Fic: Ritual (32): The Penitential Rite
Title: Ritual (32): The Penitential Rite
Pairing/Characters: Peter/Nathan, implied Peter/Adam, Matt, Adam ("offscreen"), Hiro (briefly)
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: through 2.11, "Powerless"
Word Count: about 8600
Warnings: explicit m/m sex, language
Summary:Peter and Nathan reunite at last, and it's both easier and harder than either of them could have imagined. Conclusion of the "truth" arc from Rituals 29, 30, and 31.
Previous rituals:
(1) :: (2) :: (3) :: (4) :: (5) :: (6) :: (7) :: (8) :: (9) :: (10) :: (11) :: (12) :: (13) :: (14) :: (15) :: (16) :: (17) :: (18) :: (19) :: (20) :: (21) :: (22) :: (23) :: (24) :: (25) :: (26) :: (27) :: (28) :: (29) :: (30) :: (31)
Heroes is the property of NBC/Universal and Tailwinds Production. This is a work of fan fiction and no claim of ownership is implied for the characters or storylines. Contains dialogue and situations from "Powerless" written by Jeph Loeb.
... [Incorporating] a traditional prayer in the Mass of the Roman Catholic Church known as Confiteor (Latin for "I confess"), in which the individual recognizes his or her flaws before God.... not simply a confession of sins, but rather an admission of one's flawed nature and the willingness to make amends for it. - from Wikipedia
FEBURARY 2007, NEW YORK CITY
"...Peter?"
Nathan was awake now. One minute he'd been in so much pain that he'd started screaming; a nurse came in and gave him something, and he'd dropped out of consciousness. And then he was awake, his bare chest and arms cold and itchy, and his eyes open, and someone was leaving the room.
And he'd heard Peter's voice. He'd swear it on a stack of Bibles. Peter's voice, whispering, I love you.
Maybe he was dreaming.
"Peter?" Nathan said again.
And now he heard his own voice. Not the rusty, half-clogged rasp that he'd gotten used to over the last few months - no, it was his voice, the way it used to sound, the way it should sound. And his whole body was itching like crazy, and one hand reflexively moved up to rub his chest, even though he knew he shouldn't touch... but his fingertips touched smooth, whole, hairless skin. Skin where the hair was growing fast enough to feel its progress under his fingers. He looked over at the table on the side wall, looking for his picture of Peter and himself in their wedding-party tuxedos, and it was gone.
If he was dreaming, it certainly was vivid.
Nathan tapped the bed-elevation button over and over again, staring at his hand as he did so - it wasn't all red and scaly anymore. It was normal. Complete and whole and healed. When he had angled himself upright as far as the bed would go, he saw himself in the mirror looking the way he had before. Just with longer hair on top, maybe, and less hair on his body. His shrapnel scars were all still there, but smoother and smaller, and he was painfully thin. But he was restored.
Impossible. But what was impossible, anymore?
He lay there and stared his reflection for a moment. Then he tried to sit up, swing his legs over the side of the bed, but he couldn't; he felt very heavy, stoned, sleepy, and weak. With the last of his strength, he pulled the IV hookup from his arm and the oxygen tubes from his nostrils, then lay there and relaxed for a while longer, feeling more solid by the second as the morphine faded away. This was really happening. But how? Linderman was dead. Who else could have healed him? Who else had that power?
"Peter," realized Nathan.
Peter had done this. Nathan didn't know how, but he knew. Maybe somehow, Peter had taken on Linderman's ability. But when? At Thanksgiving, year before last? Did it work that way? There was still so much he didn't know. He didn't even know much about his own power - how fast he could go, how strong he was. He wanted to fly with Peter, so they could test each other, time each other... hell, go bombing through clouds together. Peter was the only other person who could possibly understand what it was like for him.
"Peter," he whispered again, and sighed.
Reluctantly, he pressed the nurse call button, and steeled himself for the consequences. He didn't really want to deal with them right now, but he didn't trust himself to remove his own catheter, and if somebody didn't get that tube out of his dick ASAP, he was going to start screaming again.
Peter had just been there. Nathan was certain of it. And more horrible than the catheter was having to just lie there, and not go running out to try to find his brother. But he would, as soon as he could. If he was going to have a second chance at life after having accepted death, he damn well wanted to get it right. As soon as he was able, he was going to find Peter (if Peter wanted to be found...) and maybe one day they'd fly.
It wasn't like he had anything else to live for anymore.
***
MARCH 20 2007, ODESSA
It would have all been so easy, if it wasn't for Hiro.
Peter didn't want to hurt Hiro. Not at first. But anyone who got in his way at this point, after an initial warning, was fair game. And no one threatened Adam while Peter was around.
It felt so good to toss Hiro around, to lift him up by the throat, without getting his own fingers dirty. So good. So good, he made sure not to kill Hiro, to make the fun last longer.
Make him turn blue. Make him hurt. Turn the pain outside.
The voice in Peter's head didn't quite sound like himself to himself. That soft, silky, unconcerned tone... really the same one he'd been hearing for these last few months... fine, though. That was fine. No. It's not me. This is not me. Hiro made awful, gagging, straining noises. No, just kill him. Just get it over with.
NO! I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. I don't want to be the kind of person who wants this.
Just do it, Peter. End it. End him. Get rid of the stupid carp once and for all.
Peter smelled blood. It was not his own voice in his mind.
LET HIRO GO.
That was a shout in Peter's mind, reverbating around the bowl of his skull. And a compulsion. The etherial fingers Peter had locked around Hiro's throat lost their grip, and Hiro slid to the floor. Someone else, now. So many voices in Peter's head, so much pressure it felt like he was going to start bleeding from the eyes. Cold sweat ran down Peter's spine, and he turned around, wondering who was doing this to him. He almost recognized this voice - he knew he knew it. Where was it stored in his memory? Not with Nathan, not with his mother.
GO AFTER ADAM.
It was Officer Matt Parkman. Standing right there, frowning at him, his thoughts straining outward from his head and flooding Peter's, straining hard to make Peter stop whatever he was doing. Peter felt very sick all of a sudden, but also excited again, thrilled to have something else new displayed to him. Something else that Peter could learn how to do. No one was going to best Peter at his own game.
HE'S USING YOU, PETER.
Wrestling, Peter forced back, making his thoughts into a fist, punching it through Parkman's directive. I DON'T THINK SO. YOU'RE WRONG. Fun to see the look of surprise on Parkman's face. He obviously hadn't thought Peter was going to fight back. Rage boiled in Peter's chest, and he rushed toward Matt with teeth clenched, shoving back with every single feeling of betrayal he'd ever experienced. Matt's big body went sliding over the floor, back to the back wall; getting Matt out of his way. Adam was in the vault recovering the virus; it was already too late for whatever Matt was trying to do. Why would Matt go through all this trouble?
"I don't get it - you're on the wrong side," Peter said out loud, his voice almost tearful, shaky and uncertain. Some instinct told him to speak aloud; some tiny nudge of destiny. Some faint voice from beyond, from the unseen depths of himself. He stared at Parkman cowering on the floor of the hallway, wondering if he was going to have to kill the guy. He didn't know; he might have already killed Hiro. But the fate of the world was in his hands. Again. Peter didn't want to kill, but he would if he had to, to save Caitlin-
"What about me?"
That voice, he recognized. That figure, he knew, stepping out of a doorway in the middle of the hall, maybe twenty feet away. Those eyes, gazing at him. Alive, healed, beautiful, a little shaggy on top and very worn around the edges, but him, definitely him.
My love.
"Nathan?" Peter asked, shaking his head in disbelief. It was an illusion. It had to be. How could Nathan really be there? How could Nathan be standing against him, when Peter was trying to save humanity? For a horrible second, Peter considered the possibility that he would have to kill Nathan, too. Nathan's life, in exchange for the world's? Suddenly, Peter couldn't breathe. They were all going to die. Everyone was going to die - everyone in the world - and it was his fault.
Nathan didn't blink. "Am I on the wrong side, too?" The voice was right, calm and gentle, but insistent, the tone of voice you used with a dangerous, mentally unbalanced patient holding a weapon. Peter felt sicker and sicker by the second. "I went to the Company and went through Adam's history. Who he is, what he wanted... Pete, he tried to release the virus."
Illusion. Maybe if he could stall for time...No, not Adam. Yes, Adam! No, but... Nathan. No, but we've come so far; I've given so much. Nathan...! Nathan will listen to me. "You want to know how your burns got healed, Nathan? He gave you his blood. I was there. You should be grateful."
Nathan just looked sad. "He used me," he breathed, disbelievingly. "And you let him. You jumped right in, because..."
"Because-" Peter said. His voice caught on it. "Nathan-"
"He used me to get to you. Don't you see it? He tried to manipulate you like that." Nathan didn't seem angry at all; instead he seemed sympathetic. He had been through it, too.
"Nathan, I-"
Nathan just went on, ignoring Peter's protests, rightly guessing that they weren't Peter's at all. "That night in Kirby Plaza, when I carried you away, it was because I believe in you. You're my brother, Pete. I love you."
Peter's perceptions suddenly seemed very clear, like a fog evaporating at the touch of morning sunlight.
"Can you really trust what he says?"
Inside Nathan's mind, vivid and pure: Please come to your senses before it's too late for all of us. Please, lover, please. Please feel how much I love you. I'm right this time. I'm sorry for all those times I lied to you before; I won't ever lie to you again. Please just believe me.
Peter looked over his shoulder at the opened vault door, and started running toward it as fast as he could, slowing time as he went. Thanks to having to open the door the brute way, he was too weak to stop time entirely. He wished he had actually gotten a chance to talk to Hiro about how to teleport geographically, because if he'd had that skill, Peter would have jumped into the vault, grabbed the sword, and plunged it right into Adam's face. Again and again, until it was obliterated - he would chop that bored, annoyed face into hash.
But he had to make do with what he had. Bolt in, grab, and stop.
Somehow, Adam was already gone, as though he'd never been there. If only.
***
"We've been used by these people. Manipulated. But it's over. It stops here. No more secrets."
Nathan still spoke like a politician, Peter decided, but not in a bad way; now he sounded seasoned, a little world-weary, trying again after surviving events that would have destroyed a lesser man. But his voice was so beautiful, his conviction so compelling that the words he said were nearly irrelevant. It was dangerously effective. Peter just stood there and stared at Nathan as he talked, as he discussed his desire to make this whole conspiracy public, to stop having to pay for the misdeeds of their parents. A press conference; that's how politician types communicated. It was as good an approach as any. At least Nathan was doing something.
Matt Parkman seemed taken by Nathan, too. He was far more comfortable around Nathan than he was around Peter; they had obviously been through something that had established a bond of understanding, like they'd been to war together. Parkman looked a little unsure when Nathan told him to guarantee that everyone listened to him, and Peter smirked, wondering exactly how Matt was supposed to do that. But then he remembered how hard it had been even to recognize that his thoughts weren't his own, and realized that the average person would do whatever he was compelled to do and never notice. It was the same old Nathan; dazzlingly immoral, results-oriented. Peter wouldn't say so in front of Parkman, but it was so much like the way their mother and father did things, and it hadn't necessarily turned out so well for them or anyone else.
The thought made Peter smile, and Nathan gave him a quzzical look. "What's so amusing?" he asked. He was so serious, so intent, but a lock of his overgrown hair swooped off his temple and pointed straight up, like the curlicue on a kewpie doll. No wonder he had always kept his hair so short. Nathan wasn't much for looking ridiculous and cute.
Ahhh, Nathan.
Peter couldn't stop smiling, once he started. "Please just... touch me for a minute. So I can believe you're really there."
Nathan just looked at him for a moment, then stepped forward and crushed Peter into his arms. "I'm here," he whispered, kissing Peter's forehead. "It's okay."
Peter clung to him, trying to tuck his head under Nathan's chin, but he was too tall for that now, and all he did was nuzzle Nathan's neck, gulping down great lungfuls of his scent, getting dizzy on it. Dizzy on the comfort and the excitement and relief. "You're real," Peter whispered. "Oh... sometimes I didn't know if I'd ever see you again... I have thought about you every single second."
"I thought about you every single second," Nathan countered, drawing back a little, smiling, his eyes gleaming with tears. "I thought I'd lost you. I ran everywhere looking for you. But I never gave up." Peter grinned; for once, he wasn't the one crying. One of the tears escaped Nathan's eye and ran down his cheek, toward his chin, over the scars. Peter kissed the tear away, kissed the scars, fastened onto Nathan's mouth, holding him tighter. Nathan squeezed him back, kissed him back, their mouths softly meeting again and again, shy and brief, then extending, opening, trading a quick, sweet, wet taste that made them both shudder.
Yes. Everything was all right now.
Peter heard Parkman nervously clearing his throat, and he pulled away from Nathan and blushed. But Nathan held onto one of Peter's hands, and stared at the cop, eyes challenging. Matt shoved his hands into his pockets and wouldn't return the stare; he looked a little green around the gills. In his mind, he muttered, sick sick sick. He hadn't meant to send it; he grimaced a little, guessing Peter had probably overheard. "Uhh..." he said aloud. "Do you guys, uh, need a moment alone?"
"We do," Nathan said. He smiled at Peter, and reluctantly dropped his hand. "Just not here. We should go. Peter? Can you help?"
Peter nodded. "I'll get us out of here okay," he replied confidently. "Actually, if you'll both take my hands?"
Nathan eagerly grabbed Peter's hand again, smiling as if it were some rare treat, and then scoffed as Matt shuffled his feet. "Oh, c'mon, Parkman. We don't have cooties. I gave you a ride here on my back. It's not contagious."
"No, it's just... creepy. And disturbing. And you said you wouldn't mention it." Matt frowned at Nathan, but grudgingly took Peter's hand into his. Peter linked fingers with them both and walked out of the vault, thinking of Claude as strongly as he could. It was hard to do, with Nathan holding his hand and filling every moment of thought, so he thought of the day when Nathan had come to Peter's apartment with Suresh in tow, and Claude saved Peter's ass. (How he'd loathed Nathan that day.) "What's the deal with this?" Matt asked.
"We're invisible," Peter said. "Should be, anyway."
"Seriously?" Matt said curiously. "I can still see you, though. How can you tell when you're invisible?"
"You can feel it," Peter explained. "It's really subtle. And as long as you're touching me, you get to come along with me." He paused as Nathan snickered. "You're not making it any easier for him," Peter admonished softly. "Besides, what are you, twelve?"
"I don't care what he thinks he knows," Nathan said, a big smile on his face. "I love you. And he's my friend. And there are plenty of other reasons why we could be lynched; might as well add one more."
"Can I ask a really nasty personal question? Since we're 'friends?'" Parkman inquired. "Does this maybe have anything to do with why you're getting divorced?"
"You're getting divorced?" Peter broke in.
Nathan said to Peter, "Yeah. Actually it should be final next week. After that, it's just custody hearings, and I don't know if I'll have any luck with that. She thinks I'm dangerously insane. Or worse; she believes I was actually telling the truth." To Matt, he answered, "That is part of it, I'm sure. I'd do the same thing if I was her."
"You told Heidi?" Peter asked, so floored that he let them all lapse into visibility again. Fortunately they were in a safe place - still in the stairwell - but he took a deep breath and concentrated on remembering the color of Claude's eyes, the cadence of Claude's bitter laugh.
"I thought I was dying," Nathan explained. "I figured I didn't have much to lose, and at least I would die without all those secrets on my conscience. Joke's on me. Fate's pretty perverse, ain't it?"
"Would you have told her about us if you weren't on your deathbed?"
"God, no. I'm not crazy," Nathan replied, and even Matt chuckled. Nathan lightly squeezed Peter's hand.
The warehouse was almost completely deserted now; maybe it was lunchtime, or maybe the workers had been evacuated. One or two workers still scurried about labeling giant reams of paper. There were no police or security guards; there was no evidence that ten minutes ago, there had been a sword battle on that very receiving area. Peter hoped that Hiro was all right; he had vanished, too, along with Adam. Hiro and Adam seemed to have some history, and Peter decided he didn't want to know.
Holding hands, the three men walked right past the workers without being noticed. Matt stared behind him in disbelief. "This is the coolest power," he whispered to Peter. "What every guy wants, y'know? Oh... maybe not you."
Peter grinned over his shoulder at Parkman. "It used to be amazing at first," he said. "It's like... when you're a baby, at first walking is the most astonishing, unlikely, incredible thing in the world. Physiologically, it's very complicated. But after a while... it's just walking. You start thinking about what you can do with it instead. It's like... there's a beer in the fridge, how do I get it?" He laughed out loud, making the warehouse paper workers look around in confusion. "You know what it's like," Peter said. "It's just part of you after a while. And no way is this cooler than flying."
"I'd... kinda like to stay on the ground from now on, actually," Parkman said.
"There you go with the mentioning it," Nathan grumbled, but he was smiling.
Outside, at the far edge of the parking lot, Peter let go of their hands. Nathan turned to Matt and said, "All right. For the press conference, get ahold of all the newsdesks for every TV station in town. Cable, too, if they've got news. The best thing to do is to go to one of their offices, tell them that Congressman-Elect Nathan Petrelli would like to speak to the press. Once you've got one locked down, get on the phone to the others; they'll call the other newsdesks to verify, and then they're in. Get the newspaper, too; the TV stations will have the direct line contact information. I want it to be at police headquarters, because you won't have a hard time getting inside, and they can provide protection. Once you're there, tell them that it's happening. Make sure they listen. All they have to do is get there, and be there. I'll take it from there."
"So I have to do all the work?" Matt grumbled.
"Come on, Parkman, it will take you an hour, ninety minutes tops. It's Odessa. It's not a huge city; this is well within your power. Just think. Getting your life back." He put his hand on Parkman's shoulder and looked into his eyes. "Not having to hide and look over your shoulder anymore. You're saving the lives of countless hundreds... thousands of people. Setting the rest of us free." He waited until Matt nodded in response. Peter grinned to see it - who needed telepathic manipulation, when you were Nathan Petrelli? "I just need to... talk to Peter alone for a while. There's a lot for us to figure out before this press conference happens. I'll meet you at the police station in an hour."
"Make it two," Peter said.
"No, three," Nathan added, looking at his watch and reconsidering. "Right in time for the five o'clock news. That gives us thirty minutes of lead time before we go live. Call me if you need anything." Parkman gave another grudging nod, and looked in the direction of town with an expression of mild dismay.
Then Nathan gazed at Peter and smiled a little uncertainly, as if still not believing that this was happening. Peter smiled back. "I want to try something that I should be able to do, and I really ought to practice it," he said, grabbing Nathan into his arms, and kissing him on the lips. He thought of the dimensions of home, the light, the hardwood floor, the curl of peeling linoleum in the kitchen visible from his bedroom, the wall of mirror tiles, the smell of his pillows and the ticking of the wall heater, and wished himself there.
Even if it went wrong, he'd at least have Nathan with him.
When Nathan broke out of the kiss, they stood in the doorway of the bedroom in Peter's apartment in Manhattan, afternoon daylight shining through a small space between the curtains. Nathan turned around and blinked in disbelief. The digital clock beside the bed read 2:31 03/20/07, the same as Nathan's watch, which he had never gotten around to re-setting to the Central time zone.
"Wow," he said slowly, "I didn't know... you could... do that."
"Just kiss me," Peter demanded, and Nathan shook off his astonishment, and did as Peter asked.
***
He'd gotten Peter back.
Nathan didn't know if he'd ever be able to do without again. Peter's tongue in his mouth. Peter's fingers sliding down inside his waistband. Peter's breath coming in tiny, anxious pants, interspersed with sudden brief moans of lustful surprise. Nathan feasted on Peter's mouth, slid his hands wonderingly along the softly spiky crop of Peter's hair. He wanted to take a moment to look at it, but he couldn't stop kissing Peter, or Peter wouldn't stop kissing him.
There really would never be enough.
But now there was time. And Nathan really did want to have a chance to just look at him without being afraid of him. He broke roughly out of the kiss, and trained his eyes carefully over to the corner of the room. If he looked at Peter's mouth, or his eyes, Nathan would have no choice but to kiss him again. "Bed," he said, gently shoving Peter towards it. "Take your clothes off," he added, getting started on himself. He pulled off his jacket and tossed it onto a chair, shirt onto a desk; he didn't really care too much these days. Peter watched him without judgment, sinking slowly down onto the surface of the bed (unmade, still - Nathan its last occupant), slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled it and the jacket off in the same movement, revealing one of those plain white V-neck T-shirts underneath, the neckline faintly stained with blood. Nathan approached, stepping out of his loose trousers on his way, and reached out toward it. "What happened there?" he asked softly.
Peter glanced down, frowned, and then stripped the T-shirt off, wadding it up in his hands and throwing it into the other room. "I overextended myself," he said, voice quiet and bitter.
Nathan heard him speak, but wasn't really listening, transfixed by the sight of Peter's body. Somehow, in six months, Peter had developed the taut, muscular body of a man, not the slim, understated youth's body Nathan had last seen unclothed. Nathan put his hand out to touch Peter, stroking wonderingly down his still mostly-hairless chest and over to his corded arms, hardly believing his eyes. "My God," he breathed. "You are so beautiful."
Peter smiled back, his eyes dark and mysterious. "You like it?"
"I told you you'd get a body someday, but..." Nathan let out his breath slowly. "Damn." He bent his head and pressed a cautious kiss onto Peter's left nipple, blew on it a little and watched it tighten, then drew in his breath in a hiss. Still so responsive, so sensitive.
"You're beautiful," Peter responded.
Nathan shrugged it off. "I'm skin and bones."
"My skin," Peter murmured, kissing the inside of Nathan's elbow. "My bones. Beautiful." Peter's fingers danced over the scars on Nathan's chest and shoulder, pushed off Nathan's shorts so he could get at the scars on the hip. "Beautiful."
He was so different, Nathan was floored. It wasn't just his body - it was his voice, and the look in his eye, and his confidence. Before, Peter had been gracefully boyish in intimacy, but now his movements were deliberate and sure, without shyness or uncertainty. He was so tough now, so hardened... Nathan unzipped Peter's black jeans, and Peter pulled them down, wearing nothing underneath; the insides of his thighs gleamed palest gold, his testicles like heavy jewels, his cock full and hardening and blushing warm red. Nathan reached for it, and felt the flesh rise to his hand. "I never thought I could touch you again," he mused, taking hold, cradling it in his fingers, without pressure, the way he'd hold a small animal. "I didn't know... I wasn't sure you'd want to."
"But you had faith," Peter suggested.
Nathan nodded. "I had faith," he affirmed. "I believe in you. You saved me. You saved me again and again."
Peter's expression had become strange. He had let eye contact lapse, and now he seemed to be struggling to get it back again and couldn't. Nathan chased Peter's gaze with his own, and finally took hold of Peter's face and held it still. "What is it?" Nathan asked. "What's wrong?"
Peter looked up then, eyes wide, looking not quite afraid, but definitely apprehensive, definitely sad. Nathan felt a cold stab of alarm in his heart, but he fought it down, trying to calm his thoughts. Peter could detect whatever Nathan was thinking, and he wanted so much to just overwhelm Peter with love and reassurance. Nathan stroked Peter's cock in his hand gently, bent his head and kissed it, drew his tongue over the hardening ridges. In the past, Nathan wouldn't so much as let his lips touch Peter's cock before it was hard; now, that stricture didn't seem to matter. Nothing could come between him and Peter. Nothing and no one.
"Tell me," Nathan said, gently sucking the end of Peter's cock, petting and caressing it, Peter's balls, Peter's thighs, Peter's belly. Covering him with a light blanket of kisses. "It's all right."
Peter drew in a shaky breath, but once again, said nothing.
"Tell me what happened," Nathan said. "Don't be afraid." He sat up, and scooted to the head of the bed, resting his back against the pillows stacked at the headboard, drawing Peter along with him. Peter settled his head in Nathan's lap, his hands echoing what Nathan's had just done, lightly holding Nathan's cock in his hand, drawing it to his mouth, kissing and sucking it. When Peter paused to take a slow breath, Nathan said, "Tell me what was up with you and Adam."
Peter nodded a little, breathing slow and deep. Nathan could feel, in the exposed hollow of Peter's armpit and shoulder, how Peter's heart was racing, his skin hot to the touch. "I got these great muscles in prison," he explained, an edge of amusement curling his voice. "They grabbed me right after I dropped you off at the hospital, and imprisoned me for three months. Adam was locked up in the cell next to mine."
Nathan stroked Peter's hair calmly. "Go on," he prompted.
"While I was in the facility, I was tortured, almost daily. Abused, anyway. Drugged, to try to dampen my abilities. I let them do it. All I could think of was... how badly you were hurt because of me. How I failed, right when it was most important for me not to."
Nathan picked up Peter's hand and kissed it. "You're the bravest person I know," he said. "Let that part go."
Peter kissed Nathan's thigh in response. "I was broken," Peter whispered. "I'd lost you. And Adam spoke to me through the wall. He was the only person who was decent to me. I didn't know who he was. I was thinking of you so much... missing you so much..."
"Yes?" Nathan said. His voice was quiet and gentle, but he had stopped stroking Peter's hair.
"We talked to each other. We shared our... thoughts, our fantasies. He was just someone else like me, except smarter, and bolder, and who'd had it worse. And he-we-shared a lot. I'd think of you. And... I told him about you. And... what we'd done, and..." He half sat up, and looked into Nathan's eyes searchingly. Nathan met his gaze. Peter was trembling with remorse. Nathan took Peter's shoulders in his palms, and lowered Peter onto his back on the bed, and lay on top of him, shifting so that their bodies rubbed together from chest to knees. Peter sighed and opened his legs, and Nathan took hold of Peter's cock again, gently pushing and caressing the skin between fingers and thumb. There wasn't much loose skin to move anymore; Peter's cock was too hard for that. Nathan dropped an uncompromising kiss onto Peter's lips, but only one.
"And?"
Peter stared at Nathan desperately, as if begging Nathan to make sense of it for him. "And we got out. And when we were finally together in the same room, able to look at each other, we... I was... so grateful. And he wanted to save you, and...we saved you, and... we did save you."
"And?"
"I didn't know who he was," Peter begged. "I didn't know what he was. He can shield his mind. I could never quite read his thoughts. There was no way for me to know."
"I already told you that wasn't your fault," Nathan replied, kissing Peter's bottom lip. "But..." He lifted his head, and stared at Peter, not hostile or challenging. Just waiting.
As Nathan anticipated, Peter caved.
"We got together," he said. He sighed. "I let him fuck me."
The funny thing for Nathan was that he hadn't actually believed it, and wouldn't have believed it if it hadn't come from Peter's own lips. He knew it was true, but he wouldn't let himself believe it. Kind of like the flying thing. Kind of like the being-in-love-with-his-brother thing. It had to come from Peter's own lips before it became a concrete reality. That was the only part that made it bearable.
Nathan looked at Peter for a long time without speaking or moving. In his hand, Peter's cock went anxiously soft. Peter gazed back, terribly afraid and sick with himself, but so open, so trusting, so penitent. Ready to receive absolution; ready to accept it, if it was never given.
"I told you not to fuck other men," Nathan said, his voice breaking into the heavy silence.
"I know. I missed you, though. I pretended that it was you; I thought of you while... I know that doesn't make it right. I was just so... we had just escaped, we had just saved you-"
Nathan reached over, gathered strength in his arm, and slapped Peter across the face as hard as he could.
Peter shuddered and gasped, eyes opened huge, his hand flying up to touch his cheek. A drop of blood had flown from between his lips and landed on the opposite cheek, like a tiny scattering of rubies. Nathan grabbed Peter's hand and pulled it away from his face, watching a bright red mark rise on the skin, and Nathan gave a faint, bitter smile as his handful of Peter's cock abruptly got harder and hotter.
That's my little brother, all right.
"I told you not to," Nathan repeated, his voice low and dangerous.
"He gave you back to me," Peter begged. "I'd have done anything for that."
"So you wouldn't feel guilty anymore about what happened after Kirby Plaza."
"Yes!-No! Nathan, please." Peter's breath shuddered as if he were crying, but he wasn't. Maybe Peter didn't cry anymore. The red mark on his cheek was fading, and the droplets of blood had disappeared.
"And you decided not to feel guilty about fucking him. Because sex is always justified for you." Nathan tried to grab Peter's hair, but it was too short; he settled for grasping the back of Peter's skull, but it felt like he was cupping him for a kiss instead of an admonishment. "Because you're a fucking slut, Peter."
"Ummm..." Peter squirmed. "For you," he qualified.
"So anybody who evokes me can have you?" Nathan tutted and shook his head. "You obviously need me to keep you in line." Nathan gave in, and let his fingers relax, trailing them over the short, soft hairs on the back of Peter's head.
Peter squinted at Nathan defiantly. "I obviously learned everything I know from you."
Nathan sighed, and let Peter's hand and penis go. He'd forgotten how contrary Peter could be, just as he was on the verge of getting exactly what he wanted. "Please don't use me as an example... I'm not someone that anybody should look up to."
"But some of us do, whether it's right or not. You have to deal with that. We have to try to become better people. All we can do is try."
They lay side by side now, not looking at each other, but their hands still thoughtlessly caressing each other, still breathing in sync. They couldn't stop touching each other now. "So try," Nathan said. "Get stronger. Believe in yourself. Control yourself. Please. Before you really do get all of us killed. Okay?"
Peter blinked, and nodded slowly, his face miserable, and Nathan sighed, stroking him, rising over him again. "There's another step that you have to take right now," Nathan murmured. "I'm looking at you, and I can tell you're pretending. You want to apologize to me. You have to." He licked his fingers and reached down, taking hold of Peter's cock, hard like a railroad spike in his hand. Nathan looked into Peter's eyes, drinking in his expression, combining fear and shame and lust and defiance, but also infinite tenderness. There wasn't a mark on his perfect face anymore, so Nathan slapped him again, with the other hand this time, a sloppier blow that cut the inside of Peter's lips against his teeth. Nathan kept his grip on Peter's cock all the while. Peter's cock twitched hard at the strike of Nathan's hand across his face, and he let out a shaky sigh, his teeth stained with blood. Nathan growled quietly, "Apologize to me. For breaking your promise."
"Finally. Finally you hit me. You've been saving it," Peter whispered. The cherry-red mark on his face flared, then evaporated. He licked his teeth clean. It was like nothing had ever happened.
"Saving it for when you really need it," Nathan agreed. "Apologize to me."
Peter just kept breathing in shudders, his eyes closed. Nathan struck the flat of his palm down sharply across Peter's cock, holding it steady with the other hand. Peter jumped and twisted, a grimace of pain spreading across his face. His cock began to leak clear fluid the way it usually only did when it was sucked hard. Nathan watched for a moment, shaking his head, trying ever so hard not to smile. "Why are you so bad?" he asked.
"I just am," Peter replied softly, his eyes sparkling, smiling for them both.
Nathan had to kiss his mouth, briefly, just enough to make Peter rise up, hungrily following him. Nathan rubbed the drops of pre-come over the shaft of Peter's cock, switching hands to rub it into his own cock, hissing as he felt how hard and wet he was becoming himself.
"Do you misbehave on purpose, so I have to punish you?" Nathan murmured, biting Peter's shoulder, kissing his mouth again, taunting him.
"No, I-" Peter writhed, pushing his cock through the circled fingers of Nathan's right hand. Nathan rolled his palms together, switching hands, bringing up his right hand, pulling together strength in his shoulder, and striking Peter's face again. Peter yelped, but he couldn't move; Nathan held his cock tightly, Nathan had hooked one leg across Peter's, holding him down, helpless. This slap mark clearly showed the contours of fingers. "I didn't mean to. I was doing it all for you. Thought of you. Thinking of you... all the time..."
"I told you not to," Nathan said.
"Yes, I know, I-I-I tried. I resisted. But thinking about you just gets me so hot, I-" Peter fucked Nathan's hand, moaning.
"I told you not to. I had a good reason for it, too. I wanted us to do what we want to do with each other. You can't be safe if there's anyone else." His fingers moved with purpose over the surface of Peter's cock, jerking him off now, jerking him to an uncomfortable level of hardness that Nathan refused to release.
"No, but listen, it's okay. He's been in jail for thirty years. There was no one else. He didn't - we're okay, I swear, and it's me, and I'm immune-"
"Are you listening to me?" Nathan said, giving Peter's cock a rough squeeze. Peter made a little choked sound that made Nathan's entire body tingle. "You promised me. I told you not to, and you said you wouldn't. And then you promised. Apologize to me. You fucked up, Peter. I'll beat you black and blue, but I won't enjoy it. It's for you. You have to admit it to yourself. You fucked up. Apologize to me."
Peter opened his eyes at last, and gazed into Nathan. Nathan's mind spun, over and over again, love no matter what, love no matter what. It was the only thought that he could have. The only thought he wanted Peter to have.
"I'm sorry, Nathan," he said softly.
Nathan let Peter's cock go, so he could move both arms around Peter's body, and hug him so close he could feel all of Peter's ribs rising and falling, shuddering a little. Crying now. Good. It was necessary. Nathan sobbed a little too. "You're mine," he insisted softly.
"I'm yours," Peter replied, kissed Nathan's cheeks, kissing the corners of his mouth. "I've always been yours. I made a mistake. A bad mistake. But I belong to you. You. Nobody else."
"But you're just a slut."
"My heart's yours," Peter offered, grinning apologetically.
Nathan kissed the tears off Peter's perfect, unmarked face. "Your ass needs to be mine, too," Nathan said.
"It is," Peter said, nodding. "It is. Okay?"
"Why should I believe you?" Nathan countered, arching his eyebrow.
Peter reached up and curled Nathan's swoopy cowlick around his finger. Nathan lightly chewed on Peter's wrist. "Because you love me?" Peter offered, but Nathan just smiled at him and shook his head, his hands busy down below, rubbing their pricks together, trading the slick juice welling from the tips, his eyes drinking in the rippling of muscle along Peter's belly. "Because..." Peter added, "somehow, when you break my heart, it's okay? I don't know why that is."
Nathan kissed Peter's jaw. "Because you know in your heart that I love you," he responded. "Now make me another promise. One a little easier to keep, I hope."
"Yeah?"
"Don't tell me about it," Nathan said. "I don't want to know a thing about it. Don't tell me. Don't ever compare us, don't ever reminisce about him. I don't want to hear about anybody else that you've been with. When I'm with you, I'm with you." He kissed Peter's mouth again, lingering this time, getting a good taste. There was no blood. "And I do hope you'll stay with me. Please stay with me. I can live without you... I just really don't want to. Don't make me. Don't make me go through this life by myself again. I need you."
"I'm yours," Peter reassured.
Sighing faintly, relieved, Nathan slid downward until he could get Peter's cock into his mouth. Peter gave a soft, open-hearted moan as Nathan sucked him in; at least that hadn't changed. Peter still cooed like a dove, purred like a contented cat, gave a rising crescendo of gasps and groans as he crested toward orgasm like an classically trained porn star. "Yeah-yeah-ahh, ohhh-ah-oh!" That hadn't changed, nor had the delectability of his semen; if anything, it had gotten better. It was thin, copious, and sparkling; Peter had been spending a lot recently. Nathan supposed he should be grateful to Adam for keeping Peter well exercised, but decided instead that if Adam wasn't already dead, Nathan would have to personally blow Adam's head off for daring to taste Peter's spunk. No doubt he had. Adam Monroe had seemed to be the type to consume - to chew up and spit out, to drain and throw away.
"Stop thinking that," Peter said sharply and suddenly.
"You stop snooping in my brain and maybe you wouldn't hear things you don't want to hear."
"I'm not snooping. You're yelling."
"Fuck you," Nathan said. "Deal with it. You executed a classic teleportation, without any time distortion, on your first try. You wanted to do it, so you did it. Learn how to control your telepathy. Or it will destroy you. I spent a lot of time with Matt. And Matt's father." Nathan shook his head at Peter, who now looked chastened. "You do not want it controlling you. Now... would you suck my cock some more, please?"
Peter smiled, and lolled sensually across his bedsheets, reaching out towards Nathan. "I might be naughty less often if you didn't sound so sexy when you're being all stern."
"Don't remind me." Nathan stroked Peter's short hair, sighing blissfully at the contact of Peter's mouth, and reached over toward Peter's bedside table, opening the drawer and picking up the bottle of lube. He held it up to the light and shook it. "Hmmm... I'll have to get you some more," he mused, and broke into a smile. Peter responded by bobbing his head, stretching his jaw, taking Nathan in farther, the head of Nathan's cock colliding with his throat. Nathan exhaled shakily. "Looks like we have enough for right now, maybe. Tonight, though... I don't know."
Peter looked up, suddenly curious. "Do they have sex shops in Odessa?"
"Hmmm... I don't know... I... doubt... Oh... yeah. Oh, Peter..." He gasped and rolled his eyes, fingers spasming over Peter's hair. "I want to fuck you; don't take that away from me. I'm not a kid anymore. There's only so much I've got."
Peter let Nathan go and smirked, not looking at him. Nathan didn't blame him; he knew he was starting to lose his looks. His weight loss had made the skin of his face begin to sag, and once that process started, it would never stop. Nathan was finally starting to look his age. And there was Peter, looking older too but more beautiful than ever, even if every ounce of fat had been pared from his frame. That was all right; Nathan would happily sacrifice his own attractiveness for Peter's sake. Even if Nathan did look old, at least it meant he was still alive.
"Quit it. You're the sexiest motherfucker I know," Peter murmured.
"Stop listening." Nathan spread lube across his fingers, and slid them across Peter's asshole. Peter relaxed, exhaling, drawing up one knee bent close to his chest, opening himself up. Nathan easily slid two fingers inside, and grimaced when he thought about why it was so easy. But he couldn't be angry at Peter; inside, he felt like a dream, a sexy, filthy, infernally hot dream, twitching and clenching on Nathan's fingers. Was it possible that Peter had gotten better at this, too? Better at being fucked?
"I'm yours," Peter insisted in a choked voice. He wriggled on Nathan's fingers, pressing them in deeper, reaching behind him, spreading his buttocks apart. Nathan made a soft, disbelieving noise, pulled his fingers out, angled Peter's hips up, and slowly pushed his cock inside.
They both moaned loud, over and over again, not moving. "Oh, God, yeah," Peter said.
"Yeah, that's right." Awkward, this, delicious and awkward. A balancing act, and Nathan's cock a straight arrow in Peter's not-quite-straight anus. Nathan wasn't deep; he'd never go deep in this position. It could badly hurt Peter. He took a deep breath, and turned Peter over face-down, and slid in again. Doing it right. Almost too easy. Peter rose up on elbows and knees, spreading his legs farther. Nathan reached between them, stroked his own balls for a moment, then moved onto Peter's, since Peter was making them so accessible. Peter reached, too, and their hands tangled. Nathan grabbed Peter's wrists and held them down onto the top of the bed, and holding Peter's hips with his forearms, thrust inside hard. Peter cried out. "Does that hurt?" Nathan whispered.
"No, it feels so good..."
It did feel so good. Peter was so easy to fuck, slicker inside than even the double layer of silicone lube would provide; he'd been fucked so recently... really recently. Like, today. Nathan fucked Peter hard, gritting his teeth, fighting off the anger and jealousy. Peter took it all, roaring with the intensity of it. "Yes! Oh, God, fuck me - yes! Like that - Yes! Oh God! Uh!"
Nathan pulled out again, turned Peter onto his other side, rammed his cock back in, and fucked him that way. Peter's eyes rolled, and his fingers scrabbled uselessly along Nathan's sweat-slick arm. "Enough! Enough!" he begged. "Please! Just because you can - just because I can-"
Nathan relented, turned Peter a fourth time, this time face up, and kissed him on the mouth, still roughly, still violating Peter's mouth with his tongue. Peter tongued back, then fell back to the surface of the bed, grinning blissfully. Nathan kissed Peter right over his heart, and slid his cock back inside.
"You're gonna get your wish," Nathan whispered to him, thrusting slow but deep. "You're gonna have me around all the time. If you want. Be with me. Let's do this together."
"We... make a pretty good team," Peter agreed faintly, his voice shaky.
"Stay with me?" Nathan kissed him, made love to him, rising slowly in intensity, building it between them. "Love me?"
"If you let me."
"I need you. I love you more than life itself."
"I'm yours - ahhhh. I'm yours. I'm with you."
"Love me as I am? And I'll try to become a better person?"
"Yeah... yeah... I will. And I will, too."
"Yes... Oh, Peter, oh...!"
"Yes...! Yeah! ohh... can I see it? Can I see it?" Peter begged, and Nathan was able to pull out in time, so that his cock shot a slippery, glimmering arc of spunk over Peter's chest, all the way up to Peter's neck. "Oh! Oh... oh, yeah, beautiful." Peter broke into a sweaty, ecstatic grin, trailing his fingers through the semen, lightly touching a drop to his tongue. "My God, that's a lot of come. That's a lot. Saving that for me too, huh?"
"More where that came from," Nathan murmured, wiping up more, sliding it into Peter's mouth. Feeding it to him. Peter sucked it down willingly, savoring it. More that had changed about him, and this, Nathan didn't mind. "...You'll stay with me?" he asked, not minding that he sounded so needy, so vulnerable. It wasn't the first time he had begged Peter for something.
Peter smiled calmly, tenderly, running his fingers through Nathan's riot of greasy, wavy hair. "That's all I've ever wanted," he replied, kissing Nathan.
"Mmmm... I love you."
"I love you more... Let's take a shower," Peter said. "You really need a shower. I mean, look at you. You need a haircut. And a better razor. You're going to go on TV looking like this?"
Nathan just shook his head. "I don't care," he smiled back. "There'll be time. Besides, I kind of like this. It's enjoyable, living life without having to lie and pretend."
"Some... lies and roles are there for a reason," Peter pointed out. "And haircuts. And showers, and deodorant."
Nathan answered with a sigh, and a pinch of Peter's nipple. "As long as I have you," he said, "and as long as you've got me, I think we'll be okay."
Peter stood up, and reached out to him. Together, holding hands, trading little kisses, they walked to the bathroom, the scene of so many moments between them, sensual and otherwise. As he turned on the water to heat it, Peter turned to Nathan with a grin. "So... uh... what's up with you and Matt? You can tell me. I won't be jealous. He's kinda cute."
Nathan rolled his eyes. "All I have to say," he drawled, stepping into the shower stall, hot water or no, "is never let him be on top..."
END RITUAL (32)
A/N: Whoo! Made it to the end of the story arc! Remind me to not write "in show" fics anymore, because transcribing dialogue is a pain in the ass. I'm sure this will have the same reaction as "How to Stop an Exploding Man" and "Powerless", i.e. that the climax just isn't as good and earth-shattering as you hoped... but this is the best I can do. Thanks for reading anyway, and it was fun!
More Ritual to come, I'm sure.
Pairing/Characters: Peter/Nathan, implied Peter/Adam, Matt, Adam ("offscreen"), Hiro (briefly)
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: through 2.11, "Powerless"
Word Count: about 8600
Warnings: explicit m/m sex, language
Summary:Peter and Nathan reunite at last, and it's both easier and harder than either of them could have imagined. Conclusion of the "truth" arc from Rituals 29, 30, and 31.
Previous rituals:
(1) :: (2) :: (3) :: (4) :: (5) :: (6) :: (7) :: (8) :: (9) :: (10) :: (11) :: (12) :: (13) :: (14) :: (15) :: (16) :: (17) :: (18) :: (19) :: (20) :: (21) :: (22) :: (23) :: (24) :: (25) :: (26) :: (27) :: (28) :: (29) :: (30) :: (31)
Heroes is the property of NBC/Universal and Tailwinds Production. This is a work of fan fiction and no claim of ownership is implied for the characters or storylines. Contains dialogue and situations from "Powerless" written by Jeph Loeb.
... [Incorporating] a traditional prayer in the Mass of the Roman Catholic Church known as Confiteor (Latin for "I confess"), in which the individual recognizes his or her flaws before God.... not simply a confession of sins, but rather an admission of one's flawed nature and the willingness to make amends for it. - from Wikipedia
FEBURARY 2007, NEW YORK CITY
"...Peter?"
Nathan was awake now. One minute he'd been in so much pain that he'd started screaming; a nurse came in and gave him something, and he'd dropped out of consciousness. And then he was awake, his bare chest and arms cold and itchy, and his eyes open, and someone was leaving the room.
And he'd heard Peter's voice. He'd swear it on a stack of Bibles. Peter's voice, whispering, I love you.
Maybe he was dreaming.
"Peter?" Nathan said again.
And now he heard his own voice. Not the rusty, half-clogged rasp that he'd gotten used to over the last few months - no, it was his voice, the way it used to sound, the way it should sound. And his whole body was itching like crazy, and one hand reflexively moved up to rub his chest, even though he knew he shouldn't touch... but his fingertips touched smooth, whole, hairless skin. Skin where the hair was growing fast enough to feel its progress under his fingers. He looked over at the table on the side wall, looking for his picture of Peter and himself in their wedding-party tuxedos, and it was gone.
If he was dreaming, it certainly was vivid.
Nathan tapped the bed-elevation button over and over again, staring at his hand as he did so - it wasn't all red and scaly anymore. It was normal. Complete and whole and healed. When he had angled himself upright as far as the bed would go, he saw himself in the mirror looking the way he had before. Just with longer hair on top, maybe, and less hair on his body. His shrapnel scars were all still there, but smoother and smaller, and he was painfully thin. But he was restored.
Impossible. But what was impossible, anymore?
He lay there and stared his reflection for a moment. Then he tried to sit up, swing his legs over the side of the bed, but he couldn't; he felt very heavy, stoned, sleepy, and weak. With the last of his strength, he pulled the IV hookup from his arm and the oxygen tubes from his nostrils, then lay there and relaxed for a while longer, feeling more solid by the second as the morphine faded away. This was really happening. But how? Linderman was dead. Who else could have healed him? Who else had that power?
"Peter," realized Nathan.
Peter had done this. Nathan didn't know how, but he knew. Maybe somehow, Peter had taken on Linderman's ability. But when? At Thanksgiving, year before last? Did it work that way? There was still so much he didn't know. He didn't even know much about his own power - how fast he could go, how strong he was. He wanted to fly with Peter, so they could test each other, time each other... hell, go bombing through clouds together. Peter was the only other person who could possibly understand what it was like for him.
"Peter," he whispered again, and sighed.
Reluctantly, he pressed the nurse call button, and steeled himself for the consequences. He didn't really want to deal with them right now, but he didn't trust himself to remove his own catheter, and if somebody didn't get that tube out of his dick ASAP, he was going to start screaming again.
Peter had just been there. Nathan was certain of it. And more horrible than the catheter was having to just lie there, and not go running out to try to find his brother. But he would, as soon as he could. If he was going to have a second chance at life after having accepted death, he damn well wanted to get it right. As soon as he was able, he was going to find Peter (if Peter wanted to be found...) and maybe one day they'd fly.
It wasn't like he had anything else to live for anymore.
***
MARCH 20 2007, ODESSA
It would have all been so easy, if it wasn't for Hiro.
Peter didn't want to hurt Hiro. Not at first. But anyone who got in his way at this point, after an initial warning, was fair game. And no one threatened Adam while Peter was around.
It felt so good to toss Hiro around, to lift him up by the throat, without getting his own fingers dirty. So good. So good, he made sure not to kill Hiro, to make the fun last longer.
Make him turn blue. Make him hurt. Turn the pain outside.
The voice in Peter's head didn't quite sound like himself to himself. That soft, silky, unconcerned tone... really the same one he'd been hearing for these last few months... fine, though. That was fine. No. It's not me. This is not me. Hiro made awful, gagging, straining noises. No, just kill him. Just get it over with.
NO! I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. I don't want to be the kind of person who wants this.
Just do it, Peter. End it. End him. Get rid of the stupid carp once and for all.
Peter smelled blood. It was not his own voice in his mind.
LET HIRO GO.
That was a shout in Peter's mind, reverbating around the bowl of his skull. And a compulsion. The etherial fingers Peter had locked around Hiro's throat lost their grip, and Hiro slid to the floor. Someone else, now. So many voices in Peter's head, so much pressure it felt like he was going to start bleeding from the eyes. Cold sweat ran down Peter's spine, and he turned around, wondering who was doing this to him. He almost recognized this voice - he knew he knew it. Where was it stored in his memory? Not with Nathan, not with his mother.
GO AFTER ADAM.
It was Officer Matt Parkman. Standing right there, frowning at him, his thoughts straining outward from his head and flooding Peter's, straining hard to make Peter stop whatever he was doing. Peter felt very sick all of a sudden, but also excited again, thrilled to have something else new displayed to him. Something else that Peter could learn how to do. No one was going to best Peter at his own game.
HE'S USING YOU, PETER.
Wrestling, Peter forced back, making his thoughts into a fist, punching it through Parkman's directive. I DON'T THINK SO. YOU'RE WRONG. Fun to see the look of surprise on Parkman's face. He obviously hadn't thought Peter was going to fight back. Rage boiled in Peter's chest, and he rushed toward Matt with teeth clenched, shoving back with every single feeling of betrayal he'd ever experienced. Matt's big body went sliding over the floor, back to the back wall; getting Matt out of his way. Adam was in the vault recovering the virus; it was already too late for whatever Matt was trying to do. Why would Matt go through all this trouble?
"I don't get it - you're on the wrong side," Peter said out loud, his voice almost tearful, shaky and uncertain. Some instinct told him to speak aloud; some tiny nudge of destiny. Some faint voice from beyond, from the unseen depths of himself. He stared at Parkman cowering on the floor of the hallway, wondering if he was going to have to kill the guy. He didn't know; he might have already killed Hiro. But the fate of the world was in his hands. Again. Peter didn't want to kill, but he would if he had to, to save Caitlin-
"What about me?"
That voice, he recognized. That figure, he knew, stepping out of a doorway in the middle of the hall, maybe twenty feet away. Those eyes, gazing at him. Alive, healed, beautiful, a little shaggy on top and very worn around the edges, but him, definitely him.
My love.
"Nathan?" Peter asked, shaking his head in disbelief. It was an illusion. It had to be. How could Nathan really be there? How could Nathan be standing against him, when Peter was trying to save humanity? For a horrible second, Peter considered the possibility that he would have to kill Nathan, too. Nathan's life, in exchange for the world's? Suddenly, Peter couldn't breathe. They were all going to die. Everyone was going to die - everyone in the world - and it was his fault.
Nathan didn't blink. "Am I on the wrong side, too?" The voice was right, calm and gentle, but insistent, the tone of voice you used with a dangerous, mentally unbalanced patient holding a weapon. Peter felt sicker and sicker by the second. "I went to the Company and went through Adam's history. Who he is, what he wanted... Pete, he tried to release the virus."
Illusion. Maybe if he could stall for time...No, not Adam. Yes, Adam! No, but... Nathan. No, but we've come so far; I've given so much. Nathan...! Nathan will listen to me. "You want to know how your burns got healed, Nathan? He gave you his blood. I was there. You should be grateful."
Nathan just looked sad. "He used me," he breathed, disbelievingly. "And you let him. You jumped right in, because..."
"Because-" Peter said. His voice caught on it. "Nathan-"
"He used me to get to you. Don't you see it? He tried to manipulate you like that." Nathan didn't seem angry at all; instead he seemed sympathetic. He had been through it, too.
"Nathan, I-"
Nathan just went on, ignoring Peter's protests, rightly guessing that they weren't Peter's at all. "That night in Kirby Plaza, when I carried you away, it was because I believe in you. You're my brother, Pete. I love you."
Peter's perceptions suddenly seemed very clear, like a fog evaporating at the touch of morning sunlight.
"Can you really trust what he says?"
Inside Nathan's mind, vivid and pure: Please come to your senses before it's too late for all of us. Please, lover, please. Please feel how much I love you. I'm right this time. I'm sorry for all those times I lied to you before; I won't ever lie to you again. Please just believe me.
Peter looked over his shoulder at the opened vault door, and started running toward it as fast as he could, slowing time as he went. Thanks to having to open the door the brute way, he was too weak to stop time entirely. He wished he had actually gotten a chance to talk to Hiro about how to teleport geographically, because if he'd had that skill, Peter would have jumped into the vault, grabbed the sword, and plunged it right into Adam's face. Again and again, until it was obliterated - he would chop that bored, annoyed face into hash.
But he had to make do with what he had. Bolt in, grab, and stop.
Somehow, Adam was already gone, as though he'd never been there. If only.
***
"We've been used by these people. Manipulated. But it's over. It stops here. No more secrets."
Nathan still spoke like a politician, Peter decided, but not in a bad way; now he sounded seasoned, a little world-weary, trying again after surviving events that would have destroyed a lesser man. But his voice was so beautiful, his conviction so compelling that the words he said were nearly irrelevant. It was dangerously effective. Peter just stood there and stared at Nathan as he talked, as he discussed his desire to make this whole conspiracy public, to stop having to pay for the misdeeds of their parents. A press conference; that's how politician types communicated. It was as good an approach as any. At least Nathan was doing something.
Matt Parkman seemed taken by Nathan, too. He was far more comfortable around Nathan than he was around Peter; they had obviously been through something that had established a bond of understanding, like they'd been to war together. Parkman looked a little unsure when Nathan told him to guarantee that everyone listened to him, and Peter smirked, wondering exactly how Matt was supposed to do that. But then he remembered how hard it had been even to recognize that his thoughts weren't his own, and realized that the average person would do whatever he was compelled to do and never notice. It was the same old Nathan; dazzlingly immoral, results-oriented. Peter wouldn't say so in front of Parkman, but it was so much like the way their mother and father did things, and it hadn't necessarily turned out so well for them or anyone else.
The thought made Peter smile, and Nathan gave him a quzzical look. "What's so amusing?" he asked. He was so serious, so intent, but a lock of his overgrown hair swooped off his temple and pointed straight up, like the curlicue on a kewpie doll. No wonder he had always kept his hair so short. Nathan wasn't much for looking ridiculous and cute.
Ahhh, Nathan.
Peter couldn't stop smiling, once he started. "Please just... touch me for a minute. So I can believe you're really there."
Nathan just looked at him for a moment, then stepped forward and crushed Peter into his arms. "I'm here," he whispered, kissing Peter's forehead. "It's okay."
Peter clung to him, trying to tuck his head under Nathan's chin, but he was too tall for that now, and all he did was nuzzle Nathan's neck, gulping down great lungfuls of his scent, getting dizzy on it. Dizzy on the comfort and the excitement and relief. "You're real," Peter whispered. "Oh... sometimes I didn't know if I'd ever see you again... I have thought about you every single second."
"I thought about you every single second," Nathan countered, drawing back a little, smiling, his eyes gleaming with tears. "I thought I'd lost you. I ran everywhere looking for you. But I never gave up." Peter grinned; for once, he wasn't the one crying. One of the tears escaped Nathan's eye and ran down his cheek, toward his chin, over the scars. Peter kissed the tear away, kissed the scars, fastened onto Nathan's mouth, holding him tighter. Nathan squeezed him back, kissed him back, their mouths softly meeting again and again, shy and brief, then extending, opening, trading a quick, sweet, wet taste that made them both shudder.
Yes. Everything was all right now.
Peter heard Parkman nervously clearing his throat, and he pulled away from Nathan and blushed. But Nathan held onto one of Peter's hands, and stared at the cop, eyes challenging. Matt shoved his hands into his pockets and wouldn't return the stare; he looked a little green around the gills. In his mind, he muttered, sick sick sick. He hadn't meant to send it; he grimaced a little, guessing Peter had probably overheard. "Uhh..." he said aloud. "Do you guys, uh, need a moment alone?"
"We do," Nathan said. He smiled at Peter, and reluctantly dropped his hand. "Just not here. We should go. Peter? Can you help?"
Peter nodded. "I'll get us out of here okay," he replied confidently. "Actually, if you'll both take my hands?"
Nathan eagerly grabbed Peter's hand again, smiling as if it were some rare treat, and then scoffed as Matt shuffled his feet. "Oh, c'mon, Parkman. We don't have cooties. I gave you a ride here on my back. It's not contagious."
"No, it's just... creepy. And disturbing. And you said you wouldn't mention it." Matt frowned at Nathan, but grudgingly took Peter's hand into his. Peter linked fingers with them both and walked out of the vault, thinking of Claude as strongly as he could. It was hard to do, with Nathan holding his hand and filling every moment of thought, so he thought of the day when Nathan had come to Peter's apartment with Suresh in tow, and Claude saved Peter's ass. (How he'd loathed Nathan that day.) "What's the deal with this?" Matt asked.
"We're invisible," Peter said. "Should be, anyway."
"Seriously?" Matt said curiously. "I can still see you, though. How can you tell when you're invisible?"
"You can feel it," Peter explained. "It's really subtle. And as long as you're touching me, you get to come along with me." He paused as Nathan snickered. "You're not making it any easier for him," Peter admonished softly. "Besides, what are you, twelve?"
"I don't care what he thinks he knows," Nathan said, a big smile on his face. "I love you. And he's my friend. And there are plenty of other reasons why we could be lynched; might as well add one more."
"Can I ask a really nasty personal question? Since we're 'friends?'" Parkman inquired. "Does this maybe have anything to do with why you're getting divorced?"
"You're getting divorced?" Peter broke in.
Nathan said to Peter, "Yeah. Actually it should be final next week. After that, it's just custody hearings, and I don't know if I'll have any luck with that. She thinks I'm dangerously insane. Or worse; she believes I was actually telling the truth." To Matt, he answered, "That is part of it, I'm sure. I'd do the same thing if I was her."
"You told Heidi?" Peter asked, so floored that he let them all lapse into visibility again. Fortunately they were in a safe place - still in the stairwell - but he took a deep breath and concentrated on remembering the color of Claude's eyes, the cadence of Claude's bitter laugh.
"I thought I was dying," Nathan explained. "I figured I didn't have much to lose, and at least I would die without all those secrets on my conscience. Joke's on me. Fate's pretty perverse, ain't it?"
"Would you have told her about us if you weren't on your deathbed?"
"God, no. I'm not crazy," Nathan replied, and even Matt chuckled. Nathan lightly squeezed Peter's hand.
The warehouse was almost completely deserted now; maybe it was lunchtime, or maybe the workers had been evacuated. One or two workers still scurried about labeling giant reams of paper. There were no police or security guards; there was no evidence that ten minutes ago, there had been a sword battle on that very receiving area. Peter hoped that Hiro was all right; he had vanished, too, along with Adam. Hiro and Adam seemed to have some history, and Peter decided he didn't want to know.
Holding hands, the three men walked right past the workers without being noticed. Matt stared behind him in disbelief. "This is the coolest power," he whispered to Peter. "What every guy wants, y'know? Oh... maybe not you."
Peter grinned over his shoulder at Parkman. "It used to be amazing at first," he said. "It's like... when you're a baby, at first walking is the most astonishing, unlikely, incredible thing in the world. Physiologically, it's very complicated. But after a while... it's just walking. You start thinking about what you can do with it instead. It's like... there's a beer in the fridge, how do I get it?" He laughed out loud, making the warehouse paper workers look around in confusion. "You know what it's like," Peter said. "It's just part of you after a while. And no way is this cooler than flying."
"I'd... kinda like to stay on the ground from now on, actually," Parkman said.
"There you go with the mentioning it," Nathan grumbled, but he was smiling.
Outside, at the far edge of the parking lot, Peter let go of their hands. Nathan turned to Matt and said, "All right. For the press conference, get ahold of all the newsdesks for every TV station in town. Cable, too, if they've got news. The best thing to do is to go to one of their offices, tell them that Congressman-Elect Nathan Petrelli would like to speak to the press. Once you've got one locked down, get on the phone to the others; they'll call the other newsdesks to verify, and then they're in. Get the newspaper, too; the TV stations will have the direct line contact information. I want it to be at police headquarters, because you won't have a hard time getting inside, and they can provide protection. Once you're there, tell them that it's happening. Make sure they listen. All they have to do is get there, and be there. I'll take it from there."
"So I have to do all the work?" Matt grumbled.
"Come on, Parkman, it will take you an hour, ninety minutes tops. It's Odessa. It's not a huge city; this is well within your power. Just think. Getting your life back." He put his hand on Parkman's shoulder and looked into his eyes. "Not having to hide and look over your shoulder anymore. You're saving the lives of countless hundreds... thousands of people. Setting the rest of us free." He waited until Matt nodded in response. Peter grinned to see it - who needed telepathic manipulation, when you were Nathan Petrelli? "I just need to... talk to Peter alone for a while. There's a lot for us to figure out before this press conference happens. I'll meet you at the police station in an hour."
"Make it two," Peter said.
"No, three," Nathan added, looking at his watch and reconsidering. "Right in time for the five o'clock news. That gives us thirty minutes of lead time before we go live. Call me if you need anything." Parkman gave another grudging nod, and looked in the direction of town with an expression of mild dismay.
Then Nathan gazed at Peter and smiled a little uncertainly, as if still not believing that this was happening. Peter smiled back. "I want to try something that I should be able to do, and I really ought to practice it," he said, grabbing Nathan into his arms, and kissing him on the lips. He thought of the dimensions of home, the light, the hardwood floor, the curl of peeling linoleum in the kitchen visible from his bedroom, the wall of mirror tiles, the smell of his pillows and the ticking of the wall heater, and wished himself there.
Even if it went wrong, he'd at least have Nathan with him.
When Nathan broke out of the kiss, they stood in the doorway of the bedroom in Peter's apartment in Manhattan, afternoon daylight shining through a small space between the curtains. Nathan turned around and blinked in disbelief. The digital clock beside the bed read 2:31 03/20/07, the same as Nathan's watch, which he had never gotten around to re-setting to the Central time zone.
"Wow," he said slowly, "I didn't know... you could... do that."
"Just kiss me," Peter demanded, and Nathan shook off his astonishment, and did as Peter asked.
***
He'd gotten Peter back.
Nathan didn't know if he'd ever be able to do without again. Peter's tongue in his mouth. Peter's fingers sliding down inside his waistband. Peter's breath coming in tiny, anxious pants, interspersed with sudden brief moans of lustful surprise. Nathan feasted on Peter's mouth, slid his hands wonderingly along the softly spiky crop of Peter's hair. He wanted to take a moment to look at it, but he couldn't stop kissing Peter, or Peter wouldn't stop kissing him.
There really would never be enough.
But now there was time. And Nathan really did want to have a chance to just look at him without being afraid of him. He broke roughly out of the kiss, and trained his eyes carefully over to the corner of the room. If he looked at Peter's mouth, or his eyes, Nathan would have no choice but to kiss him again. "Bed," he said, gently shoving Peter towards it. "Take your clothes off," he added, getting started on himself. He pulled off his jacket and tossed it onto a chair, shirt onto a desk; he didn't really care too much these days. Peter watched him without judgment, sinking slowly down onto the surface of the bed (unmade, still - Nathan its last occupant), slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled it and the jacket off in the same movement, revealing one of those plain white V-neck T-shirts underneath, the neckline faintly stained with blood. Nathan approached, stepping out of his loose trousers on his way, and reached out toward it. "What happened there?" he asked softly.
Peter glanced down, frowned, and then stripped the T-shirt off, wadding it up in his hands and throwing it into the other room. "I overextended myself," he said, voice quiet and bitter.
Nathan heard him speak, but wasn't really listening, transfixed by the sight of Peter's body. Somehow, in six months, Peter had developed the taut, muscular body of a man, not the slim, understated youth's body Nathan had last seen unclothed. Nathan put his hand out to touch Peter, stroking wonderingly down his still mostly-hairless chest and over to his corded arms, hardly believing his eyes. "My God," he breathed. "You are so beautiful."
Peter smiled back, his eyes dark and mysterious. "You like it?"
"I told you you'd get a body someday, but..." Nathan let out his breath slowly. "Damn." He bent his head and pressed a cautious kiss onto Peter's left nipple, blew on it a little and watched it tighten, then drew in his breath in a hiss. Still so responsive, so sensitive.
"You're beautiful," Peter responded.
Nathan shrugged it off. "I'm skin and bones."
"My skin," Peter murmured, kissing the inside of Nathan's elbow. "My bones. Beautiful." Peter's fingers danced over the scars on Nathan's chest and shoulder, pushed off Nathan's shorts so he could get at the scars on the hip. "Beautiful."
He was so different, Nathan was floored. It wasn't just his body - it was his voice, and the look in his eye, and his confidence. Before, Peter had been gracefully boyish in intimacy, but now his movements were deliberate and sure, without shyness or uncertainty. He was so tough now, so hardened... Nathan unzipped Peter's black jeans, and Peter pulled them down, wearing nothing underneath; the insides of his thighs gleamed palest gold, his testicles like heavy jewels, his cock full and hardening and blushing warm red. Nathan reached for it, and felt the flesh rise to his hand. "I never thought I could touch you again," he mused, taking hold, cradling it in his fingers, without pressure, the way he'd hold a small animal. "I didn't know... I wasn't sure you'd want to."
"But you had faith," Peter suggested.
Nathan nodded. "I had faith," he affirmed. "I believe in you. You saved me. You saved me again and again."
Peter's expression had become strange. He had let eye contact lapse, and now he seemed to be struggling to get it back again and couldn't. Nathan chased Peter's gaze with his own, and finally took hold of Peter's face and held it still. "What is it?" Nathan asked. "What's wrong?"
Peter looked up then, eyes wide, looking not quite afraid, but definitely apprehensive, definitely sad. Nathan felt a cold stab of alarm in his heart, but he fought it down, trying to calm his thoughts. Peter could detect whatever Nathan was thinking, and he wanted so much to just overwhelm Peter with love and reassurance. Nathan stroked Peter's cock in his hand gently, bent his head and kissed it, drew his tongue over the hardening ridges. In the past, Nathan wouldn't so much as let his lips touch Peter's cock before it was hard; now, that stricture didn't seem to matter. Nothing could come between him and Peter. Nothing and no one.
"Tell me," Nathan said, gently sucking the end of Peter's cock, petting and caressing it, Peter's balls, Peter's thighs, Peter's belly. Covering him with a light blanket of kisses. "It's all right."
Peter drew in a shaky breath, but once again, said nothing.
"Tell me what happened," Nathan said. "Don't be afraid." He sat up, and scooted to the head of the bed, resting his back against the pillows stacked at the headboard, drawing Peter along with him. Peter settled his head in Nathan's lap, his hands echoing what Nathan's had just done, lightly holding Nathan's cock in his hand, drawing it to his mouth, kissing and sucking it. When Peter paused to take a slow breath, Nathan said, "Tell me what was up with you and Adam."
Peter nodded a little, breathing slow and deep. Nathan could feel, in the exposed hollow of Peter's armpit and shoulder, how Peter's heart was racing, his skin hot to the touch. "I got these great muscles in prison," he explained, an edge of amusement curling his voice. "They grabbed me right after I dropped you off at the hospital, and imprisoned me for three months. Adam was locked up in the cell next to mine."
Nathan stroked Peter's hair calmly. "Go on," he prompted.
"While I was in the facility, I was tortured, almost daily. Abused, anyway. Drugged, to try to dampen my abilities. I let them do it. All I could think of was... how badly you were hurt because of me. How I failed, right when it was most important for me not to."
Nathan picked up Peter's hand and kissed it. "You're the bravest person I know," he said. "Let that part go."
Peter kissed Nathan's thigh in response. "I was broken," Peter whispered. "I'd lost you. And Adam spoke to me through the wall. He was the only person who was decent to me. I didn't know who he was. I was thinking of you so much... missing you so much..."
"Yes?" Nathan said. His voice was quiet and gentle, but he had stopped stroking Peter's hair.
"We talked to each other. We shared our... thoughts, our fantasies. He was just someone else like me, except smarter, and bolder, and who'd had it worse. And he-we-shared a lot. I'd think of you. And... I told him about you. And... what we'd done, and..." He half sat up, and looked into Nathan's eyes searchingly. Nathan met his gaze. Peter was trembling with remorse. Nathan took Peter's shoulders in his palms, and lowered Peter onto his back on the bed, and lay on top of him, shifting so that their bodies rubbed together from chest to knees. Peter sighed and opened his legs, and Nathan took hold of Peter's cock again, gently pushing and caressing the skin between fingers and thumb. There wasn't much loose skin to move anymore; Peter's cock was too hard for that. Nathan dropped an uncompromising kiss onto Peter's lips, but only one.
"And?"
Peter stared at Nathan desperately, as if begging Nathan to make sense of it for him. "And we got out. And when we were finally together in the same room, able to look at each other, we... I was... so grateful. And he wanted to save you, and...we saved you, and... we did save you."
"And?"
"I didn't know who he was," Peter begged. "I didn't know what he was. He can shield his mind. I could never quite read his thoughts. There was no way for me to know."
"I already told you that wasn't your fault," Nathan replied, kissing Peter's bottom lip. "But..." He lifted his head, and stared at Peter, not hostile or challenging. Just waiting.
As Nathan anticipated, Peter caved.
"We got together," he said. He sighed. "I let him fuck me."
The funny thing for Nathan was that he hadn't actually believed it, and wouldn't have believed it if it hadn't come from Peter's own lips. He knew it was true, but he wouldn't let himself believe it. Kind of like the flying thing. Kind of like the being-in-love-with-his-brother thing. It had to come from Peter's own lips before it became a concrete reality. That was the only part that made it bearable.
Nathan looked at Peter for a long time without speaking or moving. In his hand, Peter's cock went anxiously soft. Peter gazed back, terribly afraid and sick with himself, but so open, so trusting, so penitent. Ready to receive absolution; ready to accept it, if it was never given.
"I told you not to fuck other men," Nathan said, his voice breaking into the heavy silence.
"I know. I missed you, though. I pretended that it was you; I thought of you while... I know that doesn't make it right. I was just so... we had just escaped, we had just saved you-"
Nathan reached over, gathered strength in his arm, and slapped Peter across the face as hard as he could.
Peter shuddered and gasped, eyes opened huge, his hand flying up to touch his cheek. A drop of blood had flown from between his lips and landed on the opposite cheek, like a tiny scattering of rubies. Nathan grabbed Peter's hand and pulled it away from his face, watching a bright red mark rise on the skin, and Nathan gave a faint, bitter smile as his handful of Peter's cock abruptly got harder and hotter.
That's my little brother, all right.
"I told you not to," Nathan repeated, his voice low and dangerous.
"He gave you back to me," Peter begged. "I'd have done anything for that."
"So you wouldn't feel guilty anymore about what happened after Kirby Plaza."
"Yes!-No! Nathan, please." Peter's breath shuddered as if he were crying, but he wasn't. Maybe Peter didn't cry anymore. The red mark on his cheek was fading, and the droplets of blood had disappeared.
"And you decided not to feel guilty about fucking him. Because sex is always justified for you." Nathan tried to grab Peter's hair, but it was too short; he settled for grasping the back of Peter's skull, but it felt like he was cupping him for a kiss instead of an admonishment. "Because you're a fucking slut, Peter."
"Ummm..." Peter squirmed. "For you," he qualified.
"So anybody who evokes me can have you?" Nathan tutted and shook his head. "You obviously need me to keep you in line." Nathan gave in, and let his fingers relax, trailing them over the short, soft hairs on the back of Peter's head.
Peter squinted at Nathan defiantly. "I obviously learned everything I know from you."
Nathan sighed, and let Peter's hand and penis go. He'd forgotten how contrary Peter could be, just as he was on the verge of getting exactly what he wanted. "Please don't use me as an example... I'm not someone that anybody should look up to."
"But some of us do, whether it's right or not. You have to deal with that. We have to try to become better people. All we can do is try."
They lay side by side now, not looking at each other, but their hands still thoughtlessly caressing each other, still breathing in sync. They couldn't stop touching each other now. "So try," Nathan said. "Get stronger. Believe in yourself. Control yourself. Please. Before you really do get all of us killed. Okay?"
Peter blinked, and nodded slowly, his face miserable, and Nathan sighed, stroking him, rising over him again. "There's another step that you have to take right now," Nathan murmured. "I'm looking at you, and I can tell you're pretending. You want to apologize to me. You have to." He licked his fingers and reached down, taking hold of Peter's cock, hard like a railroad spike in his hand. Nathan looked into Peter's eyes, drinking in his expression, combining fear and shame and lust and defiance, but also infinite tenderness. There wasn't a mark on his perfect face anymore, so Nathan slapped him again, with the other hand this time, a sloppier blow that cut the inside of Peter's lips against his teeth. Nathan kept his grip on Peter's cock all the while. Peter's cock twitched hard at the strike of Nathan's hand across his face, and he let out a shaky sigh, his teeth stained with blood. Nathan growled quietly, "Apologize to me. For breaking your promise."
"Finally. Finally you hit me. You've been saving it," Peter whispered. The cherry-red mark on his face flared, then evaporated. He licked his teeth clean. It was like nothing had ever happened.
"Saving it for when you really need it," Nathan agreed. "Apologize to me."
Peter just kept breathing in shudders, his eyes closed. Nathan struck the flat of his palm down sharply across Peter's cock, holding it steady with the other hand. Peter jumped and twisted, a grimace of pain spreading across his face. His cock began to leak clear fluid the way it usually only did when it was sucked hard. Nathan watched for a moment, shaking his head, trying ever so hard not to smile. "Why are you so bad?" he asked.
"I just am," Peter replied softly, his eyes sparkling, smiling for them both.
Nathan had to kiss his mouth, briefly, just enough to make Peter rise up, hungrily following him. Nathan rubbed the drops of pre-come over the shaft of Peter's cock, switching hands to rub it into his own cock, hissing as he felt how hard and wet he was becoming himself.
"Do you misbehave on purpose, so I have to punish you?" Nathan murmured, biting Peter's shoulder, kissing his mouth again, taunting him.
"No, I-" Peter writhed, pushing his cock through the circled fingers of Nathan's right hand. Nathan rolled his palms together, switching hands, bringing up his right hand, pulling together strength in his shoulder, and striking Peter's face again. Peter yelped, but he couldn't move; Nathan held his cock tightly, Nathan had hooked one leg across Peter's, holding him down, helpless. This slap mark clearly showed the contours of fingers. "I didn't mean to. I was doing it all for you. Thought of you. Thinking of you... all the time..."
"I told you not to," Nathan said.
"Yes, I know, I-I-I tried. I resisted. But thinking about you just gets me so hot, I-" Peter fucked Nathan's hand, moaning.
"I told you not to. I had a good reason for it, too. I wanted us to do what we want to do with each other. You can't be safe if there's anyone else." His fingers moved with purpose over the surface of Peter's cock, jerking him off now, jerking him to an uncomfortable level of hardness that Nathan refused to release.
"No, but listen, it's okay. He's been in jail for thirty years. There was no one else. He didn't - we're okay, I swear, and it's me, and I'm immune-"
"Are you listening to me?" Nathan said, giving Peter's cock a rough squeeze. Peter made a little choked sound that made Nathan's entire body tingle. "You promised me. I told you not to, and you said you wouldn't. And then you promised. Apologize to me. You fucked up, Peter. I'll beat you black and blue, but I won't enjoy it. It's for you. You have to admit it to yourself. You fucked up. Apologize to me."
Peter opened his eyes at last, and gazed into Nathan. Nathan's mind spun, over and over again, love no matter what, love no matter what. It was the only thought that he could have. The only thought he wanted Peter to have.
"I'm sorry, Nathan," he said softly.
Nathan let Peter's cock go, so he could move both arms around Peter's body, and hug him so close he could feel all of Peter's ribs rising and falling, shuddering a little. Crying now. Good. It was necessary. Nathan sobbed a little too. "You're mine," he insisted softly.
"I'm yours," Peter replied, kissed Nathan's cheeks, kissing the corners of his mouth. "I've always been yours. I made a mistake. A bad mistake. But I belong to you. You. Nobody else."
"But you're just a slut."
"My heart's yours," Peter offered, grinning apologetically.
Nathan kissed the tears off Peter's perfect, unmarked face. "Your ass needs to be mine, too," Nathan said.
"It is," Peter said, nodding. "It is. Okay?"
"Why should I believe you?" Nathan countered, arching his eyebrow.
Peter reached up and curled Nathan's swoopy cowlick around his finger. Nathan lightly chewed on Peter's wrist. "Because you love me?" Peter offered, but Nathan just smiled at him and shook his head, his hands busy down below, rubbing their pricks together, trading the slick juice welling from the tips, his eyes drinking in the rippling of muscle along Peter's belly. "Because..." Peter added, "somehow, when you break my heart, it's okay? I don't know why that is."
Nathan kissed Peter's jaw. "Because you know in your heart that I love you," he responded. "Now make me another promise. One a little easier to keep, I hope."
"Yeah?"
"Don't tell me about it," Nathan said. "I don't want to know a thing about it. Don't tell me. Don't ever compare us, don't ever reminisce about him. I don't want to hear about anybody else that you've been with. When I'm with you, I'm with you." He kissed Peter's mouth again, lingering this time, getting a good taste. There was no blood. "And I do hope you'll stay with me. Please stay with me. I can live without you... I just really don't want to. Don't make me. Don't make me go through this life by myself again. I need you."
"I'm yours," Peter reassured.
Sighing faintly, relieved, Nathan slid downward until he could get Peter's cock into his mouth. Peter gave a soft, open-hearted moan as Nathan sucked him in; at least that hadn't changed. Peter still cooed like a dove, purred like a contented cat, gave a rising crescendo of gasps and groans as he crested toward orgasm like an classically trained porn star. "Yeah-yeah-ahh, ohhh-ah-oh!" That hadn't changed, nor had the delectability of his semen; if anything, it had gotten better. It was thin, copious, and sparkling; Peter had been spending a lot recently. Nathan supposed he should be grateful to Adam for keeping Peter well exercised, but decided instead that if Adam wasn't already dead, Nathan would have to personally blow Adam's head off for daring to taste Peter's spunk. No doubt he had. Adam Monroe had seemed to be the type to consume - to chew up and spit out, to drain and throw away.
"Stop thinking that," Peter said sharply and suddenly.
"You stop snooping in my brain and maybe you wouldn't hear things you don't want to hear."
"I'm not snooping. You're yelling."
"Fuck you," Nathan said. "Deal with it. You executed a classic teleportation, without any time distortion, on your first try. You wanted to do it, so you did it. Learn how to control your telepathy. Or it will destroy you. I spent a lot of time with Matt. And Matt's father." Nathan shook his head at Peter, who now looked chastened. "You do not want it controlling you. Now... would you suck my cock some more, please?"
Peter smiled, and lolled sensually across his bedsheets, reaching out towards Nathan. "I might be naughty less often if you didn't sound so sexy when you're being all stern."
"Don't remind me." Nathan stroked Peter's short hair, sighing blissfully at the contact of Peter's mouth, and reached over toward Peter's bedside table, opening the drawer and picking up the bottle of lube. He held it up to the light and shook it. "Hmmm... I'll have to get you some more," he mused, and broke into a smile. Peter responded by bobbing his head, stretching his jaw, taking Nathan in farther, the head of Nathan's cock colliding with his throat. Nathan exhaled shakily. "Looks like we have enough for right now, maybe. Tonight, though... I don't know."
Peter looked up, suddenly curious. "Do they have sex shops in Odessa?"
"Hmmm... I don't know... I... doubt... Oh... yeah. Oh, Peter..." He gasped and rolled his eyes, fingers spasming over Peter's hair. "I want to fuck you; don't take that away from me. I'm not a kid anymore. There's only so much I've got."
Peter let Nathan go and smirked, not looking at him. Nathan didn't blame him; he knew he was starting to lose his looks. His weight loss had made the skin of his face begin to sag, and once that process started, it would never stop. Nathan was finally starting to look his age. And there was Peter, looking older too but more beautiful than ever, even if every ounce of fat had been pared from his frame. That was all right; Nathan would happily sacrifice his own attractiveness for Peter's sake. Even if Nathan did look old, at least it meant he was still alive.
"Quit it. You're the sexiest motherfucker I know," Peter murmured.
"Stop listening." Nathan spread lube across his fingers, and slid them across Peter's asshole. Peter relaxed, exhaling, drawing up one knee bent close to his chest, opening himself up. Nathan easily slid two fingers inside, and grimaced when he thought about why it was so easy. But he couldn't be angry at Peter; inside, he felt like a dream, a sexy, filthy, infernally hot dream, twitching and clenching on Nathan's fingers. Was it possible that Peter had gotten better at this, too? Better at being fucked?
"I'm yours," Peter insisted in a choked voice. He wriggled on Nathan's fingers, pressing them in deeper, reaching behind him, spreading his buttocks apart. Nathan made a soft, disbelieving noise, pulled his fingers out, angled Peter's hips up, and slowly pushed his cock inside.
They both moaned loud, over and over again, not moving. "Oh, God, yeah," Peter said.
"Yeah, that's right." Awkward, this, delicious and awkward. A balancing act, and Nathan's cock a straight arrow in Peter's not-quite-straight anus. Nathan wasn't deep; he'd never go deep in this position. It could badly hurt Peter. He took a deep breath, and turned Peter over face-down, and slid in again. Doing it right. Almost too easy. Peter rose up on elbows and knees, spreading his legs farther. Nathan reached between them, stroked his own balls for a moment, then moved onto Peter's, since Peter was making them so accessible. Peter reached, too, and their hands tangled. Nathan grabbed Peter's wrists and held them down onto the top of the bed, and holding Peter's hips with his forearms, thrust inside hard. Peter cried out. "Does that hurt?" Nathan whispered.
"No, it feels so good..."
It did feel so good. Peter was so easy to fuck, slicker inside than even the double layer of silicone lube would provide; he'd been fucked so recently... really recently. Like, today. Nathan fucked Peter hard, gritting his teeth, fighting off the anger and jealousy. Peter took it all, roaring with the intensity of it. "Yes! Oh, God, fuck me - yes! Like that - Yes! Oh God! Uh!"
Nathan pulled out again, turned Peter onto his other side, rammed his cock back in, and fucked him that way. Peter's eyes rolled, and his fingers scrabbled uselessly along Nathan's sweat-slick arm. "Enough! Enough!" he begged. "Please! Just because you can - just because I can-"
Nathan relented, turned Peter a fourth time, this time face up, and kissed him on the mouth, still roughly, still violating Peter's mouth with his tongue. Peter tongued back, then fell back to the surface of the bed, grinning blissfully. Nathan kissed Peter right over his heart, and slid his cock back inside.
"You're gonna get your wish," Nathan whispered to him, thrusting slow but deep. "You're gonna have me around all the time. If you want. Be with me. Let's do this together."
"We... make a pretty good team," Peter agreed faintly, his voice shaky.
"Stay with me?" Nathan kissed him, made love to him, rising slowly in intensity, building it between them. "Love me?"
"If you let me."
"I need you. I love you more than life itself."
"I'm yours - ahhhh. I'm yours. I'm with you."
"Love me as I am? And I'll try to become a better person?"
"Yeah... yeah... I will. And I will, too."
"Yes... Oh, Peter, oh...!"
"Yes...! Yeah! ohh... can I see it? Can I see it?" Peter begged, and Nathan was able to pull out in time, so that his cock shot a slippery, glimmering arc of spunk over Peter's chest, all the way up to Peter's neck. "Oh! Oh... oh, yeah, beautiful." Peter broke into a sweaty, ecstatic grin, trailing his fingers through the semen, lightly touching a drop to his tongue. "My God, that's a lot of come. That's a lot. Saving that for me too, huh?"
"More where that came from," Nathan murmured, wiping up more, sliding it into Peter's mouth. Feeding it to him. Peter sucked it down willingly, savoring it. More that had changed about him, and this, Nathan didn't mind. "...You'll stay with me?" he asked, not minding that he sounded so needy, so vulnerable. It wasn't the first time he had begged Peter for something.
Peter smiled calmly, tenderly, running his fingers through Nathan's riot of greasy, wavy hair. "That's all I've ever wanted," he replied, kissing Nathan.
"Mmmm... I love you."
"I love you more... Let's take a shower," Peter said. "You really need a shower. I mean, look at you. You need a haircut. And a better razor. You're going to go on TV looking like this?"
Nathan just shook his head. "I don't care," he smiled back. "There'll be time. Besides, I kind of like this. It's enjoyable, living life without having to lie and pretend."
"Some... lies and roles are there for a reason," Peter pointed out. "And haircuts. And showers, and deodorant."
Nathan answered with a sigh, and a pinch of Peter's nipple. "As long as I have you," he said, "and as long as you've got me, I think we'll be okay."
Peter stood up, and reached out to him. Together, holding hands, trading little kisses, they walked to the bathroom, the scene of so many moments between them, sensual and otherwise. As he turned on the water to heat it, Peter turned to Nathan with a grin. "So... uh... what's up with you and Matt? You can tell me. I won't be jealous. He's kinda cute."
Nathan rolled his eyes. "All I have to say," he drawled, stepping into the shower stall, hot water or no, "is never let him be on top..."
END RITUAL (32)
A/N: Whoo! Made it to the end of the story arc! Remind me to not write "in show" fics anymore, because transcribing dialogue is a pain in the ass. I'm sure this will have the same reaction as "How to Stop an Exploding Man" and "Powerless", i.e. that the climax just isn't as good and earth-shattering as you hoped... but this is the best I can do. Thanks for reading anyway, and it was fun!
More Ritual to come, I'm sure.