Fic: Ritual (49): Biological
Title: Ritual (49): Biological
Author: mystery_sock
Pairing: Nathan/Peter; some strong overtones of Arthur, but he isn't actually present in the story
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: none
Warnings: see pairing
Word Count: 4300
Summary: Two moments of intimacy, separated by exactly ten years: at first it's so innocent, but later, it's anything but. I live for your feedback!
Heroes is not my property.
2 JANUARY 1996
middle of the night...
Peter had followed Nathan to bed again.
The end of the holidays had come, but they weren't yet ready to let go of the togetherness. Tomorrow-today-was just an ordinary day, but tonight, there was the darkness, the shared stories, the laughs relaxing to chuckles. Sitting next to each other on the bed in the guest room, saying good night to their mother as she poked her head in the door and reminded Peter that he had school in the morning, then returning to their conversation. Then, hours past, lying down, the words still pouring out of both of them, reconnecting them more and more strongly with every breath.
Peter stroked Nathan's forearm, where he'd been favoring it all night, the younger brother's soothing, intuitive touch soothing the nagging pain in the muscles. They talked about the stupidest little things, the parties they'd attended in the past week, about movies, school, favorite songs, the vagaries of the female sex. Moved closer to each other on the bed, Nathan returning the touch, taking Peter into his arms and rubbing his back, their conversation turning to the meaningless and ephemeral, like how hard it was to undo certain shoelace knots, or whether snowy days were better than sunny ones.
Gradually they lapsed into silence. The words halted, but the touch continued. It was just as communicative, just as instructional. Nathan's arm that had been sore now wanted to move, stroking up and down Peter's back with a sure, steady rhythm, occasionally pressing down on some part of Peter's spine to give the active muscles a moment of rest. Peter responded, his body close to Nathan's, not tight against, but tightening as Nathan pressed down. Occasionally that was on Peter's lower back, almost to his buttocks, and when Peter held in close then, he let it linger for a while before relaxing again. His breath was warm and sweet, moist against Nathan's neck.
He kissed the hollow at the base of Nathan's throat, then let his head fall heavily against the pillow, utterly relaxed. Nathan opened his eyes, too close to Peter to see his expression-only parts of his face. A nostril, eyelashes, down glowing on the edge of an upper lip. It made Nathan smile, the animality of Peter, this knowledge of him in the specific and in the abstract. It was so nice, so relaxing and restoring, to lie close with him, to feel their heartbeats together, and to feel their breath rising and falling in perfect sync.
Nathan tightened his hand on the small of Peter's back, and Peter pressed against Nathan's body, insistently, as if he were trying to merge their bodies together, emitting an open-mouthed sigh of satisfaction. His lips curved into a smile.
Nathan wanted to tell Peter to go to bed. To leave him alone so he could get some sleep. But he couldn't break this up. Almost three in the morning, and his brain cottony with fatigue, and he couldn't even let Peter go for a minute.
And Peter didn't want to leave. Nathan knew that. He knew they were spending too much time clinging to each other under cover of darkness. On the other hand, their parents had said nothing, and they weren't exactly known for keeping their disapproval-of anything-hidden. And yet, he still had the feeling that they were doing something illicit. Maybe because it felt so good.
Another open-mouthed sigh from Peter, this one a little sharper than the last. His body was still, apart from his deep, sleepy-sounding breathing, but as soon as Nathan thought to notice it, he was able to feel Peter's erection. Of course he had one; he was at that age that any embrace would bring one on. It wasn't that it made Nathan uncomfortable. It didn't, at all. It was nice, just another biological detail, like Peter's winter-chapped lips. Nathan got chapped lips too, now and again. They were alike.
And that thought made Nathan start to get hard, too.
It wasn't desire-just sweet relaxation. The response to closeness. But... still, a hard cock, even if it was just Peter's little teenage one, touching him, made Nathan feel very strange. Restless and tingly and excited. He shouldn't have that response; he was straight. But he did. And especially with Peter. It just felt right; it didn't feel scary or dangerous or exploitative in either direction. He didn't know what Peter felt. It probably wasn't desire, either, though; just a biological function of closeness.
Peter's breath hissed softly between his teeth; gleaming wet and white, they flashed out and up, catching the peak of his upper lip. His hips pulsed weakly against Nathan's hipbone. "Oh," Peter moaned, very softly, just at the edge of hearing. "Oh, yeah."
"Ssh," Nathan responded instinctively. He lessened the pressure of his hand against Peter's back, but Peter didn't relax this time, still pulsing, not quite rubbing against him, but... close enough. "Cut it out," Nathan admonished softly, adding a chuckle, so that Peter knew it was all right, that he wasn't angry.
Peter obediently let go and rolled away onto his back, his hips still moving a little, pushing against nothing. Suddenly he twitched and shuddered, but remained silent but for a few sharp breaths through his nose. Nathan lay there and watched until Peter fell still again. "Without even touching yourself," Nathan whispered. "I'm impressed."
His brother didn't open his eyes, but he knit his brow a little, and looked slightly pained. He licked the chapped skin of his lower lip, sighing, his face locked into a tense frown. Nathan didn't like this; the kid had just gotten off, and Nathan felt like he should have been wearing a sloppy grin of satisfaction. Obviously, Peter wasn't done yet; his hard-on tented the front of his well-cut, tailored wool trousers. He was just getting started for the night. Nathan knew what this was like, too; when he was a teenager, he had worried that he would give himself blisters from masturbating so much. So furiously. Seemingly never able to get enough.
"Go to bed," Nathan murmured, wanting to help Peter get toward satisfaction as soon as possible. From the way he looked, it might take until morning.
Peter opened his eyes and gazed over at Nathan, still pouting, his eyes shining with hurt and sadness. "Okay," he mumbled. "I'm sorry."
"Pete, it's okay," Nathan reassured him. "It's just time for us to go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
Peter rolled away, off the bed, standing up, shoulders drooping. It was too dark for Nathan to see if he'd stained his pants, and it wasn't until Peter turned away that he wondered why in the world he'd even care about that. But he did. Every time Peter lay around with him, and came in his pants as he invariably did, Nathan liked to see the evidence if he could. Not detail or anything; just a wet stain would do. It made Nathan feel alive to know that Peter was alive too, that he was normal, horny, male.
Just more biological detail, right?
Peter whispered a "Good night," and left. Nathan got up, replaced his evening clothes for a pair of pajama bottoms, and crawled back into bed. He went to sleep with his erection, and woke up in a puddle of his own evidence.
* * * *
2 JANUARY 2006
middle of the afternoon...
"Get over here," Peter whispered.
Nathan laughed, and moved onto Peter's bed, covering his brother's body with his own, and attacking his mouth with brief, biting kisses. Nathan drew back for a moment to tug his sweater over his head and toss it onto a nearby chair. Underneath him, Peter smiled up, cheerful and expectant, already stripped down to a white T-shirt and a threadbare pair of brown corduroy trousers; Nathan amused himself for a moment by drawing his fingernail across the wales of the cloth covering Peter's crotch. Then he curved his fingers inward and took hold of Peter's penis through his clothes. He wasn't hard yet. "Didn't you miss me?" Nathan accused softly, narrowing his eyes at Peter's crotch.
"The little chap can't hear you, Nathan," Peter explained, rolling his eyes.
"'The little chap'?" Nathan echoed incredulously, squeezing harder, then letting go, using his hand instead to sweep over the T-shirt covering Peter's flat belly, untuck the shirt, and slide up under it. "We've got to work on your self-esteem, kiddo."
Peter laughed, pressing up against Nathan's hand, shuddering appreciatively as Nathan dug a fingertip into his navel. "Would you prefer 'Long John Thundercock'?" he suggested.
"No, that's mine," Nathan said. He kissed Peter's lips again, harder, deeper, slower this time. Peter grasped the back of Nathan's head and kept him still, moving his tongue side to side inside Nathan's mouth. Without breaking the kiss, Nathan pulled Peter's T-shirt up further and further, exposing his nipples to the chilly air of Peter's bedroom, pinching one, then the other. When he palmed Peter's cock again, it was fuller and hotter. "Mmmm... you want me," he said, sucking Peter's lower lip. "Don't you."
"Thank you for coming," Peter said breathlessly, his words slightly distorted by Nathan's mouth against his, Nathan's teeth worrying gently at the corner of Peter's lips. "I'm surprised you could get away."
"It's lunchtime," Nathan said. "The campaign office can spare me for a couple of hours."
"Oh, hours," Peter murmured happily. "I figured this'd be a fifteen-minute quickie."
"We can do that, if you want."
"No way," Peter was quick to reply. "I got nothin' to do today. Except you."
Nathan broke off again to shed his silk shirt, then the pale-beige T-shirt underneath that; while his hands were occupied, Peter scooted away and took off all of his clothes except his socks. Nathan raised his eyebrow at that, and Peter shrugged and explained, "My feet are cold."
Nathan shed the rest of his clothes, too, then took off Peter's left sock, rubbing his palms across the chilly toes. "Bullshit," he murmured. "I need you naked."
"I thought socks-only turned you on."
"Sometimes," Nathan replied. "Not today. I need you naked." He blew warm air across the toes, then pressed his lips against the big toe, kissing it again and again.
Peter snickered. "Oh, Nathan, that's nasty. Don't be all into feet. I don't know if I can deal with that." His other toes wiggled eagerly.
"I bet you could, Mr. Open-Minded Sex-Positivity. Your feet stink less today than usual," Nathan pointed out. In fact, Peter's feet smelled fine, like mint soap and clean skin. He let the first foot go, stripping the other foot naked, and rubbing it in turn. "Have you even left the apartment today?"
"I haven't even put on shoes," Peter said. "I'm still on Christmas break, remember."
"Explains it," Nathan replied. He drew Peter's second toe into his mouth and sucked it.
"No, no, no. Cut it out," Peter protested, his hand pushing against Nathan's forehead. "Suck this," he said, gripping his cock, mostly hard now, the tip protruding between his fingers.
"You're bossy today," Nathan remarked. He took Peter's cock in his hand, testing its firmness, seeing if it was hard enough for him to want to put it into his mouth. He knew that Peter's cock was just as succulent whether it was hard or not, but he liked for Peter to be desperate for it; he liked for the veins to all be pushed out to the surface, winding along the length of the shaft like rivers on a map. He liked the skin to be shiny-tight, waiting to be polished even more with his tongue. Peter wasn't there yet. "You figure that just because you call me, you get to order me around?"
"Yeah," Peter breathed. He pushed against Nathan's hand again, but there was no lubrication between hand and penis, and the dry skin held him mostly still; he was only able to strain a few millimeters forward, pulling the loose skin tightly back from the rim of the head of his cock. "Yeah," he moaned again, no longer replying. "Mmm. Please."
Nathan stared at the taut brown-pink skin, shading suddenly to a sleek, smooth, pink, bulbous head that begged for the touch of his mouth. "Oh, God, that looks so good," Nathan whispered.
"I need you to fuck me today," Peter sighed, his forearm against his eyes, pushing against Nathan as best he could.
"You want to get sucked or fucked?"
"Yes," said Peter.
"You want to suck some cock today?" Nathan murmured, almost beside himself with pleasure and happiness.
"Yes. Jesus Christ, yes. All of it."
"You want me to do every inch of your body and leave you wet and shaking and screaming?"
Peter couldn't help laughing at that. "Mmm-hmm," he verified. "Yeah, all that."
"Don't you want to fuck some butthole today?" Nathan murmured. It was so difficult not to taste the cock in his hand. The pink head had turned an angry magenta, all the blood trapped in it, swelling it. Still dry. Nathan would have to jack it to make it start to weep, and he'd have to let it go and moisten it before he could jack it... oh, such a dilemma. This was a much better way to spend a long lunch than studying financial allocation numbers or reviewing legal briefs.
"No," Peter replied impatiently. "I don't want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me."
"You're so selfish," Nathan mused softly.
"I'm a - what did you call me? A 'pushy bottom'?" Peter laughed at that. "I'm sorry, but that just sounds really hot to me. I want to be pushing my bottom onto your dick. Doesn't that sound good?"
It most certainly did. Nathan didn't want to let go, but he had to. "I need your lube," he said, dropping Peter's cock. It didn't fall back to his thighs, but instead stood out, bobbing slightly. The veins were out now, the curious patterns of wrinkles along the side like the patterns in shifting sand dunes in moonlight. God, he wanted to suck it. But more than that, Nathan wanted to fuck with Peter. Tease him. Enjoy his sexy little frowns of frustration.
He got a good one immediately. "You know where it is," Peter complained.
"You," Nathan said, his voice sharp and impatient. "Go get it."
"Fuck you," Peter muttered, rolling over toward his bedside table. Yes, perfect; he'd fallen for it, and now the gorgeous, golden, round hillocks of his ass were up, displayed and ready for Nathan to grab. He took them both in his hands and squeezed them roughly, pushing the balls of his hands into the softer, yielding flesh where they came together, pushing in circles. Peter tensed at first, then abruptly relaxed, and then pressed back into Nathan's touch. "Yes," he whispered. "Pushy bottom. Don't you love that?"
"Mmmm," Nathan acknowledged, his smiling face tingling; his whole body was tingling. He pulled Peter's ass apart, exposing the dark crevice, the fine dark hairs thickening as they crept out toward his thighs. "Get that lube," he reminded Peter. "Just hold onto it, though. When I want it, I'll want it right away."
It seemed that Peter had lost his voice for a moment, arching his hips against the bed, arching back against Nathan's hands. He was able to open his bedside table drawer without having to move very much, but he swept his hand around inside it without finding what he was looking for. Nathan took the opportunity to press his face into Peter's ass, opening his mouth over the anal orifice, probing it with his tongue. Peter sharply drew in his breath, and his searching hand flailed more desperately. "Yeah," Nathan murmured, ever so pleased with himself. He pulled Peter's ass cheeks apart even harder, and licked more, slavering over him, licking down to his balls and out to the sides of his buttocks, pushing hair out of the way with his tongue and slicking it down with spit.
Peter gave up looking for a moment, lost in enjoyment, until Nathan lifted his head and said threateningly, "Where's that lube, Peter? Are we gonna have a problem here?"
"Don't use that phrase," Peter said. He abruptly came back to himself, and moved away from Nathan, just enough to sit up a little and actually look down into the drawer.
"Sorry," Nathan replied, frowning, distressed that he had wrecked the moment. It was a "Dad phrase"; anything that reminded him of his father, Peter had forbidden from their play sessions. While he got off on being ordered around a little, a stern tone of voice, it was a fine line to tread. Nathan knew clearly and consciously - and though he'd never tell Peter so, he imagined that Peter knew, too - that part of their roleplay was Peter's way of psychologically managing the fact that he wanted to please his father, and never could. He could please Nathan, though. He could be naughty and dirty and perverted for Nathan, and Nathan would punish him, and then coddle him with love and ecstatic pleasure, and it was only play. But it was never "only" play. It was never as simple as that, not for anybody.
What wasn't good was that Nathan was making that mistake more often these days; when he and Peter were together, he kept on accidentally saying things that their father said, using their father's tone of voice or his salty, no-nonsense, working-class accent without realizing it until Peter protested. It was such a fine line to tread... and it turned Nathan on to talk like his father. Arthur Petrelli was ruthlessness, discipline, disapproval; and for Nathan, that roleplay was erotic in a way that made sense to him. Women seemed to love it; women, strangers, people who had not grown up with Arthur Petrelli as their father. They didn't know; all they knew was that all of a sudden Nathan talked like he grew up in a steelyard, and ordered them around, and grabbed them hard, and smacked their soft parts just hard enough to sting, but not enough to hurt. Nathan could grab Peter, and spank him, and tell him he was selfish and feminine, as long as he didn't use Arthur's words or Arthur's voice. It meant something very different to him.
Peter held up the lube bottle, but wouldn't meet Nathan's eyes. It wasn't going to end this way; it could never end on a note like that. They were playing, dammit; this was important, this was worth it. They both needed this. Nathan had fucked up, but it wasn't that big of a deal. It shouldn't be. "Enough pouting," he declared, and slapped Peter's ass sharply. Peter jumped a little, and gave a quick exclamation of surprise. "If you've still got a hard cock, show it to me."
"Mmmph... Spank me some more," Peter whispered, through gritted teeth.
"What's that?" Nathan asked blithely, bringing down his hand again, harder this time. "What's this shyness? Don't be embarrassed. You know you want it. You fucking demand it from me. Quit being such a whiny little bitch. Say it; tell me. Tell me what you want." He smacked Peter's ass again. "What? I didn't hear you?"
"Slap my ass!" Peter yelled, then broke down giggling.
Perfect. Exactly right.
"Whatever," Nathan said, and gave Peter a wussy little love tap on his reddened buttocks, the marks of his fingers outlined against the olive skin. Peter giggled some more. Nathan smiled, and kissed the spank marks. "Show me that hard cock. What's that you want me to do with it, again?"
Peter rolled back over. His cock was even harder now, more vertical, looking almost painful, the darkening skin taut now. But still dry. What a shame. Nathan manipulated Peter's limbs on the bed until he lay on his back, holding onto his knees, exposing cock, balls, asshole, in a beautiful buffet of things Nathan wanted to taste. "Oh, God," he couldn't help saying. "Jesus, look at that..." He cupped Peter's balls in his hand. "Who's got big balls, huh?"
"You do," Peter replied softly.
Nathan took a testicle into his mouth, then let it pop back out, now moist all over. He nuzzled the other, rubbing his lips against the hairs, pushing his nose into the loose skin connecting the sac to Peter's body, moaning. Couldn't stop himself. His own cock ached and his own balls tickled and twitched, throbbing with a new rush of blood. He had hardly even been thinking of his own cock, but seeing Peter's, exposed in all its glory, seeing its construction and dimensions, brought himself to mind. Nathan spared a moment to rub his genitals for a moment, just to comfort them, let them know they hadn't been forgotten. He could be patient; they'd get their satisfaction soon enough.
Nathan tested a finger against Peter's spit-moistened asshole, and found it damp and yielding enough to admit his finger, but only up to the first joint. Peter took a deep breath and let it out in a desperate sigh through his nose. "I want... I want you to put your thumb in there," he confessed. "You know the one I mean."
"The fucked-up one," Nathan responded.
"The perfect one," Peter said. "It's got no fingernail. It's perfect."
Nathan smirked; he trimmed his fingernails to the quick every single day, partially just because it was hygenic, but also, to ensure that at any time he was ready to stick his fingers into someone's sexual organs. It wasn't just for Peter, either; Heidi also absolutely loved to be finger-fucked. A lot of the time, she preferred it to being fucked with his cock. And he loved to do that for her; to her. And any other beautiful woman who wanted it. And Peter. "Dry?" he asked.
"Yeah. No, some spit. Just a little. I want to feel that. I'm craving some friction."
"Oh, Pete. Who's dirty now?"
"I don't want you to fuck me with it. Just jam it in there and leave it there. Just want to feel it inside me." After providing this direction, Peter lay still and relaxed, holding the lube bottle against his chest like it was a teddy bear, his eyes closed, lips parted with anticipation. How could he look even more beautiful, more wanton? Nathan chuckled softly to himself, licked his half-amputated thumb liberally, and pressed it inside Peter. Peter only smiled. With just his left thumb inside Peter, he could use the rest of his hand to cup Peter's balls. He was a clever one. Nathan briefly sucked a ball again, then, with his right hand, guided the head of Peter's cock into his mouth. "Yes - oh, fuck, yes," Peter burst out. "Oh, just... ohhhh. Oh, my God, I woke up this morning thinking about this -"
"My busted thumb up your butt?"
"And you sucking my fucking cock. Yes. Your beautiful thumb that I love so, so much. Oh, it's so perfect. The shape of it-the angle-oh, the sweet scar tissue. It's..." Peter ran out of words, instead trailing off to a musical moan of delight.
Nathan licked and sucked and slurped for a while, just satisfying the barest minimum of his own urges, then sat back, twisting his thumb inside. "How do you want this? You want me to do anything special?"
"No... however... mmmm."
"Hold on, there, now," Nathan soothed. "We're just getting started here. Give me that lube." Peter handed it down to him with a sigh. "Sorry; I'll keep your friend the thumb in mind, since you like it so much." Nathan took his thumb back, using both hands to open the lube bottle and pour a bunch into his fingers. He used his right hand, this time; a finger inside, all the way to the palm, withdrawing that, adding a second finger, moving his wrist gently from side to side, stretching him, relaxing him. "Mmm, doesn't that feel good, though?"
"Yeah," Peter whispered. "Ohhhhh... fuck. Do it to me." He pulled his own knees open wider.
"Now, stop being a girl; that doesn't help me." Nathan used his chin to angle Peter's thighs closer together. "I know it's just instinct. Or do you want some more spanking?"
Peter laughed. "Always," he replied, "always." He pushed down against Nathan's fingers. "Do it to me," he said again. "I need you inside me. Fucking me."
Nathan sucked him, too, stabbing his fingers in quickly, alternating which one he concentrated on but never stopping either. Peter's soft whimpers of pleasure became throaty, gravelly grunts. "Fuck me," he begged. "Gimme your fucking cock. Put it inside me." Instead, Nathan added a third finger, bringing a fresh trace of lube with it, jamming in harder and faster. "Now! Nathan! Please!" Peter cried out. "Gimme your fucking cock!"
It was vehement enough to make Nathan laugh, but he mostly controlled it; he wasn't laughing at Peter. Well, he was, but only laughing because Peter was losing it, because Nathan was making him lose it. He kissed Peter's belly gently. "Don't you want some more fingers?" he asked. "Maybe all of them? Don't you think that would satisfy you so beautifully?"
Peter slammed his head back onto his pillow. "Aaarrrrghh!" he shouted.
Nathan laughed a little more. "Okay, okay," he said. "Calm down." He pulled out his fingers and smoothed lube onto his own painfully hard cock, taking a moment to rub his glans against Peter's, then rub their lengths together, slippery rods sliding against each other. It felt good enough to get a smile out of Peter. "I got what you need," Nathan murmured, climbing over him, sliding his dick into the moist space between ass cheeks, then pushing the cockhead against Peter's asshole, shuddering at the pressure as he forced it in. Friction; yes. "Give it to me?" Nathan teased, knowing Peter was so tight because they really hadn't been at this long; maybe fifteen minutes ago, they still had their clothes on. To slide in easily, he'd have to work over Peter's ass for at least half an hour. But they'd fucked with less preparation, and it had been good. Really good. Nathan wasn't quite comfortable with how good.
"Yeah - now," Peter panted softly, all knotted up in his efforts to relax. "Deep. Just now, just all the way..." His eyes rolled back as Nathan tried to give him just that, and he gave a soft, helpless squeak.
"Oh, that's good," Nathan approved, pushing in harder. "Can you do that again?" He pulled back a little bit, and pushed some more. Peter, obligingly, gave the same squeak, and tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. "Does it hurt?"
Peter shook his head, but he still looked distressed.
Nathan began to thrust, and Peter groaned, his lips drawing back in a grimace. "Hang on," he said.
"What?" said Nathan, still thrusting inside. He was more than halfway in; if he just kept this up-
"Hey, hey, stop for a minute."
"Why?" Nathan snapped. He was losing his patience. His cock really wanted this now, and didn't appreciate having to come to a halt. But halt he did, and he lay there, trying to savor the feeling of being inside Peter's burning-hot asshole, inside his body, feeling his pulse and the fine quivers that went through his muscles.
"I've gotta take a leak," Peter confessed, grimacing with embarrassment.
Nathan scoffed faintly, but pulled out. "So? Go pee," he said.
"I can't," Peter replied quietly. He held his rigid, purpled cock. "I won't be able to. I gotta unload this first."
Nathan shook his head and smiled, covered Peter's fingers with his own, and began to jerk on him. "Okay," he said, slurping the glans into his mouth again, teasing the slitted tip with his tongue until he tasted pre-come. Peter rose up against him, gasping and moaning incoherently, his fingers tangling in Nathan's hair. Nathan batted Peter's hands away, then went back to his task: jerking the cock, sucking the cock, both with all of his might, all of his skills. He had wanted so much to be fucking Peter when he came; the clenching of the muscles in his lower abdomen that signalled the start of his orgasm felt delicious from the inside, with the same clench-and-shudder that Nathan also got from someone gagging on his cock. As good as it felt, as much as he loved it, Nathan knew he couldn't go around gagging everyone he slept with; to feel Peter come from the inside was a much more acceptable substitute. But he'd have to be satisfied with his own fuck, his own orgasm; he couldn't cultivate Peter's to suit him this time.
But for now, Nathan had to get him off as quickly as possible.
Peter ran hot that day; he didn't make it through a full minute of Nathan's most dedicated efforts of stroke-and-suck before he was yipping and yelping in panicked, painful ecstasy. Nathan had released Peter's cock from his mouth mere moments before; the first thin salvo of Peter's semen landed on Nathan's closed lips. Hurriedly, he opened his mouth, and jacked Peter harder, trying to aim the jets inside. As usual, Peter's cock had other ideas, and shot spunk onto Nathan's cheek and chin more than it did inside his mouth. "Ohhhhh," Peter moaned, the flying drops of semen slowing and stopping.
"Yeah, you better go; I can taste it," Nathan mentioned, wiping strings of come off his cheeks and hungrily sucking on the sticky fluid.
Peter's expression was faintly disgusted. "What's it taste like?" he asked, already scooting toward the edge of the bed.
"Tastes like piss," Nathan shrugged. "Just a little. Not enough to matter. It's still good." He wiped up more and licked it off. Peter sneered at him, and headed off toward his bathroom. Listening to the intermittent, frustrated tinkling sounds coming from the bathroom, Nathan lay back on the bed, treating himself to the taste of Peter's load, this particular day, this particular session. Piss didn't taste like much, but it was detectable, if only because Nathan had tasted so much of Peter's come over the years, he was uniquely attuned to the slightest variations in flavor or texture. He smiled as he mused to himself that Peter was lucky that Nathan's kinks didn't extend any further than they did; Nathan didn't imagine that he'd ever be into piss. And he'd be willing to bet money that Peter wouldn't either; if he had any interest, Nathan would have uncovered it before now. He thought about it for a moment, considering if he'd get into it if Peter liked it, if it were the thing that got him off more than anything; and he had to admit to himself that he probably would. There were worse things to be into. And what Nathan was into was getting Peter off, knowing the details of what Peter loved, merely liked, didn't like, the things he wouldn't admit to liking.
It had been a strange realization - what got Nathan off, more than anything, was making his brother come. To know everything about him - the taste of his sweat, the taste of his saliva, the taste of his semen, the taste of his blood. The tiny squeaks of pleasure and the extended, hysterical howls. The fears he couldn't overcome, the impotent rage that paralyzed him, the insecurities that he could only let go in Nathan's arms, the desires he couldn't speak of, even to Nathan, but trusted that Nathan would understand.
Freud didn't have a diagnosis for a man who secretly wanted to be fucked by his father, who wanted to kill him, but even more strongly, wanted to be killed by him. Beaten; punished. Noticed. Adored. Absolved. Freud would have been completely stymied by the Petrellis.
Nathan grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table and washed down his mouthful of come, sighing at his responsibilities. Poor Peter; he was so fucked up. Thank God Nathan was there for him, or he could become monstrous, dangerous, a danger to the world and to himself.
Peter washed his hands and returned to the bed, sitting on the edge, obviously frustrated and embarrassed, but that wasn't all. His cock was still half hard, damp and glistening, the head of it as shiny as stainless steel. Still beautiful, still an object of erotic desire, the softening shaft as beautiful as rumpled velvet. Nathan almost reversed his stance about going down on a less-than-erect cock, but stopped himself just in time; no point in giving Peter mixed signals. "Now, where were we?" he asked pleasantly, lightly stroking over his slippery, rock-hard cock.
"I think...." Peter said slowly, moving toward Nathan, climbing over him, mounting him and holding his own ass cheeks apart. "I think we were here," he said, matching them, penetrating himself as he slid down onto Nathan's erection. "Does this seem familiar to you at all?"
"Ahhhhhh," Nathan said, his heart fluttering. "All the way? All at once? Can you take it?"
"Sure," Peter said, pressing himself down hard, then just letting himself relax; he slid down, joining them at the thighs and groin, Nathan's cock buried inside him. First Peter went pale, then bright red. "Oh, God, I..." He weakly moved up and down, not out of a lack of ability, but disabled by the pleasure and violation.
Nathan arched up. "What?" he asked softly, pressing his hand into the small of Peter's back, holding him steady. Thrusting up into him from below. Fast; bang bang bang. Hard, too. Peter let out a strangled cry and bit his forefinger, his eyes crossing and going glassy. "Okay?" Nathan prompted.
"God... yeah..." Peter lifted himself up a little bit more, and bounced a bit. Nathan held Peter's hips still, and arched himself up far, burying himself to the hilt again. Peter yelped and squeaked, "Ah! Ah, okay, okay..." Nathan smiled serenely, slamming up into him. Peter's thighs trembled, and he gripped his own cock so hard his knuckles went white; the motion of Nathan's hips made the shaft slip in and out of his encircled fingers.
Peter's body tipped backward, and Nathan followed him over, sitting up, Peter more or less doing a backbend while straddling Nathan's groin. Nathan bent his knees and held Peter's lower back, cradling him, easing the strain. "Now, this," Nathan said, spreading Peter's legs further. "Okay?" He thrust inside, and Peter pushed back, moaning low in his throat. "Are you okay?"
"Fuck me 'til you come," Peter gasped.
"You good? You done?"
"God, just fuck me. Fuck me 'til you're done. Fuck me as long as you want to. I just wanna..." Peter broke off, silenced, as Nathan slammed his mouth against his, tonguing him. Peter went so limp in Nathan's arms that Nathan backed away, pulled out, and settled Peter on his back, rubbing quickly up his thighs and stomach, pushing his knees up again. Nathan's cock found its way back into Peter's slick, relaxed hole easily, and Nathan thrust into him, more slowly, holding Peter's legs just far enough apart to give space to his narrow hips. "Do you like that best?" Peter asked, his voice soft and hopeful.
"It looks good," Nathan replied.
"It feels good. Is it gonna get you off?"
"What are you, bored?" Nathan thrust faster, harder.
"Ha ha... no... no. Please enjoy yourself." Peter laughed, eyes closed, his face flushed and sweaty. His cock was hard again, leaking clear juice across his belly.
"I am," Nathan said. He let Peter's legs go, instead grasping his hips, pulling Peter up and onto him, off the surface of the bed. He could fuck faster at this angle, and that's what he wanted now; hard and deep inside. He didn't want it to be over, but his cock and balls ached terribly, wishing to be unburdened. Peter was shaking. Time to get off now; if there was still time later, he could fuck Peter slow and gentle. But not now. Now was for the banging, the slamming, the desperate, breathless cries coming from Peter's throat. "Oh, you're so fucking beautiful," Nathan moaned, "oh, God, you little-"
He was coming. He didn't want to waste it by shooting his load into Peter's ass, as great as that was; so he pulled out, massaged the slippery shaft with his fingers, aiming the thick ribbons of semen across Peter's cock and balls and belly. He had come inside, a little bit; it leaked and dribbled out of him, and Nathan laughed joyfully, wiping it up, wiping it across Peter's buttocks and balls and thighs, holding his besmirched fingers to Peter's mouth and slipping them inside. Peter grimaced and flinched away, but Nathan just laughed some more, wiped up more come (from Peter's cock this time) and fed it to him again. "God, stop it! Gross!" Peter protested, shoving Nathan's arm away. But not too hard; not too vehemently. Not angrily. Just standing up for himself, for his own principles. Just to show Peter what his own principles were, Nathan licked his own fingers clean, gathered more of his own spunk from Peter's skin, and licked that, too.
Peter stared at him incredulously. When Nathan fed him again, he didn't protest, but his twisted, repelled expression showed just how much he liked it. "What does it taste like to you?" Nathan asked, genuinely curious, and feeling so sexed-up and filthy that he was practically high.
"It tastes like come and lube and ass," Peter grumbled.
"No, tell me specifically. Abstractly. Tell me. Are we wired differently?" Nathan wonderingly circled Peter's asshole with his fingertips, sliding them inside, massaging his semen into Peter's flesh, as if that could bring them closer together.
"Obviously," Peter replied. "It's like... that chemical taste, that glycerine taste. And, like, runny egg white. And mushrooms that weren't washed too well... that kind of mineral-y, meaty..." Nathan had moved up next to him, taken Peter into his arms, and started nibbling on his ear and neck, licking and sucking the skin, and then kissing his mouth in mid-sentence. "But kind of vinegary, too... kind of... mmm..."
"Salty?" Nathan murmured.
"A little," Peter admitted. "Not... as much as..."
When Nathan had finished kissing him again, Peter lay silent, with a peaceful smile on his face. "Your come, to me, tastes like Greek yogurt," Nathan murmured, circling Peter's sweat-moist nipples with his fingertips. "Just a hint of salt, a hint of honey. A little sour, but savory... I want more; I always want more. Sweet, like fresh water." He kissed Peter's lips again. "And your ass doesn't exactly taste like chocolate ice cream, either, but I'm still happy to eat the fuck out of it, whenever."
Peter laughed giddily. "I wish my ass did taste like chocolate ice cream," he said.
"You'd sprain yourself trying to get to it, so maybe that's for the best." Nathan reached down between them to touch Peter's cock; it wasn't as hard as it had been a moment ago. "Are you satisfied, or do you want to go another round? Maybe over the edge of the bed, doggy-style?"
"That sounds really good," Peter admitted softly. "But... I'm tired. Maybe later tonight I could, but right now... I think my ass has been reamed."
"Yeah," Nathan agreed, smiling. "Glad I could help."
"When I need cock, you're the one I call," Peter said.
"That's right," Nathan replied, kissing his brother again. "I love you," he added, "okay? You got that?"
"I'll try to remember that when you're shitty to me. Or you forget me. Or you use me, or...."
"What the-" Nathan moved aside, a flare of frustration going up hot inside him. "I just took time away from my life to come to you because you dreamt about me sticking my thumb up your butt last night, and you were too horny to do anything. A 'thank you' would be nice."
To Nathan's surprise, Peter didn't immediately cower apologetically. He gazed back, clear-eyed and calm. "Thank you," he said, "but you do. On a regular basis. I'm just saying."
"You ungrateful piece of shit," Nathan said, and didn't care that that was one of Arthur Petrelli's very favorite things to say to his youngest son.
Peter was struck by it, and he took a deep breath and lowered his gaze, but again, didn't apologize. If he was aware of the fact that he had ended their play session more effectively than a bucket of cold water would have done, he didn't see any need to answer for it. "I'm just saying," Peter stated again, shaking his head a little. He sat up and scooted off the side of the bed, pulling up the towels on which they'd had their fun. There was still semen leaking out of him, and the sight filled Nathan with a combination of disgust and regret. The sight of his jizz dripping out of Peter's asshole should have made him feel glorious, but it only made him feel used and gullible, and a little sickened at his own kinks. Why couldn't they just be normal brothers, and not this?
Peter wrapped one of the towels around his waist, and sat in the chair, next to Nathan's discarded sweater. He handed it over, then the rest of Nathan's clothes. "Hey," he said finally, "sorry, okay?"
"No, you're not," Nathan snapped. He wiped off with another towel. "Can I take a shower here, or should I go down to my gym?"
His brother's gaze was cold and steady; he looked like their mother, hurt and proud and resigned. "Go to the gym," Peter said. "It looks better. Don't you think? Comb your hair first, though; and wash your face. You didn't manage to lick it all up."
"What's wrong with you?" Nathan asked.
Peter lowered his eyes. "I don't know," he replied softly. "Post-coital depression, I guess. I'm losing you; I know it."
"No," Nathan insisted, "you're not." He got up and went to the bathroom to wash up; when he returned, he dressed, put on his coat, and made to leave without another word, without another glance in Peter's direction.
But Peter stood in front of the door, naked and pale, his eyes huge and full of longing and loneliness. He wrapped his arms around Nathan and hugged him tightly. "I love you," he said. "I do."
Nathan relented in the circle of Peter's arms, and kissed his hair, his forehead, his nose and mouth. "I love you, too," Nathan told him. "But it's gonna be a while before I touch you again. I'm not sure you can handle it anymore."
Peter let go abruptly, letting out a short, disbelieving breath. "Okay," he said, his voice twisted in on itself. "Whatever! Okay, well. You know. Whenever. Whenever you need me. I'm right here."
Nathan just stared at him for a moment. "I'll call you tomorrow," he murmured. But before he could make any promises he couldn't keep, either with his words or his body, he opened the door and added, "Get your shit together."
"Don't use that fucking phrase!" Peter screamed after him, and slammed the door behind him.
He didn't even wait until he was out of the building before he sent Peter a text message on his cell phone: Whenever you need me.
Peter sent back: Always and totally and forever.
END (49)
Author: mystery_sock
Pairing: Nathan/Peter; some strong overtones of Arthur, but he isn't actually present in the story
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: none
Warnings: see pairing
Word Count: 4300
Summary: Two moments of intimacy, separated by exactly ten years: at first it's so innocent, but later, it's anything but. I live for your feedback!
Heroes is not my property.
2 JANUARY 1996
middle of the night...
Peter had followed Nathan to bed again.
The end of the holidays had come, but they weren't yet ready to let go of the togetherness. Tomorrow-today-was just an ordinary day, but tonight, there was the darkness, the shared stories, the laughs relaxing to chuckles. Sitting next to each other on the bed in the guest room, saying good night to their mother as she poked her head in the door and reminded Peter that he had school in the morning, then returning to their conversation. Then, hours past, lying down, the words still pouring out of both of them, reconnecting them more and more strongly with every breath.
Peter stroked Nathan's forearm, where he'd been favoring it all night, the younger brother's soothing, intuitive touch soothing the nagging pain in the muscles. They talked about the stupidest little things, the parties they'd attended in the past week, about movies, school, favorite songs, the vagaries of the female sex. Moved closer to each other on the bed, Nathan returning the touch, taking Peter into his arms and rubbing his back, their conversation turning to the meaningless and ephemeral, like how hard it was to undo certain shoelace knots, or whether snowy days were better than sunny ones.
Gradually they lapsed into silence. The words halted, but the touch continued. It was just as communicative, just as instructional. Nathan's arm that had been sore now wanted to move, stroking up and down Peter's back with a sure, steady rhythm, occasionally pressing down on some part of Peter's spine to give the active muscles a moment of rest. Peter responded, his body close to Nathan's, not tight against, but tightening as Nathan pressed down. Occasionally that was on Peter's lower back, almost to his buttocks, and when Peter held in close then, he let it linger for a while before relaxing again. His breath was warm and sweet, moist against Nathan's neck.
He kissed the hollow at the base of Nathan's throat, then let his head fall heavily against the pillow, utterly relaxed. Nathan opened his eyes, too close to Peter to see his expression-only parts of his face. A nostril, eyelashes, down glowing on the edge of an upper lip. It made Nathan smile, the animality of Peter, this knowledge of him in the specific and in the abstract. It was so nice, so relaxing and restoring, to lie close with him, to feel their heartbeats together, and to feel their breath rising and falling in perfect sync.
Nathan tightened his hand on the small of Peter's back, and Peter pressed against Nathan's body, insistently, as if he were trying to merge their bodies together, emitting an open-mouthed sigh of satisfaction. His lips curved into a smile.
Nathan wanted to tell Peter to go to bed. To leave him alone so he could get some sleep. But he couldn't break this up. Almost three in the morning, and his brain cottony with fatigue, and he couldn't even let Peter go for a minute.
And Peter didn't want to leave. Nathan knew that. He knew they were spending too much time clinging to each other under cover of darkness. On the other hand, their parents had said nothing, and they weren't exactly known for keeping their disapproval-of anything-hidden. And yet, he still had the feeling that they were doing something illicit. Maybe because it felt so good.
Another open-mouthed sigh from Peter, this one a little sharper than the last. His body was still, apart from his deep, sleepy-sounding breathing, but as soon as Nathan thought to notice it, he was able to feel Peter's erection. Of course he had one; he was at that age that any embrace would bring one on. It wasn't that it made Nathan uncomfortable. It didn't, at all. It was nice, just another biological detail, like Peter's winter-chapped lips. Nathan got chapped lips too, now and again. They were alike.
And that thought made Nathan start to get hard, too.
It wasn't desire-just sweet relaxation. The response to closeness. But... still, a hard cock, even if it was just Peter's little teenage one, touching him, made Nathan feel very strange. Restless and tingly and excited. He shouldn't have that response; he was straight. But he did. And especially with Peter. It just felt right; it didn't feel scary or dangerous or exploitative in either direction. He didn't know what Peter felt. It probably wasn't desire, either, though; just a biological function of closeness.
Peter's breath hissed softly between his teeth; gleaming wet and white, they flashed out and up, catching the peak of his upper lip. His hips pulsed weakly against Nathan's hipbone. "Oh," Peter moaned, very softly, just at the edge of hearing. "Oh, yeah."
"Ssh," Nathan responded instinctively. He lessened the pressure of his hand against Peter's back, but Peter didn't relax this time, still pulsing, not quite rubbing against him, but... close enough. "Cut it out," Nathan admonished softly, adding a chuckle, so that Peter knew it was all right, that he wasn't angry.
Peter obediently let go and rolled away onto his back, his hips still moving a little, pushing against nothing. Suddenly he twitched and shuddered, but remained silent but for a few sharp breaths through his nose. Nathan lay there and watched until Peter fell still again. "Without even touching yourself," Nathan whispered. "I'm impressed."
His brother didn't open his eyes, but he knit his brow a little, and looked slightly pained. He licked the chapped skin of his lower lip, sighing, his face locked into a tense frown. Nathan didn't like this; the kid had just gotten off, and Nathan felt like he should have been wearing a sloppy grin of satisfaction. Obviously, Peter wasn't done yet; his hard-on tented the front of his well-cut, tailored wool trousers. He was just getting started for the night. Nathan knew what this was like, too; when he was a teenager, he had worried that he would give himself blisters from masturbating so much. So furiously. Seemingly never able to get enough.
"Go to bed," Nathan murmured, wanting to help Peter get toward satisfaction as soon as possible. From the way he looked, it might take until morning.
Peter opened his eyes and gazed over at Nathan, still pouting, his eyes shining with hurt and sadness. "Okay," he mumbled. "I'm sorry."
"Pete, it's okay," Nathan reassured him. "It's just time for us to go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
Peter rolled away, off the bed, standing up, shoulders drooping. It was too dark for Nathan to see if he'd stained his pants, and it wasn't until Peter turned away that he wondered why in the world he'd even care about that. But he did. Every time Peter lay around with him, and came in his pants as he invariably did, Nathan liked to see the evidence if he could. Not detail or anything; just a wet stain would do. It made Nathan feel alive to know that Peter was alive too, that he was normal, horny, male.
Just more biological detail, right?
Peter whispered a "Good night," and left. Nathan got up, replaced his evening clothes for a pair of pajama bottoms, and crawled back into bed. He went to sleep with his erection, and woke up in a puddle of his own evidence.
* * * *
2 JANUARY 2006
middle of the afternoon...
"Get over here," Peter whispered.
Nathan laughed, and moved onto Peter's bed, covering his brother's body with his own, and attacking his mouth with brief, biting kisses. Nathan drew back for a moment to tug his sweater over his head and toss it onto a nearby chair. Underneath him, Peter smiled up, cheerful and expectant, already stripped down to a white T-shirt and a threadbare pair of brown corduroy trousers; Nathan amused himself for a moment by drawing his fingernail across the wales of the cloth covering Peter's crotch. Then he curved his fingers inward and took hold of Peter's penis through his clothes. He wasn't hard yet. "Didn't you miss me?" Nathan accused softly, narrowing his eyes at Peter's crotch.
"The little chap can't hear you, Nathan," Peter explained, rolling his eyes.
"'The little chap'?" Nathan echoed incredulously, squeezing harder, then letting go, using his hand instead to sweep over the T-shirt covering Peter's flat belly, untuck the shirt, and slide up under it. "We've got to work on your self-esteem, kiddo."
Peter laughed, pressing up against Nathan's hand, shuddering appreciatively as Nathan dug a fingertip into his navel. "Would you prefer 'Long John Thundercock'?" he suggested.
"No, that's mine," Nathan said. He kissed Peter's lips again, harder, deeper, slower this time. Peter grasped the back of Nathan's head and kept him still, moving his tongue side to side inside Nathan's mouth. Without breaking the kiss, Nathan pulled Peter's T-shirt up further and further, exposing his nipples to the chilly air of Peter's bedroom, pinching one, then the other. When he palmed Peter's cock again, it was fuller and hotter. "Mmmm... you want me," he said, sucking Peter's lower lip. "Don't you."
"Thank you for coming," Peter said breathlessly, his words slightly distorted by Nathan's mouth against his, Nathan's teeth worrying gently at the corner of Peter's lips. "I'm surprised you could get away."
"It's lunchtime," Nathan said. "The campaign office can spare me for a couple of hours."
"Oh, hours," Peter murmured happily. "I figured this'd be a fifteen-minute quickie."
"We can do that, if you want."
"No way," Peter was quick to reply. "I got nothin' to do today. Except you."
Nathan broke off again to shed his silk shirt, then the pale-beige T-shirt underneath that; while his hands were occupied, Peter scooted away and took off all of his clothes except his socks. Nathan raised his eyebrow at that, and Peter shrugged and explained, "My feet are cold."
Nathan shed the rest of his clothes, too, then took off Peter's left sock, rubbing his palms across the chilly toes. "Bullshit," he murmured. "I need you naked."
"I thought socks-only turned you on."
"Sometimes," Nathan replied. "Not today. I need you naked." He blew warm air across the toes, then pressed his lips against the big toe, kissing it again and again.
Peter snickered. "Oh, Nathan, that's nasty. Don't be all into feet. I don't know if I can deal with that." His other toes wiggled eagerly.
"I bet you could, Mr. Open-Minded Sex-Positivity. Your feet stink less today than usual," Nathan pointed out. In fact, Peter's feet smelled fine, like mint soap and clean skin. He let the first foot go, stripping the other foot naked, and rubbing it in turn. "Have you even left the apartment today?"
"I haven't even put on shoes," Peter said. "I'm still on Christmas break, remember."
"Explains it," Nathan replied. He drew Peter's second toe into his mouth and sucked it.
"No, no, no. Cut it out," Peter protested, his hand pushing against Nathan's forehead. "Suck this," he said, gripping his cock, mostly hard now, the tip protruding between his fingers.
"You're bossy today," Nathan remarked. He took Peter's cock in his hand, testing its firmness, seeing if it was hard enough for him to want to put it into his mouth. He knew that Peter's cock was just as succulent whether it was hard or not, but he liked for Peter to be desperate for it; he liked for the veins to all be pushed out to the surface, winding along the length of the shaft like rivers on a map. He liked the skin to be shiny-tight, waiting to be polished even more with his tongue. Peter wasn't there yet. "You figure that just because you call me, you get to order me around?"
"Yeah," Peter breathed. He pushed against Nathan's hand again, but there was no lubrication between hand and penis, and the dry skin held him mostly still; he was only able to strain a few millimeters forward, pulling the loose skin tightly back from the rim of the head of his cock. "Yeah," he moaned again, no longer replying. "Mmm. Please."
Nathan stared at the taut brown-pink skin, shading suddenly to a sleek, smooth, pink, bulbous head that begged for the touch of his mouth. "Oh, God, that looks so good," Nathan whispered.
"I need you to fuck me today," Peter sighed, his forearm against his eyes, pushing against Nathan as best he could.
"You want to get sucked or fucked?"
"Yes," said Peter.
"You want to suck some cock today?" Nathan murmured, almost beside himself with pleasure and happiness.
"Yes. Jesus Christ, yes. All of it."
"You want me to do every inch of your body and leave you wet and shaking and screaming?"
Peter couldn't help laughing at that. "Mmm-hmm," he verified. "Yeah, all that."
"Don't you want to fuck some butthole today?" Nathan murmured. It was so difficult not to taste the cock in his hand. The pink head had turned an angry magenta, all the blood trapped in it, swelling it. Still dry. Nathan would have to jack it to make it start to weep, and he'd have to let it go and moisten it before he could jack it... oh, such a dilemma. This was a much better way to spend a long lunch than studying financial allocation numbers or reviewing legal briefs.
"No," Peter replied impatiently. "I don't want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me."
"You're so selfish," Nathan mused softly.
"I'm a - what did you call me? A 'pushy bottom'?" Peter laughed at that. "I'm sorry, but that just sounds really hot to me. I want to be pushing my bottom onto your dick. Doesn't that sound good?"
It most certainly did. Nathan didn't want to let go, but he had to. "I need your lube," he said, dropping Peter's cock. It didn't fall back to his thighs, but instead stood out, bobbing slightly. The veins were out now, the curious patterns of wrinkles along the side like the patterns in shifting sand dunes in moonlight. God, he wanted to suck it. But more than that, Nathan wanted to fuck with Peter. Tease him. Enjoy his sexy little frowns of frustration.
He got a good one immediately. "You know where it is," Peter complained.
"You," Nathan said, his voice sharp and impatient. "Go get it."
"Fuck you," Peter muttered, rolling over toward his bedside table. Yes, perfect; he'd fallen for it, and now the gorgeous, golden, round hillocks of his ass were up, displayed and ready for Nathan to grab. He took them both in his hands and squeezed them roughly, pushing the balls of his hands into the softer, yielding flesh where they came together, pushing in circles. Peter tensed at first, then abruptly relaxed, and then pressed back into Nathan's touch. "Yes," he whispered. "Pushy bottom. Don't you love that?"
"Mmmm," Nathan acknowledged, his smiling face tingling; his whole body was tingling. He pulled Peter's ass apart, exposing the dark crevice, the fine dark hairs thickening as they crept out toward his thighs. "Get that lube," he reminded Peter. "Just hold onto it, though. When I want it, I'll want it right away."
It seemed that Peter had lost his voice for a moment, arching his hips against the bed, arching back against Nathan's hands. He was able to open his bedside table drawer without having to move very much, but he swept his hand around inside it without finding what he was looking for. Nathan took the opportunity to press his face into Peter's ass, opening his mouth over the anal orifice, probing it with his tongue. Peter sharply drew in his breath, and his searching hand flailed more desperately. "Yeah," Nathan murmured, ever so pleased with himself. He pulled Peter's ass cheeks apart even harder, and licked more, slavering over him, licking down to his balls and out to the sides of his buttocks, pushing hair out of the way with his tongue and slicking it down with spit.
Peter gave up looking for a moment, lost in enjoyment, until Nathan lifted his head and said threateningly, "Where's that lube, Peter? Are we gonna have a problem here?"
"Don't use that phrase," Peter said. He abruptly came back to himself, and moved away from Nathan, just enough to sit up a little and actually look down into the drawer.
"Sorry," Nathan replied, frowning, distressed that he had wrecked the moment. It was a "Dad phrase"; anything that reminded him of his father, Peter had forbidden from their play sessions. While he got off on being ordered around a little, a stern tone of voice, it was a fine line to tread. Nathan knew clearly and consciously - and though he'd never tell Peter so, he imagined that Peter knew, too - that part of their roleplay was Peter's way of psychologically managing the fact that he wanted to please his father, and never could. He could please Nathan, though. He could be naughty and dirty and perverted for Nathan, and Nathan would punish him, and then coddle him with love and ecstatic pleasure, and it was only play. But it was never "only" play. It was never as simple as that, not for anybody.
What wasn't good was that Nathan was making that mistake more often these days; when he and Peter were together, he kept on accidentally saying things that their father said, using their father's tone of voice or his salty, no-nonsense, working-class accent without realizing it until Peter protested. It was such a fine line to tread... and it turned Nathan on to talk like his father. Arthur Petrelli was ruthlessness, discipline, disapproval; and for Nathan, that roleplay was erotic in a way that made sense to him. Women seemed to love it; women, strangers, people who had not grown up with Arthur Petrelli as their father. They didn't know; all they knew was that all of a sudden Nathan talked like he grew up in a steelyard, and ordered them around, and grabbed them hard, and smacked their soft parts just hard enough to sting, but not enough to hurt. Nathan could grab Peter, and spank him, and tell him he was selfish and feminine, as long as he didn't use Arthur's words or Arthur's voice. It meant something very different to him.
Peter held up the lube bottle, but wouldn't meet Nathan's eyes. It wasn't going to end this way; it could never end on a note like that. They were playing, dammit; this was important, this was worth it. They both needed this. Nathan had fucked up, but it wasn't that big of a deal. It shouldn't be. "Enough pouting," he declared, and slapped Peter's ass sharply. Peter jumped a little, and gave a quick exclamation of surprise. "If you've still got a hard cock, show it to me."
"Mmmph... Spank me some more," Peter whispered, through gritted teeth.
"What's that?" Nathan asked blithely, bringing down his hand again, harder this time. "What's this shyness? Don't be embarrassed. You know you want it. You fucking demand it from me. Quit being such a whiny little bitch. Say it; tell me. Tell me what you want." He smacked Peter's ass again. "What? I didn't hear you?"
"Slap my ass!" Peter yelled, then broke down giggling.
Perfect. Exactly right.
"Whatever," Nathan said, and gave Peter a wussy little love tap on his reddened buttocks, the marks of his fingers outlined against the olive skin. Peter giggled some more. Nathan smiled, and kissed the spank marks. "Show me that hard cock. What's that you want me to do with it, again?"
Peter rolled back over. His cock was even harder now, more vertical, looking almost painful, the darkening skin taut now. But still dry. What a shame. Nathan manipulated Peter's limbs on the bed until he lay on his back, holding onto his knees, exposing cock, balls, asshole, in a beautiful buffet of things Nathan wanted to taste. "Oh, God," he couldn't help saying. "Jesus, look at that..." He cupped Peter's balls in his hand. "Who's got big balls, huh?"
"You do," Peter replied softly.
Nathan took a testicle into his mouth, then let it pop back out, now moist all over. He nuzzled the other, rubbing his lips against the hairs, pushing his nose into the loose skin connecting the sac to Peter's body, moaning. Couldn't stop himself. His own cock ached and his own balls tickled and twitched, throbbing with a new rush of blood. He had hardly even been thinking of his own cock, but seeing Peter's, exposed in all its glory, seeing its construction and dimensions, brought himself to mind. Nathan spared a moment to rub his genitals for a moment, just to comfort them, let them know they hadn't been forgotten. He could be patient; they'd get their satisfaction soon enough.
Nathan tested a finger against Peter's spit-moistened asshole, and found it damp and yielding enough to admit his finger, but only up to the first joint. Peter took a deep breath and let it out in a desperate sigh through his nose. "I want... I want you to put your thumb in there," he confessed. "You know the one I mean."
"The fucked-up one," Nathan responded.
"The perfect one," Peter said. "It's got no fingernail. It's perfect."
Nathan smirked; he trimmed his fingernails to the quick every single day, partially just because it was hygenic, but also, to ensure that at any time he was ready to stick his fingers into someone's sexual organs. It wasn't just for Peter, either; Heidi also absolutely loved to be finger-fucked. A lot of the time, she preferred it to being fucked with his cock. And he loved to do that for her; to her. And any other beautiful woman who wanted it. And Peter. "Dry?" he asked.
"Yeah. No, some spit. Just a little. I want to feel that. I'm craving some friction."
"Oh, Pete. Who's dirty now?"
"I don't want you to fuck me with it. Just jam it in there and leave it there. Just want to feel it inside me." After providing this direction, Peter lay still and relaxed, holding the lube bottle against his chest like it was a teddy bear, his eyes closed, lips parted with anticipation. How could he look even more beautiful, more wanton? Nathan chuckled softly to himself, licked his half-amputated thumb liberally, and pressed it inside Peter. Peter only smiled. With just his left thumb inside Peter, he could use the rest of his hand to cup Peter's balls. He was a clever one. Nathan briefly sucked a ball again, then, with his right hand, guided the head of Peter's cock into his mouth. "Yes - oh, fuck, yes," Peter burst out. "Oh, just... ohhhh. Oh, my God, I woke up this morning thinking about this -"
"My busted thumb up your butt?"
"And you sucking my fucking cock. Yes. Your beautiful thumb that I love so, so much. Oh, it's so perfect. The shape of it-the angle-oh, the sweet scar tissue. It's..." Peter ran out of words, instead trailing off to a musical moan of delight.
Nathan licked and sucked and slurped for a while, just satisfying the barest minimum of his own urges, then sat back, twisting his thumb inside. "How do you want this? You want me to do anything special?"
"No... however... mmmm."
"Hold on, there, now," Nathan soothed. "We're just getting started here. Give me that lube." Peter handed it down to him with a sigh. "Sorry; I'll keep your friend the thumb in mind, since you like it so much." Nathan took his thumb back, using both hands to open the lube bottle and pour a bunch into his fingers. He used his right hand, this time; a finger inside, all the way to the palm, withdrawing that, adding a second finger, moving his wrist gently from side to side, stretching him, relaxing him. "Mmm, doesn't that feel good, though?"
"Yeah," Peter whispered. "Ohhhhh... fuck. Do it to me." He pulled his own knees open wider.
"Now, stop being a girl; that doesn't help me." Nathan used his chin to angle Peter's thighs closer together. "I know it's just instinct. Or do you want some more spanking?"
Peter laughed. "Always," he replied, "always." He pushed down against Nathan's fingers. "Do it to me," he said again. "I need you inside me. Fucking me."
Nathan sucked him, too, stabbing his fingers in quickly, alternating which one he concentrated on but never stopping either. Peter's soft whimpers of pleasure became throaty, gravelly grunts. "Fuck me," he begged. "Gimme your fucking cock. Put it inside me." Instead, Nathan added a third finger, bringing a fresh trace of lube with it, jamming in harder and faster. "Now! Nathan! Please!" Peter cried out. "Gimme your fucking cock!"
It was vehement enough to make Nathan laugh, but he mostly controlled it; he wasn't laughing at Peter. Well, he was, but only laughing because Peter was losing it, because Nathan was making him lose it. He kissed Peter's belly gently. "Don't you want some more fingers?" he asked. "Maybe all of them? Don't you think that would satisfy you so beautifully?"
Peter slammed his head back onto his pillow. "Aaarrrrghh!" he shouted.
Nathan laughed a little more. "Okay, okay," he said. "Calm down." He pulled out his fingers and smoothed lube onto his own painfully hard cock, taking a moment to rub his glans against Peter's, then rub their lengths together, slippery rods sliding against each other. It felt good enough to get a smile out of Peter. "I got what you need," Nathan murmured, climbing over him, sliding his dick into the moist space between ass cheeks, then pushing the cockhead against Peter's asshole, shuddering at the pressure as he forced it in. Friction; yes. "Give it to me?" Nathan teased, knowing Peter was so tight because they really hadn't been at this long; maybe fifteen minutes ago, they still had their clothes on. To slide in easily, he'd have to work over Peter's ass for at least half an hour. But they'd fucked with less preparation, and it had been good. Really good. Nathan wasn't quite comfortable with how good.
"Yeah - now," Peter panted softly, all knotted up in his efforts to relax. "Deep. Just now, just all the way..." His eyes rolled back as Nathan tried to give him just that, and he gave a soft, helpless squeak.
"Oh, that's good," Nathan approved, pushing in harder. "Can you do that again?" He pulled back a little bit, and pushed some more. Peter, obligingly, gave the same squeak, and tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. "Does it hurt?"
Peter shook his head, but he still looked distressed.
Nathan began to thrust, and Peter groaned, his lips drawing back in a grimace. "Hang on," he said.
"What?" said Nathan, still thrusting inside. He was more than halfway in; if he just kept this up-
"Hey, hey, stop for a minute."
"Why?" Nathan snapped. He was losing his patience. His cock really wanted this now, and didn't appreciate having to come to a halt. But halt he did, and he lay there, trying to savor the feeling of being inside Peter's burning-hot asshole, inside his body, feeling his pulse and the fine quivers that went through his muscles.
"I've gotta take a leak," Peter confessed, grimacing with embarrassment.
Nathan scoffed faintly, but pulled out. "So? Go pee," he said.
"I can't," Peter replied quietly. He held his rigid, purpled cock. "I won't be able to. I gotta unload this first."
Nathan shook his head and smiled, covered Peter's fingers with his own, and began to jerk on him. "Okay," he said, slurping the glans into his mouth again, teasing the slitted tip with his tongue until he tasted pre-come. Peter rose up against him, gasping and moaning incoherently, his fingers tangling in Nathan's hair. Nathan batted Peter's hands away, then went back to his task: jerking the cock, sucking the cock, both with all of his might, all of his skills. He had wanted so much to be fucking Peter when he came; the clenching of the muscles in his lower abdomen that signalled the start of his orgasm felt delicious from the inside, with the same clench-and-shudder that Nathan also got from someone gagging on his cock. As good as it felt, as much as he loved it, Nathan knew he couldn't go around gagging everyone he slept with; to feel Peter come from the inside was a much more acceptable substitute. But he'd have to be satisfied with his own fuck, his own orgasm; he couldn't cultivate Peter's to suit him this time.
But for now, Nathan had to get him off as quickly as possible.
Peter ran hot that day; he didn't make it through a full minute of Nathan's most dedicated efforts of stroke-and-suck before he was yipping and yelping in panicked, painful ecstasy. Nathan had released Peter's cock from his mouth mere moments before; the first thin salvo of Peter's semen landed on Nathan's closed lips. Hurriedly, he opened his mouth, and jacked Peter harder, trying to aim the jets inside. As usual, Peter's cock had other ideas, and shot spunk onto Nathan's cheek and chin more than it did inside his mouth. "Ohhhhh," Peter moaned, the flying drops of semen slowing and stopping.
"Yeah, you better go; I can taste it," Nathan mentioned, wiping strings of come off his cheeks and hungrily sucking on the sticky fluid.
Peter's expression was faintly disgusted. "What's it taste like?" he asked, already scooting toward the edge of the bed.
"Tastes like piss," Nathan shrugged. "Just a little. Not enough to matter. It's still good." He wiped up more and licked it off. Peter sneered at him, and headed off toward his bathroom. Listening to the intermittent, frustrated tinkling sounds coming from the bathroom, Nathan lay back on the bed, treating himself to the taste of Peter's load, this particular day, this particular session. Piss didn't taste like much, but it was detectable, if only because Nathan had tasted so much of Peter's come over the years, he was uniquely attuned to the slightest variations in flavor or texture. He smiled as he mused to himself that Peter was lucky that Nathan's kinks didn't extend any further than they did; Nathan didn't imagine that he'd ever be into piss. And he'd be willing to bet money that Peter wouldn't either; if he had any interest, Nathan would have uncovered it before now. He thought about it for a moment, considering if he'd get into it if Peter liked it, if it were the thing that got him off more than anything; and he had to admit to himself that he probably would. There were worse things to be into. And what Nathan was into was getting Peter off, knowing the details of what Peter loved, merely liked, didn't like, the things he wouldn't admit to liking.
It had been a strange realization - what got Nathan off, more than anything, was making his brother come. To know everything about him - the taste of his sweat, the taste of his saliva, the taste of his semen, the taste of his blood. The tiny squeaks of pleasure and the extended, hysterical howls. The fears he couldn't overcome, the impotent rage that paralyzed him, the insecurities that he could only let go in Nathan's arms, the desires he couldn't speak of, even to Nathan, but trusted that Nathan would understand.
Freud didn't have a diagnosis for a man who secretly wanted to be fucked by his father, who wanted to kill him, but even more strongly, wanted to be killed by him. Beaten; punished. Noticed. Adored. Absolved. Freud would have been completely stymied by the Petrellis.
Nathan grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table and washed down his mouthful of come, sighing at his responsibilities. Poor Peter; he was so fucked up. Thank God Nathan was there for him, or he could become monstrous, dangerous, a danger to the world and to himself.
Peter washed his hands and returned to the bed, sitting on the edge, obviously frustrated and embarrassed, but that wasn't all. His cock was still half hard, damp and glistening, the head of it as shiny as stainless steel. Still beautiful, still an object of erotic desire, the softening shaft as beautiful as rumpled velvet. Nathan almost reversed his stance about going down on a less-than-erect cock, but stopped himself just in time; no point in giving Peter mixed signals. "Now, where were we?" he asked pleasantly, lightly stroking over his slippery, rock-hard cock.
"I think...." Peter said slowly, moving toward Nathan, climbing over him, mounting him and holding his own ass cheeks apart. "I think we were here," he said, matching them, penetrating himself as he slid down onto Nathan's erection. "Does this seem familiar to you at all?"
"Ahhhhhh," Nathan said, his heart fluttering. "All the way? All at once? Can you take it?"
"Sure," Peter said, pressing himself down hard, then just letting himself relax; he slid down, joining them at the thighs and groin, Nathan's cock buried inside him. First Peter went pale, then bright red. "Oh, God, I..." He weakly moved up and down, not out of a lack of ability, but disabled by the pleasure and violation.
Nathan arched up. "What?" he asked softly, pressing his hand into the small of Peter's back, holding him steady. Thrusting up into him from below. Fast; bang bang bang. Hard, too. Peter let out a strangled cry and bit his forefinger, his eyes crossing and going glassy. "Okay?" Nathan prompted.
"God... yeah..." Peter lifted himself up a little bit more, and bounced a bit. Nathan held Peter's hips still, and arched himself up far, burying himself to the hilt again. Peter yelped and squeaked, "Ah! Ah, okay, okay..." Nathan smiled serenely, slamming up into him. Peter's thighs trembled, and he gripped his own cock so hard his knuckles went white; the motion of Nathan's hips made the shaft slip in and out of his encircled fingers.
Peter's body tipped backward, and Nathan followed him over, sitting up, Peter more or less doing a backbend while straddling Nathan's groin. Nathan bent his knees and held Peter's lower back, cradling him, easing the strain. "Now, this," Nathan said, spreading Peter's legs further. "Okay?" He thrust inside, and Peter pushed back, moaning low in his throat. "Are you okay?"
"Fuck me 'til you come," Peter gasped.
"You good? You done?"
"God, just fuck me. Fuck me 'til you're done. Fuck me as long as you want to. I just wanna..." Peter broke off, silenced, as Nathan slammed his mouth against his, tonguing him. Peter went so limp in Nathan's arms that Nathan backed away, pulled out, and settled Peter on his back, rubbing quickly up his thighs and stomach, pushing his knees up again. Nathan's cock found its way back into Peter's slick, relaxed hole easily, and Nathan thrust into him, more slowly, holding Peter's legs just far enough apart to give space to his narrow hips. "Do you like that best?" Peter asked, his voice soft and hopeful.
"It looks good," Nathan replied.
"It feels good. Is it gonna get you off?"
"What are you, bored?" Nathan thrust faster, harder.
"Ha ha... no... no. Please enjoy yourself." Peter laughed, eyes closed, his face flushed and sweaty. His cock was hard again, leaking clear juice across his belly.
"I am," Nathan said. He let Peter's legs go, instead grasping his hips, pulling Peter up and onto him, off the surface of the bed. He could fuck faster at this angle, and that's what he wanted now; hard and deep inside. He didn't want it to be over, but his cock and balls ached terribly, wishing to be unburdened. Peter was shaking. Time to get off now; if there was still time later, he could fuck Peter slow and gentle. But not now. Now was for the banging, the slamming, the desperate, breathless cries coming from Peter's throat. "Oh, you're so fucking beautiful," Nathan moaned, "oh, God, you little-"
He was coming. He didn't want to waste it by shooting his load into Peter's ass, as great as that was; so he pulled out, massaged the slippery shaft with his fingers, aiming the thick ribbons of semen across Peter's cock and balls and belly. He had come inside, a little bit; it leaked and dribbled out of him, and Nathan laughed joyfully, wiping it up, wiping it across Peter's buttocks and balls and thighs, holding his besmirched fingers to Peter's mouth and slipping them inside. Peter grimaced and flinched away, but Nathan just laughed some more, wiped up more come (from Peter's cock this time) and fed it to him again. "God, stop it! Gross!" Peter protested, shoving Nathan's arm away. But not too hard; not too vehemently. Not angrily. Just standing up for himself, for his own principles. Just to show Peter what his own principles were, Nathan licked his own fingers clean, gathered more of his own spunk from Peter's skin, and licked that, too.
Peter stared at him incredulously. When Nathan fed him again, he didn't protest, but his twisted, repelled expression showed just how much he liked it. "What does it taste like to you?" Nathan asked, genuinely curious, and feeling so sexed-up and filthy that he was practically high.
"It tastes like come and lube and ass," Peter grumbled.
"No, tell me specifically. Abstractly. Tell me. Are we wired differently?" Nathan wonderingly circled Peter's asshole with his fingertips, sliding them inside, massaging his semen into Peter's flesh, as if that could bring them closer together.
"Obviously," Peter replied. "It's like... that chemical taste, that glycerine taste. And, like, runny egg white. And mushrooms that weren't washed too well... that kind of mineral-y, meaty..." Nathan had moved up next to him, taken Peter into his arms, and started nibbling on his ear and neck, licking and sucking the skin, and then kissing his mouth in mid-sentence. "But kind of vinegary, too... kind of... mmm..."
"Salty?" Nathan murmured.
"A little," Peter admitted. "Not... as much as..."
When Nathan had finished kissing him again, Peter lay silent, with a peaceful smile on his face. "Your come, to me, tastes like Greek yogurt," Nathan murmured, circling Peter's sweat-moist nipples with his fingertips. "Just a hint of salt, a hint of honey. A little sour, but savory... I want more; I always want more. Sweet, like fresh water." He kissed Peter's lips again. "And your ass doesn't exactly taste like chocolate ice cream, either, but I'm still happy to eat the fuck out of it, whenever."
Peter laughed giddily. "I wish my ass did taste like chocolate ice cream," he said.
"You'd sprain yourself trying to get to it, so maybe that's for the best." Nathan reached down between them to touch Peter's cock; it wasn't as hard as it had been a moment ago. "Are you satisfied, or do you want to go another round? Maybe over the edge of the bed, doggy-style?"
"That sounds really good," Peter admitted softly. "But... I'm tired. Maybe later tonight I could, but right now... I think my ass has been reamed."
"Yeah," Nathan agreed, smiling. "Glad I could help."
"When I need cock, you're the one I call," Peter said.
"That's right," Nathan replied, kissing his brother again. "I love you," he added, "okay? You got that?"
"I'll try to remember that when you're shitty to me. Or you forget me. Or you use me, or...."
"What the-" Nathan moved aside, a flare of frustration going up hot inside him. "I just took time away from my life to come to you because you dreamt about me sticking my thumb up your butt last night, and you were too horny to do anything. A 'thank you' would be nice."
To Nathan's surprise, Peter didn't immediately cower apologetically. He gazed back, clear-eyed and calm. "Thank you," he said, "but you do. On a regular basis. I'm just saying."
"You ungrateful piece of shit," Nathan said, and didn't care that that was one of Arthur Petrelli's very favorite things to say to his youngest son.
Peter was struck by it, and he took a deep breath and lowered his gaze, but again, didn't apologize. If he was aware of the fact that he had ended their play session more effectively than a bucket of cold water would have done, he didn't see any need to answer for it. "I'm just saying," Peter stated again, shaking his head a little. He sat up and scooted off the side of the bed, pulling up the towels on which they'd had their fun. There was still semen leaking out of him, and the sight filled Nathan with a combination of disgust and regret. The sight of his jizz dripping out of Peter's asshole should have made him feel glorious, but it only made him feel used and gullible, and a little sickened at his own kinks. Why couldn't they just be normal brothers, and not this?
Peter wrapped one of the towels around his waist, and sat in the chair, next to Nathan's discarded sweater. He handed it over, then the rest of Nathan's clothes. "Hey," he said finally, "sorry, okay?"
"No, you're not," Nathan snapped. He wiped off with another towel. "Can I take a shower here, or should I go down to my gym?"
His brother's gaze was cold and steady; he looked like their mother, hurt and proud and resigned. "Go to the gym," Peter said. "It looks better. Don't you think? Comb your hair first, though; and wash your face. You didn't manage to lick it all up."
"What's wrong with you?" Nathan asked.
Peter lowered his eyes. "I don't know," he replied softly. "Post-coital depression, I guess. I'm losing you; I know it."
"No," Nathan insisted, "you're not." He got up and went to the bathroom to wash up; when he returned, he dressed, put on his coat, and made to leave without another word, without another glance in Peter's direction.
But Peter stood in front of the door, naked and pale, his eyes huge and full of longing and loneliness. He wrapped his arms around Nathan and hugged him tightly. "I love you," he said. "I do."
Nathan relented in the circle of Peter's arms, and kissed his hair, his forehead, his nose and mouth. "I love you, too," Nathan told him. "But it's gonna be a while before I touch you again. I'm not sure you can handle it anymore."
Peter let go abruptly, letting out a short, disbelieving breath. "Okay," he said, his voice twisted in on itself. "Whatever! Okay, well. You know. Whenever. Whenever you need me. I'm right here."
Nathan just stared at him for a moment. "I'll call you tomorrow," he murmured. But before he could make any promises he couldn't keep, either with his words or his body, he opened the door and added, "Get your shit together."
"Don't use that fucking phrase!" Peter screamed after him, and slammed the door behind him.
He didn't even wait until he was out of the building before he sent Peter a text message on his cell phone: Whenever you need me.
Peter sent back: Always and totally and forever.
END (49)