[Heroes] Core (Nathan/Peter, PG-13)
Title: Core
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 742 (W)
Thanks to: snopes_faith, the everpresent beta.
Spoiler(s): S1 finale and 2x01.
Note(s): Written for snopes_faith, prompt: "Peter sneaks into Nathan's room and bed whilst Nathan sleeps".
He tiptoes in your room while you're sleeping, and even if you were awake you would hardly notice it. His socks soften his steps and he's holding his breath in his nose to be silent, like he wanted to catch you by surprise or had something to hide. In his case, probably both. If you were awake, you could imagine him putting one foot before the other very carefully, so that not even the softest noise reach you, with his tongue between his teeth and a face like an apprentice robber.
The apartment is small, so small that everywhere there's still the smell of the roast meat you burned; near the oven, in the bathroom, around the bed, even behind the curtains. You can't smell it anymore, because you've got accustomed and because you're sleeping; you're really sleeping, not pretending - but if you were awake, you surely would (and he would notice).
When you're awake, you're not sure that living with a person who reads your mind will be as easy as the joy to have him back lets you believe; when you're sleeping, you don't even consider the matter. When you're sleeping, you only know that the squeaking of the bedsprings curving under his weight has become a detail in your dream, that... you've already lost it.
You can't know it, but your dreamy thoughts surprise him. It's the first time he hears you dream, and it's astonishing. It's you, but it's not. It's you when nobody, not even he, can see you - so it's not you at all, because you (the you he loves, the you that makes people fall in love, basically the you you hate) doesn't exist when nobody can see. You're like an apple when only the core is left. And the core, you know, gets thrown away.
He flinches lightly, but it's just a moment. When you wake up you'll be the right person again, and he'll love you (he loves you even now, even this way) like he always does. If you were awake, you'd notice he's grown older too, while you weren't there. Now he understands things more quickly, even though sometimes he doesn't understand things at all, and other times he needs the usual, annoying lifetime to get it. But he's grown older, and he's your brother, and this is enough to compensate for everything he's not.
You sigh in your slumber, letting him touch you. Even in your dream it doesn't seem such a surprising revelation. As far as you know him, you believed he'd do it during the day, confessing everything in the most rapid, shocking manner, maybe looking at you with that adolescent look that surfaces sometimes, that one that challenges you to say something pragmatic and hurt his feelings. This way it's a little cowardly, a little less like him, but it doesn't change the point. His hands are on you anyway, and you've got no strength - conscience - wish - to move them away.
If you didn't wake up yet, it's because it seems like you have a foreign fluid in your body instead of your blood. Apart from his hands, there are his lips too, and there's his whole body curled against your back, his torso against your shoulder blades, his knees in the back of yours, his feet between yours. He's warm like the last time he's hugged you so tight, but it doesn't burn, it's pleasant instead. Even in your slumber you hope he'll stay like this, still, tight around you, for a long time. If you woke up and found him in your bed, you could even decide to let everything go to hell and tell him - throw away that last hesitation you've got left, and it's so strange how things always go in reverse in your life - that one should've been the first to disappear.
Peter hugs you a little more strongly, calling your name, and something gives a little pull to your conscience, opening a blade of light in your head. You don't care if waking up your head will ache to death. You don't care if waking up it'll look all dirty, wrong, desolating. You just don't care, you think.
When you wake up you're alone with the stale smell of roast pervading the apartment. It reminds you the smell of your own burnt flesh.
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 742 (W)
Thanks to: snopes_faith, the everpresent beta.
Spoiler(s): S1 finale and 2x01.
Note(s): Written for snopes_faith, prompt: "Peter sneaks into Nathan's room and bed whilst Nathan sleeps".
He tiptoes in your room while you're sleeping, and even if you were awake you would hardly notice it. His socks soften his steps and he's holding his breath in his nose to be silent, like he wanted to catch you by surprise or had something to hide. In his case, probably both. If you were awake, you could imagine him putting one foot before the other very carefully, so that not even the softest noise reach you, with his tongue between his teeth and a face like an apprentice robber.
The apartment is small, so small that everywhere there's still the smell of the roast meat you burned; near the oven, in the bathroom, around the bed, even behind the curtains. You can't smell it anymore, because you've got accustomed and because you're sleeping; you're really sleeping, not pretending - but if you were awake, you surely would (and he would notice).
When you're awake, you're not sure that living with a person who reads your mind will be as easy as the joy to have him back lets you believe; when you're sleeping, you don't even consider the matter. When you're sleeping, you only know that the squeaking of the bedsprings curving under his weight has become a detail in your dream, that... you've already lost it.
You can't know it, but your dreamy thoughts surprise him. It's the first time he hears you dream, and it's astonishing. It's you, but it's not. It's you when nobody, not even he, can see you - so it's not you at all, because you (the you he loves, the you that makes people fall in love, basically the you you hate) doesn't exist when nobody can see. You're like an apple when only the core is left. And the core, you know, gets thrown away.
He flinches lightly, but it's just a moment. When you wake up you'll be the right person again, and he'll love you (he loves you even now, even this way) like he always does. If you were awake, you'd notice he's grown older too, while you weren't there. Now he understands things more quickly, even though sometimes he doesn't understand things at all, and other times he needs the usual, annoying lifetime to get it. But he's grown older, and he's your brother, and this is enough to compensate for everything he's not.
You sigh in your slumber, letting him touch you. Even in your dream it doesn't seem such a surprising revelation. As far as you know him, you believed he'd do it during the day, confessing everything in the most rapid, shocking manner, maybe looking at you with that adolescent look that surfaces sometimes, that one that challenges you to say something pragmatic and hurt his feelings. This way it's a little cowardly, a little less like him, but it doesn't change the point. His hands are on you anyway, and you've got no strength - conscience - wish - to move them away.
If you didn't wake up yet, it's because it seems like you have a foreign fluid in your body instead of your blood. Apart from his hands, there are his lips too, and there's his whole body curled against your back, his torso against your shoulder blades, his knees in the back of yours, his feet between yours. He's warm like the last time he's hugged you so tight, but it doesn't burn, it's pleasant instead. Even in your slumber you hope he'll stay like this, still, tight around you, for a long time. If you woke up and found him in your bed, you could even decide to let everything go to hell and tell him - throw away that last hesitation you've got left, and it's so strange how things always go in reverse in your life - that one should've been the first to disappear.
Peter hugs you a little more strongly, calling your name, and something gives a little pull to your conscience, opening a blade of light in your head. You don't care if waking up your head will ache to death. You don't care if waking up it'll look all dirty, wrong, desolating. You just don't care, you think.
When you wake up you're alone with the stale smell of roast pervading the apartment. It reminds you the smell of your own burnt flesh.