Fic: Five Times Nathan Didn't Figure It Out (And One Time He Did)
Title: Five Times Nathan Petrelli Didn’t Figure It Out (And One Time He Did)
Pairing: Nathan/Peter. Another pairing implied.
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest, angst. Scroll down to end for the second pairing and one warning that is also a spoiler for the story. Although if you know my writing, I imagine you won’t be in the dark for long, whether you read the spoiler or not.
Author’s note: Beta’d by the ever-fabulous redandglenda, and dedicated to 47_trek_47, who gets total credit for inspiring the cufflinks, and who needs a pick-me-up after what happened on Monday.
Summary: Nathan always thought he was good at figuring out what his brother was thinking. He was wrong.
1.
“Go on, Pete,” Nathan said. “It’s a chance to bond with Dad on your own. Tell him about your plans for school.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Peter said glumly. He was sitting on Nathan’s bed with his stuffed-to-bursting duffel bag at his feet. Nathan had already helped him pack for the annual weekend of male Petrelli fishing and bonding upstate.
“Come time to sign the tuition deposit, he’s going to realize you’re not in a pre-law program,” Nathan pointed out. “You have to tell him sometime.”
“But it doesn’t need to be when we’re alone in the north woods.” Peter took one of Nathan’s clammy hands in his and regarded it suspiciously. “Are you really that sick? Because if you’re faking, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Yes, I’m really that sick.” Nathan pulled his hand away and reached for another tissue to blow his constantly-running nose. “Besides, roughing it is good for you.”
Peter glared. “Spending time with Dad isn’t.”
“Suck it up, Peter. Dad’s not going to hurt you.”
Peter dropped his eyes to the floor, gave his duffel bag a half-hearted kick, and didn’t reply.
Nathan sighed and scooted closer to throw an arm around his brother. “Come on. I want you two to go and make up. Can you do that for me?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
“Thanks.” Nathan squeezed him in a one-armed hug. “Now get out of here before you get my germs on you.”
--
2.
“Where the hell are my cufflinks?”
“Where’d you take them off?” Peter yelled back from the shower.
Nathan checked the top of the dresser for the sixth time, but there was only the detritus of Peter’s life: loose change, his NYU student ID, a couple of receipts from the Thai place down the street, and “Clara 718-222-9142” written on a cocktail napkin. Nathan sighed and turned his attention to the floor, which was land-mined with discarded clothes. “I should get you a maid,” he muttered.
Gathering his courage, Nathan reached under the bed, and smiled when his hand closed on something small, hard, and sharp. He pulled his hand out to see a cufflink: not his, but a silver one in the shape of a single helix, the logo of Arthur Petrelli’s law firm.
Peter emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, toweling his hair dry. “Find them?”
“No. But I found one of Dad’s.”
Peter froze for a moment, hair comically disheveled, eyes wide. “Dad’s?” he said finally.
“Yeah, his cufflink.”
“Must have dropped it last time he was here and it got kicked under there.” Peter went back to drying his hair.
“Since when does Dad come to your apartment?” Nathan asked. When Peter kept his eyes down, Nathan continued, “Is he giving you a hard time about school?”
“Well, my grades came out last week. As soon as he got them…” Peter shrugged.
“You want me to talk to him?”
“No,” Peter said quickly. “That would just prove his point: that I can’t take care of anything on my own.” He leaned forward to press a brief kiss to Nathan’s lips. “But thanks for offering.”
--
3.
Nathan threw Peter down on his old bed and was on top of him an instant later, efficiently stripping him of his dress clothes.
“Just like old times,” Peter chuckled. “Sneaking a quick grope in my room during a family function.”
“The old home place must be a good influence. And for your information, I’m planning more than a grope.” Having succeeded in stripping Peter, Nathan made short work of his own clothes.
“I don’t think we usually made it to the bed.”
Nathan draped his clothes over the back of the chair next to the little desk, and turned back to admire the sight of Peter stretched out naked on the twin bed, running a hand lazily over his erection. “Parents’ anniversary is a special occasion.” He sat on the edge of the bed and watched intently as Peter’s cock swelled and stiffened. He tore his eyes away for a moment to glance around. “Lots of memories in this room.”
A momentary frown creased Peter’s brow before he wiped it away. “You let me suck your cock here. The first time.”
Nathan grinned and him and leaned down toward Peter’s lap. “I seem to remember that,” he said. He blew gently on Peter’s cock, just to watch him shiver, but he resisted the urge to touch.
“I think we can go one better.” Peter fumbled at the drawer of the bedside table for a moment before pulling out a tube of KY.
“You kept lube in here?”
“Spent a lot of time jerking off,” Peter muttered. Nathan heard a strange note of reluctance; usually Peter had no trouble discussing anything sex-related. He was the king of dirty talk, and he had never been above embellishing the details of past encounters to create the dirtiest possible stories.
“Embarrassed to be jerking off to fantasies of me?” Nathan teased.
“Exactly.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Let’s do this.”
Nathan took the tube and squirted a generous amount onto his hand. “Don’t rush me.”
“Come on.” Peter got up onto his knees and leaned forward, spreading his ass with his hands. “Mom will notice we’re gone eventually.”
Nathan pressed one slippery finger into Peter’s hole. “Dad will notice first.”
Peter gave a noncommittal grunt as Nathan slid in another well-lubed finger beside the first. “Notice you’re gone, maybe.”
“You too, buddy,” Nathan said as he twisted his fingers. “He likes to keep an eye on his wayward son.”
“Stop it,” Peter muttered.
“What, this?” Nathan stopped moving his hand.
“No, you jerk.” Peter wriggled back toward the foot of the bed, impaling himself further on Nathan’s hand. “Do this. Fuck me. Get inside me, already.”
“Relax. You’re not ready yet.” Nathan gave him another finger, spreading them to stretch Peter for his cock. He was painfully hard, hearing Peter talk like that, but he had to be the level-headed one. Peter could be too intense sometimes, too reckless; it was up to Nathan to protect him from himself. Peter whined and bounced his ass back, fucking himself on Nathan’s hand.
“I said wait,” Nathan said warningly. Peter was being bratty on purpose. It must be the home of their childhood that brought it out in him. He wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist and put on his best authoritative voice. “You’ve got to learn some discipline, young man.”
“Stop.” Peter squirmed underneath him. “Get off.”
“What?”
Peter pulled away, out of his arms and off of the bed.
“What?” Nathan repeated, annoyed. It wasn’t as if he and Peter hadn’t played power games before. It was something they both enjoyed.
“You sounded exactly like Dad,” Peter muttered.
“Oh, thanks a lot. That’s a turn-on,” Nathan grumbled. Peter turned up a corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t a smile. Nathan ran his lubed hand over his cock, banishing thoughts of his father. “What’s wrong with you today?”
Peter quickly shook his head. “Sorry. I think the room’s weirding me out. Forget it.” He shoved Nathan back onto the bed and climbed on top of him. He straddled Nathan and sank down slowly until Nathan was buried inside him. “Go about your business.”
--
4.
One Thursday afternoon, when Nathan let himself in to Peter’s apartment, there was an empty condom wrapper on the floor of the bedroom. Two towels, one with a large wet spot, covered the bed. The place reeked of sex. Nathan found his brother in the bathroom, standing at the sink with the hot water running full blast, scrubbing his face with his hands. He was naked, and Nathan could see the handprint bruises on his hips.
“What the hell is this?”
Peter jumped as if he’d been burned. “Nathan! What-?”
“What is this, Peter? What did you do?”
Peter’s expression shifted just a little, enough for Nathan to notice the relief in it. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” Nathan snarled. “Peter, look at you.”
Peter grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. “Why are you even here?” he shot back. “I thought you had court.”
“Got out early. Peter.” Nathan grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him up against the door of the tiny bathroom. “You swore to me.”
Peter couldn’t meet his accusing glare. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground. “I know,” he whispered.
“Then why?” Nathan reined in his rage. He wanted to hit Peter, to hurt him for this betrayal. He felt pure, animal rage toward whatever bastard had dared tread on his territory. He wanted to kill Peter for allowing it. “Why?”
Peter shrugged and wouldn’t say anything else. Nathan left without another word, and tried to forget Peter’s disloyalty, forget the jealous rage. It didn’t happen.
--
5.
“I’m sorry,” Peter’s voicemail said. “Please call.”
Nathan managed to wait a week before he caved. Peter let him into the apartment silently, his head hung in contrition. For a moment, they stood there in stony silence, Nathan waiting for an explanation, Peter afraid to give it.
Finally, Nathan came out with, “You have something you want to say?”
Peter took a deep breath and jumped into the fray. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“You’re sorry you got caught?” Nathan hardly knew he’d moved, but Peter was somehow against the wall with Nathan’s hands gripping bruises into his arms. “How many have there been?”
“I never wanted anyone but you.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
“Yeah.” Peter swallowed hard, but he looked in Nathan’s eyes. And he never could lie to Nathan’s face. “I’m sorry. How do I convince you?”
There was a quaver in his voice that Nathan hated to hear. Peter should be close to tears. He should worry that fucking up like this would cost him Nathan. Not that Nathan would ever be able to walk away entirely, no matter what shit his brother pulled, but it was nice to know that Peter understood.
“You don’t have to convince me,” Nathan said. He let his hands slide around Peter’s waist and rested his forehead against Peter’s. “I believe you.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter said again.
Nathan was in trouble, he knew. This was his weak spot. Peter was his weak spot. He didn’t let people betray him: he destroyed them instead. But not Peter. He would always come back to Peter, no matter what he did.
“All the hot nursing students in the world, I don’t care,” he said. “Chick nursing students,” he amended. “But no other man. This,” he slid a hand behind Peter to cup his ass. “Is all mine. Promise me.”
“Okay.”
“Say it.”
“I promise.”
“Swear to me.”
“I swear, Nathan.”
Later, when they fucked, Nathan knew Peter hadn’t been lying; he was sorry and he showed it. Nathan knew Peter loved him. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t getting the whole truth.
--
And then.
Peter wasn’t answering his phone. Nathan looked at his watch: still four hours before he had to meet the DA’s brother for tennis. He slammed his hand against the dashboard. He shouldn’t be so furious. He hadn’t told Peter he was coming downtown today. He’d just been thinking all night about Peter: the smell of his neck, the warm imprint of his hand, the tight clench of his legs around Nathan’s waist.
Peter had been acting squirrely lately: out-of-sorts, evasive. For months after Peter’s apology they’d been fine, but now that Nathan was busier with his work at the DA’s office, he hadn’t had as much time to spend with his brother. Nathan didn’t want to believe that Peter had broken his word. Something else must be wrong. So first thing in the morning he’d made his excuses to Heidi and escaped to the city. He wanted Peter. Now. And he’d be damned if a little thing like an unanswered phone was going to stop him. He steered the car toward Peter’s building.
It wasn’t until Nathan was turning his key in Peter’s door that it occurred to him that there might be a good reason for his brother not to answer the phone on a Sunday morning. Carefully, silently, Nathan pushed the door open and closed it behind him gently. Sure enough, he could hear muffled sounds coming from the bedroom. “Way to go Pete,” he muttered. He wondered if it was a girl from one of Peter’s new nursing classes.
Nathan’s grin faltered as the noises continued. That was Peter, all right-Nathan knew every sound his brother made-but the sound wasn’t those breathy little moans Peter made when he was getting his cock sucked, or even the sensual whispers and muttered encouragements he favored on those rare occasions on which they’d experimented with Peter on top. No, coming from the bedroom were the low, almost pained grunts and gasps Peter made when he was getting fucked. Hard.
In the few seconds it took to come to that realization, Nathan went from amused indifference to blind rage. As his hand tightened on the doorknob, he picked out the soft slap of skin on skin, the creaking of the worn-out box springs. Someone else was fucking Peter into the mattress-another man. After Peter had promised. After he’d sworn.
Nathan found himself in the hallway without remembering how he’d gotten there. For a moment, he just stood. He wanted to leave, to walk out and write Peter off and cut him out of his life. He wanted to not care. But more than that, Nathan wanted to know what Peter needed badly enough that he would betray his brother to get it. So he went to the end of the hallway, around the corner, just out of sight, and he waited.
No noise came from anywhere else on the floor. It was early, still, for a Sunday, but the world must have been conspiring against Nathan for there to be nothing: no television blaring, no couples fighting, nothing to distract Nathan from imagining in vivid detail what was going on in Peter’s apartment.
Nathan knew too well how Peter looked on his back, knees spread wide, face flushed, skinny chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut. How his cock looked, swollen and hard, dark against the pale skin of his belly, the head moist and dripping pre-come.
The door to Peter’s apartment opened and closed again, and before Nathan could lose his nerve, he turned and walked around the corner as if he’d just come up the stairs. He raised his eyes to see the man who’d come out of Peter’s apartment, and stopped cold.
“Nathan?” Arthur Petrelli continued down the hall. “Come to drop in on your brother?”
“Yeah,” he said hollowly. His mind was racing to rework its assumptions. Had he been mistaken? What had he really seen or heard? Had Arthur really even been in the apartment?
“He’s in one of his moods,” Arthur said darkly. He caught Nathan by the elbow and steered him back toward the stairwell. “Let him work himself out of this snit before you try to deal with him.”
“Is he okay?”
“You coddle the boy,” Arthur said as he started down the stairs. “Which reminds me, I wanted to talk to you. Come on, I’ll take you to breakfast.”
Nathan pulled his arm out of his father’s grip. “Sorry Dad. There’s something I have to do.”
Ignoring Arthur’s protests, Nathan turned and walked back to Peter’s apartment.
He let himself in again, quietly. He listened for a moment, but heard nothing. He crept into the bedroom.
Peter was laying on his side on his bed, curled into a ball, but Nathan could still make out the drying stripes of come on his back.
“I thought you were leaving,” Peter muttered.
Nathan found himself unable to speak. His quick tongue had always gotten him out of any situation. But he couldn’t find any words to ask, to deny, to fix. He was powerless.
“You got what you wanted, Dad. Can’t you just leave?” Peter turned over, and froze when he saw Nathan standing in the doorway.
They looked at each other, paralyzed with horror. It hadn’t been real until this moment. Nathan hadn’t wanted to believe that his father had been here. He didn’t want to see Peter lying broken on the bed, painted with come like a cheap whore. He didn’t want to think about what had happened here, and whether it had happened before. Finally, Nathan managed a strangled, “Peter…”
That broke the spell. Peter was off the bed and into the bathroom like a shot, locking the door behind him.
For a moment, Nathan kept staring at the spot on the bed where Peter had been. The spot where their father had hurt him, violated him. Inescapable images assaulted Nathan: Arthur’s rough hands gripping Peter’s naked hips, wrapped around Peter’s throat, his fingers stabbing into Peter’s ass. The harsh bark of Arthur’s voice as he gave a command, ordering Peter onto his knees, or onto the bed.
From the bathroom, he heard Peter retching, and flinched. Nathan cursed himself for doing nothing when his brother needed him. Apparently that was a more common occurrence than he’d ever imagined.
“Peter.” He went to the door and leaned his forehead against it. “Are you…?” He stopped himself from asking if Peter was alright.
“Get out,” Peter called. He sounded weak.
“I’m not leaving.”
Peter’s fist hit the door, and Nathan could picture him leaning against the other side, inches away.
Nathan didn’t know what to say to him. He was supposed to protect his family, protect his brother, and he’d failed. “Dad’s not going to hurt you.” “Since when does Dad come to your apartment?” “What is this, Peter? What did you do?” “I never wanted anyone but you.”
He pressed closer to the door, as if by getting closer to where Peter was he could get through to him, he could reach him, he could make up for everything. “Peter…I shouldn’t have let this happen. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll kill Dad. Whatever you need.” No sound from the other side of the door. “Peter?” Then, no more than a whisper, “Let me fix this.”
Peter opened the door. He stood there, terribly pale in the harsh light of the bathroom. Nathan watched him for a moment, cautiously, waiting for some clue as to what his brother needed. Peter took a long, shuddery breath, and raised his eyes at last to meet his brothers’. Nathan took Peter gently in his arms, as if he were made of glass. “Anything you need,” he whispered as he held on for dear life. “Anything, Peter. What do you want me to do?”
Nathan felt Peter breathe, safe in his arms. Peter said, “Just stay.”
The pairing and warning you were looking for: (Spoiler for the story) contains implied Arthur/Peter dub-con.
Done here? Check out the sequel: Tabula Rasa
Pairing: Nathan/Peter. Another pairing implied.
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest, angst. Scroll down to end for the second pairing and one warning that is also a spoiler for the story. Although if you know my writing, I imagine you won’t be in the dark for long, whether you read the spoiler or not.
Author’s note: Beta’d by the ever-fabulous redandglenda, and dedicated to 47_trek_47, who gets total credit for inspiring the cufflinks, and who needs a pick-me-up after what happened on Monday.
Summary: Nathan always thought he was good at figuring out what his brother was thinking. He was wrong.
1.
“Go on, Pete,” Nathan said. “It’s a chance to bond with Dad on your own. Tell him about your plans for school.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Peter said glumly. He was sitting on Nathan’s bed with his stuffed-to-bursting duffel bag at his feet. Nathan had already helped him pack for the annual weekend of male Petrelli fishing and bonding upstate.
“Come time to sign the tuition deposit, he’s going to realize you’re not in a pre-law program,” Nathan pointed out. “You have to tell him sometime.”
“But it doesn’t need to be when we’re alone in the north woods.” Peter took one of Nathan’s clammy hands in his and regarded it suspiciously. “Are you really that sick? Because if you’re faking, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Yes, I’m really that sick.” Nathan pulled his hand away and reached for another tissue to blow his constantly-running nose. “Besides, roughing it is good for you.”
Peter glared. “Spending time with Dad isn’t.”
“Suck it up, Peter. Dad’s not going to hurt you.”
Peter dropped his eyes to the floor, gave his duffel bag a half-hearted kick, and didn’t reply.
Nathan sighed and scooted closer to throw an arm around his brother. “Come on. I want you two to go and make up. Can you do that for me?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
“Thanks.” Nathan squeezed him in a one-armed hug. “Now get out of here before you get my germs on you.”
--
2.
“Where the hell are my cufflinks?”
“Where’d you take them off?” Peter yelled back from the shower.
Nathan checked the top of the dresser for the sixth time, but there was only the detritus of Peter’s life: loose change, his NYU student ID, a couple of receipts from the Thai place down the street, and “Clara 718-222-9142” written on a cocktail napkin. Nathan sighed and turned his attention to the floor, which was land-mined with discarded clothes. “I should get you a maid,” he muttered.
Gathering his courage, Nathan reached under the bed, and smiled when his hand closed on something small, hard, and sharp. He pulled his hand out to see a cufflink: not his, but a silver one in the shape of a single helix, the logo of Arthur Petrelli’s law firm.
Peter emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, toweling his hair dry. “Find them?”
“No. But I found one of Dad’s.”
Peter froze for a moment, hair comically disheveled, eyes wide. “Dad’s?” he said finally.
“Yeah, his cufflink.”
“Must have dropped it last time he was here and it got kicked under there.” Peter went back to drying his hair.
“Since when does Dad come to your apartment?” Nathan asked. When Peter kept his eyes down, Nathan continued, “Is he giving you a hard time about school?”
“Well, my grades came out last week. As soon as he got them…” Peter shrugged.
“You want me to talk to him?”
“No,” Peter said quickly. “That would just prove his point: that I can’t take care of anything on my own.” He leaned forward to press a brief kiss to Nathan’s lips. “But thanks for offering.”
--
3.
Nathan threw Peter down on his old bed and was on top of him an instant later, efficiently stripping him of his dress clothes.
“Just like old times,” Peter chuckled. “Sneaking a quick grope in my room during a family function.”
“The old home place must be a good influence. And for your information, I’m planning more than a grope.” Having succeeded in stripping Peter, Nathan made short work of his own clothes.
“I don’t think we usually made it to the bed.”
Nathan draped his clothes over the back of the chair next to the little desk, and turned back to admire the sight of Peter stretched out naked on the twin bed, running a hand lazily over his erection. “Parents’ anniversary is a special occasion.” He sat on the edge of the bed and watched intently as Peter’s cock swelled and stiffened. He tore his eyes away for a moment to glance around. “Lots of memories in this room.”
A momentary frown creased Peter’s brow before he wiped it away. “You let me suck your cock here. The first time.”
Nathan grinned and him and leaned down toward Peter’s lap. “I seem to remember that,” he said. He blew gently on Peter’s cock, just to watch him shiver, but he resisted the urge to touch.
“I think we can go one better.” Peter fumbled at the drawer of the bedside table for a moment before pulling out a tube of KY.
“You kept lube in here?”
“Spent a lot of time jerking off,” Peter muttered. Nathan heard a strange note of reluctance; usually Peter had no trouble discussing anything sex-related. He was the king of dirty talk, and he had never been above embellishing the details of past encounters to create the dirtiest possible stories.
“Embarrassed to be jerking off to fantasies of me?” Nathan teased.
“Exactly.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Let’s do this.”
Nathan took the tube and squirted a generous amount onto his hand. “Don’t rush me.”
“Come on.” Peter got up onto his knees and leaned forward, spreading his ass with his hands. “Mom will notice we’re gone eventually.”
Nathan pressed one slippery finger into Peter’s hole. “Dad will notice first.”
Peter gave a noncommittal grunt as Nathan slid in another well-lubed finger beside the first. “Notice you’re gone, maybe.”
“You too, buddy,” Nathan said as he twisted his fingers. “He likes to keep an eye on his wayward son.”
“Stop it,” Peter muttered.
“What, this?” Nathan stopped moving his hand.
“No, you jerk.” Peter wriggled back toward the foot of the bed, impaling himself further on Nathan’s hand. “Do this. Fuck me. Get inside me, already.”
“Relax. You’re not ready yet.” Nathan gave him another finger, spreading them to stretch Peter for his cock. He was painfully hard, hearing Peter talk like that, but he had to be the level-headed one. Peter could be too intense sometimes, too reckless; it was up to Nathan to protect him from himself. Peter whined and bounced his ass back, fucking himself on Nathan’s hand.
“I said wait,” Nathan said warningly. Peter was being bratty on purpose. It must be the home of their childhood that brought it out in him. He wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist and put on his best authoritative voice. “You’ve got to learn some discipline, young man.”
“Stop.” Peter squirmed underneath him. “Get off.”
“What?”
Peter pulled away, out of his arms and off of the bed.
“What?” Nathan repeated, annoyed. It wasn’t as if he and Peter hadn’t played power games before. It was something they both enjoyed.
“You sounded exactly like Dad,” Peter muttered.
“Oh, thanks a lot. That’s a turn-on,” Nathan grumbled. Peter turned up a corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t a smile. Nathan ran his lubed hand over his cock, banishing thoughts of his father. “What’s wrong with you today?”
Peter quickly shook his head. “Sorry. I think the room’s weirding me out. Forget it.” He shoved Nathan back onto the bed and climbed on top of him. He straddled Nathan and sank down slowly until Nathan was buried inside him. “Go about your business.”
--
4.
One Thursday afternoon, when Nathan let himself in to Peter’s apartment, there was an empty condom wrapper on the floor of the bedroom. Two towels, one with a large wet spot, covered the bed. The place reeked of sex. Nathan found his brother in the bathroom, standing at the sink with the hot water running full blast, scrubbing his face with his hands. He was naked, and Nathan could see the handprint bruises on his hips.
“What the hell is this?”
Peter jumped as if he’d been burned. “Nathan! What-?”
“What is this, Peter? What did you do?”
Peter’s expression shifted just a little, enough for Nathan to notice the relief in it. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” Nathan snarled. “Peter, look at you.”
Peter grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. “Why are you even here?” he shot back. “I thought you had court.”
“Got out early. Peter.” Nathan grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him up against the door of the tiny bathroom. “You swore to me.”
Peter couldn’t meet his accusing glare. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground. “I know,” he whispered.
“Then why?” Nathan reined in his rage. He wanted to hit Peter, to hurt him for this betrayal. He felt pure, animal rage toward whatever bastard had dared tread on his territory. He wanted to kill Peter for allowing it. “Why?”
Peter shrugged and wouldn’t say anything else. Nathan left without another word, and tried to forget Peter’s disloyalty, forget the jealous rage. It didn’t happen.
--
5.
“I’m sorry,” Peter’s voicemail said. “Please call.”
Nathan managed to wait a week before he caved. Peter let him into the apartment silently, his head hung in contrition. For a moment, they stood there in stony silence, Nathan waiting for an explanation, Peter afraid to give it.
Finally, Nathan came out with, “You have something you want to say?”
Peter took a deep breath and jumped into the fray. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“You’re sorry you got caught?” Nathan hardly knew he’d moved, but Peter was somehow against the wall with Nathan’s hands gripping bruises into his arms. “How many have there been?”
“I never wanted anyone but you.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
“Yeah.” Peter swallowed hard, but he looked in Nathan’s eyes. And he never could lie to Nathan’s face. “I’m sorry. How do I convince you?”
There was a quaver in his voice that Nathan hated to hear. Peter should be close to tears. He should worry that fucking up like this would cost him Nathan. Not that Nathan would ever be able to walk away entirely, no matter what shit his brother pulled, but it was nice to know that Peter understood.
“You don’t have to convince me,” Nathan said. He let his hands slide around Peter’s waist and rested his forehead against Peter’s. “I believe you.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter said again.
Nathan was in trouble, he knew. This was his weak spot. Peter was his weak spot. He didn’t let people betray him: he destroyed them instead. But not Peter. He would always come back to Peter, no matter what he did.
“All the hot nursing students in the world, I don’t care,” he said. “Chick nursing students,” he amended. “But no other man. This,” he slid a hand behind Peter to cup his ass. “Is all mine. Promise me.”
“Okay.”
“Say it.”
“I promise.”
“Swear to me.”
“I swear, Nathan.”
Later, when they fucked, Nathan knew Peter hadn’t been lying; he was sorry and he showed it. Nathan knew Peter loved him. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t getting the whole truth.
--
And then.
Peter wasn’t answering his phone. Nathan looked at his watch: still four hours before he had to meet the DA’s brother for tennis. He slammed his hand against the dashboard. He shouldn’t be so furious. He hadn’t told Peter he was coming downtown today. He’d just been thinking all night about Peter: the smell of his neck, the warm imprint of his hand, the tight clench of his legs around Nathan’s waist.
Peter had been acting squirrely lately: out-of-sorts, evasive. For months after Peter’s apology they’d been fine, but now that Nathan was busier with his work at the DA’s office, he hadn’t had as much time to spend with his brother. Nathan didn’t want to believe that Peter had broken his word. Something else must be wrong. So first thing in the morning he’d made his excuses to Heidi and escaped to the city. He wanted Peter. Now. And he’d be damned if a little thing like an unanswered phone was going to stop him. He steered the car toward Peter’s building.
It wasn’t until Nathan was turning his key in Peter’s door that it occurred to him that there might be a good reason for his brother not to answer the phone on a Sunday morning. Carefully, silently, Nathan pushed the door open and closed it behind him gently. Sure enough, he could hear muffled sounds coming from the bedroom. “Way to go Pete,” he muttered. He wondered if it was a girl from one of Peter’s new nursing classes.
Nathan’s grin faltered as the noises continued. That was Peter, all right-Nathan knew every sound his brother made-but the sound wasn’t those breathy little moans Peter made when he was getting his cock sucked, or even the sensual whispers and muttered encouragements he favored on those rare occasions on which they’d experimented with Peter on top. No, coming from the bedroom were the low, almost pained grunts and gasps Peter made when he was getting fucked. Hard.
In the few seconds it took to come to that realization, Nathan went from amused indifference to blind rage. As his hand tightened on the doorknob, he picked out the soft slap of skin on skin, the creaking of the worn-out box springs. Someone else was fucking Peter into the mattress-another man. After Peter had promised. After he’d sworn.
Nathan found himself in the hallway without remembering how he’d gotten there. For a moment, he just stood. He wanted to leave, to walk out and write Peter off and cut him out of his life. He wanted to not care. But more than that, Nathan wanted to know what Peter needed badly enough that he would betray his brother to get it. So he went to the end of the hallway, around the corner, just out of sight, and he waited.
No noise came from anywhere else on the floor. It was early, still, for a Sunday, but the world must have been conspiring against Nathan for there to be nothing: no television blaring, no couples fighting, nothing to distract Nathan from imagining in vivid detail what was going on in Peter’s apartment.
Nathan knew too well how Peter looked on his back, knees spread wide, face flushed, skinny chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut. How his cock looked, swollen and hard, dark against the pale skin of his belly, the head moist and dripping pre-come.
The door to Peter’s apartment opened and closed again, and before Nathan could lose his nerve, he turned and walked around the corner as if he’d just come up the stairs. He raised his eyes to see the man who’d come out of Peter’s apartment, and stopped cold.
“Nathan?” Arthur Petrelli continued down the hall. “Come to drop in on your brother?”
“Yeah,” he said hollowly. His mind was racing to rework its assumptions. Had he been mistaken? What had he really seen or heard? Had Arthur really even been in the apartment?
“He’s in one of his moods,” Arthur said darkly. He caught Nathan by the elbow and steered him back toward the stairwell. “Let him work himself out of this snit before you try to deal with him.”
“Is he okay?”
“You coddle the boy,” Arthur said as he started down the stairs. “Which reminds me, I wanted to talk to you. Come on, I’ll take you to breakfast.”
Nathan pulled his arm out of his father’s grip. “Sorry Dad. There’s something I have to do.”
Ignoring Arthur’s protests, Nathan turned and walked back to Peter’s apartment.
He let himself in again, quietly. He listened for a moment, but heard nothing. He crept into the bedroom.
Peter was laying on his side on his bed, curled into a ball, but Nathan could still make out the drying stripes of come on his back.
“I thought you were leaving,” Peter muttered.
Nathan found himself unable to speak. His quick tongue had always gotten him out of any situation. But he couldn’t find any words to ask, to deny, to fix. He was powerless.
“You got what you wanted, Dad. Can’t you just leave?” Peter turned over, and froze when he saw Nathan standing in the doorway.
They looked at each other, paralyzed with horror. It hadn’t been real until this moment. Nathan hadn’t wanted to believe that his father had been here. He didn’t want to see Peter lying broken on the bed, painted with come like a cheap whore. He didn’t want to think about what had happened here, and whether it had happened before. Finally, Nathan managed a strangled, “Peter…”
That broke the spell. Peter was off the bed and into the bathroom like a shot, locking the door behind him.
For a moment, Nathan kept staring at the spot on the bed where Peter had been. The spot where their father had hurt him, violated him. Inescapable images assaulted Nathan: Arthur’s rough hands gripping Peter’s naked hips, wrapped around Peter’s throat, his fingers stabbing into Peter’s ass. The harsh bark of Arthur’s voice as he gave a command, ordering Peter onto his knees, or onto the bed.
From the bathroom, he heard Peter retching, and flinched. Nathan cursed himself for doing nothing when his brother needed him. Apparently that was a more common occurrence than he’d ever imagined.
“Peter.” He went to the door and leaned his forehead against it. “Are you…?” He stopped himself from asking if Peter was alright.
“Get out,” Peter called. He sounded weak.
“I’m not leaving.”
Peter’s fist hit the door, and Nathan could picture him leaning against the other side, inches away.
Nathan didn’t know what to say to him. He was supposed to protect his family, protect his brother, and he’d failed. “Dad’s not going to hurt you.” “Since when does Dad come to your apartment?” “What is this, Peter? What did you do?” “I never wanted anyone but you.”
He pressed closer to the door, as if by getting closer to where Peter was he could get through to him, he could reach him, he could make up for everything. “Peter…I shouldn’t have let this happen. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll kill Dad. Whatever you need.” No sound from the other side of the door. “Peter?” Then, no more than a whisper, “Let me fix this.”
Peter opened the door. He stood there, terribly pale in the harsh light of the bathroom. Nathan watched him for a moment, cautiously, waiting for some clue as to what his brother needed. Peter took a long, shuddery breath, and raised his eyes at last to meet his brothers’. Nathan took Peter gently in his arms, as if he were made of glass. “Anything you need,” he whispered as he held on for dear life. “Anything, Peter. What do you want me to do?”
Nathan felt Peter breathe, safe in his arms. Peter said, “Just stay.”
The pairing and warning you were looking for: (Spoiler for the story) contains implied Arthur/Peter dub-con.
Done here? Check out the sequel: Tabula Rasa