Fic: Water
Title: Water
Author: Corona
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP
Warnings: Incest
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: "What are you doing in my shower?"
Spoilers: None at all.
AN: Fly-by shower porn for peppery_lime, who is made entirely of awesome, and used for my 30_forbidden prompt 'past'
The shower isn't really big enough for two, it isn't big enough to cope with the existence of two men in close quarters without a sense of sharing that's verging on indecent. It's not built to contain two people without significant amounts of contact and the press of hands against glass and tiles as they both shift for space...
Which is the reason it's fun, which is the reason Peter does it when he knows he shouldn't. Slides past the glass door and straight into a cloud of steam and water, hands not the slightest bit hesitant about reaching out and catching slick wet skin.
Nathan's head twists, he eyes Peter through wet strands of hair.
"What are you doing in my shower?"
"Showering," Peter says, because clearly that much should be obvious and Nathan doesn't appear to have any pressing reason to discourage him. In fact he lets Peter push him further into the spray, lets him slide up for wet, hard kisses. He doesn't protest when Peter catches his slippery waist, drags it close, drags him close. Wet chests and hips pressed together in a way that makes Nathan's hands finally, finally grasp Peter and pull sharply.
Peter loves Nathan wet, loves to drag his hair in strange directions, to make it hang wet and ragged in Nathan's eyes in a way he knows his brother hates, but it makes him look feral, makes him look relaxed and edgy and delicious.
It makes kissing him seem just a fraction more deliciously indecent. As if they didn't have enough reasons to be indecent already.
"We shouldn't be doing this," Nathan grumbles against his mouth. "Not here."
"The door's locked," Peter says simply, as if that's all that matters, and perhaps it is.
"We still shouldn't be doing this," Nathan says roughly, but it doesn't stop him fisting a hand in his hair and dragging him back up, dragging him close, and his mouth is hard over Peter's, all demand and need and it's good, it's really good.
He's been in the shower longer than Peter and he's warm, water warm, slippery and clean and his skin is soft and shiny and biteable.
"Ow!" Nathan protests, then crushes Peter's laughter back into his mouth.
He tries to catch Peter, tries to make him behave, but the battle's already lost. It was lost the minute he dragged him in by his waist, and long before Nathan presses him into the tiles. Makes Peter gasp at the cold, then takes advantage of his open mouth, hands on either side of his face. He holds him there while Peter slides a thigh between Nathan's and makes their lean precarious, makes every push and grasp an exercise in both balance and restraint.
"Are you going to fuck me here?" The words pull curses out of Nathan, hard and beautiful against the side of his neck, they make his thumbs dig in where they rest.
"Do you want me to?"
"God yes," Peter says instantly.
"You have no self-control." Nathan tells him and it's true. It's obviously, scandalously true and Peter isn't sorry at all. Not when it makes Nathan press into him, press close enough that every inch of him is shoved into a part of Peter, every slippery inch. It's impossible to not catch hold of his waist, to slide an arm round it and see if he can pull him impossibly closer still.
"Do you have anything?" Peter asks between kisses.
"No, because I was showering."
"I'm sad for your lonely shower efficiency, really I am," Peter tells him, leans over and pulls the door open. There are a vast variety of bottles in the racks, all very mysterious. Though some things Peter is more experienced at spotting than others.
He snatches one up with two fingers.
"The writing's in Chinese or something. I can't tell-" He peers at the bottle while he leans out of the door. "But I'm fairly certain it's massage oil, do you think mom will mind?"
"Jesus Peter," Nathan drags him back in by an elbow, drags him laughing and wet and then they're pressed together against the slippery wall, kissing against the tiles, Peter still making breathless amused noises through his nose.
The bottle opens and one of Nathan's hands is gone, the bottle hits the floor a long second later with a wet hollow 'clank' and Peter hopes, rather randomly, that they're not going to step on it and come crashing down at some point in the future.
"Spread your legs," Nathan's voice against his cheek is deep, heavy and Peter doesn't even think about it, just does as he's told, one leg curling round the edge of Nathan's.
His back hits the wall, sharp and hard, cold against his skin.
"Fuck," his hand squeaks on the tiles and Nathan's fingers go deep, up and in and it's filthy and beautiful and Peter thinks if they fucked like this it would be amazing.
He laughs into Nathan's mouth, pulls just a little on Nathan's waist. But Nathan's having none of it, shifting their mouths apart until water runs warm and fierce against the side of Peter's face.
"Peter we're not circus performers, turn around," and Peter's laughing again, slithering round in the spray.
"You're no fun at all." He thinks he should protest further, thinks he should point out that if anyone is capable of filthy pornographic acrobatics that break the laws of physics it's probably them, but Nathan presses wet and solid up his back, hands shifting his hips, curving them back in one slow pull. Peter's laugh turns into a groan, turns into something deeper and harder when Nathan pushes into him.
"Put your hands on the wall," Nathan's voice is fierce against the wet curve of his ear and Peter obeys without question, fingers going white where they press into the tiles.
"Jesus," his voices shivers out when Nathan presses in, all the way in, heavy enough that Peter's cheek is crushed briefly to the tiles, cold and delicious under his skin. He can hear the water trailing across Nathan's back, can feel the soft flare of it's warmth against the side of his face. Everything is sharp and slick wet and Peter wants to hold it so very badly.
Which is impossible, because when Nathan slides back in he makes a noise that's lost in the run of the shower, a high surprised noise of encouragement that makes Nathan's hands slide on his waist, the dig of fingers muted under the trail of water.
"You do that on purpose," Nathan's voice has gone rough, it skitters across the edge of his jaw in broken sections that make Peter want to shove back hard, make him want to destroy it entirely, until it's just one long wet groan.
"You make me do it on purpose," Peter complains into the slick tiles, smirking through the words and he's punished for it when Nathan slides an arm round his waist and pushes up hard.
Peter's gasp is loud and Nathan tangles a hand in his soaking hair and pulls his head back, makes his neck stretch out long and pale and shifting under a swallow.
"You need to learn to be quiet," Nathan hisses against his cheek, threat of teeth and then not so much threat as action against the curve of his jaw, hard and sharp and a breath away from vicious.
Peter makes a noise that vibrates round the shower, a low deep noise that isn't displeased at all.
"The harder you are, the louder I get. Do you really want to whole house to know you're fucking me?"
Blast of breath across his ear and Peter knows damn well that there's a red wet 'yes' slithering underneath all the sensible answers to that question. A 'fuck, yes' that's dark and dirty. That's some tangled mixture of love and greed and ownership.
But Nathan doesn't say it, doesn't dare say it. But he doesn't slow down, movements no gentler than before and the hand he has in Peter's hair is shifting, pulling until he has the side of Peter's throat under his mouth.
"Touch me," Peter says roughly, words mangled. Nathan doesn't even hesitate, hand sliding round to grasp his cock.
It's not gentle, every shift is quick and rough, pushing in fierce, greedy movements. Peter's own hands are sliding on the wall under every solid push, and he's so close, so fucking close he can taste it.
One dirty yank of his hair and a solid shove from Nathan's hips is enough, and Peter's gasping into the tiles, making tight little helpless noises while Nathan groans his name into his ear, hot and breathless and delicious.
"Fuck." The tiles are cold under the flat of his cheek, colder still when he slides sideways under twitches and shivers from Nathan's restless hands. His hair is released, smoothed back into place wet.
Slide of wet skin against the back of his neck, press of mouth to the curve and then Nathan slithers free.
Peter makes a groaning noise of complaint.
The water shuts off and Peter decides that's interesting enough to crack open and eye and have a look.
Nathan's eyeing him with an amused expression, hand sliding the door open.
"Where are you going?" Peter asks curiously.
"I think I'm clean," Nathan says carefully. "You on the other hand...." Nathan raises an eyebrow.
Peter slides his face back against the wall, and grumbles something vaguely insulting.
Author: Corona
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP
Warnings: Incest
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: "What are you doing in my shower?"
Spoilers: None at all.
AN: Fly-by shower porn for peppery_lime, who is made entirely of awesome, and used for my 30_forbidden prompt 'past'
The shower isn't really big enough for two, it isn't big enough to cope with the existence of two men in close quarters without a sense of sharing that's verging on indecent. It's not built to contain two people without significant amounts of contact and the press of hands against glass and tiles as they both shift for space...
Which is the reason it's fun, which is the reason Peter does it when he knows he shouldn't. Slides past the glass door and straight into a cloud of steam and water, hands not the slightest bit hesitant about reaching out and catching slick wet skin.
Nathan's head twists, he eyes Peter through wet strands of hair.
"What are you doing in my shower?"
"Showering," Peter says, because clearly that much should be obvious and Nathan doesn't appear to have any pressing reason to discourage him. In fact he lets Peter push him further into the spray, lets him slide up for wet, hard kisses. He doesn't protest when Peter catches his slippery waist, drags it close, drags him close. Wet chests and hips pressed together in a way that makes Nathan's hands finally, finally grasp Peter and pull sharply.
Peter loves Nathan wet, loves to drag his hair in strange directions, to make it hang wet and ragged in Nathan's eyes in a way he knows his brother hates, but it makes him look feral, makes him look relaxed and edgy and delicious.
It makes kissing him seem just a fraction more deliciously indecent. As if they didn't have enough reasons to be indecent already.
"We shouldn't be doing this," Nathan grumbles against his mouth. "Not here."
"The door's locked," Peter says simply, as if that's all that matters, and perhaps it is.
"We still shouldn't be doing this," Nathan says roughly, but it doesn't stop him fisting a hand in his hair and dragging him back up, dragging him close, and his mouth is hard over Peter's, all demand and need and it's good, it's really good.
He's been in the shower longer than Peter and he's warm, water warm, slippery and clean and his skin is soft and shiny and biteable.
"Ow!" Nathan protests, then crushes Peter's laughter back into his mouth.
He tries to catch Peter, tries to make him behave, but the battle's already lost. It was lost the minute he dragged him in by his waist, and long before Nathan presses him into the tiles. Makes Peter gasp at the cold, then takes advantage of his open mouth, hands on either side of his face. He holds him there while Peter slides a thigh between Nathan's and makes their lean precarious, makes every push and grasp an exercise in both balance and restraint.
"Are you going to fuck me here?" The words pull curses out of Nathan, hard and beautiful against the side of his neck, they make his thumbs dig in where they rest.
"Do you want me to?"
"God yes," Peter says instantly.
"You have no self-control." Nathan tells him and it's true. It's obviously, scandalously true and Peter isn't sorry at all. Not when it makes Nathan press into him, press close enough that every inch of him is shoved into a part of Peter, every slippery inch. It's impossible to not catch hold of his waist, to slide an arm round it and see if he can pull him impossibly closer still.
"Do you have anything?" Peter asks between kisses.
"No, because I was showering."
"I'm sad for your lonely shower efficiency, really I am," Peter tells him, leans over and pulls the door open. There are a vast variety of bottles in the racks, all very mysterious. Though some things Peter is more experienced at spotting than others.
He snatches one up with two fingers.
"The writing's in Chinese or something. I can't tell-" He peers at the bottle while he leans out of the door. "But I'm fairly certain it's massage oil, do you think mom will mind?"
"Jesus Peter," Nathan drags him back in by an elbow, drags him laughing and wet and then they're pressed together against the slippery wall, kissing against the tiles, Peter still making breathless amused noises through his nose.
The bottle opens and one of Nathan's hands is gone, the bottle hits the floor a long second later with a wet hollow 'clank' and Peter hopes, rather randomly, that they're not going to step on it and come crashing down at some point in the future.
"Spread your legs," Nathan's voice against his cheek is deep, heavy and Peter doesn't even think about it, just does as he's told, one leg curling round the edge of Nathan's.
His back hits the wall, sharp and hard, cold against his skin.
"Fuck," his hand squeaks on the tiles and Nathan's fingers go deep, up and in and it's filthy and beautiful and Peter thinks if they fucked like this it would be amazing.
He laughs into Nathan's mouth, pulls just a little on Nathan's waist. But Nathan's having none of it, shifting their mouths apart until water runs warm and fierce against the side of Peter's face.
"Peter we're not circus performers, turn around," and Peter's laughing again, slithering round in the spray.
"You're no fun at all." He thinks he should protest further, thinks he should point out that if anyone is capable of filthy pornographic acrobatics that break the laws of physics it's probably them, but Nathan presses wet and solid up his back, hands shifting his hips, curving them back in one slow pull. Peter's laugh turns into a groan, turns into something deeper and harder when Nathan pushes into him.
"Put your hands on the wall," Nathan's voice is fierce against the wet curve of his ear and Peter obeys without question, fingers going white where they press into the tiles.
"Jesus," his voices shivers out when Nathan presses in, all the way in, heavy enough that Peter's cheek is crushed briefly to the tiles, cold and delicious under his skin. He can hear the water trailing across Nathan's back, can feel the soft flare of it's warmth against the side of his face. Everything is sharp and slick wet and Peter wants to hold it so very badly.
Which is impossible, because when Nathan slides back in he makes a noise that's lost in the run of the shower, a high surprised noise of encouragement that makes Nathan's hands slide on his waist, the dig of fingers muted under the trail of water.
"You do that on purpose," Nathan's voice has gone rough, it skitters across the edge of his jaw in broken sections that make Peter want to shove back hard, make him want to destroy it entirely, until it's just one long wet groan.
"You make me do it on purpose," Peter complains into the slick tiles, smirking through the words and he's punished for it when Nathan slides an arm round his waist and pushes up hard.
Peter's gasp is loud and Nathan tangles a hand in his soaking hair and pulls his head back, makes his neck stretch out long and pale and shifting under a swallow.
"You need to learn to be quiet," Nathan hisses against his cheek, threat of teeth and then not so much threat as action against the curve of his jaw, hard and sharp and a breath away from vicious.
Peter makes a noise that vibrates round the shower, a low deep noise that isn't displeased at all.
"The harder you are, the louder I get. Do you really want to whole house to know you're fucking me?"
Blast of breath across his ear and Peter knows damn well that there's a red wet 'yes' slithering underneath all the sensible answers to that question. A 'fuck, yes' that's dark and dirty. That's some tangled mixture of love and greed and ownership.
But Nathan doesn't say it, doesn't dare say it. But he doesn't slow down, movements no gentler than before and the hand he has in Peter's hair is shifting, pulling until he has the side of Peter's throat under his mouth.
"Touch me," Peter says roughly, words mangled. Nathan doesn't even hesitate, hand sliding round to grasp his cock.
It's not gentle, every shift is quick and rough, pushing in fierce, greedy movements. Peter's own hands are sliding on the wall under every solid push, and he's so close, so fucking close he can taste it.
One dirty yank of his hair and a solid shove from Nathan's hips is enough, and Peter's gasping into the tiles, making tight little helpless noises while Nathan groans his name into his ear, hot and breathless and delicious.
"Fuck." The tiles are cold under the flat of his cheek, colder still when he slides sideways under twitches and shivers from Nathan's restless hands. His hair is released, smoothed back into place wet.
Slide of wet skin against the back of his neck, press of mouth to the curve and then Nathan slithers free.
Peter makes a groaning noise of complaint.
The water shuts off and Peter decides that's interesting enough to crack open and eye and have a look.
Nathan's eyeing him with an amused expression, hand sliding the door open.
"Where are you going?" Peter asks curiously.
"I think I'm clean," Nathan says carefully. "You on the other hand...." Nathan raises an eyebrow.
Peter slides his face back against the wall, and grumbles something vaguely insulting.