Rating: NC-17
Author: Trekker
Pairing: Peter/Nathan, Peter/Nathan/OFC
Fandom: Heroes
Spoilers: None
Warning: Threesome (M/F/M), incest, first time, brief, non-explicit references to physical/emotional abuse (from Arthur, not Nathan), slight consent issues at times, and smut, smut, smut. Oh yeah.
Moves in chess that are part of an incorrect plan rather than a mistake made while trying to follow a correct plan.
Outside of the restaurant, it was a cool October night, the air thick and wet, smelling like worms and oil. Nathan, though, was warm. His arm slung heavily over Peter's shoulder, fingers clutching almost painfully into the flesh of Peter's shoulder. Every step swung them staggeringly against each other, and Nathan's embrace was about one third affection and two thirds necessary to keep him moving in a straight line.
"Dude," Peter said, "You are so drunk." He kept his tone light, but he felt his brow furrow.
"I'm fine," Nathan protested airily, even as he missed a step and sent them both careening a few stumbling feet to Peter's side.
"Yeah, no," Peter said.
Nathan's fingers dug in deeper and Peter winced, then made an executive decision and changed course over to the brick wall of a shop, turning and shaking off Nathan's arm and thumping himself back against the brick. But instead of leaning beside him, Nathan was suddenly standing over him, bracing both hands on the brick behind him, over his shoulders, whisky-sweet breath in Peter's face.
"Hey," Nathan said. In the dimness, his eyes were unfathomably deep and dark, and Peter felt a strange quickening of his pulse, an uncertainty about where to put his hands, currently hanging in the air at his sides. Nathan seemed to bring with him a climate of his own, an alcoholic warmth that existed just here in the circle of his arms and vanished at the cold, damp wall against Peter's back. Peter's body flared hot and alive with a confusion of emotion. The full focus of Nathan's attention on him was as warming as his body heat, but Peter was aware of how they must look to the passersby.
Like a couple. Like two guys about to make out.
That thought ripped through his guts, wrenching his insides with literally painful lust, and almost instantly he was embarrassingly hard. A prickle of sweat broke out over his forehead and he shut his eyes as he thought, No. Wrong. Bad. Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts. Brother. Nathan.
He grabbed hold of Nathan's gaping-open overcoat with one hand out of sheer desperation for somewhere, anywhere, safe to put his hand. His other he pressed back against the brick as Nathan disturbingly said nothing, just kept breathing that breath across Peter's lips.
Peter was a pervert. A freak. He knew it. He was trying to be cool about it. But what was Nathan doing?
He forced his eyes open, but it didn't make anything any clearer. Nathan was just looking at him, searching his face with those dark, dark eyes.
Finally, he said something. "I'm gettin' married in a week."
Like they didn't both already know this. Like maybe he liked to see the way that twisted some knife in Peter's gut for reasons Peter could never, ever admit, and were stupid, anyway, because nothing was ever going to happen like that. Nothing should happen. Nathan wasn't like that anyway, Nathan was better than that. Nathan would never do anything to hurt him. Nathan was better than... Peter squeezed his eyes shut again, tightly, uncaring that Nathan would see his sudden gesture of raw emotion. Not thinking about Dad. No, no, no. Not thinking about him.
"Hey," Nathan said, again, "You okay?" He'd lifted one hand from the damp brick and he trailed his fingers--sharply cold--around Peter's jaw, stopping at his chin, two fingers tilting Peter's head back slightly. Peter pushed his eyes open again, and Nathan's face was even closer, purely warm, smelling good like Nathan always somehow did, like it was something intrinsic about him.
Peter twisted his lip, struggling for a smile or something like it, but it felt more like a grimace. "I love you, Nathan," he said. It was out of place, melodramatic; it wouldn't make sense to him, but Peter needed to say it, he needed to remember it.
He needed Nathan's almost-instant and reflexive reply, "I love you, too, Pete."
It relaxed something in him, made his spine loosen, made it okay to move his hand from Nathan's coat up to cup around his neck, fingers splayed on the cool nape, prickled by Nathan's close-cropped hairline. He shifted uncomfortably against the wall, and realized that now they looked even more like a couple, that this was how he'd hold a girl right before he dared to kiss her. Nathan's hand was still on his own throat, warmed up now by Peter's skin, the heavy side of his palm pressing against Peter's windpipe in a way that could have been uncomfortable but instead just felt...
Intimate.
That was the word for all this, and that realization made Peter's heart and dick both lurch again.
Pervert, he thought roughly. Slut. Fuck up. What the hell is wrong with you?
Then suddenly, Nathan kissed him. Sloppy and rough and quick, it was a glancing, wet contact at the very corner of Peter's lips. It snapped through Peter like a blow, like an orgasm, awful and awesome.
But Nathan was just smiling, then ruffling his hair, then stepping back. Just a brother, just affectionate.
Peter was shaking.
"Hey, come on," Nathan said, lightly, ambulating with relative competence, though another pedestrian still had to alter course quickly to avoid being backed into, "There's one more place I wanna go."
Peter wanted to go home. He just wanted to curl up in bed and resolutely not jack off and close his eyes tight and pretend he wasn't the freak that he so clearly was. He wanted some time to compose himself, so he could just be Nathan's brother, just be glad to be with him, without the confusion of his misaimed and fucked-up sex drive getting in the way.
But Nathan, as he'd said, was getting married in a week. There probably wouldn't be another chance to be with him like this, so Peter wasn't about to let this night end any sooner than it had to.
To his surprise, Nathan stepped out to the curb and waved down a cab. So, it wasn't just some local somewhere that Nathan opportunistically wanted to go, it was somewhere specific. Somehow, the idea of being taken to one of Nathan's favored haunts after their evening in a too-familiar family-favorite restaurant bar was enough to shake Peter out of his mood.
In the cab, Nathan was close again, seatbelt off, arm slung over his shoulders again, cinching Peter against Nathan's side. Nathan wasn't saying anything. He was back to just looking again, like he'd never seen Peter before and he was trying to decipher him somehow. Their thighs were pressed together, feet touching, and Peter saw the cabby glance at them in the rearview mirror and realized that again, they must look like a couple.
He wanted to say something. Anything. Ask where they were going. But he couldn't make his throat work, everything was dried out. Nathan's hand was curled in on his shoulder, and his fingertips were trailing hypnotically up and down the side of Peter's neck. Peter's dick was still half-hard, but the way Nathan was touching him was inspiring more delicate feelings, little shivers of excitement that trickled across his skin in waves and made his stomach flutter inside.
The desire to kiss Nathan rose up in him suddenly and violently, as it did sometimes, an illicit and horrible idea that felt more like need sometimes than want and made Peter tighten down on himself out of fear that if he so much as let himself resettle himself in his seat he'd suddenly find himself throwing himself at Nathan. Still, he couldn't stop the thought. Nathan's lips were right there, alternately vanishing and highlighted as the varying light of the city flowed over Nathan's face. Peter found his gaze trapped by that perfect, sharp 'v' of the bow of Nathan's lips, and thought over and over with the force of an obsession what it would feel like to run his tongue over it, what Nathan would do about it. He wasn't even sure if he wanted Nathan to kiss him back or hit him for it. Not that Nathan had ever hit him, but in that context, for some reason, the idea held either some strange appeal or some deep horror.
Nathan wet his lips and Peter had to look away, shuddering with a feeling he'd only recently learned to recognize and name. Lust.
He folded his hands in his lap and looked resolutely at the seat back in front of him and all he could feel was the slow throb of blood in his erection and the continuous, maddening stroking of Nathan's fingertips on his neck. Every time the cab turned or slowed or sped, the living bulk of Nathan's body shifted against Peter's.
Finally, abruptly, he realized he had the capacity for speech, and he burst out with, "So, where are we going?" and he sounded gloriously casual and sane.
"Club," Nathan said.
"A club? Like with dancing?" Peter for a second felt blissfully brotherly and weirded out by even the notion of Nathan dancing.
"Yeah," Nathan said. "You've got your ID, right?"
Peter snorted, suddenly giddy with normalcy. "You mean the one you 'don't know anything about?'"
Nathan chuckled and his thumb brushed Peter's jaw, and everything collapsed back into confusion for Peter even as Nathan sounded completely normal, saying, "Yeah, that one."
"Sure, yeah," Peter managed to say, curling his arms around his stomach, feeling sick at his own perversity again. He tried to reach for the comfortable feelings again, saying, "You dance?"
"No," Nathan said, drawing out and drawling the word, clearly as amused by the notion as Peter had been.
"So, then why are we going to a club?"
Nathan shrugged, his arm tugging on Peter's shoulders as he did it, and he just smiled. "Why not?"
Peter rolled his eyes, somewhere between relaxing under the brotherly aggravation and tensing up further at the mystery. He slightly unwrapped one arm from around himself enough to poke Nathan in the ribs. "That's not an answer."
To Peter's consternation and imbalance, Nathan pressed in close again, his nose bumping against Peter's temple, his whisky-scented breath invading Peter's nostrils again. "Women, little brother," he murmured into Peter's ears, like a benediction or a revelation, like Peter was too hopelessly young and naive to have ever even heard of sex, and Nathan was going to benevolently introduce him to the entire concept.
He followed up this pronouncement with a nuzzle, his five-o-clock shadowed chin rasping once against Peter's sensitive earlobe and sending another small earthquake of lust through Peter.
Women.
Peter's stomach twisted with relief and disappointment and moral outrage.
"You're getting married," he pointed out, going with the simplicity of the outrage over the complexity of the others, curling his arms tighter around himself.
"I'm not married yet," Nathan answered, and then the cab pulled up to the curb.
There was a flurry of transitional activity, and then they were coming up to the door of the club, Peter already feeling the flutter of the bass against his skin and down in his bones and, most disconcertingly, in his still-hard cock. "So, what, you're gonna just pick someone up and abandon me? Nice. Classy."
"Not the plan," Nathan said, distractedly. His hand had settled in the crook of Peter's elbow, both guiding and restraining him as Nathan headed for the bouncer. "Get your ID out."
It was hot and loud inside, everything rendered into artistic unreality by strobe lights and a throbbing beat and too many bodies moving too much in too tight of a space. The air was heavy with perfume and alcohol and fresh, active sweat. Peter followed Nathan blindly through the crowd, clutching his shirt to not lose him, overwhelmed by the crowd after the worrisome privacy and quiet of the cab. He felt vaguely abandoned without Nathan's disconcerting gaze on him.
He was still disgruntled by the time they were sitting at a table with their drinks. His disgruntlement didn't improve when Nathan gestured at the crowd on the dance floor and said, grandly, "Pick one you like," like they were at an auction or something.
"Dehumanizing much?" Peter shouted back to him over the noise.
Nathan waved his hand dismissively. "Co'mon. Humor me!"
Peter turned his so-far-untouched glass around and around on the table and did a quick sweep of the crowd, tense and rebellious inside. Jealous. Upset over being so misunderstood even though the last thing he wanted was for Nathan to understand.
Eventually, one girl caught his eye. Pretty redhead, short and laughing. He gestured towards her. "That one. Redhead."
Nathan leaned in his seat, searching her out. Peter watched him watch her for a few moments, eyes narrowed and calculating, dark and dangerous in the flashes of light that caught them. Then Nathan shook his head. "No, not her."
Peter threw up his hands. "What? Are you like, judging my taste or something? Screw you."
But Nathan wasn't paying attention. He was looking off and away, searching the crowd. Then, suddenly, he touched Peter's arm and pointed. "Blonde. Dark top. Dancing with with that Latino guy. See her?"
Still feeling resentful from Nathan's rejection, Peter sought her out. She didn't look very nice. There was a flash of coldness in the glimpse he got of her face. Nathan liked girls like that, though, so that wasn't really a surprise. After Peter had gotten over the initial shock of Nathan being engaged, he'd been at least relieved at his choice of mate. Heidi actually seemed like someone Peter could get along with.
"Doesn't do anything for me," Peter said of the blonde, making sure to sound even less enthralled than he even was, just to maybe give Nathan a hint of the same self-doubt Nathan had so effortlessly given Peter.
Nathan just shrugged amiably, though, and continued to scope out the crowd.
Peter had had about enough of this game, though. "Okay, this is weird. What are we even doing here?"
Suddenly, Peter had Nathan's full attention again, and it induced the same stomach-flipping feelings it had against the wall of that shop earlier. Nathan's toothy smile seemed dangerous. Predatory. "Getting a girl. You and me."
A girl. You and me.
In a rush, Peter understood, helped along by Nathan's raised, suggestive brow. Peter sucked in a breath sharply. "Oh, no. No way--"
Nathan leaned in close, close enough that Peter could hear when he growled low, "Come on, Pete. Haven't you ever thought about it? We're good together. Why not?"
'Why not?' seemed to be Nathan's catch phrase tonight, and it was echoed in his eyes, bright and a little wild and still far too intoxicated. He stroked the back of Peter's hand and it had far more effect than Nathan possibly could have intended. And a far different effect than Nathan could have intended.
A thousand reasonable objections rose up in Peter's mind--I'm eighteen! You're about to get married! We're brothers!--but far stronger and far more vivid was the image of Nathan, naked and fucking. And Peter being there, legitimately, in some bizarre guy-code sort of way.
It literally took his breath away. Made him dizzy, made his finally-softening dick spring back up to full, painful readiness. Demanding, urgent. He was trembling all over suddenly, drink forgotten in his hand, the club dimming and quieting around him. Here was a free offer of everything he'd wondered about, everything that he'd stayed awake long nights trying desperately to exorcise with bottles of hand lotion and boxes of tissues and tears running down his cheeks in the dark. Nathan's dick, Nathan's kiss, how Nathan touched people, how he looked when he came.
Nathan, who was watching him now, like he could read Peter's mind, his gaze steady and inexorable.
"Okay," Peter breathed, helpless not to agree, even as terror gripped him just as strongly as want. "Yeah, okay."
Nathan looked back to the floor, tracking again the blonde he'd indicated earlier. Peter suddenly found he deeply didn't care about who the girl would be. "She's all right, I guess," he said, just managing to get his voice to be loud enough to be heard.
Briefly and distractedly, Nathan glanced back at him, and then nodded. "Stay here," he said, and got up, leaving his drink and heading into the crowd.
Peter was still dizzy. His head felt heavy and foggy, and all he could think was to marvel at Nathan's apparent arrogant assumption that he could convince any girl in the place to have sex with him. With them.
Jesus. And then, This is such a bad idea. But he knew he wouldn't object. He needed it, he needed to see Nathan like this, and not just because of the feeling he knew he should have. He needed to know, for sure, forever, that Nathan wasn't Dad. That men could be decent, that guys like Peter could stand a chance, even if they were "too nice" and "just like a girlfriend!" He wasn't exactly a virgin, but he suspected he was a lot closer to than Nathan had any clue about.
Peter was starting to actually get bored by the time Nathan reappeared, girl-less but grinning.
"Rejected?" Peter said, and was surprised to find a bit of hope squeezing into the word.
"Me?" Nathan said, "Never!" And though it was clear from his wink he was kidding about his prowess in general, it was also clear from him finishing off his drink in two swallows and tossing a bill on the table that they were leaving, and he didn't seem annoyed enough about it to have failed.
Anticipation and nerves shot through Peter as he hopped up from the barstool and again followed Nathan through the crowd, this time towards the exit.
The blonde girl was on the curb outside, already holding a cab for them. Her eyes--cold--swept over Peter in an assessing glance, and she said, to Nathan, "He is a pretty little thing," approvingly. Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes, or comment back with, "Yeah, and he's a jerk." In the end, he didn't say anything, but neither the girl nor Nathan seemed to notice.
In the cab, Nathan took the middle seat. As soon as they pulled away from the curb, he and the girl were kissing, and Peter still didn't even know her name. Nathan's hand, he saw, was curled around her hip, familiarly, as if they'd known each other for years rather than minutes. Peter heard their lips part with a wet click and wasn't sure if the sound was alluring to him or revolting.
"Pete," Nathan said, finally, "This is Angelica."
Angelica? They, brothers, were going to have sex with a woman who had practically the same name as their mother? Nathan showed no sign of noticing anything odd about this.
Unsure of the protocol, Peter managed a small, stupid wave and said, "Hi. I'm Peter."
Up front, the driver snorted audibly, apparently catching on to their plans.
"Hey, shut up and drive," Angelica snapped.
Peter felt his initial dislike for her deepen, but he tried to fight it off. The fact that Nathan's hand was still resting on her bare back and they were looking at each other like they were trying to decide whether they wanted to kiss each other again now or enjoy the anticipation wasn't helping. Jealousy burned low in Peter's gut and he turned away suddenly to his own window, but only so he could watch them more surreptitiously in their reflection. They seemed to have quickly decided that anticipation was overrated and they were kissing again. Angelica's hand was sliding around Nathan's hip and then lower, curling around his ass and gripping it. Nathan grunted softly, sounding surprised and pleased, and Peter's dick kicked in his pants at the sound.
After too many blocks of lip noises and unintelligible whispers, the cab stopped in front of a ritzy hotel. Peter would have known the name of the place if he'd bothered to reach for it, but he didn't. Ultimately, they were all the same as far as he could ever tell, although Mom had all sorts of detailed opinions on all of them, her final analyses ranging from "barely acceptable" to "wouldn't stay there if the world was ending." Peter followed Nathan and Angelica into the lobby feeling like he was sixteen and trailing his parents again, sulking four feet back and trying to look like he wasn't really with them. He failed to notice if the doorman's shoes were shined or whatever detail it was Mom would have inevitably talked about for the next three days.
Nathan went to get a room and Peter and Angelica by some silent agreement (or not silent, earlier, between her and Nathan), stood off together to wait.
Standing with her, Peter finally got a chance to look at her, as she was looking at him. In her stilettos, she was taller than him by a couple of inches, Nathan's height almost exactly. Her eyes were some color too exotic to be real--tinted lenses, maybe--a sort of sea foam green. Her nails were long and sharp and french-tipped and her thick, unnaturally blonde hair was styled in carefully deliberate wind-tousled curls. For the first time, Peter was far enough away from the oddity of the whole situation to feel some attraction to her, though in truth she really wasn't his type, and even alone together, she was intimidating.
In part, maybe his attraction now was simply because he knew that he could--would--have her. It heightened his awareness of the shadow of her cleavage vanishing into the low-cut front of her dark top and the perfect sweeping curve of her waist. She wasn't a girl, she was clearly a woman, easily older than him by eight years at least. Her lipstick was slightly smudged, and when he really connected that it was Nathan's mouth that had smudged it, his desire for her was suddenly consuming. His mind filled with the idea of fucking her, what her slick, hot insides would feel like around him, whether her impassive facade would crack under passionate circumstances, how the curve of her waist would fit to his hands.
When Nathan rejoined them and they got in the elevator, before Nathan could say anything or stake a claim, Peter startled himself with his own boldness, catching her around that enthralling waist and finding her lips with his own. He felt hopelessly outclassed and painfully inexperienced, but she bent willingly to allow the kiss, even letting his tongue in to sweep once along the startlingly sharp ridge of her teeth, and it was the power rush more than the physical sensation that sent fire roaring down his spine. That, and knowing that Nathan was watching.
He opened his eyes, and instead of jealousy, found hunger and interest in Nathan's expression as Nathan lounged, seemingly casually, back against the wall of the elevator and watched them, hands in his pockets. Peter realized with a shock that between the bulges of Nathan's hands, he could make out the ridge of his dick, angled up in his pants, clearly hard. Peter suddenly ached with the urge to see it, to feel it, and the urge felt far deeper and more real than his sexual curiosity about Angelica out in the lobby.
He must have been staring, because Angelica suddenly stepped back from him, quick enough for his loose hands to slip off her waist. She cleared her throat and said, "So, how do you boys know each other?"
Nathan hadn't told her they were brothers? Something about that tugged at him, whispered to him, but before Peter could say anything, Nathan cut him off with, "Work."
"He your boss?" she said to Peter.
That distracted Peter from the mystery of Nathan's lie, and he couldn't help a derisive snort. "No," he said, firmly, looking at Nathan with cheerful defiance.
Nathan grinned. "But I'm still his superior."
"Huh!" Peter laughed, giddy with his sudden elevation to Nathan's near-equal. "That's what he thinks." He said to Angelica, mock-confidentially. "Nathan was in the Navy. He still has this, like, chain of command fetish."
Angelica arched one well-groomed, dark brow and looked at Nathan with cool, thoughtful eyes. "Does he now?"
Peter immediately worried that he maybe shouldn't have used that word. Nathan, though, just gave her a what-can-you-do gesture and an innocent bob of his eyebrows, effortlessly charming and suave in that way that always made Peter want to interrogate him, demand to know how he made it work and how Peter could emulate it. But the elevator bell rang and it slid to a barely-perceptible stop and the doors glided open with the kind of perfect frictionless function that would have put a check mark in Mom's "barely acceptable" column.
Nathan unlocked the door with the keycard, and Angelica swept immediately into the darkened room, trailing her fingers across Nathan's chest as she passed. She left behind a breeze of sweet perfume.
Nathan turned to Peter, leveling him with an inscrutable look that nonetheless made Peter shiver inside, and then Nathan just raised his arm and tilted his head towards the room--lit now, Angelica must've found a light switch. Feeling like he was stepping off a ledge, Peter headed into the room. Nathan's hand settled on his shoulder, companionable yet tight, and Nathan followed him in and shut the door behind them.
The light was on in the bedroom part of the suite, but out here everything was still in cool blue shadow, lurking tables and couches and flowers on the desk next to the little placard with instructions for accessing the internet.
Peter looked back at Nathan, suddenly wishing for privacy for a moment, to talk to him, to try to understand this, why they were doing this, why Nathan was doing this, what he thought would come of it, what he wanted to happen. But Nathan seemed to not want that, privacy or a talk. He didn't exactly push Peter along, but he kept his hand on his shoulder as he headed to the back room where Angelica--and the bed--was.
Angelica had thrown the sheets off the bed and turned on the radio, tuned low to some pop station. Celine Dion was crooning that her heart would go on (and on.) Angelica straightened up from messing with the radio and turned and smirked. She crossed the room like a lioness, clearly on the hunt, and it made Peter's pulse quicken in ways not all entirely good. He realized an association he'd been trying to make... she reminded him of the mean girls in high school, the ones who were always ready and waiting to pounce on a wounded loser and tear him to bits. Peter had been that loser a few times, so his unnerve now made a bit more sense to him.
Either way, she passed right by him and pressed her hands to Nathan's chest, walking him willingly backwards until he bumped up against the frame of the archway into the bedroom, where she caught his wrists in both hands and dragged them up the wall over his head and kept them pinned there in the crook between one hand's thumb and forefinger. Nathan was grinning and relaxing, letting her restrain him. Her other hand dropped down swiftly and grasped his cock through his pants.
Peter sucked in a sharp breath. Nathan dropped his head back, and closed his trapped hands into fists. Angelica was rubbing him languidly with an open palm, watching his face with a tight half-smile. Peter stood, frozen and enthralled and a little shocked, as if some part of him had been expecting them all to get here and then have Nathan and Angelica laugh at how they'd sure pulled one over on him. But no. No. She was pulling Nathan's shirt out of his pants now, and Peter couldn't quite see, but her arm was moving obviously enough to make it clear she was undoing the button of Nathan's pants. Peter heard the quiet hiss of Nathan's zipper even over Destiny's Child on the radio. Then suddenly realized Nathan was looking at him as Angelica slipped her hand into his pants.
Nathan's smiled at him, low and hot, as he slowly rocked his hips into her hand. Peter couldn't move or breathe. He could feel his own nails biting into his palms. Angelica did something and Nathan's long lashes--beautiful, fuck, Peter couldn't handle how beautiful he was, shouldn't have thought about how beautiful he was--fluttered and he groaned softly, still trapped against the wall and not even pulling against Angelica's restraining hand.
Then Nathan bent his head forward and whispered something to Angelica. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder at Peter, smirking. Peter's heart pounded again, confused and excited, and she pushed back from Nathan, saying "Stay" and pointing at him like he was a dog. Peter's world rocked a little when Nathan only smiled and did; he even kept his hands up and back against the wall.
Her body blocked Peter's view, and he couldn't get a look at Nathan's cock.
And then she was up against him, one arm around his back, one hand on his chin, tilting his head back so she could kiss him. For a moment, he wanted to protest. He wanted to see Nathan, see if he was still standing obediently against the wall, see if he was watching Peter get kissed. Then she whispered, her lips moving against his, her breath in his mouth, "Shh. Relax, pretty boy. He's fine. Just go with it." She kissed around his jaw, still holding his head back, then nipped his earlobe, the one Nathan's stubble had rasped against what seemed like years ago. She was unbuttoning his shirt, from the bottom up, and it was odd but exciting to have a girl be so in charge. A woman. He was so out of his league. She finished with his shirt and gently raked her long nails down his chest and he hissed at the sensation, feeling his poor dick twinge. God, he'd been hard for a long time.
Then, suddenly, arms pushed their way in between him and Angelica. A cold watch lightly scraped his stomach. Oh, god, Nathan. Warm curls of arm hair tickled Peter's belly as Angelica said, "I said 'stay.'"
"Got bored," Nathan said, leaning over her shoulder and nuzzling her throat, centimeters from Peter's face. Peter was still completely focused on the feeling of Nathan's arms against his bare stomach. Nathan must've taken his shirt off.
"Naughty boy," Angelica said.
"Mmm," Nathan hummed agreeably.
Angelica's body was swaying slightly, and Peter realized it was because Nathan was nudging her rhythmically with his hips.
"Very naughty," Angelica said, her voice husky with approval.
She twisted her head around and they kissed. Angelica's hand was still hooked around Peter's neck, clearly forgotten there, but it was holding him so close he was almost kissing them. He held himself back nervously and carefully. He could see the small tension and relaxation of Nathan's eyelids and brows, watch as his tongue teased around the outsides of her lips as she tried to lean and catch it. Peter focused in on the contrast of Nathan's hard wristbones and muscle against his stomach beside the softness of Angelica's breasts against his chest.
Nathan broke the kiss and whispered, "God, I want to fuck you."
Something snapped inside Peter. The words hadn't been aimed at him, but he was so close he could feel the air of the words against his ear, the soft vibration of the edge of Nathan's deep voice. Yes. God, yes. Nathan. Anything, I'll do anything, please.
And, god. Oh, god. Nathan's eyes were locked right on his. Steady and calm, even as Angelica arched against Nathan and said, "Mmm, so soon?"
Nathan kissed her cheek, breaking that eye contact and leaving Peter bereft and shaky. "Hey, there's two of us, honey. We'll keep you happy." Then his eyes were on Peter again, and his voice was soft and intimate as he said, "Right, Pete? You and me?"
The small surge of anger that had been welling up in Peter vanished in a shuddery instant. "Yeah," he said, though he was thinking how he had no idea what exactly Nathan thought he was gonna do, and he was starting to feel way out of his depth again--drowning, panicking quietly, but bouyed by the easy warmth of Nathan's gaze, promising support and safety. "Sure."
"You two done this before?" Angelica asked, twisted and leaning back slightly, apparently to better watch them stare at each other.
Nathan's eyes didn't move as he said, "Not us. I have."
Peter wondered, With who? but he didn't ask.
Angelica chuckled and startlingly pinched his butt. "Jealous, pretty boy?"
Peter couldn't think how to reply, so he just let the comment pass. With another man, though? Who would Nathan have known that well? In the Navy, maybe?
"Buddy from Annapolis," Nathan said, with an I-read-your-mind wink as they all parted from each other.
"Boyfriend?" Angelica interjected, as she unselfconsciously peeled off her top.
"No," Nathan said, simply.
Peter noticed with disappointment and a bit of relief that Nathan had done his pants back up, probably at the same time he'd taken off his shirt. Nathan turned to Angelica and caught her arm as she reached back for the clasp of her bra. "Allow me," he said, with a grin, coming around behind her. Then, "Com'ere, Pete."
Peter stepped closer and Angelica got him by the arm and pulled him up close as Nathan undid the clasp of her bra and it fell loose around her shoulders. She let it fall off without looking at it or Peter, leaning her head back and to the side as Nathan kissed up her neck and ran his hands up her front, cupping her freed breasts with a quiet moan of appreciation. Then he reached out and caught Peter's wrists and drew his hands up. Peter hesitated and resisted for a second, some misplaced sense of decency stopping him for a second and earning him an amused smirk from Angelica before he let Nathan settle his hands where Nathan's had been. "Keep her occupied," Nathan said, then dropped to a kneel behind her.
This constant performance of a dance he didn't know the steps to was beginning to wear on Peter. He was becoming all too aware of how limited his bag of sexual tricks was. He'd thought he could kiss fairly competently, but compared to what he'd been watching Angelica and Nathan do, and the pleasure they seemed to be deriving from it, he felt hopelessly amateurish. His hands were on her breasts and he could feel her nipples were hard against his palms, but he wasn't really sure what exactly to do about it. He shifted his hands and moved his thumbs listlessly over the tight swells of flesh, too unsure to derive any pleasure from the act himself, and too aware of Angelica's sea foam eyes watching him, judging his every move and no doubt finding it lacking.
Down at her waist, Nathan had unfastened her skirt and let it fall and was working on peeling down her pantyhose. Peter felt miles away from him, scared and alone, wanting Nathan's hands on him, his voice murmuring in his ear--he wanted them to be alone together, even if it meant being alone together clothed and playing darts or something in some boring bar. For the first time since Nathan had leaned over him against that wall, Peter was utterly un-aroused.
Great, he thought down at his dick. You get hot and bothered when Nathan looks at me funny, but you don't care when I'm groping a pretty lady's breasts.
And he wasn't gay. He was sure he wasn't, because he'd had girlfriends he'd been really excited about. He wasn't sure he was straight, though. There were guys he'd been into, and not just Nathan. But this utter lack of interest was a whole different thing than he'd ever experienced. He'd gotten a hard-on during a history test once from an essay about Joan of Arc. Apparently he had some kind of thing for heroes/martyrs or something.
"I think we're losing Pretty Boy," Angelica said, directing the comment down between her legs to Nathan, who was just finishing getting the last leg of her pantyhose off over her toes.
"Oh?" he said, like she was commenting on the weather.
"I have a name, you know," Peter mumbled, but was unsurprised to be ignored by Angelica.
She was saying, "In my purse, flavored condoms."
"Cherry or grape?"
Angelica gave Peter an unmasked look of derision and said, "Cherry. Obviously."
He felt helpless, and too embarrassed to protest that he wasn't a virgin, he was just... just eighteen, for fuck's sake. Of course, it was possible she didn't actually know that. Nathan probably told her he was at least twenty-one, if the question had come up at all.
Girls--women--fascinated him, their bodies and their minds so different and strange and awesome, but he froze up with them. He didn't know where he was allowed to touch them, or even where they wanted to be touched, and they wouldn't or couldn't, in the case of his girlfriends who were as clueless as him, tell him what they wanted.
Nathan came up to them and caught her arm, turning her to him and kissing her, which softened his next words, low and gently (too gently, in Peter's opinion) disapproving, "Be nice." Then, more to Peter's satisfaction, he added, "We don't have to do this."
And Peter could totally understand what a threat having Nathan taken away was, and why Angelica answered him with, "Okay, babe. Whatever you say."
She spun away from Nathan and approached Peter again with a look of determination. She was utterly naked, adorned with nothing but a beaded necklace and her gold hoop earrings and the pink-wrapped condom she now held between thumb and forefinger, brandished at Peter like a weapon.
She reached him and pushed his open shirt off down his arms and then, without pause, roughly undid his pants. She held his eyes with a blazing intensity, not nice at all, and Peter could see his own jealousy reflected in them and even though he still didn't like her, for a moment, he understood her. Not all of her, of course, she was still practically a blank slate outside of this room, but he understood her in the context of this moment.
It made him say, "He picked you out, you know. You. He wouldn't even consider anyone else."
It wasn't even quite the truth, but he knew it was the right thing to say, because her eyes changed, and after she'd glanced briefly at Nathan behind her, her fingertips trailed lightly down Peter's thighs as she pushed down his pants and boxers. The touch was almost friendly, almost intimate.
She jerked her chin, indicating something behind him, and said, "Sit on the bed, Pretty Boy. I'm gonna rock your world."
He felt himself smile, feeling a tiny bit more in control, a tiny bit of power as he realized he could reach her, somehow. That they had something in common, for all she was an enigma. He sat on the edge of the bed, splaying his knees as she knelt and pushed them open. Shyness and excitement as he realized he was really naked in front of her, his dick practically in her face, her now on her knees and one hand before him, the wrapped condom tossed carelessly beside him on the flat, white sheet.
As she curled her hand around his dick, squeezing and pulling, he looked up, seeking Nathan without realizing he was doing it.
Nathan was naked. Peter's cock leapt in Angelica's hand and he distantly heard her make a small surprised sound. Naked. Nathan. Stepping towards them, golden skin and dark hair and his cock was hard, standing up tall and proud out of the nest of dark curls at his groin. The shaft was thick, dark with blood, roped with veins and the head was shiny and mauve--the color of Angelica's lipstick, Peter noted dumbly. His balls were covered in dark, softer-looking hair, and in that moment, Peter would have happily died for just a chance to touch them and feel the yielding weight of them in his palm. Or on his tongue. His mouth went completely dry, and startlingly, something cold and wet touched his dick.
The condom. He realized he was completely hard, and Angelica was smoothing the flavored, pink latex over him.
When he looked back up from looking down at that, he realized Nathan's gaze had settled on him. Down at him, or at least at what Angelica was doing to him. Nathan didn't seem to realize Peter had seen him, and after a moment, he seemed to shake himself and got down on his knees behind Angelica, saying, "Hey, honey," as a heads-up before he ran his hands up her back. Then he was ripping open a condom packet, and--just at the moment when Angelica took his dick in her mouth--that Nathan was going to fuck her while she was--
Her mouth slid down around him, tongue pressing hard up under the head, and it was so intense it almost hurt, and oh, God, Nathan was stroking his cock and shifting closer--Peter sank his fingers deep into the edge of the mattress and whimpered--would have wailed if he'd had more air in his lungs. Too much. God, too much. And Nathan smiled at him as he tilted his cock down and braced his hand on Angelica's waist and pushed with his hips.
She hummed around Peter's cock and he saw her push back, saw Nathan's chin tip up slightly, but only a bit, restrained so his eyes were still locked on Peter's as he gasped out a small, "Oh, yeah."
Peter's hips jerked involuntarily, and Angelica grunted and pulled off. "Don't do that."
It was like everything Peter had ever thought of as sex had just been something he'd seen through a low-res camera, and he'd just then seen it for real... felt it, tasted it, smelled it.
Angelica sucked him hard and something sparked between his spine and his balls, and suddenly he was right on that knife's edge of orgasm. Nathan watched him, his eyes perfectly steady on Peter's as his body rolled with a slow, easy rhythm. Peter was just trying to breathe, just trying not to come so soon, trying not to let it end.
He forced his throat to work, enough to shakily whisper, "Ang--" He abbreviated her name not out of affection, but out of simple inability to face so many syllables. "Please, easy, I'm... I'm really close." He curled his toes tight, feeling the roughness of the carper under his toe-tips, dug his nails into the mattress hard. She pulled off, holding the base of his dick, digging her thumb into some spot between the shaft and his balls that didn't exactly hurt, but it did cool some of the urgency instantly. He sighed with relief, and didn't even mind Nathan's amused but friendly smile.
And then... then, amazingly, he could just watch. He could trace his eyes along the yellow lamplight falling across Nathan's moving muscles. He could note that Nathan's nipples were pink and hard, sharp points on his chest. He could learn the shape of the hair on Nathan's chest, the way it narrowed down on his stomach before it widened out again at his groin. Nathan said nothing and watched him too, with a small smile on his face. He even leaned back a bit, stretching out his torso, tensing his powerful biceps as he held Angelica's hips--it was like he was showing off.
Next to him, under the soft scrutiny of Nathan's gently roaming eyes, Peter felt incredibly... scrawny. Nervous and jerky, too given to gasps of shocked pleasure at any random small move Angelica--or Nathan--made. He glanced down his own body, trying to disguise it as a look down at Angelica. He wasn't completely without muscle, but it was all lean runner's muscle, nothing about it seemed all that "adult" or impressive to him. He wondered what Nathan was thinking, if he was prepping a lecture in his head on the topic of muscle building and weight lifting, or if he was just pleased that his little brother's body would never be the museum piece Nathan's was. He did end up looking at Angelica, fascinated by the shape of her lips around his oddly reddish-swathed dick.
His dick was respectable enough in length, but like the rest of him, it was skinny. Erect, it was smooth and baby pink as a blush. Peter always cringed inside when he heard someone comment that it was girth, not length, that "really" counted. His girlfriend, when she'd first seen it, had called it "pretty" and that had bothered him, though he'd tried not to let her know. Apparently his dick, like the rest of him, was "nice." Too nice. It had made Peter think of the way Dad called him a girl: clearly and painfully an insult, no matter how much of a feminist Peter tried to be. It wasn't about anything wrong with the feminine, it was about the attack against his identity, against who he hoped to be.
Nathan had hooked one arm around Angelica's waist and was clearly touching her. She groaned, dropping her head back, abandoning Peter. Peter immediately reached down and curled a hand around his dick, tucking it up against his groin and not sure why, almost like he was protecting it or hiding himself. Angelica growled approvingly, gritting her teeth, and her long hair slipped down off her shoulder, rushing in a warm tickle down the insides of Peter's thighs. Nathan was talking to her, but still looking at Peter, "Yeah, that's it, sweetheart. Beautiful."
The excitement of that, the rush of ice and fire lust, the thought--me, he's practically fucking me--made Peter bold, and he looked back pointedly, intensely, and Nathan said, "Yeah," again, softly, and it almost sounded like he was agreeing, admitting that he was talking to Peter. Nathan bit his lip and increased his pace, Angelica was panting hot and fast breath against Peter's inner thighs and balls, but he barely noticed her, except that the way her shoulders were ramming between his thighs now was perfectly translating the rough pace of Nathan's fucking straight to his groin, and Nathan was losing it, gasping, "Yes. Fuck yes. Jesus, that's it--" And Peter had stripped off the stupid condom and was masturbating, barely realizing he was doing it, except that oh, it felt good; too, too good. "So. Fucking. Hot." Nathan said, to Peter--it had to be to Peter--and then he drew his lips back and hissed through his teeth, pushing in deep, shoving Angelica forward, her shoulders pushing Peter's legs wide as she made some unnoticed, approving comment. Peter could see the shudder that ran through Nathan's body. He was paralyzed to motionlessness by the white-knuckled tightness of Nathan's fingers on Angelica's waist and the slight, small pulses of his hips just barely moving into her as Nathan came, wordlessly, beautifully; his forehead and neck were bright with sweat, catching the lamplight.
Nathan slumped a bit, catching his breath, and either by accident or design, he caught himself and braced himself with one hand on Peter's knee. Peter could feel everything about his hand, could have sworn he could almost feel Nathan's fingerprints where the pads of his fingers pressed into the ligaments of Peter's knee. It was the hand that had been touching Angelica, and it was slick and wet.
Peter realized he was still clutching his own cock, thumb and forefinger in a tight, restraining ring around the base.
Angelica pulled away from them both and stood up on her knees between them, reached back and caught Nathan's head in a clumsy grasp and pulled him in for a kiss. His eyes were open through it, turn up and back, watching Peter silently.
She must have noticed, because she said, "You boys are really into each other, aren'tcha?"
Peter didn't say anything, waiting to let Nathan lead.
Nathan didn't say anything, either.
After a moment, Angelica seemed to take their silence for assent, but for Peter, it brought nothing but confusion. How? How could Nathan want him? How could it be possible for both of them to have their wires so thoroughly crossed? And what on Earth could there be in Peter for Nathan to want? He must have been wrong, he must have been lost in some illicit, sick fantasy, because none of it could possibly make sense in reality.
But Nathan was still saying nothing, his gaze was still steady and utterly poker-faced.
Angelica leaned back against Nathan, pulling him closer with the arm she had hooked backwards around his head, digging her fingers his hair and holding him to her, cheek to cheek. To him, but watching Peter, she said, "Kiss him for me, Nathan. I wanna see his face when you do it. I want to watch."
Peter was sure there was an edge to her voice as she said it, the dangerous kind, that flipped a request around and made it into a request not to, but Nathan must have missed it, or deliberately ignored it, because he said, totally casually, "What d'you say, Pete? For the lady?"
Without thinking how it would seem, Peter licked his dry lips just to wet them. "I, uh--" He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, though. "I--" No, he was sure that he wanted to say yes, but he wasn't sure... of a thousand other things. "Really?"
"Sure," Nathan said, still too casual and easy. He'd slipped an arm around Angelica's stomach, and was idly toying with her breast with his other hand. They were both moving slightly together, like they were still fucking, or like the echo of it was still reverberating through them.
Kissing him. Kissing Nathan. He found his eyes fixing again on Nathan's lips. Soft and pink and moist, turned up slightly in a tiny smile. He wondered how it would feel, how that lower lip would yield under the soft pressure of a tongue, what it would feel like for the stubble around Nathan's mouth to catch against Peter's lips. How he'd taste. What he'd do to Peter in return.
"Okay," Peter said, and realized only when Nathan stood up that he was totally committed to it, now. Sure, he could say stop. He was positive with ever fiber of his being that if he said stop, to any of this or all of it, Nathan would stop it, in a second, without a word of censure. Maybe that was precisely why Peter couldn't even consider saying it as a possibility.
Nathan was on the bed, now, on his knees. His cock was still slightly swollen, hanging down in an arc from his body. It all felt like a dream, in that way of being almost hyperreal, every detail of mundane reality somehow making it all that much more bizarre: the patter of a used-car salesmen on the radio, the soft tick as the thermostat on the wall switched to on, the unsettling off-balancing effect of the too-soft bed under Peter's knees as he knelt in front of Nathan, mirroring him. He lost his balance, even, and when he reached out to catch himself, caught Nathan's shoulder. They were touching. Naked, kneeling, face-to-face, touching, with nothing and no one in between them now. Peter was trembling all over, and thinking, again and again, He's going to kiss me, he's going to kiss me, he's going to kiss me. Nathan, his Nathan, his brother, his idol, his world. Going to kiss me.
He didn't want him to. He didn't want it to be bad, he didn't want to do something embarrassing, he didn't want it to hang over them forever, he didn't want to spend a thousand more nights masturbating so hard it left his cock raw and painful in the morning, just trying to lessen the power of this one moment. For all that his dreams and his fantasies had frightened him before, they seemed the safest of havens from this vantage point, here, and he really, really almost said 'stop.'
But he didn't.
Nathan cupped his cheek, and his eyes narrowed slightly, speculatively. Peter breathed. Could Nathan feel how hard he was shaking? Surely he could. Peter's hand was literally moving from it.
Both hands on his face, now, around his jaw, holding him still. Nathan's eyes were all he could see, he was using them to ground himself, to keep from bolting.
Then it happened. Nathan leaned in, slowly like he was giving Peter time to object or run. His eyes slipped closed, he tilted his head just slightly, just so. And then, it happened.
Nathan's lips touched his.
Once, lightly.
Kissed me. Oh, God, he kissed me. For real, like a boyfriend, right there. For that moment, Peter was so numb with the shock of it he felt nothing.
Then, again, more firmly this time, pressure and motion and the soft, unmistakable sound of a kiss. Hands softening on his jaw, one going behind his head, the other sliding down to the curve where his neck met his shoulder. He should do something. Kiss him back. Somehow.
Everything still so trembly and confused, until Nathan whispered, still right there, "Kiss me, Pete. Com'on. 'S okay. You're okay. Put your arms around me."
Because it was the easiest of Nathan's requests, he wrapped his arms around Nathan. They hugged a lot, more than they should, maybe, but this was different. Bare skin. Warm and smooth and different even though the strong, broad body under it felt so safely familiar. Want and fear twined up Peter's spine and he had his eyes squeezed shut now, only able to deal with one sense, the sense of touch, the sense that was already giving him too much information, wildly overwhelming him.
Nathan was kissing him, more. Across his lips, firm but dry. And then, his hand turned and his fingers slid up through Peter's hair, holding his head and tipping it slightly. Nathan's body swayed closer, a perceptible heat along Peter's own, and Nathan lips pressed to his, and then...
Then a flicker of softer, wetter warmth. Tongue along the seam of his lips.
Too much. Peter realized suddenly that he recognized the fiery, frozen state of his body, that this feeling was the feeling of right before orgasm after a long time teasing. His body felt like one raw, exposed nerve. Nathan's hand moved down from his shoulder to just above his elbow, digging in there and steadying them both as Nathan's tongue nudged, questioningly. With a small, frantic gasp, Peter opened his mouth and let it in.
Probing, gentle. Interested, or so it felt.
Peter found he could move, or at least just enough to shift the tip of his tongue against the tip of Nathan's. It felt like the pure essence of sex, and oh, God, Nathan moaned. Moaned and pushed closer, hands gripping tighter, tongue brushing in along Peter's own before withdrawing and then more kissing, open mouthed, lips and teeth, breath rushing and whistling in the hollow parts in and between their mouths.
"Yeah, that's it, Peter."
Peter shivered, still right on that edge, over which lay humiliation and worse, the end of this, the end of any chance of this ever again, the undeniable confession of the worst of all his secrets, the one that would take Nathan away from him forever, which was the worst thing that could ever happen.
He could handle it. He could. He wouldn't do it.
For all that they'd claimed to be doing it for Angelica's sake, neither of them were sparing her a glance. She might has well have not even been there.
Peter began to really understand the eroticism of kissing. The wet and the warm, the tease and exploration, give and take, the domination in the way Nathan held him still and hinted at him where to go and what to do, the submission in the way he melted into it and accepted the direction gratefully. Their bodies weren't touching, but where they did touch felt like high voltage: Nathan's hand on his arm, Peter's hands spread wide across the firm, shifting muscle of Nathan's back.
He thought he was getting control of himself. He thought he could start to relax, and just enjoy this phenomenal thing that was going on, along with the manic high that was starting to rise through him.
But then he dared slip his tongue into Nathan's mouth to taste the illicit insides of his lips, and Nathan caught it and sucked it, hard and firm, like Angelica had sucked his dick, and oh, shit. That was it. It was like a patch of black ice on a curve, skidding out, inevitable, just enough time to know it was all over, that the worst was true, but no time or way to stop it. He was coming. He gave a low moan of horror and shame even as his body flooded with unprecedented pleasure and ecstasy, leaving him gasping for air and getting only Nathan's breath. Nathan's hands tightened in his hair and on his arm, steadying him, grounding him through it, and Nathan whispered, without audible reproach, "Oh, Pete."
For a horrible moment, he was trapped by the paralyzing force of orgasm. Then, the moment he broke free, he was off the bed and across the room, into the bathroom, leaning on the counter, panting, thinking nothing but, No. No! How could you? You freak. You fuck. What did you do?
He hadn't locked the door, and after a moment, Nathan came in. In the mirror, Peter got a glimpse of a strand of shiny, pearly wetness caught in the hair on Nathan's thigh. His semen. He looked away fast, gripping down on the edge of the marble countertop. His fingers ached from the strain, but it felt necessary, it felt like if he let go he'd fall off the Earth. He breathed hard and fast, trying to fight through the surge of humiliation that threatened to devour him.
The world blurred to nothing around him in a flood of hot, acidic tears. His teeth creaked, jaw clenched too hard.
"Peter--" Nathan started, but Peter didn't want to hear it. Anything. Platitudes, lies... not even honest recriminations.
Peter cut him off with, "Is she still out there?"
"Yeah, she's--"
"Make her leave." And before Nathan could protest, he repeated, "Make. Her. Leave."
Placatingly, "Okay, okay. Relax. I'm going," and Nathan left the room.
Peter tried to breathe, but he could only sob, choking on his tears, throat burning, tight as a noose. No, no, no. He wanted to go home. He wished they'd never even come here. He wished he'd said no any of ten different times over the course of the evening. He wished he was normal instead a fucking pervert. He wished he could love his brother like a normal person. He wished this didn't mean Nathan was never going to want to be around him ever again.
"Fuck up, you stupid fuck up," he gasped to himself, through the tears.
Then something soft and warm wrapped around his bare body, and gentle hands were guiding his arms into sleeves. Robe. Nathan.
"She left," Nathan said, and Peter was painfully grateful for such a simple statement of fact, with no attempts to say anything else that could only make things worse.
Once the robe was on and Peter had tightly tied the belt, Nathan ruffled his hair. "Come out when you've got yourself under control. I think we both need a drink."
He left again, shutting the door down to a crack as he went. Peter turned around and sank down to a kneel on the floor, his back to the sink cabinet, hands interlaced behind his bowed head, eyes squeezed shut, hot tears still dripping off his lashes and burning in the crevices around his eyes. The worst of it was ebbing. Nathan hadn't yelled, and hadn't left. He hadn't thrown Peter's clothes at him and told him he was taking him home, or worse, to just go and leave him and Angelica alone like she wanted them to be. He thought, Maybe it'll be okay, and then deliberately began to replace his mantra of 'no' with a mantra of this thought instead.
Once he'd managed to shift it a little more, into 'It will be okay,' he opened his eyes.
Everything in the white, gleaming marble bathroom seemed very bright. Spots danced in front of his eyes from the tears and from having his eyes shut so tightly.
"It'll be okay," he whispered to himself, like he had as a kid at night alone in his room, those nights when he couldn't sleep and he could feel monsters in the dark which he feared only a tiny, tiny bit less than he feared the wrath of his father, woken at two in the morning for 'fucking ridiculous infant bullshit.'
Nathan, though... those blessed days when Nathan had been there, home from school or on leave, he could always sneak out of bed and dash down the hall, and Nathan would come and gamely check the closet and under the bed and out the window and then sit with him until he fell asleep again. Once, before he'd left for school again, Nathan had given him a flashlight of his own to hide under his pillow when Peter told him Dad said he was too old for a nightlight. Peter still had that flashlight, tucked away in the very back of his nightstand drawer, bulb and batteries long dead but it was more meaningful as a talisman than a functional device.
And... the truth that Peter could hardly stand to admit even to himself, for reasons of both simple embarrassment and the association of the thing with Nathan, was that its little red plastic shaft had served for about a year now as his first and still favorite attempt at a makeshift dildo.
Peter blushed even now at the thought, but he pushed himself up to his feet and made himself leave the bathroom.
Nathan was in a matching robe on the couch out in the living area of the suite. The robe was open, but he had on his boxers under it. A tumbler of something sat on the coffee table in front of him and to the left, and he was sipping something from a glass of his own. He smiled at Peter when Peter came into the room, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. Neither of them said anything as Peter sat down a careful full cushion's-length away and picked up the other glass.
He took a nervous, too-big gulp and broke down in helpless coughing as what he realized too late was scotch flared through his sinuses and brain.
"Shit!" he huffed, when he could breathe again.
The world immediately took on a brighter hue around him, everything hypersharp and prettier with the first rush of alcohol in his blood. Braced now, he took another gulp, and only choked a little. Maybe he could black out the whole evening if he kept it up... That sounded like a plan worth pursuing.
Annoyingly, Nathan distracted him from those thoughts. "Pete, it's okay. Things were pretty intense. You're young. It happens. It doesn't mean anything."
Peter eyed the quarter-inch or so left in his glass, then finished it off in one more swallow. Whoa. Everything went from sharp to a little fuzzy, and he felt a flush and sweat break out all over his body. Scotch! He was beginning to see what Dad and Nathan saw in the evil, burny stuff. He pushed the glass down the table towards Nathan. It stopped just a millimeter from falling over the edge.
"More," Peter said.
He didn't see Nathan's expression, because he was pointedly not looking at him, but he could hear the disapproval in Nathan's low, rumbly, "Take it easy, Peter. That's strong stuff."
Peter just snorted. "Says the fucking alcoholic." And wow, where had that hostility come from?
Nathan didn't say anything, but the glass did reappear in Peter's line of sight with another finger of amber liquid in the bottom.
After downing another too-much, too-fast swallow and only feeling like he was going to suffocate and die for thirty seconds or so, everything did, pleasantly, seem a lot less dire, and he said, almost giddily, "Yeah, Nathan, actually it does."
Don't care, whatever, can't make things worse, can I?
The part of him the alcohol hadn't hit yet weakly protested, so Peter dumped more scotch on it, and interrupted Nathan who was stammering something about teenaged hormones and how when he was Peter's age, he'd--
"I think you're hot. I, like, wanna have sex with you. All the time."
Nathan said nothing. Peter pitched forward and buried his face in his hands, his elbows propped on his knees. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not enough alcohol in the world. Peter finished off his glass again anyway, and yeah, wow, it was going to his head in a less-good way now, and his stomach was none too pleased with him either. His veins seemed to burn as this latest gulp hit his system. He nudged the glass in Nathan's direction again, but Nathan just said, "No way, kiddo. Give what you've got a chance to kick in first."
Which was a nice long sentence of which none was 'You sick freak!'
He risked a glance over and caught Nathan polishing off his own glass. For a moment, he was captivated by the muscles moving in Nathan's throat, and then he wondered how many drinks that had been for Nathan, who had already been way ahead in the race before they even got here.
In fact, as Peter's vision blurred a little more and the track lights over the bar opposite them got a little starry, Nathan still said nothing like, 'you sick freak,' or, in fact, anything at all to indicate he'd heard what Peter said at all.
Fuzzy. Fuzzy head. "Whoa," Peter said, out loud.
Nathan shifted over to the no man's cushion. His hand passed through Peter's hair again, smoothing it back this time instead of messing it up. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Peter said, squinting against the slight, disconcerting blur. "Yeah, um. Swimmy."
Then Nathan's arm was around his shoulders kind of like in the cab, hitching him to Nathan's warm, solid, wonderfully unmoving side. "Just go with it," Nathan advised from too close. His breath was warm on Peter's cheek again. "Just feel it. Try to fight it and you'll waste the high."
"I don't actually drink all that much," Peter confessed, though it occurred to him even before Nathan chuckled that this was probably pretty obvious. "And usually it's just, like, beer."
Nathan gave his shoulders a gentle tug, and Peter allowed himself to be guided back against the cushy cushions and into the hook of Nathan's arm, his head coming to rest on Nathan's shoulder. The poofy cotton of their robes puffed up around Peter's neck and face, holding the two of them apart even though Nathan was resting his cheek against Peter's head through the material. Peter took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he let it out slowly. Go with it. Yeah. He went with it. He relaxed into the languidness, enjoying how it felt like he was changing like a liquid to fit into the spaces and shape of Nathan's body beside him.
Nathan nuzzled him again, and kissed his cheek.
Peter stirred from his chemical ease for a moment to say, "Nathan. Seriously. I'm really not taking that the way you mean it."
"Shhhh," Nathan said. He brushed the knuckles of the arm wrapped around Peter's shoulders down his cheek. Kissed him again, his temple this time, right at the edge of his eyebrow. "Relax, okay? Just relax. Don't worry."
All of which made Peter halfway sit up as he realized with a jolt that maybe he was.
Then Nathan's hand was on Peter's chest, not pushing him, but sort of physically suggesting that he lay back again. When Peter did, the robe shifted open enough that Nathan's fingers ended up inside, touching his chest, right over his racing heart. He realized that Nathan was turned almost completely towards him, almost over him, with his arms around Peter and his chin resting on Peter's shoulder, nose brushing Peter's cheek as they both breathed.
Nathan's thumb, of that hand, was stroking the fabric of the robe. Nathan's other hand was splayed across Peter's cheek. His weight was resting on Peter just enough to be a thing, a presence. It could have been unwelcome or intrusive, maybe it should have been, but it wasn't. Peter's heart was pounding harder. It felt like they were in bed, Nathan on top of him. Felt good. Oh, God, it felt good, and Peter couldn't think right now of why that should be bad.
And then, with a sudden jerk, like ripping off a bandaid, Nathan's hand slid the rest of the way into his robe, pressed to his chest, fingers curling around his side, thumb just beside his nipple. Peter held his breath, thinking, Just a bit more to the left. Just a little. Oh, fuck. Just do it. Touch me, Nathan.
"Jesus, Peter," Nathan breathed. "Jesus."
His thumb twitched, and then slid that precious centimeter to the left, tracking over the painfully-hard nub of Peter's nipple, sending an amazingly strong spark of pleasure and shock through Peter. His nipples had never been so exciting as they were now, as Nathan more firmly and deliberately drew his thumb back across it, then over it again, pressing it flat against Peter's chest.
That sound Nathan made, just then, was a whimper.
He whimpered. He's Nathan! He shouldn't even make sounds like that. I did that! To him! My fucking nipple did that to him!
Peter felt another wave of alcoholic dizziness, but he wasn't sure if it was really the alcohol at all. All he knew was he felt like he weighed a thousand pounds, and he never even wanted to try to move from right where he was. Relax, indeed. Nathan's thumb was still moving, pressing, flicking, circling. His fingers were shifting and pressing lightly, supporting the thumb, bracing his hand. Such tiny forces should not be able to move the entire planet.
And then suddenly, rattling the stars out of balance as Nathan's hand now seemed able to do, Nathan moved and turned his entire hand down, spreading it open across Peter's stomach, with the very tips of his index and ring finger pressing against the restraining tightness of the tied belt of the robe.
Nathan whispered, "Pete... tell me to stop. Please tell me to stop."
Viscerally, Peter got that. He remembered his musings in the cab, about how he'd half-hoped that if he kissed Nathan, Nathan would hit him for it. He'd hoped Nathan would stop him from doing something so wrong, so perverse.
Just as viscerally, though, he realized that he wouldn't say 'stop.' That he couldn't, for all the reasons he couldn't before they'd kissed, and more. "No. No way. Not gonna."
Nathan sounded genuinely mournful when he said, "Oh, Peter. You don't know what you're saying."
"No. I really don't." Peter hauled himself mostly upright--an effort in his melted state--and grabbed the lapels of Nathan's robe, pulling him close, holding them face to face. He couldn't go back now, and he didn't even think he wanted to anymore. "Show me."
Nathan's eyes opened again, sharp and dangerous and a little angry. Peter knew he had been supposed to stop, supposed to have demurred, talked sense into him. He was supposed to have done anything but what he had done, was doing. Peter was standing on train tracks, staring down an oncoming diesel, and the power of it was immense. The thrill was physical: heart rate jumping, lungs heaving, dick hardening again.
"You're a fucking idiot," Nathan said. His hand was on Peter's back under the robe, holding him up and keeping him close.
"Yeah," Peter agreed, his nose touching Nathan's, Nathan's eyes blurring into one at this distance, "And a pervert. And a freak." Words said out loud that he'd thought so long... it was strange to hear them in the air instead of in his head. It seemed to both give and rob them of their power.
"No," Nathan said, quickly. "Not you, Pete. You're..." He sighed, then leaned even closer, pressing his forehead to Peter's. "You're brilliant. You're pure. You're everything, Peter."
Sensing him slipping away, Peter gripped his robe tighter. "Don't stop. Nathan, please don't stop." Clumsily, and so aware now of just how clumsily, Peter kissed his lips.
The Earth didn't stop spinning. Nathan didn't hit him.
Nathan didn't do anything, even move, except to shudder and exhale.
Peter held there, holding their lips together, until finally, Nathan's tensed under his, in a small return kiss. Then Peter could breathe again. Yes.
Then, hesitantly, Nathan's took his hand out of Peter's robe and touched the knot of the tie. Peter felt the question in the touch, and like a better chess player than he could ever hope to be, he could suddenly see ten moves down the line of this chain of events. Each of those moves would be seemingly small, but each would be another surrender, all part of a war being slowly lost to attrition. Hands in new places, mouths in new places, bodies moving in new ways, new words being said that could never be unsaid.
Peter said, "Yeah, do it," and wasn't sure if it was him or Nathan sacrificing his first pawn.
Either way, Nathan was unknotting the belt and already, everything was different. The knot came undone, and Nathan pressed his chest, laying him down across the couch cushion, hanging over him on hands and knees. Nathan's robe draped around them, and Peter's robe pooled out under them, trailing off the edge of the couch. Peter was naked but for the sleeves still around his arms as Nathan bent and kissed the center of his chest, softly and chastely, like a benediction. Nathan's cock was clearly hard again, hanging in the loose hammock of his boxers.
Nathan looked up and met Peter's eyes. "I love you," he said.
Peter was torn in too many directions to smile, but it was easy to respond, "I love you, too."
Nathan shut his eyes, and squeezed them tight for a second, turning his face away. Guilt. Shame. Peter reached up and put his palm on Nathan's cheek, pulling lightly until Nathan turned down again and opened his eyes. Peter thought he'd have something to say to Nathan, but nothing came to him. Just a thought, Don't leave me now. I'll die if you leave me now.
His heart sank when Nathan abruptly sat back and then stood up, but it was only for a moment. Nathan held out a hand to him and said, very matter-of-fact, "This'll be more comfortable in the bed."
Peter let him help him up, and once he was up Nathan kissed him, quickly but sweetly. It was such an easy gesture, as if already they were becoming accustomed to this, comfortable with it. That idea opened up the amazing question of where they might go from here, if they didn't simply pretend it never happened. Wonderful and terrifying, it was like suddenly stumbling out of heavy undergrowth and finding oneself on the verge of a cliff, looking out over an endless vista. Too much to contemplate, and Peter had to shut it out of his mind to block out the dizzying vertigo. God, Nathan was getting married in a week. He'd just focus on here and now. This room, this moment, Nathan's hand in his as they walked back towards the bedroom.
He stumbled and lurched into the frame of the archway to the bedroom, feeling again his off-balance equilibrium and the two tumblers of scotch. Nathan caught him and pulled him into his arms again, cooing sillily over Peter's knocked knuckles and kissing them. Peter laughed, thrilled by the light-hearted moment and Nathan's grin. He was amazed by how quickly his mood shifted back to pure, heated arousal when Nathan pushed the robe off his shoulders and kissed him again, with tongue, holding him still to kiss him how he wanted to, and then walked him backwards and laid him out on the bed.
Abandoned there, naked, Peter watched Nathan lean over the nightstand and change the station from the pop channel Angelica had selected to something jazzy. The pure Nathanyness of the gesture and Nathan's obvious relish and relief in doing it made Peter smile, even though he kind of liked that song: "I want to stand with you on a mountain / I want to bathe with you in the sea / I want to stay like this forever / until the stars fall down on me." Any of it, all of it, he'd do with Nathan, gladly. Had done, really... oceans and mountains and much in between. Nathan went into the bathroom and then out to the living room and turning off the lights as he went, then he returned, bearing a fresh bottle of the scotch from the minibar, the tumblers, and a small toiletry bottle, all of which he set on the nightstand and then ignored, turning to the bed and Peter.
He was looking at Peter again, not even trying to hide it. Peter tried to hold still and accept the scrutiny, but it was hard... all of his insecurities welled back up, skittering through his mind. And then Nathan finally spoke, saying, "You're so beautiful it hurts." All of his harsh thoughts disappeared in an instant, shadows banished by the simple flick of a light switch.
Before Peter had even entirely processed those words in that tone of reverence, Nathan shrugged off his robe and pushed down his boxers and climbed into bed beside him. He was beautiful, too, but Peter wasn't sure if he could say that to him, or how Nathan would take such a feminine word applied to his not-feminine looks. 'Handsome,' though, seemed pale and generic.
He felt dizzy again, grateful for the solidity of the mattress beneath him as Nathan crawled over him again, pushing his legs open and kneeling between them, one hand on Peter's knee. The lamplight highlighted the hazel of his eyes. Peter could feel the strange way his thoughts were slipping and latching together, like they were just on the edge of his fingertips, not quite in his grasp. Trying to catch them only made them slip away faster. Peter felt exposed with his legs bent open wide and Nathan between them, looking down at Peter's exposed groin.
Just relax, Peter thought, hearing it in Nathan's voice. Go with it.
Nathan dropped forward abruptly and ungracefully, showing the slightest hint of impaired coordination, catching himself with one hand that sank deep into the mattress beside Peter, the dip pulling Peter against Nathan's forearm like gravity. With his free hand, Nathan took Peter's hand and pulled it up to his chest. "Touch me."
Chest hair, soft and crinkly, thicker than Peter thought his own would ever be. For awhile, Nathan just let Peter touch him, like a big cat allowing a petting. It made Peter shy again, uncertain, but unlike with Angelica, there was a powerful curiosity driving his hands to seek out places and watch Nathan's face as he investigated those places: the perfectly smooth, almost hairless skin along his sides, the soft, thick fuzz of his armpits, the amazing sculptural form of his shoulders and biceps, hard and strong and barely seeming real. Peter traced his fascinating and incongruous Naval tattoo with a fingertip. The breadth and solidness of Nathan's body was a continual surprise, as if he took up more space than Peter thought he should, a startling and fascinating and exciting gap between sight perception and touch, all so much more real than he'd expected him to be, not vanishing away to smoke when Peter dared touch a new spot.
After he'd thoroughly touched every inch of Nathan's torso--traced the tendons in his neck, touched the softness of his earlobes and the harder curve of cartilage around the tops, touched Nathan's lips and had his fingertips kissed--he let his hands venture a little lower, into territory more foreboding. With just the very edges of his nails, he followed the crease of Nathan's hip, stopping nervously before the thicker hair of Nathan's groin. He stroked the tops of Nathan's thighs. He let his palms linger at the margins of Nathan's waist but didn't yet dare press on to his ass. It wasn't just shyness, it was some lingering sense of taboo warring with desire. Touching those spots, and every millimeter further he dared reach, simultaneously made his balls tense and his stomach twist.
Nathan's dick hung down between them, dark and hard again as it had been the first time Peter'd seen it that night. Peter's gaze kept sneaking to it and then darting away. His mind was filled with it, what he could do to it--and what, by the end of the night, it would have done to him. Like Nathan's lips in the cab, it had become an object of obsession, tempting and terrifying, mixed promises and lies of salvation and ruin and no way to know which was true. Then Nathan edged forward a bit more, his knees pushing Peter's thighs open wider, making the tendons in his groin stretch to a point not painful, but urgently present. "Touch me, Pete," he said, again.
Peter's got his hands as far as Nathan's stomach before fear stopped him and he said, "How?"
He could feel Nathan's stomach moving with his deep breaths. "Don't care. Doesn't matter. However you want."
Peter reached, Nathan shifted, and Peter's whole body flinched in shock at the touch of the warm, tacky head of Nathan's cock bumping across the inside of his wrist.
"Oh," Nathan whispered, and then, when Peter hung back, afraid and stunned at himself, he said, "It's okay."
Braced this time, Peter managed to get his hand curled around the warm, firm shaft. The veins yielded, springy, under his touch, he found. Nathan sighed and said "Yeah."
At first, Peter could only hold it, cupped in his palm, just barely shifting his grip on it. He was still trying, somehow, to understand the impossible: that he was holding Nathan's cock. That Nathan was letting him. And then, carefully, because as well as he knew his own dick, he wasn't sure quite how to judge someone else's, he experimentally squeezed it between his thumb and his fingertips and gave it a couple experimental tugs. Nathan hummed deep in his chest. Then, "Tighter. Whole hand, little faster."
Peter did as he said, his mind blank, stunned. He stared at his own pale hand wrapped around Nathan's dick up from underneath, tugging it. I'm jacking off Nathan, he thought, numbly, but the thought barely made it past the very surface of his mind and then got lost in some error message: unable to compute. He was amazed by the loose skin that moved with his hand and bunched under the head when he pulled up and then stretched shiny-smooth when he pushed down. Thick, blood-filled tissue pressed out against his grip, hot and noticeably alive, reacting to his touch, sometimes softer, sometimes straining harder, like his own dick but different, and unpredictable. Peter's wrist was hurting from the unusual angle and Nathan was holding his breath over him, but not saying a word or making a sound except when he'd let out a burst of one breath and gasp in another.
Until, on one rough exhalation, he said, "Wait." Then, his breath caught. "I want..."
Peter stopped his hand, waiting.
Without specifying, Nathan brusquely rearranged them--"Here, sit up"--until they were kneeling, sitting back on their heels, Nathan's folded knees tucked into the space between Peter's, face to face. Nathan had the little toiletry bottle, which turned out to be hotel-issue hand lotion. He turned over one of Peter's hand and shook a blob out into it, and then repeated that with his own hand. Still not speaking, he tossed the mostly-empty bottle aside and guided Peter's lotion-blobbed hand back to his cock. Then, as Peter's hand closed around his cock, Nathan gripped the hair at the nape of Peter's neck and pulled him into a deep kiss.
Oh, Peter thought, as it all came together. It was all suddenly inevitable, and shockingly real, the end beginning to thunder towards them, perceptible in the roar of his pulse in his ears and the taste of Nathan's harsh breath in his mouth. Frightening intensity as Nathan's slick hand closed on his dick and Nathan's other hand left his head, trusting him to stay in the kiss, and moved instead down to his ass, gripping his asscheek just above where his own heel dug into it.
And then, when it was too much, when Peter's head dropped back and Nathan followed it to keep their mouths together, when Peter's mind whirled and drowned with an intoxication that had nothing to do with alcohol and his hand went still, forgotten, on Nathan's cock, Nathan spoke.
His words were wet and hot between their lips, and they were hesitant--unlike him--but he was jacking Peter fast and hard, almost painfully. "I want to see you come again," he said. Peter whimpered, helplessly, feeling like he was dying, like he couldn't breathe, he'd forgotten how. Nathan's voice dropped to a shaky, forced hiss and the words came out all in a rush, in a way Peter recognized and understood as something long thought but never meant to be said: "And I want to fuck you."
This time, there were no filters to soften and deflect the words; there was nothing but this urgent, undiluted, unprettified truth. It hit like a high calibre round straight to the chest and Peter's heart lurched from the force of it.
And then, Nathan pushed closer. "Say yes?"
Peter gripped Nathan's shoulder, just trying to stay upright, just trying to stay anchored into reality.
A few hours ago, the thought that that could happen--that Nathan could say such a thing--had been nothing but a shameful fantasy. The closest he'd ever thought he'd get to that was under the covers of his own bed, with a cramped thigh and a cramped wrist and the head of that old red flashlight slippery in his fingers: that emblem of love and protection as close as he could hope get to a real piece of Nathan. He'd never thought of whether or not he'd want it for real; for all his fantasies it had been so utterly unthinkable as a true possibility, the question had never crossed his mind.
But Nathan's hand wasn't letting up, Peter's body was singing again, on the edge of orgasm and his mind was blanking out. All he knew for sure was that Nathan had told him to say yes, so he did, he said it: "Yes."
"Fuck," Nathan sounded as shocked as Peter felt, and his hand faltered on Peter's cock. "God, that's messed up, Peter."
"Yes," Peter agreed, again, as much because he was stuck on the word than because he actually approved of the sentiment--though he did. He shivered as Nathan's hand sped up again, jacking him hard and fast, not giving him another moment to think or restrain himself or fight it or even know if he wanted to. He was shuddering, twitching his hips up into Nathan's hand randomly and pointlessly. Then Nathan was kissing him again, and it was even more like drowning, tongue in his mouth, blocking his breath, fingers digging deep, hurting a little, into his asscheek.
His body was beyond his control, lost and shaking and wracked with such intense feelings he couldn't tell the pain from the pleasure at all. He was going to come and it occurred to him through a fog that he didn't want to, not yet, not alone, and he gasped, "Stop, stop." He didn't even realized the word he'd used.
Nathan had already let go and pulled him up into his lap, bringing them suddenly and shockingly into full-bodied, tangled contact, Peter's thighs around Nathan's hips, their chests and stomachs pressed together, Nathan's lips at the hollow of Peter's throat, their arms all mixed up over and around each other. Nathan's hand was pressed into the hollow of Peter's back, holding him in place, and Nathan's cock--holy shit--was poking up against Peter's balls.
"Nathan," Peter said, bizarrely startled. "Whoa. That's--"
"Stop?" Nathan asked, speaking to Peter's collarbone, then mouthing it, nipping it.
It took a moment for Peter to work around to why he'd said that, to realize what he'd said, earlier. "No!" he said, "Just... just you. I wanna--" He wasn't making sense, to Nathan or to himself. He didn't know, couldn't figure out what he was saying, all he knew was, "I just wanna be with you." He wasn't sure what he meant.
Nathan lifted him and coaxed him to turn, his hands sinking into Peter's sides, hard and bearing Peter's weight in uncomfortable, unbalanced ways. Peter ended up kneeling over Nathan's thighs again, facing away now, and Nathan edged forward under him, shifting himself further under Peter, and Peter up higher into his lap. Peter's groin muscles strained again, splayed wide over Nathan's pelvis. Nathan's chest was against his back, and springy coils of warm hair tickled him.
He shifted to try to get more comfortable, holding onto Nathan's arms around his stomach, and then realized that the shaft of Nathan's cock was now resting tucked up along the crevice of his ass.
Peter craned his head around, looking over his shoulder. Nathan's eyes were startlingly dark, widely dilated. His slimmed irises turned to a deep, gleaming green-gold that seem almost other-worldly, and he seemed like he was searching Peter's face for something, or trying to memorize him. Up this close, he looked completely unfamiliar, a collection of parts--eyes, cheekbone, sideburn--that Peter couldn't assemble into a recognizable whole.
They were coming up on the endgame of their chess match. Peter could almost hear the clicks of pieces on a board, the steady advance, check and then checkmate. Nathan's hips were shifting under him and his cock was moving in the crease of Peter's ass, catching on sweat-sticky skin. Nathan had the little lotion bottle in one hand and was slapping it against his other palm in front of Peter's chest, his arms still around Peter. Peter still wasn't sure who was winning. Who was losing.
Because as Nathan tossed away the bottle, truly empty now, Peter saw that his turned-up hand was shaking.
Then that hand was between them, pressed against Peter's ass, wrapped around Nathan's cock, moving, spreading the lotion on. Then Nathan nudge him, murmured low, "Shift up a little." Peter did, getting up on his knees a bit, but he was thinking, Wait, wait. He was unsure again where to put his hands so pressing them to the fronts of his thighs, feeling the oddity and the vulnerable openness of the strange pose. Nathan spread his ass open with one hand, and Peter shut his eyes and blushed hard, feeling the tops of his ears burning and even his neck and chest warming. I can't do this. What the fuck are we doing? I don't know about this. Wait, Nathan, wait.
He hung there, trembling from the unbalanced position, his thighs aching. Nathan wasn't moving. He was sure he hadn't said anything, but it was like Nathan had heard him and was waiting. He could hear him breathing. He couldn't, though, find the breath or the nerve to say anything, to ask him what was going on.
Then Nathan sighed, and then he was shifting Peter around again. Peter cooperated as much as he could, catching Nathan's shoulders when Nathan turned him, and then eased them both down on their sides, face to face, on the bed.
"What?" Peter managed to say, though not above a furtive whisper, like there might be someone to overhear. He was relieved and disappointed and confused by both feelings.
Nathan didn't say anything, though. His eyes dodged Peter's for a moment, then, just as quickly, met his gaze fully and openly. With his dry, warm hand, he cupped Peter's cheek, and then reached down and pulled Peter's hand to his cock again as he quietly said, "Like this. Just... this."
Peter sighed, too, long and slow as his body relaxed. The disappointment spiked, but the relief was the clear winner, quietly suffusing through him. They were chest-to-chest, eye-to-eye. Nathan was holding Peter's dick again, but gently, more fondling than masturbating. He hooked his top leg over Peter's, pulling Peter's leg in, folding the crooks of their knees together like an embrace.
Nathan kissed him again and Peter sank into it happily, feeling oddly at home with this small regression back to earlier in the evening. There was no real urgency now. Lingering kisses, slow hands, no words exchanged between them. Peter realized he was enveloped in Nathan's smell; it was slightly sharp and masculine, some primal part of Peter's brain recognized it as specifically the scent of him aroused, pheromones and sweat, and Peter realized it wasn't unfamiliar to him, that there had been times they'd been together that he'd noticed it just like this. Definitely during the cab ride that evening, but also other times, earlier times: wrestling, or lying across Nathan's bed watching a movie.
This wasn't new.
With that realization fresh in his mind, he flinched and gasped as Nathan's hand twisted at the top of a stroke, doing wild and awesome things to his insides. He forgot again to keep moving his own hand, and after a moment, felt Nathan begin to rock his hips, gently fucking the circle of Peter's thumb and forefinger. Peter exhaled and turned his head slightly to break their kiss, then looked down between them. He focused on holding his hand still against the light force of Nathan's gentle thrusts. It was a small echo of what they might have been doing, but safer and fascinating. The lotion had gone dry and sticky.
Nathan groaned and, startlingly, spoke. "Damn it, we need real lube."
Or at least more lotion, Peter thought, but didn't say. Lotion had always worked just fine for him, so long as there was enough of it.
Nathan twisted his body half-up, propped on an elbow. He looked towards the bathroom and appeared to be weighing the relative merits of shampoo versus conditioner, but Peter kept looking down, his mind seizing on a possible solution that didn't involve any kind of toiletries. Oddly, though he was making a thousand calculations somewhere in his subconsious about what it would mean, how Nathan would take it, whether he could do it, the question that he was pondering most clearly and consciously was whether or not there was anything poisonous in that lotion.
And once he'd decided that something that got absorbed into your skin must not be poisonous to ingest in small quantities, he made his decision with the rest of the more urgent but less easy to think about questions still unresolved.
He scootched down the bed, still holding Nathan's cock in the circle of his thumb and forefinger. A quick eyes-only glance up confirmed Nathan still seemed distracted, and that gave Peter a moment to swallow nervously, work up the nerve and a little spit, and put his mouth on Nathan's cock.
"Jesus!" Nathan gasped, and Peter guessed he had his full attention now.
He honestly hadn't been paying that much attention when Angelica was doing this to him, and now he regretted it. The head of Nathan's cock was unexpectedly large in his mouth, and Peter was suddenly very aware of his own teeth. He shifted his tongue experimentally and Nathan shuddered. "Oh, Pete."
That was good. That was very good. He flushed with pleasure, both sexual and self-satisfaction.
Nathan's scent here was strong and immersive. Peter realized he'd shut his eyes, focused now on his more primal senses, touch and smell and taste. Nathan's dick tasted like the smell of the ocean. His hips nudged forward a bit and Peter held his breath at the pressure on his tongue, sliding deeper into his mouth. Nathan pulled back then, and did it again, always shallow and gentle, but still almost more than Peter thought he could handle.
"Okay?" Nathan said. Peter realized his hand was in Peter's hair, not holding him, just cupped around the curve of his head.
Peter pulled off and nodded a few times, quickly, then went back to it, too excited by it--by Nathan's pleasure in it and his own--to stay away.
He figured it out, sort of. He found a way to settle into Nathan's shallow, slow rhythm, and started to notice where and how he could move his tongue or tighten his lips to make Nathan gasp that awesome gasp that made Peter's whole body react. He thought, dizzily, this is sex. Sex with Nathan. Oh my God. And it made sense that it would be a bit suffocating, that it would be difficult, didn't it? He'd hooked his hand around Nathan's thigh, just up under his ass, and feeling the muscles there shift as Nathan rocked his hips was almost as intense as the feeling and taste of Nathan's cock.
Nathan said, "Pete. Pete," like it was the only word he knew, the only tool he had to communicate with, and then roughly jerked his hips back and away, grabbing his cock and pressing it to his stomach. This close, Peter could see it pulse as he came, see his balls twitch, smell the salt and soap scent of semen. He could watch Nathan's belly heave with his post-orgasmic panting, strands of semen striping it, wet in his body hair. His reaction to such a similar sight was so much different than in the bathroom earlier, what seemed like centuries ago. Fascinated, obsessed, Peter dug his fingers into the back of Nathan's thigh, made him stay still as Peter pushed forward and found what Nathan had denied him, licked the come off his skin, trying to taste how it was different than the taste of his own, thinking, insanely, I'm licking Nathan's come. Nathan. Come. Licking. Words he'd never imagined could be in the same sentence with "I" for him, and still couldn't quite comprehend even as he did it.
Nathan's cock, softening, was laying against Peter's throat, warm and velvety and wet at the tip, leaving small trails of cold wetness on Peter's skin. Nathan's hand was still in his hair, and still not stopping or encouraging him. Peter considered the lack of stopping encouragement enough, and didn't stop until he'd licked what had to be every inch of Nathan's strong, hard stomach.
Then Nathan was stopping him, or something. Rolling him on his back, anyway, and then sliding down him and Peter realized his intent a moment before Nathan's mouth was on his dick. Peter yelped helplessly as Nathan sucked him in deep, and then Nathan gagged and jerked back, hesitated and went back to it. Not so deep this time, but sucking hard. His hand gripped tight on the base, jacking Peter off. Blackness and shock washed over him and Peter pressed his shoulders to the bed, on fire and knowing he was going to last about three seconds and not even able to warn Nathan about that.
Knowing if he didn't, he'd miss the whole thing, he forced his eyes open, got his elbows under him and looked down.
All it took was a glimpse of Nathan's eyelashes fanned across his cheeks and his lips stretched around Peter's dick, and that was it.
"I--" was all Peter managed to say, then his whole body went limp, muscles mutinying and refusing him, spasming as he came. So good. So good, so good, so good, oh God, so good. Like Heaven, like sunshine, like fireworks. That perfect kind of orgasm that he could try for for weeks and never quite achieve, this was it, right here.
And Nathan's tongue was still rubbing that explosive spot on the underside of his dick, still sucking and swallowing. Perfect.
When Nathan moved back up to him and kissed him, Peter could taste himself on his tongue.
God.
The End
leave a comment || read comments