Heroes FIC: Sex Bomb
Title: Sex Bomb
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Peter/many, Nathan/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Peter absorbs an unstable ability, can't control it and goes boom. In a way.
Notes: This is for all the very dirty-minded Sunday Brunch Brain Trust gals who egged me on, even though I could barely get out the words when I was trying to tell them this idea, because it was making me all embarrassed and blushy. Specifically, it's for linaerys, who encouraged my pervy love for getting Peter dirty, and also for hackthis, to whom I owe a Nathan/Peter story. If you can't figure it out from the title, let me warn you. This is porn and nothing but!
Warnings: To my mind, Peter wants everything he gets, but some people may be troubled by issues of consent here.
Sex Bomb
By Lenore
Peter couldn't be sure when it happened, or who it was, although he remembered a blonde boy bumping into him, pierced and waxed and possibly a professional, definitely buzzing with sex. He'd winked as he passed, and then turned back to blow a kiss before slinking on down the street. Maybe half a block later it started.
At first, Peter just wrote it off as the weather, unseasonably warm that day, the prickle of humidity in the air. He took off his jacket and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, and no relief. That's when it hit him: the swelter was coming from inside him. There was a strange buzzing too, like a motor running, pulsing along his skin, and then deep in his gut, and then everywhere. Heat and vibration, and when he looked down at his hands, he swore they were starting to glow.
He tried to think himself invisible, failed, tried again more frantically. Finally, he hid the old-fashioned way, ducking into a passageway between buildings. He fumbled with his phone and breathed out in relief when Nathan picked up. "Something happened. Someone had this power-- I don't think I can control it. God, I don't even know what it is."
"Calm down," Nathan's voice was steady as ever, "and tell me where you are."
Peter looked around, not that the pockmarked brick walls gave him much to navigate by. New York was like this; you could live in the same neighborhood for years and still come across a particular block you'd never set foot on. "I don't know. I was going from my place to Grand Central, not paying much attention."
"Okay, just hold tight and--"
The phone was yanked unceremoniously out of Peter's hand and tossed aside. He hadn't realized anyone had followed him into the alley, but here was a guy in a muscle shirt, with a tattoo of a dragon wending its way up his neck, apparently intent on robbing him, just what Peter needed right now.
He held up his hands. "Here, take my wallet--"
That was as far as he got with his don't-hurt-me speech before the tattooed guy grabbed him by the arm and pushed him back against the brick. Peter sucked in his breath, and the static electricity sensation that had been building inside him was suddenly free flowing, more sizzling, recognizable at last, an orgasm waiting to happen. Peter shivered, and the guy grappled to get their pants open, and shivering turned to all-out shudders when their cocks slid against each other, the guy's big, meaty hand circling them both.
If pleasure sometimes gave Peter an underwater feeling, slow and weighty and no air in his lungs, this was like being at the very bottom of the deepest part of the ocean. It didn't take much for him to come, an instant before the tattooed guy did, wet everywhere, the sharp, salt smell rising between them.
The guy stumbled back a step, slack-jawed, his pants gaping open. The runaway machine inside Peter barely even stuttered a beat before kicking back into high gear, the restless, itchy gotta-fuck feeling making his eyes water, his cock already getting hard again. The tattooed guy got a glimmer in his eye, like he was starting to think about round two, as well. Worse yet, another man had stopped out on the sidewalk and was peering into the alley. He took a step, chin lifted, nose in the air. His gaze settled predatorily on Peter.
There was a heavy steel door just a few more feet down the passageway, and Peter lunged for it, hoping against hope it wasn't locked. The knob turned in his hand, and he darted inside, breathed out shakily as he jammed the deadbolt into place. His deranged admirers pounded and shouted and wrenched the knob so hard the door actually rattled on its hinges. Peter backed away cautiously, into the dimness of the interior, and ran straight into something, someone, solid and immovable, smelling of sweat and leather and, oh God, come.
"What do we have here?" A voice rasped, a hand casually groping his crotch. "Eager. Very nice."
The man pulled him around by the arm, and Peter stumbled after him. When a random blue strobe lit up a couple, one man bent over a sawhorse, bare ass in the air, the other wielding a whip, Peter began to understand why there weren't more lights on.
The place wasn't crowded, as far as he could tell in the semi-darkness. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, after all. What few patrons there were, however, soon crowded around him, murmurs of "oooh, pretty," and hands pulling at his clothes. Someone sucked on his neck, and then there was that same voice next to his ear, "You like being the center of attention, don't you?"
They quickly got him naked, and the urgent buzzing was all over Peter's skin, way down deep in his bones. He didn't shy away from anyone's hands.
"He wants it bad." A finger trailed along his erection.
Someone laughed and twisted his nipple. "Likes it rough, I bet you."
Wet, latex-covered fingers pressed against his hole, and the voice was back again, "So tight. You a virgin, boy?"
"Sweet little virgin gonna get fucked." Someone reached between his legs, toyed with his balls.
Peter's ass burned as the fingers worked deeper, and his cock strained to be touched, and the coiled heat in his belly threatened to boil over.
"Too pretty to keep to ourselves. He should be in the show."
The suggestion was echoed by others, the show, the show.
Hands lifted his cock and balls, expertly maneuvered them, touch of leather against sensitive skin, and then blunt pressure that made his knees go weak. Well, weaker. Fingers fluttered over his erection, teasing him. He shook and ached, more violently than before, but the cock ring wouldn't let him come.
"You're going to be a star," the voice said laughingly.
Peter was carried along by the group, up a short set of stairs, onto a platform, into the blare of spotlights. He squinted and stared and still couldn't make out how many were in the audience, although he could hear the anticipatory rustling of bodies, intake of breath. Hands pushed at his shoulders, down, down, onto his hands and knees. He felt the sweaty heat of someone kneeling behind him, the bush of latex against his ass.
Another man settled by his shoulder, fondled his cheek, rubbed his thumb all over his mouth, but didn't stick his cock inside. A moment later, Peter understood why, as the guy behind him pushed in, hard and fast and no warning. They wanted to hear him scream.
Pain was a hard, bright flash behind Peter's eyes, and then the combustible thing inside him caught fire, and the sounds coming out of were all desperate moans, "more, more."
A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd, and the guy in front of him cupped Peter's jaw and pressed his cock to Peter's lips. "I guess you've earned it."
One man bled into the next, a blur of fucking, Peter's cock trapped and throbbing in the leather strap. No shame, no fear, nothing but razor sharp need, and he begged and begged, "Let me come! Please, I need to come!"
The men taking turns were orderly enough at first, at least on the surface, but there was an undercurrent in the room. Peter could feel it, a sense of gathering energy, restless and raw, like the electric potential before a storm. At last, it erupted, someone yelling out, "I'm not fucking waiting anymore," and the first punch was thrown. Tinderbox met spark, and the crowd became a melee in the space of seconds.
They forgot about Peter in the heat of fighting over him, and he slumped on the floor, face pressed against his arm, out of breath. The rational part of him knew he should get up, get out, but that desperate motor was still buzzing away inside him, even more insistently. He felt dangerously empty.
Someone pulled at his shoulders, and his body went instantly pliable, ready to be filled, taken, lit up like a Roman candle. But it was Nathan's voice that rumbled quietly against his ear, "Come on, Peter."
"Nathan," Peter murmured, with a clumsy brush of lips to his brother's cheek.
Nathan draped his jacket over Peter's shoulders. "Let's get the hell out of here." He hauled Peter to his feet and hurried him to the exit. The fight had taken on a life of its own by then, and no one even noticed as the cause of it slipped away.
The alley was thankfully empty. Nathan took hold of Peter's arm and started for the street. Peter balked. "I can't go out there. Something's happening to me and--"
The steel door banged open, their grace period apparently over, men starting to spill out of the club. Others on the street were taking an interest as well and came streaming into the alley. They all had their eyes set like laser sights on Peter. Nathan wrapped an arm around Peter's waist, and cold rushed over Peter's body despite the heat, and the next thing he knew, they were high above the rooftops.
Nathan set down a few seconds later on a deserted, once industrial block near the river. His car was parked there, and he hustled Peter inside, and took off with a squeal of tires. For a while, all Peter could manage was to slump groggily in the seat. Eventually he got around to asking, "How did you find me?"
"GPS in your phone."
Peter eyed Nathan accusingly, what, have you been spying on me?, and Nathan looked utterly stubborn and unrepentant.
The blocks blurred by, and what happened at the club started to seem gauzy and weightless, as distant as a dream. Nathan's familiar smell surrounded Peter, expensive wool and good, old-fashioned soap. He pulled the lapels of the jacket against his face, breathing in. He was already hard, and his bare skin felt aggressively naked. If he concentrated, he could sense the vibration of individual molecules inside him, overwrought and shimmering, the need for sex at its most elemental level.
Nathan stopped at a light, and his gaze slid sideways, over at Peter. His eyes were even darker than usual, all pupil. "Peter." He reached out, fingers trembling uncharacteristically as he ran them along the curve of Peter's cheek.
"Hey!" A man in conservative pinstripes pounded on the car window, pulling at the latch of the locked door. His cheeks were darkly flushed. All the civilization had drained out of his expression.
Peter cringed away, and Nathan jammed his foot on the gas, streaking through the intersection, narrowly missing two other cars. He took the 59th Street Bridge and sped recklessly along narrow, residential streets. After a while, the lawns grew wider, the houses larger, and when they came to a mansion that took up most of the block, Nathan turned into an underground parking garage attached to it.
Peter couldn't stop shaking, and Nathan hustled him out of the car, into the elevator. They stepped out into a foyer, Persian carpets and delicate French antiques, Nathan's kind of place. A woman came to meet them, long, curling dark hair and an easy smile, also Nathan's taste. Her expression turned serious when she took in Peter, disheveled and practically naked. She started to say something, and then hesitated, fixing Nathan with a questioning look.
"We need a room, Desiree," Nathan told her. "As private as you can make it."
She nodded. "Of course."
She led them down the hall, treading lightly, quickly, no questions asked. Nathan paid top dollar for such discretion, Peter had no doubt. They followed her up a set of stairs and down another hallway. She opened the door to a room and handed Nathan the key. "I'll see that you have this wing to yourselves."
The moment she was gone, Peter threw off the jacket, the impossible swelter burning him up from the inside. Nathan hurriedly shut the door and scowled at the marks on Peter's body, the streaks of dried come.
"Please, please," Peter whispered hoarsely. He fumbled with the strap around the base of his cock, too frantic for any kind of coordination, his sweaty fingers slipping on the fastenings.
Nathan reached him in two, long strides. He kissed Peter's neck, his voice low and rough against Peter's ear, "The things you get yourself in to." He flicked open the snaps one by one, taking time to caress Peter's cock, press a thumb between his balls. Peter's breath skittered, and he squeezed his eyes closed. When the pressure of the strap finally released, he came, just like that, in Nathan's hand.
Nathan stroked him through the orgasm, and Peter slumped against him, catching his breath, exhausted and still hard. He closed his eyes, and Nathan smelled so good, familiar and comforting and his. He smoothed a shaking hand over Nathan's chest, over his pristine white shirt, cool and smooth beneath his palm, down Nathan's belly, past his belt. Nathan was hard too, and Peter cupped his erection through his pants, rubbing his thumb up and down his length.
"No." Nathan's grip on his wrist was as non-negotiable as a vise, and Peter let out a breath of disappointment. This time, though, Nathan surprised him. "Come on."
Nathan pushed Peter into the bathroom, stripping off his own clothes en route, and followed him into the shower. He turned the tap up as high as it would go, the water hot, coming down in hard sheets. Nathan worked the soap between his hands and ran them roughly all over Peter's body. His voice was like gravel, "I won't have you smelling like other men."
Need was already buzzing through Peter, and this felt like the aftershock from a blast roiling through him. "Nathan. Please!"
Nathan flipped off the tap with a sharp snap of his wrist, manhandled Peter out of the stall and down onto hands and knees on the bath mat. He yanked open the drawer of the vanity, hard enough that things went flying. Peter put his head down on his arms and spread his legs wider. Nathan muttered under his breath, "God," and hurried to roll on a condom.
Getting fucked was the same, burning, gotta-have- it, gotta-have-it as before, only not, because this was Nathan, and they hadn't in so long, and Peter needed him like air, like heat and shelter and all the other most basic necessities. It had nothing to do with any unfortunate misadventure with his powers.
"Pete, Pete, Pete," Nathan said in a breathless string as he fucked him.
When Peter came, he could feel the swirl and churn of Nathan's molecules as vividly as his own.
Afterwards, Nathan cleaned them both up, got them into bed, and Peter sagged in his arms, as weak as a rag doll. Nathan ran a hand up and down Peter's arm, pressed kisses to his hair. "So I guess that power you picked up--"
"Sex," Peter said tiredly.
"Hmm." It was non-committal, but Nathan's hand wandered down to Peter's hip, stroking in circles, and he pushed the covers back to look at Peter's body.
That was all it took for the motor to spring back to life, zero to desperate in an eye blink. Peter lunged messily at Nathan, kissing, groping, begging with his skin. Nathan pushed Peter back against the pillows, propped himself up on his elbow, kissed Peter and smoothed the hair back from his forehead. When he started to move away, Peter made a mad grab for his arm, and Nathan assured him, "Relax. I'm going to take care of you."
He leaned over to the nightstand, rummaged around in a drawer, and came away with a cherry colored anal plug. He flicked a button, and it started to buzz in his hand, and Peter's stomach did a trick like it was trying to defy gravity, the same fluttering sensation he got when he rode a roller coaster. Nathan flipped the cap off the lube and worked the plug inside Peter, and Peter's eyes went wide as the buzz of the toy collided with the larger, brighter buzz of compulsion. Nathan smiled in a supremely self-satisfied way, ran a day-glo orange vibrator slowly over Peter's chest. Just the feel of cool of plastic at first, and then Nathan turned it on, and Peter's hips came all the way off the bed.
Nathan kissed and played with him, with his nipples and the sensitive backs of his knees and the surprisingly arousing hollow of his collarbone. Peter babbled and begged and babbled some more.
"Go on. Touch yourself," Nathan breathed against his ear, in a voice made of temptation.
Not that Peter needed any tempting.
He took his cock in his hand, and Nathan watched, his gaze steady, unblinking even. It was good, so good, but the hard, shimmering force that had a hold of him was insatiable, and the crazy, teasing buzz on his skin and in his body and way down deep in his cells stirred up the aggressive animal part of him. He knocked the vibrator out of Nathan's hand and flipped him over, held him down. He thrust his hips, his cock sliding between Nathan's thighs, just to make it clear what he wanted.
Nathan looked up at him, calculating, and then finally, "Okay, Pete. Okay."
The getting ready part was a blur, slick stuff and heat and the feel of Nathan's pulse against his fingers. Nathan's back went rigid at the first touch, and Peter kissed his neck, crooned to him, "Relax. It's my turn to take care of you." By the time he was finished, Nathan was hard again.
He moved Nathan onto his side, and curved along his back, and took his time working his cock inside. So tight, and Peter hadn't doubted it anyway; no one had ever fucked his brother. Nathan flailed at first, like he was drowning and trying to save himself, although he kept saying, "Don't stop, don't stop." Then he let out a high, startled pleasure noise and immediately went stoic. If Peter hadn't known Nathan so well, he wouldn't have understood that this was Nathan's control freak way of dealing with getting off on getting fucked.
"I love you. Love the way you feel," Peter said, stringing kisses over Nathan's neck, his shoulders and back. Nathan reached for Peter's hand and held on, and from him, this was as good as an admission.
When Nathan came, he was silent, and Peter was loud, his voice almost hoarse by the time he was done.
Afterwards, Peter lay in a heap, his legs tangled with Nathan's, too tired to be alive. His eyes were fluttering closed when it occurred to him that the motor had finally gone quiet. His eyes flew open, and if he concentrated, he could still make out the pulse, distant and much quieter. He imagined a door slamming shut on it, containing the ability, and he breathed out in relief at the first, fragile sense of control.
Nathan shifted, turning to face Peter, and he brought his arms loosely up around Peter's shoulders. "You okay now?" Peter nodded, and Nathan kissed him, smiling a smile that was both rueful and affectionate. "Good."
They lay there together, indulging the occasional, idle caress, for who knew how long--not nearly long enough, as far as Peter was concerned. Then Nathan kissed Peter again, only this time with intent, like it was goodbye. He sat up, and his gaze shifted around the room, hunting for his clothes. In a moment or two, he'd have "Nathan Petrelli for Congress" plastered all over his skin once more. He'd offer up the same old excuses: Heidi and the exigencies of politics and what had Peter expected anyway, happily ever after? And then Peter would be alone again.
Peter grabbed him by the arm, fingers digging in, and kissed Nathan hard. He opened that imaginary door just a bit, letting out a little puff of shimmer. Nathan's mouth opened to his, and his hand came up to cup Peter's jaw, stroke his neck, thread through his hair.
"You wouldn't," Nathan said when Peter let him go at last, and Peter knew he really meant, "You won't."
Peter held his eye earnestly. "Not unless I have to."
Nathan smiled softly and touched Peter's face in that you're my kid brother kind of way of his. "What makes you think your power works on me?"
Peter stared, and Nathan turned away, whistling as he retrieved his clothes from the floor. There was no hurry as he got dressed, no hint of regret. He kissed Peter again before he left, thoroughly, Peter's face held in his hands. "I'll see you tomorrow. Try to stay out of trouble, huh?"
Even after the door closed behind him, Peter didn't stop staring.
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Peter/many, Nathan/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Peter absorbs an unstable ability, can't control it and goes boom. In a way.
Notes: This is for all the very dirty-minded Sunday Brunch Brain Trust gals who egged me on, even though I could barely get out the words when I was trying to tell them this idea, because it was making me all embarrassed and blushy. Specifically, it's for linaerys, who encouraged my pervy love for getting Peter dirty, and also for hackthis, to whom I owe a Nathan/Peter story. If you can't figure it out from the title, let me warn you. This is porn and nothing but!
Warnings: To my mind, Peter wants everything he gets, but some people may be troubled by issues of consent here.
Sex Bomb
By Lenore
Peter couldn't be sure when it happened, or who it was, although he remembered a blonde boy bumping into him, pierced and waxed and possibly a professional, definitely buzzing with sex. He'd winked as he passed, and then turned back to blow a kiss before slinking on down the street. Maybe half a block later it started.
At first, Peter just wrote it off as the weather, unseasonably warm that day, the prickle of humidity in the air. He took off his jacket and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, and no relief. That's when it hit him: the swelter was coming from inside him. There was a strange buzzing too, like a motor running, pulsing along his skin, and then deep in his gut, and then everywhere. Heat and vibration, and when he looked down at his hands, he swore they were starting to glow.
He tried to think himself invisible, failed, tried again more frantically. Finally, he hid the old-fashioned way, ducking into a passageway between buildings. He fumbled with his phone and breathed out in relief when Nathan picked up. "Something happened. Someone had this power-- I don't think I can control it. God, I don't even know what it is."
"Calm down," Nathan's voice was steady as ever, "and tell me where you are."
Peter looked around, not that the pockmarked brick walls gave him much to navigate by. New York was like this; you could live in the same neighborhood for years and still come across a particular block you'd never set foot on. "I don't know. I was going from my place to Grand Central, not paying much attention."
"Okay, just hold tight and--"
The phone was yanked unceremoniously out of Peter's hand and tossed aside. He hadn't realized anyone had followed him into the alley, but here was a guy in a muscle shirt, with a tattoo of a dragon wending its way up his neck, apparently intent on robbing him, just what Peter needed right now.
He held up his hands. "Here, take my wallet--"
That was as far as he got with his don't-hurt-me speech before the tattooed guy grabbed him by the arm and pushed him back against the brick. Peter sucked in his breath, and the static electricity sensation that had been building inside him was suddenly free flowing, more sizzling, recognizable at last, an orgasm waiting to happen. Peter shivered, and the guy grappled to get their pants open, and shivering turned to all-out shudders when their cocks slid against each other, the guy's big, meaty hand circling them both.
If pleasure sometimes gave Peter an underwater feeling, slow and weighty and no air in his lungs, this was like being at the very bottom of the deepest part of the ocean. It didn't take much for him to come, an instant before the tattooed guy did, wet everywhere, the sharp, salt smell rising between them.
The guy stumbled back a step, slack-jawed, his pants gaping open. The runaway machine inside Peter barely even stuttered a beat before kicking back into high gear, the restless, itchy gotta-fuck feeling making his eyes water, his cock already getting hard again. The tattooed guy got a glimmer in his eye, like he was starting to think about round two, as well. Worse yet, another man had stopped out on the sidewalk and was peering into the alley. He took a step, chin lifted, nose in the air. His gaze settled predatorily on Peter.
There was a heavy steel door just a few more feet down the passageway, and Peter lunged for it, hoping against hope it wasn't locked. The knob turned in his hand, and he darted inside, breathed out shakily as he jammed the deadbolt into place. His deranged admirers pounded and shouted and wrenched the knob so hard the door actually rattled on its hinges. Peter backed away cautiously, into the dimness of the interior, and ran straight into something, someone, solid and immovable, smelling of sweat and leather and, oh God, come.
"What do we have here?" A voice rasped, a hand casually groping his crotch. "Eager. Very nice."
The man pulled him around by the arm, and Peter stumbled after him. When a random blue strobe lit up a couple, one man bent over a sawhorse, bare ass in the air, the other wielding a whip, Peter began to understand why there weren't more lights on.
The place wasn't crowded, as far as he could tell in the semi-darkness. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, after all. What few patrons there were, however, soon crowded around him, murmurs of "oooh, pretty," and hands pulling at his clothes. Someone sucked on his neck, and then there was that same voice next to his ear, "You like being the center of attention, don't you?"
They quickly got him naked, and the urgent buzzing was all over Peter's skin, way down deep in his bones. He didn't shy away from anyone's hands.
"He wants it bad." A finger trailed along his erection.
Someone laughed and twisted his nipple. "Likes it rough, I bet you."
Wet, latex-covered fingers pressed against his hole, and the voice was back again, "So tight. You a virgin, boy?"
"Sweet little virgin gonna get fucked." Someone reached between his legs, toyed with his balls.
Peter's ass burned as the fingers worked deeper, and his cock strained to be touched, and the coiled heat in his belly threatened to boil over.
"Too pretty to keep to ourselves. He should be in the show."
The suggestion was echoed by others, the show, the show.
Hands lifted his cock and balls, expertly maneuvered them, touch of leather against sensitive skin, and then blunt pressure that made his knees go weak. Well, weaker. Fingers fluttered over his erection, teasing him. He shook and ached, more violently than before, but the cock ring wouldn't let him come.
"You're going to be a star," the voice said laughingly.
Peter was carried along by the group, up a short set of stairs, onto a platform, into the blare of spotlights. He squinted and stared and still couldn't make out how many were in the audience, although he could hear the anticipatory rustling of bodies, intake of breath. Hands pushed at his shoulders, down, down, onto his hands and knees. He felt the sweaty heat of someone kneeling behind him, the bush of latex against his ass.
Another man settled by his shoulder, fondled his cheek, rubbed his thumb all over his mouth, but didn't stick his cock inside. A moment later, Peter understood why, as the guy behind him pushed in, hard and fast and no warning. They wanted to hear him scream.
Pain was a hard, bright flash behind Peter's eyes, and then the combustible thing inside him caught fire, and the sounds coming out of were all desperate moans, "more, more."
A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd, and the guy in front of him cupped Peter's jaw and pressed his cock to Peter's lips. "I guess you've earned it."
One man bled into the next, a blur of fucking, Peter's cock trapped and throbbing in the leather strap. No shame, no fear, nothing but razor sharp need, and he begged and begged, "Let me come! Please, I need to come!"
The men taking turns were orderly enough at first, at least on the surface, but there was an undercurrent in the room. Peter could feel it, a sense of gathering energy, restless and raw, like the electric potential before a storm. At last, it erupted, someone yelling out, "I'm not fucking waiting anymore," and the first punch was thrown. Tinderbox met spark, and the crowd became a melee in the space of seconds.
They forgot about Peter in the heat of fighting over him, and he slumped on the floor, face pressed against his arm, out of breath. The rational part of him knew he should get up, get out, but that desperate motor was still buzzing away inside him, even more insistently. He felt dangerously empty.
Someone pulled at his shoulders, and his body went instantly pliable, ready to be filled, taken, lit up like a Roman candle. But it was Nathan's voice that rumbled quietly against his ear, "Come on, Peter."
"Nathan," Peter murmured, with a clumsy brush of lips to his brother's cheek.
Nathan draped his jacket over Peter's shoulders. "Let's get the hell out of here." He hauled Peter to his feet and hurried him to the exit. The fight had taken on a life of its own by then, and no one even noticed as the cause of it slipped away.
The alley was thankfully empty. Nathan took hold of Peter's arm and started for the street. Peter balked. "I can't go out there. Something's happening to me and--"
The steel door banged open, their grace period apparently over, men starting to spill out of the club. Others on the street were taking an interest as well and came streaming into the alley. They all had their eyes set like laser sights on Peter. Nathan wrapped an arm around Peter's waist, and cold rushed over Peter's body despite the heat, and the next thing he knew, they were high above the rooftops.
Nathan set down a few seconds later on a deserted, once industrial block near the river. His car was parked there, and he hustled Peter inside, and took off with a squeal of tires. For a while, all Peter could manage was to slump groggily in the seat. Eventually he got around to asking, "How did you find me?"
"GPS in your phone."
Peter eyed Nathan accusingly, what, have you been spying on me?, and Nathan looked utterly stubborn and unrepentant.
The blocks blurred by, and what happened at the club started to seem gauzy and weightless, as distant as a dream. Nathan's familiar smell surrounded Peter, expensive wool and good, old-fashioned soap. He pulled the lapels of the jacket against his face, breathing in. He was already hard, and his bare skin felt aggressively naked. If he concentrated, he could sense the vibration of individual molecules inside him, overwrought and shimmering, the need for sex at its most elemental level.
Nathan stopped at a light, and his gaze slid sideways, over at Peter. His eyes were even darker than usual, all pupil. "Peter." He reached out, fingers trembling uncharacteristically as he ran them along the curve of Peter's cheek.
"Hey!" A man in conservative pinstripes pounded on the car window, pulling at the latch of the locked door. His cheeks were darkly flushed. All the civilization had drained out of his expression.
Peter cringed away, and Nathan jammed his foot on the gas, streaking through the intersection, narrowly missing two other cars. He took the 59th Street Bridge and sped recklessly along narrow, residential streets. After a while, the lawns grew wider, the houses larger, and when they came to a mansion that took up most of the block, Nathan turned into an underground parking garage attached to it.
Peter couldn't stop shaking, and Nathan hustled him out of the car, into the elevator. They stepped out into a foyer, Persian carpets and delicate French antiques, Nathan's kind of place. A woman came to meet them, long, curling dark hair and an easy smile, also Nathan's taste. Her expression turned serious when she took in Peter, disheveled and practically naked. She started to say something, and then hesitated, fixing Nathan with a questioning look.
"We need a room, Desiree," Nathan told her. "As private as you can make it."
She nodded. "Of course."
She led them down the hall, treading lightly, quickly, no questions asked. Nathan paid top dollar for such discretion, Peter had no doubt. They followed her up a set of stairs and down another hallway. She opened the door to a room and handed Nathan the key. "I'll see that you have this wing to yourselves."
The moment she was gone, Peter threw off the jacket, the impossible swelter burning him up from the inside. Nathan hurriedly shut the door and scowled at the marks on Peter's body, the streaks of dried come.
"Please, please," Peter whispered hoarsely. He fumbled with the strap around the base of his cock, too frantic for any kind of coordination, his sweaty fingers slipping on the fastenings.
Nathan reached him in two, long strides. He kissed Peter's neck, his voice low and rough against Peter's ear, "The things you get yourself in to." He flicked open the snaps one by one, taking time to caress Peter's cock, press a thumb between his balls. Peter's breath skittered, and he squeezed his eyes closed. When the pressure of the strap finally released, he came, just like that, in Nathan's hand.
Nathan stroked him through the orgasm, and Peter slumped against him, catching his breath, exhausted and still hard. He closed his eyes, and Nathan smelled so good, familiar and comforting and his. He smoothed a shaking hand over Nathan's chest, over his pristine white shirt, cool and smooth beneath his palm, down Nathan's belly, past his belt. Nathan was hard too, and Peter cupped his erection through his pants, rubbing his thumb up and down his length.
"No." Nathan's grip on his wrist was as non-negotiable as a vise, and Peter let out a breath of disappointment. This time, though, Nathan surprised him. "Come on."
Nathan pushed Peter into the bathroom, stripping off his own clothes en route, and followed him into the shower. He turned the tap up as high as it would go, the water hot, coming down in hard sheets. Nathan worked the soap between his hands and ran them roughly all over Peter's body. His voice was like gravel, "I won't have you smelling like other men."
Need was already buzzing through Peter, and this felt like the aftershock from a blast roiling through him. "Nathan. Please!"
Nathan flipped off the tap with a sharp snap of his wrist, manhandled Peter out of the stall and down onto hands and knees on the bath mat. He yanked open the drawer of the vanity, hard enough that things went flying. Peter put his head down on his arms and spread his legs wider. Nathan muttered under his breath, "God," and hurried to roll on a condom.
Getting fucked was the same, burning, gotta-have- it, gotta-have-it as before, only not, because this was Nathan, and they hadn't in so long, and Peter needed him like air, like heat and shelter and all the other most basic necessities. It had nothing to do with any unfortunate misadventure with his powers.
"Pete, Pete, Pete," Nathan said in a breathless string as he fucked him.
When Peter came, he could feel the swirl and churn of Nathan's molecules as vividly as his own.
Afterwards, Nathan cleaned them both up, got them into bed, and Peter sagged in his arms, as weak as a rag doll. Nathan ran a hand up and down Peter's arm, pressed kisses to his hair. "So I guess that power you picked up--"
"Sex," Peter said tiredly.
"Hmm." It was non-committal, but Nathan's hand wandered down to Peter's hip, stroking in circles, and he pushed the covers back to look at Peter's body.
That was all it took for the motor to spring back to life, zero to desperate in an eye blink. Peter lunged messily at Nathan, kissing, groping, begging with his skin. Nathan pushed Peter back against the pillows, propped himself up on his elbow, kissed Peter and smoothed the hair back from his forehead. When he started to move away, Peter made a mad grab for his arm, and Nathan assured him, "Relax. I'm going to take care of you."
He leaned over to the nightstand, rummaged around in a drawer, and came away with a cherry colored anal plug. He flicked a button, and it started to buzz in his hand, and Peter's stomach did a trick like it was trying to defy gravity, the same fluttering sensation he got when he rode a roller coaster. Nathan flipped the cap off the lube and worked the plug inside Peter, and Peter's eyes went wide as the buzz of the toy collided with the larger, brighter buzz of compulsion. Nathan smiled in a supremely self-satisfied way, ran a day-glo orange vibrator slowly over Peter's chest. Just the feel of cool of plastic at first, and then Nathan turned it on, and Peter's hips came all the way off the bed.
Nathan kissed and played with him, with his nipples and the sensitive backs of his knees and the surprisingly arousing hollow of his collarbone. Peter babbled and begged and babbled some more.
"Go on. Touch yourself," Nathan breathed against his ear, in a voice made of temptation.
Not that Peter needed any tempting.
He took his cock in his hand, and Nathan watched, his gaze steady, unblinking even. It was good, so good, but the hard, shimmering force that had a hold of him was insatiable, and the crazy, teasing buzz on his skin and in his body and way down deep in his cells stirred up the aggressive animal part of him. He knocked the vibrator out of Nathan's hand and flipped him over, held him down. He thrust his hips, his cock sliding between Nathan's thighs, just to make it clear what he wanted.
Nathan looked up at him, calculating, and then finally, "Okay, Pete. Okay."
The getting ready part was a blur, slick stuff and heat and the feel of Nathan's pulse against his fingers. Nathan's back went rigid at the first touch, and Peter kissed his neck, crooned to him, "Relax. It's my turn to take care of you." By the time he was finished, Nathan was hard again.
He moved Nathan onto his side, and curved along his back, and took his time working his cock inside. So tight, and Peter hadn't doubted it anyway; no one had ever fucked his brother. Nathan flailed at first, like he was drowning and trying to save himself, although he kept saying, "Don't stop, don't stop." Then he let out a high, startled pleasure noise and immediately went stoic. If Peter hadn't known Nathan so well, he wouldn't have understood that this was Nathan's control freak way of dealing with getting off on getting fucked.
"I love you. Love the way you feel," Peter said, stringing kisses over Nathan's neck, his shoulders and back. Nathan reached for Peter's hand and held on, and from him, this was as good as an admission.
When Nathan came, he was silent, and Peter was loud, his voice almost hoarse by the time he was done.
Afterwards, Peter lay in a heap, his legs tangled with Nathan's, too tired to be alive. His eyes were fluttering closed when it occurred to him that the motor had finally gone quiet. His eyes flew open, and if he concentrated, he could still make out the pulse, distant and much quieter. He imagined a door slamming shut on it, containing the ability, and he breathed out in relief at the first, fragile sense of control.
Nathan shifted, turning to face Peter, and he brought his arms loosely up around Peter's shoulders. "You okay now?" Peter nodded, and Nathan kissed him, smiling a smile that was both rueful and affectionate. "Good."
They lay there together, indulging the occasional, idle caress, for who knew how long--not nearly long enough, as far as Peter was concerned. Then Nathan kissed Peter again, only this time with intent, like it was goodbye. He sat up, and his gaze shifted around the room, hunting for his clothes. In a moment or two, he'd have "Nathan Petrelli for Congress" plastered all over his skin once more. He'd offer up the same old excuses: Heidi and the exigencies of politics and what had Peter expected anyway, happily ever after? And then Peter would be alone again.
Peter grabbed him by the arm, fingers digging in, and kissed Nathan hard. He opened that imaginary door just a bit, letting out a little puff of shimmer. Nathan's mouth opened to his, and his hand came up to cup Peter's jaw, stroke his neck, thread through his hair.
"You wouldn't," Nathan said when Peter let him go at last, and Peter knew he really meant, "You won't."
Peter held his eye earnestly. "Not unless I have to."
Nathan smiled softly and touched Peter's face in that you're my kid brother kind of way of his. "What makes you think your power works on me?"
Peter stared, and Nathan turned away, whistling as he retrieved his clothes from the floor. There was no hurry as he got dressed, no hint of regret. He kissed Peter again before he left, thoroughly, Peter's face held in his hands. "I'll see you tomorrow. Try to stay out of trouble, huh?"
Even after the door closed behind him, Peter didn't stop staring.