Big Ben
Title: Big Ben
Characters: Peter Petrelli, Ben Osbourn (original male character)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Contested, non-consensual oral sex.
Word count: ~1,400
Setting: Pre-season. Peter is 19, almost 20.
Summary: Peter gets cold feet and a date goes bad.
Notes: This is the reason why Peter doesn’t like having his hair pulled on during sex in most of the fic I write about him. I’ve had this particular encounter in my head for, like, three years.
He should have known better. That hammered through his brain as he undressed in Ben’s bedroom, brain desperately trying to find a way to gracefully exit the scene. Peter hadn’t been with many men, and never for anything that involved the potential for ‘going all the way’, but inexperienced or not, Peter had heard about Ben’s reputation. It wasn’t the first time Peter had refused to judge someone by what others said about them.
He wished he had. Big Ben was called that mainly due to his size. He easily outweighed Peter twice over and they couldn’t be more different. Ben had matured early, had a lot of experience, muscles, and hair, and was proudly a rough customer at the ripe age of 20. Peter still wasn’t done ‘maturing’ (sometimes he wondered if he’d ever get his full growth in). He was a classic twink who could easily pass as 15 if there was any advantage to it. Something about that had really turned Ben on to Peter, and Peter regretted not recognizing it instantly as a red flag.
But now both of them were naked. Running out felt cowardly. And it would hurt Ben’s feelings. And Peter wanted the experience - he was desperate for it, actually. Every nice guy he’d gotten near at college had laughed him off as jailbait, not believing him about his age. It left him stuck contemplating the not-so-nice guys, which was how he’d ended up with Ben. Peter was on his own in the world. He wanted to be taken seriously. Ben got around. If Peter bailed on him, that would get around, too.
They climbed on the bed, both on their knees on the mattress. Peter closed for a kiss, something he needed Ben’s cooperation on as the man was nearly half a foot taller. Ben jerked his head away and said, “I don’t do that shit. Not in here. Maybe out at a club or something, but in here’s business.” He pushed Peter down using a meaty hand on his shoulder, forcing Peter face-to-groin, awkwardly on hands and knees.
Ben was generously endowed, but he smelled bad and Peter had already been harboring misgivings. He’d given head a few times before, and yeah, one of those times the guy had been in need of some airing out, but Ben actually smelled foul rather than just the close funk of tight clothes and warm weather. He wanted foreplay. He wanted respect. I’m not going to be able to go through with this.
“Listen,” Peter said, shifting to the side trying to get away from the hand that was still trying to position him. Maybe he could explain what he wanted, and they could take a shower together as a warm-up.
“No, you listen, you little punk,” Ben cut him off. “It’s not that complicated. You put your mouth on it and suck. Everyone talks about how you don’t know what you’re doing.”
They do? That stung. He hesitated, trying to figure out what to do, but Ben wasn’t waiting for Peter to make up his mind. The hand Peter had dislodged grabbed a fistful of Peter’s hair while the other stroked his rapidly hardening erection.
“I don’t wanna do this,” Peter said, pulling back against the grip and reaching up with one hand to uselessly grab Ben’s wrist.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Ben crooned, abruptly shifting gears. “Come on. You wanted to do it earlier, right? That’s what you came with me for, right?” He was still pumping his dick, inches from Peter’s eyes. It was mesmerizing - a good-looking dick, if you could ignore the smell, which was getting fainter as time passed - either that, or Peter was getting acclimated to it. The softer voice was also complicating things for him.
“Yeah, but-“
“Yeah then, let’s do it. Come on.” Grip tight, Ben moved Peter’s head forward, pressing the head of his cock against Peter’s lips. Peter’s lips tightened. He felt trapped. If he just got the guy off, then it would be over and he could leave and never go out with the guy again and everything would be okay. “Peter, you’re naked in bed with me. Suck me off.” Ben gave a prod forward with his hips, parting Peter’s lips. Reluctantly, Peter opened his mouth, letting the sour-tasting phallus slide across his tongue. He wanted to stop it just at the head, but the hand on his hair didn’t give him any choice on the matter. The other, now free from priming himself, cupped the back of Peter’s head to make sure he didn’t go anywhere. In less than a second, the whole thing was shoved in his mouth, gagging him.
Peter heaved, gag reflex being triggered on more than one level as the cock shoved against the back of his throat and his nose ended up in unclean pubic hair. His hands came up to grasp Ben’s thighs for support as he tried to pull back. Ben would have none of it, continuing to fuck his mouth. “Fuck, Peter. You throw up on me, you little shit, and I swear to God I’ll cave your fucking face in.”
The threat registered, but it didn’t matter if Peter couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t learned to do deep throat, and his eyes were tearing with the effort of holding down the nachos and beer he’d had earlier. He shoved back, his measly strength pitted against Big Ben’s, trying to spit out the contents of his mouth. He had no leverage. Ben laughed at his ridiculous struggles and forced him tighter to his body, his penis too long and too rigid for Peter to rid himself of it easily. Jokes about biting dicks off aside, Peter couldn’t bring himself to maim someone like that - not even under these circumstances. But he could bring himself to drop one hand between Ben’s legs and bring it up sharply.
Peter’s own chin interfered with what might have otherwise been a disabling blow. That it didn’t put Ben out of commission was bad, very bad. It hurt him enough that he let go of the back of Peter’s head and grabbed at his hand, cursing and grunting. That was enough that Peter could twist back and to the side, finally spitting out the damned dick and trying to get a breath. His head was swimming and his scalp was burning. It felt like he was being held up by his hair. He flailed at the hand gripping him. It was batted out of the way and a moment later he was hit across the side of the face. Scalp separated from skull with a terrifying sensation of chill. Another blow and Peter was on his back. The room felt like it was spinning, dark around the edges.
Ben crawled over him, knees on either side of Peter’s shoulders, Peter’s head in front of him. Ben grabbed a different hank of hair with one hand as his other pointed his cock down. He tried to pull Peter up to suck him. Peter bared his teeth, feeling the world stabilize a little and the room settle down.
“You bite me, you fuck, and I will fuck you up!”
This time Peter’s chin wasn’t in the way. One nut shot later, Ben was clutching himself instead of Peter and Peter grabbed a random assortment of clothes before running out the door. His head hurt; his scalp ached continually; his ears were ringing and his mouth tasted nasty. Outside and hopefully safe around the side of the building, he yanked on what he had of his clothes. He hurried home, showing up without shoes, one sock, and no t-shirt, but he had the most important - his pants and their contents, including keys. One of his roommates, who was awake and idly watching a basketball game when Peter arrived, tried to find out what had happened. Peter had nothing to say. Anyone he told the story to would tell him the same thing: he should have known better.