Holy crap, I posted! And it's fic!
Title: Silent and Starving
Fandom: Heroes
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Claire/Peter/Nathan; mentions of Claire/Peter and Nathan/Peter.
Disclaimer: The characters and show aren't mine, but Kring's/NBC's/etc., and this is probably evidence that they shouldn't be mine. I'm making no profit off of this -- or any money at all, for that matter.
Notes/Warnings: Petrellicest. Written for the Heroes Kink Meme, on the following prompt: Two of them are getting it on in the shower. Third person walks in on them & joins in the action. Bonus points if Peter's put in the middle. Title and summary from a translation of Pablo Neruda's Love Sonnet XI.
Summary: I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,/and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight
He knows it, somehow -- maybe it's Peter, or maybe it's something else, God only knows what. Nathan is sure that it's Peter, though, who's drawn him to the bathroom, driving him crazy with thoughts of water and heat and Claire's body against Peter's (Nathan's, he sees it in his mind, and reminds himself that it's not his body, not his hands on the slick, drop-jeweled skin of Claire's back or his cock getting painfully hard between them). He stands in the doorway and watches the blurred shapes on the other side of the fogged-up glass.
It's Peter who talks to both of them, or either of them. Peter talks to Nathan and Peter talks to Claire and that's almost like the three of them talk, and slightly less like Claire and Nathan talk.
It's Peter who fucks both of them, or either of them. Nathan wonders if Claire sees it, feels it, when Nathan bends Peter over his desk, the curtains wide open, if she has to remind herself, afterwards, that she doesn't have a dick for Nathan to suck.
Nathan pulls the door closed, and smiles in spite of himself when he sees them both jump, when the connection breaks with a jump of Peter's heart. The stone tile of the floor is cool, and he remembers that his feet are bare.
"You never did learn to keep it down, Pete," he says, and sees them both relax slightly. Which in and of itself speaks, perhaps, to how twisted they are, that his daughter and his brother aren't bothered if he's the one who catches him at it.
The door slides open, but not at the end he thought it would. Claire, red-faced -- but that could just be because of the heat of the water -- and a little breathless, peeks her head out, just enough that he can see the lines of her collarbone, the soft rounding that marks the top of her breasts. "Um, hey," she says, and then she smiles, and he knows he's lost.
Through the fogged glass, he can still make out impressionistic puddles of their clothes on the floor, the black of his suit and crisp, almost blue, white of his shirt along with the denim and colors of Claire's clothes and the darker tones of Peter's.
How he even knew -- but he did, and there's the bottle next to the shampoo, politely small and blue, so that you'd have to look hard to realize it wasn't shampoo. Not that anyone but them uses this bathroom, with Mom in her own, and if any photographer were to sneak in her right now Nathan would have far more to explain than a bottle of lube, but it's the thought that counts. Peter twists against his fingers, gasping, and it's only when Claire leans around him, looking, that Nathan feels anything like self-consciousness. Then Pete's breath hitches again; Nathan feels him clench. He looks this time, and sees that Claire has her hand wrapped loosely around Peter's length. It looks far more obscene to Nathan, somehow, than his own has in the same place, and though he's not sure what the appropriate reaction is, he's fairly certain it's not for him to get harder, which is what he does.
"Hop on, Claire," he says, and makes himself smile, knowing Peter's whole, sweetly selfish dedication to the feelings in this moment as she must have learned too, by now. Her face is even redder, but she gives a little crook of her mouth that might almost be a smile, and takes Peter's hands, which had been fumbling on the wall and his own thigh, respectively, in her own, putting them on her waist and helping him help her onto him. That's all Nathan needs, and Peter actually cries out, because immediately after he's positioned himself inside Claire, Nathan shoves roughly into him, hands sliding along Peter's wet belly and caught against Claire's as well.
That is, he will recall later, the only touch they share during the fucking itself.
Water slides along the valleys between the lean muscles of Pete's shoulders. He's cut his hair, but Claire's is plastered to her skin, from honey to maple syrup with the water's weight. Between himself and Peter, there's enough lift that they don't risk slipping, and she's braced against the slick wall, but Nathan can feel her pushing back against Peter. So Nathan's thrusting into Peter and pushing him into Claire, and Claire is pushing back -- Nathan has forgotten before how strong she is, and it's to his joy that he learns it anew this time -- pushing Peter onto Nathan.
She doesn't hide her eyes afterwards, which is something. Nathan reminds himself of just how sick they should all find this, but reminds himself that as for his daughter, the only touch between them since the water was turned off has been brief and chaste (well, relatively, no pun intended): his hands on her shoulders, his lips brushing her forehead.
"I haven't been much of a father to you," he says, and they both laugh at that, quickly, really more just a chuckle from him and a giggle from her.
"I haven't really tried to be a daughter to you," she answers, and again, quick smiles, but she looks back up, this time.
It's Peter who's the moodiest now, Peter who's unsmiling, who seems to bear the weight of this, for all that it was he who pulled them together to begin with.
"Cheer up, Pete," Nathan says, slapping Peter on the back, the sound echoing and startling them all. He and Claire laugh at the jump they all give; at that, Peter's troubled look seems to slide into irritation. "We're still a family. Now," he adds, wrapping a towel around his waist, "help Claire get dried off, will you?"
It's still through Peter that he goes, though Claire is hardly more than an arm's length away. Peter complies, though, and she seems to understand as he wraps her in a towel. While she whispers something to him, it's Nathan her eyes go to. At the smile on her face, something in side of him, dark and twisted though it clearly must be, seems a little more solid.
Fandom: Heroes
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Claire/Peter/Nathan; mentions of Claire/Peter and Nathan/Peter.
Disclaimer: The characters and show aren't mine, but Kring's/NBC's/etc., and this is probably evidence that they shouldn't be mine. I'm making no profit off of this -- or any money at all, for that matter.
Notes/Warnings: Petrellicest. Written for the Heroes Kink Meme, on the following prompt: Two of them are getting it on in the shower. Third person walks in on them & joins in the action. Bonus points if Peter's put in the middle. Title and summary from a translation of Pablo Neruda's Love Sonnet XI.
Summary: I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,/and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight
He knows it, somehow -- maybe it's Peter, or maybe it's something else, God only knows what. Nathan is sure that it's Peter, though, who's drawn him to the bathroom, driving him crazy with thoughts of water and heat and Claire's body against Peter's (Nathan's, he sees it in his mind, and reminds himself that it's not his body, not his hands on the slick, drop-jeweled skin of Claire's back or his cock getting painfully hard between them). He stands in the doorway and watches the blurred shapes on the other side of the fogged-up glass.
It's Peter who talks to both of them, or either of them. Peter talks to Nathan and Peter talks to Claire and that's almost like the three of them talk, and slightly less like Claire and Nathan talk.
It's Peter who fucks both of them, or either of them. Nathan wonders if Claire sees it, feels it, when Nathan bends Peter over his desk, the curtains wide open, if she has to remind herself, afterwards, that she doesn't have a dick for Nathan to suck.
Nathan pulls the door closed, and smiles in spite of himself when he sees them both jump, when the connection breaks with a jump of Peter's heart. The stone tile of the floor is cool, and he remembers that his feet are bare.
"You never did learn to keep it down, Pete," he says, and sees them both relax slightly. Which in and of itself speaks, perhaps, to how twisted they are, that his daughter and his brother aren't bothered if he's the one who catches him at it.
The door slides open, but not at the end he thought it would. Claire, red-faced -- but that could just be because of the heat of the water -- and a little breathless, peeks her head out, just enough that he can see the lines of her collarbone, the soft rounding that marks the top of her breasts. "Um, hey," she says, and then she smiles, and he knows he's lost.
Through the fogged glass, he can still make out impressionistic puddles of their clothes on the floor, the black of his suit and crisp, almost blue, white of his shirt along with the denim and colors of Claire's clothes and the darker tones of Peter's.
How he even knew -- but he did, and there's the bottle next to the shampoo, politely small and blue, so that you'd have to look hard to realize it wasn't shampoo. Not that anyone but them uses this bathroom, with Mom in her own, and if any photographer were to sneak in her right now Nathan would have far more to explain than a bottle of lube, but it's the thought that counts. Peter twists against his fingers, gasping, and it's only when Claire leans around him, looking, that Nathan feels anything like self-consciousness. Then Pete's breath hitches again; Nathan feels him clench. He looks this time, and sees that Claire has her hand wrapped loosely around Peter's length. It looks far more obscene to Nathan, somehow, than his own has in the same place, and though he's not sure what the appropriate reaction is, he's fairly certain it's not for him to get harder, which is what he does.
"Hop on, Claire," he says, and makes himself smile, knowing Peter's whole, sweetly selfish dedication to the feelings in this moment as she must have learned too, by now. Her face is even redder, but she gives a little crook of her mouth that might almost be a smile, and takes Peter's hands, which had been fumbling on the wall and his own thigh, respectively, in her own, putting them on her waist and helping him help her onto him. That's all Nathan needs, and Peter actually cries out, because immediately after he's positioned himself inside Claire, Nathan shoves roughly into him, hands sliding along Peter's wet belly and caught against Claire's as well.
That is, he will recall later, the only touch they share during the fucking itself.
Water slides along the valleys between the lean muscles of Pete's shoulders. He's cut his hair, but Claire's is plastered to her skin, from honey to maple syrup with the water's weight. Between himself and Peter, there's enough lift that they don't risk slipping, and she's braced against the slick wall, but Nathan can feel her pushing back against Peter. So Nathan's thrusting into Peter and pushing him into Claire, and Claire is pushing back -- Nathan has forgotten before how strong she is, and it's to his joy that he learns it anew this time -- pushing Peter onto Nathan.
She doesn't hide her eyes afterwards, which is something. Nathan reminds himself of just how sick they should all find this, but reminds himself that as for his daughter, the only touch between them since the water was turned off has been brief and chaste (well, relatively, no pun intended): his hands on her shoulders, his lips brushing her forehead.
"I haven't been much of a father to you," he says, and they both laugh at that, quickly, really more just a chuckle from him and a giggle from her.
"I haven't really tried to be a daughter to you," she answers, and again, quick smiles, but she looks back up, this time.
It's Peter who's the moodiest now, Peter who's unsmiling, who seems to bear the weight of this, for all that it was he who pulled them together to begin with.
"Cheer up, Pete," Nathan says, slapping Peter on the back, the sound echoing and startling them all. He and Claire laugh at the jump they all give; at that, Peter's troubled look seems to slide into irritation. "We're still a family. Now," he adds, wrapping a towel around his waist, "help Claire get dried off, will you?"
It's still through Peter that he goes, though Claire is hardly more than an arm's length away. Peter complies, though, and she seems to understand as he wraps her in a towel. While she whispers something to him, it's Nathan her eyes go to. At the smile on her face, something in side of him, dark and twisted though it clearly must be, seems a little more solid.