fic: Ritual (57): Peter O'Toole
Title: Ritual (57): Peter O'Toole
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: none really; if you know the characters and relationship, you're fine.
Word count: 6400
Warnings: see pairing and rating; mild squick factor for humor's sake
Summary: Nathan and Peter attempt to see Lawrence of Arabia, but get drunk and distracted. Takes place in the week following Ritual (9): "Like A Tiger"; lighthearted, filthy romance. Which we all need right now.
• Ritual Reader's Guide •
Disclaimer: Heroes and associated characters belong to Tim Kring, Tailwinds Productions, and NBC/Universal, not to me. This is fan fiction and no revenue is generated or accepted from its online presentation.
SEPTEMBER 11 2000 (same evening as "Like a Tiger")
Midnight.
Angela and Arthur lingered at the table at the restaurant, Angela nursing a final glass of champagne and Arthur knocking back one-finger shots of scotch while he gazed into his wife's eyes and caressed her hand. It was time for all of them to leave, the meal long over and even the crumbs around the dessert plates cleared away, but no one seemed inclined. Peter had gone to the restroom twenty minutes ago, not that his parents had noticed; and when Nathan slipped away after him, he got no more than a misty-eyed glance of acknowledgment from his mother.
In the men's room handicapped stall, Peter and Nathan kissed and tongued and groped, hands over clothes, fingers slipping inside wherever there was space to touch skin. Peter was drunk, leaning against his brother, pressing him against the smooth black-marble wall of the stall, occasionally flailing for balance, catching himself with a hand on the toilet-paper dispenser. Whenever that happened, Nathan would take Peter's hand and fasten it firmly against his waist, and kiss him harder, allowing Peter to steal his breath.
Momentarily, Peter leaned back, breathing deep, a sloppy, spit-glossed smile spreading over his face. Nathan narrowed his eyes, smiling too, licking Peter's boozy taste from his lips. "You need to go home and go to bed," Nathan murmured. "Ma 'n' Dad are gonna wonder what happened to you."
Peter shook his head. "I want to come home with you," he replied.
Nathan shushed him. There was no one else in the bathroom, but still. "Mm-mm," Nathan refused softly, pressing his mouth against Peter's Adam's-apple, gathering a pinch of skin between his front teeth. "I have Monday-morning work in the morning. I need to go get some rest." Nathan was not drunk, mostly for that reason. He would have loved to join his father in pounding micro-shots of scotch, both to match him and to carry himself further along the wave of pleasure that had started earlier in the evening, alone with Peter. He still ached inside; his asshole and guts were sore, though strangely longing to be filled again. He clutched Peter's buttocks as tightly as he dared, shuddering, understanding him again, sharing that feeling. No wonder Peter begged for him. He kissed Peter's cheek, his heart overflowing with compassion. "I'm sorry. You have to sleep alone tonight."
"I could sneak out," Peter persisted. He cupped Nathan's erection in his hand.
Nathan mirrored his gesture, and they sighed in unison, moist foreheads pressed together. Reluctantly, he released Peter's penis, knowing how easily he could come, and broke into a grin as Peter let out an elaborate groan of complaint. "Be good, baby," Nathan said. "Be good for me."
"Maybe tomorrow?" Peter suggested, suddenly rational, steady for a moment. He rubbed the small of Nathan's back.
After a moment's hesitation, Nathan nodded. "I'll come to the house around the dinner hour," he said. "I haven't got much time; I've got a strategy meeting at seven o'clock that'll take up most of the night. I can give you half an hour."
Peter rolled his eyes and sighed. "Do you to go the gym in the morning?"
"You know I do. Weekdays at quarter to six."
A wicked grin. "I'll meet you there."
Nathan arched his eyebrow and shook his head. "My trainer will be there. The whole time. We've got hard work to do. And then I go to the courthouse." Peter grimaced, and Nathan rubbed at the corner of his mouth, as if he could rub out the frown. "I'll see you tomorrow night. If we're focused, I can get you off in plenty of time..." He kissed Peter's lip, right at the point where it was paralyzed; that spot was always a little cooler than the rest of his mouth. Peter arched against him desperately. "Now, go back to the table; thank Dad for dinner, and go home."
"...Dream about you," Peter whispered faintly. His wide eyes searched Nathan's, begging for reciprocity.
He couldn't give it. Nathan couldn't produce dreams on demand, like his brother could. Most of the time Nathan didn't even remember his dreams; of course Peter was in them a lot of the time. There was nothing special or mystical about that. That wasn't a form of romance that he believed in. "Be good for me," he repeated, released Peter from his arms, and walked out of the stall, walking to the sinks, washing his hands. Just then, one of the other restaurant patrons entered the bathroom, heading purposefully over to the urinals.
Peter emerged from the handicapped stall, dazed, his face so flushed he looked sunburned. He turned and unsteadily walked out, giving no indication that he knew Nathan. Nathan checked his hair in the mirror and smiled. Peter was a good boy. Most of the time.
* * *
SEPTEMBER 13 2000
"The trial's gone to recess for the rest of the day. I'm leaving work at three-thirty. They're showing Lawrence of Arabia at the Angelika at five; meet me in the bar, we'll have a couple of drinks first. Don't say no. Love you; bye, Pete."
Nathan was already seated and on his second cocktail by the time Peter tumbled into the semi-darkened bar, still carrying his messenger bag sloppily overflowing with textbooks. "Dude," Peter said, flinging himself onto the stool next to Nathan's, "I watched this insane porno last night."
Nathan just stared patiently at him as Peter cheerfully ordered a double vodka and Coke, flashing his expertly-crafted fake I.D. Once the bartender had moved away, Nathan prompted, "And?"
Peter shook his head and grinned, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "A tiny little redhead, a big blond jock, an even bigger black jock-"
"That doesn't sound insane," Nathan mused, tossing down his drink, and holding up his finger to indicate that he wanted another one. Sometimes he forgot that Peter was so young, so easily astonished by the kinds of depravities that Nathan took utterly in stride.
"I mean, the premise wasn't insane, but it was just ridiculously hot. Really entertaining to watch; a lot of just amazing facial expressions-"
"'Facial' 'expressions'," Nathan murmured, crooking air quotes with his fingertips and winking.
Peter nodded. "Plenty of those," he said. "And like, get this - the actors were named Cupcake - that was the girl, obviously - Randy Mann, and Johnson Long." He laughed, sucking down half of his drink. "The box was brilliant. Really self-aware. I think it was a porno for girls. Except that it was filthy."
"What makes you think that it was for girls? Did the dudes give the Cupcake a Tiffany bracelet, a pair of Jimmy Choos, and a promise of undying love, chocolate on demand, and a solid financial future before they shagged the shit out of her?"
Peter shook his head, refusing to acknowledge Nathan's casual sexism. "No, it was kind of the way it was filmed," he replied credulously. He slid his hand across to Nathan's on the bar, and crooked their pinkies together for a moment. A tiny hug, for in public. He took his hand back and ran it through his hair, smoothing back the neatly trimmed strands in an unnecessary gesture. He was so used to having his hair in his face. "It was really well lit without being, like, lurid. And... it looked kinda comfortable. Some of it, anyway. And the chick was cute. I mean, really cute."
"As in, 'it's a shame they did that to her'?"
"No," Peter giggled. "I mean, kind of, depending on your standards. I guess, according to your standards, it was probably pretty boring and standard. You know, solo blow, double blow, one at a time, both at a time, big-time cream bath. Rough fucking, though. I mean, shield-your-eyes rough. Gymnastics-skills rough." The bartender gave Peter a glance as he set down Nathan's third scotch-and-soda, but moved away again without saying anything. "But somehow it all seemed to be in good fun." Peter shrugged, and gulped more of his drink. "And the funniest thing was, they kept on referring to each other by their full names. It was all, 'Hey, Johnson Long, give it to me in my pussy.' 'Sure, Cupcake, as soon as Randy Mann's done chewing out your ass.' Heh! Either those guys are really good actors, or they couldn't manage to keep a straight face. Seemed like lady porn because it all seemed like everyone was having a really good time. Even," he laughed softly, "being fisted."
He stared intently into Nathan's eyes. The whites of his eyes were hazed with red. Nathan raised his chin, glancing appraisingly at Peter, licking traces of scotch from his mouth. Peter's gaze followed his tongue. "I was just..." Peter murmured, "trying to figure out what your porn name would be. You're kind of my personal porn star." He slugged at his drink. Already, it was mostly gone, reduced to cola-stained ice.
"I'm flattered." Nathan tilted his head. "Are you high?"
"A little high," Peter acknowledged. "Hell, it's Lawrence of Arabia, in 70-millimeter. I'm ditching afternoon class. I mean, it's classic. One of my classmates had just sparked one up out in the courtyard while I was on my way out-"
"And that's why you're late?"
"Probably," Peter replied with a good-natured smile. "Mad at me? Rod Steele?"
Nathan couldn't help but laugh. He shook his head. "No more ditching class," he ordered. "Even to hang out with me. You should have said something."
"Once won't hurt. And you said not to say no," Peter said. "Harvey Ballbanger."
Nathan pulled his fountain pen from his pocket, and wrote on a dry napkin. Peter finished his drink, and nodded at the bartender, then glanced down at the napkin. Hugh Jdicz. "Huge...di..." Peter began sounding it out, and dissolved into snorting, sliding the napkin back at Nathan. "Cody Goodhead," he said aloud.
"Too wussy," Nathan said. "Sounds like the third string dancer in a boy band."
"Wang Hung?" Peter offered.
"Hung Wang," Nathan countered.
Peter laughed again, and waggled his finger. "Hey. Can I get another one, please?"
"Is this on his tab?" the bartender asked grouchily.
"Yes," Nathan said, sliding a fifty across the bar. "Get him another one."
"Sure, Mr. Petrelli."
"Carhartt Slapper," Peter said.
Nathan shook his head. "Richard Hammer."
"Oooh!" Peter approved. When he sipped his next drink, Nathan could tell by his expression that this one was much stronger. "Guh! Uh, okay. Um. Where was I? Pen Mightysword."
"Too obvious." Nathan subtly ran his hand up Peter's thigh, too quick for anyone to have noticed. Color flooded Peter's cheeks. "Tony 'Cheeks' Spreader."
Peter licked his lips, pulling the maraschino cherry from his first drink, and running his tongue over it, bouncing the sweet roundness on the tip. Nathan grimaced at him. "Sergeant Rammer," Peter whispered.
They just stared at each other for a while, sometimes bumping against or brushing each other, studying each other, occasionally taking pulls at their drinks until the glasses clinked empty. When Nathan glanced at his watch, it took a moment for him to focus his eyes. He'd had enough, and it was five minutes to showtime. And his dick was as hard as concrete. "C'mon, Pete, it's time to go in," he said, balancing himself with a hand on the bar surface. He hadn't drunk that much, really. If four cocktails was enough to lay him out, he might as well just quit now.
Peter showed his intake a bit more, but he kept it together well, too. Nathan retrieved his credit card from the bartender and signed off on the tab, adding another $50 cash, just to prove his point on generosity. Peter looked at Nathan as though he'd like to eat him, and started ambling toward the door. "Hmm," Peter said as Nathan caught up to him, "But what's my porn name, Sergeant?"
Nathan brushed against Peter's ass, good and solid, grinding his erection into Peter's buttock before stepping aside. "It's obvious," Nathan said coolly. He shrugged. "Peter O'Toole."
It completely devastated Peter; he howled with laughter immediately, and even as he tried to control himself, he giggled so hard that his face turned bright red to the tips of his ears. Nathan grinned smugly, triumphant, as they found themselves seats in the movie theater, but as the opening credits crowned themselves on the massive, curving screen, "Introducing Peter O'Toole..." he found himself laughing so hard, and trying to hold it in, that he thought that he'd choke. Peter curled around himself, holding his stomach together, breathing in desperate gasps. He actually got up, and went rushing back up the aisle toward the exit, and Nathan decided that it would be prudent to follow him; he was in hysterics. There was no way he could sit still for two and a half hours, in public, watching Peter O'Toole.
Out on the sidewalk, Peter had given into his laughter, getting it all out. Nathan indulged himself in cackling for a moment, but the hysteria had passed quickly, faced with the sight of Peter, all tousled and blushing and grinning, available, free for the evening, right there in front of him, with a big stiffy tenting his loose khaki trousers. "Let's go," Nathan said, taking Peter's arm, and steering him up the street. "I'm gonna get us a room."
"Wow, seriously?" Peter said, amazed. "Just for me? Just for the evening?"
"Be grateful."
"Oh, I am," Peter said. "I am."
A block or two away, the Hotel Amy was familiar to Nathan; he had brought women here, and had more than one impromptu business meeting with a law-firm client in one of their simple, but comfortable suites. He marched up to the front desk and calmly requested a room. The desk clerk didn't bat an eyelash. "We have a single available right now," she said, scanning her intake computer screen. "Full facilities, including internet."
"I'll take it," Nathan said, flipping out his personal Platinum AmEx card yet again. Peter paid no attention to the transaction, studying the lobby instead; this was a discreet, mid-range place, perfect for trysts and secret meetings. He kept his expression innocent, not wanting their purpose to seem too obvious. They didn't look like they were heading for a hookup; their resemblance was so strong that it was obvious that they were brothers, and Peter's heavy bag full of books could have meant anything. Nathan was proud of him for not appearing drunk or stoned - well, not excessively, anyway. His blazed-out eyes had begun to recover, and it just looked like he was having ordinary allergies. Nathan thanked the desk clerk, received his key card, and led Peter toward the elevator.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, Nathan grabbed the back of Peter's head and wrenched him in for a kiss. Peter eagerly opened his mouth to Nathan's tongue, then leaned back, grinning smugly. "I can be a good boy," he declared.
"We'll see." He pushed Peter away again, just in time for the doors to open on their floor.
Inside the room, Peter dropped his book bag, and immediately shoved Nathan toward the bed. "I need to see your cock right now," he said.
Nathan obligingly shed his trousers and underwear, taking hold of himself, pumping his dick in his fist. Peter moaned and swayed on his feet, then stripped his striped polo shirt off, tossing it into one of the chairs. Nathan slowly unbuttoned his own shirt, smiling. "Are you clean enough to fuck?" he asked.
"Probably."
"Probably? I want you to make sure." Nathan nodded toward the bathroom. "I want you clean enough to eat."
"I aim to fuck you," Peter pointed out, unzipping his khakis. "You get clean."
Nathan pumped harder on his cock, relishing how much it made him ache, watching Peter strip himself, baring his own growing, stiffening cock. "Mmm! Look at you, Horny McCockerson. Basically, we should both take a shower, huh?"
"It would be smart," Peter murmured, crawling over Nathan, stroking his cock against Nathan's thighs, up to his belly, touching their tips together. Nathan's cock twitched in response, as though at the sight of a dear friend.
Nathan squeezed Peter's ass cheeks, pursing his lips, holding them up for Peter to kiss. "Because I need to fuck you, too."
"Yes, please..." Peter outlined Nathan's lips with his tongue, and gave him a quick smooch. Not a deep one. Saving it. "Yes, please fuck me. Dick me deep."
"Dirty boy." Nathan grinned, and slid out from under, grabbing Peter's arm again, dragging him along into the bathroom, shoving him playfully into the shower stall. He turned on the water, not bothering to test the temperature; it came out so cold that Peter hissed. Nathan pressed him against the wall of the shower stall, one forearm braced against Peter's shoulder blades, adjusting the water temperature with the other hand, playing the spray against Peter's sensitive bare buttocks. "You made me miss the movie, you little jerk!"
"I didn't make you miss anything; you're the one who made the funny," Peter protested, wetting his hands between his legs, rubbing the water across his cock. "Ooh, ooh, oh, I got another one. Rich Gravy."
Nathan snickered, and grabbed the soap. "You want to eat some rich gravy?" he mused, chewing on Peter's shoulder.
"And biscuits," Peter added, chuckling. His laughter turned into hisses of breath, drawn in between his teeth, as Nathan soaped up his behind, one-handed, still restraining him with the other arm. Peter jacked himself harder. "Eat some biscuits and... ohhhh... rich gravy. Rich, country gravy." He began to laugh again. "Okay, that's really fucking gross."
"Don't tell me you'll never eat biscuits and gravy again, because I know it's a lie." He rinsed his fingers against Peter's upper thigh, and slid them up Peter's ass crack, seeking his entrance, adding pressure. He finally let Peter go, but only to take his younger brother's ass cheeks in his hands and spread them so that he could watch what he was doing. First the forefinger of his right hand probed inside, then, a second joined it. Peter was still easy, days after they'd last fucked. He imagined Peter playing with himself, penetrating himself with fingers... and toys... and random objects... masturbating, savoring the pleasure, keeping himself pliable and relaxed, ready to be fucked at a moment's notice. He didn't know if it was true, but what a delicious, troubling, wonderful thought.
"Only if it's vegan," Peter moaned, his fingers tightening on both his cock and the glass shower stall wall.
"I've always wondered... is semen considered vegan?" Nathan mused.
"It's... sort of an... animal source," Peter replied, his voice strangled. Maybe he only felt easy; maybe Nathan's fingers were too rough, too demanding inside him. "Ah... ahhhh. Oh, fuck, yes. Just let me... bend over..."
"No, Pete, don't," Nathan said. He kissed the tooth marks he'd left on Peter's shoulder, and withdrew his fingers, sudsing his hand again. "Later."
"I didn't say 'stop', did I?"
"Stop whining," Nathan muttered, turning around, "and do me."
"Oh, I will," Peter grumbled. He took the soap from Nathan's hand, and ran the tiny bar across Nathan's plump, firm buttocks, tangling suds in the fine hairs covering the skin. He rubbed his cock against the suds, against the cleft of Nathan's ass, moaning in Nathan's ear. "Oh, I'll do you. Yes." Peter's slender fingers traveled over him expertly, probing inside Nathan so subtly that he barely noticed until he had no choice but to notice, suddenly violated, impaled on a single, rigid forefinger. Nathan gasped, and Peter laughed. "Oh, yeah," he mentioned casually, "I brought my lube." He rubbed his cock against the top of Nathan's ass; he must have been standing on tiptoe to do it.
"I brought mine, too," Nathan said.
"Because we were gonna go see a movie. Right? Or was there some other motive for you today, calling me out, making me skip class?" Peter slid his finger in and out, repositioning his cock between the cheeks, rising and falling in unison.
"Stop it," Nathan groaned. "Be careful. You'll slip. And I don't feel like patching your head together."
Peter just chuckled. "Are we done here?"
"Yes. Go get in bed; bring the towels. Get ready for me. I'll be there in a minute."
"Because," Peter drawled, "you're gonna cut your fingernails, right?" He arched his eyebrow meaningfully.
"Yeah," Nathan said, suddenly embarrassed. He'd last trimmed them two nights ago, and his fingernails, like his hair, grew like wildfire. "Right." But Peter just smiled at him, somewhat understandingly, and stepped out of the shower stall.
Once Nathan had finished his final details (brushing his teeth, trimming his nails, rinsing the last traces of soap from his balls and asshole), he returned to the suite, where Peter had parked himself at the edge of the bed, up on his knees with his head cradled on his crossed arms. Nathan circled him until he was facing Peter's behind, sank to his knees on the carpet, and set to. Peter was so much to him at that moment - a treat, a journey, a challenge of understanding and self-control. The feel of Peter's buttocks against his face made his heart flutter giddily inside his chest; his brother's tiny whimpers and sighs of pleasure gripped his balls tight. Nathan only partially knew what he was doing; he understood the physical mechanics of it, the expected sensations caused by this or that stroke of the tongue, when to pull the skin taut, opening the pucker to allow his tongue just inside. He knew that it should feel good - wildly good. And yet, he was only winging it. This, he had not been taught. This, he only learned by doing, by wanting to do it. He remembered the first time he'd been allowed, and how it overjoyed his heart, and how appalled he was at himself afterward. But the grateful sighs of his lover made up for it, and it was only natural, only logical, that he would want to share that sensation with Peter. To make him moan like that, and better.
It made Peter curse a blue streak. "Ohh fuuuck, I can't believe it," he groaned. "Oh, you're eating my asshole. It feels so good."
"How's this?" Nathan wet his forefingers, and slid them inside.
"Oh, fuck! Fuck! Ahhh." Peter's muscles knit themselves together, cording across his chest and arms, then relaxed again. "I'm still sore from yesterday."
Nathan smiled, remembering; thirty minutes, sequestered in Peter's bedroom, had seen him roughly fucking Peter's already lubed and loose ass, holding him against a wall with his hand over his mouth, groaning silently, watching tears of lust and restraint pouring out of Peter's eyes. He'd shot his load inside, wiped off, zipped up, and went downstairs to greet his father with a calm smile on his face, leaving Peter weeping and clutching his own still painfully-hard cock. "Sore? From watching porn and jacking off?" Nathan accused.
"You fucked me so hard."
"You had a chance to come; why didn't you?" Nathan dug in, probed in a circle, opening his fingers until he felt Peter's anus spasm back in resistance. He was swollen inside, true, but nearly ready; if it didn't work, Peter would tell him. And he'd taken more fucking than that before. Nathan pulled out his fingers, spit on them, and dug in deep.
It took Peter a moment to recover enough to reply. "I couldn't," he confessed. "I get so locked into holding it back that... I need you sometimes..."
"Or you need Randy Mann."
That brought out a nervous giggle, and Peter squeezed one of his own nipples, pulled tight against his slim, still-nearly-hairless chest. At twenty, he still had the body of a teenager. Nathan dug in as deep as he could, and bit Peter's thigh for good measure. Peter babbled, trying to keep himself together. "I'm serious, you should watch it. It's really good all the way through. I spanked it and jizzed four times, but I still wanted to watch it through to the end. At this one point, they hold the girl up between them, and then drop her into their cocks at the same time. My God, ow, can you imagine the pelvic crunch?"
"They're trained actors, Peter." Again, Nathan couldn't help smiling.
"Do you ever want to maybe... share a woman with me?" Peter murmured. He glanced over his shoulder, awaiting his brother's reply. "Ever thought of that?"
"Hmm," Nathan grunted. He pulled his fingers all the way out, wiping them clean and dry, and spread lubricant over his cock. He didn't bother to reply until he had the head of his cock inside, spreading Peter further, stroking his behind and his belly to get him to relax and bear down onto him. "Actually," he said, slowly forcing in deeper, "I never did."
"It could be so good, though. Think about it. A really hot, strong, crazy, lusty woman; a sex machine; someone who can take it. Take both of our cocks at the same time. And then we could kiss each other over her shoulder. It's not impossible. A lot of women have that fantasy." Peter sucked in his breath, then let it out in a few tightly measured gasps. "Ah-ah-all I'm saying is, think about it."
"Shut up, Pete." Nathan wiggled his hips, trying to get in deeper. Peter was so hot and tight inside, pulsing, twitching, always moving. He wondered if it hurt; if Peter would tell him.
Peter grunted and curled his toes around Nathan's left ankle. "I could eat her pussy while you eat her ass," he babbled, "and jack off together..."
"Shut up, Pete." Nathan pushed his hand against the back of Peter's head, forcing his face down onto the towel-covered bedspread, increasing his pace and deepening his rhythm. He was in deep, but not as deep as he wanted. He wanted Peter to feel that fullness, that hard weapon piercing him. Nathan jerked his hips roughly forward, and Peter yelped, but didn't resist. "Rough stuff?" Nathan muttered. "Like this? Did she take it like this?"
"Nathan," Peter breathed. "Nathan, please. Stop."
Nathan deliberately ignored Peter for a few strokes, then sighed, and brought his hips to a halt. "Am I hurting you?" he said.
"I really wanted to suck your dick," Peter complained, muffled against the mattress.
"Too late for that now."
"It's your turn, anyway," Peter said.
"Just tell me if I'm hurting you."
"It's not that simple, Nathan." Peter glanced over his shoulder, his expression mournful, as Nathan withdrew, his cock trailing clear, sticky strands of pre-come and lube. "I like it when you hurt me," Peter went on, his voice thick and soft. "You could fuck me for hours, every day, and no matter how sore I am inside, I still want more. You know what I'm talking about."
Nathan did. He didn't really want to, but at the same time, he was so grateful that Peter understood. No one else could. No one else he could talk to, anyway. "Just tell me that I'm hurting you," he said, "that I hurt you. Tell me to go easier on you."
"I don't want that. And you know it. No, just... it's time for you. You need it too, Nathan. I want to give it to you." Peter rolled over, his fingertips grazing his lower belly. "You fuck me too hard, and I love it. And I just want to fuck you just right."
"You can fuck me too hard," Nathan muttered under his breath.
Peter laced his fingers around the back of Nathan's head, pulling him down for a kiss. There it was; the deep searching of breath and tongue and teeth. Within moments, Nathan was dizzy, wanting to be inside Peter again, wanting Peter inside of him - wanting them to be tangled and enfolded and becoming one flesh.
But then Peter drew away, wiping his mouth with the side of his wrist. "Lie down," he said. "Spread your legs. I'll take care of you."
When Nathan settled back and parted his thighs, Peter took Nathan's legs and bent them so that his knees touched his belly, and held them there while he dove down with his mouth. Before Nathan could groan a warning about staying away from his cock, Peter had lifted Nathan's cock and balls, exposing his ass, planting sloppy-wet kisses against the sensitive skin of his inner buttocks. "Ahhh," Nathan sighed, "be careful."
"I'm okay," Peter said. "You're okay." He swept his tongue around Nathan's anus. "You're okay. Just a little." Peter knew even less about what he was doing, but his clumsy attempts still felt good. The position was awkward and less than comfortable, making Nathan feel like at any time, he was going to lose his balance and rock forward, cracking his pelvic bones against Peter's shoulders, or worse, his tailbone against Peter's nose. Peter just shook his head and balanced Nathan's thighs, opening him further, laving with his tongue. "I'm glad you're in such good shape, Nate."
"I'm not as flexible as you," Nathan grunted. He was in good shape, but his abdominals weren't used to being crunched and held like this. All that muscle didn't compress easily.
"Okay, okay. Like this." Peter let him go, and half-dragged him to the edge of the bed. Nathan scooted down a bit, and Peter, sliding onto the floor, lifted Nathan's legs again, bending them back and out and up. He lubed up his fingers and pushed them inside, hissing delightedly at how easily Nathan took it. "Yessss," he whispered. "Oh, you're already ready, aren't you? You're already ready." Peter trickled lube over his hand, the fingers inside, and sloshed the lube in. "Gotta get you nice and wet, huh?" He shuddered, eyes closed, jerking pressure through his wrist. "How much do you want it? Tell me."
"Just do it to me," Nathan sighed. "Just fuck me. I want you to come. I want to feel it."
Peter stood up, leaned over Nathan, and slid his cock inside without resistance. Nathan tried not to react, but he couldn't help gasping and shaking. Peter held Nathan's ankles in his hands, thrusting smoothly, watching the shadowed area where they came together, adjusting Nathan's hips so that he could see more. "Yes," he muttered darkly. "Yes. Uh. In you. Yeah. You like that?"
Nathan grinned, his eyes rolling back. "Yeah," he replied. "Yeah."
"Like that?" Peter tossed his head and sneered. "Like that? Is that too hard?"
"No, oh, God, no! No! Just like that! Oh!" Nathan reached down for his cock, frigging fast, shooting jets of spunk across his belly. "Don't stop!" he commanded breathlessly. "I want to feel you come!"
Peter didn't reply right away, but he also didn't stop. "I'm not sure I can," he confessed.
"What?" Nathan struggled to focus his eyes. "Of course you can."
"I'm just... this feels so good, but... it's not close. I think I drank too much. It's okay. I don't have to come."
"Yeah, you fuckin' do," Nathan said, spreading his come across his belly with the palm of his hand. He wiped it onto Peter's belly, running his fingers down the treasure trail, touching the root of Peter's cock as it emerged, then running back up over his own sticky cock and balls, squeezing the last thick droplets out of him.
"You can't force me," Peter claimed.
"Oh, yes, I can." Nathan sighed, and relaxed. "Okay," he said, seeming to concede. "Stop now, then. Put your clothes back on and put on the radio."
That baffled Peter. "What?"
"Wipe down, and ... I dunno, put on your shorts." Nathan rolled over, cleaning his belly and cock with the damp towel, and tossing it to Peter. He pulled his shorts and trousers back on, and grinned over his shoulder. "Let's dance."
Peter just blinked at him. "Are you still drunk?"
"Yeah. I am." Nathan stood up, and went to the clock-radio on the suite's bureau. A moment's twiddling called up the station that exclusively played old-timey dance music, and the thin, watery sound of an ancient supper-club band filled the air. "Dance with me," Nathan said. "I want to dance." He crinkled his eyes and smiled at Peter. "With you."
"Awesome," Peter breathed, pulling his underpants back on. His cock looked massive, trapped and bulging against the thin fabric. "Um. Okay. What are we doing?"
"The cha-cha, sounds like." Nathan oriented himself into the sound, and decisively made the moves that he only slightly remembered.
"No, no," Peter broke in, as Nathan had hoped he'd do. "It's like this. One, two, three-" He took Nathan's hand, and slipped easily into the role of lead. Nathan had been taught the dance from the other side, and he stared at Peter's feet, trying to figure it out. "No, don't watch my feet; they're hopeless. Watch my hips. Back, back, back, dun dun... yeah. You got it. You're a smart guy. You picked it right up; it took me ages."
"I can tell," Nathan said, still staring at Peter's bare feet, balancing lightly on the toes, but his bowed legs swaying a little too much. Still beautiful, though. "You learn this from Ma?"
"Yeah," Peter admitted, tossing his head again, drawing Nathan forward. "She's a good teacher."
"She's a good dancer. You're not too bad."
"You're actually good, though." Peter gazed across the space at Nathan, their bodies moving in smooth, rhythmic unison to the sound of congas and tinny saxophones. "Good footwork."
Their bodies drew closer, stepping lightly across the carpet and back, hands enfolded, drawn back close to the chest. Peter's eyes sparkled, and Nathan leaned in for another kiss, deepening it, pulling Peter even closer. The cha-cha song ended, and some syrupy waltz took its place; Nathan rested his cheek against Peter's, holding him close, swaying in time. He reached down to feel the stiff bulge in Peter's underwear, slid his hand under the waistband to touch moist skin. Found the smooth, vulnerable head and stroked it, found the delicate slit at the tip, caught a heavy pearl of moisture squeezing free from it and swirled it across the tender skin. Peter's breath shuddered, and he kissed the underside of Nathan's chin. "I think I can continue now," he whispered.
"Good."
They returned to the bed, dreamily shedding garments and stroking each other at the same time; Peter suckled both of Nathan's nipples as he lay his brother back again, sought out his asshole with his fingers, slid his cock back into place. Nathan moaned loud and long, bucking his hips back against Peter; Peter kissed and chewed at the scars along Nathan's jawline, thrusting slow and gentle at first, but gathering pace, faster and harder. Nathan could no longer hear the music over the creaking of the bed frame and Peter's bestial grunting. He grabbed Peter's ass, slamming them together, then went limp as he savored the electric sparks of painful pleasure radiating from deep inside him. Peter cursed softly, grabbing Nathan's throat for a moment, then seizing Nathan's hips and ramming him onto his cock. It didn't work the way he probably thought it would; it was clumsy and rough and awkward and sweet. They swam in each other's heat, knocking bones together, rolling and struggling. And kissing, and biting, and swearing at each other. First the towels, then the bedspread and sheets bunched under them, kicked out of the way by Nathan's desperate heels, trying to find purchase on the surface of the bed so that he could provide the most solid, most definite, most deliciously painful and vulnerable resistance. They shouted. Peter tried to grab Nathan's wrists and Nathan tried to scratch him, both without success. But they kissed properly; their mouths always found each other.
All at once Peter was sobbing ecstatically, "Yes, yes, yes, oh fuck YES! Ah!" Nathan clutched him around the waist, holding him still, holding him inside, swept away by the sensation of Peter pulsing liquid inside him, by the feeling of his own internal muscles fluttering and his cock aching rigid and raw against Peter's belly. Peter let one last gasp escape his lips, and instantly became boneless, collapsing on top, sweaty limbs splayed everywhere.
Too much. Peter was too heavy in his post-orgasmic dead weight. Nathan slid sideways, releasing Peter, laughing and groaning as he felt the semen ebbing out of him. "Towel," he said, and Peter grabbed the nearest one he could find. "Oh, well," Nathan murmured contentedly, too happy at the moment to care. Peter curled up against Nathan, holding the towel between Nathan's legs, pressing his spent cock against the terrycloth, and toyed idly with Nathan's chest hair. Nathan kissed Peter's forehead. "That was good," he commented.
"You're my favorite person in the whole world," Peter said.
Nathan just grinned and didn't reply. He didn't want to have to tell Peter yeah, likewise, or anything like that. It was too nice to just lie here, too nice to reciprocate just because. Peter knew.
"You know," Peter mused, "if we ever did have a threesome, the girl would know." He caught Nathan's eye. "I'd be all over you. And you'd be all over me. Yeah, I mean, I'd fuck her, but I'd be watching you the whole time. I'd have to play with you. And you'd have to fuck me."
"You sure about that?" Nathan replied, arching his eyebrow. "No matter who it was?"
Peter nodded. "Because I'm not a substitute," he said. "I'm me. You want to fuck me. You might want to fuck other people, too, but... you want to fuck me."
Nathan said nothing. Again, he didn't have to. Peter knew.
He just held Peter close and let him doze off, stroking him, kissing his fingertips and ears, knowing that they should both get home, but not yet. No.
Not yet. Just for a little while, every once in a while, they needed to have this.
END (57)
A/N: You may or may not want to eat biscuits and gravy ever again. ;) Thanks for reading!
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: none really; if you know the characters and relationship, you're fine.
Word count: 6400
Warnings: see pairing and rating; mild squick factor for humor's sake
Summary: Nathan and Peter attempt to see Lawrence of Arabia, but get drunk and distracted. Takes place in the week following Ritual (9): "Like A Tiger"; lighthearted, filthy romance. Which we all need right now.
• Ritual Reader's Guide •
Disclaimer: Heroes and associated characters belong to Tim Kring, Tailwinds Productions, and NBC/Universal, not to me. This is fan fiction and no revenue is generated or accepted from its online presentation.
SEPTEMBER 11 2000 (same evening as "Like a Tiger")
Midnight.
Angela and Arthur lingered at the table at the restaurant, Angela nursing a final glass of champagne and Arthur knocking back one-finger shots of scotch while he gazed into his wife's eyes and caressed her hand. It was time for all of them to leave, the meal long over and even the crumbs around the dessert plates cleared away, but no one seemed inclined. Peter had gone to the restroom twenty minutes ago, not that his parents had noticed; and when Nathan slipped away after him, he got no more than a misty-eyed glance of acknowledgment from his mother.
In the men's room handicapped stall, Peter and Nathan kissed and tongued and groped, hands over clothes, fingers slipping inside wherever there was space to touch skin. Peter was drunk, leaning against his brother, pressing him against the smooth black-marble wall of the stall, occasionally flailing for balance, catching himself with a hand on the toilet-paper dispenser. Whenever that happened, Nathan would take Peter's hand and fasten it firmly against his waist, and kiss him harder, allowing Peter to steal his breath.
Momentarily, Peter leaned back, breathing deep, a sloppy, spit-glossed smile spreading over his face. Nathan narrowed his eyes, smiling too, licking Peter's boozy taste from his lips. "You need to go home and go to bed," Nathan murmured. "Ma 'n' Dad are gonna wonder what happened to you."
Peter shook his head. "I want to come home with you," he replied.
Nathan shushed him. There was no one else in the bathroom, but still. "Mm-mm," Nathan refused softly, pressing his mouth against Peter's Adam's-apple, gathering a pinch of skin between his front teeth. "I have Monday-morning work in the morning. I need to go get some rest." Nathan was not drunk, mostly for that reason. He would have loved to join his father in pounding micro-shots of scotch, both to match him and to carry himself further along the wave of pleasure that had started earlier in the evening, alone with Peter. He still ached inside; his asshole and guts were sore, though strangely longing to be filled again. He clutched Peter's buttocks as tightly as he dared, shuddering, understanding him again, sharing that feeling. No wonder Peter begged for him. He kissed Peter's cheek, his heart overflowing with compassion. "I'm sorry. You have to sleep alone tonight."
"I could sneak out," Peter persisted. He cupped Nathan's erection in his hand.
Nathan mirrored his gesture, and they sighed in unison, moist foreheads pressed together. Reluctantly, he released Peter's penis, knowing how easily he could come, and broke into a grin as Peter let out an elaborate groan of complaint. "Be good, baby," Nathan said. "Be good for me."
"Maybe tomorrow?" Peter suggested, suddenly rational, steady for a moment. He rubbed the small of Nathan's back.
After a moment's hesitation, Nathan nodded. "I'll come to the house around the dinner hour," he said. "I haven't got much time; I've got a strategy meeting at seven o'clock that'll take up most of the night. I can give you half an hour."
Peter rolled his eyes and sighed. "Do you to go the gym in the morning?"
"You know I do. Weekdays at quarter to six."
A wicked grin. "I'll meet you there."
Nathan arched his eyebrow and shook his head. "My trainer will be there. The whole time. We've got hard work to do. And then I go to the courthouse." Peter grimaced, and Nathan rubbed at the corner of his mouth, as if he could rub out the frown. "I'll see you tomorrow night. If we're focused, I can get you off in plenty of time..." He kissed Peter's lip, right at the point where it was paralyzed; that spot was always a little cooler than the rest of his mouth. Peter arched against him desperately. "Now, go back to the table; thank Dad for dinner, and go home."
"...Dream about you," Peter whispered faintly. His wide eyes searched Nathan's, begging for reciprocity.
He couldn't give it. Nathan couldn't produce dreams on demand, like his brother could. Most of the time Nathan didn't even remember his dreams; of course Peter was in them a lot of the time. There was nothing special or mystical about that. That wasn't a form of romance that he believed in. "Be good for me," he repeated, released Peter from his arms, and walked out of the stall, walking to the sinks, washing his hands. Just then, one of the other restaurant patrons entered the bathroom, heading purposefully over to the urinals.
Peter emerged from the handicapped stall, dazed, his face so flushed he looked sunburned. He turned and unsteadily walked out, giving no indication that he knew Nathan. Nathan checked his hair in the mirror and smiled. Peter was a good boy. Most of the time.
* * *
SEPTEMBER 13 2000
"The trial's gone to recess for the rest of the day. I'm leaving work at three-thirty. They're showing Lawrence of Arabia at the Angelika at five; meet me in the bar, we'll have a couple of drinks first. Don't say no. Love you; bye, Pete."
Nathan was already seated and on his second cocktail by the time Peter tumbled into the semi-darkened bar, still carrying his messenger bag sloppily overflowing with textbooks. "Dude," Peter said, flinging himself onto the stool next to Nathan's, "I watched this insane porno last night."
Nathan just stared patiently at him as Peter cheerfully ordered a double vodka and Coke, flashing his expertly-crafted fake I.D. Once the bartender had moved away, Nathan prompted, "And?"
Peter shook his head and grinned, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "A tiny little redhead, a big blond jock, an even bigger black jock-"
"That doesn't sound insane," Nathan mused, tossing down his drink, and holding up his finger to indicate that he wanted another one. Sometimes he forgot that Peter was so young, so easily astonished by the kinds of depravities that Nathan took utterly in stride.
"I mean, the premise wasn't insane, but it was just ridiculously hot. Really entertaining to watch; a lot of just amazing facial expressions-"
"'Facial' 'expressions'," Nathan murmured, crooking air quotes with his fingertips and winking.
Peter nodded. "Plenty of those," he said. "And like, get this - the actors were named Cupcake - that was the girl, obviously - Randy Mann, and Johnson Long." He laughed, sucking down half of his drink. "The box was brilliant. Really self-aware. I think it was a porno for girls. Except that it was filthy."
"What makes you think that it was for girls? Did the dudes give the Cupcake a Tiffany bracelet, a pair of Jimmy Choos, and a promise of undying love, chocolate on demand, and a solid financial future before they shagged the shit out of her?"
Peter shook his head, refusing to acknowledge Nathan's casual sexism. "No, it was kind of the way it was filmed," he replied credulously. He slid his hand across to Nathan's on the bar, and crooked their pinkies together for a moment. A tiny hug, for in public. He took his hand back and ran it through his hair, smoothing back the neatly trimmed strands in an unnecessary gesture. He was so used to having his hair in his face. "It was really well lit without being, like, lurid. And... it looked kinda comfortable. Some of it, anyway. And the chick was cute. I mean, really cute."
"As in, 'it's a shame they did that to her'?"
"No," Peter giggled. "I mean, kind of, depending on your standards. I guess, according to your standards, it was probably pretty boring and standard. You know, solo blow, double blow, one at a time, both at a time, big-time cream bath. Rough fucking, though. I mean, shield-your-eyes rough. Gymnastics-skills rough." The bartender gave Peter a glance as he set down Nathan's third scotch-and-soda, but moved away again without saying anything. "But somehow it all seemed to be in good fun." Peter shrugged, and gulped more of his drink. "And the funniest thing was, they kept on referring to each other by their full names. It was all, 'Hey, Johnson Long, give it to me in my pussy.' 'Sure, Cupcake, as soon as Randy Mann's done chewing out your ass.' Heh! Either those guys are really good actors, or they couldn't manage to keep a straight face. Seemed like lady porn because it all seemed like everyone was having a really good time. Even," he laughed softly, "being fisted."
He stared intently into Nathan's eyes. The whites of his eyes were hazed with red. Nathan raised his chin, glancing appraisingly at Peter, licking traces of scotch from his mouth. Peter's gaze followed his tongue. "I was just..." Peter murmured, "trying to figure out what your porn name would be. You're kind of my personal porn star." He slugged at his drink. Already, it was mostly gone, reduced to cola-stained ice.
"I'm flattered." Nathan tilted his head. "Are you high?"
"A little high," Peter acknowledged. "Hell, it's Lawrence of Arabia, in 70-millimeter. I'm ditching afternoon class. I mean, it's classic. One of my classmates had just sparked one up out in the courtyard while I was on my way out-"
"And that's why you're late?"
"Probably," Peter replied with a good-natured smile. "Mad at me? Rod Steele?"
Nathan couldn't help but laugh. He shook his head. "No more ditching class," he ordered. "Even to hang out with me. You should have said something."
"Once won't hurt. And you said not to say no," Peter said. "Harvey Ballbanger."
Nathan pulled his fountain pen from his pocket, and wrote on a dry napkin. Peter finished his drink, and nodded at the bartender, then glanced down at the napkin. Hugh Jdicz. "Huge...di..." Peter began sounding it out, and dissolved into snorting, sliding the napkin back at Nathan. "Cody Goodhead," he said aloud.
"Too wussy," Nathan said. "Sounds like the third string dancer in a boy band."
"Wang Hung?" Peter offered.
"Hung Wang," Nathan countered.
Peter laughed again, and waggled his finger. "Hey. Can I get another one, please?"
"Is this on his tab?" the bartender asked grouchily.
"Yes," Nathan said, sliding a fifty across the bar. "Get him another one."
"Sure, Mr. Petrelli."
"Carhartt Slapper," Peter said.
Nathan shook his head. "Richard Hammer."
"Oooh!" Peter approved. When he sipped his next drink, Nathan could tell by his expression that this one was much stronger. "Guh! Uh, okay. Um. Where was I? Pen Mightysword."
"Too obvious." Nathan subtly ran his hand up Peter's thigh, too quick for anyone to have noticed. Color flooded Peter's cheeks. "Tony 'Cheeks' Spreader."
Peter licked his lips, pulling the maraschino cherry from his first drink, and running his tongue over it, bouncing the sweet roundness on the tip. Nathan grimaced at him. "Sergeant Rammer," Peter whispered.
They just stared at each other for a while, sometimes bumping against or brushing each other, studying each other, occasionally taking pulls at their drinks until the glasses clinked empty. When Nathan glanced at his watch, it took a moment for him to focus his eyes. He'd had enough, and it was five minutes to showtime. And his dick was as hard as concrete. "C'mon, Pete, it's time to go in," he said, balancing himself with a hand on the bar surface. He hadn't drunk that much, really. If four cocktails was enough to lay him out, he might as well just quit now.
Peter showed his intake a bit more, but he kept it together well, too. Nathan retrieved his credit card from the bartender and signed off on the tab, adding another $50 cash, just to prove his point on generosity. Peter looked at Nathan as though he'd like to eat him, and started ambling toward the door. "Hmm," Peter said as Nathan caught up to him, "But what's my porn name, Sergeant?"
Nathan brushed against Peter's ass, good and solid, grinding his erection into Peter's buttock before stepping aside. "It's obvious," Nathan said coolly. He shrugged. "Peter O'Toole."
It completely devastated Peter; he howled with laughter immediately, and even as he tried to control himself, he giggled so hard that his face turned bright red to the tips of his ears. Nathan grinned smugly, triumphant, as they found themselves seats in the movie theater, but as the opening credits crowned themselves on the massive, curving screen, "Introducing Peter O'Toole..." he found himself laughing so hard, and trying to hold it in, that he thought that he'd choke. Peter curled around himself, holding his stomach together, breathing in desperate gasps. He actually got up, and went rushing back up the aisle toward the exit, and Nathan decided that it would be prudent to follow him; he was in hysterics. There was no way he could sit still for two and a half hours, in public, watching Peter O'Toole.
Out on the sidewalk, Peter had given into his laughter, getting it all out. Nathan indulged himself in cackling for a moment, but the hysteria had passed quickly, faced with the sight of Peter, all tousled and blushing and grinning, available, free for the evening, right there in front of him, with a big stiffy tenting his loose khaki trousers. "Let's go," Nathan said, taking Peter's arm, and steering him up the street. "I'm gonna get us a room."
"Wow, seriously?" Peter said, amazed. "Just for me? Just for the evening?"
"Be grateful."
"Oh, I am," Peter said. "I am."
A block or two away, the Hotel Amy was familiar to Nathan; he had brought women here, and had more than one impromptu business meeting with a law-firm client in one of their simple, but comfortable suites. He marched up to the front desk and calmly requested a room. The desk clerk didn't bat an eyelash. "We have a single available right now," she said, scanning her intake computer screen. "Full facilities, including internet."
"I'll take it," Nathan said, flipping out his personal Platinum AmEx card yet again. Peter paid no attention to the transaction, studying the lobby instead; this was a discreet, mid-range place, perfect for trysts and secret meetings. He kept his expression innocent, not wanting their purpose to seem too obvious. They didn't look like they were heading for a hookup; their resemblance was so strong that it was obvious that they were brothers, and Peter's heavy bag full of books could have meant anything. Nathan was proud of him for not appearing drunk or stoned - well, not excessively, anyway. His blazed-out eyes had begun to recover, and it just looked like he was having ordinary allergies. Nathan thanked the desk clerk, received his key card, and led Peter toward the elevator.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, Nathan grabbed the back of Peter's head and wrenched him in for a kiss. Peter eagerly opened his mouth to Nathan's tongue, then leaned back, grinning smugly. "I can be a good boy," he declared.
"We'll see." He pushed Peter away again, just in time for the doors to open on their floor.
Inside the room, Peter dropped his book bag, and immediately shoved Nathan toward the bed. "I need to see your cock right now," he said.
Nathan obligingly shed his trousers and underwear, taking hold of himself, pumping his dick in his fist. Peter moaned and swayed on his feet, then stripped his striped polo shirt off, tossing it into one of the chairs. Nathan slowly unbuttoned his own shirt, smiling. "Are you clean enough to fuck?" he asked.
"Probably."
"Probably? I want you to make sure." Nathan nodded toward the bathroom. "I want you clean enough to eat."
"I aim to fuck you," Peter pointed out, unzipping his khakis. "You get clean."
Nathan pumped harder on his cock, relishing how much it made him ache, watching Peter strip himself, baring his own growing, stiffening cock. "Mmm! Look at you, Horny McCockerson. Basically, we should both take a shower, huh?"
"It would be smart," Peter murmured, crawling over Nathan, stroking his cock against Nathan's thighs, up to his belly, touching their tips together. Nathan's cock twitched in response, as though at the sight of a dear friend.
Nathan squeezed Peter's ass cheeks, pursing his lips, holding them up for Peter to kiss. "Because I need to fuck you, too."
"Yes, please..." Peter outlined Nathan's lips with his tongue, and gave him a quick smooch. Not a deep one. Saving it. "Yes, please fuck me. Dick me deep."
"Dirty boy." Nathan grinned, and slid out from under, grabbing Peter's arm again, dragging him along into the bathroom, shoving him playfully into the shower stall. He turned on the water, not bothering to test the temperature; it came out so cold that Peter hissed. Nathan pressed him against the wall of the shower stall, one forearm braced against Peter's shoulder blades, adjusting the water temperature with the other hand, playing the spray against Peter's sensitive bare buttocks. "You made me miss the movie, you little jerk!"
"I didn't make you miss anything; you're the one who made the funny," Peter protested, wetting his hands between his legs, rubbing the water across his cock. "Ooh, ooh, oh, I got another one. Rich Gravy."
Nathan snickered, and grabbed the soap. "You want to eat some rich gravy?" he mused, chewing on Peter's shoulder.
"And biscuits," Peter added, chuckling. His laughter turned into hisses of breath, drawn in between his teeth, as Nathan soaped up his behind, one-handed, still restraining him with the other arm. Peter jacked himself harder. "Eat some biscuits and... ohhhh... rich gravy. Rich, country gravy." He began to laugh again. "Okay, that's really fucking gross."
"Don't tell me you'll never eat biscuits and gravy again, because I know it's a lie." He rinsed his fingers against Peter's upper thigh, and slid them up Peter's ass crack, seeking his entrance, adding pressure. He finally let Peter go, but only to take his younger brother's ass cheeks in his hands and spread them so that he could watch what he was doing. First the forefinger of his right hand probed inside, then, a second joined it. Peter was still easy, days after they'd last fucked. He imagined Peter playing with himself, penetrating himself with fingers... and toys... and random objects... masturbating, savoring the pleasure, keeping himself pliable and relaxed, ready to be fucked at a moment's notice. He didn't know if it was true, but what a delicious, troubling, wonderful thought.
"Only if it's vegan," Peter moaned, his fingers tightening on both his cock and the glass shower stall wall.
"I've always wondered... is semen considered vegan?" Nathan mused.
"It's... sort of an... animal source," Peter replied, his voice strangled. Maybe he only felt easy; maybe Nathan's fingers were too rough, too demanding inside him. "Ah... ahhhh. Oh, fuck, yes. Just let me... bend over..."
"No, Pete, don't," Nathan said. He kissed the tooth marks he'd left on Peter's shoulder, and withdrew his fingers, sudsing his hand again. "Later."
"I didn't say 'stop', did I?"
"Stop whining," Nathan muttered, turning around, "and do me."
"Oh, I will," Peter grumbled. He took the soap from Nathan's hand, and ran the tiny bar across Nathan's plump, firm buttocks, tangling suds in the fine hairs covering the skin. He rubbed his cock against the suds, against the cleft of Nathan's ass, moaning in Nathan's ear. "Oh, I'll do you. Yes." Peter's slender fingers traveled over him expertly, probing inside Nathan so subtly that he barely noticed until he had no choice but to notice, suddenly violated, impaled on a single, rigid forefinger. Nathan gasped, and Peter laughed. "Oh, yeah," he mentioned casually, "I brought my lube." He rubbed his cock against the top of Nathan's ass; he must have been standing on tiptoe to do it.
"I brought mine, too," Nathan said.
"Because we were gonna go see a movie. Right? Or was there some other motive for you today, calling me out, making me skip class?" Peter slid his finger in and out, repositioning his cock between the cheeks, rising and falling in unison.
"Stop it," Nathan groaned. "Be careful. You'll slip. And I don't feel like patching your head together."
Peter just chuckled. "Are we done here?"
"Yes. Go get in bed; bring the towels. Get ready for me. I'll be there in a minute."
"Because," Peter drawled, "you're gonna cut your fingernails, right?" He arched his eyebrow meaningfully.
"Yeah," Nathan said, suddenly embarrassed. He'd last trimmed them two nights ago, and his fingernails, like his hair, grew like wildfire. "Right." But Peter just smiled at him, somewhat understandingly, and stepped out of the shower stall.
Once Nathan had finished his final details (brushing his teeth, trimming his nails, rinsing the last traces of soap from his balls and asshole), he returned to the suite, where Peter had parked himself at the edge of the bed, up on his knees with his head cradled on his crossed arms. Nathan circled him until he was facing Peter's behind, sank to his knees on the carpet, and set to. Peter was so much to him at that moment - a treat, a journey, a challenge of understanding and self-control. The feel of Peter's buttocks against his face made his heart flutter giddily inside his chest; his brother's tiny whimpers and sighs of pleasure gripped his balls tight. Nathan only partially knew what he was doing; he understood the physical mechanics of it, the expected sensations caused by this or that stroke of the tongue, when to pull the skin taut, opening the pucker to allow his tongue just inside. He knew that it should feel good - wildly good. And yet, he was only winging it. This, he had not been taught. This, he only learned by doing, by wanting to do it. He remembered the first time he'd been allowed, and how it overjoyed his heart, and how appalled he was at himself afterward. But the grateful sighs of his lover made up for it, and it was only natural, only logical, that he would want to share that sensation with Peter. To make him moan like that, and better.
It made Peter curse a blue streak. "Ohh fuuuck, I can't believe it," he groaned. "Oh, you're eating my asshole. It feels so good."
"How's this?" Nathan wet his forefingers, and slid them inside.
"Oh, fuck! Fuck! Ahhh." Peter's muscles knit themselves together, cording across his chest and arms, then relaxed again. "I'm still sore from yesterday."
Nathan smiled, remembering; thirty minutes, sequestered in Peter's bedroom, had seen him roughly fucking Peter's already lubed and loose ass, holding him against a wall with his hand over his mouth, groaning silently, watching tears of lust and restraint pouring out of Peter's eyes. He'd shot his load inside, wiped off, zipped up, and went downstairs to greet his father with a calm smile on his face, leaving Peter weeping and clutching his own still painfully-hard cock. "Sore? From watching porn and jacking off?" Nathan accused.
"You fucked me so hard."
"You had a chance to come; why didn't you?" Nathan dug in, probed in a circle, opening his fingers until he felt Peter's anus spasm back in resistance. He was swollen inside, true, but nearly ready; if it didn't work, Peter would tell him. And he'd taken more fucking than that before. Nathan pulled out his fingers, spit on them, and dug in deep.
It took Peter a moment to recover enough to reply. "I couldn't," he confessed. "I get so locked into holding it back that... I need you sometimes..."
"Or you need Randy Mann."
That brought out a nervous giggle, and Peter squeezed one of his own nipples, pulled tight against his slim, still-nearly-hairless chest. At twenty, he still had the body of a teenager. Nathan dug in as deep as he could, and bit Peter's thigh for good measure. Peter babbled, trying to keep himself together. "I'm serious, you should watch it. It's really good all the way through. I spanked it and jizzed four times, but I still wanted to watch it through to the end. At this one point, they hold the girl up between them, and then drop her into their cocks at the same time. My God, ow, can you imagine the pelvic crunch?"
"They're trained actors, Peter." Again, Nathan couldn't help smiling.
"Do you ever want to maybe... share a woman with me?" Peter murmured. He glanced over his shoulder, awaiting his brother's reply. "Ever thought of that?"
"Hmm," Nathan grunted. He pulled his fingers all the way out, wiping them clean and dry, and spread lubricant over his cock. He didn't bother to reply until he had the head of his cock inside, spreading Peter further, stroking his behind and his belly to get him to relax and bear down onto him. "Actually," he said, slowly forcing in deeper, "I never did."
"It could be so good, though. Think about it. A really hot, strong, crazy, lusty woman; a sex machine; someone who can take it. Take both of our cocks at the same time. And then we could kiss each other over her shoulder. It's not impossible. A lot of women have that fantasy." Peter sucked in his breath, then let it out in a few tightly measured gasps. "Ah-ah-all I'm saying is, think about it."
"Shut up, Pete." Nathan wiggled his hips, trying to get in deeper. Peter was so hot and tight inside, pulsing, twitching, always moving. He wondered if it hurt; if Peter would tell him.
Peter grunted and curled his toes around Nathan's left ankle. "I could eat her pussy while you eat her ass," he babbled, "and jack off together..."
"Shut up, Pete." Nathan pushed his hand against the back of Peter's head, forcing his face down onto the towel-covered bedspread, increasing his pace and deepening his rhythm. He was in deep, but not as deep as he wanted. He wanted Peter to feel that fullness, that hard weapon piercing him. Nathan jerked his hips roughly forward, and Peter yelped, but didn't resist. "Rough stuff?" Nathan muttered. "Like this? Did she take it like this?"
"Nathan," Peter breathed. "Nathan, please. Stop."
Nathan deliberately ignored Peter for a few strokes, then sighed, and brought his hips to a halt. "Am I hurting you?" he said.
"I really wanted to suck your dick," Peter complained, muffled against the mattress.
"Too late for that now."
"It's your turn, anyway," Peter said.
"Just tell me if I'm hurting you."
"It's not that simple, Nathan." Peter glanced over his shoulder, his expression mournful, as Nathan withdrew, his cock trailing clear, sticky strands of pre-come and lube. "I like it when you hurt me," Peter went on, his voice thick and soft. "You could fuck me for hours, every day, and no matter how sore I am inside, I still want more. You know what I'm talking about."
Nathan did. He didn't really want to, but at the same time, he was so grateful that Peter understood. No one else could. No one else he could talk to, anyway. "Just tell me that I'm hurting you," he said, "that I hurt you. Tell me to go easier on you."
"I don't want that. And you know it. No, just... it's time for you. You need it too, Nathan. I want to give it to you." Peter rolled over, his fingertips grazing his lower belly. "You fuck me too hard, and I love it. And I just want to fuck you just right."
"You can fuck me too hard," Nathan muttered under his breath.
Peter laced his fingers around the back of Nathan's head, pulling him down for a kiss. There it was; the deep searching of breath and tongue and teeth. Within moments, Nathan was dizzy, wanting to be inside Peter again, wanting Peter inside of him - wanting them to be tangled and enfolded and becoming one flesh.
But then Peter drew away, wiping his mouth with the side of his wrist. "Lie down," he said. "Spread your legs. I'll take care of you."
When Nathan settled back and parted his thighs, Peter took Nathan's legs and bent them so that his knees touched his belly, and held them there while he dove down with his mouth. Before Nathan could groan a warning about staying away from his cock, Peter had lifted Nathan's cock and balls, exposing his ass, planting sloppy-wet kisses against the sensitive skin of his inner buttocks. "Ahhh," Nathan sighed, "be careful."
"I'm okay," Peter said. "You're okay." He swept his tongue around Nathan's anus. "You're okay. Just a little." Peter knew even less about what he was doing, but his clumsy attempts still felt good. The position was awkward and less than comfortable, making Nathan feel like at any time, he was going to lose his balance and rock forward, cracking his pelvic bones against Peter's shoulders, or worse, his tailbone against Peter's nose. Peter just shook his head and balanced Nathan's thighs, opening him further, laving with his tongue. "I'm glad you're in such good shape, Nate."
"I'm not as flexible as you," Nathan grunted. He was in good shape, but his abdominals weren't used to being crunched and held like this. All that muscle didn't compress easily.
"Okay, okay. Like this." Peter let him go, and half-dragged him to the edge of the bed. Nathan scooted down a bit, and Peter, sliding onto the floor, lifted Nathan's legs again, bending them back and out and up. He lubed up his fingers and pushed them inside, hissing delightedly at how easily Nathan took it. "Yessss," he whispered. "Oh, you're already ready, aren't you? You're already ready." Peter trickled lube over his hand, the fingers inside, and sloshed the lube in. "Gotta get you nice and wet, huh?" He shuddered, eyes closed, jerking pressure through his wrist. "How much do you want it? Tell me."
"Just do it to me," Nathan sighed. "Just fuck me. I want you to come. I want to feel it."
Peter stood up, leaned over Nathan, and slid his cock inside without resistance. Nathan tried not to react, but he couldn't help gasping and shaking. Peter held Nathan's ankles in his hands, thrusting smoothly, watching the shadowed area where they came together, adjusting Nathan's hips so that he could see more. "Yes," he muttered darkly. "Yes. Uh. In you. Yeah. You like that?"
Nathan grinned, his eyes rolling back. "Yeah," he replied. "Yeah."
"Like that?" Peter tossed his head and sneered. "Like that? Is that too hard?"
"No, oh, God, no! No! Just like that! Oh!" Nathan reached down for his cock, frigging fast, shooting jets of spunk across his belly. "Don't stop!" he commanded breathlessly. "I want to feel you come!"
Peter didn't reply right away, but he also didn't stop. "I'm not sure I can," he confessed.
"What?" Nathan struggled to focus his eyes. "Of course you can."
"I'm just... this feels so good, but... it's not close. I think I drank too much. It's okay. I don't have to come."
"Yeah, you fuckin' do," Nathan said, spreading his come across his belly with the palm of his hand. He wiped it onto Peter's belly, running his fingers down the treasure trail, touching the root of Peter's cock as it emerged, then running back up over his own sticky cock and balls, squeezing the last thick droplets out of him.
"You can't force me," Peter claimed.
"Oh, yes, I can." Nathan sighed, and relaxed. "Okay," he said, seeming to concede. "Stop now, then. Put your clothes back on and put on the radio."
That baffled Peter. "What?"
"Wipe down, and ... I dunno, put on your shorts." Nathan rolled over, cleaning his belly and cock with the damp towel, and tossing it to Peter. He pulled his shorts and trousers back on, and grinned over his shoulder. "Let's dance."
Peter just blinked at him. "Are you still drunk?"
"Yeah. I am." Nathan stood up, and went to the clock-radio on the suite's bureau. A moment's twiddling called up the station that exclusively played old-timey dance music, and the thin, watery sound of an ancient supper-club band filled the air. "Dance with me," Nathan said. "I want to dance." He crinkled his eyes and smiled at Peter. "With you."
"Awesome," Peter breathed, pulling his underpants back on. His cock looked massive, trapped and bulging against the thin fabric. "Um. Okay. What are we doing?"
"The cha-cha, sounds like." Nathan oriented himself into the sound, and decisively made the moves that he only slightly remembered.
"No, no," Peter broke in, as Nathan had hoped he'd do. "It's like this. One, two, three-" He took Nathan's hand, and slipped easily into the role of lead. Nathan had been taught the dance from the other side, and he stared at Peter's feet, trying to figure it out. "No, don't watch my feet; they're hopeless. Watch my hips. Back, back, back, dun dun... yeah. You got it. You're a smart guy. You picked it right up; it took me ages."
"I can tell," Nathan said, still staring at Peter's bare feet, balancing lightly on the toes, but his bowed legs swaying a little too much. Still beautiful, though. "You learn this from Ma?"
"Yeah," Peter admitted, tossing his head again, drawing Nathan forward. "She's a good teacher."
"She's a good dancer. You're not too bad."
"You're actually good, though." Peter gazed across the space at Nathan, their bodies moving in smooth, rhythmic unison to the sound of congas and tinny saxophones. "Good footwork."
Their bodies drew closer, stepping lightly across the carpet and back, hands enfolded, drawn back close to the chest. Peter's eyes sparkled, and Nathan leaned in for another kiss, deepening it, pulling Peter even closer. The cha-cha song ended, and some syrupy waltz took its place; Nathan rested his cheek against Peter's, holding him close, swaying in time. He reached down to feel the stiff bulge in Peter's underwear, slid his hand under the waistband to touch moist skin. Found the smooth, vulnerable head and stroked it, found the delicate slit at the tip, caught a heavy pearl of moisture squeezing free from it and swirled it across the tender skin. Peter's breath shuddered, and he kissed the underside of Nathan's chin. "I think I can continue now," he whispered.
"Good."
They returned to the bed, dreamily shedding garments and stroking each other at the same time; Peter suckled both of Nathan's nipples as he lay his brother back again, sought out his asshole with his fingers, slid his cock back into place. Nathan moaned loud and long, bucking his hips back against Peter; Peter kissed and chewed at the scars along Nathan's jawline, thrusting slow and gentle at first, but gathering pace, faster and harder. Nathan could no longer hear the music over the creaking of the bed frame and Peter's bestial grunting. He grabbed Peter's ass, slamming them together, then went limp as he savored the electric sparks of painful pleasure radiating from deep inside him. Peter cursed softly, grabbing Nathan's throat for a moment, then seizing Nathan's hips and ramming him onto his cock. It didn't work the way he probably thought it would; it was clumsy and rough and awkward and sweet. They swam in each other's heat, knocking bones together, rolling and struggling. And kissing, and biting, and swearing at each other. First the towels, then the bedspread and sheets bunched under them, kicked out of the way by Nathan's desperate heels, trying to find purchase on the surface of the bed so that he could provide the most solid, most definite, most deliciously painful and vulnerable resistance. They shouted. Peter tried to grab Nathan's wrists and Nathan tried to scratch him, both without success. But they kissed properly; their mouths always found each other.
All at once Peter was sobbing ecstatically, "Yes, yes, yes, oh fuck YES! Ah!" Nathan clutched him around the waist, holding him still, holding him inside, swept away by the sensation of Peter pulsing liquid inside him, by the feeling of his own internal muscles fluttering and his cock aching rigid and raw against Peter's belly. Peter let one last gasp escape his lips, and instantly became boneless, collapsing on top, sweaty limbs splayed everywhere.
Too much. Peter was too heavy in his post-orgasmic dead weight. Nathan slid sideways, releasing Peter, laughing and groaning as he felt the semen ebbing out of him. "Towel," he said, and Peter grabbed the nearest one he could find. "Oh, well," Nathan murmured contentedly, too happy at the moment to care. Peter curled up against Nathan, holding the towel between Nathan's legs, pressing his spent cock against the terrycloth, and toyed idly with Nathan's chest hair. Nathan kissed Peter's forehead. "That was good," he commented.
"You're my favorite person in the whole world," Peter said.
Nathan just grinned and didn't reply. He didn't want to have to tell Peter yeah, likewise, or anything like that. It was too nice to just lie here, too nice to reciprocate just because. Peter knew.
"You know," Peter mused, "if we ever did have a threesome, the girl would know." He caught Nathan's eye. "I'd be all over you. And you'd be all over me. Yeah, I mean, I'd fuck her, but I'd be watching you the whole time. I'd have to play with you. And you'd have to fuck me."
"You sure about that?" Nathan replied, arching his eyebrow. "No matter who it was?"
Peter nodded. "Because I'm not a substitute," he said. "I'm me. You want to fuck me. You might want to fuck other people, too, but... you want to fuck me."
Nathan said nothing. Again, he didn't have to. Peter knew.
He just held Peter close and let him doze off, stroking him, kissing his fingertips and ears, knowing that they should both get home, but not yet. No.
Not yet. Just for a little while, every once in a while, they needed to have this.
END (57)
A/N: You may or may not want to eat biscuits and gravy ever again. ;) Thanks for reading!