Fic: You and Him and Me (3/3)
Title: You and Him and Me (part 3)
Word Count (this section): about 6400
Rating: NC-17 (mature readers only)
For summary/warning/disclaimer please see part 1. Your feedback is loved and appreciated!
PART THREE
It took five days for them to be reunited again.
Claire had always hated having to do things that way, especially now. The idea of having to be separated from Peter and Nathan, now that she understood that their time together was more limited than she had imagined, made the whole process agonizing. But splitting up was the safest way to travel, and Claire was on her own.
They hadn't had to separate completely for a couple of months, and for a short while, Claire was worried that she'd forgotten the method of getting lost, and then found again. But it came back to her pretty damn quickly as soon as she absolutely had to do it. She was more than capable of looking after herself. They were just skills; confidence games, roleplay, occasional grand theft auto, taking considered risks, and being vigilant. Follow simple rules: Paranoia keeps you alive. Don't get injured where other people can see. Keep moving. Blend in. Don't give up hope. Trust that Peter will find you. She didn't sleep, and consumed mostly sugar and caffeine. By the dawn of the fourth day, she was starting to flag; hallucinations both visual and auditory, muscle cramps at the worst times, and an inability to believe that this was actually her life. That this had to be a mistake, and she was just an ordinary young lady having the worst drug trip ever.
She had taken refuge in a supply closet in an condemned, boarded-up elementary school in St. Louis. She was too tired to keep traveling, but she had to rest, fighting off the urge to sleep by repeatedly stabbing herself in the fingertip with a pin. If she fell asleep, and someone had been tracking her, she was a goner. At this point it was risky for her to even close her eyes, but they were stinging from the bleach fumes in the closet, and she had to hold her lids closed for just a moment, just to soothe her aching corneas. Immediately, Peter came into her mind; a memory of his face, close to hers, smiling before he kissed her. "Hey," said the image of Peter in her mind. "There you are."
Claire shook herself, thinking that she had nodded off again. Peter was close to her. Actually. Standing there in the closet with her, wearing his dark-blue canvas jacket and not the wool peacoat he'd been wearing when she'd last seen him, out in the parking lot of the motel in Gary. His face was grim and tense, but he tried to give her a little smile. "We're hopping ten days ahead," he said. "A day at a time. It's gonna be a little rough. Ready?"
She took a deep breath and nodded, and wrapped her arms around his back, one hand grasping the epaulet-loop on the shoulder of his jacket and the other grasping the wide leather belt holding the jeans up on his skinny frame. She wanted to tell him that she was glad to see him, but already they were someplace else.
Mid-air, far above the ground, spinning in a tight spiral. Daytime. She clenched her eyes closed so she wouldn't throw up, and watched the strobing light of ground-sky-ground-sky go all black, then all light again, red behind her eyelids. She let out a whimper of distress, but Peter couldn't hold her any closer. She just had to trust him.
She came to her senses when she felt herself thrown down onto a soft surface that wasn't the ground, Peter shoving her away as easily as flicking off a mosquito. "I gotta go get Nathan," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I can. It's safe to go outside. We're safe here." She opened her eyes just in time to see him flick out of existence.
She was on a bed in a big room filled with the vivid orange light of sunset and the dense heat of mid-summer. She sat up and stared out the balcony, the glass doors open to the air, and saw a stretch of pale-sanded beach and the glint of water down a short, rocky path. Claire couldn't help smiling. She had been kidding about going someplace warm, but once again, Peter had fulfilled her desire. It made her ache. There was no way she could ever love Nathan the way she did Peter, and it was fruitless to imagine that Nathan could ever love her that way, either. She did not make dreams come true.
Claire sat up and wrestled off her winter clothes and boots, leaving her in her gray sports bra and tiny shorts, her skin already filmed with sweat. She was dead tired, but she just couldn't relax quite yet. She inspected the house, checking every corner, cabinet, and closet, and found some food and fruit juice in an ice-filled cooler in the kitchen. Once she'd had a couple of bites to eat, she went outside, walked along the beach, and stepped into the pleasantly-cool water. Judging by the breeze, this was an ocean, with the sun sliding down toward it, several degrees over her left shoulder. She couldn't tell where she was. It might have been California or Mexico, or maybe further south... She walked out into the water until she began to lose her balance, and remembered that she hadn't slept, and felt a quick pang of fear that Peter and Nathan would come back and find her gone. She couldn't worry them, even for a swim, and it was getting dark. She turned back and went back inside the house.
There was no sign that Peter had returned. She peeled off her wet underwear and showered in cold water, dried off with a clean rough towel she found, and climbed back onto the bed, no longer able to keep her eyes open. She spread her limbs out for a moment, but she couldn't relax like that; it felt too vulnerable. She curled up, limbs tucked together, and closed her eyes.
----
Claire woke up because she was hot.
She lay on the bed, stretched out, still naked and alone. It was full daylight, noon or close to it, by the heat and the lack of shadow. The balcony had an overhang that shielded it, and the bedroom, from the sun's glare, but the pale sand bounced the sun's heat back toward the house. It felt good, though, reminiscent of the blazing Texas summers of her childhood, in delicious contrast to the bitter-cold, snowy Midwest winter she had just come from.
Almost as if summoned by her return to consciousness, Peter and Nathan abruptly winked into being in front of her on the balcony, holding each other, both soaking wet. Nathan staggered, and half-collapsed onto the floor. He didn't take time-travel well, either. "I'm okay," he said shakily. "I'm... I'm okay, Pete." His face was pale underneath a thick coat of dark stubble.
"You're back!" Claire exclaimed, suddenly breathless with surprise.
Nathan looked over at her, blinking, and a slow smile spread across his face. "Hey, beautiful," he murmured. He closed his eyes again, and the smile dropped away; he looked unwell. "God, it's hot here."
Peter tore his wet jacket off and dropped it on the ground, following it with shirt and boots. "You're wearing too many clothes, Nathan," he said. "Get 'em off or you're gonna die of heatstroke."
"My God, Pete," Nathan said, staring out at the sea. "Where are we?"
"Western Australia," Peter replied. "About eight miles north of Broome. Ten days ahead of where you were in Missouri, Claire; three days forward for you, Nathan. I bought you some time."
"Whoa," said Claire.
Peter smiled at her, seeming more relaxed by the minute. "It's safe here, for the time being. We're off the grid." He began to undress Nathan. "This house used to belong to Bob Bishop. Obviously he won't be needing it anymore... but it's remote and it's nice, and nobody will think to look for us here."
"I need to... get some sleep," Nathan mumbled.
"There's another bedroom in the basement," Peter said. "It's way cooler down there. C'mon, I'll show you."
Claire tagged along, and stood in the doorway holding herself, watching Nathan settle onto the bed. Peter lay down with him for a moment, nuzzling and kissing Nathan's bare chest, whispering softly into his ear. Under Peter's careful touch, Nathan's tension visibly unraveled, and he was asleep before Peter stood up again.
"You're amazing," Claire said quietly.
Peter gazed at Nathan for a moment, then turned to her and smiled. "I'm just trying to make up for all the screwing up I've done," he said, shrugging. "Besides, yeah, I kinda am pretty good at that. I think that was half of the good I did when I was nursing - just getting people to sleep for a while."
"Sometimes, people need it," she replied. "Something to make them feel better."
She took his face between her hands and kissed him. When she drew back, the expression of pure vulnerability on his face made her feel like crying. "Peter," she said, feeling helpless.
He shook his head a little, and took a step back, letting their arms slide across each other until he was holding her hands. "We can't think about it," he said, squaring his shoulders and tossing his hair back, his eyes becoming resolute as he smiled. "You wanna go to town and drink a couple of beers?"
Claire laughed, thrilled at the idea. She hadn't been able to do something like that in... well, ages. Years. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been able to just go out somewhere amongst society and have a cold drink just because she felt like it. It might have been back in Odessa, maybe Costa Verde. "I guess I should get dressed," she said.
After a discreet teleportation to the edge of town, Peter and Claire walked slowly along, noting how many of the town's shops were closed, until they found a pub that was open. They ordered pints of light ale, and sat at a table by themselves by the window, drinking steadily and smiling at each other for a long time before speaking. "When was the first time you were ever drunk?" Claire asked playfully.
Peter laughed wryly, remembering. "I was, um, eleven," he said. "I've always liked wine, and I got to have some with dinner sometimes, and one day I found a bottle that was already open, but mostly full..." He rolled his eyes. "I got completely wasted. But Nathan covered for me. He made me drink water until I puked, and told Mom he took the bottle home with him." He grinned, but his eyes were trained on the table, where he telekinetically made a coaster move around in circles. Claire took hold of his hand and traced the same circles into his palm. He quivered at the touch of her icy finger. "He's been so good to me."
"We can't think about it," she repeated to him.
"I can't stop," Peter confessed sadly.
"Are you scared?"
"Yeah," Peter said.
"Well, don't be," Claire said firmly. She gripped his hand tightly, just enough to hurt him a little, to get his attention. He stared at her. "You're gonna be fine. You're going to go do what you need to do. And we'll be fine." She was proud of herself; her voice wasn't shaking, and she didn't sound like she was obviously talking out her ass. She was glad that they were in public so that she wouldn't just launch herself at him and start bawling and beg him not to go, to say fuck the world, let's stay. "And you'll figure it out," she added. "So quit being sad and drink your beer."
Peter smiled at her, crinkling his eyes. Sometimes, Nathan did that too. "So what was the first time you were drunk?" he asked, leaning back, opening up.
Claire finished the last of her pint in three huge swallows. "I've never been drunk," she said.
Peter raised his eyebrows. "Have you tried?"
"Oh, yeah," Claire nodded. "I can get pretty tipsy, but that's about the size of it. If I like, drink a bottle of vodka, I throw up before I get actually drunk."
"I can't get drunk anymore, either, now," Peter sighed. "Well, wanna try for 'pretty tipsy'?"
Claire shrugged. She was already more than halfway there, but if she didn't keep drinking soon, she'd sober up completely in about sixty seconds. "Nathan's gonna need to sleep for a long time... and it's air-conditioned in here."
"You wanted someplace warm..." Peter teased.
"I just wanted to wear my pretty dress again." She lovingly stroked the faded fabric. A thrift-store find from a year ago; she hadn't put it on in months, and it was still wrinkled from having been at the bottom of her bag.
"And it is pretty."
She laughed. "You want 'pretty tipsy'? Get me another beer, and make it snappy."
Peter laughed too, and stood up. "Yes, ma'am. I wonder if we can get beer to go... we could get Nathan drunk for real..."
----
"Nice to see you two finally," Nathan drawled.
He sat in a kitchen chair he'd dragged up to the balcony upstairs, facing out to sea, the sun setting over his left shoulder. He had obviously been outside for a while, as he had already picked up some color from the sun, his skin dark golden against the plain white cotton of his boxer shorts.
"You shaved," Claire remarked, gently stroking across his shoulders, and rubbing her cheek against his smooth jaw. His eyelashes brushed her forehead, and she sighed happily. "You look about a thousand times better."
He frowned at her, but not in an unhappy way. "You smell like a kegger."
"We brought you some beer," Peter offered, approaching from the other side.
"Hm!" Nathan remarked, glancing up at him, then back out at the ocean. "No, thanks," he said. "Not tonight."
"It's in the cooler when you want it," Peter added.
The three of them sat quietly together for a moment, looking out onto the beach, listening to the profound natural silence. Claire broke the hypnotic spell by bending over to Nathan and kissing him on the lips, just a little, a tiny moist offering. She looked deep into his eyes, noting his fascinated reaction. She lowered her lashes at him seductively, and unconsciously, he mirrored her action. Claire glanced up at Peter. He had his eyes closed, lips parted, his fingers gently massaging Nathan's shoulder.
Claire knew that look. Peter was swimming in Nathan's emotions. This was Peter's drug of choice, and Nathan, his favorite supplier.
"I'm gonna go lay down," Claire whispered, lightly wetting her lips with her tongue, and walking back into the bedroom. By the light, exactly twenty-four hours had passed since her arrival, and she decided not to remember what things had been like before. In fact, she wasn't going to think about time at all for a while.
Peter was the first to follow. He stripped off his T-shirt and undid his belt, letting his jeans drop from his hips, or at least intended them to; his jeans never dropped off quite cleanly, getting caught somewhat on the pronounced curve of his ass. The sight always made Claire giggle; Peter was always so self-conscious about his thinness, but he took every opportunity he could to silently brag about it. Peter arched his hips forward, and the jeans fell, allowing him to step out of them, and crawled onto the bed in pursuit of her. She turned away from him, lying facedown, pretending that she was going to take a nap, daring him to disrupt her.
He caught her wrists in his hands and spread her arms, his breath warm against the thin, flowered cotton of her dress. She felt the zipper lowering slowly, nudged along by Peter's will while his hands restrained her, and then the soft, damp imprints of his lips against her bare skin. He let her wrists go, pulling the zipper down further with his teeth, but it didn't go all the way down, halting at the small of her back. He grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it up, kissing the backs of her thighs. She took the hem out of his hands and pulled it off over her head, then did the same with her bra, tossing them onto the floor. Instantly, Peter's hands were on her breasts, but he didn't turn her to face him so that he could see her. Instead, he held her half-upright, steady, kissing the back of her neck.
From the corner of her eye, Claire watched Nathan emerge through the open balcony doors. He came and sat on the bed, too, closer to her than Peter, drawing one finger from the corner of her lips, down her neck, across her collarbones. He traced a line from her up Peter's arm, across his neck, to his lips, connecting them. Peter hungrily took the finger into his mouth and sucked it, his fingers tightening on Claire's breasts. She hummed complainingly and squirmed, and Peter let her go, letting Nathan's finger slip out of his mouth. Nathan traced the wet finger against one of Claire's nipples. "You like that?" he whispered.
He knew good and well that she did. He just liked to hear her confess to it. She let her breath out in a long, slow stream. "Suck it," she whispered back.
Nathan smiled at her, and did as she said, creating a tight ring of pressure with his mouth. It was almost too much, but it felt marvelous when he let up. Peter gently tugged down her panties, and she kicked them off the side of the bed, adding to the pile, gasping as Nathan sucked her other nipple, even harder this time.
Peter slid down alongside her, and she half-regretfully settled back down on her stomach, grasping her own tits and toying with the damp, sensitized nipples. She could hear Peter and Nathan kissing above her, their heavy breaths echoing inside each other's mouths. She rubbed her cheek against Nathan's thigh, wanting to be included in anything that made them sigh like that. Nathan smoothed her hair back from her face and angled his cock toward her mouth.
She wasn't sure about this - she didn't have much freedom of movement, lying facedown with her arms trapped underneath her - and she looked up at Nathan anxiously, mutely asking him what she should do. He wore an almost pained expression of desire on his face as he slid his cockhead against her lips, rubbing it back and forth until she opened her mouth and took him in. He wasn't going to rush her or force her, but he wanted... He fed her just the glans, but all of it, and that was plenty. She drew back just for long enough to get her arms free, and reposition her shoulders, and then took him in again, tracing her tongue around the contours, occasionally adding a little suck. "Look at me," he murmured, stroking the hair back from Claire's face, biting his lip. "Yeah. Look at me."
Claire looked for a moment, but then had to close her eyes. Too much. Too beautiful. Peter kissed her waist, around the curve of her hip, and across the thin skin where buttock became thigh. He spread her thighs a bit, and ran saliva-slickened fingers across her asshole, down to her pussy, zeroing in on her clit, and flicking it sharply with a snap of his fingernail. Claire almost bit down on Nathan, and had to practically spit out his cock to keep him safe. "Oh! Hey! No! How 'bout you never do that again?" she gasped, even if the aftereffect was... well... it was delicious, sparkling and tight at the same time. Her whole body had suddenly come alive, like he'd flipped her light switch.
Peter just chuckled at her. He knew. "Sorry," he murmured, completely insincere.
"Don't be mean to Claire," Nathan said. He slid his cock back into her mouth, more of it this time. Peter sucked on his own fingers again for a moment, and ran them back where they had been, gently pulling on her labia, parting her buttocks, exposing her. Claire let Nathan go for a moment so she could breathe, rubbing her cheek along the hardening shaft. Peter made almost exactly the same movement against her left buttock with his cheek, then moved his tongue against her, thoroughly, probingly.
She remembered how it had been the last time Peter had done that... five days ago, or ten, or fifteen, or whatever... and the impossible sweetness of the sensation, and the struggle against the urge to yell at him, What are you doing? A boy's not supposed to kiss a girl like that. That's wrong, and you have to stop or we'll get in trouble. There was no one to get in trouble with anymore. What they did - what she allowed - was now entirely up to her. And this was one of the most insanely pleasurable things she had ever experienced in her life. He drew his tongue back and forth between her clit and her asshole, firmly, slowly but getting faster all the time, gradually edging her pussy open. When she opened her mouth wide to moan, Nathan's cock was there, taking advantage of her ecstasy.
But after a time, Peter stopped, and Nathan stopped too, the latter relaxing back, jerking on his cock purposefully. To Claire's lust-blurred eyes, it looked as hard and stiff as it could get, and she kind of missed it in her mouth. "Do you want me to pop your cherry again?" Peter asked her, murmuring close to her ear. "Or you want to try another way?"
"Don't put it like that, Peter," Nathan admonished. "We will give it to her however she wants it."
"That's what I'm saying," Peter replied mildly. "It's just a fact. I know she feels it's worth it. I was just suggesting..." He stroked her anus with his fingertip, smiling when he felt her muscles tighten inside, watching the effects outside. "I've got lube with me," he added, "if you'd like to try."
Claire took a deep breath, and nodded slowly. "Yeah," she said aloud, just so there'd be no ambiguity. "Tell me what I need to do."
"Relax," Peter said.
Nathan stroked her hair, giving her occasional tastes of his cock, while Peter slickened his fingers with lubricant and worked their tips at her orifice. "Bear down," he said, and she drew in her breath in a disbelieving hiss as he penetrated her ass with two fingers at once. She couldn't help curling her toes. It didn't hurt; it was just an entirely strange sensation, and one that wasn't as immediately, orgasmically good, recognizable, instinctive, as having her pussy fingered. Peter rotated his hand without taking his fingers out of her, and thumbed her clitoris. Instantly, shocks of pleasure traveled up her legs. Claire moved her fingers down between her legs, and rubbed her clit herself. Peter turned his hand around inside her again, making her groan. "Does that feel good?" he asked.
"You're just like Nathan sometimes," she muttered.
"Yeah?" Peter mused. "Tell me how it feels."
"It feels like... it's good, I..." Claire struggled for words, and was let off the hook for a moment as Nathan slipped wetly back between her lips, his cock filling her mouth entirely for a moment before he withdrew again. Peter dug in deep, adding pressure with his wrist against her. She was going to come if they kept this up, if she could find just the right rhythm with which to hammer her clit...
"You want some more?" Peter said.
"Umm.. uh... oh... yeahhh."
"Yeah," Nathan echoed, laughing faintly. "You're just like me sometimes, too," he told her, stroking her hair again. "I think that's what I said..."
Peter didn't reply. He was busy. Claire had found her rhythm, but found that she still wanted more, wanted Peter to be actively fucking her... somewhere. Maybe even in her mouth, the way Nathan was doing. Her body had formed a tight arch, held slightly off the surface of the bed by her arms, her head well down and her hips incrementally rising into the air. Abruptly, Peter pulled his fingers out, seized her hips and angled them way up, almost fully up on the knees. She whimpered faintly, anxiously, wanting but frightened. "It's okay; trust me," Peter whispered to her. "Trust me." He slid the blunt head of his cock against her anus but couldn't get inside without forcing it. Instead, he slid his fingers back inside, shaking his hand so that his fingers vibrated inside her, then pulled them out again. "Relax. It's okay." And then cock again, but getting in now, entering her, encountering tightness and resistance. "Claire, let me in," he murmured, his breathing heavy now, as heavy as hers. Relaxation seemed impossible, but it didn't seem to matter anymore. He was inside her, stretching her, her insides stinging and burning.
"Fuck!" she shouted through gritted teeth. "Ow! I... can't take it!"
"You're not relaxing," Peter said. He withdrew, and put his fingers back in again, fucking her with them this time, easy and slippery. Claire moaned desperately, frigging herself as fast as she could. She was so close...
Nathan grabbed her hand and took it away from her pussy. She actually physically snapped at him, her teeth clicking, like an angry animal. "Concentrate," he insisted, kissing the top of her head apologetically. "Concentrate. Just..." He paused, watching Peter preparing his cock again, watching Peter slip it into her again, going deeper now. "Take it in. Yes. Like that. You can do it."
Peter didn't move, didn't fuck her just yet. Claire wanted to cry from frustration. Nathan had yanked her back from the edge of what had promised to be a great orgasm, but this... It was amazing, really. It was an entirely new way of understanding her nervous system and her erogenous zones. Some of them were very deep inside her, in places she hadn't really thought of before. But her pussy was jealous, snapping and pinging away without ever providing that unmistakable kick of orgasm. She needed to touch it again, to complete the circuit.
But first, Peter had to fuck her ass.
It got easier very quickly. He provided a slow pattern of in-and-stop, out-and-in-and-stop, gradually increasing in speed and depth. Quickly, his breath changed to a selection of grunts and moans, answered by Claire's helpless, disbelieving yelps. Yes, they were; yes, she could. Nathan rose higher on his knees, and instead of feeding his cock to Claire, brought it against Peter's mouth. Peter's groans emerged muffled through a mouthful of cock, and his hips all but stopped. "Nathan, please," Claire begged.
"Nathan, please," Peter echoed, but instead of a request for courtesy, his voice was full of longing. Nathan sighed, and climbed off the bed altogether. Claire readied a protest in her throat - she hadn't wanted Nathan to leave - but then she felt his weight settle on the bed again, out of her sight, behind her. Behind Peter. "Yes," Peter breathed, thrusting again, filling Claire, penetrating her to the hilt. "Yeah, yeah, please."
Then he paused again, and leaned over Claire, kissing her back, and Claire wondered if he had come and she just hadn't been able to tell. No, that wasn't it. Peter shuddered against her, sighing out, "Oh, Nathan, God, yes... yes..." She could feel Nathan's hands between their legs, on Peter, the wet sounds of him squeezing out lube and smearing it on.
"Oh, fuck." Peter sounded like he was on the verge of screaming. Peter didn't have his weight on her, was only balanced against her ass and thighs, but she could feel so much more pressure coming from behind. She reached behind her and felt Nathan clinging to Peter's back, his pelvis joining with Peter's. His cock, no doubt, in Peter's ass now. She took her hand back and shoved it between her legs, trying to remember the pattern that her clit wanted...
"Uh. There. Better?" Nathan chuckled quietly.
"Your cock. Oh, my God. You're going to kill me."
"What a way to go, huh?" Nathan didn't sound concerned. "You can take it. If anybody can take it, you can take it. Can't you? Now, don't stop. Claire needs you."
"I can't move," Peter breathed.
"Just move with me. I'll show you how. Just like... as you breathe..."
"How do you even know that?" Claire demanded, half laughing, half gasping, and before anyone had a chance to answer her, she found the pattern - and Peter transmitted Nathan's thrusts to her, and Nathan was a lot less gentle - and she came so hard that she nearly blacked out. She fell toward the bed, but Peter was holding her up, her body shivering and boneless in his hands, her ass providing a bumper for him to balance his thrusts against, so he could take more from Nathan, but passing it along to her...
Then Peter dissolved, too. He and Claire collapsed onto the bed as one. Claire felt utterly relaxed for a blissful, warm moment, and then she was cold because Peter had gone from her and the hot air in the room didn't come close to the heat from his body. But then she was warm again, but not with Peter - Nathan, now, hairy chest against her back, his knee spreading her thighs wider, his thicker cockhead pressing into her, sliding in, deep and insistent, then fucking her hard. And yet, not harder than she could take it; not harder than she wanted it.
Beside them, Peter moaned and sighed so desperately that it sounded like sobbing. "Oh, God," he said. "Thank you, Claire... thank you, Nathan..." He gasped, watching as Nathan withdrew, turned Claire over to face him, and plunged into her again, his hand between her legs, his thumb on her clit, frigging her with short, brief, snapping strokes. Claire arched up against him, bucking into his thrusts, clamping her hand down over his and holding it still while she came again, and then again. Nathan withdrew from her, his shaking hand cradling his cock, spurting semen all over her lower belly, sounding like he was crying, too.
"Yes," Peter sighed, "yes, perfect."
Nathan rested at last alongside her, and they all lay still for a while, breathing heavily, amazed, and then giggling faintly in triumph and mild embarrassment. "Thanks for... what, Peter?" Claire asked after a few minutes, once she felt vaguely sane again.
Peter opened one eye part way. "Hm? Oh. You... er... made my dream come true."
"What?" Claire furrowed her brow, then burst out, "You mean that?"
Peter nodded, his cheeks turning red, obviously holding back laughter.
"So... your dream was..."
"Being able to watch Nathan fuck you in the ass. Having him fuck me while he does you. Yeah. Now you know." Peter grinned wickedly, obviously pleased with himself. "All I ever wanted for Christmas."
"God, Peter," Nathan said, rolling his eyes, too cool to laugh out loud. "You're such a weirdo."
"I don't... even really want to think too hard about that," Claire said, but stared at Peter and thought, Exactly how long have you had this dream? Peter just shrugged a little, and kept on grinning.
"Best not," Nathan added, stroking her back.
Peter rolled himself to a sitting position and asked brightly, "Who's for a skinny dip? And some beer? I figure... we could... y'know, use the vacation."
Claire and Nathan traded a look, and then considered the proposition for a minute. Having a quick, moonlit swim in the lukewarm water sure would feel excellent right now... Claire sat up, and kissed Peter quickly on the mouth. "It's a beautiful night," she said, and when she glanced back at Nathan, he looked happier than she could recall having ever seen him.
----
Claire woke up because she was cold.
The basement room, protected by earth on two walls and a thick growth of tropical plants on the other, seemed to always be a good ten degrees cooler than the rest of the house, and soothingly dark, too. But she woke up in bed alone, when she'd fallen asleep with two hot, sticky, salt-scented bodies on either side of her, kissing her and murmuring love into her ear. They had all fucked so much the night before that the sun had started to rise before they were done. Peter just wouldn't leave off; he kept stimulating them both, even when they thought they'd had enough, and just wanted him to go to sleep and stop sucking on parts of them.
But even he'd given in to fatigue eventually, and stopped caressing Claire's breasts, his breathing slowing to a meditative hum.
She wanted to see him now, though, and she wanted breakfast. She missed the donuts. What a sweet thing for him to do, nutritionally sound or not. She wondered if he'd get some more if she asked him; knew that he would. She swung herself out of bed, and wandered upstairs to the kitchen. The sky outside had a thin sheen of white cloud over it, and the temperature had gone down; although it was still hot, the weather seemed to be changing. Someone had made coffee in a French press, and a melon had been sliced on a cutting board, but the kitchen was deserted. Claire poured coffee into a chipped porcelain cup, and cut herself a sliver of melon, calling, "Peter?"
No answer.
She went up to the upper bedroom, looking for her dress, and saw Nathan seated on the chair out on the balcony, dressed in his T-shirt and black pants, a full cup of coffee sitting ignored next to him. Claire walked up and put her arms around him, kissing his neck. "Hey..." she murmured, "do you know where Peter is?"
Nathan glanced up at her, the whites of his eyes red, and the irises a strange, washed-out version of their usual depths. "He's gone," he said simply. He didn't even sound sad, just resigned. He handed her a little scrap of paper, obviously torn from a page in his sketchbook, and written on it in blue brush pen: I'm out of here. I love you. Two hearts in red on either side of the words. That was all. "Found this over by the coffee. He made coffee first, for Christ's sake."
"What?" Claire bleated, backing away from him, away from the note. "Already? No! He wouldn't have. He wouldn't have - left - forever - without even saying goodbye to me? What the fuck? That fucking asshole!" She tripped over her own feet, and went sprawling to the ground, spilling coffee everywhere, skinning her knee and the back of her calf. "No! I just - no!"
Nathan immediately came to her side, the note fluttering out of his hand, and scooped her up, carrying her to the bed. She struck at him with her fists. "Claire, wait," he said.
"No! Fuck you! Get away from me!"
"He didn't say anything to me, either," Nathan said, setting her down, catching a flailing fist in his hand and holding it still. "He's gone. Claire? He's gone. We knew he would. We knew this was coming. We... now... we have to..." He seemed to run out of words, and sat down beside her, rubbing his hair back from his forehead, blinking fast. Holding the tears in.
Claire didn't bother. She always did weep at the drop of a hat, over anything that made her sad or angry, but this was like everything times a million, all at once. "Why would he do that?" she begged. "How could he-"
"He had to go," Nathan said. "He didn't know when. But as soon as he did, it was time. And what would have been the point? What could he have done? Wake you up, and say, 'Bye now'? I mean, Claire, c'mon. He knew he could never say that to either one of us. He knew we'd never let him go if he gave us a choice. Remember our vow. Remember our purpose." He stood up, and went to the bedside table, returning holding Peter's sketchbook in his hand. "See? We're not completely on our own. Look." He opened the book, and rifled through the pages, noting the pages that had been ripped out already, used for other purposes, for the notes he left for both of them and for himself. But at least three-quarters of the pages were still intact, and every single page, front and back, contained a drawing, a list, a doodle, some of which Claire had already seen, but most of which she hadn't. Buildings and rooms and faces and objects, sheets of featureless, layered color, painstakingly detailed maps.
"See?" Nathan said again. "I know he didn't want it to be this way. He didn't want to leave. But sometimes that's what we have to do. Sometimes we don't have a choice; we can only choose what we do with what's handed to us. And... you've got me. I'm not going anywhere. I will never leave you. Ever. I promise you."
He enfolded her in his arms, and let her cry against him, rocking and soothing her, and when the wind changed and a sudden rainstorm drenched the beach, he broke down, too, and she held him. She sipped his tears as they trickled over his cheeks. It was completely unlike her, but she felt that it was something Peter might do. It seemed to calm Nathan, and the act of calming him made her feel better too. She had to be there for him, now, just as much as he was for her.
When the rain had passed, leaving the sky clear, cooled, and vivid, they lay togther, holding each other, breathing in the perfectly clean air, returning to their senses. "There was no other way," Nathan murmured to her. "But... it's just us now. So... what do we do?"
Claire still clutched the sketchbook in her hands, and had not let it go during the hours that they had cried together. She sighed, looking down at it, at the images she could not fully understand. Not yet. "So we still have work to do," she replied, sighing, and Nathan's arms tightened around her. "Maybe things that even he doesn't understand."
"So..." Nathan breathed against her. "We shouldn't just stay here, where it's safe?"
Claire shook her head, and gazed up at him. "No," she decided. "I'm sick of hiding. I'm sick of having to disappear. Let's... let's do things. Let's figure it out. He left us everything we need."
Nathan nodded and smiled into her eyes. "Let's," he agreed. "We have to trust him."
"For right now, though," Claire added, stroking his lips with her finger, kissing him. "Just... stay, okay? Just be right here."
He took her hand, and linked his fingers through hers. "I'm not going anywhere," he said.
-THE END-
A/N: I am having a hard time finishing this story, so I'm going to just stop re-writing it and call it good and let it be what it is. It definitely got away from me - I originally thought this was going to be a 1000-word PWPer, but then... ideas. Thanks to ghagiel for her help, and thank you for reading!
back to Part 1
back to Part 2
Word Count (this section): about 6400
Rating: NC-17 (mature readers only)
For summary/warning/disclaimer please see part 1. Your feedback is loved and appreciated!
PART THREE
It took five days for them to be reunited again.
Claire had always hated having to do things that way, especially now. The idea of having to be separated from Peter and Nathan, now that she understood that their time together was more limited than she had imagined, made the whole process agonizing. But splitting up was the safest way to travel, and Claire was on her own.
They hadn't had to separate completely for a couple of months, and for a short while, Claire was worried that she'd forgotten the method of getting lost, and then found again. But it came back to her pretty damn quickly as soon as she absolutely had to do it. She was more than capable of looking after herself. They were just skills; confidence games, roleplay, occasional grand theft auto, taking considered risks, and being vigilant. Follow simple rules: Paranoia keeps you alive. Don't get injured where other people can see. Keep moving. Blend in. Don't give up hope. Trust that Peter will find you. She didn't sleep, and consumed mostly sugar and caffeine. By the dawn of the fourth day, she was starting to flag; hallucinations both visual and auditory, muscle cramps at the worst times, and an inability to believe that this was actually her life. That this had to be a mistake, and she was just an ordinary young lady having the worst drug trip ever.
She had taken refuge in a supply closet in an condemned, boarded-up elementary school in St. Louis. She was too tired to keep traveling, but she had to rest, fighting off the urge to sleep by repeatedly stabbing herself in the fingertip with a pin. If she fell asleep, and someone had been tracking her, she was a goner. At this point it was risky for her to even close her eyes, but they were stinging from the bleach fumes in the closet, and she had to hold her lids closed for just a moment, just to soothe her aching corneas. Immediately, Peter came into her mind; a memory of his face, close to hers, smiling before he kissed her. "Hey," said the image of Peter in her mind. "There you are."
Claire shook herself, thinking that she had nodded off again. Peter was close to her. Actually. Standing there in the closet with her, wearing his dark-blue canvas jacket and not the wool peacoat he'd been wearing when she'd last seen him, out in the parking lot of the motel in Gary. His face was grim and tense, but he tried to give her a little smile. "We're hopping ten days ahead," he said. "A day at a time. It's gonna be a little rough. Ready?"
She took a deep breath and nodded, and wrapped her arms around his back, one hand grasping the epaulet-loop on the shoulder of his jacket and the other grasping the wide leather belt holding the jeans up on his skinny frame. She wanted to tell him that she was glad to see him, but already they were someplace else.
Mid-air, far above the ground, spinning in a tight spiral. Daytime. She clenched her eyes closed so she wouldn't throw up, and watched the strobing light of ground-sky-ground-sky go all black, then all light again, red behind her eyelids. She let out a whimper of distress, but Peter couldn't hold her any closer. She just had to trust him.
She came to her senses when she felt herself thrown down onto a soft surface that wasn't the ground, Peter shoving her away as easily as flicking off a mosquito. "I gotta go get Nathan," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I can. It's safe to go outside. We're safe here." She opened her eyes just in time to see him flick out of existence.
She was on a bed in a big room filled with the vivid orange light of sunset and the dense heat of mid-summer. She sat up and stared out the balcony, the glass doors open to the air, and saw a stretch of pale-sanded beach and the glint of water down a short, rocky path. Claire couldn't help smiling. She had been kidding about going someplace warm, but once again, Peter had fulfilled her desire. It made her ache. There was no way she could ever love Nathan the way she did Peter, and it was fruitless to imagine that Nathan could ever love her that way, either. She did not make dreams come true.
Claire sat up and wrestled off her winter clothes and boots, leaving her in her gray sports bra and tiny shorts, her skin already filmed with sweat. She was dead tired, but she just couldn't relax quite yet. She inspected the house, checking every corner, cabinet, and closet, and found some food and fruit juice in an ice-filled cooler in the kitchen. Once she'd had a couple of bites to eat, she went outside, walked along the beach, and stepped into the pleasantly-cool water. Judging by the breeze, this was an ocean, with the sun sliding down toward it, several degrees over her left shoulder. She couldn't tell where she was. It might have been California or Mexico, or maybe further south... She walked out into the water until she began to lose her balance, and remembered that she hadn't slept, and felt a quick pang of fear that Peter and Nathan would come back and find her gone. She couldn't worry them, even for a swim, and it was getting dark. She turned back and went back inside the house.
There was no sign that Peter had returned. She peeled off her wet underwear and showered in cold water, dried off with a clean rough towel she found, and climbed back onto the bed, no longer able to keep her eyes open. She spread her limbs out for a moment, but she couldn't relax like that; it felt too vulnerable. She curled up, limbs tucked together, and closed her eyes.
----
Claire woke up because she was hot.
She lay on the bed, stretched out, still naked and alone. It was full daylight, noon or close to it, by the heat and the lack of shadow. The balcony had an overhang that shielded it, and the bedroom, from the sun's glare, but the pale sand bounced the sun's heat back toward the house. It felt good, though, reminiscent of the blazing Texas summers of her childhood, in delicious contrast to the bitter-cold, snowy Midwest winter she had just come from.
Almost as if summoned by her return to consciousness, Peter and Nathan abruptly winked into being in front of her on the balcony, holding each other, both soaking wet. Nathan staggered, and half-collapsed onto the floor. He didn't take time-travel well, either. "I'm okay," he said shakily. "I'm... I'm okay, Pete." His face was pale underneath a thick coat of dark stubble.
"You're back!" Claire exclaimed, suddenly breathless with surprise.
Nathan looked over at her, blinking, and a slow smile spread across his face. "Hey, beautiful," he murmured. He closed his eyes again, and the smile dropped away; he looked unwell. "God, it's hot here."
Peter tore his wet jacket off and dropped it on the ground, following it with shirt and boots. "You're wearing too many clothes, Nathan," he said. "Get 'em off or you're gonna die of heatstroke."
"My God, Pete," Nathan said, staring out at the sea. "Where are we?"
"Western Australia," Peter replied. "About eight miles north of Broome. Ten days ahead of where you were in Missouri, Claire; three days forward for you, Nathan. I bought you some time."
"Whoa," said Claire.
Peter smiled at her, seeming more relaxed by the minute. "It's safe here, for the time being. We're off the grid." He began to undress Nathan. "This house used to belong to Bob Bishop. Obviously he won't be needing it anymore... but it's remote and it's nice, and nobody will think to look for us here."
"I need to... get some sleep," Nathan mumbled.
"There's another bedroom in the basement," Peter said. "It's way cooler down there. C'mon, I'll show you."
Claire tagged along, and stood in the doorway holding herself, watching Nathan settle onto the bed. Peter lay down with him for a moment, nuzzling and kissing Nathan's bare chest, whispering softly into his ear. Under Peter's careful touch, Nathan's tension visibly unraveled, and he was asleep before Peter stood up again.
"You're amazing," Claire said quietly.
Peter gazed at Nathan for a moment, then turned to her and smiled. "I'm just trying to make up for all the screwing up I've done," he said, shrugging. "Besides, yeah, I kinda am pretty good at that. I think that was half of the good I did when I was nursing - just getting people to sleep for a while."
"Sometimes, people need it," she replied. "Something to make them feel better."
She took his face between her hands and kissed him. When she drew back, the expression of pure vulnerability on his face made her feel like crying. "Peter," she said, feeling helpless.
He shook his head a little, and took a step back, letting their arms slide across each other until he was holding her hands. "We can't think about it," he said, squaring his shoulders and tossing his hair back, his eyes becoming resolute as he smiled. "You wanna go to town and drink a couple of beers?"
Claire laughed, thrilled at the idea. She hadn't been able to do something like that in... well, ages. Years. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been able to just go out somewhere amongst society and have a cold drink just because she felt like it. It might have been back in Odessa, maybe Costa Verde. "I guess I should get dressed," she said.
After a discreet teleportation to the edge of town, Peter and Claire walked slowly along, noting how many of the town's shops were closed, until they found a pub that was open. They ordered pints of light ale, and sat at a table by themselves by the window, drinking steadily and smiling at each other for a long time before speaking. "When was the first time you were ever drunk?" Claire asked playfully.
Peter laughed wryly, remembering. "I was, um, eleven," he said. "I've always liked wine, and I got to have some with dinner sometimes, and one day I found a bottle that was already open, but mostly full..." He rolled his eyes. "I got completely wasted. But Nathan covered for me. He made me drink water until I puked, and told Mom he took the bottle home with him." He grinned, but his eyes were trained on the table, where he telekinetically made a coaster move around in circles. Claire took hold of his hand and traced the same circles into his palm. He quivered at the touch of her icy finger. "He's been so good to me."
"We can't think about it," she repeated to him.
"I can't stop," Peter confessed sadly.
"Are you scared?"
"Yeah," Peter said.
"Well, don't be," Claire said firmly. She gripped his hand tightly, just enough to hurt him a little, to get his attention. He stared at her. "You're gonna be fine. You're going to go do what you need to do. And we'll be fine." She was proud of herself; her voice wasn't shaking, and she didn't sound like she was obviously talking out her ass. She was glad that they were in public so that she wouldn't just launch herself at him and start bawling and beg him not to go, to say fuck the world, let's stay. "And you'll figure it out," she added. "So quit being sad and drink your beer."
Peter smiled at her, crinkling his eyes. Sometimes, Nathan did that too. "So what was the first time you were drunk?" he asked, leaning back, opening up.
Claire finished the last of her pint in three huge swallows. "I've never been drunk," she said.
Peter raised his eyebrows. "Have you tried?"
"Oh, yeah," Claire nodded. "I can get pretty tipsy, but that's about the size of it. If I like, drink a bottle of vodka, I throw up before I get actually drunk."
"I can't get drunk anymore, either, now," Peter sighed. "Well, wanna try for 'pretty tipsy'?"
Claire shrugged. She was already more than halfway there, but if she didn't keep drinking soon, she'd sober up completely in about sixty seconds. "Nathan's gonna need to sleep for a long time... and it's air-conditioned in here."
"You wanted someplace warm..." Peter teased.
"I just wanted to wear my pretty dress again." She lovingly stroked the faded fabric. A thrift-store find from a year ago; she hadn't put it on in months, and it was still wrinkled from having been at the bottom of her bag.
"And it is pretty."
She laughed. "You want 'pretty tipsy'? Get me another beer, and make it snappy."
Peter laughed too, and stood up. "Yes, ma'am. I wonder if we can get beer to go... we could get Nathan drunk for real..."
----
"Nice to see you two finally," Nathan drawled.
He sat in a kitchen chair he'd dragged up to the balcony upstairs, facing out to sea, the sun setting over his left shoulder. He had obviously been outside for a while, as he had already picked up some color from the sun, his skin dark golden against the plain white cotton of his boxer shorts.
"You shaved," Claire remarked, gently stroking across his shoulders, and rubbing her cheek against his smooth jaw. His eyelashes brushed her forehead, and she sighed happily. "You look about a thousand times better."
He frowned at her, but not in an unhappy way. "You smell like a kegger."
"We brought you some beer," Peter offered, approaching from the other side.
"Hm!" Nathan remarked, glancing up at him, then back out at the ocean. "No, thanks," he said. "Not tonight."
"It's in the cooler when you want it," Peter added.
The three of them sat quietly together for a moment, looking out onto the beach, listening to the profound natural silence. Claire broke the hypnotic spell by bending over to Nathan and kissing him on the lips, just a little, a tiny moist offering. She looked deep into his eyes, noting his fascinated reaction. She lowered her lashes at him seductively, and unconsciously, he mirrored her action. Claire glanced up at Peter. He had his eyes closed, lips parted, his fingers gently massaging Nathan's shoulder.
Claire knew that look. Peter was swimming in Nathan's emotions. This was Peter's drug of choice, and Nathan, his favorite supplier.
"I'm gonna go lay down," Claire whispered, lightly wetting her lips with her tongue, and walking back into the bedroom. By the light, exactly twenty-four hours had passed since her arrival, and she decided not to remember what things had been like before. In fact, she wasn't going to think about time at all for a while.
Peter was the first to follow. He stripped off his T-shirt and undid his belt, letting his jeans drop from his hips, or at least intended them to; his jeans never dropped off quite cleanly, getting caught somewhat on the pronounced curve of his ass. The sight always made Claire giggle; Peter was always so self-conscious about his thinness, but he took every opportunity he could to silently brag about it. Peter arched his hips forward, and the jeans fell, allowing him to step out of them, and crawled onto the bed in pursuit of her. She turned away from him, lying facedown, pretending that she was going to take a nap, daring him to disrupt her.
He caught her wrists in his hands and spread her arms, his breath warm against the thin, flowered cotton of her dress. She felt the zipper lowering slowly, nudged along by Peter's will while his hands restrained her, and then the soft, damp imprints of his lips against her bare skin. He let her wrists go, pulling the zipper down further with his teeth, but it didn't go all the way down, halting at the small of her back. He grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it up, kissing the backs of her thighs. She took the hem out of his hands and pulled it off over her head, then did the same with her bra, tossing them onto the floor. Instantly, Peter's hands were on her breasts, but he didn't turn her to face him so that he could see her. Instead, he held her half-upright, steady, kissing the back of her neck.
From the corner of her eye, Claire watched Nathan emerge through the open balcony doors. He came and sat on the bed, too, closer to her than Peter, drawing one finger from the corner of her lips, down her neck, across her collarbones. He traced a line from her up Peter's arm, across his neck, to his lips, connecting them. Peter hungrily took the finger into his mouth and sucked it, his fingers tightening on Claire's breasts. She hummed complainingly and squirmed, and Peter let her go, letting Nathan's finger slip out of his mouth. Nathan traced the wet finger against one of Claire's nipples. "You like that?" he whispered.
He knew good and well that she did. He just liked to hear her confess to it. She let her breath out in a long, slow stream. "Suck it," she whispered back.
Nathan smiled at her, and did as she said, creating a tight ring of pressure with his mouth. It was almost too much, but it felt marvelous when he let up. Peter gently tugged down her panties, and she kicked them off the side of the bed, adding to the pile, gasping as Nathan sucked her other nipple, even harder this time.
Peter slid down alongside her, and she half-regretfully settled back down on her stomach, grasping her own tits and toying with the damp, sensitized nipples. She could hear Peter and Nathan kissing above her, their heavy breaths echoing inside each other's mouths. She rubbed her cheek against Nathan's thigh, wanting to be included in anything that made them sigh like that. Nathan smoothed her hair back from her face and angled his cock toward her mouth.
She wasn't sure about this - she didn't have much freedom of movement, lying facedown with her arms trapped underneath her - and she looked up at Nathan anxiously, mutely asking him what she should do. He wore an almost pained expression of desire on his face as he slid his cockhead against her lips, rubbing it back and forth until she opened her mouth and took him in. He wasn't going to rush her or force her, but he wanted... He fed her just the glans, but all of it, and that was plenty. She drew back just for long enough to get her arms free, and reposition her shoulders, and then took him in again, tracing her tongue around the contours, occasionally adding a little suck. "Look at me," he murmured, stroking the hair back from Claire's face, biting his lip. "Yeah. Look at me."
Claire looked for a moment, but then had to close her eyes. Too much. Too beautiful. Peter kissed her waist, around the curve of her hip, and across the thin skin where buttock became thigh. He spread her thighs a bit, and ran saliva-slickened fingers across her asshole, down to her pussy, zeroing in on her clit, and flicking it sharply with a snap of his fingernail. Claire almost bit down on Nathan, and had to practically spit out his cock to keep him safe. "Oh! Hey! No! How 'bout you never do that again?" she gasped, even if the aftereffect was... well... it was delicious, sparkling and tight at the same time. Her whole body had suddenly come alive, like he'd flipped her light switch.
Peter just chuckled at her. He knew. "Sorry," he murmured, completely insincere.
"Don't be mean to Claire," Nathan said. He slid his cock back into her mouth, more of it this time. Peter sucked on his own fingers again for a moment, and ran them back where they had been, gently pulling on her labia, parting her buttocks, exposing her. Claire let Nathan go for a moment so she could breathe, rubbing her cheek along the hardening shaft. Peter made almost exactly the same movement against her left buttock with his cheek, then moved his tongue against her, thoroughly, probingly.
She remembered how it had been the last time Peter had done that... five days ago, or ten, or fifteen, or whatever... and the impossible sweetness of the sensation, and the struggle against the urge to yell at him, What are you doing? A boy's not supposed to kiss a girl like that. That's wrong, and you have to stop or we'll get in trouble. There was no one to get in trouble with anymore. What they did - what she allowed - was now entirely up to her. And this was one of the most insanely pleasurable things she had ever experienced in her life. He drew his tongue back and forth between her clit and her asshole, firmly, slowly but getting faster all the time, gradually edging her pussy open. When she opened her mouth wide to moan, Nathan's cock was there, taking advantage of her ecstasy.
But after a time, Peter stopped, and Nathan stopped too, the latter relaxing back, jerking on his cock purposefully. To Claire's lust-blurred eyes, it looked as hard and stiff as it could get, and she kind of missed it in her mouth. "Do you want me to pop your cherry again?" Peter asked her, murmuring close to her ear. "Or you want to try another way?"
"Don't put it like that, Peter," Nathan admonished. "We will give it to her however she wants it."
"That's what I'm saying," Peter replied mildly. "It's just a fact. I know she feels it's worth it. I was just suggesting..." He stroked her anus with his fingertip, smiling when he felt her muscles tighten inside, watching the effects outside. "I've got lube with me," he added, "if you'd like to try."
Claire took a deep breath, and nodded slowly. "Yeah," she said aloud, just so there'd be no ambiguity. "Tell me what I need to do."
"Relax," Peter said.
Nathan stroked her hair, giving her occasional tastes of his cock, while Peter slickened his fingers with lubricant and worked their tips at her orifice. "Bear down," he said, and she drew in her breath in a disbelieving hiss as he penetrated her ass with two fingers at once. She couldn't help curling her toes. It didn't hurt; it was just an entirely strange sensation, and one that wasn't as immediately, orgasmically good, recognizable, instinctive, as having her pussy fingered. Peter rotated his hand without taking his fingers out of her, and thumbed her clitoris. Instantly, shocks of pleasure traveled up her legs. Claire moved her fingers down between her legs, and rubbed her clit herself. Peter turned his hand around inside her again, making her groan. "Does that feel good?" he asked.
"You're just like Nathan sometimes," she muttered.
"Yeah?" Peter mused. "Tell me how it feels."
"It feels like... it's good, I..." Claire struggled for words, and was let off the hook for a moment as Nathan slipped wetly back between her lips, his cock filling her mouth entirely for a moment before he withdrew again. Peter dug in deep, adding pressure with his wrist against her. She was going to come if they kept this up, if she could find just the right rhythm with which to hammer her clit...
"You want some more?" Peter said.
"Umm.. uh... oh... yeahhh."
"Yeah," Nathan echoed, laughing faintly. "You're just like me sometimes, too," he told her, stroking her hair again. "I think that's what I said..."
Peter didn't reply. He was busy. Claire had found her rhythm, but found that she still wanted more, wanted Peter to be actively fucking her... somewhere. Maybe even in her mouth, the way Nathan was doing. Her body had formed a tight arch, held slightly off the surface of the bed by her arms, her head well down and her hips incrementally rising into the air. Abruptly, Peter pulled his fingers out, seized her hips and angled them way up, almost fully up on the knees. She whimpered faintly, anxiously, wanting but frightened. "It's okay; trust me," Peter whispered to her. "Trust me." He slid the blunt head of his cock against her anus but couldn't get inside without forcing it. Instead, he slid his fingers back inside, shaking his hand so that his fingers vibrated inside her, then pulled them out again. "Relax. It's okay." And then cock again, but getting in now, entering her, encountering tightness and resistance. "Claire, let me in," he murmured, his breathing heavy now, as heavy as hers. Relaxation seemed impossible, but it didn't seem to matter anymore. He was inside her, stretching her, her insides stinging and burning.
"Fuck!" she shouted through gritted teeth. "Ow! I... can't take it!"
"You're not relaxing," Peter said. He withdrew, and put his fingers back in again, fucking her with them this time, easy and slippery. Claire moaned desperately, frigging herself as fast as she could. She was so close...
Nathan grabbed her hand and took it away from her pussy. She actually physically snapped at him, her teeth clicking, like an angry animal. "Concentrate," he insisted, kissing the top of her head apologetically. "Concentrate. Just..." He paused, watching Peter preparing his cock again, watching Peter slip it into her again, going deeper now. "Take it in. Yes. Like that. You can do it."
Peter didn't move, didn't fuck her just yet. Claire wanted to cry from frustration. Nathan had yanked her back from the edge of what had promised to be a great orgasm, but this... It was amazing, really. It was an entirely new way of understanding her nervous system and her erogenous zones. Some of them were very deep inside her, in places she hadn't really thought of before. But her pussy was jealous, snapping and pinging away without ever providing that unmistakable kick of orgasm. She needed to touch it again, to complete the circuit.
But first, Peter had to fuck her ass.
It got easier very quickly. He provided a slow pattern of in-and-stop, out-and-in-and-stop, gradually increasing in speed and depth. Quickly, his breath changed to a selection of grunts and moans, answered by Claire's helpless, disbelieving yelps. Yes, they were; yes, she could. Nathan rose higher on his knees, and instead of feeding his cock to Claire, brought it against Peter's mouth. Peter's groans emerged muffled through a mouthful of cock, and his hips all but stopped. "Nathan, please," Claire begged.
"Nathan, please," Peter echoed, but instead of a request for courtesy, his voice was full of longing. Nathan sighed, and climbed off the bed altogether. Claire readied a protest in her throat - she hadn't wanted Nathan to leave - but then she felt his weight settle on the bed again, out of her sight, behind her. Behind Peter. "Yes," Peter breathed, thrusting again, filling Claire, penetrating her to the hilt. "Yeah, yeah, please."
Then he paused again, and leaned over Claire, kissing her back, and Claire wondered if he had come and she just hadn't been able to tell. No, that wasn't it. Peter shuddered against her, sighing out, "Oh, Nathan, God, yes... yes..." She could feel Nathan's hands between their legs, on Peter, the wet sounds of him squeezing out lube and smearing it on.
"Oh, fuck." Peter sounded like he was on the verge of screaming. Peter didn't have his weight on her, was only balanced against her ass and thighs, but she could feel so much more pressure coming from behind. She reached behind her and felt Nathan clinging to Peter's back, his pelvis joining with Peter's. His cock, no doubt, in Peter's ass now. She took her hand back and shoved it between her legs, trying to remember the pattern that her clit wanted...
"Uh. There. Better?" Nathan chuckled quietly.
"Your cock. Oh, my God. You're going to kill me."
"What a way to go, huh?" Nathan didn't sound concerned. "You can take it. If anybody can take it, you can take it. Can't you? Now, don't stop. Claire needs you."
"I can't move," Peter breathed.
"Just move with me. I'll show you how. Just like... as you breathe..."
"How do you even know that?" Claire demanded, half laughing, half gasping, and before anyone had a chance to answer her, she found the pattern - and Peter transmitted Nathan's thrusts to her, and Nathan was a lot less gentle - and she came so hard that she nearly blacked out. She fell toward the bed, but Peter was holding her up, her body shivering and boneless in his hands, her ass providing a bumper for him to balance his thrusts against, so he could take more from Nathan, but passing it along to her...
Then Peter dissolved, too. He and Claire collapsed onto the bed as one. Claire felt utterly relaxed for a blissful, warm moment, and then she was cold because Peter had gone from her and the hot air in the room didn't come close to the heat from his body. But then she was warm again, but not with Peter - Nathan, now, hairy chest against her back, his knee spreading her thighs wider, his thicker cockhead pressing into her, sliding in, deep and insistent, then fucking her hard. And yet, not harder than she could take it; not harder than she wanted it.
Beside them, Peter moaned and sighed so desperately that it sounded like sobbing. "Oh, God," he said. "Thank you, Claire... thank you, Nathan..." He gasped, watching as Nathan withdrew, turned Claire over to face him, and plunged into her again, his hand between her legs, his thumb on her clit, frigging her with short, brief, snapping strokes. Claire arched up against him, bucking into his thrusts, clamping her hand down over his and holding it still while she came again, and then again. Nathan withdrew from her, his shaking hand cradling his cock, spurting semen all over her lower belly, sounding like he was crying, too.
"Yes," Peter sighed, "yes, perfect."
Nathan rested at last alongside her, and they all lay still for a while, breathing heavily, amazed, and then giggling faintly in triumph and mild embarrassment. "Thanks for... what, Peter?" Claire asked after a few minutes, once she felt vaguely sane again.
Peter opened one eye part way. "Hm? Oh. You... er... made my dream come true."
"What?" Claire furrowed her brow, then burst out, "You mean that?"
Peter nodded, his cheeks turning red, obviously holding back laughter.
"So... your dream was..."
"Being able to watch Nathan fuck you in the ass. Having him fuck me while he does you. Yeah. Now you know." Peter grinned wickedly, obviously pleased with himself. "All I ever wanted for Christmas."
"God, Peter," Nathan said, rolling his eyes, too cool to laugh out loud. "You're such a weirdo."
"I don't... even really want to think too hard about that," Claire said, but stared at Peter and thought, Exactly how long have you had this dream? Peter just shrugged a little, and kept on grinning.
"Best not," Nathan added, stroking her back.
Peter rolled himself to a sitting position and asked brightly, "Who's for a skinny dip? And some beer? I figure... we could... y'know, use the vacation."
Claire and Nathan traded a look, and then considered the proposition for a minute. Having a quick, moonlit swim in the lukewarm water sure would feel excellent right now... Claire sat up, and kissed Peter quickly on the mouth. "It's a beautiful night," she said, and when she glanced back at Nathan, he looked happier than she could recall having ever seen him.
----
Claire woke up because she was cold.
The basement room, protected by earth on two walls and a thick growth of tropical plants on the other, seemed to always be a good ten degrees cooler than the rest of the house, and soothingly dark, too. But she woke up in bed alone, when she'd fallen asleep with two hot, sticky, salt-scented bodies on either side of her, kissing her and murmuring love into her ear. They had all fucked so much the night before that the sun had started to rise before they were done. Peter just wouldn't leave off; he kept stimulating them both, even when they thought they'd had enough, and just wanted him to go to sleep and stop sucking on parts of them.
But even he'd given in to fatigue eventually, and stopped caressing Claire's breasts, his breathing slowing to a meditative hum.
She wanted to see him now, though, and she wanted breakfast. She missed the donuts. What a sweet thing for him to do, nutritionally sound or not. She wondered if he'd get some more if she asked him; knew that he would. She swung herself out of bed, and wandered upstairs to the kitchen. The sky outside had a thin sheen of white cloud over it, and the temperature had gone down; although it was still hot, the weather seemed to be changing. Someone had made coffee in a French press, and a melon had been sliced on a cutting board, but the kitchen was deserted. Claire poured coffee into a chipped porcelain cup, and cut herself a sliver of melon, calling, "Peter?"
No answer.
She went up to the upper bedroom, looking for her dress, and saw Nathan seated on the chair out on the balcony, dressed in his T-shirt and black pants, a full cup of coffee sitting ignored next to him. Claire walked up and put her arms around him, kissing his neck. "Hey..." she murmured, "do you know where Peter is?"
Nathan glanced up at her, the whites of his eyes red, and the irises a strange, washed-out version of their usual depths. "He's gone," he said simply. He didn't even sound sad, just resigned. He handed her a little scrap of paper, obviously torn from a page in his sketchbook, and written on it in blue brush pen: I'm out of here. I love you. Two hearts in red on either side of the words. That was all. "Found this over by the coffee. He made coffee first, for Christ's sake."
"What?" Claire bleated, backing away from him, away from the note. "Already? No! He wouldn't have. He wouldn't have - left - forever - without even saying goodbye to me? What the fuck? That fucking asshole!" She tripped over her own feet, and went sprawling to the ground, spilling coffee everywhere, skinning her knee and the back of her calf. "No! I just - no!"
Nathan immediately came to her side, the note fluttering out of his hand, and scooped her up, carrying her to the bed. She struck at him with her fists. "Claire, wait," he said.
"No! Fuck you! Get away from me!"
"He didn't say anything to me, either," Nathan said, setting her down, catching a flailing fist in his hand and holding it still. "He's gone. Claire? He's gone. We knew he would. We knew this was coming. We... now... we have to..." He seemed to run out of words, and sat down beside her, rubbing his hair back from his forehead, blinking fast. Holding the tears in.
Claire didn't bother. She always did weep at the drop of a hat, over anything that made her sad or angry, but this was like everything times a million, all at once. "Why would he do that?" she begged. "How could he-"
"He had to go," Nathan said. "He didn't know when. But as soon as he did, it was time. And what would have been the point? What could he have done? Wake you up, and say, 'Bye now'? I mean, Claire, c'mon. He knew he could never say that to either one of us. He knew we'd never let him go if he gave us a choice. Remember our vow. Remember our purpose." He stood up, and went to the bedside table, returning holding Peter's sketchbook in his hand. "See? We're not completely on our own. Look." He opened the book, and rifled through the pages, noting the pages that had been ripped out already, used for other purposes, for the notes he left for both of them and for himself. But at least three-quarters of the pages were still intact, and every single page, front and back, contained a drawing, a list, a doodle, some of which Claire had already seen, but most of which she hadn't. Buildings and rooms and faces and objects, sheets of featureless, layered color, painstakingly detailed maps.
"See?" Nathan said again. "I know he didn't want it to be this way. He didn't want to leave. But sometimes that's what we have to do. Sometimes we don't have a choice; we can only choose what we do with what's handed to us. And... you've got me. I'm not going anywhere. I will never leave you. Ever. I promise you."
He enfolded her in his arms, and let her cry against him, rocking and soothing her, and when the wind changed and a sudden rainstorm drenched the beach, he broke down, too, and she held him. She sipped his tears as they trickled over his cheeks. It was completely unlike her, but she felt that it was something Peter might do. It seemed to calm Nathan, and the act of calming him made her feel better too. She had to be there for him, now, just as much as he was for her.
When the rain had passed, leaving the sky clear, cooled, and vivid, they lay togther, holding each other, breathing in the perfectly clean air, returning to their senses. "There was no other way," Nathan murmured to her. "But... it's just us now. So... what do we do?"
Claire still clutched the sketchbook in her hands, and had not let it go during the hours that they had cried together. She sighed, looking down at it, at the images she could not fully understand. Not yet. "So we still have work to do," she replied, sighing, and Nathan's arms tightened around her. "Maybe things that even he doesn't understand."
"So..." Nathan breathed against her. "We shouldn't just stay here, where it's safe?"
Claire shook her head, and gazed up at him. "No," she decided. "I'm sick of hiding. I'm sick of having to disappear. Let's... let's do things. Let's figure it out. He left us everything we need."
Nathan nodded and smiled into her eyes. "Let's," he agreed. "We have to trust him."
"For right now, though," Claire added, stroking his lips with her finger, kissing him. "Just... stay, okay? Just be right here."
He took her hand, and linked his fingers through hers. "I'm not going anywhere," he said.
-THE END-
A/N: I am having a hard time finishing this story, so I'm going to just stop re-writing it and call it good and let it be what it is. It definitely got away from me - I originally thought this was going to be a 1000-word PWPer, but then... ideas. Thanks to ghagiel for her help, and thank you for reading!
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