Fic: Ritual (34): On the Road
Title: Ritual (34): On the Road
Pairing/Characters: Peter/Adam, implied Peter/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: through 2.11 "Powerless"
Word Count: about 5700
Warnings: explicit m/m sex, semi-public sex, implied incest, language, angst
Summary: A part of Peter wants to lose himself to Adam. Unfortunately, he's come very close to doing just that.
• Ritual Reader's Guide previous Ritual stories in chronological order •
Heroes and associated characters and situations are the property of NBC/UNiversal and Tailwinds Productions, used without permission.
A note up first: Continues from where Ritual (31): Montreal left off; it's not necessary to have read that story to understand this one, but it helps.
All the experiences of our weeks together had left me in a state of increasing violence...
- Crash (J.G. Ballard)
Did you realize no one can see inside your view?
Did you realize the world inside belongs to you?
-"Strangers" (Portishead)
MARCH 18 2007
3:45 a.m.
MONTREAL
Adam gazed out the bedroom window, his thoughts distant and unreadable. For a while he hadn't spoken to Peter, or looked at him, but he idly stroked Peter's hair with one hand while the other cradled a cigarette, holding the filterless tip between his thumb and forefinger. Occasionally Adam brought the cigarette to his lips and took a quick, sharp, snapping inhale, and then held the cigarette down low, handing it to Peter. Peter would have liked for Adam to hold the cigarette for him, so Peter could just move his head forward to take a drag - so he'd never have to hold the cigarette himself, and maybe kid himself that he wasn't actually smoking - but Adam didn't give him that option.
Peter wasn't a smoker. He'd never wanted to smoke. But for some reason, being with Adam, he craved it, was curious about it. Interested in seeing how much more he could change. He didn't cough. He smoked like he'd done it before.
Why hadn't he just told Adam that he didn't smoke? Why had he just accepted what was handed to him? Why did he feel that he could love it, but only when Adam was there, only after they'd just fucked for hours and hours?
Peter handed the cigarette back. To hell with it; it was just one. Then again... not that it was going to hurt him or anything. He was with Adam.
Adam finished the cigarette, and tossed it out the narrow space at the bottom of the window. "I'm going to bathe," he announced, closing the window, shutting the frigid night air outside. "I'm covered in you. And me. And while it's delicious in the moment..." He shrugged, and winked at Peter. "Come on, then. You got it worse than me." He held out his hand, and drew Peter up from the floor, unwinding the bed sheet from around Peter's body. "You could use some hot water on that filthy hair of yours."
Peter accompanied Adam to the bathroom, and stood by while Adam started the water. "Actually, I got really well scrubbed just a little while ago," Peter admitted, watching steam curl out into the chilly air. "In the future. They hosed me down. Decontaminated me." The memory of it made him shudder.
"I honestly wish that I didn't know exactly what that feels like," Adam said. "Being treated like an animal. Like a pig in a slaughterhouse." He stepped under the spray of the shower, hissing slightly, but merely reached for the soap. Peter followed him in, and yelled as the hot water scalded his skin. He frowned at Adam for the prank, and turned the cold water tap on. Adam smiled puckishly. Once Peter was satisfied by the water's temperature, Adam wrapped Peter in his arms and kissed him. "We're gonna make sure that never has to happen to anyone else," Adam whispered, nuzzling Peter's neck. "We're going to set things right."
He slipped his tongue into Peter's mouth, a much wetter, deeper, more open kiss than any he'd ever given to Peter before. Peter felt dizzy from the intimacy, the fierce affection and connection rocking through his body, strengthening with each heartbeat. Falling in love. Falling in love. Falling in love. So good, so perfect, so right. What Peter felt right now wouldn't allow him to think of being scrubbed down, terrified, humiliated; he couldn't think of Caitlin. He couldn't think of Nathan. This was only this.
Adam tasted of smoke and whiskey, mouth supple and eager, feeding Peter. But Peter still wanted more. He needed it. Feed me more.
Peter got on his knees and attacked Adam's half-hard cock with lips and tongue, ignoring the water flooding over his face. Adam laughed, and cupped the back of Peter's head with his hands, holding him in place, moving forward a little so that the shower spray hit his back, keeping it from splashing onto Peter. Peter appreciated that tiny kindness so much that he moaned. Adam didn't have to be nice to him. They were connected. Peter was his.
"Yes," Adam hissed faintly. "Oh, Peter, my God. My sweet little whore. You didn't get enough?"
Peter shook his head, but didn't interrupt what he was doing to reply. His mood sank; he wished that Adam wouldn't call him a whore. Peter wasn't selling anything; he was giving himself freely. Too freely. He didn't actually want to be sucking Adam's cock right now, but it was the only way he could express how he felt, the next step up from an embrace. He just wanted to tell Adam that he loved him, but he couldn't... not yet. They were going to save the world and avert a disaster, and then maybe after that Peter could say it. And what happened after that, Peter didn't allow himself to consider. It was too complicated, tangling his thoughts into a knot he couldn't undo. Easier and more pleasurable to slurp and suck, and gulp down a surprising, sudden jet of fluid into his throat, backing away with a cough and a laugh. Adam laughed too, then rolled his eyes and moaned as Peter jerked on Adam's cock, keeping it hard, shunting another few spurts of come into his mouth, and swallowing those down, too.
"Where you belong; on your knees," Adam muttered. "At my side." His eyes squeezed tightly shut, and he gently caressed Peter's shoulder, took his hand, drew him back upright and kissed him. He opened his eyes again, and fixed Peter with his clear, sea-blue gaze. "You're the best I've ever had," Adam said softly. "Four hundred years, and I've never met anyone like you."
Peter smiled back, savoring the compliment, knowing Adam couldn't be serious, no matter how sincere he sounded. He let the hot water play over his hair, riffling it with a hand-sweep of soap. What could he say in response to that? What, in his tiny little life, could he compare it to? He couldn't suck him off yet again... "What's the matter?" Adam asked, noticing Peter's hesitation.
"I... just need to brush my teeth," Peter replied, rinsing the soap out, rubbing the diluted suds over his face and over his throbbing, excited genitals. He could have wanked himself, or asked Adam to do it, but he wanted to hang onto his arousal, contain it, send it back into himself and save it for later. For Adam. So lost. Have I always been like this? "I can't taste very good right now..."
"I think you taste glorious," Adam replied.
"Well, I don't," Peter murmured sheepishly, stepping out, digging around in the medicine cabinet over the sink and finding a sad, half-flattened old toothbrush that obviously hadn't been used in forever. With a grimace, he reminded himself that whatever was on it couldn't hurt him. Still in the shower, Adam chuckled, and when Peter was done, brushed his own teeth with the same brush. Peter looked at his own steam-distorted reflection in the mirror, and swore that he would never, ever tell Nathan about that. He could never tell Nathan that he'd smoked, either. Then again, what was Nathan going to do? Peter was doing what was necessary. What he wanted to do. He sighed. Forget about it. He wondered if he had absorbed the Haitian's powers, and if he had, could he make himself forget.
They dried off and got dressed: blue shirts, black jeans, tough black boots and jackets. Same clothes, same size, interchangable, the results of a single evening's department-store theft that Peter recalled with a sharp mixture of pleasure and shame. Doing what he needed to do. Stealing, but no one was harmed... no one hurt, not more than a shop missing some clothes. Adam had enjoyed it so much that Peter had been tempted to steal for him again and again. It wasn't what Peter wanted, but it became that. Please him, by any means necessary. He was seized with the desire to launch himself at Adam again, take him down to the surface of the bed, and scream into him I belong to you; please take me, please destroy me, please don't make me live with this. Let's not save the world; let's just stay right here and fuck, and kill anybody who tries to stop us.
But there wasn't time. Peter had barely finished knotting the laces in his boots before Adam was heading out of the bedroom into the main area of the house, grabbing his whiskey bottle. "Come on, Peter," he urged impatiently. "It's after four. We should go."
"Shouldn't we... y'know, straighten up? Cover our tracks?" Peter wondered, following him, regretfully looking back at the disarray they'd left in the bedroom and bathroom.
Adam rolled his eyes and shook his head. "What's the point?" he asked. "If we don't get to Victoria Pratt and find out the whereabouts of the virus, these nice people are going to die horribly in a few months, anyway. Dirty bed linens won't make a damn bit of difference. Let's go."
The car was parked a few blocks away, not where it had been when Adam and Peter arrived earlier that night, and Peter wondered where Adam had gone while Peter was asleep. Adam unlocked the passenger-side door, and while Peter got in, Adam went around to the back of the car and opened the trunk. Peter couldn't see what he was doing, but he heard the clank of heavy metallic objects contacting each other. Eventually, Adam got in and closed his door quietly. "What's in the trunk?" Peter asked.
"My weapons," Adam said dryly. "Keepsakes, really. I just didn't want to leave them in the warehouse. But you never know when we might need them." At Peter's stricken look, Adam added soothingly, "Go on, don't pull a face. If we keep our wits about us, and you come through with a little of your magic, everything will be fine. But it's a dangerous world out there, and I would prefer not to see you hurt. I will defend you with my life, Peter."
"Yeah, but you can't die," Peter sighed. "And neither can I."
"We're not the only ones in danger," Adam said, keying the ignition, and grinning as the engine purred into life. "There, yes," he said, petting the dashboard. "Little baby. Did you miss your Adam?" He laughed delightedly, setting the car in motion, and only pouring on the speed after leaving the residential street. Peter couldn't help smiling too. Four in the morning; clear roads, clear dark sky, and nothing but destiny ahead.
He loved a good road trip.
*****
5:40 a.m.
ROUTE 133 - NEAR THE CANADA/U.S. BORDER
"You're sighing again," Adam said.
Peter glanced over at Adam, straining to overhear any stray thought. He couldn't catch anything. "I just..." Peter began. "I want things to go all right."
"They will, if you leave off your worrying."
"I can't help worrying. I mean, I don't even know if my mom's okay."
"Your mum," Adam replied, and snorted contemptuously. "Your mum's got more than enough cunning to deal with whatever life tosses her way. I shouldn't worry about her any more than I'd worry that the sun was going to come up."
"She wanted me dead," Peter whispered, staring out the side window.
"We've got that in common," Adam replied darkly, then sighed himself. "Ah, really, Peter, I shouldn't think of it like that. It wasn't that she wanted you dead; it's that she just didn't care. Is that better?"
"No," Peter said sulkily, rolling his eyes. "She just gambled that I'd... get through it."
"Yeah, so. Stop worrying about it. I'm sure she's perfectly happy, scheming away somewhere."
There was only a small amount of traffic this early in the morning, but there was enough that as they approached the border crossing, a small line of cars had already begun to form. Peter stared at Adam anxiously; the immortal was comfortably sprawled in the driver's seat, taking casual swigs out of his whiskey bottle, as he had been for the entire drive so far. "Uh, you need to put that away now," Peter said.
"Oh, don't be such an old lady, Peter." Adam screwed the top onto the bottle and tucked it between his thighs, resting his hand lightly on the gear shift, inching the car forward another length behind two large commercial trucks, having their papers checked by the border-crossing guards. These days, they carried guns, and each vehicle was checked by one guard while another stood by, carefully watching the proceedings. "You know we've nothing to worry about." He shook out a cigarette from his crumpled pack and held it lightly between his teeth as he lit it. "Cigarette?"
"No. Thanks." Peter wished he could be as relaxed. His heart was racing, and nervous sweat prickled at his armpits. "What should we do?"
Adam advanced the car some more. One truck to go. "Do what we do best," he replied. "Survive."
The truck ahead of them passed through, and Adam pulled up to the kiosk, pulling his passport out of the glove compartment and holding it at the ready. Peter fumbled out his own and stared at it, noting all the details that had been done wrong, how obviously fake it looked to him. Maybe they wouldn't check that closely...
The guard came up and tapped on the driver's side window with his flashlight, and Adam rolled the window down and grinned at him. "Your passports, please," the guard said, impervious to Adam's charm.
Adam handed the guard the passports, and gave Peter a calm glance. Peter stared at the guard, and overheard from the man's thoughts, Cite them. Pull 'em in. Don't make any sudden moves. They've obviously got something on their records; be good to start the day with some results. "Could you please stop your engine, sir, and both of you step out of the vehicle, please."
"You must be Canadian," Adam replied breezily. "You're so polite." He killed the engine with a twist of his key, the dangling extra keys tapping noisily against the glass neck of the whiskey bottle.
Peter felt something almost like red rage boiling up behind his eyes, but it was colder than that, based on panic and instinct instead of anger. Something inside him, coming to life, clicking into place, a new way to do something. He didn't even know who he was thinking of - what he remembered - but he stepped out of the car as Adam did, and stared at the guard. "Don't," Peter said.
"What?" said the guard, reaching for his sidearm, and glancing at his partner.
"You don't want to do that," Peter replied. "You want to let us go."
The guard just cocked his head and stared at Peter. "Now wait a minute -"
"There's nothing to find," Peter said. His voice sounded strange, heavy, layered and hollow, accessing frequencies lower and higher than the ear could normally hear. "You don't need to check this car. There's nothing unusual about either one of us. Nothing to see."
The guard blinked slowly at Peter, and in his thoughts, he said, There's nothing unusual about either one of them. I ought to let 'em go.
Peter stared at the other guard, now approaching with his hand on his gun, and said to him, "Everything's cool. We can go." Peter was thinking of Mohinder. Meeting Mohinder for the first time. That pretty girl with him, sarcastic and adorable at the same time, so deft with her words that it was only hours later that Peter realized that she'd insulted him. What was her name?
The second guard waved his hand. "You guys can go," he said. He looked at the first guard, who nodded his agreement. Adam took their passports back, gave the guard a little bow, and got back into his car. After a moment, Peter took a deep breath, and followed.
Not Mohinder... Mohinder had no powers, as far as Peter knew. What was that chick's name? It was going to drive him crazy.
Adam drove off with slightly more speed than was necessary, and when the border kiosk was out of sight behind them, whooped with laughter. "Oh, Peter!" he crowed delightedly. "That was brilliant. I had no idea you could do that. That's wonderful."
"I don't even know what I did," Peter confessed.
"The silver tongue! The voice of persuasion. It's fantastic. It's been decades since I knew anyone who had that. I mean, your mum's got her ways, but that? Absolutely classic."
"What do you mean, my mom's got her ways?"
"Never mind, Peter, never mind. I won't tell tales; she's your mother, after all. Suffice it to say that I know her quite well. Oh, yes, quite well." Adam kept laughing. "Dear boy. Yes, we've stories for later, if you can stomach them. Well, are you hungry? Do you fancy a bit of breakfast? I could do with some egg and chips; haven't eaten since... well, since you."
Peter couldn't help laughing too. "Never met anyone like you, either," he said. "Yeah, breakfast sounds good."
Another five minutes on the road and they found a little 24-hour truckstop café. One of the two trucks that had been ahead of them at the border was parked there, one of a half-dozen big rigs pulled up to parking spaces and gasoline pumps, with two or three smaller trucks and a car or two. Adam pulled into a parking space at the edge of the small lot, toward the far side but still in view of the café's entrance, and reached over for Peter, grasping his coat collar and pulling him near for a big kiss. Peter didn't resist, even as his eyes widened with shock; right here where everyone could see them? He glanced at the rearview mirror, and sighed with relief when he saw no reflection peeking back at him.
"You are so great," Adam insisted, kissing Peter again, pressing his mouth in over and over again, stealing Peter's breath. "So great." Peter reached into Adam's lap, moving the whiskey bottle onto the floor, then putting his hand where the bottle had been, caressing the dents in the denim at Adam's thighs. Adam jutted his hips forward, bringing the crotch of his jeans into glancing contact with Peter's wrist. Peter fumbled with Adam's belt and the button at his waistband. Adam did the same to him. Their elbows banged against the dashboard and gearshift, and their breath began to steam the windows.
Peter stroked Adam's exposed cock roughly, jacking him to full, straining hardness. He planned to get that hard dick into his mouth and suck it off, satisfy Adam quickly and then they'd go have breakfast. As long as they stayed invisible... Adam moaned luxuriously at the touch of Peter's fingers, Peter's lips on him, his cock thrumming in Peter's mouth.
But he pulled his cock from Peter's mouth, and stroked it himself, his knuckles smacking hard against his stomach. "Get in the back seat," he said, his voice so husky from desire that he almost sounded the way Peter had, talking to those border guards.
It had much the same effect. Peter let his seat down, and climbed over it. As he lost contact with Adam, Adam's reflection blinked back into existence for a moment before he reached back, running his fingers roughly through Peter's hair. "Take off your jeans," Adam said.
Peter tried to do that, too, but his boots stopped him. "I can't get them... all the way down..."
"To your ankles is fine," Adam said, and Peter shuddered, lust flooding through his body. Dirty, dirty me. I am a teenage slut again. He pushed the jeans down to his knees, and Adam, climbing back, yanked them down a little further, enough for Peter to spread his legs just a bit. Just enough to make space for Adam to fit his mouth, enough space for Adam to lick him from the top of his ass crack to his balls, and back again. Peter moaned loudly, stifling himself too late. Adam laughed, and clenched his fingers into Peter's right buttock. "Just keep us invisible, and we've nothing to worry about," he murmured. He fumbled with the shoulder bag he'd tossed onto the floor of the backseat, came back up smelling of coconut, his fingers greasy with oil, sliding two into Peter's ass with no resistance at all.
Peter barely reacted to the violation; he was concentrating too hard on maintaining invisibility, his heart pounding with fear of discovery. Outside the car, he could see the wavery, steam-distorted outlines of people walking right past the car, mere inches away, and there was Adam on top of him, sucking and biting the back of his neck, forcing his cock into Peter's asshole, and making Peter whimper despite himself. He bit down into the sleeve of his jacket.
"You're as easy as a glove," Adam grunted, thrusting his hips quickly, "easy and tight... as a fucking glove..." He braced his hands against Peter's left hip and the top of the back seat, stabbing into Peter. Peter lay quietly for as long as he could, but after a minute, he gave a soft, choked, sobbing moan. Adam stopped, and kissed the back of Peter's neck, right below the damp crop of dark hair. "All right then?"
Peter just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Adam laughed quietly, and resumed fucking, almost as fast, but much harder now, deeper, more insistent. Peter squirmed and bit himself so hard he was sure he was bleeding, helplessly caught up in it, his body thrilling with terror. They were going to get caught because he couldn't help calling out, yelping, groaning. He was being brutally fucked in the ass in the back of a car in a parking lot with a bunch of Canadian truckers surrounding him, and he couldn't keep quiet.
Like with Nathan.
But they hadn't gotten caught. Miraculously, they hadn't gotten caught, even though Mom and Dad were both home, in their bedroom right down the hall, and Peter couldn't keep quiet then either... not with Nathan's cock driving into him, with Nathan's fingers crammed into his mouth to shut him up while he fucked Peter and made him scream from sheer pleasure. And Nathan muttering into Peter's ear, his voice low and dangerous, Sssh, they're gonna hear, sssh, Peter, sssh. Gonna come? Yeah. Come for me. Yeah. How old had he been then? Eighteen? Nineteen?
But no, no matter how scary that was, it was nothing like this. Every sound of an ignition starting almost gave Peter a heart attack, every flash of headlights made him seize up, and Adam fucked harder until Peter relaxed and relented. "Stop thinking about your brother; you're levitating, and I'm sick of having to hold you down. Just give in to me," Adam whispered. "I'll break you otherwise. And I don't want to break you so soon; I just got you. I can break you later."
"No - uh - uh - don't -" Peter took hold of his bare cock just in time to fill his palm with a warm spurt of semen. Adam seized up and moaned, feeling the shockwave pass through Peter's body, and his cock pumped come inside. "Don't break me," Peter said, the capacity for speech returning to him, gently clenching his interior muscles, milking the last drops from Adam. Adam collapsed against him, sighing and shaking. "You don't have to break me."
"You don't want to be broken?" Adam murmured, pulling out, wiping himself off with a white handkerchief. "Coulda fooled me." He cleaned Peter up, too, and Peter gratefully wiped his sticky hand and dabbed up the stray drops that had escaped his hold and landed on the back seat upholstery. Adam swigged from the whiskey bottle, watching as Peter slowly turned over and pulled his own trousers back on. He handed Peter the bottle, and climbed back into the front seat. Peter took a drink, then handed the bottle back. Adam stuck it into the pocket of his coat, and got out of the car. "Come on, then," he said, "the fast won't break itself."
They sat in an empty booth, and when the half-asleep, forty-ish waitress came around, they both ordered coffee and toast. Adam gave Peter a half-smile when she had gone. "I thought you'd be hungrier," Adam remarked. "I guess spunk is more filling than I thought."
Peter returned the half-smile, glancing around him to see if anyone was eavesdropping, then his smile grew, thinking, We haven't got anything to worry about. If anyone has a problem with our lifestyle, they can go fuck off and die somewhere. He felt too good inside, too much in love, too excited to eat. "I thought you wanted egg and chips," he countered.
"Yeah, well." Adam shrugged. Never mind, Peter, he thought. He took the whiskey bottle out of his pocket, and poured what was left into Peter's coffee cup. Peter gave a brief nod of thanks, and drank it, not caring that Adam wasn't even bothering to try to hide the bottle. He felt immortal again, absolutely positive, for the first time in what seemed like a long time. It was true; nothing could hurt them. They could get away with anything they wanted. There were no limits.
Peter told the waitress that she didn't need to charge them, that toast and coffee were free. She thanked them and told them to have a nice day.
The sun had come up, though hidden behind a light cloud cover, casting a uniform dove-gray light over everything. Adam gave the clouds a critical look, but it didn't seem to bother him. He got the car keys out of his pocket.
"Can I drive?" Peter asked.
Adam stared at him for long enough that Peter almost apologized, but then Adam shrugged. "Eh, what's the harm?" he decided. "Just remember, I love this car like a daughter. Be gentle with her the first time."
*****
10:22a.m.
INTERSTATE 89, SIX MILES FROM THE VERMONT/NEW HAMPSHIRE BORDER
The only station coming through on the radio was an oldies station, broadcasting from Montpelier, some twenty miles behind them. Adam gave Peter occasional tense or maybe apologetic smiles from the passenger seat. For once, Peter didn't worry about what Adam was thinking. The car was too much fun to drive, and the pleasure had loosened his tongue even more than the long-metabolized whiskey. "So yeah... that was the first time Nathan actually fucked me. It's too bad we don't have more time, because I'd be kind of curious to see the house now. At the time, I never wanted to lay eyes on it again." He laughed. "That summer sucked. I ended up having to go on psych meds because I was starting to get suicidal."
"Psych meds?" Adam asked uncomprehendingly.
"Oh, sorry. Like, antidepressant drugs." Peter explained, and Adam made a disgusted, dismayed face. "It wasn't my choice; my mom insisted. I only had to take them for five months before my doctor said I could stop, and he told me I probably would have been fine without them anyway. I just stopped trying to kid myself about the way I felt about Nathan; accepted it, accepted that there was nothing wrong with just having a feeling, and gave up on the idea that he'd ever feel the same way. I guess I was wrong about that." Peter smiled and sighed, fighting off the sadness that welled inside him whenever he acknowledged the fact that Nathan loved him. "Which is cool..." He glanced at Adam. Adam stared out the window at the scenery, looking bored and annoyed. Peter hadn't been around Adam long enough to know if that was just the way he appeared (he sure did wear that expression most of the time), or if Peter really was boring and annoying him. "I guess," Peter added. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk about Nathan so much."
He scanned Adam's thoughts quickly, just out of reflex, and once again found nothing to grasp. It wasn't that Adam's mind was empty; his thoughts just happened in a wordless, gauzy, constantly shifting miasma of patterns and motivations too obscure for Peter to understand. Sometimes Peter could tell that Adam was actively shutting Peter out of his mind. Peter wondered if he could force the truth out of Adam, if he wanted to. But what would Peter see? Did he even really want to?
Adam looked over at Peter, shook his head, and said quietly and calmly, "No... it's natural that it would come to mind, being in Vermont."
Peter waited for Adam to say more, and when he didn't, Peter pressed onward. "I mean, does it bother you?"
"No, Peter," Adam replied. "You can tell me whatever you like. My feelings are not hurt. I'm not your first; I don't care. Go on, Peter; you'd know if I weren't telling the truth. You, of all people, would know." He stared back out the window. "I'm thinking about what we have to do. It won't be a walk in the park. We'll probably encounter resistance, have to defend ourselves and each other."
"So should I be quiet, so you can think?"
"No, no, Peter," Adam said. "I can tell that talking helps you to concentrate on driving. I'm not bothered, honestly."
Peter accepted this with a nod and a sigh, and put his attention back on the road. There wasn't too much traffic at this time of the morning, and the gently winding highway was fun to drive along in the Barracuda. His mood began to lift toward euphoria again. "I just feel a little crazy," he said out loud, "in a good way. Excited. I want things to happen. I'm ready to get things done. Maybe it's just 'cos I'm driving." Peter laughed, and Adam gave a fragment of a smile. "Are you worried?"
"No," said Adam. "Of course not. I look forward to dispensing a little justice myself."
"Driving right now... I just have this urge to run the car off the road. See if I can roll it. Do 'Cudas roll easily, do you think?"
"Please don't roll my car, Peter," said Adam mildly.
"No, I'm not going to, but... Could. I'd be okay. We'd both be okay. I was talking about this with Claire, this one time... we were both feeling kind of morbid, I guess. She had just brought me back from the dead, and we were talking about what it felt like to get killed."
"Yeah?" said Adam.
"She told me that she loved to drive, and she had been hoping to get a car soon, but she was almost afraid to have one because she'd be tempted to wreck the car just because she could. She knew she'd walk away from it. She's already done it once, and she told me, yeah, it's kind of erotic. The rush and the impact. She told me that she secretly loved the movie Crash... not the anti-racism movie, the other one. The one with James Spader. The softcore porn about car wrecks. Um." He broke off, laughing with mild embarrassment, knowing Claire would kill him if she found out that he'd told. "Based on a book by a guy named JG Ballard; I don't know if you knew about him, he was putting out books in the Seventies before you, um. Anyway. She was afraid that when she got a car, she'd just have to wreck it, to see if it... y'know, got her off."
"Expensive way to masturbate," Adam said dryly. "But I could see you doing that. Starting a car smash-up sex cult with your niece. That'd be just like you."
Peter had been hoping that Adam would counter with a detailed description of whether or not he had ever been in any erotic car crashes, and, startled, it took Peter a minute to respond. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Adam looked at him with eyebrows raised. "Healers," he said. "Regenerators. Which we are?... Oh, that's not what you thought I meant." He rolled his eyes. "Hmm! It's not my business if you fancy your niece. Or your brother. All right?" Adam sighed. "Don't needle me, Peter. I would rather you were silent than to have you trying to get a rise out of me on the way there. Talk about anything if you like, but don't go looking for problems where there are none."
"Sorry," said Peter, a little shaken. That whole exchange had gotten weird way too quickly. "I guess I am tense. Worried. I don't know what's gonna happen. There's just so much at stake."
"I'll look after you," said Adam.
They passed a road sign welcoming them to New Hampshire, and Peter willed his memories of Nathan to stay behind in Vermont, and not distract him anymore. But he couldn't think of anything else to say, and the rest of their journey proceeded in silence.
Peter wished he was home, and that none of this had ever happened. He wished he and Adam were still back there in Montreal, in bed, with their bodies and breaths interlocking. He was angry now, filled with excitement and dread. He felt like he was going to have to hurt somebody today, and he admitted to himself that he looked forward to it. He wanted the pain outside him for once, pain happening to somebody else.
Praying that being at Adam's side, he wouldn't have to feel that pain himself.
*****
11:42 p.m.
MEMPHIS
Even tightly curled up in bed with Adam's arms locked around him, soft whispers in his ear and kisses on the back of his neck, under the covers in a nondescript motel room, Peter couldn't stop shivering.
"It's all right, Peter. It's all right. It had to be done."
Peter wasn't ignoring Adam. He just couldn't speak.
"Just relax. I've got you. Try to get some sleep. I'm going to sleep."
If only Adam could hear thoughts the way Peter could, he would be deafened by the chaos in Peter's mind, the horror and rage and fear, and a rational side desperately struggling to hold it all together, to focus, to keep from lighting up, burning hot and bright and gigantic. To just blow the world apart. He knew he could. He could burn straight through the planet and kick it into the sun. Because fuck this. This is not me. But understanding that such thoughts were selfish and desperate, and also not him. This is not what I am. But logically it follows that I am, because I have done. And this is how it works.
"Nobody ever said it would always be easy," Adam murmured, kissing him again. "No one ever said it would always be fun. Get some sleep. You need sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow."
This is who I am now. Look at what I came from; look at my parents, look at my brother. We are killers without malice, each and every one of us. We do what needs to be done and it's up to us to face our reflections in the mirror. But I don't ever have to again, if I don't want. Claude gifted me with that. Thank you, Claude. I understand you so much more now. How many innocent people did you have to kill, in the name of doing what needs to be done?
Adam caressed Peter's aching belly. "It's all right," he whispered. "We're together. Get some sleep."
Peter finally spoke, after hours of silence. "We're together," he replied.
He found Adam's hand with his own, and Adam grasped his fingers tightly. "Feel it in me. Prime your strength with mine. Because you are so very strong, Peter. All I need do is remind you of it. Together... we can save this world."
Peter sighed, and relaxed with it, giving up, giving in. He turned over just enough to be able to kiss Adam's lips. Nestled together, fingers intertwined, they sank into sleep as one.
END RITUAL (34)
A/N: This story is based on material cut from Rituals 31 and 32, plus some new and elaborated smut, so this is pretty self-indulgent of me. Forgive me if it's kinda wack, since it's mostly supposed to tie up some loose ends in my own series. Ironic that I'd write a Ritual that's almost completely free of Nathan, considering how obsessed I am with the Pasdar right now. Go figure.... Thanks for reading.
Pairing/Characters: Peter/Adam, implied Peter/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: through 2.11 "Powerless"
Word Count: about 5700
Warnings: explicit m/m sex, semi-public sex, implied incest, language, angst
Summary: A part of Peter wants to lose himself to Adam. Unfortunately, he's come very close to doing just that.
• Ritual Reader's Guide previous Ritual stories in chronological order •
Heroes and associated characters and situations are the property of NBC/UNiversal and Tailwinds Productions, used without permission.
A note up first: Continues from where Ritual (31): Montreal left off; it's not necessary to have read that story to understand this one, but it helps.
All the experiences of our weeks together had left me in a state of increasing violence...
- Crash (J.G. Ballard)
Did you realize no one can see inside your view?
Did you realize the world inside belongs to you?
-"Strangers" (Portishead)
MARCH 18 2007
3:45 a.m.
MONTREAL
Adam gazed out the bedroom window, his thoughts distant and unreadable. For a while he hadn't spoken to Peter, or looked at him, but he idly stroked Peter's hair with one hand while the other cradled a cigarette, holding the filterless tip between his thumb and forefinger. Occasionally Adam brought the cigarette to his lips and took a quick, sharp, snapping inhale, and then held the cigarette down low, handing it to Peter. Peter would have liked for Adam to hold the cigarette for him, so Peter could just move his head forward to take a drag - so he'd never have to hold the cigarette himself, and maybe kid himself that he wasn't actually smoking - but Adam didn't give him that option.
Peter wasn't a smoker. He'd never wanted to smoke. But for some reason, being with Adam, he craved it, was curious about it. Interested in seeing how much more he could change. He didn't cough. He smoked like he'd done it before.
Why hadn't he just told Adam that he didn't smoke? Why had he just accepted what was handed to him? Why did he feel that he could love it, but only when Adam was there, only after they'd just fucked for hours and hours?
Peter handed the cigarette back. To hell with it; it was just one. Then again... not that it was going to hurt him or anything. He was with Adam.
Adam finished the cigarette, and tossed it out the narrow space at the bottom of the window. "I'm going to bathe," he announced, closing the window, shutting the frigid night air outside. "I'm covered in you. And me. And while it's delicious in the moment..." He shrugged, and winked at Peter. "Come on, then. You got it worse than me." He held out his hand, and drew Peter up from the floor, unwinding the bed sheet from around Peter's body. "You could use some hot water on that filthy hair of yours."
Peter accompanied Adam to the bathroom, and stood by while Adam started the water. "Actually, I got really well scrubbed just a little while ago," Peter admitted, watching steam curl out into the chilly air. "In the future. They hosed me down. Decontaminated me." The memory of it made him shudder.
"I honestly wish that I didn't know exactly what that feels like," Adam said. "Being treated like an animal. Like a pig in a slaughterhouse." He stepped under the spray of the shower, hissing slightly, but merely reached for the soap. Peter followed him in, and yelled as the hot water scalded his skin. He frowned at Adam for the prank, and turned the cold water tap on. Adam smiled puckishly. Once Peter was satisfied by the water's temperature, Adam wrapped Peter in his arms and kissed him. "We're gonna make sure that never has to happen to anyone else," Adam whispered, nuzzling Peter's neck. "We're going to set things right."
He slipped his tongue into Peter's mouth, a much wetter, deeper, more open kiss than any he'd ever given to Peter before. Peter felt dizzy from the intimacy, the fierce affection and connection rocking through his body, strengthening with each heartbeat. Falling in love. Falling in love. Falling in love. So good, so perfect, so right. What Peter felt right now wouldn't allow him to think of being scrubbed down, terrified, humiliated; he couldn't think of Caitlin. He couldn't think of Nathan. This was only this.
Adam tasted of smoke and whiskey, mouth supple and eager, feeding Peter. But Peter still wanted more. He needed it. Feed me more.
Peter got on his knees and attacked Adam's half-hard cock with lips and tongue, ignoring the water flooding over his face. Adam laughed, and cupped the back of Peter's head with his hands, holding him in place, moving forward a little so that the shower spray hit his back, keeping it from splashing onto Peter. Peter appreciated that tiny kindness so much that he moaned. Adam didn't have to be nice to him. They were connected. Peter was his.
"Yes," Adam hissed faintly. "Oh, Peter, my God. My sweet little whore. You didn't get enough?"
Peter shook his head, but didn't interrupt what he was doing to reply. His mood sank; he wished that Adam wouldn't call him a whore. Peter wasn't selling anything; he was giving himself freely. Too freely. He didn't actually want to be sucking Adam's cock right now, but it was the only way he could express how he felt, the next step up from an embrace. He just wanted to tell Adam that he loved him, but he couldn't... not yet. They were going to save the world and avert a disaster, and then maybe after that Peter could say it. And what happened after that, Peter didn't allow himself to consider. It was too complicated, tangling his thoughts into a knot he couldn't undo. Easier and more pleasurable to slurp and suck, and gulp down a surprising, sudden jet of fluid into his throat, backing away with a cough and a laugh. Adam laughed too, then rolled his eyes and moaned as Peter jerked on Adam's cock, keeping it hard, shunting another few spurts of come into his mouth, and swallowing those down, too.
"Where you belong; on your knees," Adam muttered. "At my side." His eyes squeezed tightly shut, and he gently caressed Peter's shoulder, took his hand, drew him back upright and kissed him. He opened his eyes again, and fixed Peter with his clear, sea-blue gaze. "You're the best I've ever had," Adam said softly. "Four hundred years, and I've never met anyone like you."
Peter smiled back, savoring the compliment, knowing Adam couldn't be serious, no matter how sincere he sounded. He let the hot water play over his hair, riffling it with a hand-sweep of soap. What could he say in response to that? What, in his tiny little life, could he compare it to? He couldn't suck him off yet again... "What's the matter?" Adam asked, noticing Peter's hesitation.
"I... just need to brush my teeth," Peter replied, rinsing the soap out, rubbing the diluted suds over his face and over his throbbing, excited genitals. He could have wanked himself, or asked Adam to do it, but he wanted to hang onto his arousal, contain it, send it back into himself and save it for later. For Adam. So lost. Have I always been like this? "I can't taste very good right now..."
"I think you taste glorious," Adam replied.
"Well, I don't," Peter murmured sheepishly, stepping out, digging around in the medicine cabinet over the sink and finding a sad, half-flattened old toothbrush that obviously hadn't been used in forever. With a grimace, he reminded himself that whatever was on it couldn't hurt him. Still in the shower, Adam chuckled, and when Peter was done, brushed his own teeth with the same brush. Peter looked at his own steam-distorted reflection in the mirror, and swore that he would never, ever tell Nathan about that. He could never tell Nathan that he'd smoked, either. Then again, what was Nathan going to do? Peter was doing what was necessary. What he wanted to do. He sighed. Forget about it. He wondered if he had absorbed the Haitian's powers, and if he had, could he make himself forget.
They dried off and got dressed: blue shirts, black jeans, tough black boots and jackets. Same clothes, same size, interchangable, the results of a single evening's department-store theft that Peter recalled with a sharp mixture of pleasure and shame. Doing what he needed to do. Stealing, but no one was harmed... no one hurt, not more than a shop missing some clothes. Adam had enjoyed it so much that Peter had been tempted to steal for him again and again. It wasn't what Peter wanted, but it became that. Please him, by any means necessary. He was seized with the desire to launch himself at Adam again, take him down to the surface of the bed, and scream into him I belong to you; please take me, please destroy me, please don't make me live with this. Let's not save the world; let's just stay right here and fuck, and kill anybody who tries to stop us.
But there wasn't time. Peter had barely finished knotting the laces in his boots before Adam was heading out of the bedroom into the main area of the house, grabbing his whiskey bottle. "Come on, Peter," he urged impatiently. "It's after four. We should go."
"Shouldn't we... y'know, straighten up? Cover our tracks?" Peter wondered, following him, regretfully looking back at the disarray they'd left in the bedroom and bathroom.
Adam rolled his eyes and shook his head. "What's the point?" he asked. "If we don't get to Victoria Pratt and find out the whereabouts of the virus, these nice people are going to die horribly in a few months, anyway. Dirty bed linens won't make a damn bit of difference. Let's go."
The car was parked a few blocks away, not where it had been when Adam and Peter arrived earlier that night, and Peter wondered where Adam had gone while Peter was asleep. Adam unlocked the passenger-side door, and while Peter got in, Adam went around to the back of the car and opened the trunk. Peter couldn't see what he was doing, but he heard the clank of heavy metallic objects contacting each other. Eventually, Adam got in and closed his door quietly. "What's in the trunk?" Peter asked.
"My weapons," Adam said dryly. "Keepsakes, really. I just didn't want to leave them in the warehouse. But you never know when we might need them." At Peter's stricken look, Adam added soothingly, "Go on, don't pull a face. If we keep our wits about us, and you come through with a little of your magic, everything will be fine. But it's a dangerous world out there, and I would prefer not to see you hurt. I will defend you with my life, Peter."
"Yeah, but you can't die," Peter sighed. "And neither can I."
"We're not the only ones in danger," Adam said, keying the ignition, and grinning as the engine purred into life. "There, yes," he said, petting the dashboard. "Little baby. Did you miss your Adam?" He laughed delightedly, setting the car in motion, and only pouring on the speed after leaving the residential street. Peter couldn't help smiling too. Four in the morning; clear roads, clear dark sky, and nothing but destiny ahead.
He loved a good road trip.
*****
5:40 a.m.
ROUTE 133 - NEAR THE CANADA/U.S. BORDER
"You're sighing again," Adam said.
Peter glanced over at Adam, straining to overhear any stray thought. He couldn't catch anything. "I just..." Peter began. "I want things to go all right."
"They will, if you leave off your worrying."
"I can't help worrying. I mean, I don't even know if my mom's okay."
"Your mum," Adam replied, and snorted contemptuously. "Your mum's got more than enough cunning to deal with whatever life tosses her way. I shouldn't worry about her any more than I'd worry that the sun was going to come up."
"She wanted me dead," Peter whispered, staring out the side window.
"We've got that in common," Adam replied darkly, then sighed himself. "Ah, really, Peter, I shouldn't think of it like that. It wasn't that she wanted you dead; it's that she just didn't care. Is that better?"
"No," Peter said sulkily, rolling his eyes. "She just gambled that I'd... get through it."
"Yeah, so. Stop worrying about it. I'm sure she's perfectly happy, scheming away somewhere."
There was only a small amount of traffic this early in the morning, but there was enough that as they approached the border crossing, a small line of cars had already begun to form. Peter stared at Adam anxiously; the immortal was comfortably sprawled in the driver's seat, taking casual swigs out of his whiskey bottle, as he had been for the entire drive so far. "Uh, you need to put that away now," Peter said.
"Oh, don't be such an old lady, Peter." Adam screwed the top onto the bottle and tucked it between his thighs, resting his hand lightly on the gear shift, inching the car forward another length behind two large commercial trucks, having their papers checked by the border-crossing guards. These days, they carried guns, and each vehicle was checked by one guard while another stood by, carefully watching the proceedings. "You know we've nothing to worry about." He shook out a cigarette from his crumpled pack and held it lightly between his teeth as he lit it. "Cigarette?"
"No. Thanks." Peter wished he could be as relaxed. His heart was racing, and nervous sweat prickled at his armpits. "What should we do?"
Adam advanced the car some more. One truck to go. "Do what we do best," he replied. "Survive."
The truck ahead of them passed through, and Adam pulled up to the kiosk, pulling his passport out of the glove compartment and holding it at the ready. Peter fumbled out his own and stared at it, noting all the details that had been done wrong, how obviously fake it looked to him. Maybe they wouldn't check that closely...
The guard came up and tapped on the driver's side window with his flashlight, and Adam rolled the window down and grinned at him. "Your passports, please," the guard said, impervious to Adam's charm.
Adam handed the guard the passports, and gave Peter a calm glance. Peter stared at the guard, and overheard from the man's thoughts, Cite them. Pull 'em in. Don't make any sudden moves. They've obviously got something on their records; be good to start the day with some results. "Could you please stop your engine, sir, and both of you step out of the vehicle, please."
"You must be Canadian," Adam replied breezily. "You're so polite." He killed the engine with a twist of his key, the dangling extra keys tapping noisily against the glass neck of the whiskey bottle.
Peter felt something almost like red rage boiling up behind his eyes, but it was colder than that, based on panic and instinct instead of anger. Something inside him, coming to life, clicking into place, a new way to do something. He didn't even know who he was thinking of - what he remembered - but he stepped out of the car as Adam did, and stared at the guard. "Don't," Peter said.
"What?" said the guard, reaching for his sidearm, and glancing at his partner.
"You don't want to do that," Peter replied. "You want to let us go."
The guard just cocked his head and stared at Peter. "Now wait a minute -"
"There's nothing to find," Peter said. His voice sounded strange, heavy, layered and hollow, accessing frequencies lower and higher than the ear could normally hear. "You don't need to check this car. There's nothing unusual about either one of us. Nothing to see."
The guard blinked slowly at Peter, and in his thoughts, he said, There's nothing unusual about either one of them. I ought to let 'em go.
Peter stared at the other guard, now approaching with his hand on his gun, and said to him, "Everything's cool. We can go." Peter was thinking of Mohinder. Meeting Mohinder for the first time. That pretty girl with him, sarcastic and adorable at the same time, so deft with her words that it was only hours later that Peter realized that she'd insulted him. What was her name?
The second guard waved his hand. "You guys can go," he said. He looked at the first guard, who nodded his agreement. Adam took their passports back, gave the guard a little bow, and got back into his car. After a moment, Peter took a deep breath, and followed.
Not Mohinder... Mohinder had no powers, as far as Peter knew. What was that chick's name? It was going to drive him crazy.
Adam drove off with slightly more speed than was necessary, and when the border kiosk was out of sight behind them, whooped with laughter. "Oh, Peter!" he crowed delightedly. "That was brilliant. I had no idea you could do that. That's wonderful."
"I don't even know what I did," Peter confessed.
"The silver tongue! The voice of persuasion. It's fantastic. It's been decades since I knew anyone who had that. I mean, your mum's got her ways, but that? Absolutely classic."
"What do you mean, my mom's got her ways?"
"Never mind, Peter, never mind. I won't tell tales; she's your mother, after all. Suffice it to say that I know her quite well. Oh, yes, quite well." Adam kept laughing. "Dear boy. Yes, we've stories for later, if you can stomach them. Well, are you hungry? Do you fancy a bit of breakfast? I could do with some egg and chips; haven't eaten since... well, since you."
Peter couldn't help laughing too. "Never met anyone like you, either," he said. "Yeah, breakfast sounds good."
Another five minutes on the road and they found a little 24-hour truckstop café. One of the two trucks that had been ahead of them at the border was parked there, one of a half-dozen big rigs pulled up to parking spaces and gasoline pumps, with two or three smaller trucks and a car or two. Adam pulled into a parking space at the edge of the small lot, toward the far side but still in view of the café's entrance, and reached over for Peter, grasping his coat collar and pulling him near for a big kiss. Peter didn't resist, even as his eyes widened with shock; right here where everyone could see them? He glanced at the rearview mirror, and sighed with relief when he saw no reflection peeking back at him.
"You are so great," Adam insisted, kissing Peter again, pressing his mouth in over and over again, stealing Peter's breath. "So great." Peter reached into Adam's lap, moving the whiskey bottle onto the floor, then putting his hand where the bottle had been, caressing the dents in the denim at Adam's thighs. Adam jutted his hips forward, bringing the crotch of his jeans into glancing contact with Peter's wrist. Peter fumbled with Adam's belt and the button at his waistband. Adam did the same to him. Their elbows banged against the dashboard and gearshift, and their breath began to steam the windows.
Peter stroked Adam's exposed cock roughly, jacking him to full, straining hardness. He planned to get that hard dick into his mouth and suck it off, satisfy Adam quickly and then they'd go have breakfast. As long as they stayed invisible... Adam moaned luxuriously at the touch of Peter's fingers, Peter's lips on him, his cock thrumming in Peter's mouth.
But he pulled his cock from Peter's mouth, and stroked it himself, his knuckles smacking hard against his stomach. "Get in the back seat," he said, his voice so husky from desire that he almost sounded the way Peter had, talking to those border guards.
It had much the same effect. Peter let his seat down, and climbed over it. As he lost contact with Adam, Adam's reflection blinked back into existence for a moment before he reached back, running his fingers roughly through Peter's hair. "Take off your jeans," Adam said.
Peter tried to do that, too, but his boots stopped him. "I can't get them... all the way down..."
"To your ankles is fine," Adam said, and Peter shuddered, lust flooding through his body. Dirty, dirty me. I am a teenage slut again. He pushed the jeans down to his knees, and Adam, climbing back, yanked them down a little further, enough for Peter to spread his legs just a bit. Just enough to make space for Adam to fit his mouth, enough space for Adam to lick him from the top of his ass crack to his balls, and back again. Peter moaned loudly, stifling himself too late. Adam laughed, and clenched his fingers into Peter's right buttock. "Just keep us invisible, and we've nothing to worry about," he murmured. He fumbled with the shoulder bag he'd tossed onto the floor of the backseat, came back up smelling of coconut, his fingers greasy with oil, sliding two into Peter's ass with no resistance at all.
Peter barely reacted to the violation; he was concentrating too hard on maintaining invisibility, his heart pounding with fear of discovery. Outside the car, he could see the wavery, steam-distorted outlines of people walking right past the car, mere inches away, and there was Adam on top of him, sucking and biting the back of his neck, forcing his cock into Peter's asshole, and making Peter whimper despite himself. He bit down into the sleeve of his jacket.
"You're as easy as a glove," Adam grunted, thrusting his hips quickly, "easy and tight... as a fucking glove..." He braced his hands against Peter's left hip and the top of the back seat, stabbing into Peter. Peter lay quietly for as long as he could, but after a minute, he gave a soft, choked, sobbing moan. Adam stopped, and kissed the back of Peter's neck, right below the damp crop of dark hair. "All right then?"
Peter just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Adam laughed quietly, and resumed fucking, almost as fast, but much harder now, deeper, more insistent. Peter squirmed and bit himself so hard he was sure he was bleeding, helplessly caught up in it, his body thrilling with terror. They were going to get caught because he couldn't help calling out, yelping, groaning. He was being brutally fucked in the ass in the back of a car in a parking lot with a bunch of Canadian truckers surrounding him, and he couldn't keep quiet.
Like with Nathan.
But they hadn't gotten caught. Miraculously, they hadn't gotten caught, even though Mom and Dad were both home, in their bedroom right down the hall, and Peter couldn't keep quiet then either... not with Nathan's cock driving into him, with Nathan's fingers crammed into his mouth to shut him up while he fucked Peter and made him scream from sheer pleasure. And Nathan muttering into Peter's ear, his voice low and dangerous, Sssh, they're gonna hear, sssh, Peter, sssh. Gonna come? Yeah. Come for me. Yeah. How old had he been then? Eighteen? Nineteen?
But no, no matter how scary that was, it was nothing like this. Every sound of an ignition starting almost gave Peter a heart attack, every flash of headlights made him seize up, and Adam fucked harder until Peter relaxed and relented. "Stop thinking about your brother; you're levitating, and I'm sick of having to hold you down. Just give in to me," Adam whispered. "I'll break you otherwise. And I don't want to break you so soon; I just got you. I can break you later."
"No - uh - uh - don't -" Peter took hold of his bare cock just in time to fill his palm with a warm spurt of semen. Adam seized up and moaned, feeling the shockwave pass through Peter's body, and his cock pumped come inside. "Don't break me," Peter said, the capacity for speech returning to him, gently clenching his interior muscles, milking the last drops from Adam. Adam collapsed against him, sighing and shaking. "You don't have to break me."
"You don't want to be broken?" Adam murmured, pulling out, wiping himself off with a white handkerchief. "Coulda fooled me." He cleaned Peter up, too, and Peter gratefully wiped his sticky hand and dabbed up the stray drops that had escaped his hold and landed on the back seat upholstery. Adam swigged from the whiskey bottle, watching as Peter slowly turned over and pulled his own trousers back on. He handed Peter the bottle, and climbed back into the front seat. Peter took a drink, then handed the bottle back. Adam stuck it into the pocket of his coat, and got out of the car. "Come on, then," he said, "the fast won't break itself."
They sat in an empty booth, and when the half-asleep, forty-ish waitress came around, they both ordered coffee and toast. Adam gave Peter a half-smile when she had gone. "I thought you'd be hungrier," Adam remarked. "I guess spunk is more filling than I thought."
Peter returned the half-smile, glancing around him to see if anyone was eavesdropping, then his smile grew, thinking, We haven't got anything to worry about. If anyone has a problem with our lifestyle, they can go fuck off and die somewhere. He felt too good inside, too much in love, too excited to eat. "I thought you wanted egg and chips," he countered.
"Yeah, well." Adam shrugged. Never mind, Peter, he thought. He took the whiskey bottle out of his pocket, and poured what was left into Peter's coffee cup. Peter gave a brief nod of thanks, and drank it, not caring that Adam wasn't even bothering to try to hide the bottle. He felt immortal again, absolutely positive, for the first time in what seemed like a long time. It was true; nothing could hurt them. They could get away with anything they wanted. There were no limits.
Peter told the waitress that she didn't need to charge them, that toast and coffee were free. She thanked them and told them to have a nice day.
The sun had come up, though hidden behind a light cloud cover, casting a uniform dove-gray light over everything. Adam gave the clouds a critical look, but it didn't seem to bother him. He got the car keys out of his pocket.
"Can I drive?" Peter asked.
Adam stared at him for long enough that Peter almost apologized, but then Adam shrugged. "Eh, what's the harm?" he decided. "Just remember, I love this car like a daughter. Be gentle with her the first time."
*****
10:22a.m.
INTERSTATE 89, SIX MILES FROM THE VERMONT/NEW HAMPSHIRE BORDER
The only station coming through on the radio was an oldies station, broadcasting from Montpelier, some twenty miles behind them. Adam gave Peter occasional tense or maybe apologetic smiles from the passenger seat. For once, Peter didn't worry about what Adam was thinking. The car was too much fun to drive, and the pleasure had loosened his tongue even more than the long-metabolized whiskey. "So yeah... that was the first time Nathan actually fucked me. It's too bad we don't have more time, because I'd be kind of curious to see the house now. At the time, I never wanted to lay eyes on it again." He laughed. "That summer sucked. I ended up having to go on psych meds because I was starting to get suicidal."
"Psych meds?" Adam asked uncomprehendingly.
"Oh, sorry. Like, antidepressant drugs." Peter explained, and Adam made a disgusted, dismayed face. "It wasn't my choice; my mom insisted. I only had to take them for five months before my doctor said I could stop, and he told me I probably would have been fine without them anyway. I just stopped trying to kid myself about the way I felt about Nathan; accepted it, accepted that there was nothing wrong with just having a feeling, and gave up on the idea that he'd ever feel the same way. I guess I was wrong about that." Peter smiled and sighed, fighting off the sadness that welled inside him whenever he acknowledged the fact that Nathan loved him. "Which is cool..." He glanced at Adam. Adam stared out the window at the scenery, looking bored and annoyed. Peter hadn't been around Adam long enough to know if that was just the way he appeared (he sure did wear that expression most of the time), or if Peter really was boring and annoying him. "I guess," Peter added. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk about Nathan so much."
He scanned Adam's thoughts quickly, just out of reflex, and once again found nothing to grasp. It wasn't that Adam's mind was empty; his thoughts just happened in a wordless, gauzy, constantly shifting miasma of patterns and motivations too obscure for Peter to understand. Sometimes Peter could tell that Adam was actively shutting Peter out of his mind. Peter wondered if he could force the truth out of Adam, if he wanted to. But what would Peter see? Did he even really want to?
Adam looked over at Peter, shook his head, and said quietly and calmly, "No... it's natural that it would come to mind, being in Vermont."
Peter waited for Adam to say more, and when he didn't, Peter pressed onward. "I mean, does it bother you?"
"No, Peter," Adam replied. "You can tell me whatever you like. My feelings are not hurt. I'm not your first; I don't care. Go on, Peter; you'd know if I weren't telling the truth. You, of all people, would know." He stared back out the window. "I'm thinking about what we have to do. It won't be a walk in the park. We'll probably encounter resistance, have to defend ourselves and each other."
"So should I be quiet, so you can think?"
"No, no, Peter," Adam said. "I can tell that talking helps you to concentrate on driving. I'm not bothered, honestly."
Peter accepted this with a nod and a sigh, and put his attention back on the road. There wasn't too much traffic at this time of the morning, and the gently winding highway was fun to drive along in the Barracuda. His mood began to lift toward euphoria again. "I just feel a little crazy," he said out loud, "in a good way. Excited. I want things to happen. I'm ready to get things done. Maybe it's just 'cos I'm driving." Peter laughed, and Adam gave a fragment of a smile. "Are you worried?"
"No," said Adam. "Of course not. I look forward to dispensing a little justice myself."
"Driving right now... I just have this urge to run the car off the road. See if I can roll it. Do 'Cudas roll easily, do you think?"
"Please don't roll my car, Peter," said Adam mildly.
"No, I'm not going to, but... Could. I'd be okay. We'd both be okay. I was talking about this with Claire, this one time... we were both feeling kind of morbid, I guess. She had just brought me back from the dead, and we were talking about what it felt like to get killed."
"Yeah?" said Adam.
"She told me that she loved to drive, and she had been hoping to get a car soon, but she was almost afraid to have one because she'd be tempted to wreck the car just because she could. She knew she'd walk away from it. She's already done it once, and she told me, yeah, it's kind of erotic. The rush and the impact. She told me that she secretly loved the movie Crash... not the anti-racism movie, the other one. The one with James Spader. The softcore porn about car wrecks. Um." He broke off, laughing with mild embarrassment, knowing Claire would kill him if she found out that he'd told. "Based on a book by a guy named JG Ballard; I don't know if you knew about him, he was putting out books in the Seventies before you, um. Anyway. She was afraid that when she got a car, she'd just have to wreck it, to see if it... y'know, got her off."
"Expensive way to masturbate," Adam said dryly. "But I could see you doing that. Starting a car smash-up sex cult with your niece. That'd be just like you."
Peter had been hoping that Adam would counter with a detailed description of whether or not he had ever been in any erotic car crashes, and, startled, it took Peter a minute to respond. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Adam looked at him with eyebrows raised. "Healers," he said. "Regenerators. Which we are?... Oh, that's not what you thought I meant." He rolled his eyes. "Hmm! It's not my business if you fancy your niece. Or your brother. All right?" Adam sighed. "Don't needle me, Peter. I would rather you were silent than to have you trying to get a rise out of me on the way there. Talk about anything if you like, but don't go looking for problems where there are none."
"Sorry," said Peter, a little shaken. That whole exchange had gotten weird way too quickly. "I guess I am tense. Worried. I don't know what's gonna happen. There's just so much at stake."
"I'll look after you," said Adam.
They passed a road sign welcoming them to New Hampshire, and Peter willed his memories of Nathan to stay behind in Vermont, and not distract him anymore. But he couldn't think of anything else to say, and the rest of their journey proceeded in silence.
Peter wished he was home, and that none of this had ever happened. He wished he and Adam were still back there in Montreal, in bed, with their bodies and breaths interlocking. He was angry now, filled with excitement and dread. He felt like he was going to have to hurt somebody today, and he admitted to himself that he looked forward to it. He wanted the pain outside him for once, pain happening to somebody else.
Praying that being at Adam's side, he wouldn't have to feel that pain himself.
*****
11:42 p.m.
MEMPHIS
Even tightly curled up in bed with Adam's arms locked around him, soft whispers in his ear and kisses on the back of his neck, under the covers in a nondescript motel room, Peter couldn't stop shivering.
"It's all right, Peter. It's all right. It had to be done."
Peter wasn't ignoring Adam. He just couldn't speak.
"Just relax. I've got you. Try to get some sleep. I'm going to sleep."
If only Adam could hear thoughts the way Peter could, he would be deafened by the chaos in Peter's mind, the horror and rage and fear, and a rational side desperately struggling to hold it all together, to focus, to keep from lighting up, burning hot and bright and gigantic. To just blow the world apart. He knew he could. He could burn straight through the planet and kick it into the sun. Because fuck this. This is not me. But understanding that such thoughts were selfish and desperate, and also not him. This is not what I am. But logically it follows that I am, because I have done. And this is how it works.
"Nobody ever said it would always be easy," Adam murmured, kissing him again. "No one ever said it would always be fun. Get some sleep. You need sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow."
This is who I am now. Look at what I came from; look at my parents, look at my brother. We are killers without malice, each and every one of us. We do what needs to be done and it's up to us to face our reflections in the mirror. But I don't ever have to again, if I don't want. Claude gifted me with that. Thank you, Claude. I understand you so much more now. How many innocent people did you have to kill, in the name of doing what needs to be done?
Adam caressed Peter's aching belly. "It's all right," he whispered. "We're together. Get some sleep."
Peter finally spoke, after hours of silence. "We're together," he replied.
He found Adam's hand with his own, and Adam grasped his fingers tightly. "Feel it in me. Prime your strength with mine. Because you are so very strong, Peter. All I need do is remind you of it. Together... we can save this world."
Peter sighed, and relaxed with it, giving up, giving in. He turned over just enough to be able to kiss Adam's lips. Nestled together, fingers intertwined, they sank into sleep as one.
END RITUAL (34)
A/N: This story is based on material cut from Rituals 31 and 32, plus some new and elaborated smut, so this is pretty self-indulgent of me. Forgive me if it's kinda wack, since it's mostly supposed to tie up some loose ends in my own series. Ironic that I'd write a Ritual that's almost completely free of Nathan, considering how obsessed I am with the Pasdar right now. Go figure.... Thanks for reading.