[fic] Happy Birthday (Peter/Nathan, PG)
Title: Happy Birthday
Author: tiptoe39
Rating: PG
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Summary: Some birthday fluff for brandinsbabe on the occasion of her birthday. Unbeta'd. (I'm currently seeking a permanent beta; please PM if interested!)
Happy Birthday
On the morning of Peter's 20th birthday, Nathan kissed him.
It wasn't meant to happen. Nathan was simply sitting with him at breakfast, having bagels and coffee along with conversation. They'd been laughing over the hysterical birthday cards Nathan had bought when a crumb from Peter's bagel had stuck fast to his lip. Nathan leaned over to brush it away, and Peter balked. "It's my birthday," he said, "and if I want to wear crumbs I damn well will. You want it gone, you'll have to lick it off." He pouted pompously, mirth in his eyes.
So Nathan played along. His tongue darted out, pink and flat, and he licked quick across the corner of Peter's mouth.
Instantly Peter reddened. "Did you get it?"
Nathan wasn't looking at his lips now. "Not sure."
"Try again," Peter breathed.
This time the lick was slow and deliberate, and it didn't stop in the corner. Peter parted his lips quick and trapped Nathan's tongue, sucking him in to a deep, powerful kiss that went on for a full minute. Somewhere along the way, between Nathan's mouth opening over Peter's and their tongues starting to slide wet and tart against each other, their hands met too, and when the kiss was long over, that's where the contact between them remained. Serious blinks and unsmiling faces, but their fingers stayed laced together.
"Uh, happy birthday," Nathan said.
Peter smiled weakly. "Thanks, I think."
Nathan got up and hurriedly left the room. He was thundering up the stairs before Peter could do much more than stand himself, reach out a hand, and say his name.
Mom had decided to take the family out for a lunch to celebrate. The day was the green kind, the kind that makes you shield your eyes from the sun to better see the shadow patterns on the ground. Peter sat with one eye closed and traced the shape of the trees, his finger in mid-air curling around the silhouette of the leaves. Nathan was looking at him from across the table but not saying a word.
"Peter, pay attention," his mother snapped. "We're here in your honor and you're off in your own little world."
"Leave off him, Ma," Nathan said. "It's his birthday. Let him be a space cadet if he wants."
Peter's eyes rolled in Nathan's direction. A shock of brown glared back at him. He looked away.
His mother noticed everything, as mothers often do. "What's going on between you two?"
"Nothing," they grumbled in unison, then simultaneously glared at each other, then looked away again.
"Right." The crisp clip of sound when she closed her teeth over her tongue meant she didn't believe it.
"Leave them be, Angela," Arthur's voice was a round, gentle growl. "They're just being the boys they are."
Nathan sputtered. "I'm sorry, Dad, did you just say something about me being a boy?"
"You'll always be my little boy," said Angela, firmly quelling the challenge. "Now, tell me what's going on with your brother."
"He probably gave him some pornography as a birthday gift, and Peter was offended," Arthur guessed. This time, it was Peter who sputtered. Loudly enough that nobody at the table noticed Nathan's sudden, guilty blush.
On the way back, Nathan and Peter sat next to each other in the back seat of the car. Nathan never looked at him. In the stale air, choking with the smell of leather, Peter nudged his knee against Nathan's. Nathan shifted to the other side, taking in a quick, sharp breath as though trying to contract his whole body until he disappeared altogether. Peter looked at him forlornly.
"So, Peter," Angela said from the front seat, her hawk's eyes in the rear view mirror taking in the whole scene. "What do you want for your birthday? Twenty is an important age. My little boy's grown up."
Peter mumbled and fidgeted in his seat like he was six.
Angela's eyes darkened. "Come on now, out with it. What's going on with you, Peter?"
"Just leave me alone, Ma," Peter said, looking determinedly out the window, and Angela gasped.
"You sound almost like your brother," she muttered, discontented. Peter's eyes darted toward Nathan, trying to catch his eye, but failed. After that he continued to look down between his knees, as though there might be some escape hatch there through which he might free himself from the torture of this ride home. Angela left him alone to mope.
And mope he did, all the way home and up the stairs and into his room, where he buried his head in a pillow and tried to shut out the world. For a long while, he lay there and tried to forget the convulsing of Nathan's body at his touch; the outraged, frightened eyes; and the warm seed of hope that was now shivering, on the edge of death, in his heart.
The knock on his door made him jump.
Here comes the final cut, Peter thought dolefully. He rose slowly from his bed, and he didn't meet Nathan's eyes as he opened the door to allow him into the room, then closed it firmly.
"We should talk," Nathan said.
Peter grumbled and looked away.
"I don't want you to think anything weird about what happened," Nathan said. His voice was measured, even. Rehearsed. Peter could very nearly see him standing in front of the mirror, practicing saying these words. "It was just one of those things, OK?"
"OK," said Peter flatly.
Nathan nodded. "Good," he said. "I'm glad we--"
"No, not OK," Peter corrected himself. His fists balled at his sides, and he lifted dark eyes to look at his brother. "It's not OK, Nathan."
A sigh deflated Nathan's frame. "Look," he said, "I'm sorry. I screwed up. But there's no reason to ruin your whole birthday because of one mistake. Can we just let it go? Hey," he said, with a false, warm smile. "I'll make it up to you. What do you really want for your birthday? I'm talking something Ma can't buy for you. Whatever you want, it's yours."
Peter bit his lip hard and glared at Nathan with all the ferocity he could muster.
"Come on, Pete," Nathan said, this time in his signature soothing voice. It was a voice Peter had depended on over the years to keep him calm, even. Rational. Right now, he thought it was the most revolting sound on earth. "It's your birthday. You should celebrate."
The tears prickling in his eyes would brook no more painful words. Peter brushed them away with an arm hastily drawn against his face. "You want to know what I want for my birthday?" he said. His gaze held steady despite the tears. "I want it not to have been a mistake. I want you to do it again."
Nathan's breath stopped. Peter stepped closer to him. "And again," he went on, "and again. I want you to love me. The way I love you." And now his eyes flickered downward. "Even though I'm probably making you hate me." He finished there, eyes averted, flinching as though expecting a blow.
Nathan breathed shallowly for several seconds, quick rasps of inhales and exhales, no breath deep enough to fit a word. When he managed to take in a longer breath, what came out of his mouth then was, "I could never hate you. You're my brother."
A fresh flood of tears welled up in Peter's downturned eyes. "Yeah," he said bitterly. "I thought you'd say that."
"My brother," Nathan said, "and much more."
He pulled Peter close.
Tears and breath flew away at the contact. Nathan leaned in, his forehead resting against Peter's, his eyes very nearly too close to maintain eye contact. He cradled the younger man's face. "Years," he said, "years, Pete. Years I've hated myself, thought I was a pervert, wrong. For wanting you. My own brother. And you were a teenager."
"Yeah, well..." The dawn of a smile was beginning to brighten Peter's face. He put his hand on Nathan's forearm, traced the bulge of a muscle. "I'm not a teenager anymore. As of today."
"I guess you're not," Nathan said, his eyes on Peter's mouth, the quirky way it twisted with amusement. He drew a thumb against Peter's cheek. "You know what this will mean for us. We could--"
"Nathan." Peter craned his neck to let his lips rest just a hair's breadth from Nathan's. "Nathan, please."
That little space was swallowed in the kiss that Nathan gave him then, long and warm and wet with possibility. Peter whimpered and settled into his arms, his hands twining behind Nathan's neck, tangling in his hair. Nathan smelled strong and safe, and like every fantasy he'd ever had. When his tongue darted out to lick at the tip of Peter's, bolts of heat flew through Peter, and tingles persisted on his tongue long after they found the strength to break apart.
"Happy birthday again?" Nathan sounded unsure.
But Peter was sure as they come. "Finally," he breathed. "It finally is."
*end*
Author: tiptoe39
Rating: PG
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Summary: Some birthday fluff for brandinsbabe on the occasion of her birthday. Unbeta'd. (I'm currently seeking a permanent beta; please PM if interested!)
Happy Birthday
On the morning of Peter's 20th birthday, Nathan kissed him.
It wasn't meant to happen. Nathan was simply sitting with him at breakfast, having bagels and coffee along with conversation. They'd been laughing over the hysterical birthday cards Nathan had bought when a crumb from Peter's bagel had stuck fast to his lip. Nathan leaned over to brush it away, and Peter balked. "It's my birthday," he said, "and if I want to wear crumbs I damn well will. You want it gone, you'll have to lick it off." He pouted pompously, mirth in his eyes.
So Nathan played along. His tongue darted out, pink and flat, and he licked quick across the corner of Peter's mouth.
Instantly Peter reddened. "Did you get it?"
Nathan wasn't looking at his lips now. "Not sure."
"Try again," Peter breathed.
This time the lick was slow and deliberate, and it didn't stop in the corner. Peter parted his lips quick and trapped Nathan's tongue, sucking him in to a deep, powerful kiss that went on for a full minute. Somewhere along the way, between Nathan's mouth opening over Peter's and their tongues starting to slide wet and tart against each other, their hands met too, and when the kiss was long over, that's where the contact between them remained. Serious blinks and unsmiling faces, but their fingers stayed laced together.
"Uh, happy birthday," Nathan said.
Peter smiled weakly. "Thanks, I think."
Nathan got up and hurriedly left the room. He was thundering up the stairs before Peter could do much more than stand himself, reach out a hand, and say his name.
Mom had decided to take the family out for a lunch to celebrate. The day was the green kind, the kind that makes you shield your eyes from the sun to better see the shadow patterns on the ground. Peter sat with one eye closed and traced the shape of the trees, his finger in mid-air curling around the silhouette of the leaves. Nathan was looking at him from across the table but not saying a word.
"Peter, pay attention," his mother snapped. "We're here in your honor and you're off in your own little world."
"Leave off him, Ma," Nathan said. "It's his birthday. Let him be a space cadet if he wants."
Peter's eyes rolled in Nathan's direction. A shock of brown glared back at him. He looked away.
His mother noticed everything, as mothers often do. "What's going on between you two?"
"Nothing," they grumbled in unison, then simultaneously glared at each other, then looked away again.
"Right." The crisp clip of sound when she closed her teeth over her tongue meant she didn't believe it.
"Leave them be, Angela," Arthur's voice was a round, gentle growl. "They're just being the boys they are."
Nathan sputtered. "I'm sorry, Dad, did you just say something about me being a boy?"
"You'll always be my little boy," said Angela, firmly quelling the challenge. "Now, tell me what's going on with your brother."
"He probably gave him some pornography as a birthday gift, and Peter was offended," Arthur guessed. This time, it was Peter who sputtered. Loudly enough that nobody at the table noticed Nathan's sudden, guilty blush.
On the way back, Nathan and Peter sat next to each other in the back seat of the car. Nathan never looked at him. In the stale air, choking with the smell of leather, Peter nudged his knee against Nathan's. Nathan shifted to the other side, taking in a quick, sharp breath as though trying to contract his whole body until he disappeared altogether. Peter looked at him forlornly.
"So, Peter," Angela said from the front seat, her hawk's eyes in the rear view mirror taking in the whole scene. "What do you want for your birthday? Twenty is an important age. My little boy's grown up."
Peter mumbled and fidgeted in his seat like he was six.
Angela's eyes darkened. "Come on now, out with it. What's going on with you, Peter?"
"Just leave me alone, Ma," Peter said, looking determinedly out the window, and Angela gasped.
"You sound almost like your brother," she muttered, discontented. Peter's eyes darted toward Nathan, trying to catch his eye, but failed. After that he continued to look down between his knees, as though there might be some escape hatch there through which he might free himself from the torture of this ride home. Angela left him alone to mope.
And mope he did, all the way home and up the stairs and into his room, where he buried his head in a pillow and tried to shut out the world. For a long while, he lay there and tried to forget the convulsing of Nathan's body at his touch; the outraged, frightened eyes; and the warm seed of hope that was now shivering, on the edge of death, in his heart.
The knock on his door made him jump.
Here comes the final cut, Peter thought dolefully. He rose slowly from his bed, and he didn't meet Nathan's eyes as he opened the door to allow him into the room, then closed it firmly.
"We should talk," Nathan said.
Peter grumbled and looked away.
"I don't want you to think anything weird about what happened," Nathan said. His voice was measured, even. Rehearsed. Peter could very nearly see him standing in front of the mirror, practicing saying these words. "It was just one of those things, OK?"
"OK," said Peter flatly.
Nathan nodded. "Good," he said. "I'm glad we--"
"No, not OK," Peter corrected himself. His fists balled at his sides, and he lifted dark eyes to look at his brother. "It's not OK, Nathan."
A sigh deflated Nathan's frame. "Look," he said, "I'm sorry. I screwed up. But there's no reason to ruin your whole birthday because of one mistake. Can we just let it go? Hey," he said, with a false, warm smile. "I'll make it up to you. What do you really want for your birthday? I'm talking something Ma can't buy for you. Whatever you want, it's yours."
Peter bit his lip hard and glared at Nathan with all the ferocity he could muster.
"Come on, Pete," Nathan said, this time in his signature soothing voice. It was a voice Peter had depended on over the years to keep him calm, even. Rational. Right now, he thought it was the most revolting sound on earth. "It's your birthday. You should celebrate."
The tears prickling in his eyes would brook no more painful words. Peter brushed them away with an arm hastily drawn against his face. "You want to know what I want for my birthday?" he said. His gaze held steady despite the tears. "I want it not to have been a mistake. I want you to do it again."
Nathan's breath stopped. Peter stepped closer to him. "And again," he went on, "and again. I want you to love me. The way I love you." And now his eyes flickered downward. "Even though I'm probably making you hate me." He finished there, eyes averted, flinching as though expecting a blow.
Nathan breathed shallowly for several seconds, quick rasps of inhales and exhales, no breath deep enough to fit a word. When he managed to take in a longer breath, what came out of his mouth then was, "I could never hate you. You're my brother."
A fresh flood of tears welled up in Peter's downturned eyes. "Yeah," he said bitterly. "I thought you'd say that."
"My brother," Nathan said, "and much more."
He pulled Peter close.
Tears and breath flew away at the contact. Nathan leaned in, his forehead resting against Peter's, his eyes very nearly too close to maintain eye contact. He cradled the younger man's face. "Years," he said, "years, Pete. Years I've hated myself, thought I was a pervert, wrong. For wanting you. My own brother. And you were a teenager."
"Yeah, well..." The dawn of a smile was beginning to brighten Peter's face. He put his hand on Nathan's forearm, traced the bulge of a muscle. "I'm not a teenager anymore. As of today."
"I guess you're not," Nathan said, his eyes on Peter's mouth, the quirky way it twisted with amusement. He drew a thumb against Peter's cheek. "You know what this will mean for us. We could--"
"Nathan." Peter craned his neck to let his lips rest just a hair's breadth from Nathan's. "Nathan, please."
That little space was swallowed in the kiss that Nathan gave him then, long and warm and wet with possibility. Peter whimpered and settled into his arms, his hands twining behind Nathan's neck, tangling in his hair. Nathan smelled strong and safe, and like every fantasy he'd ever had. When his tongue darted out to lick at the tip of Peter's, bolts of heat flew through Peter, and tingles persisted on his tongue long after they found the strength to break apart.
"Happy birthday again?" Nathan sounded unsure.
But Peter was sure as they come. "Finally," he breathed. "It finally is."
*end*