Fic: Ritual (35): Left a Mark on My Soul
Yes, this is what I MEANT to post 'cept I wasn't done yet... ^_^
Title: Ritual (35): Left a Mark on My Soul
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: through episode 2.09
Word Count: about 3300
Warnings: explicit m/m sex, language
Summary: Peter makes love to Nathan's scars. PWP, dreamlike smut - what's not to love?
Ritual Reader's Guide - all past Ritual stories in chronological order
Heroes is the property of NBC/Universal and Tailwinds Productions. Characters used without permission. No revenue is generated or accepted by the author of this story for its publication on the internet.
This one goes out to my homies ghagiel (for going "hey! wot's all this then?" on my previous screwup) and fabrisse (for sticking with me despite the Montrelli) AND (thanks for reminding me... I suck) darkbloom for inspiring me: fingers and licking scars. (and obviously i owe a debt to roseganymede's Thumbsucker, which very obviously influenced me... if you haven't read that, please do yourself a favor and do it now.) This is an obvious companion piece to Ritual 16: Scars. Now please, don't let anything else get bolloxed up on this entry!... stupid Mercury retrograde...
This was a memory that Peter got back, when he reclaimed his past in a fast, vicious rush. It could have been something that really happened, or maybe it was just a dream, hyper-vivid, wish-fulfillment at a time when he fell asleep alone.
Peter stared down at the bed, where his brother lay with his eyes closed. Nathan was naked, draped with a large white towel, and had his eyes closed; maybe asleep. He'd had a full day, and he needed some time to relax after giving the speech announcing his run for public office. There were almost two hours before they had to be down to dinner. Peter had been considering a nap himself, but something had brought him over to the other bedroom to see what Nathan was doing first. Maybe Nathan wanted to... play cards or something. He didn't know.
Peter just wanted to see him.
For some reason, Peter hadn't expected Nathan to be naked, or lying there on his bed with the door unlocked, the lights on, and his eyes closed. It was a display of vulnerability so blatant that it made Peter suspicious, and stepped carefully, silent on bare feet, holding his breath, half expecting Nathan to suddenly spring up and spook him, and then laugh at Peter or reprimand him for sneaking around.
Peter steeled himself against that outcome, inching closer and closer until he stood alongside the bed. Nathan lay perfectly relaxed, his breathing slow and rhythmic, a slight smile on his face. The towel covered him from waist to ankles, leaving his tautly muscled chest exposed, arms bent in a pleasing form. He smelled like plain soap and fresh laundry. His eyelashes were as dense as fur, so thick and dark that they were glossy. Such a contrast between that softness and the jagged scars digging into the smoothly shaved skin of Nathan's cheek and chin; such a contrast between Nathan's dark-rose curving lips, the same color as his exposed nipples, and the pale marks of injury on his face, shoulder, and chest.
Peter sighed before he realized it, before he could stop himself.
Nathan opened his eyes and gazed calmly at Peter. "Did you lock the door?" he asked.
Peter blinked with surprise. He mutely shook his head, then realized that he ought to go and do it... not just stand there, staring slackjawed at his brother. Anyone would think Peter had never seen Nathan without his clothes on before. It was just that... it kind of felt that way. Utterly familiar, and yet new. Disorienting.
He rushed back to Nathan's bedside, eager to look at him some more. Nathan didn't seem to mind being looked at. He stretched a little, making the towel slip further down his torso, exposing his navel, surrounded by a hurricane whorl of dark chestnut hair. Again without realizing it, again without being able to stop himself, Peter stuck his forefinger into Nathan's navel, testing its depth, caressing the hair with his fingertip the way you'd pet a baby mouse. Nathan smiled wider. "Sure," he said gently, giving Peter permission, and Peter sucked in a deep, sudden breath.
"I'm sorry," Peter said reflexively, taking his hand back, blushing and shaking his head.
"You apologize too much," Nathan replied. "If I've got a problem, I'll tell you." He held out his hand to Peter, but didn't move otherwise; making an offering. Peter hesitated for a moment before he took the hand into his, hooked his fingers through Nathan's. Nathan was very naked; he wasn't even wearing any of his rings, and usually he wore them even when he was asleep. They sat on the night table beside him, neatly resting on a folded, immaculately white handkerchief, as if they were on display in a jeweler's window.
Peter slowly sat on the bed, and drew Nathan's hand to his mouth to kiss the bare fingers. Nathan closed his eyes again and relaxed. More offering; more vulnerability. Peter rubbed the hair on the backs of Nathan's fingers lightly against his lips, tickling them, making his mouth tingle. Nathan didn't move, but Peter could tell by the way he was breathing that he liked what Peter was doing.
Peter sighed again, and brushed his lips against the rounded stump of Nathan's half-missing thumb. He wrapped his lips around the tip, running his tongue around the imaginary contours of where the end of the digit would be if it were still there. That got a reaction from Nathan - a faint, sharp intake of breath, hardening nipples, trembling body hair, as though he had suddenly become cold. Like a ghost passing through him. Peter slid the whole thumb into his mouth and sucked it, hoping it would warm his brother up.
Nathan's breath became heavier, unsteady. "You want to," he whispered faintly. He didn't have to elaborate. He and Peter both knew what he meant.
Peter tucked his legs under him on the bed, and attacked Nathan's hand like a lover, as though the hand itself encapsulated everything he wanted, licking every crevice, tracing it with his tongue as though he were giving an oral palm reading. Nathan's life-line was long, extending all the way down onto the back of his hand, but broken in places; Nathan had never been one to clench his fist, and so the wrinkle had never cut very deeply into his skin. He would be around for a long time, but sometimes not there, ephemeral and unseen, a phantom, a memory. Yes; as always in Peter's life.
He traced all the lines with his tongue-tip, sucked each finger in turn, then returned to the thumb, with its smooth, nail-less tip, the top of it faintly creased where a microscopic muscle loss had left a hollow. Like a penis, with its secret slit, exquisitely sensitive despite the scar tissue. Nathan clenched the other hand, then reached up with it and ran the fingers through the lush crop of Peter's hair, pulling it all forward over Peter's face so that the ends gently swept against his forearm.
Peter let the thumb slip out of his mouth, and sat back for a moment, his eyes gliding over Nathan's body as if trying to decide what to do next. Nathan raised his right hand, rubbed his chest, and then pinched his own nipple, rubbing the raised nub between his fingertips. Peter darted for it, catching the nipple in his teeth, leaning back, letting it slip out again, wet and sensitive.
For a moment he caught Nathan's eye; Nathan was no longer relaxed, though he might not have known; his jaw tightened, and his eyes urgently studied Peter's expression. Peter bent over and kissed him on the lips reassuringly, letting his brother know he wasn't going anywhere.
"What are you looking at?" Nathan breathed.
"Why'd you take your rings off?" Peter answered, holding Nathan's moist hand underneath his neck, lightly brushing against the neck of Peter's T-shirt.
Nathan closed his eyes and sighed. "I wanted to be free for one last moment," he confessed.
Peter kissed Nathan's mouth again, focusing on the lower lip, gently sucking it in. Then he drew back. "So why did you leave the door open?" he asked.
Nathan looked at him again, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. "I was hoping you would show up," he said.
"Do I make you free?" Peter mused, stroking his own fingers across Nathan's nipples, catching and squeezing the same one that Nathan had favored. "I thought I was in your way."
He was answered with a trembling sigh. "Paradox, isn't it?" was all Nathan said.
Peter nodded and sighed too. With his fingertips, he traced the half-moon scar at the side of Nathan's left pectoral muscle, vanishing in a vapor trail into his armpit. Nathan rolled his hips just a bit, opening his legs a few inches wider, and he closed his eyes again, turning his head on the pillow away from Peter, exposing his neck, the muscles in his chest pulling up a little, stretching the thick, pale-pink scar. Peter couldn't resist kissing it, comforting it with his tongue, stealing a taste of Nathan's clean, sweet skin. Nathan ran his fingers through Peter's hair again, but made no other move. Peter smirked, knowing Nathan couldn't see it - Nathan was just there to drink it all in, all the attention he figured he deserved for making himself a public figure, for bringing all of the Petrellis into this, for better or for worse. Nathan luxuriated like a king, which he'd been groomed all his life to be, and Peter his devoted vassal, his concubine.
Peter didn't believe a word of all that crap - that was political make-believe, a fairy tale Nathan could tell himself to get to sleep - but right now, Nathan's taste and responses intrigued him. He drew his tongue along the contour of Nathan's pectoral where it joined with the collarbone, and connected the point between the clavicle and the scars continuing on Nathan's neck.
These scars weren't as deep as the ones on Nathan's chest; the chest scars were deep, having cut all the way to the muscle tissue, but the superficial neck lacerations had cost Nathan a lot of blood. Nathan had been lucky; he had narrowly avoided injury to several major veins. The scars on Nathan's neck, which staggered in a lightning-bolt pattern all the way up to his face, throbbed gently under Peter's lips, and Peter felt dizzy, thinking of how close Nathan had come to being killed in a way too horrible to imagine.
Nathan wrapped his hand around the back of Peter's head, and brought their mouths together again.
Peter drew away immediately, though. If Nathan thought that Peter was here to worship and obey him, he was mistaken. Peter was there to... (he had to admit to himself) experience Nathan as purely as he could, while he still had the chance. Yes, Nathan was free, at least in his own mind, and Peter wanted his chance to taste it.
He spread a line of kisses over Nathan's chin and jaw, then drew his tongue along the scars there, using his senses to find the millimeter-narrow channels where no beard grew. But Nathan was very freshly shaven, and Peter licked his face quite a bit before he found a scar to his liking. Once he made his discovery, he trained the very tip of his tongue along it, noting its uncanny smoothness, the very opposite of how it looked.
Nathan groaned faintly, and clutched Peter against him.
For the first time since before he'd come in, Peter realized that he was almost fully dressed - T-shirt, the black sharkskin trousers he'd been wearing all day, socks. And underwear - he was very suddenly conscious of the fact that he was wearing underwear, because he could keenly feel the ribbing of his underpants against the head of his dick. He drew back with a faint hiss of breath, and Nathan seized his chance and demanded another kiss.
"No," Peter said, drawing his head away. Nathan narrowed his eyes, but made no effort to get up or to stop Peter in any way. Humming faintly, Peter trained the tip of his tongue against Nathan's facial scars again, licking them lightly but deliberately, arousingly. Nathan's tongue emerged from between his teeth, but Peter wasn't interested in kissing his mouth, being far too absorbed in the scars. He sucked them, tongued them, making love to them the way Nathan obviously wanted done to his mouth.
"Please," Nathan whispered.
Peter drew back, smiling a little smugly. He repositioned himself on the bed, stretching out one leg, leaning close to Nathan's body but not touching it, just generating warmth toward him. Nathan sighed and settled, giving up. Raising one hand over Nathan's belly, Peter held it close, but again, not touching, hovering over the skin just enough to beckon the line of hair leading toward and away from Nathan's navel up toward his palm. When he sensed Nathan's tension rising, Peter found the scar on the lower-left belly with his fingers and stroked it. This scar wasn't deep at all, almost invisible now, faded almost into nothingness. Peter lowered his head and sucked the scar until he could see it, rising up pale against the reddening tan of the surrounding skin, then traced it with his finger again. Under the surface, Peter could feel a line of scar tissue along the flat muscle; this had been Nathan's worst injury, where he had fallen onto a tool kit after the blast wave from the explosion knocked him down, and the blunt impact had almost ruptured his liver and spleen. Again, a close call that, in another situation, would have cost the man his life. Somehow fate had spared Nathan, only bruising his internal organs, leaving now only a scar below the skin far worse than the faint line above.
Peter rested his head against Nathan's belly and took a deep breath, struggling against tears. Sometimes he forgot how grateful he was that Nathan was still alive, how close he had been to losing the person he loved more than anything else in the world. No matter how obnoxious Nathan could be, Peter knew he'd be completely lost without him... remembered how horrible it had been when Nathan was away. When he was a child, Peter had wished that something terrible would happen that would keep Nathan from ever leaving him again... he had wished it would happen to him, not to Nathan, but the end result had been the same, and Peter couldn't be sorry that he'd wished.
"I love you," he whispered into Nathan's skin, speaking to the scar. Speaking to all of him. Nathan answered only with a hum of happiness that Peter felt more than he heard.
With a quick sweep of his hand, Nathan pushed the towel completely aside, exposing himself, then lay still again, waiting. Peter raised his head and scooted down the bed a few inches, one hand resting on Nathan's right hip, then lowered his head again to touch his tongue to the deepest scar Nathan had on his body. That had been a severe shrapnel cut, right above the pelvic crest, slicing through to the bone. Years later, the scar was still thick, pink-red, a bit more than two inches long, just the right size to fit perfectly between Peter's lips. He sucked it, rolled it gently between his teeth, and kissed it. "This one's my favorite," Peter said. "I lost my virginity to this one."
Nathan laughed quietly. "I guess you did, huh?" He stroked Peter's hair, in the same way that he had when Peter had first pressed against that scar, while it was still a lump of stitches and Peter was still a kid of barely sixteen. "So I can blame all our problems on that one, huh?"
"You can blame 'em all on me," Peter replied. "It's all my fault. I started it."
"And I didn't stop you... I should have."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because it was funny," Nathan said. "...Because it was hot... Because I love you."
"You didn't want me..."
"No," Nathan replied, urgency in his soft voice. "No, I... not until later."
"But now you do?" Peter rubbed the tip of his nose against the shaft of Nathan's cock, standing out hard and rigid from his body. He knew the answer to this question; he just liked to ask it, to hear the response, to risk that Nathan would respond in the negative. He always wanted to give Nathan an escape route, make sure Nathan knew that Peter didn't assume. There was a huge difference between having faith in someone, and taking him for granted.
Instead of answering, Nathan took a deep breath, and slid his fingers around the back of Peter's skull, clenching his fingers in Peter's hair, and pulling him forward, pressing Peter's face against his cock. Peter immediately opened his mouth and took him in, but as soon as Nathan moaned and relaxed his grip, Peter pulled back again. He smiled at Nathan reassuringly, then angled his head so that he could lick the last scar on the front of Nathan's body, a one-inch, vertical, puckered line at the top of the thigh. Peter loved this one, too, and found it very erotic, very nice to rub his cock against, with its pleasant nubbly texture and proximity to the heat contained in Nathan's femoral artery. Nice to suck and feel Nathan's pulse.
Faintly, again, Nathan hissed, "Please..."
"You want me, yes?"
"Yes, for God's sake."
"Say it like you mean it."
"Don't be a brat, Peter."
"Just say it," Peter insisted, taking Nathan's cock into his mouth anyway, unable to make himself wait to prove a point. His mouth had been watering since the first taste of scar he'd gotten, and he almost choked on his eagerness, spreading his fingers wide across Nathan's pelvis as if holding him down.
Nathan's breath shuddered. "I want you now," he said. "I want you now... Oh, God, yes, I want you..." He gripped the towel tightly in his right hand, gasping quietly as Peter took his cock deeply into his throat, as far as he could go, then managed to lap at his balls before he came back up for air. "Ahhh... ohhh... please..." Peter smiled as he bobbed his head, slowly, sucking all the way up and humming as he went down, vibrating the organ in his mouth. He took a moment to scroll his tongue along the slick, glistening head, noting the details, every tiny ridge and vein and skin-tag, memorizing it all in his mouth. "Yes," Nathan hissed faintly. "Get your tongue in there. That's it. God, like that, yes..."
Peter finished Nathan off with sharp, fast, bold strokes of his hand, a pale spurt of semen running through his fingers. In deference to Nathan's priorities, he lightly touched his tongue to it, taking just the slightest taste, then he used a corner of the towel to wipe up the rest. Nathan was such a strangely superstitous person; he hated the idea of come going to waste, but as long as it was tasted, that was enough for him. It couldn't quite be considered a fetish, because it wasn't necessary to sexually arouse him, but it just seemed weirdly essential for him to feel satisfied. He'd taste his own come if it he had to... even though he didn't exactly like it... even if he would rather that Peter consume it all, and thank him for it, the way Nathan did for Peter. Stuff like that amused the hell out of Peter; Nathan and his eccentricities. Oh well; he was running for public office, and as far as Peter could tell, they were all a bunch of kinky, twisted freaks. Nathan should fit right in.
Peter stood up and smiled shyly at Nathan. Nathan gazed back, truly relaxed now, not seeming to mind that Peter was leaving without demanding that Nathan reciprocate, even if Peter was the orgasm addict of the two. For some reason, this wasn't about that, and they both understood. Still, Peter asked, "Later?"
Nathan sighed. "There won't be time," he said.
Peter's eyes dropped to the floor, and he nodded silently in acceptance, sighing too, a long sound of regret and frustration. "Okay," he replied, because he had to.
But even so. Even if Peter had to go back to his room and beat off a thousand times, never being satisfied (not ever), it was worth it. Perhaps for the last time, Nathan was free, and had given himself freely, and they had shared that beauty between them again. That was worth more than just sex. It had always been more.
"I'll see you at dinner," Peter said at the door, smiled one last time, and left the room.
END RITUAL (35)
A/N: Sorry to keep relying on the same damn porno clichés, except that I RILLY RILLY like them… and it just becomes a language that can be used to convey ideas. It's up to you to decide whether or not this is a dream; I think I could probably place it on the timeline (and I will kind of have to, for the Reader's Guide) but I never really thought of it that way. It's a hot dream, if so! Thanks for reading…
Title: Ritual (35): Left a Mark on My Soul
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: through episode 2.09
Word Count: about 3300
Warnings: explicit m/m sex, language
Summary: Peter makes love to Nathan's scars. PWP, dreamlike smut - what's not to love?
Ritual Reader's Guide - all past Ritual stories in chronological order
Heroes is the property of NBC/Universal and Tailwinds Productions. Characters used without permission. No revenue is generated or accepted by the author of this story for its publication on the internet.
This one goes out to my homies ghagiel (for going "hey! wot's all this then?" on my previous screwup) and fabrisse (for sticking with me despite the Montrelli) AND (thanks for reminding me... I suck) darkbloom for inspiring me: fingers and licking scars. (and obviously i owe a debt to roseganymede's Thumbsucker, which very obviously influenced me... if you haven't read that, please do yourself a favor and do it now.) This is an obvious companion piece to Ritual 16: Scars. Now please, don't let anything else get bolloxed up on this entry!... stupid Mercury retrograde...
This was a memory that Peter got back, when he reclaimed his past in a fast, vicious rush. It could have been something that really happened, or maybe it was just a dream, hyper-vivid, wish-fulfillment at a time when he fell asleep alone.
Peter stared down at the bed, where his brother lay with his eyes closed. Nathan was naked, draped with a large white towel, and had his eyes closed; maybe asleep. He'd had a full day, and he needed some time to relax after giving the speech announcing his run for public office. There were almost two hours before they had to be down to dinner. Peter had been considering a nap himself, but something had brought him over to the other bedroom to see what Nathan was doing first. Maybe Nathan wanted to... play cards or something. He didn't know.
Peter just wanted to see him.
For some reason, Peter hadn't expected Nathan to be naked, or lying there on his bed with the door unlocked, the lights on, and his eyes closed. It was a display of vulnerability so blatant that it made Peter suspicious, and stepped carefully, silent on bare feet, holding his breath, half expecting Nathan to suddenly spring up and spook him, and then laugh at Peter or reprimand him for sneaking around.
Peter steeled himself against that outcome, inching closer and closer until he stood alongside the bed. Nathan lay perfectly relaxed, his breathing slow and rhythmic, a slight smile on his face. The towel covered him from waist to ankles, leaving his tautly muscled chest exposed, arms bent in a pleasing form. He smelled like plain soap and fresh laundry. His eyelashes were as dense as fur, so thick and dark that they were glossy. Such a contrast between that softness and the jagged scars digging into the smoothly shaved skin of Nathan's cheek and chin; such a contrast between Nathan's dark-rose curving lips, the same color as his exposed nipples, and the pale marks of injury on his face, shoulder, and chest.
Peter sighed before he realized it, before he could stop himself.
Nathan opened his eyes and gazed calmly at Peter. "Did you lock the door?" he asked.
Peter blinked with surprise. He mutely shook his head, then realized that he ought to go and do it... not just stand there, staring slackjawed at his brother. Anyone would think Peter had never seen Nathan without his clothes on before. It was just that... it kind of felt that way. Utterly familiar, and yet new. Disorienting.
He rushed back to Nathan's bedside, eager to look at him some more. Nathan didn't seem to mind being looked at. He stretched a little, making the towel slip further down his torso, exposing his navel, surrounded by a hurricane whorl of dark chestnut hair. Again without realizing it, again without being able to stop himself, Peter stuck his forefinger into Nathan's navel, testing its depth, caressing the hair with his fingertip the way you'd pet a baby mouse. Nathan smiled wider. "Sure," he said gently, giving Peter permission, and Peter sucked in a deep, sudden breath.
"I'm sorry," Peter said reflexively, taking his hand back, blushing and shaking his head.
"You apologize too much," Nathan replied. "If I've got a problem, I'll tell you." He held out his hand to Peter, but didn't move otherwise; making an offering. Peter hesitated for a moment before he took the hand into his, hooked his fingers through Nathan's. Nathan was very naked; he wasn't even wearing any of his rings, and usually he wore them even when he was asleep. They sat on the night table beside him, neatly resting on a folded, immaculately white handkerchief, as if they were on display in a jeweler's window.
Peter slowly sat on the bed, and drew Nathan's hand to his mouth to kiss the bare fingers. Nathan closed his eyes again and relaxed. More offering; more vulnerability. Peter rubbed the hair on the backs of Nathan's fingers lightly against his lips, tickling them, making his mouth tingle. Nathan didn't move, but Peter could tell by the way he was breathing that he liked what Peter was doing.
Peter sighed again, and brushed his lips against the rounded stump of Nathan's half-missing thumb. He wrapped his lips around the tip, running his tongue around the imaginary contours of where the end of the digit would be if it were still there. That got a reaction from Nathan - a faint, sharp intake of breath, hardening nipples, trembling body hair, as though he had suddenly become cold. Like a ghost passing through him. Peter slid the whole thumb into his mouth and sucked it, hoping it would warm his brother up.
Nathan's breath became heavier, unsteady. "You want to," he whispered faintly. He didn't have to elaborate. He and Peter both knew what he meant.
Peter tucked his legs under him on the bed, and attacked Nathan's hand like a lover, as though the hand itself encapsulated everything he wanted, licking every crevice, tracing it with his tongue as though he were giving an oral palm reading. Nathan's life-line was long, extending all the way down onto the back of his hand, but broken in places; Nathan had never been one to clench his fist, and so the wrinkle had never cut very deeply into his skin. He would be around for a long time, but sometimes not there, ephemeral and unseen, a phantom, a memory. Yes; as always in Peter's life.
He traced all the lines with his tongue-tip, sucked each finger in turn, then returned to the thumb, with its smooth, nail-less tip, the top of it faintly creased where a microscopic muscle loss had left a hollow. Like a penis, with its secret slit, exquisitely sensitive despite the scar tissue. Nathan clenched the other hand, then reached up with it and ran the fingers through the lush crop of Peter's hair, pulling it all forward over Peter's face so that the ends gently swept against his forearm.
Peter let the thumb slip out of his mouth, and sat back for a moment, his eyes gliding over Nathan's body as if trying to decide what to do next. Nathan raised his right hand, rubbed his chest, and then pinched his own nipple, rubbing the raised nub between his fingertips. Peter darted for it, catching the nipple in his teeth, leaning back, letting it slip out again, wet and sensitive.
For a moment he caught Nathan's eye; Nathan was no longer relaxed, though he might not have known; his jaw tightened, and his eyes urgently studied Peter's expression. Peter bent over and kissed him on the lips reassuringly, letting his brother know he wasn't going anywhere.
"What are you looking at?" Nathan breathed.
"Why'd you take your rings off?" Peter answered, holding Nathan's moist hand underneath his neck, lightly brushing against the neck of Peter's T-shirt.
Nathan closed his eyes and sighed. "I wanted to be free for one last moment," he confessed.
Peter kissed Nathan's mouth again, focusing on the lower lip, gently sucking it in. Then he drew back. "So why did you leave the door open?" he asked.
Nathan looked at him again, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. "I was hoping you would show up," he said.
"Do I make you free?" Peter mused, stroking his own fingers across Nathan's nipples, catching and squeezing the same one that Nathan had favored. "I thought I was in your way."
He was answered with a trembling sigh. "Paradox, isn't it?" was all Nathan said.
Peter nodded and sighed too. With his fingertips, he traced the half-moon scar at the side of Nathan's left pectoral muscle, vanishing in a vapor trail into his armpit. Nathan rolled his hips just a bit, opening his legs a few inches wider, and he closed his eyes again, turning his head on the pillow away from Peter, exposing his neck, the muscles in his chest pulling up a little, stretching the thick, pale-pink scar. Peter couldn't resist kissing it, comforting it with his tongue, stealing a taste of Nathan's clean, sweet skin. Nathan ran his fingers through Peter's hair again, but made no other move. Peter smirked, knowing Nathan couldn't see it - Nathan was just there to drink it all in, all the attention he figured he deserved for making himself a public figure, for bringing all of the Petrellis into this, for better or for worse. Nathan luxuriated like a king, which he'd been groomed all his life to be, and Peter his devoted vassal, his concubine.
Peter didn't believe a word of all that crap - that was political make-believe, a fairy tale Nathan could tell himself to get to sleep - but right now, Nathan's taste and responses intrigued him. He drew his tongue along the contour of Nathan's pectoral where it joined with the collarbone, and connected the point between the clavicle and the scars continuing on Nathan's neck.
These scars weren't as deep as the ones on Nathan's chest; the chest scars were deep, having cut all the way to the muscle tissue, but the superficial neck lacerations had cost Nathan a lot of blood. Nathan had been lucky; he had narrowly avoided injury to several major veins. The scars on Nathan's neck, which staggered in a lightning-bolt pattern all the way up to his face, throbbed gently under Peter's lips, and Peter felt dizzy, thinking of how close Nathan had come to being killed in a way too horrible to imagine.
Nathan wrapped his hand around the back of Peter's head, and brought their mouths together again.
Peter drew away immediately, though. If Nathan thought that Peter was here to worship and obey him, he was mistaken. Peter was there to... (he had to admit to himself) experience Nathan as purely as he could, while he still had the chance. Yes, Nathan was free, at least in his own mind, and Peter wanted his chance to taste it.
He spread a line of kisses over Nathan's chin and jaw, then drew his tongue along the scars there, using his senses to find the millimeter-narrow channels where no beard grew. But Nathan was very freshly shaven, and Peter licked his face quite a bit before he found a scar to his liking. Once he made his discovery, he trained the very tip of his tongue along it, noting its uncanny smoothness, the very opposite of how it looked.
Nathan groaned faintly, and clutched Peter against him.
For the first time since before he'd come in, Peter realized that he was almost fully dressed - T-shirt, the black sharkskin trousers he'd been wearing all day, socks. And underwear - he was very suddenly conscious of the fact that he was wearing underwear, because he could keenly feel the ribbing of his underpants against the head of his dick. He drew back with a faint hiss of breath, and Nathan seized his chance and demanded another kiss.
"No," Peter said, drawing his head away. Nathan narrowed his eyes, but made no effort to get up or to stop Peter in any way. Humming faintly, Peter trained the tip of his tongue against Nathan's facial scars again, licking them lightly but deliberately, arousingly. Nathan's tongue emerged from between his teeth, but Peter wasn't interested in kissing his mouth, being far too absorbed in the scars. He sucked them, tongued them, making love to them the way Nathan obviously wanted done to his mouth.
"Please," Nathan whispered.
Peter drew back, smiling a little smugly. He repositioned himself on the bed, stretching out one leg, leaning close to Nathan's body but not touching it, just generating warmth toward him. Nathan sighed and settled, giving up. Raising one hand over Nathan's belly, Peter held it close, but again, not touching, hovering over the skin just enough to beckon the line of hair leading toward and away from Nathan's navel up toward his palm. When he sensed Nathan's tension rising, Peter found the scar on the lower-left belly with his fingers and stroked it. This scar wasn't deep at all, almost invisible now, faded almost into nothingness. Peter lowered his head and sucked the scar until he could see it, rising up pale against the reddening tan of the surrounding skin, then traced it with his finger again. Under the surface, Peter could feel a line of scar tissue along the flat muscle; this had been Nathan's worst injury, where he had fallen onto a tool kit after the blast wave from the explosion knocked him down, and the blunt impact had almost ruptured his liver and spleen. Again, a close call that, in another situation, would have cost the man his life. Somehow fate had spared Nathan, only bruising his internal organs, leaving now only a scar below the skin far worse than the faint line above.
Peter rested his head against Nathan's belly and took a deep breath, struggling against tears. Sometimes he forgot how grateful he was that Nathan was still alive, how close he had been to losing the person he loved more than anything else in the world. No matter how obnoxious Nathan could be, Peter knew he'd be completely lost without him... remembered how horrible it had been when Nathan was away. When he was a child, Peter had wished that something terrible would happen that would keep Nathan from ever leaving him again... he had wished it would happen to him, not to Nathan, but the end result had been the same, and Peter couldn't be sorry that he'd wished.
"I love you," he whispered into Nathan's skin, speaking to the scar. Speaking to all of him. Nathan answered only with a hum of happiness that Peter felt more than he heard.
With a quick sweep of his hand, Nathan pushed the towel completely aside, exposing himself, then lay still again, waiting. Peter raised his head and scooted down the bed a few inches, one hand resting on Nathan's right hip, then lowered his head again to touch his tongue to the deepest scar Nathan had on his body. That had been a severe shrapnel cut, right above the pelvic crest, slicing through to the bone. Years later, the scar was still thick, pink-red, a bit more than two inches long, just the right size to fit perfectly between Peter's lips. He sucked it, rolled it gently between his teeth, and kissed it. "This one's my favorite," Peter said. "I lost my virginity to this one."
Nathan laughed quietly. "I guess you did, huh?" He stroked Peter's hair, in the same way that he had when Peter had first pressed against that scar, while it was still a lump of stitches and Peter was still a kid of barely sixteen. "So I can blame all our problems on that one, huh?"
"You can blame 'em all on me," Peter replied. "It's all my fault. I started it."
"And I didn't stop you... I should have."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because it was funny," Nathan said. "...Because it was hot... Because I love you."
"You didn't want me..."
"No," Nathan replied, urgency in his soft voice. "No, I... not until later."
"But now you do?" Peter rubbed the tip of his nose against the shaft of Nathan's cock, standing out hard and rigid from his body. He knew the answer to this question; he just liked to ask it, to hear the response, to risk that Nathan would respond in the negative. He always wanted to give Nathan an escape route, make sure Nathan knew that Peter didn't assume. There was a huge difference between having faith in someone, and taking him for granted.
Instead of answering, Nathan took a deep breath, and slid his fingers around the back of Peter's skull, clenching his fingers in Peter's hair, and pulling him forward, pressing Peter's face against his cock. Peter immediately opened his mouth and took him in, but as soon as Nathan moaned and relaxed his grip, Peter pulled back again. He smiled at Nathan reassuringly, then angled his head so that he could lick the last scar on the front of Nathan's body, a one-inch, vertical, puckered line at the top of the thigh. Peter loved this one, too, and found it very erotic, very nice to rub his cock against, with its pleasant nubbly texture and proximity to the heat contained in Nathan's femoral artery. Nice to suck and feel Nathan's pulse.
Faintly, again, Nathan hissed, "Please..."
"You want me, yes?"
"Yes, for God's sake."
"Say it like you mean it."
"Don't be a brat, Peter."
"Just say it," Peter insisted, taking Nathan's cock into his mouth anyway, unable to make himself wait to prove a point. His mouth had been watering since the first taste of scar he'd gotten, and he almost choked on his eagerness, spreading his fingers wide across Nathan's pelvis as if holding him down.
Nathan's breath shuddered. "I want you now," he said. "I want you now... Oh, God, yes, I want you..." He gripped the towel tightly in his right hand, gasping quietly as Peter took his cock deeply into his throat, as far as he could go, then managed to lap at his balls before he came back up for air. "Ahhh... ohhh... please..." Peter smiled as he bobbed his head, slowly, sucking all the way up and humming as he went down, vibrating the organ in his mouth. He took a moment to scroll his tongue along the slick, glistening head, noting the details, every tiny ridge and vein and skin-tag, memorizing it all in his mouth. "Yes," Nathan hissed faintly. "Get your tongue in there. That's it. God, like that, yes..."
Peter finished Nathan off with sharp, fast, bold strokes of his hand, a pale spurt of semen running through his fingers. In deference to Nathan's priorities, he lightly touched his tongue to it, taking just the slightest taste, then he used a corner of the towel to wipe up the rest. Nathan was such a strangely superstitous person; he hated the idea of come going to waste, but as long as it was tasted, that was enough for him. It couldn't quite be considered a fetish, because it wasn't necessary to sexually arouse him, but it just seemed weirdly essential for him to feel satisfied. He'd taste his own come if it he had to... even though he didn't exactly like it... even if he would rather that Peter consume it all, and thank him for it, the way Nathan did for Peter. Stuff like that amused the hell out of Peter; Nathan and his eccentricities. Oh well; he was running for public office, and as far as Peter could tell, they were all a bunch of kinky, twisted freaks. Nathan should fit right in.
Peter stood up and smiled shyly at Nathan. Nathan gazed back, truly relaxed now, not seeming to mind that Peter was leaving without demanding that Nathan reciprocate, even if Peter was the orgasm addict of the two. For some reason, this wasn't about that, and they both understood. Still, Peter asked, "Later?"
Nathan sighed. "There won't be time," he said.
Peter's eyes dropped to the floor, and he nodded silently in acceptance, sighing too, a long sound of regret and frustration. "Okay," he replied, because he had to.
But even so. Even if Peter had to go back to his room and beat off a thousand times, never being satisfied (not ever), it was worth it. Perhaps for the last time, Nathan was free, and had given himself freely, and they had shared that beauty between them again. That was worth more than just sex. It had always been more.
"I'll see you at dinner," Peter said at the door, smiled one last time, and left the room.
END RITUAL (35)
A/N: Sorry to keep relying on the same damn porno clichés, except that I RILLY RILLY like them… and it just becomes a language that can be used to convey ideas. It's up to you to decide whether or not this is a dream; I think I could probably place it on the timeline (and I will kind of have to, for the Reader's Guide) but I never really thought of it that way. It's a hot dream, if so! Thanks for reading…