"Divulgence"--- (Nathan/Peter; NC-17)
Rating: NC-17 (sexual situations)
Settings/Spoilers: S1 (early episodes)
Notes: Sort of an angst/smut combo. Why, no, Daddy, of course I wasn't writing incestuous, gay pornography while you were at the store. *Shifty eyes*. Warnings include sex and incest, and some minor language. Obviously doesn't belong to me, but Tim Kring, NBC, etc. This piece was definitely inspired by entangled_now's brilliant Paper and Ink, or the general idea of Peter drawing conclusive pictures of the future that he and his brother are astounded to find. Thank you so much to my lovely betas airspaniel and fabrisse. Dedicated to thelost_one for not watching Heroes but discussing my fic with me anyway. Especially for misunderstanding my figurative "Peter is a puppy" statement ("What the hell?" said she. "This Nathan guy is having sex with a puppy dog?"), and for discussing a variety of nicknames for man parts. My favorites for Nathan included El Presidente and Presidential Podium, but alas, these are not actually used in my fic, as this is angst.
"Do you want this?" Nathan's saying, accusatory, shaking the crumpled pieces of paper at Peter. The papers with them, unmistakably, drawn over and over, like that, without intent.
He can say anything. He can say no, Nathan, no, I don't know why I'm drawing those, but it's not going to happen, okay? It's a fluke. The future won't happen like this.
Instead, he turns on Nathan and sounds almost angry when he says, "Yeah. Yeah, I do, okay?"
"No, this is not okay!" Nathan's voice is strained now, near-hysterical. "Why are you doing this to me, Peter? Do you know what this could do to my career?"
"Oh, yeah, your career, but not to us. You don't care what happens to us."
Nathan's coming closer, face angry and close to Peter's. "Yes, us, too. But I can't help that, obviously you've got your twisted ideas about what we are. We're brothers, Pete, and you can still say that you actually want this--"
"Yeah, well, you know what, Nathan, maybe I can't help it!" Peter yells back, feeling Nathan's breath on his face, tilting his shoulders forward, going towards him, all aggression. "Maybe I've tried, and it still comes back to this. Have you ever considered--?"
But Nathan's gripping the back of his head roughly and pulling him into a kiss, smashing lips and overheated breath and tongues together. Peter makes some sort of noise in the back of his throat and pulls them closer together. Nathan pulls his face away, gasping for breath, and turns his head, saying, "Shit, Pete," but Peter's erratic breathing isn't from anger anymore, and he grips Nathan's face in his hands, tries to turn his head to look into Nathan's eyes-- which Nathan isn't making easy, since he keeps jerking his head away. Peter kisses him, once, and Nathan pulls away. Then, again, Peter kisses him. This time, Nathan kisses back, with more fury than Peter would have ever expected. When they both finally pull away, standing in the room with their foreheads pressed together, bodies pressed together, breathing hard, Nathan slowly shakes his head.
He doesn't look into Peter's eyes when he says, "We're related. This is--" He swallows. "Illegal, not to mention morally really screwed up, and--"
"And you want me, Nathan." Peter's voice is soft and encouraging, now. "And I want you, and we love each other, so that's what's important here."
Nathan finally looks at him, grimly, sarcastically. "Right. And everyone else would see it that way."
"Well, we don't have to tell everyone else, do we?" Peter says, and starts planting kisses along Nathan's jawbone, dipping his fingers beneath the collar of Nathan's shirt, tugging it down, dropping kisses along Nathan's neck. Nathan's not protesting anymore, just tilting his head to the side, groaning a little. Peter's hard already, and from Nathan's hips and groin digging into his, he's pretty sure Nathan is, too. He lets out a small laugh of disbelief and nerves against Nathan's collarbone.
"Are you giggling?" Peter can tell Nathan's trying to sound angry, disgusted, but is failing miserably at it.
"Yeah, got a problem with that?"
"Yes." Nathan pushes Peter away by the shoulders and Peter actually backs up this time, looking at him, giving him space.
"Nathan, I--" Peter begins, but Nathan, looking downward, drained, shakes his head roughly.
"Just close the goddamn door, Peter."
"Uh, okay." He walks awkwardly to the parlor door, and shuts it, locks it, and starts working on the drapes of the windows. Nathan continues to stand in the middle of the room, the drawings scattered around him on the floor. He looks so defeated. Peter walks back over to him, now more concerned than aroused, and touches a hand lightly to his face.
"Nathan," Peter says, and Nathan finally turns and looks at him. Nathan looks like he's trying to speak, but is choked with emotion instead. He clears his throat, motions to the couch, and finally gets out a shaky, "Do you want to--?"
"The couch?" Peter asks doubtfully. "It's brand new and won't it--"
"The cover comes off; you can wash it. Forget it. Do you want to do this or not?"
"Yeah, I do." Peter comes back to him, kisses him again, and presses his hands, hard, against Nathan's sides, back, shoulders, trying to take in as much of him as he can, their noses breathing into each other's. Nathan, with some mixture of gentleness and annoyance, pushes away the thick lock of Peter's hair that gets in their way, into Peter's face, and then kisses him again, a little more gently, sucking on Peter's bottom lip. Peter looks into his eyes for a couple of moments, enjoying it-- they look at each other so much, but it's always different than this. It's wanting and not having, and this, now, is appreciation, astonishment, open and uninhibited want. Then again, Nathan still looks a little put-upon, but okay. He seems okay.
Nathan gives him a little push, but it's not violent, it's in the direction of the couch, and Peter takes his hands and leads him to it. Before they get there, Nathan motions matter-of-factly, and Peter grins and shakes his head, and undoes his jeans, pushes them down, steps out of them, until he's in a t-shirt and boxers, standing awkwardly in the middle of the parlor. He reaches for Nathan but Nathan shakes his head.
"You first, Pete," he says, and pushes Peter back onto the couch, makes him lay on his back. Nathan presses his knee first against Peter's crotch, and Peter gives a too-loud breath out, writhes a little under Nathan. Nathan transfers the knee to between Peter's legs, and touches Peter, instead.
Peter pushes his head back against the cushions of the couch and tries to enjoy Nathan's face, all lines and angles, tenacious. Peter makes sure to keep his eyes open, probably too wide.
Peter's breath is heaving now; he's squirming uncomfortably, pushing himself into Nathan's hand, clutching both his hands to the back of Nathan's neck, dragging him closer. Nathan's hand moves up and down, up and down, and he's touching all the perfect spots, he's so sure of himself. Peter thinks jealousy must've flashed across his face. "Have you ever done this with--?" he begins, but Nathan cuts in with, "I have one of these, too, Pete."
"Right," Peter gasps out, and Nathan's pace quickens, his face dark, determined, but his pupils dilated. Peter's almost whining, now. "God, Nathan, I'm going to-- I--" His breath is ragged, mouth wide open, desperately trying to gasp in, and spots keep flashing into his vision. "Nathan!"
"Yeah, Pete?" Nathan's voice is low and more affectionate, intimate, than Peter's heard in a long time from him.
"I-- I'm--" Peter begins, panicky.
Nathan slams his mouth into Peter's, even though Peter's trying to twist away his face so he can breathe, and Nathan touches him harder, quicker, kissing him and blocking the sounds cracking in the back of Peter's throat, until Peter comes, hard, over Nathan's hand, his boxers, and the couch.
He didn't want it over so soon, but Nathan's always had this way of making Peter let go, lose hold of whatever repression and control he's had-- not that he's ever more inhibited than Nathan. So Peter lays there and tries to regain some sanity, touches Nathan's face over again, letting out a shaky laugh.
"Oh god, Nathan." Peter's trying to get himself to breathe normally again, gasping in air. He flashes Nathan a slight grin, even though he looks so solemn. Peter reaches out a hand to Nathan's pants, fingers working at the zipper, but Nathan jerks away roughly, stands up, backs away like he's threatened.
"There's nothing wrong," Nathan begins shakily, putting a hand out to ward Peter away. Peter lays on the couch, bewildered for a moment, and Nathan continues. "With a guy helping out his brother. It happens all the time. But when it starts to get this mutual, it can't be explained away, Pete--"
"Yeah, because if it was nothing, we'd still be kissing each other. I don't want to explain it away, Nathan!" Peter says roughly, and stands up, too, even though he feels weak. "Come over here." Nathan looks like he's about to protest again, but instead allows Peter to take hold of his hand, take him back to the couch, sit him down. Peter kisses Nathan on the lips, in between muttering things like, "Just relax, Nathan," and "It's okay," hoping to be reassuring. Nathan's eyes are closed, now, and Peter kneels next to him on the couch, reaching a hand, rubbing Nathan's groin, kissing him softly again. Nathan's hand is gripping Peter's shoulder, first in what seems like an attempt to push him away, then like he's a support; like Nathan's the one who's off-balance, not the one who's sitting, leaning back, legs spread apart now, slacks unzipped and dangling open. Nathan's grip is so hard it almost hurts, and Nathan's thumb is rubbing Peter's shoulder sporadically, jerkily. Peter feels like he might topple over across Nathan's lap and hit his head on the arm of the couch, the way he's trying to sit, but he ignores it, and starts tugging on Nathan's pants and the briefs beneath, pulling them down around mid-thigh. He takes Nathan in his hand, and starts rubbing the shaft.
Closed where Peter was open, Nathan's eyes are squeezed shut, face almost looking pained, noises staying deep in his chest, air coming out only through little attempted-controlled breaths through tight lips. Peter's wrist is starting to hurt, but Nathan's face-- he presses harder, shifts his hand, sees what works.
"It's okay, Nathan," he says. "Just let go."
Nathan opens his clouded eyes and looks at him, squinting, and raises a hand in an attempt to swat Peter in the face. Peter moves his hand quicker, again, and Nathan arches back a little, letting out what sounds like a choked sob. Nathan's hand tangles itself in Peter's hair, tugging painfully, and Peter breathes out a little, kissing Nathan's jaw. He strokes Nathan a couple of more times, until Nathan's voice cracks on his name, "Pete," and he comes.
Peter comes tumbling into Nathan's lap, and wraps himself around Nathan, wiping his hand off on Nathan's slacks, kissing Nathan's face. "How are you?" he asks. He feels Nathan's chest rising and falling frantically underneath him.
"Fine," Nathan says croakily, and then kisses Peter on the mouth. He closes his eyes, sighs, and opens them again, shaking his head. "This is so twisted, Pete."
Peter raises himself up a little, abruptly. "No it isn't. You're thinking too much."
"You're not thinking enough. One of us has to be the one who--"
"Shut up, Nathan, please? Can we just-- I just-- I love you, okay?"
Nathan's silent for so long that the warm feeling in Peter's stomach starts draining away into cold, but he finally nods, almost curtly. "I love you, too," he says back.
Peter sighs, pushes some of his hair away. "Yeah, I know you do." And now he doesn't know what else to say. The drawings-- it has to mean it'll happen again. He saw them, they both did.
But right now, Nathan's looking so harshly off in the distance, though still slumped over, that Peter needs all the hope he can get. He sits down next to Nathan, and grabs his hand. Nathan squeezes back, hard, but his eyes are still turned away.