Fic: Love (Peter/Nathan, NC-17)
Author: Trekker (47_trek_47)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Warnings: Light h/c
Spoilers: Through "How To Stop An Exploding Man"
Notes: Thanks to my betas, fabrisse and wayoffbase. Any remaining errors or issues are my own!
Title: Love
Summary: What happens after.
***
"Nathan, let go. Let go."
"Not yet." They weren't high enough yet. Peter was a hot stove against his skin, like holding a radiator. Nathan could feel his skin blistering, even as the wind rushed icy cold around them both.
"Nathan!" Peter cried, and Nathan felt the pulse of heat from him. "Nathan, I can't--"
"Ten seconds, Peter. Ten more seconds," he said, his face turned up even though the wind burned his eyes and chased tears down his cheeks. "Count them for me, one thousand one, one thousand two--"
"One thousand three," Peter gasped, "one thousand four--argh!" Something crackled and Nathan gasped at the pain that lanced through his back.
"Come on, Peter. You can do this, you can do this," Nathan shouted.
"Thousand five, thousand six, thousand seven--"
And that was it. They were high enough. Nathan could feel another burn, this one in his lungs, from lack of air.
"Pete, I'm letting go," he said. He looked down and Peter looked up, though his eyes were full of flame and blind. "Love you," Nathan said, and then he did it. He let go and flipped onto his back, lunging away at god-knows-what speed, fast enough that he felt the air shatter around him, and then--oh god--there was the flash. He just flew, all out, fast as he could--and it was fast, unbelievably fast--and then stopped, suddenly, on an instinct or a hunch or a sign from God, who knew?
Something hit him, knocked him over and over, and then he regained his bearings and realized it was the shockwave. Then, without another pause, he turned and dived, heading straight for the heart of the glowing city he left behind. Something had to be guiding him, that much he knew, because he was there at just the right place and the right time to catch Peter a few hundred feet above the tallest building.
He cradled his brother's unconscious, naked, blessedly cool body in his arms and turned away from the city lights.
***
An hour or so later, over Delaware, perhaps, he put Peter down on a rooftop and landed in the street in front of a motel. He had no reason to pick this one in particular, it had just been the one he'd seen when his arms had gotten tired and his lungs too fiery. In the parking lot, he took off his burnt and ruined sport coat and tossed it in a trash can. He rolled up his sleeves to hide the burn holes and kept his arms turned into his chest to hide the blisters. His burned face he couldn't do much about, but this place looked like the kind that didn't ask many questions.
Still, the desk clerk did a double take when she looked up from her paperback romance. "Whoa. You all right, buddy?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Nathan said, bluntly, and the statement had the added benefit of being very, very true. "You got a room?"
"Yeah, we do. You want to pay by the hour or by the night?"
Wonderful, Nathan thought, darkly. But it would be a bed, and it would be discreet. "By the night, please. Just one for now."
"Sure thing," she said, then turned to get a key from the tack board behind her.
Nathan hadn't stayed in a hotel that used actual keys in at least a decade. He took it, tried to hide his dubiousness, and paid, then headed back out into the cold night.
Peter was still unconscious and didn't come to during the struggle to get him down to the motel and then into the room and onto the double bed that sat like an island on the sea of worn, stained carpet. He just lay there where Nathan had placed him, still and limp as a rag doll. The only sign he was alive was the slow expansion and contraction of his chest. Nathan stood over the bed and stared down at him for some time, then turned and went to the bathroom at the back of the room.
A large, dark insect skittered behind the trash can as he flipped on the light, revealing old, mildewed tile and a bathtub with a leaky faucet and long iron stains down the sides that looked like blood. Nathan turned to the cracked mirror over the sink and froze in horror.
His face was angry red, already blistering at his chin and cheeks and forehead. The red continued down his neck and down his arms. The bottoms of his arms were red and blistered and, in places, there were small, open sores.
"Shit," Nathan said, as he carefully peeled his shirt away from his sticky, burnt skin. "Ow, ow, ow."
He didn't look any better with the shirt off. Worse, in fact. His whole chest was the same stop sign red. His radiation-poisoning training from his Navy days came back to him, unwelcome.
"Guess we're not having that third kid, after all," he said, drolly to his reflection.
Then he shook his head, looked away from his reflection and turned on the tap. The water was thin and brownish at first, but it cleared a bit after running. It didn't get much warmer than lukewarm, though. It would have to do.
He scrubbed his arms, chest and face down with water, soap, and the motel's rough wash cloth, getting the grit of flying out of the open wounds and cracked skin. It hurt like hell, but he ground his teeth together and kept going, until the washcloth was pink with blood and his skin felt cleaner.
He needed gauze and medical tape, but neither of those were on hand at the moment, so he'd just have to make do until morning. He wrapped the hand towel around his right forearm, which seemed to have borne the brunt of the damage, and headed back out into the main room, shutting the light off behind him.
Peter hadn't moved.
Nathan took a breath, then walked across the room slowly, afraid, but needing to make sure he was all right. Afraid, because what if he wasn't? What if after all of it, Peter had quietly breathed his last breath out here as Nathan had cleaned up in the bathroom? Nathan reached out and touched Peter's arm, and finally inhaled again when he felt it soft and warm and moving a bit when Peter breathed.
"Oh, Peter," he said, softly.
Then he undid his belt and pushed off his pants. He pulled back the covers and crawled in behind Peter's still form, settling down with his chest to Peter's back and his arm around Peter's stomach. Close, so he could feel him breathe, feel his normal, human warmth. Nathan shut his eyes. Peter's hair tickled his nose.
Sleep came suddenly, surprisingly easily.
***
He opened his eyes to morning light filtered through thin curtains. Peter was still in his arms, but he'd changed position, now laying on his stomach with one arm flung over his head and the other tucked under his chest. His breath was slow and even. Just sleeping. Thank God, Nathan thought, then gently lifted his arm.
Only to freeze as his whole skin seemed to scream at once in agony. "Shit, shit, shit," he whispered, hoping not to wake Peter.
His efforts were in vain, however. Peter shifted, muttered, then turned his head and peered at him through narrowed eyes. "Nathan?" he said.
"Yeah," Nathan said, setting his arm back down across Peter's back in the interests of not moving any more than he absolutely had to for the sake of survival. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay," Peter said, then squinted, then said, "Oh, god, Nathan," with his eyes suddenly wide. "Nathan--"
"It's okay, it's okay," Nathan said, quickly, trying to cover the groan of pain from Peter jolting away and making Nathan's arm fall to the rough sheets. "It's just... a bad sunburn. Superficial."
"You look awful," Peter said, propped up over him on one elbow now.
"Thanks, Pete, that's just what I wanted to hear," Nathan said, drily.
But Peter's eyes were wide and wounded and vulnerable, so Nathan ever so carefully sat up, though in spite of his care, the pain still brought the sting of tears to his eyes. "Peter. I'm okay. I'll live. I'll be fine."
Peter seemed about to say something else when he suddenly got a strange look on his face and glanced around the room, then down at himself. "Nathan, I'm naked," he said, perplexed.
"Yes," Nathan said, carefully covering his amusement with a knowing look, "There was a nuclear explosion."
Peter looked up at him with wide, confused eyes and then, suddenly, did something unexpected.
He laughed.
Nathan managed to maintain his somber visage for about two point five seconds, then he gave in to the broad grin. It hurt, but it felt great. Peter was helplessly convulsing with laughter at this point, and it was beautiful.
Then Nathan felt his smile fade as Peter got control of himself and looked up, still grinning and glowing, but not at all like last night.
"Been too long since I've seen you laugh," Nathan said, and reached out to touch Peter's face with the tips of his fingers. Peter's smirk faded to a calmer smile.
"It's been really weird," Peter said, quietly, ducking his head. His bangs fell in a curtain over his face.
Nathan brushed them back behind his ear, and ended up with his palm cupped around Peter's cheek. Peter had shut his eyes. His skin was warm and soft, touched with a prickle of stubble. Alive. Safe. Nathan realized he was moving his fingers slightly, stroking them through Peter's silky hair.
Peter turned his head slightly, nuzzling his chin against the base of Nathan's palm, then opened his eyes. Dark, heated, and purely Peter. No flame, no glow, just intense. Nathan couldn't look away from his face. That gaze, and Peter's lips, pink and soft and pressed together. Nathan had a flash of a thought of leaning forward and drawing his tongue along that seam, sliding his hand back and clutching Peter's hair to holding him closer. Touching that fresh-healed, flawless-as-a-newborn's skin on Peter's back, chest, arms... inner thighs, stomach, flanks.
Peter's tongue peeked out, wetting his lips, and Nathan realized he was getting an erection. And that neither of them had move for seconds on end. A hundred, a thousand times in his life, he'd felt this way. Every time he'd tamped it down, turned away, wouldn't do it. Not to Peter. Maybe that was why he tended to let himself get away with it other times, with lust. Giving in there let him control himself here, where it counted.
But Peter still hadn't moved. Nathan's eyes flicked down to Peter's chest. His hand curled against Peter's cheek, and he didn't want to fight it. Not this time. Too much. Too close to losing him. Beautiful Peter, always just out of reach. His. His since the day he'd been born. The one person he couldn't have, the one person he wanted the most.
In his mind, he rolled them over, caught Peter beneath him and kissed him deeply, pushing his tongue into Peter's mouth, finally tasting him, and Peter kissed back. In his mind, Peter was on his stomach beneath him, shoving back onto Nathan's cock and begging for more. More, Nathan, please.
And then he heard Peter exhale suddenly, and opened his eyes which he hadn't realized he'd shut, and thought, Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, he can read minds.
Peter said, "I should go get something for those burns."
Nathan shut his eyes again, horrified and defeated, as Peter got out of bed. He listened to Peter pulling Nathan's pants up his legs, then going into the bathroom, probably emerging wearing Nathan's ragged shirt. Nathan focused on just breathing. Hating himself, hating his thoughts, hating that he'd revealed what he'd spent so long trying not to. Then Peter's footsteps approached. Nathan didn't move.
Peter bent down with a whoosh of air and dropped a kiss on Nathan's forehead, then walked away.
Nathan opened his eyes, confused.
Peter looked back from the door, his expression inscrutable, and all he said was, "Be back soon," then headed out into the white-hot morning light.
***
Nathan forced himself out of bed, in spite of the pain and the fever-like ache and chill of the burns. That was what he did, after all, wasn't it? Just kept going, in spite of everything, in spite of the world falling down around him.
Nathan picked up the phone from the night stand, followed the long-distance directions and dialed a number with barely any conscious thought.
Heidi answered in the middle of the first ring.
"Nathan?"
She couldn't have known it was him from the number, so that meant she must have been waiting. Worried. Nathan felt another twinge of guilt. God, I could have died. Left her alone. I didn't even think. I didn't even care.
"Hey, honey."
"Nathan, where are you? Your mother came and--"
"Heidi. Heidi."
"What?"
"There's-- there's a lot I need to tell you. It-- it might be kind of hard to believe. And I can't tell you now. It needs to be in person. But I can't... I can't get there right now. There's something I need to do. But I swear, I'll tell you everything."
She was silent. He couldn't blame her. He must sound like Peter had, weeks ago, saying he thought he could fly.
"I love you so much. You know that, right?" Nathan said to the silence, and realized then how much he needed her to agree.
For a time, there was nothing but her quiet breathing on the line. Then, finally, doubtfully, "Of course. I love you, too. Where--"
"I'll be joining you as soon as I can," he said, cutting her off from asking something he wasn't willing to answer yet. "I promise."
"All... all right. Nathan--"
He couldn't hear anymore, couldn't say anymore. "Gotta go," he said, in his best people-to-see-places-to-go voice, "I'm sorry. Bye, sweetheart."
He set the receiver back in its cradle before she could protest. Then he sat back down on the edge of the bed, hissing in pain as his burns pulled.
Nathan Petrelli, Congressman elect for the 30th district, sat in a no-tell motel in his boxers, half-covered in radiation burns, hoping his brother would be able to forgive him for something unforgivable and praying his wife would still be there when he got home.
"This is fucked up," Nathan said to the empty room.
***
An hour passed before Peter returned. Nathan had turned on the TV to find the morning news talking about a cosmic fireball, a strange but harmless phenomenon, over New York City. There was even video footage and a talking-head scientist explaining how perfectly logical it all was, even though it wasn't. It wasn't logical at all.
They'd saved the world. And no one knew.
No, no one wanted to know.
Nathan had turned off the TV and lay down, staring up at the water-stained ceiling and emptying his mind.
Finally, the key rattled in the lock and the door opened and Peter shouldered his way in, loaded down with bags, all of which but the smaller, paper bag he dropped on the bed by Nathan's feet.
"Hey," he said, as though everything were normal. "Got us some clothes at a secondhand place, some breakfast and some stuff for your burns."
He wasn't quite looking at Nathan. "The bag closest to your foot is your stuff," he said, as he walked around the bed to set the grease-spotted paper bag on the night stand, which was the only flat surface in the room besides the top of the TV and the bed.
"Thanks," Nathan said, quietly, somewhat impressed by Peter's togetherness. He sat up carefully and reached for the bag Peter had indicated, taking it and heading for the bathroom to change.
"Hey," Peter called, "Leave your shirt off, okay? You don't need anything touching those blisters."
Nathan stopped and looked back. "Is that your medical opinion, nurse?"
Peter looked up from setting out the breakfast selection, and half-smiled. "Yeah, it is. Better listen to me," he said.
Nathan smiled a bit as well. Maybe they could pretend it was all right.
***
The hierarchy of needs demanded that they eat before tending to battle scars. They sat cross-legged on the bed, Nathan bare-chested and scooping overcooked scrambled eggs and greasy sausage out of a styrofoam tray and Peter dressed in a baggy T-shirt and jeans eating an apple and shredded wheat cereal from a cup.
"You're being disgustingly healthy, you know," Nathan commented.
Peter sniffed a laugh and swallowed his bite of apple. "You just think that 'cause you didn't see me eating week-old cold pizza for breakfast yesterday." He shrugged. "Besides, I figure my system's probably all cleaned out right now. Be nice to get back off to a good start."
"Huh," Nathan said. He hadn't thought of that, of Peter's whole body being remade anew.
***
After they ate, Peter pulled a tube of aloe vera out of the other bag.
"Okay, then. Let's get you all gelled up," Peter said, starting to open the cap.
Nathan put his hand on the tube and tried to take it from Peter. Peter didn't let go.
"I can do it," Nathan said, carefully, giving the tube a small tug. You're not touching me like that, he thought, and immediately hoped Peter hadn't been "listening."
"It's okay," Peter said, without a trace of guile, "I can get some spots you can't reach."
"I can reach what I need to," Nathan said, still holding the tube, trying to keep his voice level and casual, trying not to show his rising panic. "Just let me--"
"Nathan, it's fine. It's not--"
Damn it, Peter, you heard what I thought, what's wrong with you?
And he knew Peter "heard" that because his eyes widened. Then narrowed. "Nathan... look..."
"I'm not discussing this," Nathan said. "Now let go, and just let me--"
"We saved the world," Peter said, suddenly, as though making an important, relevant point to the issue of who was going to be smearing aloe vera onto Nathan. "You saved the world, Nathan."
And then it did make sense. A horrible, horrible kind of sense. Nathan clenched his hand into a fist around the gel tube, enraged, leaned in and growled, "And what? This is my reward? For being a good doggy? 'Good job, Nathan, here, you can fuck my ass?'"
"No!" Peter said. "No! Nathan, it's not--it's not like that!"
"Bullshit," Nathan said, and yanked the gel from Peter's hand and stormed into the bathroom, locking the door behind himself.
He shut his eyes and stood in the center of the small room, head bowed, body shaking, mind spinning with denial. No, no, no. He sank down to the floor, kneeling on the hard tile, fists clenched. The door thumped behind him, and then Peter's voice said, "Nathan. Come on, Nathan. Hiding in the bathroom's kinda junior high, don't you think?"
Through gritted teeth, Nathan said, "There is nothing funny about this, Peter."
There was a pause, and then Peter said, "No. There's not."
They were silent then. Nathan hurt. His back hurt, his chest hurt, his arms hurt, his face hurt, his knees hurt. Breathing hurt. His throat hurt. His eyes stung. Fuck, he thought. Just go, Peter. Just go. Leave me, please.
"Nathan, please," Peter said. "You think I don't want this, I do. You think it would hurt me, it won't. I'm twenty-six years old, Nathan. I think I can make my own decisions."
Wouldn't know it from the way you come crying to me every time you stub your damn toe, Nathan thought, harshly, and instantly regretted it.
He heard Peter's head thunk back against the other side of the door.
The worst part was he wanted it. He wanted to give in. It would be so easy. He was so close. He was shaking with the wanting, his cock was hard as a rock. His mind was swirling with fantasies, years and years of fantasies. Peter was offering.
Peter was an adult. Peter would be fine
And it would be so, so good.
Nathan groaned aloud. I want you. Fuck, I want you so bad it's killing me, Peter.
"Nathan," Peter said, from the other side of the door, "I was fifteen the first time I fucked a guy 'cause he reminded me of you. I've only fucked guys who remind me of you."
Nathan sucked in a breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the image of Peter with one of those men. He saw it as clearly as if the image had been planted in his mind, the sweat on Peter's brow, Peter's hand under himself, jerking himself as the other man fucked him.
"And I know, okay? I know about those guys. Your guys."
Slim, dark-haired, barely-legal boys that looked just close enough Nathan could imagine... but he'd quit that habit cold turkey years ago, as soon as he'd decided that one day he would run for office.
"And for god's sake, have you looked at Heidi?
"Nathan... we've been fucking each other for years. I just want--I want the next time I fuck you for it to be you."
Nathan yanked the door open and stepped out. Peter looked up at him, startled. It was almost odd that Peter could be startled.
"Leave Heidi out of this," Nathan said. It wasn't so much a request as it was a condition. Because this had to be controlled. Couldn't be let loose, not completely. It would destroy them.
Peter stood up. "Sorry. I--"
Nathan held up a hand, stopping him. "Don't. Don't talk, okay? You've made your point."
"Did I?" Peter said, looking him evenly in the eye.
"Yeah," Nathan said. "You did."
He lifted his hand, still holding the damn aloe vera, and held it out. Peter glanced down, then took the offered tube. When Peter raised his eyes again, Nathan said, "This scares the shit out of me."
Peter smiled a small smile. "It's me, Nathan." He shrugged. "Nothing to be afraid of."
Everything, Nathan thought, watching Peter amble across the room to the bed. Everything to be afraid of. But still, he followed where Peter led.
***
Nathan let out a shaky breath as Peter's palms, coated in wonderful, cooling gel, swept back up his back. Still, he bit back the groan, held himself perfectly still. Peter's hands stopped and rested at his shoulders and he felt Peter lean in closer to his back, felt Peter's hair tickle his throat as he put his lips close to Nathan's ear. "Relax. Just go with it."
It's not that easy.
"I know," Peter said, then leaned back again, running his hands down and back and forth over the band of pain across Nathan's shoulder blades. "God," he said, "I can see my hand print back here."
Nathan felt him turn his hand and slide it a bit, and knew he was lining it up with the print. It hit him somewhere in his stomach, crackled up his spine, and he groaned. Peter's hands.
"Yeah," Peter said, softly, encouraging, and oh. Oh, that was new. That sensation was completely new. Almost too much. He felt like he could come just from Peter's hands on his back, gliding slowly, surely, not so much tending his wounds now as just touching him.
"Here," Peter said, "Turn around, okay?"
Nathan did, feeling his muscles tremble as he moved. His erection was painfully obvious, straining against the thrift store jeans Peter had bought for him. He saw Peter looking at it, and then, as though that gave Nathan permission, he turned his own eyes to Peter's lap. Peter's long T-shirt was in the way, however, and he heard Peter chuckle, low and dark, either noticing or sensing his frustration. "You wanna see me?"
Nathan looked up, and it was so nice to see Peter smiling. "Are you hard?" he asked, amazing himself with the evenness of his voice.
Peter's smile changed a bit, becoming more serious, somehow. "Yeah," he said.
"Then, yeah. I wanna see you." The quiver in his voice was barely detectable, but he was sure Peter could hear it. But it was Peter. Peter wasn't going to judge him for it. Peter was pulling off the T-shirt and getting up on his knees to unbuckle and push down his pants. Nothing under them. Holy god.
For a moment, Peter paused, kneeling with his pants around his knees. He was hard. His cock was long and slim and curled up toward his stomach. So different from the glimpse Nathan had gotten last night, tucking Peter's unconscious body into bed.
His mouth was dry.
Peter's hand came down on his shoulder, and he flinched, not just at the pain, but at the unexpected contact.
"Sorry," Peter said, quickly, taking his hand away.
"It's okay," Nathan said.
Peter was off-balance, wavering, his crotch just inches from Nathan's chest. Then he dropped back on his heels again. Nathan hadn't stopped staring at his erection. "Fuck, you have a beautiful cock, Peter."
"Wow," Peter said. "Didn't expect you to talk dirty."
"I like to," Nathan said, and it was a confession, something he couldn't comprehend telling Heidi, even if she did enjoy it, once she was aroused. But he was leaving her out of this. "If you don't mind."
"Not complaining," Peter said, picking up the aloe vera and getting more on his hands. "Lean back a bit, let me get your chest."
Anything you want, Peter, he thought, leaning back.
"I'm gonna hold you to that," Peter murmured as he slid his hands up the sides of Nathan's chest, brushing his nipples with his thumbs as he passed them.
"Mmph," Nathan said, feeling his cock swell against the denim. "What do you want, Peter? From me. Today." He dropped his chin down again to watch Peter's face. "Tell me."
Peter's hands went to the center of his chest, smoothing on the soothing gel. "I just want this," he said. "Us. Doesn't matter how. I just want to touch you. You to touch me." His hands were on Nathan's shoulders now, then were gliding down his arms, along the soft skin on the inside, the parts that had been closest to Peter last night. "I want what you were thinking about. You, inside me, on me." He added more gel to his palms and slid them around Nathan's cheeks, leaning up so that he was holding Nathan's face millimeters from his own, their eyes locked to one another. "I want you to fuck me 'til I forget my own name."
"Yes," Nathan whispered.
Either the aloe or the endorphins had kicked in, because pain was the last thing on his mind now. He could feel Peter's breath on his lips.
"Can I kiss you?" Peter whispered, so close that he basically was.
"God, yes," Nathan said, then Peter closed the gap, touching his soft, pink lips to Nathan's dry, chapped lips. Chaste and soft at first, but it was making Nathan's heart pound like a teenager's. Fantasy and reality melded in his mind, and he couldn't help but think of all the times he'd ended up in the shower after a family event, jacking off with his brain full of this. Peter. Kissing Peter. Fucking Peter.
Beautiful Peter.
He let his tongue touch Peter's lips now, finding that seam he had been fixated on earlier, and feeling it split beneath his gentle pressure. Warm, slick insides, tasting like apples and milk, and it was so very real.
And he couldn't help but think, If there is a God, then I'm damned.
"No," Peter murmured against his lips. "This isn't wrong. This is finally right."
Nathan could think of a million reasons why that wasn't true, but none of them mattered enough to get him to stop kissing Peter as he murmured, "Stop reading my mind."
"Can't," Peter said, with a shrug. Then he said, "Fuck me, Nathan," and pulled away, lying down on his stomach on the bed with his pants still caught around his knees and looking back over his shoulder at Nathan with his hair falling all over his face.
Nathan was thinking of the others. The men he'd fucked, to pretend, to imagine this. They were never perfect, no matter how much their voice matched Peter's timbre, no matter how their hair fell over their eyes. There was always something there to ruin the illusion: a tattoo, a piercing, a senseless kink that didn't jibe. This--Nathan spread his hand wide on the small of Peter's back--this was real.
With them, he'd have been finished and halfway out the door by now, already drowning in guilt and shame and disgust. But this... this was different.
"Roll over for a sec, Pete," Nathan said, and Peter did, without question, tucking his hands behind his head and looking down his long, smooth body at Nathan. His cock was still hard, resting against his belly.
"I want to fuck you like this," Nathan said. "I want you to see me. I want to see you."
Peter just nodded and swallowed.
Nathan reached down and tugged on Peter's jeans, pulling them the rest of the way off his legs and dropping them on the floor. Then, once his attention was back on Peter, he said, "How do you like to be fucked? Fast? Slow? Deep?"
Peter huffed a breath and said, "Uh, wow, I--"
"Just answer the question," Nathan said, dropping a glob of aloe vera on his palm and gently curling his hand around Peter's cock.
Peter jolted. "Ungh. Oh."
"I'm waiting," Nathan said, running his hand up and down Peter's shaft, feeling the soft skin bunch and stretch over the iron hard muscle and blood vessels beneath.
"I don't-- think well-- when someone's jacking me off," Peter said.
Truthfully, Nathan wasn't thinking so well himself. Doing this to Peter he'd thought of, in total, more than he'd even imagined fucking Peter. Perhaps that was because his fantasies tended to require a certain element of realism to get him off, and it was easier to imagine how he might have come to be stroking Peter's cock than fucking him. What's a little hand job between brothers, after all?
But this was better than he'd imagined. Peter was rocking his hips off the bed, grunting and swearing under his breath, and his cock felt amazing. Just the perfect size in Nathan's hand, long enough for drawn-out, teasing strokes. Every few times he would slide his hand up around the head, noting how it made Peter jerk and whine.
"So you want me to stop?" Nathan said, though it had been some time since Peter last spoke.
"No!" Peter said.
Nathan stilled his hand. "Then you'd better tell me how to fuck you." He felt dizzy, elated for being able to say this to Peter, for the chance of an answer from Peter.
Peter panted, then said, "Uh. It-- It depends. On, y'know. Mood."
"I think you know what I'm really asking, Peter."
Peter's eyes fell on his. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." He reached down and laid his hand over Nathan's on his cock, tugging on his wrist to get him to move again. "I always imagined it starting slow," he said. "Gentle. You and me, just feeling each other. And then harder. Faster. More. Until the bed's shaking and I'm yelling and you're pounding into me so it hurts and it's everything-- Argh. Stop, stop, stop!" he shouted suddenly, grabbing Nathan's hand, stilling it from pumping his cock. For a moment, they were frozen, Peter breathing fast, eyes shut, softly chanting, "Don't come, don't come, don't--" Then he sighed. "Okay. Okay."
When his eyes opened, he fixed them on Nathan. "Now? Please?"
"Yeah," Nathan said. He fumbled through the necessities--cringing that they didn't have condoms, but again, not caring enough to stop--then braced himself over Peter, who wrapped his legs around Nathan's waist. Nathan was shaking again as he pressed his slick cock to Peter's ass.
"You ready?" he said.
"Yeah," Peter said, nodding. "Yeah. Do it. Please."
He did. Oh, god. Oh, god. Peter. Hot, slick, tight, but not too tight. Peter knew how to relax into this. He was crying out, though, incoherent. Nathan couldn't get his eyes to open. It felt too good. It felt too much. He hadn't even really moved yet.
Oh, god, so good, Peter, peter, peter.
Then he finally forced his eyes open and found Peter's eyes blazing up at him, Peter's mouth part-way open, nostrils flared for breath. "Nathan."
And his hips jerked and he came.
It was hard, strong. His vision darkened at the edges, his nerves lit up from head to foot, he felt like he'd lost his soul.
"Fuck!" he said. "Fuck," and pulled away.
He ended up sitting on the edge of the bed with his face in his hand. He hadn't done that since he was a teenager, he hadn't even come close. What the hell? Fuck! Shit!
"Hey," Peter's voice came from behind him. He didn't even raise his head.
Peter spread his hand across his back. "It's okay, Nathan. Relax."
My one fucking chance. Biggest fucking fantasy. Damnation for that.
"Nathan, you're being a bit melodramatic over something as minor as premature ejac--"
"Say it, and I kill you," Nathan said.
"Okay, I'm not saying it." He'd settled on the edge of the bed beside Nathan. "So," he said, "How long does it usually take you to, uh, y'know--recover?"
Nathan didn't answer at first, glaring at the carpet and resenting even the necessity of the question, but finally, after Peter had waited silently and patiently, he said, "I dunno, Pete. That was, uh... pretty powerful. I don't--"
"Gotcha," Peter said.
They were both silent again for awhile, and then Peter leaned in close, sliding his hand around Nathan's waist and whispering in his ear, "Hey, Nathan. You ever thought about me fucking you?"
Nathan's head snapped up and he turned to look at Peter, who had his eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Didn't think so," Peter said, with a shrug, starting to turn away.
Yes, Nathan thought. Because he had. More than he wanted to admit. It was easiest to think of fucking Peter. Safer, somehow. But at night, alone in hotels on business trips, when he was safe in the dark and miles from home...
You don't know everything about me, Nathan thought, meeting Peter's wide eyes.
"Guess not," Peter said. Then, "Would you let me?"
Yes, Nathan's mind answered, immediately, but it took longer for him to shut his eyes and nod his head, once. But Peter waited for that. And for that respect, Nathan was hugely grateful.
"Do you want me to?" Peter said.
"Yes," Nathan breathed, out loud this time, and immediate. It was becoming easier, now, to voice his thoughts. Maybe because he knew he couldn't hide them.
Peter kissed his cheek. "Have you ever before?"
Nathan shook his head.
"Okay. That's okay. Have you ever, uh, fingered yourself?"
Nathan glared at Peter, and thought, pointedly, I'm not playing twenty questions.
"Fair enough," Peter said. "Com'ere," he added, edging back into the center of the bed.
Nathan joined him there and Peter pulled him into his arms, kissing him again. They stayed that way for some time, holding each other, kissing. Then suddenly, Nathan realized something.
They weren't on the bed. They were above it.
"Peter..." he said, warningly.
Peter just smiled. "You think I'm going to let you get fucked on those sheets with your back the way it is? Like hell." He ducked his head and looked Nathan in the eye. "You want to stop?"
"No." In fact, he wanted to get moving. "I want you to fuck me."
Peter's face changed at that, to something darker, intense. "Yeah, okay. I can do that."
Then the gel was in his hand, called there by force, and with just a nudge Peter turned the two of them horizontal, stretching his naked body over Nathan's, pressing against him. His hand pushed between them and Nathan let his legs fall open, giving him access to slide his fingers down past Nathan's balls to his anus and into him.
He had, in fact, fingered himself before, but this was different. Black to white, up to down different. Different fingers, not under his control, not knowing quite when it hurt, when it felt good, when he wanted more or less. But good for all that. Better.
"Just breathe, Nathan," Peter was whispering. "That's good, just breathe."
And that was about all he could do. His whole being seemed focused on that alien, fascinating sensation.
"You like that," Peter said.
"Yeah," Nathan gasped. "More."
And Peter pressed in deep, hooking his fingers up...
"Agh," Nathan said, and caught a glimpse of Peter's smirk before Peter slid his fingers out.
Nathan shut his eyes and let the air hold him up as Peter tossed the gel tube back down on the bed and then pressed his cock to Nathan's ass.
"I love you, Nathan," Peter said, and pressed into him.
It hurt. But it was good. Peter went slow and easy, whispering encouragement. It was good. Overwhelming. He didn't think it would be that way. So powerful.
Peter's breath tickled his jaw as Peter whispered, "Yes. Nathan. Oh my god."
"Peter," he said, clutching Peter close. Then Peter was moving, gentle, short strokes, but still there, still movement, and it was like he was turning Nathan inside out, like his cock was touching everything inside of him. "Oh, god, Peter."
They were so close. Melded together, skin to skin, inside each other. Peter was breathing in hard, stunted burst that timed with his short thrusts. His breath puffed against Nathan's throat where his face was pressed. Nathan curled his arms around him, holding him as tight as he had that night, ignoring the pain from his arms, because the feeling of Peter inside him was so much stronger.
They moved together, body to body, in a melting sensation of lost time. Floating free of the rest of the world. Gradually, Peter moved faster, panting harsher against Nathan's skin, and Nathan welcomed it, wanted to feel it. Peter letting go. Peter coming.
He felt Peter losing it, losing his rhythm, losing his awareness, and he pressed up into him, saying, "Yes. Peter. Come on. Come on. Come for me, baby."
Peter was taking him fast, now, with enough force that Nathan had to push against it, anchor himself in the air. Senseless half-words were falling from Peter's lips and his brow was wet with sweat, and he was everything, everything Nathan had ever fantasized about. Alive and here, and then--coming. Crying out and bucking and coming. Losing control again, but only in the best ways. No bombs, no killers, just Peter, shouting and beautiful and so very alive.
They floated down to the rough sheets, Peter still atop him, still holding him. The sheets were, in fact, hell on his back, but he couldn't care. He had the person he loved most in the world in his arms, safe. Nothing else mattered.
"Don't ever, ever leave me," Nathan said.
"Never," Peter answered. "Never."
Maybe that would be long enough.
---
End
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Warnings: Light h/c
Spoilers: Through "How To Stop An Exploding Man"
Notes: Thanks to my betas, fabrisse and wayoffbase. Any remaining errors or issues are my own!
Title: Love
Summary: What happens after.
***
"Nathan, let go. Let go."
"Not yet." They weren't high enough yet. Peter was a hot stove against his skin, like holding a radiator. Nathan could feel his skin blistering, even as the wind rushed icy cold around them both.
"Nathan!" Peter cried, and Nathan felt the pulse of heat from him. "Nathan, I can't--"
"Ten seconds, Peter. Ten more seconds," he said, his face turned up even though the wind burned his eyes and chased tears down his cheeks. "Count them for me, one thousand one, one thousand two--"
"One thousand three," Peter gasped, "one thousand four--argh!" Something crackled and Nathan gasped at the pain that lanced through his back.
"Come on, Peter. You can do this, you can do this," Nathan shouted.
"Thousand five, thousand six, thousand seven--"
And that was it. They were high enough. Nathan could feel another burn, this one in his lungs, from lack of air.
"Pete, I'm letting go," he said. He looked down and Peter looked up, though his eyes were full of flame and blind. "Love you," Nathan said, and then he did it. He let go and flipped onto his back, lunging away at god-knows-what speed, fast enough that he felt the air shatter around him, and then--oh god--there was the flash. He just flew, all out, fast as he could--and it was fast, unbelievably fast--and then stopped, suddenly, on an instinct or a hunch or a sign from God, who knew?
Something hit him, knocked him over and over, and then he regained his bearings and realized it was the shockwave. Then, without another pause, he turned and dived, heading straight for the heart of the glowing city he left behind. Something had to be guiding him, that much he knew, because he was there at just the right place and the right time to catch Peter a few hundred feet above the tallest building.
He cradled his brother's unconscious, naked, blessedly cool body in his arms and turned away from the city lights.
***
An hour or so later, over Delaware, perhaps, he put Peter down on a rooftop and landed in the street in front of a motel. He had no reason to pick this one in particular, it had just been the one he'd seen when his arms had gotten tired and his lungs too fiery. In the parking lot, he took off his burnt and ruined sport coat and tossed it in a trash can. He rolled up his sleeves to hide the burn holes and kept his arms turned into his chest to hide the blisters. His burned face he couldn't do much about, but this place looked like the kind that didn't ask many questions.
Still, the desk clerk did a double take when she looked up from her paperback romance. "Whoa. You all right, buddy?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Nathan said, bluntly, and the statement had the added benefit of being very, very true. "You got a room?"
"Yeah, we do. You want to pay by the hour or by the night?"
Wonderful, Nathan thought, darkly. But it would be a bed, and it would be discreet. "By the night, please. Just one for now."
"Sure thing," she said, then turned to get a key from the tack board behind her.
Nathan hadn't stayed in a hotel that used actual keys in at least a decade. He took it, tried to hide his dubiousness, and paid, then headed back out into the cold night.
Peter was still unconscious and didn't come to during the struggle to get him down to the motel and then into the room and onto the double bed that sat like an island on the sea of worn, stained carpet. He just lay there where Nathan had placed him, still and limp as a rag doll. The only sign he was alive was the slow expansion and contraction of his chest. Nathan stood over the bed and stared down at him for some time, then turned and went to the bathroom at the back of the room.
A large, dark insect skittered behind the trash can as he flipped on the light, revealing old, mildewed tile and a bathtub with a leaky faucet and long iron stains down the sides that looked like blood. Nathan turned to the cracked mirror over the sink and froze in horror.
His face was angry red, already blistering at his chin and cheeks and forehead. The red continued down his neck and down his arms. The bottoms of his arms were red and blistered and, in places, there were small, open sores.
"Shit," Nathan said, as he carefully peeled his shirt away from his sticky, burnt skin. "Ow, ow, ow."
He didn't look any better with the shirt off. Worse, in fact. His whole chest was the same stop sign red. His radiation-poisoning training from his Navy days came back to him, unwelcome.
"Guess we're not having that third kid, after all," he said, drolly to his reflection.
Then he shook his head, looked away from his reflection and turned on the tap. The water was thin and brownish at first, but it cleared a bit after running. It didn't get much warmer than lukewarm, though. It would have to do.
He scrubbed his arms, chest and face down with water, soap, and the motel's rough wash cloth, getting the grit of flying out of the open wounds and cracked skin. It hurt like hell, but he ground his teeth together and kept going, until the washcloth was pink with blood and his skin felt cleaner.
He needed gauze and medical tape, but neither of those were on hand at the moment, so he'd just have to make do until morning. He wrapped the hand towel around his right forearm, which seemed to have borne the brunt of the damage, and headed back out into the main room, shutting the light off behind him.
Peter hadn't moved.
Nathan took a breath, then walked across the room slowly, afraid, but needing to make sure he was all right. Afraid, because what if he wasn't? What if after all of it, Peter had quietly breathed his last breath out here as Nathan had cleaned up in the bathroom? Nathan reached out and touched Peter's arm, and finally inhaled again when he felt it soft and warm and moving a bit when Peter breathed.
"Oh, Peter," he said, softly.
Then he undid his belt and pushed off his pants. He pulled back the covers and crawled in behind Peter's still form, settling down with his chest to Peter's back and his arm around Peter's stomach. Close, so he could feel him breathe, feel his normal, human warmth. Nathan shut his eyes. Peter's hair tickled his nose.
Sleep came suddenly, surprisingly easily.
***
He opened his eyes to morning light filtered through thin curtains. Peter was still in his arms, but he'd changed position, now laying on his stomach with one arm flung over his head and the other tucked under his chest. His breath was slow and even. Just sleeping. Thank God, Nathan thought, then gently lifted his arm.
Only to freeze as his whole skin seemed to scream at once in agony. "Shit, shit, shit," he whispered, hoping not to wake Peter.
His efforts were in vain, however. Peter shifted, muttered, then turned his head and peered at him through narrowed eyes. "Nathan?" he said.
"Yeah," Nathan said, setting his arm back down across Peter's back in the interests of not moving any more than he absolutely had to for the sake of survival. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay," Peter said, then squinted, then said, "Oh, god, Nathan," with his eyes suddenly wide. "Nathan--"
"It's okay, it's okay," Nathan said, quickly, trying to cover the groan of pain from Peter jolting away and making Nathan's arm fall to the rough sheets. "It's just... a bad sunburn. Superficial."
"You look awful," Peter said, propped up over him on one elbow now.
"Thanks, Pete, that's just what I wanted to hear," Nathan said, drily.
But Peter's eyes were wide and wounded and vulnerable, so Nathan ever so carefully sat up, though in spite of his care, the pain still brought the sting of tears to his eyes. "Peter. I'm okay. I'll live. I'll be fine."
Peter seemed about to say something else when he suddenly got a strange look on his face and glanced around the room, then down at himself. "Nathan, I'm naked," he said, perplexed.
"Yes," Nathan said, carefully covering his amusement with a knowing look, "There was a nuclear explosion."
Peter looked up at him with wide, confused eyes and then, suddenly, did something unexpected.
He laughed.
Nathan managed to maintain his somber visage for about two point five seconds, then he gave in to the broad grin. It hurt, but it felt great. Peter was helplessly convulsing with laughter at this point, and it was beautiful.
Then Nathan felt his smile fade as Peter got control of himself and looked up, still grinning and glowing, but not at all like last night.
"Been too long since I've seen you laugh," Nathan said, and reached out to touch Peter's face with the tips of his fingers. Peter's smirk faded to a calmer smile.
"It's been really weird," Peter said, quietly, ducking his head. His bangs fell in a curtain over his face.
Nathan brushed them back behind his ear, and ended up with his palm cupped around Peter's cheek. Peter had shut his eyes. His skin was warm and soft, touched with a prickle of stubble. Alive. Safe. Nathan realized he was moving his fingers slightly, stroking them through Peter's silky hair.
Peter turned his head slightly, nuzzling his chin against the base of Nathan's palm, then opened his eyes. Dark, heated, and purely Peter. No flame, no glow, just intense. Nathan couldn't look away from his face. That gaze, and Peter's lips, pink and soft and pressed together. Nathan had a flash of a thought of leaning forward and drawing his tongue along that seam, sliding his hand back and clutching Peter's hair to holding him closer. Touching that fresh-healed, flawless-as-a-newborn's skin on Peter's back, chest, arms... inner thighs, stomach, flanks.
Peter's tongue peeked out, wetting his lips, and Nathan realized he was getting an erection. And that neither of them had move for seconds on end. A hundred, a thousand times in his life, he'd felt this way. Every time he'd tamped it down, turned away, wouldn't do it. Not to Peter. Maybe that was why he tended to let himself get away with it other times, with lust. Giving in there let him control himself here, where it counted.
But Peter still hadn't moved. Nathan's eyes flicked down to Peter's chest. His hand curled against Peter's cheek, and he didn't want to fight it. Not this time. Too much. Too close to losing him. Beautiful Peter, always just out of reach. His. His since the day he'd been born. The one person he couldn't have, the one person he wanted the most.
In his mind, he rolled them over, caught Peter beneath him and kissed him deeply, pushing his tongue into Peter's mouth, finally tasting him, and Peter kissed back. In his mind, Peter was on his stomach beneath him, shoving back onto Nathan's cock and begging for more. More, Nathan, please.
And then he heard Peter exhale suddenly, and opened his eyes which he hadn't realized he'd shut, and thought, Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, he can read minds.
Peter said, "I should go get something for those burns."
Nathan shut his eyes again, horrified and defeated, as Peter got out of bed. He listened to Peter pulling Nathan's pants up his legs, then going into the bathroom, probably emerging wearing Nathan's ragged shirt. Nathan focused on just breathing. Hating himself, hating his thoughts, hating that he'd revealed what he'd spent so long trying not to. Then Peter's footsteps approached. Nathan didn't move.
Peter bent down with a whoosh of air and dropped a kiss on Nathan's forehead, then walked away.
Nathan opened his eyes, confused.
Peter looked back from the door, his expression inscrutable, and all he said was, "Be back soon," then headed out into the white-hot morning light.
***
Nathan forced himself out of bed, in spite of the pain and the fever-like ache and chill of the burns. That was what he did, after all, wasn't it? Just kept going, in spite of everything, in spite of the world falling down around him.
Nathan picked up the phone from the night stand, followed the long-distance directions and dialed a number with barely any conscious thought.
Heidi answered in the middle of the first ring.
"Nathan?"
She couldn't have known it was him from the number, so that meant she must have been waiting. Worried. Nathan felt another twinge of guilt. God, I could have died. Left her alone. I didn't even think. I didn't even care.
"Hey, honey."
"Nathan, where are you? Your mother came and--"
"Heidi. Heidi."
"What?"
"There's-- there's a lot I need to tell you. It-- it might be kind of hard to believe. And I can't tell you now. It needs to be in person. But I can't... I can't get there right now. There's something I need to do. But I swear, I'll tell you everything."
She was silent. He couldn't blame her. He must sound like Peter had, weeks ago, saying he thought he could fly.
"I love you so much. You know that, right?" Nathan said to the silence, and realized then how much he needed her to agree.
For a time, there was nothing but her quiet breathing on the line. Then, finally, doubtfully, "Of course. I love you, too. Where--"
"I'll be joining you as soon as I can," he said, cutting her off from asking something he wasn't willing to answer yet. "I promise."
"All... all right. Nathan--"
He couldn't hear anymore, couldn't say anymore. "Gotta go," he said, in his best people-to-see-places-to-go voice, "I'm sorry. Bye, sweetheart."
He set the receiver back in its cradle before she could protest. Then he sat back down on the edge of the bed, hissing in pain as his burns pulled.
Nathan Petrelli, Congressman elect for the 30th district, sat in a no-tell motel in his boxers, half-covered in radiation burns, hoping his brother would be able to forgive him for something unforgivable and praying his wife would still be there when he got home.
"This is fucked up," Nathan said to the empty room.
***
An hour passed before Peter returned. Nathan had turned on the TV to find the morning news talking about a cosmic fireball, a strange but harmless phenomenon, over New York City. There was even video footage and a talking-head scientist explaining how perfectly logical it all was, even though it wasn't. It wasn't logical at all.
They'd saved the world. And no one knew.
No, no one wanted to know.
Nathan had turned off the TV and lay down, staring up at the water-stained ceiling and emptying his mind.
Finally, the key rattled in the lock and the door opened and Peter shouldered his way in, loaded down with bags, all of which but the smaller, paper bag he dropped on the bed by Nathan's feet.
"Hey," he said, as though everything were normal. "Got us some clothes at a secondhand place, some breakfast and some stuff for your burns."
He wasn't quite looking at Nathan. "The bag closest to your foot is your stuff," he said, as he walked around the bed to set the grease-spotted paper bag on the night stand, which was the only flat surface in the room besides the top of the TV and the bed.
"Thanks," Nathan said, quietly, somewhat impressed by Peter's togetherness. He sat up carefully and reached for the bag Peter had indicated, taking it and heading for the bathroom to change.
"Hey," Peter called, "Leave your shirt off, okay? You don't need anything touching those blisters."
Nathan stopped and looked back. "Is that your medical opinion, nurse?"
Peter looked up from setting out the breakfast selection, and half-smiled. "Yeah, it is. Better listen to me," he said.
Nathan smiled a bit as well. Maybe they could pretend it was all right.
***
The hierarchy of needs demanded that they eat before tending to battle scars. They sat cross-legged on the bed, Nathan bare-chested and scooping overcooked scrambled eggs and greasy sausage out of a styrofoam tray and Peter dressed in a baggy T-shirt and jeans eating an apple and shredded wheat cereal from a cup.
"You're being disgustingly healthy, you know," Nathan commented.
Peter sniffed a laugh and swallowed his bite of apple. "You just think that 'cause you didn't see me eating week-old cold pizza for breakfast yesterday." He shrugged. "Besides, I figure my system's probably all cleaned out right now. Be nice to get back off to a good start."
"Huh," Nathan said. He hadn't thought of that, of Peter's whole body being remade anew.
***
After they ate, Peter pulled a tube of aloe vera out of the other bag.
"Okay, then. Let's get you all gelled up," Peter said, starting to open the cap.
Nathan put his hand on the tube and tried to take it from Peter. Peter didn't let go.
"I can do it," Nathan said, carefully, giving the tube a small tug. You're not touching me like that, he thought, and immediately hoped Peter hadn't been "listening."
"It's okay," Peter said, without a trace of guile, "I can get some spots you can't reach."
"I can reach what I need to," Nathan said, still holding the tube, trying to keep his voice level and casual, trying not to show his rising panic. "Just let me--"
"Nathan, it's fine. It's not--"
Damn it, Peter, you heard what I thought, what's wrong with you?
And he knew Peter "heard" that because his eyes widened. Then narrowed. "Nathan... look..."
"I'm not discussing this," Nathan said. "Now let go, and just let me--"
"We saved the world," Peter said, suddenly, as though making an important, relevant point to the issue of who was going to be smearing aloe vera onto Nathan. "You saved the world, Nathan."
And then it did make sense. A horrible, horrible kind of sense. Nathan clenched his hand into a fist around the gel tube, enraged, leaned in and growled, "And what? This is my reward? For being a good doggy? 'Good job, Nathan, here, you can fuck my ass?'"
"No!" Peter said. "No! Nathan, it's not--it's not like that!"
"Bullshit," Nathan said, and yanked the gel from Peter's hand and stormed into the bathroom, locking the door behind himself.
He shut his eyes and stood in the center of the small room, head bowed, body shaking, mind spinning with denial. No, no, no. He sank down to the floor, kneeling on the hard tile, fists clenched. The door thumped behind him, and then Peter's voice said, "Nathan. Come on, Nathan. Hiding in the bathroom's kinda junior high, don't you think?"
Through gritted teeth, Nathan said, "There is nothing funny about this, Peter."
There was a pause, and then Peter said, "No. There's not."
They were silent then. Nathan hurt. His back hurt, his chest hurt, his arms hurt, his face hurt, his knees hurt. Breathing hurt. His throat hurt. His eyes stung. Fuck, he thought. Just go, Peter. Just go. Leave me, please.
"Nathan, please," Peter said. "You think I don't want this, I do. You think it would hurt me, it won't. I'm twenty-six years old, Nathan. I think I can make my own decisions."
Wouldn't know it from the way you come crying to me every time you stub your damn toe, Nathan thought, harshly, and instantly regretted it.
He heard Peter's head thunk back against the other side of the door.
The worst part was he wanted it. He wanted to give in. It would be so easy. He was so close. He was shaking with the wanting, his cock was hard as a rock. His mind was swirling with fantasies, years and years of fantasies. Peter was offering.
Peter was an adult. Peter would be fine
And it would be so, so good.
Nathan groaned aloud. I want you. Fuck, I want you so bad it's killing me, Peter.
"Nathan," Peter said, from the other side of the door, "I was fifteen the first time I fucked a guy 'cause he reminded me of you. I've only fucked guys who remind me of you."
Nathan sucked in a breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the image of Peter with one of those men. He saw it as clearly as if the image had been planted in his mind, the sweat on Peter's brow, Peter's hand under himself, jerking himself as the other man fucked him.
"And I know, okay? I know about those guys. Your guys."
Slim, dark-haired, barely-legal boys that looked just close enough Nathan could imagine... but he'd quit that habit cold turkey years ago, as soon as he'd decided that one day he would run for office.
"And for god's sake, have you looked at Heidi?
"Nathan... we've been fucking each other for years. I just want--I want the next time I fuck you for it to be you."
Nathan yanked the door open and stepped out. Peter looked up at him, startled. It was almost odd that Peter could be startled.
"Leave Heidi out of this," Nathan said. It wasn't so much a request as it was a condition. Because this had to be controlled. Couldn't be let loose, not completely. It would destroy them.
Peter stood up. "Sorry. I--"
Nathan held up a hand, stopping him. "Don't. Don't talk, okay? You've made your point."
"Did I?" Peter said, looking him evenly in the eye.
"Yeah," Nathan said. "You did."
He lifted his hand, still holding the damn aloe vera, and held it out. Peter glanced down, then took the offered tube. When Peter raised his eyes again, Nathan said, "This scares the shit out of me."
Peter smiled a small smile. "It's me, Nathan." He shrugged. "Nothing to be afraid of."
Everything, Nathan thought, watching Peter amble across the room to the bed. Everything to be afraid of. But still, he followed where Peter led.
***
Nathan let out a shaky breath as Peter's palms, coated in wonderful, cooling gel, swept back up his back. Still, he bit back the groan, held himself perfectly still. Peter's hands stopped and rested at his shoulders and he felt Peter lean in closer to his back, felt Peter's hair tickle his throat as he put his lips close to Nathan's ear. "Relax. Just go with it."
It's not that easy.
"I know," Peter said, then leaned back again, running his hands down and back and forth over the band of pain across Nathan's shoulder blades. "God," he said, "I can see my hand print back here."
Nathan felt him turn his hand and slide it a bit, and knew he was lining it up with the print. It hit him somewhere in his stomach, crackled up his spine, and he groaned. Peter's hands.
"Yeah," Peter said, softly, encouraging, and oh. Oh, that was new. That sensation was completely new. Almost too much. He felt like he could come just from Peter's hands on his back, gliding slowly, surely, not so much tending his wounds now as just touching him.
"Here," Peter said, "Turn around, okay?"
Nathan did, feeling his muscles tremble as he moved. His erection was painfully obvious, straining against the thrift store jeans Peter had bought for him. He saw Peter looking at it, and then, as though that gave Nathan permission, he turned his own eyes to Peter's lap. Peter's long T-shirt was in the way, however, and he heard Peter chuckle, low and dark, either noticing or sensing his frustration. "You wanna see me?"
Nathan looked up, and it was so nice to see Peter smiling. "Are you hard?" he asked, amazing himself with the evenness of his voice.
Peter's smile changed a bit, becoming more serious, somehow. "Yeah," he said.
"Then, yeah. I wanna see you." The quiver in his voice was barely detectable, but he was sure Peter could hear it. But it was Peter. Peter wasn't going to judge him for it. Peter was pulling off the T-shirt and getting up on his knees to unbuckle and push down his pants. Nothing under them. Holy god.
For a moment, Peter paused, kneeling with his pants around his knees. He was hard. His cock was long and slim and curled up toward his stomach. So different from the glimpse Nathan had gotten last night, tucking Peter's unconscious body into bed.
His mouth was dry.
Peter's hand came down on his shoulder, and he flinched, not just at the pain, but at the unexpected contact.
"Sorry," Peter said, quickly, taking his hand away.
"It's okay," Nathan said.
Peter was off-balance, wavering, his crotch just inches from Nathan's chest. Then he dropped back on his heels again. Nathan hadn't stopped staring at his erection. "Fuck, you have a beautiful cock, Peter."
"Wow," Peter said. "Didn't expect you to talk dirty."
"I like to," Nathan said, and it was a confession, something he couldn't comprehend telling Heidi, even if she did enjoy it, once she was aroused. But he was leaving her out of this. "If you don't mind."
"Not complaining," Peter said, picking up the aloe vera and getting more on his hands. "Lean back a bit, let me get your chest."
Anything you want, Peter, he thought, leaning back.
"I'm gonna hold you to that," Peter murmured as he slid his hands up the sides of Nathan's chest, brushing his nipples with his thumbs as he passed them.
"Mmph," Nathan said, feeling his cock swell against the denim. "What do you want, Peter? From me. Today." He dropped his chin down again to watch Peter's face. "Tell me."
Peter's hands went to the center of his chest, smoothing on the soothing gel. "I just want this," he said. "Us. Doesn't matter how. I just want to touch you. You to touch me." His hands were on Nathan's shoulders now, then were gliding down his arms, along the soft skin on the inside, the parts that had been closest to Peter last night. "I want what you were thinking about. You, inside me, on me." He added more gel to his palms and slid them around Nathan's cheeks, leaning up so that he was holding Nathan's face millimeters from his own, their eyes locked to one another. "I want you to fuck me 'til I forget my own name."
"Yes," Nathan whispered.
Either the aloe or the endorphins had kicked in, because pain was the last thing on his mind now. He could feel Peter's breath on his lips.
"Can I kiss you?" Peter whispered, so close that he basically was.
"God, yes," Nathan said, then Peter closed the gap, touching his soft, pink lips to Nathan's dry, chapped lips. Chaste and soft at first, but it was making Nathan's heart pound like a teenager's. Fantasy and reality melded in his mind, and he couldn't help but think of all the times he'd ended up in the shower after a family event, jacking off with his brain full of this. Peter. Kissing Peter. Fucking Peter.
Beautiful Peter.
He let his tongue touch Peter's lips now, finding that seam he had been fixated on earlier, and feeling it split beneath his gentle pressure. Warm, slick insides, tasting like apples and milk, and it was so very real.
And he couldn't help but think, If there is a God, then I'm damned.
"No," Peter murmured against his lips. "This isn't wrong. This is finally right."
Nathan could think of a million reasons why that wasn't true, but none of them mattered enough to get him to stop kissing Peter as he murmured, "Stop reading my mind."
"Can't," Peter said, with a shrug. Then he said, "Fuck me, Nathan," and pulled away, lying down on his stomach on the bed with his pants still caught around his knees and looking back over his shoulder at Nathan with his hair falling all over his face.
Nathan was thinking of the others. The men he'd fucked, to pretend, to imagine this. They were never perfect, no matter how much their voice matched Peter's timbre, no matter how their hair fell over their eyes. There was always something there to ruin the illusion: a tattoo, a piercing, a senseless kink that didn't jibe. This--Nathan spread his hand wide on the small of Peter's back--this was real.
With them, he'd have been finished and halfway out the door by now, already drowning in guilt and shame and disgust. But this... this was different.
"Roll over for a sec, Pete," Nathan said, and Peter did, without question, tucking his hands behind his head and looking down his long, smooth body at Nathan. His cock was still hard, resting against his belly.
"I want to fuck you like this," Nathan said. "I want you to see me. I want to see you."
Peter just nodded and swallowed.
Nathan reached down and tugged on Peter's jeans, pulling them the rest of the way off his legs and dropping them on the floor. Then, once his attention was back on Peter, he said, "How do you like to be fucked? Fast? Slow? Deep?"
Peter huffed a breath and said, "Uh, wow, I--"
"Just answer the question," Nathan said, dropping a glob of aloe vera on his palm and gently curling his hand around Peter's cock.
Peter jolted. "Ungh. Oh."
"I'm waiting," Nathan said, running his hand up and down Peter's shaft, feeling the soft skin bunch and stretch over the iron hard muscle and blood vessels beneath.
"I don't-- think well-- when someone's jacking me off," Peter said.
Truthfully, Nathan wasn't thinking so well himself. Doing this to Peter he'd thought of, in total, more than he'd even imagined fucking Peter. Perhaps that was because his fantasies tended to require a certain element of realism to get him off, and it was easier to imagine how he might have come to be stroking Peter's cock than fucking him. What's a little hand job between brothers, after all?
But this was better than he'd imagined. Peter was rocking his hips off the bed, grunting and swearing under his breath, and his cock felt amazing. Just the perfect size in Nathan's hand, long enough for drawn-out, teasing strokes. Every few times he would slide his hand up around the head, noting how it made Peter jerk and whine.
"So you want me to stop?" Nathan said, though it had been some time since Peter last spoke.
"No!" Peter said.
Nathan stilled his hand. "Then you'd better tell me how to fuck you." He felt dizzy, elated for being able to say this to Peter, for the chance of an answer from Peter.
Peter panted, then said, "Uh. It-- It depends. On, y'know. Mood."
"I think you know what I'm really asking, Peter."
Peter's eyes fell on his. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." He reached down and laid his hand over Nathan's on his cock, tugging on his wrist to get him to move again. "I always imagined it starting slow," he said. "Gentle. You and me, just feeling each other. And then harder. Faster. More. Until the bed's shaking and I'm yelling and you're pounding into me so it hurts and it's everything-- Argh. Stop, stop, stop!" he shouted suddenly, grabbing Nathan's hand, stilling it from pumping his cock. For a moment, they were frozen, Peter breathing fast, eyes shut, softly chanting, "Don't come, don't come, don't--" Then he sighed. "Okay. Okay."
When his eyes opened, he fixed them on Nathan. "Now? Please?"
"Yeah," Nathan said. He fumbled through the necessities--cringing that they didn't have condoms, but again, not caring enough to stop--then braced himself over Peter, who wrapped his legs around Nathan's waist. Nathan was shaking again as he pressed his slick cock to Peter's ass.
"You ready?" he said.
"Yeah," Peter said, nodding. "Yeah. Do it. Please."
He did. Oh, god. Oh, god. Peter. Hot, slick, tight, but not too tight. Peter knew how to relax into this. He was crying out, though, incoherent. Nathan couldn't get his eyes to open. It felt too good. It felt too much. He hadn't even really moved yet.
Oh, god, so good, Peter, peter, peter.
Then he finally forced his eyes open and found Peter's eyes blazing up at him, Peter's mouth part-way open, nostrils flared for breath. "Nathan."
And his hips jerked and he came.
It was hard, strong. His vision darkened at the edges, his nerves lit up from head to foot, he felt like he'd lost his soul.
"Fuck!" he said. "Fuck," and pulled away.
He ended up sitting on the edge of the bed with his face in his hand. He hadn't done that since he was a teenager, he hadn't even come close. What the hell? Fuck! Shit!
"Hey," Peter's voice came from behind him. He didn't even raise his head.
Peter spread his hand across his back. "It's okay, Nathan. Relax."
My one fucking chance. Biggest fucking fantasy. Damnation for that.
"Nathan, you're being a bit melodramatic over something as minor as premature ejac--"
"Say it, and I kill you," Nathan said.
"Okay, I'm not saying it." He'd settled on the edge of the bed beside Nathan. "So," he said, "How long does it usually take you to, uh, y'know--recover?"
Nathan didn't answer at first, glaring at the carpet and resenting even the necessity of the question, but finally, after Peter had waited silently and patiently, he said, "I dunno, Pete. That was, uh... pretty powerful. I don't--"
"Gotcha," Peter said.
They were both silent again for awhile, and then Peter leaned in close, sliding his hand around Nathan's waist and whispering in his ear, "Hey, Nathan. You ever thought about me fucking you?"
Nathan's head snapped up and he turned to look at Peter, who had his eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Didn't think so," Peter said, with a shrug, starting to turn away.
Yes, Nathan thought. Because he had. More than he wanted to admit. It was easiest to think of fucking Peter. Safer, somehow. But at night, alone in hotels on business trips, when he was safe in the dark and miles from home...
You don't know everything about me, Nathan thought, meeting Peter's wide eyes.
"Guess not," Peter said. Then, "Would you let me?"
Yes, Nathan's mind answered, immediately, but it took longer for him to shut his eyes and nod his head, once. But Peter waited for that. And for that respect, Nathan was hugely grateful.
"Do you want me to?" Peter said.
"Yes," Nathan breathed, out loud this time, and immediate. It was becoming easier, now, to voice his thoughts. Maybe because he knew he couldn't hide them.
Peter kissed his cheek. "Have you ever before?"
Nathan shook his head.
"Okay. That's okay. Have you ever, uh, fingered yourself?"
Nathan glared at Peter, and thought, pointedly, I'm not playing twenty questions.
"Fair enough," Peter said. "Com'ere," he added, edging back into the center of the bed.
Nathan joined him there and Peter pulled him into his arms, kissing him again. They stayed that way for some time, holding each other, kissing. Then suddenly, Nathan realized something.
They weren't on the bed. They were above it.
"Peter..." he said, warningly.
Peter just smiled. "You think I'm going to let you get fucked on those sheets with your back the way it is? Like hell." He ducked his head and looked Nathan in the eye. "You want to stop?"
"No." In fact, he wanted to get moving. "I want you to fuck me."
Peter's face changed at that, to something darker, intense. "Yeah, okay. I can do that."
Then the gel was in his hand, called there by force, and with just a nudge Peter turned the two of them horizontal, stretching his naked body over Nathan's, pressing against him. His hand pushed between them and Nathan let his legs fall open, giving him access to slide his fingers down past Nathan's balls to his anus and into him.
He had, in fact, fingered himself before, but this was different. Black to white, up to down different. Different fingers, not under his control, not knowing quite when it hurt, when it felt good, when he wanted more or less. But good for all that. Better.
"Just breathe, Nathan," Peter was whispering. "That's good, just breathe."
And that was about all he could do. His whole being seemed focused on that alien, fascinating sensation.
"You like that," Peter said.
"Yeah," Nathan gasped. "More."
And Peter pressed in deep, hooking his fingers up...
"Agh," Nathan said, and caught a glimpse of Peter's smirk before Peter slid his fingers out.
Nathan shut his eyes and let the air hold him up as Peter tossed the gel tube back down on the bed and then pressed his cock to Nathan's ass.
"I love you, Nathan," Peter said, and pressed into him.
It hurt. But it was good. Peter went slow and easy, whispering encouragement. It was good. Overwhelming. He didn't think it would be that way. So powerful.
Peter's breath tickled his jaw as Peter whispered, "Yes. Nathan. Oh my god."
"Peter," he said, clutching Peter close. Then Peter was moving, gentle, short strokes, but still there, still movement, and it was like he was turning Nathan inside out, like his cock was touching everything inside of him. "Oh, god, Peter."
They were so close. Melded together, skin to skin, inside each other. Peter was breathing in hard, stunted burst that timed with his short thrusts. His breath puffed against Nathan's throat where his face was pressed. Nathan curled his arms around him, holding him as tight as he had that night, ignoring the pain from his arms, because the feeling of Peter inside him was so much stronger.
They moved together, body to body, in a melting sensation of lost time. Floating free of the rest of the world. Gradually, Peter moved faster, panting harsher against Nathan's skin, and Nathan welcomed it, wanted to feel it. Peter letting go. Peter coming.
He felt Peter losing it, losing his rhythm, losing his awareness, and he pressed up into him, saying, "Yes. Peter. Come on. Come on. Come for me, baby."
Peter was taking him fast, now, with enough force that Nathan had to push against it, anchor himself in the air. Senseless half-words were falling from Peter's lips and his brow was wet with sweat, and he was everything, everything Nathan had ever fantasized about. Alive and here, and then--coming. Crying out and bucking and coming. Losing control again, but only in the best ways. No bombs, no killers, just Peter, shouting and beautiful and so very alive.
They floated down to the rough sheets, Peter still atop him, still holding him. The sheets were, in fact, hell on his back, but he couldn't care. He had the person he loved most in the world in his arms, safe. Nothing else mattered.
"Don't ever, ever leave me," Nathan said.
"Never," Peter answered. "Never."
Maybe that would be long enough.
---
End