Nathan/Peter songs meme
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Nathan/Peter
Rating: PG
Stole this writing meme from stellaluna_ which is seven songs I'm into right now. Unfortunately a casual writing meme turned out to be long pieces instead of short ones so I decided to divide it into parts. Feedback is much appreciated. I had a lot of fun writing this!
Broken - Secondhand Serenade
They stood on the rooftop. They never used to meet here. Maybe it was the bond, the unspoken bond between them that reminded them how they were held by such a thin line.
They were different. Yet they were so similar in many ways.
Peter was the dreamer. Nathan was the practical socialite. Peter was emotional, anger and sadness barely contained in the thin frame of his. Nathan hurt, he hurt, but he hid it behind his hard politician’s façade and fooled everyone.
But they were both broken. Broken in different ways.
And they needed each other. They needed each other’s strength.
Nathan ran a calloused thumb over Peter’s face, watching as the moonlight glistened off his dark bangs and shadowed the sharp features, softening it with its glow. Peter leaned into Nathan, trying to hide the mirror of tears in his eyes even as inhaled the subtle mixture of cologne and detergent on the pressed shirt.
”I’m sorry. It can’t be fixed.” Peter mumbled.
Nathan knew that Peter was talking about himself and not them but he wanted to believe it was about them because it was always about them and it always has been.
Peter was missing and now he had found him. He should be happy. He should bring him home now because that was where he belonged. At home. Safe. He should say he was happy to see him. To never leave him again. Instead he asked him why Peter had asked him to come here, on this rooftop with pigeons in the middle of the city.
“Claude’s teaching me how to… control the powers. I-I can’t stay around everyone like this if I can’t control them.” Peter was still in his arms, warm, soft, comforting. Nathan felt hateful at the sound of the name, even though he didn’t have the faintest idea who that was. He was taking his brother away. His brother that he needed. His brother that was his.
“Damn, I’m scared.” Peter whispered.
Nathan was scared too but he held on.
“Will you come back with me? Back home?” Nathan tried. When Nathan tried like this he knew he wouldn’t succeed. If he had known he would succeed he would have sent men, people, anything to get his brother back. But he knew that his brother wouldn’t come back to him. Not by will or force. Not now.
“I have to stay.” Peter looked up at Nathan, stubborn resilience glimmering in his eyes. Nathan bit his lip, trying to look anywhere but those eyes. “Nate, I… I need to go now.”
Nathan wanted to say don’t go don’t go because he loved him and he wanted him to stay and to be his. But he didn’t. He just nodded, unlocked their embrace and walked towards the stairwell.
He tried not to but he did turn. Turn back to see Peter. He swore he saw Peter glow in the moonlight.
Your Call - Secondhand Serenade
“Hi, this is Nathan Petrelli and I’m running for congress-”
The coin rolled out with a clack as Peter slammed down the receiver. Claire was still in the store and here he was in the middle of nowhere, standing in front of a pay phone calling Nathan’s campaign number. He could have called his cell, but he didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t pick up. He didn’t know how he would go on.
He just wanted to hear his voice.
Claire walked out of the store, holding two hot dogs in paper bags and handed one to Peter. They sat on the hood of the car and watched as the sky darkened as they ate.
“Wish dad was here with me right now.” Claire suddenly said. “He used to pick me up after cheerleading practice sometimes and we had hot dogs together on the bleachers.”
Peter swallowed his suddenly dry mouthful of hot dog. He remembered it, twenty years ago. He was six, Nathan was big and tall. Nathan brought him to the park and bought him a hot dog from a vendor. His first hot dog on a park bench.
“Did you make your important call?” Claire turned to him and asked.
“No.” Peter answered shortly, cramming that last bit of his hot dog into his mouth before reaching for his cell phone. No calls. He swore he felt it vibrate. He thought it was Nathan. He wanted it to be Nathan.
He stared at the bright screen for a few moments before snapping the phone shut. Claire had finished her hot dog and was already on the ground beside the car.
“Hey, thanks for getting the hot dogs.” He hopped down himself, retrieving his car keys from his pocket. “We’ve gotta be on our way.”
“Yeah.” Claire nodded with a sad smile.
Peter walked over and popped the door open. Maybe he would call Nathan tonight.
Savin’ Me - Nickelback
It was always like this.
He would be running up stairwells in a building. Sometimes there were lights, blue lights; sometimes there were not but he could still see, he didn’t know why. Someone was behind him, running faster and faster and somehow he knew the person behind him wanted him dead. All he could do was run. His legs were heavy, like he was running through water.
Suddenly he would be at a rooftop, his feet at the edge. Something tells him to jump. He does that. He falls. He doesn’t fly. He doesn’t know why.
Then he would wake up.
This time it was in the small office in his campaign headquarters, with people bustling outside and machines clanking and his tie loosened around his neck.
He stood up, adjusted his collar and walked over to pull up the blinds. He glanced at his watch, trying to shake off the dream. Two hours. He overslept by half an hour again.
He thought about paperwork, about the upcoming election and what he needed to get in order with his campaign manager. What was his schedule again? He should look it up. Get his secretary. Peter was the one who fell, not him. Why was he dreaming of falling? No, no. Work. He needed to get ahead.
The phone rang. He picked it up. Heidi. She asked when he would be home. He said soon even though he knew it wouldn’t be. He put down the phone, reaching for his paperwork.
He made a few more calls, signed some documents before someone knocked on the door. It was Peter.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I don’t have the time, Peter. I need to get this done before-” Nathan was tired, exhausted. He didn’t know what he was thinking anymore.
Peter walked over, closed the door.
“I need to talk to you.” He said more shortly, pressingly, as he laid his hands on Nathan’s desk. Nathan put away the paperwork, stood up.
“You didn’t turn up. Dinner, movie, last night, remember?” Peter continued, ignoring the fact that Nathan was walking over around the desk to him. “Your cell was off. Are you trying to avoid me?”
“I- You know I turn my cell off when I work I-” Nathan interjected, but Peter cut him off with a gentle hand to his chin.
“You’re working yourself to death.” Peter said softly, looking up at his brother.
“It’s the campaign. Once the campaign is over I-”
“You’ll have time for me?”
“I always have time for you.” It sounded false even to himself, but he meant it. He meant every single word of it.
“Not recently.” Peter sounded defeated. The hand fell from his chin and he breathed.
Nathan was falling all along and he didn’t know it. Falling headlong into doing things he never wanted to do or making himself do something because it was good, it would protect them, make them happy. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be doing all these things that he didn’t want to do to achieve something he didn’t want to be.
Maybe he was the one who needed saving all along.
“You’re right.” Nathan put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter turned. “You’re right. I… need to be saved, from this.”
If Peter didn’t understand it, he didn’t say so.
“You free now?” Nathan asked his younger brother, arm still around his shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go out. Grab a pizza.”
“You wanted to work.”
“I was wrong. I was wrong all along.”
Up Against the Wall - Boys Like Girls
Heat.
Peter could feel it. Pressing against him, radiating from him. Sparks of pleasure igniting into flame. There was a damp wall of heat in front of him and it was Nathan.
He breathed - tried to breathe - and he smelled alcohol. Nathan leaned over, breath skirting over his lips teasingly. The door closed behind them. Peter could feel the rough surface of the wall behind him, cold, pimpled, against his skin.
The lights were off. He had only come down to let Nathan in because was leaning on his doorbell.
Hands. Hand pushing him against the wall, hands reaching to cup his cheek almost violently and hands pushing him into the clumsy kiss - the urgent exploration tinged with the pungent sting of alcohol on his tongue.
“You-you’re drunk.” Peter tried telling himself as much as he was trying to tell Nathan, licking his lips and tasting Nathan and expensive whiskey. This was wrong. This was wrong. And then hands were unbuttoning his shirt, tongue tasting the sliver of neck exposed, all heat and lust and he stopped thinking.
“Peter…” Nathan drawled into the nape of his neck as roaming, skilful hands dipped beneath his waistband and suddenly it was all moaning and remembering how to breathe. Peter was held against the wall only by Nathan’s shoulders, chest pressing hard into him as they gasped, hips arching and thrusting.
And then it was over.
“Peter, peter…” Nathan repeated again like a mantra. Peter opened his eyes that he didn’t know were closed and suddenly it came flooding back to him, like the feeling of the cold air and the damp body against him. He pushed himself away from Nathan, shivering, trying to forget about the damp spot on his groin.
“You can’t stay here tonight. Not tonight.” Peter forced himself to say.
“No, no. Heidi shouldn’t know. I’m here. Here.”
Peter held Nathan by the shoulders, scared and trying his best to control the thoughts that were pooling in his mind. He led him to the couch in his living room, merely a few steps away. “You have to take the couch then.”
“The couch. Yeah. Okay.”
Nathan didn’t resist. He collapsed onto the couch. When Peter came back with a blanket he was already fast asleep. Peter didn’t dare linger any longer. He just walked back to his room and slept.
Nathan was distant after this. They always say nothing’s changed but in reality everything has.
Peter wondered what he would do if he could replay it all over again, and it pained him to think that he know he would do exactly the same thing.
Signal Fire - Snow Patrol
He was wrong all along. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this at all.
He was tired of it. Tired of listening to other people who thought they all knew better. Tired of following orders and instructions and saying things that sounded foreign and venomous on his tongue. Tired of lying. Tired of living this façade.
It dawned upon him suddenly, like how a light bulb lights up after being screwed into the fixture, and so here he was, on the ground in front of Kirby plaza, wondering whether he did the right thing. Wondering whether sorry was enough. Wondering whether it was too late.
Peter was literally burning, radiating when he reached him, but there was this fire in his eyes that burned when he saw Nathan and that was all he needed. All he needed to know that he was doing the right thing because in the end, all he needed was Peter.
What Hurts the Most - Rascal Flatts
He tries not to think about it everyday. He believes that he is still alive. Alive. And that he would come back to him someday.
He is growing distant. They may not have noticed it from the confident smile he always wore, the hard façade that never faltered. Heidi notices. The children notice but chose not to understand.
He is still alive. Still talking, walking among his family and he feels guilty for that. For being alive when he feels he cannot love anymore.
He isn’t the same since his brother’s disappearance. He always looks up into the sky as if hoping his brother would reappear just like the sun slides out from the shroud of clouds. He can fly, he should be free. Yet he feels broken, caged.
He thinks about him when he can’t help it. He thinks about him when he isn’t thinking about him. He thinks about the time when they were just kids and he helped him learn to ride a bike. He thinks about the time when he was in the army and his little brother wrote to him with his scrawled handwriting. He thinks about the time he flew and caught him.
He also thinks about the time that they were standing together, sweating after a one-on-one basketball game in a concrete court in a nearby park. They were breathing, sweating. He leaned down to tie his shoe and when he stood up he was inches from his brother. He could feel his breath skirting across his lips, almost hear the thrumming of his racing pulse.
He wanted to lean forward, capture those lips in a soft kiss, but all he did was hover, scared. He wanted to believe Peter waited, waited for him to lean forward and take the lead because he always did. Maybe in those suspended seconds Peter did wait, wait for him.
But he didn’t move, so Peter turned and walked down the basketball court, dribbling the ball.
“Good game, huh?” Peter mumbled.
“Good game,” was the only thing Nathan could think to reply.
What if he had moved that few inches forward, leaned into him, gravitate into him like he was so used to doing? What if he had crossed the fragile, gossamer line that held them together yet apart?
Now he would never know.
On Fire - Switchfoot
He was on fire when he touched him, threads of flame singing his nerves and engulfing him. He thought maybe that was what burning felt like. It wasn’t. It was painful- the heat eating into him, devouring him whole. He was going to die, going to blow up the city. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This wasn’t it. He was supposed to save the world, not destroy it.
He was scared, he was in pain and he was burning until Nathan came. Nathan came for him.
And somehow when he was in his arms his touch didn’t burn anymore.
Characters: Nathan/Peter
Rating: PG
Stole this writing meme from stellaluna_ which is seven songs I'm into right now. Unfortunately a casual writing meme turned out to be long pieces instead of short ones so I decided to divide it into parts. Feedback is much appreciated. I had a lot of fun writing this!
Broken - Secondhand Serenade
They stood on the rooftop. They never used to meet here. Maybe it was the bond, the unspoken bond between them that reminded them how they were held by such a thin line.
They were different. Yet they were so similar in many ways.
Peter was the dreamer. Nathan was the practical socialite. Peter was emotional, anger and sadness barely contained in the thin frame of his. Nathan hurt, he hurt, but he hid it behind his hard politician’s façade and fooled everyone.
But they were both broken. Broken in different ways.
And they needed each other. They needed each other’s strength.
Nathan ran a calloused thumb over Peter’s face, watching as the moonlight glistened off his dark bangs and shadowed the sharp features, softening it with its glow. Peter leaned into Nathan, trying to hide the mirror of tears in his eyes even as inhaled the subtle mixture of cologne and detergent on the pressed shirt.
”I’m sorry. It can’t be fixed.” Peter mumbled.
Nathan knew that Peter was talking about himself and not them but he wanted to believe it was about them because it was always about them and it always has been.
Peter was missing and now he had found him. He should be happy. He should bring him home now because that was where he belonged. At home. Safe. He should say he was happy to see him. To never leave him again. Instead he asked him why Peter had asked him to come here, on this rooftop with pigeons in the middle of the city.
“Claude’s teaching me how to… control the powers. I-I can’t stay around everyone like this if I can’t control them.” Peter was still in his arms, warm, soft, comforting. Nathan felt hateful at the sound of the name, even though he didn’t have the faintest idea who that was. He was taking his brother away. His brother that he needed. His brother that was his.
“Damn, I’m scared.” Peter whispered.
Nathan was scared too but he held on.
“Will you come back with me? Back home?” Nathan tried. When Nathan tried like this he knew he wouldn’t succeed. If he had known he would succeed he would have sent men, people, anything to get his brother back. But he knew that his brother wouldn’t come back to him. Not by will or force. Not now.
“I have to stay.” Peter looked up at Nathan, stubborn resilience glimmering in his eyes. Nathan bit his lip, trying to look anywhere but those eyes. “Nate, I… I need to go now.”
Nathan wanted to say don’t go don’t go because he loved him and he wanted him to stay and to be his. But he didn’t. He just nodded, unlocked their embrace and walked towards the stairwell.
He tried not to but he did turn. Turn back to see Peter. He swore he saw Peter glow in the moonlight.
Your Call - Secondhand Serenade
“Hi, this is Nathan Petrelli and I’m running for congress-”
The coin rolled out with a clack as Peter slammed down the receiver. Claire was still in the store and here he was in the middle of nowhere, standing in front of a pay phone calling Nathan’s campaign number. He could have called his cell, but he didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t pick up. He didn’t know how he would go on.
He just wanted to hear his voice.
Claire walked out of the store, holding two hot dogs in paper bags and handed one to Peter. They sat on the hood of the car and watched as the sky darkened as they ate.
“Wish dad was here with me right now.” Claire suddenly said. “He used to pick me up after cheerleading practice sometimes and we had hot dogs together on the bleachers.”
Peter swallowed his suddenly dry mouthful of hot dog. He remembered it, twenty years ago. He was six, Nathan was big and tall. Nathan brought him to the park and bought him a hot dog from a vendor. His first hot dog on a park bench.
“Did you make your important call?” Claire turned to him and asked.
“No.” Peter answered shortly, cramming that last bit of his hot dog into his mouth before reaching for his cell phone. No calls. He swore he felt it vibrate. He thought it was Nathan. He wanted it to be Nathan.
He stared at the bright screen for a few moments before snapping the phone shut. Claire had finished her hot dog and was already on the ground beside the car.
“Hey, thanks for getting the hot dogs.” He hopped down himself, retrieving his car keys from his pocket. “We’ve gotta be on our way.”
“Yeah.” Claire nodded with a sad smile.
Peter walked over and popped the door open. Maybe he would call Nathan tonight.
Savin’ Me - Nickelback
It was always like this.
He would be running up stairwells in a building. Sometimes there were lights, blue lights; sometimes there were not but he could still see, he didn’t know why. Someone was behind him, running faster and faster and somehow he knew the person behind him wanted him dead. All he could do was run. His legs were heavy, like he was running through water.
Suddenly he would be at a rooftop, his feet at the edge. Something tells him to jump. He does that. He falls. He doesn’t fly. He doesn’t know why.
Then he would wake up.
This time it was in the small office in his campaign headquarters, with people bustling outside and machines clanking and his tie loosened around his neck.
He stood up, adjusted his collar and walked over to pull up the blinds. He glanced at his watch, trying to shake off the dream. Two hours. He overslept by half an hour again.
He thought about paperwork, about the upcoming election and what he needed to get in order with his campaign manager. What was his schedule again? He should look it up. Get his secretary. Peter was the one who fell, not him. Why was he dreaming of falling? No, no. Work. He needed to get ahead.
The phone rang. He picked it up. Heidi. She asked when he would be home. He said soon even though he knew it wouldn’t be. He put down the phone, reaching for his paperwork.
He made a few more calls, signed some documents before someone knocked on the door. It was Peter.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I don’t have the time, Peter. I need to get this done before-” Nathan was tired, exhausted. He didn’t know what he was thinking anymore.
Peter walked over, closed the door.
“I need to talk to you.” He said more shortly, pressingly, as he laid his hands on Nathan’s desk. Nathan put away the paperwork, stood up.
“You didn’t turn up. Dinner, movie, last night, remember?” Peter continued, ignoring the fact that Nathan was walking over around the desk to him. “Your cell was off. Are you trying to avoid me?”
“I- You know I turn my cell off when I work I-” Nathan interjected, but Peter cut him off with a gentle hand to his chin.
“You’re working yourself to death.” Peter said softly, looking up at his brother.
“It’s the campaign. Once the campaign is over I-”
“You’ll have time for me?”
“I always have time for you.” It sounded false even to himself, but he meant it. He meant every single word of it.
“Not recently.” Peter sounded defeated. The hand fell from his chin and he breathed.
Nathan was falling all along and he didn’t know it. Falling headlong into doing things he never wanted to do or making himself do something because it was good, it would protect them, make them happy. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be doing all these things that he didn’t want to do to achieve something he didn’t want to be.
Maybe he was the one who needed saving all along.
“You’re right.” Nathan put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter turned. “You’re right. I… need to be saved, from this.”
If Peter didn’t understand it, he didn’t say so.
“You free now?” Nathan asked his younger brother, arm still around his shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go out. Grab a pizza.”
“You wanted to work.”
“I was wrong. I was wrong all along.”
Up Against the Wall - Boys Like Girls
Heat.
Peter could feel it. Pressing against him, radiating from him. Sparks of pleasure igniting into flame. There was a damp wall of heat in front of him and it was Nathan.
He breathed - tried to breathe - and he smelled alcohol. Nathan leaned over, breath skirting over his lips teasingly. The door closed behind them. Peter could feel the rough surface of the wall behind him, cold, pimpled, against his skin.
The lights were off. He had only come down to let Nathan in because was leaning on his doorbell.
Hands. Hand pushing him against the wall, hands reaching to cup his cheek almost violently and hands pushing him into the clumsy kiss - the urgent exploration tinged with the pungent sting of alcohol on his tongue.
“You-you’re drunk.” Peter tried telling himself as much as he was trying to tell Nathan, licking his lips and tasting Nathan and expensive whiskey. This was wrong. This was wrong. And then hands were unbuttoning his shirt, tongue tasting the sliver of neck exposed, all heat and lust and he stopped thinking.
“Peter…” Nathan drawled into the nape of his neck as roaming, skilful hands dipped beneath his waistband and suddenly it was all moaning and remembering how to breathe. Peter was held against the wall only by Nathan’s shoulders, chest pressing hard into him as they gasped, hips arching and thrusting.
And then it was over.
“Peter, peter…” Nathan repeated again like a mantra. Peter opened his eyes that he didn’t know were closed and suddenly it came flooding back to him, like the feeling of the cold air and the damp body against him. He pushed himself away from Nathan, shivering, trying to forget about the damp spot on his groin.
“You can’t stay here tonight. Not tonight.” Peter forced himself to say.
“No, no. Heidi shouldn’t know. I’m here. Here.”
Peter held Nathan by the shoulders, scared and trying his best to control the thoughts that were pooling in his mind. He led him to the couch in his living room, merely a few steps away. “You have to take the couch then.”
“The couch. Yeah. Okay.”
Nathan didn’t resist. He collapsed onto the couch. When Peter came back with a blanket he was already fast asleep. Peter didn’t dare linger any longer. He just walked back to his room and slept.
Nathan was distant after this. They always say nothing’s changed but in reality everything has.
Peter wondered what he would do if he could replay it all over again, and it pained him to think that he know he would do exactly the same thing.
Signal Fire - Snow Patrol
He was wrong all along. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this at all.
He was tired of it. Tired of listening to other people who thought they all knew better. Tired of following orders and instructions and saying things that sounded foreign and venomous on his tongue. Tired of lying. Tired of living this façade.
It dawned upon him suddenly, like how a light bulb lights up after being screwed into the fixture, and so here he was, on the ground in front of Kirby plaza, wondering whether he did the right thing. Wondering whether sorry was enough. Wondering whether it was too late.
Peter was literally burning, radiating when he reached him, but there was this fire in his eyes that burned when he saw Nathan and that was all he needed. All he needed to know that he was doing the right thing because in the end, all he needed was Peter.
What Hurts the Most - Rascal Flatts
He tries not to think about it everyday. He believes that he is still alive. Alive. And that he would come back to him someday.
He is growing distant. They may not have noticed it from the confident smile he always wore, the hard façade that never faltered. Heidi notices. The children notice but chose not to understand.
He is still alive. Still talking, walking among his family and he feels guilty for that. For being alive when he feels he cannot love anymore.
He isn’t the same since his brother’s disappearance. He always looks up into the sky as if hoping his brother would reappear just like the sun slides out from the shroud of clouds. He can fly, he should be free. Yet he feels broken, caged.
He thinks about him when he can’t help it. He thinks about him when he isn’t thinking about him. He thinks about the time when they were just kids and he helped him learn to ride a bike. He thinks about the time when he was in the army and his little brother wrote to him with his scrawled handwriting. He thinks about the time he flew and caught him.
He also thinks about the time that they were standing together, sweating after a one-on-one basketball game in a concrete court in a nearby park. They were breathing, sweating. He leaned down to tie his shoe and when he stood up he was inches from his brother. He could feel his breath skirting across his lips, almost hear the thrumming of his racing pulse.
He wanted to lean forward, capture those lips in a soft kiss, but all he did was hover, scared. He wanted to believe Peter waited, waited for him to lean forward and take the lead because he always did. Maybe in those suspended seconds Peter did wait, wait for him.
But he didn’t move, so Peter turned and walked down the basketball court, dribbling the ball.
“Good game, huh?” Peter mumbled.
“Good game,” was the only thing Nathan could think to reply.
What if he had moved that few inches forward, leaned into him, gravitate into him like he was so used to doing? What if he had crossed the fragile, gossamer line that held them together yet apart?
Now he would never know.
On Fire - Switchfoot
He was on fire when he touched him, threads of flame singing his nerves and engulfing him. He thought maybe that was what burning felt like. It wasn’t. It was painful- the heat eating into him, devouring him whole. He was going to die, going to blow up the city. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This wasn’t it. He was supposed to save the world, not destroy it.
He was scared, he was in pain and he was burning until Nathan came. Nathan came for him.
And somehow when he was in his arms his touch didn’t burn anymore.