes and letting the last of his orgasm wash over him. By his feet, he feels the floorboards move, then creak, listens as Nathan walks away. He lies there a moment longer, then sits up and collects his pants. The floor is sticky and stained now, but personally he thinks it suits the room.
When Nathan comes back, he's settled himself into one of Arthur's old smoking chairs, idly flicking through an old newspaper. They used to twitter on about such pointless things.
“I don't suppose there's a cigar going, is there-” He stops as the point of a katana almost splits his lip open.
“Hiro Nakamura's friend gave this to me,” Nathan says coolly. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
He leaves, not one to outstay a welcome, but it doesn't mean a thing. Now Nathan just has two things that belong to Adam.