"Mr. Pendleton..." Nathan said, feeling his forefinger digging into the padded grip of his hundred dollar fountain pen, "I'm your lawyer. That means it is one hundred percent in your best interest to give me full disclosure. Trust me, nothing you say will leave this room, unless I think it'll protect you in a court of law."
Pendleton, a gaunt, wispy-haired man who looked far older than his forty-seven years, leaned forward and said, in a rough, raspy voice with an Eastern European accent Nathan couldn't place, "Mr. Linderman told me this law firm could help me. I trust Mr. Linderman. I maybe even trust your father, because Mr. Linderman trusts him. But I do not trust you. You're young. You look..." He waved his hand vaguely, sitting back, searching for the proper word. "Idealistic."
Nathan laughed in spite of himself. "Mr. Pendleton, I haven't been idealistic in a long time, I promise you. And I assure you, my father wanted very much to handle your case personally, but he's in court, right now, as we speak."
With a sniff, Pendleton said, "Typical. Always last on the list. Always less important. You'd think I didn't matter to you people at all."
Nathan could tell there was an undercurrent he was missing, but he pushed on anyway, still feeling his bones straining under the force of his grip on the pen. "You're our client, sir. That's all that matters to us."
Suddenly, Pendleton was looking him right in the eye, fixing him in place with his bloodshot, pale blue eyes. "You know it's not about the money, then. This mockery of a trial."
"No," Nathan said. Tax evasion usually wasn't about tax evasion. "I'm sure it's not. But I need to know what it is about if I'm going to defend you."
The scrutiny was becoming uncomfortable, almost as if he could literally feel the man's gaze on him, dragging slowly across his skin like nails.
Finally, Pendleton broke the brief silence. "I kill people, Mr. Petrelli. Women, mostly. For money." Then he smiled, showing a mouth of crooked teeth. "Sometimes for money. Sometimes... not for money."
***
Arthur sighed heavily. "Please, Nathan, take the scotch."
Nathan waved it away, pacing back across his father's study, enveloped in the deep reds and mahoganies and the smell of long-ago-smoked cigars. "He's a monster, Pop. A murderer. Not a hitman. A serial killer. He likes it. How can we--"
"Nathan." Arthur had rounded the desk and suddenly caught Nathan's shoulder, physically pulling him around to face him. "Look at me."
Pop's eyes were far too calm for the circumstances. Calm and... distant. Something. Something Nathan suddenly remembered seeing in them two decades ago, right before a night that became a blur of flashing red and blue lights.
"Listen," Pop said, both hands on Nathan's shoulders, holding him in place so he couldn't pull away like he so desperately wanted--needed--to. "Sometimes... we have to do things that seem wrong, in the interests of the greater good."
Nathan forced himself to swallow, to breathe, then he said, "That's why I think we should drop this case."
Arthur's mouth twitched, some inscrutable expression passing his face, then he said, "No, it's why we need to win this case. We need Pendleton free. I can't explain. But..." He abruptly let go of Nathan's shoulders and walked away. "This is what we do, Nathan. We're but cogs in a very complicated mechanism." He picked up the glass of scotch from his desk and returned to Nathan, holding it out. "Take it."
Nathan took it, simply because he couldn't stand to let his father stand there, holding it out between them, trying to offer what little consolation he possibly could.
Once Nathan had it in his hand, he took a hard swallow of it, suddenly needing it more than he could have imagined. The fire of it burst through his sinuses, and he had to shake his head and gasp. Then he said, tears stinging his eyes from the burn, "Then explain it to me, Dad. Explain why we have to do this. If I'm going to do this, I deserve to know."
Pop sighed, and took a drink from his own glass. "That's just it, Nathan. I don't know. And I don't ask. It's better that way." Then he squeezed Nathan's arm and said, "I'm going to bed, I need to get some sleep. I suggest you go home and try to do the same."
***
It was a hard case. The DA's evidence was solid, carefully built up over years.
It was also the most high profile case Arthur had given to Nathan yet, which meant Nathan had to be flawless. One slip, even if it didn't lose him the case, could lose him his shot at a step up the ladder. Pop didn't play favorites. He only promoted the best.
And the most loyal.
And clearly, loyalty what this was about. Blind and unquestioning.
It was obvious, from the way Pop treated Peter these days, that being related to him was no guarantee of being in his favor.
Peter.
Nathan hadn't seen him in weeks. Before that, he'd seen him a couple times, for quick lunches and once dinner with him and Heidi and the kids, and before that had been that night Peter had called him from the police precinct, dressed in calf-length red satin and heels.
Nathan shut his eyes and pressed his palms flat on the glass plate over the hardwood surface of his desk.
Peter. PeterPeterPeter. Flashing angry eyes, hard cock straining against red silk or denim or a pair of plain grey boxer briefs. Nathan felt his own cock lunge in sympathy to the image, and shuddered all the way up his torso, his nipples drawing up into painfully tight nubs.
God, I want him. Here. Now. Fuck.
He was supposed to be compiling briefs, thinking about tax codes. But no, he was thinking about Peter, saying he was going to fuck him someday.
That was practically all he had been thinking about, bizarrely, since the moment Pendleton rasped his confession. How good it would feel to just lose himself in Peter.
Nathan forced himself to exhale all the air from his lungs. He pushed his eyes open. He lifted his hands from his desk.
He opened the file folder, picked up his pen, and began to read.
***
Two hours later, he put down the folder, picked up his phone and began making calls. Not to his client, not to his colleagues. Nothing to do with work.
The last call he made was to Peter.
He left a voicemail message: "I really need to see you. This weekend. All weekend. I'll pick you up."
***
He found himself pounding on the door to Peter's apartment at three o' clock Friday afternoon. Heavy bass thumped inside, and he had no idea if he even had a chance of being heard.
Fortunately, some bleary-eyed college guy finally opened the door. "What dude? Jeeze." He blinked his pink, watery eyes and looked Nathan up and down, taking in his suit and tie, not changed from work. "Jesus. What are you? The IRS?"
"I need to see Peter," Nathan yelled over the bass.
"Okay, then. Whatever, come in."
"I'll wait!" Nathan said.
The guy vanished into the depths of the pizza-box-infested apartment. Finally, after three "songs" had played, Peter appeared at the door, wearing boxers and a T-shirt.
"Nathan--" he said. "I'm busy, man."
"Yeah, you look it," Nathan snapped. "Come on. I've left you a hundred messages."
"I'm not going."
No, no, no. That was unacceptable. Nathan shut his eyes for a moment, then opened them, keeping his voice level. "Peter. Please. I don't care what I'll owe you for this. Just... please."
"I don't even know where you think we're going."
"Huntsman's Grove. It's in the Pokonos. Private cabins."
Suddenly Peter was right up against him, gripping his shoulder hard and leaning in close enough to speak low into his ear. "Nathan--I'm not your personal callboy, okay? I actually happen to have stuff of my own going on, here. You're horny? Well, hello! You're married. Go home and get some. Take Heidi with you to your little love nest."
No. Before Peter could step away, Nathan grabbed his wrist, yanking it down and holding it tight, keeping Peter in place, trapped against him. "Don't. Do. This. To. Me."
He could feel Peter's shaky breath against his cheek, and even that made his body react.
"Dude," Peter said, carefully. "First off, you're hurting me. Second... this is getting freaky. How about you let go? Like, right now. Or I start yelling."
No. He couldn't. Letting Peter leave would be unacceptable. Instead, he lowered his voice and said, "I'm defending a murderer. I mean a real one. Completely nuts. Heidi won't understand, and Pop understands way too well." He raised his brows, knowing it made him look sincere and vulnerable and that Peter couldn't resist it. "I just need someone to talk to. Please. I shouldn't even be taking any time off."
As he'd expected, the resistance left Peter in a second, melting out of him. Nathan let go of him, and Peter said, simply, "Let me go get my stuff."
Nathan stepped back and nodded, neatly hiding away the rush of relief that washed through him.
***
In the limo, he picked up where he'd left off in the office, now with his books and files scattered around him on the seats and the floor and his cellphone tucked in the crook of his neck as he jotted notes on an already-cluttered page of a yellow legal pad. He held his current book open with a splayed hand, feeling the weight of a week of constant work pressing on his mind as he tried to decipher the legalese of the tax code. On the phone, his paralegal, Linda, was saying that she'd finally found two related news reports in the old microfiche files she'd been going through.
And fuck, he couldn't even remember why he'd wanted those fucking articles. Shit. He jotted down the information and hmm'ed and agreed at appropriate places as his jumbled mind struggled to shift gears again from taxes to murders to alibis.
Okay, the news stories help prove that...
He almost had it, and then:
"What the hell?"
Fuck. He felt the entire house-of-cards structure of his thoughts collapse completely and his gaze jumped up to meet Peter's angry eyes flashing beneath the curtain of his bangs. Peter shoved his hair back and said, "You were the one who wanted to do this."
Nathan had to ask Linda to repeat herself, trying to silence Peter with a warning flash of his eyes.
Peter slouched back in his seat and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. He shook his head once, his lips twisting into a sneer of petulant disgust.
Nathan asked Linda to confirm the dates on the articles, and Peter suddenly lunged forward and slapped shut the dividing window between the passenger compartment and the driver's seat of the limo, then slumped back in his seat. Nathan watched him stretch out his legs across the aisle, spread wide, while Linda continued to talk in the background about dates and references and sources and his pen continued to move across the page, making notes in shorthand.
Peter cupped his hand around his own crotch and squeezed lightly. Peter's hands were smooth and lean, and Nathan only rarely noticed how masculine they were now--strong and sure.
Linda's voice faded for a moment, and Nathan's pen stilled.
The sound of Peter's zipper was clear even over the rumble of the road beneath the tires.
"Mr. Petrelli?" Linda said.
"Um," Nathan said. His throat was dry and Peter's cock was in Peter's hand. Nathan blinked hard and forced his voice back to a normal, steady tone. "Sorry, Linda. Could you repeat that last? I think I lost the signal for a moment."
Peter snorted.
Linda repeated what she'd said about one of Pendleton's previous trials, and Nathan managed to catch it all and note it, even though Peter was licking his palm and fingers, hints of his pink tongue flashing between his pale knuckles.
"Right," Nathan said, as Peter wrapped his index finger and thumb around his half-hard cock and began jiggling and jacking it, his eyes never leaving Nathan's face. "We'll need to look into that connection. Maybe we can make something out of that FBI agent's corruption charge. Get something thrown out."
Peter dropped his head back against the window behind him, his eyes falling halfway closed, but still staying locked on Nathan. His cock was standing up straight now, poking out at a stiff angle from his groin even though he was just resting his hand curled at the base, with his ring finger and pinky pressing into his pants, lightly rubbing his balls.
Nathan couldn't look away from Peter's cock. His own was hard, forcing him to spread and stretch his own legs, tangling around Peter's, just to give it some room in his tight briefs. He shifted his pen in his hand and it sent a shudder through his whole body--the hard, round shaft of it beneath his pressing fingers as he stared at Peter's erection.
Linda was shuffling papers at the other end of the line.
Peter drew his hand up and then down, letting out a low, rumbling moan of appreciation and finally shutting his eyes. "Yeah," he said, softly.
"Mr. Petrelli?" Linda said.
Nathan rolled the pen between his fingertips, holding it so hard he felt his knuckles creak. "Linda..." he said. "I'm... gonna have to hang up. I'm really losing you. I'll talk to you on Sunday evening."
He didn't hear her reply, he just flipped the phone shut.
"Damn it, Pete," he said, as he shoved his papers and seatbelt aside and got down on his knees between Peter's spread legs. "Fuck. I needed that time."
Peter replied only with a muffled "umph" as Nathan batted his hands away and finally, finally put his mouth around Peter's cock, sucking it in deep, feeling the press of it on the back of his tongue, the heat of it against the insides of his cheek. He could feel his pulse in his own cock, throbbing in time with the frantic pound of his heart against his ribs. Smooth taste of clean skin under his tongue, the smell of Peter's most intimate places filling his nose.
He pressed down, taking him in deep, not thinking of anything but getting Peter inside him, down his throat or... somewhere else. Anywhere. Just needed him. Needed this roar in his ears, needed the dizzy spin of not-enough-air, needed the flood of relief he pulled back and got a breath, and then the deep, bruising intrusion of going back down, filling his throat--
"God! Oh, fuck. Nath--Shit."
Peter's fingers knotted in his hair, tight and pulling and hurting. Oh, yes. He felt Peter's foot brace and then slip on the smooth carpeting, glancing against his calf in a sharp, brief blow. Even that felt good.
"Sorry. Shit, sorry--"
All of that annoyance, all of that smooth control--gone now. Peter's fingers scrabbled and slipped against the smooth cashmere of Nathan's suitcoat-clad shoulder.
"Please--"
Nonsense words, jerking hips. Nathan slid back until he could press the pointed tip of his tongue to the tiny scar under the head of Peter's cock, and--catching Nathan off-guard--that was all it took. Peter jolted and came, the first pulse landing hot and wet on Nathan's cheek before Nathan caught him in his mouth again and swallowed the rest: bitter-salty-warm on his tongue.
"Fuck. Sorry. Sorry, I didn't--I didn't know that was gonna happen."
Nathan sat back on his heels, which pulled his slacks tight around his crotch, making his already-restrained erection burn. He could feel the sliding semen on his cheek and tilted his head slightly, trying to spare his three-thousand dollar suit from an impossible-to-explain stain.
Peter dropped down to the floor in front of him suddenly--their folded legs interweaving, Peter's softening cock jutting between them--and he swiped his hand across Nathan's cheek, cleaning him, then looking at his own wet fingers with a small grimace of distaste. Nathan briefly considered licking them clean, but immediately dismissed the notion at the thought of cooling semen on his tongue. Instead, he handed Peter the handkerchief from his coat pocket.
Peter wiped off his fingers and cast it aside and then they were just kneeling on the floor, rocking slightly with the movement of the car, staring at each other. Nathan could feel one of his books on the floor beneath him, poking him in the ass.
Then Peter let out a long sigh, as though he'd been holding his breath. "Sorry," he said, again. Nathan didn't know what he was apologizing for, but before he could ask, Peter slid both of his hands into the hair on either side of Nathan's head, held him in place, and leaned in and kissed him.
It was like lightning. Like the first time their mouths had ever touched. Nathan was paralyzed, overloaded. And Peter took advantage of it--pressing him back against the seat behind him, deepening the kiss, grasping the nape of his neck and the elbow of one arm, restraining him and devouring him.
Nathan exhaled sharply through his nose, like a wordless curse, feeling his arms shaking as though he'd done one too many pullups. A part of him wanted to tell Peter to stop and let him catch his bearings--but another part wanted Peter to never stop. To keep going--to keep pinning him down, rubbing his body against him like he was marking him with his scent, marking him as his own. Kissing him however he wanted to--maddeningly light and shallow or almost-chokingly deep--touching him, sliding his hands up under that suitcoat he'd nearly ruined, possessively palming Nathan's chest and stomach and ribs through the hot, damp silk and cotton of his shirts.
His back twinged--cramped in a twisted, unnatural position--and he had to push back, sit up, say, "Wait."
Peter's groan of disappointment matched his own feelings perfectly.
"Later," Nathan said, promising them both. "Later." His hair was hanging over his forehead, tickling his brow, so he shoved it back into place, shook out his coat and straightened it, and pushed himself up and onto the seat with shaking legs and arms. Moving, he could feel a damp spot in his underwear, wet from a pulse of precome he hadn't even realized he'd produced.
What's wrong with me? Nathan thought.
Peter got back up onto his own seat and tucked himself away and zipped up. Nathan looked away and began trying to organize his materials with badly shaking hands. The shorthand on the legal pad now just looked like gibberish.
They spent the last half-hour of the drive in silence.
***
In fact, they didn't really say anything to each other until they'd arrived, cleaned up, and been seated and ordered dinner in the dining area.
Peter had his hair tamed down and back with gel and his face perfectly clean-shaven and he was dressed in what had to be the one good suit he'd taken with him to that godforsaken apartment. He was even wearing a tie and had a faint aura of some clean, masculine cologne.
He looked... like an adult. The waiter even handed him the wine list and didn't request an ID when Peter picked one of the pricier reds.
Nathan hadn't stopped him, either.
Finally, desperate to break the strange ice, Nathan said, "How's school?"
Peter just shrugged and turned his eyes away, and for a moment, he reverted completely back to that sulking teenager.
That hadn't been at all what Nathan had been hoping for, but then, just as quickly, Peter was sitting up straight again, sipping his wine and saying, "I thought we were here to talk about you. Tell me about the case."
So Nathan did. Reluctantly, at first, since this had never really been about the case. Not about talking about the case, anyway. But after he started to talk, it just all came out. He told Peter about the tax evasion, and how that wasn't nearly the whole story, and about Pendleton's comment about how he didn't always do it for money. And then about Pop telling him that sometimes they had to do things that seemed wrong, even when they didn't know why. By the time he got to that, he was drinking scotch again--a little too quickly, despite the warning burn.
"So don't do it," Peter said, like the solution was obvious. "Just tell Dad you won't."
"I can't," Nathan said, immediately.
"Why not?"
That, Nathan was less sure of. "It's... hard to explain."
"Why? Are you being blackmailed? Threatened?" For a split second, there was a terrible glint in Peter's eye, like he was ready to destroy anyone who would dare threaten Nathan or his family. It was an odd and startling thing to see on Peter's face.
"No, no. Nothing like that."
"Then what?"
Their food arrived then, giving Nathan an excuse to just think for awhile. He even managed to change the subject, but then, once they were well into their meal and Peter hadn't even pressed him about it, he found himself saying, "It's a test. This case. It's my chance to... get somewhere. Be someone. It's... like a rite of initiation."
Peter didn't respond right away--not with more than a brief glance of acknowledgment. He carefully cut and ate a few more bites of his vegetables and his trout and sipped his wine.
Finally, he said, "Look. I know this isn't your usual style, but... sometimes? It's okay to fail a test."
Nathan didn't know how to respond to that, or even how he wanted to respond. Eventually, Peter brought up a lighter subject and they spent the rest of the meal chatting, but Nathan continued to mull over Peter's words.
***
When they got back to their room, they both shed their coats and ties and went out and sat at the wrought iron table on the flagstone patio behind the cabin. Nothing but wilderness stretched out behind the cabin, and the only light came from the half-moon peeking through the branches and the blue flicker of light coming up from the in-ground hot tub.
The night was empty of human sounds, but filled with the chirps of crickets and cicadas and tree frogs. Occasionally, a branch would rustle or snap somewhere out in the woods, but the small stone terrace felt safe and secure.
Then Peter said, "It's cold. And there's a hot tub."
Nathan glanced at it, and then at Peter, who he could tell was shivering in his thin dress shirt. "So there is," he said, keeping his voice even in spite of his body's powerful reaction to the subtext. Yes. Finally. He'd been waiting for Peter to make the first move. It had to be Peter. That was how this worked.
Peter stood up and peered out into the woods, then looked back to Nathan and said, "So, uh... is this place really as private as it seems?"
"It should be," Nathan drawled, not moving from his casual sprawl even as his body began to draw tighter with excitement, "Given what I paid for it."
The alcohol buzzed in his veins alongside the growing glow of arousal. Peter stood across the table from him, the blue swirls of light dancing over him like the first time Nathan had seen him naked and sexual.
Peter cast a glance over his shoulder at the dark woods.
Nathan took another slow sip of scotch and when he had Peter's attention again, he said, "Go on. You won't convince me you're shy."
Suddenly, Peter shifted aside the chair that was between him and the table. It screeched against the flagstone, startlingly loud. He met Nathan's eyes squarely, and then, in a voice sounding firm and confident, he said, "Say it. Tell me you want to see me naked. I wanna hear it."
Nathan felt his eyes narrow slightly even as his cock twitched with interest. He cocked his head to the side, bemused and a bit suspicious of Peter's attempt at authority, not sure quite what Peter was going for, or how much of it was real and how much was an act.
"Who says I want to see you naked?" he said.
Instead of faltering, though, Peter just snorted derisively and said, "Years of first-hand evidence, councilor. Come on. Say it."
Nathan felt his jaw clench, and a real stirring of rebellion, not impressed by Peter's play at dominance. He sat back in his chair with an ease he didn't feel, took a moment longer than necessary to sip his scotch, and spread his legs long and wide under the table, relieving the pressure somewhat on his erection. With an annoyance he was feeling, he said, "What exactly are you going for, here?"
"Fuck you," Peter said. Then walked away, inside, shutting the door behind himself not with a bang but just a quiet click. Nathan found himself alone on the patio, surrounded by silence but for the soft gurgle of the hot tub and the sounds of the forest at night. What the hell was that about? he thought. He forced himself to finish his drink, sip by deliberate sip, but Peter didn't come back looking for forgiveness.
The solitude pressed down around him like the silence, and he still had the dregs in his glass when he gave in and went inside.
Peter was in the cabin's sitting area, with a biology book and his notes scattered around him. He didn't look up when Nathan came in.
Nathan sat in the armchair and watched him continue to ignore him.
"All right," he said, finally, breaking the silence with a tactic that sometimes worked when Heidi was pissed off, "What'd I do?"
Peter finished the sentence he was writing, then sighed and looked up, peering through his bangs before he shoved them back out of the way. "You don't own me, Nathan."
Exasperated, Nathan huffed, "Of course I don't."
"You think you do."
"No, I don't--"
Peter held up a hand, stopping him, saying, "Stop. Don't. You call me up, out of nowhere, act like there's this big emergency and drag me two hundred miles across the state to some freakin' cabin in the middle of nowhere and in all that time, you barely even acknowledge my existence."
Nathan drew a breath to protest, but Peter was far from finished and just rushed on.
"And then, when we finally do talk about what you said you wanted to bring me out here to talk about, the conversation lasts three minutes, and you don't even listen to me anyway."
Okay, so maybe that was true.
"So you know what? Fuck you. I have to study." Peter started to go back to his notes, then seemed to realize he'd forgotten something. "And don't try to tell me I'm fucking sulking. I'm not five anymore, and I have better things to do. And also? The only time you did pay any attention to me was when you were sucking my dick, so maybe you should think a bit about what that means. But do it somewhere else, because I'm working, and you're distracting me."
That's not true. But maybe it was. More importantly, maybe Peter really thought it was, which meant... Nathan stood up. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Go. Away."
But now the implications were settling in his chest and circulating like ice in his veins. Nathan's own voice sounded distant when he said, "What do you think? You think I'm just..." Abusing you was what he meant to say next, but he couldn't choke the words out. "Christ, Peter. Jesus. What--" He realized he was shaking, and almost numb, and all he could feel was a growing rage, a growing need to strike out at the first thing he saw. I didn't. I wouldn't. Never. "Don't--Don't you ever--"
Peter slammed his book shut and stood up. "I'm saying you're using me, Nathan. Just like you use everyone else. Me, Heidi--hell, when you run for office, you're going to be parading your kids around in front of the cameras like some kind of fashion accessory."
Nathan couldn't get a word in before Peter continued:
"It doesn't matter what you're using me for. What did you want me to say tonight? Did you want me to tell you that it was okay? That defending that monster was fine? Because it's not, Nathan. I don't care what Dad says, you know how I feel about him. And if you do this, you're going to be just like him." He sighed angrily and said, "And maybe I'm kinda mad at myself. Because I believed you were better than that. But apparently, you're not. You're just like them. All you care about is yourself."
Nathan realized his hands had curled into tight fists, but he only knew because he could feel his nails in his palms. Everything else was a blur, and that sudden, sad resignation in Peter's eyes was all he could see. Giving up on him, like he'd given up on Pop, like he was worthless, hopeless. "Don't--" was all he could make himself say.
"You gonna hit me?" Peter said. "For telling you the truth?" He spread his arms, stood defenseless. "Go on, then. Go on. Hit me. Prove me right. What the hell?"
You can't. You can't say that sort of thing. You can't dismiss me like this. You can't, Peter, you can't. You were the one who believed in me. What the hell am I without that? What do I have left? "Don't--" but his tone had dropped to a whisper. A plead.
"I can't absolve you, okay? I can't. It's wrong. It's wrong, Nathan. And I want you to be better than that."
He felt his voice crack as he said, "I can't lose this case."
"No. You don't want to, Nathan. Think about it. That's your pride talking. That's all."
"There's no other way," Nathan said, still hearing that note of pleading in his voice and hating it, even as a distant part of him reeled, trying to figure out when this had, actually, become about the case.
"Yes, there is. Walk away. You can do it. You did it before, you can do it again."
"I'll lose my job, Pete. I'll lose my career. I've got a family--"
"You won't. Nathan..." Peter stepped closer, finally, reaching out and pressing his fingers deep into Nathan's shoulders and just that touch alone was enough to bring a hint of reality and stability back. Peter's eyes burned into his, not letting him look away or even blink. "You're brilliant. You're better than this. You will land on your feet. I know you can. Just believe it."
"What else could I do?" This had always been his destiny, even when he'd tried to fight it. Their family's firm, fighting battles that shouldn't be won, for the greater good.
"Anything," Peter said, and the corner of his lip twitched. Almost a smile. His voice was softer and gentler, like a cool cloth on a fevered brow. "You can do anything you want to. I know you better than you do, remember? Trust me."
Nathan had to shut his eyes against the intensity of Peter's gaze. Too much trust there. Too much belief. Too much hope.
Suddenly Peter's hand was in his hair, fingers sliding through the strands, cupping warm around the curve of his skull. Peter was stepping closer, close enough for Nathan to feel the heat of him all along his body, and his breath on his face. "That's why we're here, right? You want me to save you. Let me. Please."
Nathan exhaled sharply, and whispered, "You're being a bit melodramatic," but he couldn't get any feeling behind it. Not when all he wanted was Peter closer, Peter's lips on his cheek, his throat, his hands on his back and his voice murmuring that it'd be all right. Everything would be all right.
Peter's only response was a kiss, glancing off the stubble on Nathan's jaw, sweet and soft and full of exactly what he'd denied being able to give: absolution.
And Nathan fell apart, even though he didn't move or even sway. He was shaking and hard and needing and saying, "Yes. That. God, please. Peter. Please." Not even sure what he was saying, just feeling the words tumble out of him.
Peter's hands had never felt so strong before... on his back, his hips. Peter's body pressed against his, walking him backwards, and Nathan had no idea where anything was in this unfamiliar cabin but he didn't even open his eyes, he just trusted Peter not to let them stumble... not until the bed hit the backs of his thighs and they landed on the mattress in a tangle of arms and mouths and he was rolling up under Peter, pleading with his body now more than his voice.
Peter sat back, all the way up on his knees, kneeling spread over Nathan's legs. Cold air and cold reality, but Peter was too beautiful to look away from as he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, then crossed his arms and peeled his T-shirt over his head, tossing it aside and shaking his unruly bangs out of his eyes. The curves of taut, adult muscle under his familiar skin were still startling. Odd. Exciting.
"I wanna fuck you," Peter breathed. "Okay?"
Nathan's breath left him completely in a harsh rush, and even as his body screamed 'yes,' he couldn't make his voice form the word. Still, Peter seemed to hear him; he reached down and yanked Nathan's shirttails out of his pants with a sharp jerk, then began wrestling each button open from the bottom up, his fingers sometimes brushing Nathan through the thin cotton of his undershirt. Nathan rolled his head back and bit down hard on his lip and trembled on the edge of orgasm. Not yet, not yet. Please not yet.
"Fuck," Peter said, as he spread Nathan's shirt open, as he pushed Nathan's undershirt up, as he raked his hands up Nathan's ribs, tangling his fingertips in Nathan's chest hair. "You're so beautiful. Oh, god, you are so-- urgh."
Nathan looked to see Peter gripping his own cock through his pants, squeezing at the base, fighting off his own orgasm.
"Shit, oh. Okay. Yeah." Peter's eyes were closed, his bottom lip pinched hard between his front teeth. When he opened his eyes, breathing through flared nostrils, he said, "Fuck. I'm--running a little hot. I think--I need to--calm down a bit."
Nathan shut his own eyes for a moment, caught between relief and disappointment and forced himself to nod. "Yeah. Me too."
Peter shifted off of him, over to sit on the side of the bed, hands braced beside himself, shoulders slumped as he caught his breath. Nathan stayed where he was, shirt undone, stomach exposed, hard cock outlined clearly through the cashmere and silk of his slacks. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to figure out how he'd even come to be here, what had happened in the last five minutes.
"Sorry," Peter said, not looking back. "I just--um. I want... this to last."
That sent another shudder through Nathan's insides. Fuck me. All night. Make it last. Yes.
"You okay?" Peter said, and Nathan realized that now he was looking at him, concerned. "We don't have to--"
"Yes," Nathan cut him off. "I am. We do. Yes."
Peter smiled slightly at that, maybe just at the breathless delivery. Then he turned around and scootched closer, sitting with his thigh against Nathan's side, looking down. He began tracing the contours of Nathan's face with his fingertips, like he'd only just been permitted to touch him. Nathan watched his face, the small flickers of changing emotion in his eyes and his lips. Nothing was ever a secret with Peter, really. You just had to look.
"I love you," Peter said, solemn and true.
"I love you, too."
Peter leaned down and brushed a kiss across Nathan's lips. "You okay now?"
"Yeah."
"Take your clothes off. I'll be right back," Peter said, pulling away, standing up, his back to Nathan as he began to undo his belt.
His limbs felt heavy and slow as he pushed himself up to sitting. Taking his shirts off seemed complicated, but he managed to do it. Peter left the room, walking out into the cabin proper completely naked, all silk skin and grace.
Nathan shifted to the edge of the bed to pull off his pants and briefs, letting them fall to the floor as they would. He could always have the slacks washed and ironed later.
He could hear Peter rustling around with bags and zippers in the next room. He felt like he should do something useful, in spite of the lassitude flowing through his limbs, so he stood up and peeled back the comforter and sheets, took the shams off the pillows, turned off the overhead light and turned on the lamp.
As he was straightening back up from doing that, arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him back against a warm, slender, naked body. Peter's lips pressed against the nape of Nathan's neck. He felt himself relax completely.
"Mmm," Peter said, in response. "I like that."
He nipped at Nathan's ear and Nathan laughed and turned, batting him away gently. "Cannibal," he said.
Peter just grinned, his eyelids heavy and sleepy. "You're a willing victim," he pointed out.
Nathan didn't even feel the need to argue.
Instead, he pulled Peter with him as he sat back down on the bed. "Come here." And then they kissed for awhile, with Peter straddling his lap and holding onto his shoulders. Soft and exploratory kisses, rediscovering the taste and feel of each other, and the small sounds they made and the scents of their breaths.
"Have you ever done this before?" Peter asked, not pulling more than a millimeter away.
Nathan pressed forward, catching Peter's lips again and kissing him breathless, giving him time to find the courage to say, "No. Never."
Peter surprised--and annoyed--him by chuckling. "Oh, that's hot. My little ass-virgin."
"You are not funny," Nathan muttered, a bit turned off but not nearly so much as his pride said he should be.
"I'm totally funny," Peter murmured back. "You're laughing inside. Admit it."
Peter's mouth was a solemn line, but his eyes were smiling, and in spite of himself, Nathan found himself smiling back. "Don't quit your day job, kid."
Peter kissed him, deeply but quickly, then pulled back and stood up, leaving him alone and cold. "Get on the bed, okay?"
Nathan did, and watched Peter cross the room to the dresser, where he'd arrayed condoms, lube, and a bowl with a washcloth. Peter returned with a foil packet and the flip-top bottle, climbed onto the bed and knee-walked over to Nathan and said, "Roll over."
Nathan did, and covered his nerves with a quipped, "You could stand to work on your foreplay, there, Casanova."
"Har har. Now who thinks he's funny?"
Then warm, empty hands were sliding up his back, pressing deep into his tight muscles. Peter kissed up his spine and Nathan felt himself relaxing again. Just Peter. Oh. Yes.
"Relax," Peter said, lips against his skin. "Just let me touch you. I'm not gonna do anything until you want me to."
And then it seemed he began a mission to kiss every square inch of Nathan's back, sucking and licking until Nathan's muscles were quivering under the sensuous assault and his body was screaming for more substantial contact.
"Pete--come on--"
"Mmm," Peter said, sounding almost as hazy and spaced-out as Nathan himself felt. "You taste good, though." He nipped the thin skin over Nathan's shoulder-blade. It felt great.
"Cannibal," Nathan muttered into the pillow he'd pressed his face into.
He felt Peter sitting back, kneeling between his spread legs, and felt again a cold flush of nerves and excitement spread through his guts and flash down his legs like lightning.
Peter's hands pressed into his ass-cheeks, kneading the muscle for a moment, then pulling them apart, exposing him to Peter's eyes. He shuddered and felt his cock pulse, trapped between his belly and the bed. Peter dragged his thumbs down along the insides of his cheeks, lightly, almost tickling. Nathan bit his lip and tried not to pull away. Unfamiliar sensation... no one touched him there. Not like that. No one, to his knowledge, had ever wanted to and even if they had, no way would he have let them. He felt the prickle of sweat breaking out along his spine and the backs of his thighs.
He wanted it. Or he wanted it to stop. He couldn't tell.
That part of him had always been taboo. He didn't even like to think about it when he was cleaning it. Which made him realize it had been a whole day since he'd even showered.
"You okay?" Peter said.
Nathan grunted in response, too caught up in the feelings and too confused by his own whirl of emotions to properly respond. Don't ask me. Just know. You're supposed to know this stuff.
Still, this time, when Peter's thumbs grazed down and across him, he really did pull away. Don't touch that... it's disgusting...
Peter released him and flopped down alongside him, pressing his shoulder to make him roll up and face him. "Talk to me," he said.
"It's nothing," Nathan said, more to himself than Peter. It's stupid. It's fine. He'll be using a condom, anyway. Why was he even wasting a thought on this?
"Okay," Peter said, sounding a bit like a nanny trying to pry information from a three-year-old. "Contrary to popular belief, I can't actually read minds. But I know something's up."
Peter reached up to touch his hair, and Nathan could smell his own musky sweat on Peter's fingers. He dodged the touch.
He'd never thought about this when it was Peter's ass. Peter's ass was... well, as long as he'd spared it any thought at all, it had always been a sexual thing to him. He'd never even conceived of it outside that context. And anyway, Peter's hygiene was Peter's problem. This was different.
"What?"
He pulled away, sitting up. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," he said.
"Nathan..."
But sitting up only made him more aware of his still-half-hard cock. Only reminded him how much more he'd rather be stretched out on the body-warm sheets, with Peter over him, inside of him. How often he'd fantasized and even literally dreamed of what it would be like.
Peter sat up, too, and draped himself over Nathan's shoulders. He didn't say anything. If he had, Nathan probably would have been able to resist. But he didn't, and the silence had to be filled with something, and so, finally, Nathan managed to say, "I haven't even taken a shower since this morning."
He felt Peter press his face to his hair, his nose tucked behind his ear. "Yeah. You smell really good, actually. But... yeah. I get it. It's okay. We can do that."
Even as a part of him frowned--wondering if he was being patronized--another, larger part of him breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
"Actually," Peter said, "depending on... what you're comfortable with, I've got some stuff if you want to, uh, go a little deeper, too. I... kinda thought it might bother you."
His hands gently stroked Nathan's chest as he spoke, soothing away the instinctive rise of defensiveness.
"You got all that together in the five minutes it took to pack your bag?" Nathan said, trying to regain some footing and some normalcy.
He felt Peter smile against his shoulder. "Actually, I've had most of this stuff put together for awhile now. I was just... waiting. Hoping. I thought maybe... this would be soon."
He shut his eyes and leaned his weight back into Peter, feeling those words down to his soul. He closed his hand tightly over Peter's on his chest, trying again to find his feet, find some coherency. Wondering again at this crazy thing between them. The depth of it, the power, the strangeness. He'd never dreamed before of letting another man do this to him, under any circumstances. But here he was. Here they were. Here was someone he could trust.
"Okay," Nathan said. "Let's do that."
***
Peter explained everything the way a doctor might--detached and clinical--for which Nathan was infinitely grateful. Attempts at humor or intimacy would have ended it all right there. After it was explained, best of all, Peter left, saying he'd be out in the hot tub.
Which was, in fact, where he was when Nathan came to find him twenty or so minutes later. They shared a quick, dry kiss, and Peter went to take a shower of his own to wash off the chlorine, while Nathan returned to the bedroom and sat back down in the center of the bed, feeling strange inside and bizarrely aware of parts of himself he'd never thought about even having, both outside and in.
Peter emerged again five minutes later and stopped in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb with his arms crossed across his chest, his cock hanging soft and unselfconsciously exposed between his legs.
"So... you still want to do this?" he said. "It's okay if you'd rather do something else. Or nothing. Or whatever."
It was coming up on one in the morning, and their lust was at a low ebb, calmed by time and disruptions. Nathan's mind was clearer than it had been all week, and so, of course, there was a voice in the back of his mind telling him to just say no and walk away from this madness. He was his brother. His younger brother. Just a kid.
But Peter didn't look like a kid there in the doorway, smiling slightly as if he actually could overhear Nathan's entire thought process. No... kids didn't get that possessive gleam in their eye as they looked over their intended lover's naked body. Nor did they relax and wait, patient and confident.
These were the moments that whispered that this was more than some unnatural and powerful lust. That there was something more there than bodies and chemicals and crossed wires. Moments like these, when he lay down without a word and held out his hand, and felt a calm certainty that everything would be okay, and Peter settled into his arms and fit there like they were the mold from which he'd been cast.
They took their time this time, slowly kissing and touching and letting it all build until they were rocking against each other with their hard cocks sliding side-by-side, seeking something more, something stronger. Nathan pushed Peter up out of his way and rolled over, spreading his legs and pressing himself into the mattress, wanting it now as much as he needed it, gasping with pleasure this time as Peter's cock dragged across his thigh. As Peter's fingers, dripping with cold lube, slid down where his own had been, in the bathroom earlier and, with no resistance, slid up inside.
"Ah, God. That's perfect," Peter sighed.
And it was. Invasive, yes, but welcome. Tight, but manageable. Peter's fingers worked him for a moment, kneading him like clay, and then they pulled away and were replaced by something more. Hard, slick heat pressed against him, and Peter's voice whispered, "Okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah. Do it."
Oh. Fuck, yes. No pain. No pain at all, and that shocked him. That it could be easy like that. That it could feel good, right away, without any sort of karmic retribution. Oh. He was filled and tight and Peter lay heavy and wet and hot over his back, and yes, Peter was making those sounds that he made whenever Nathan touched him or sucked him. Those sounds that Nathan sometimes imagined while jacking off in the shower, and could come from.
"Oh, holy shit, Nathan. Holy shit. I'm in you. Oh my god."
He couldn't reply. Dizzy curls burrowed through his brain, sparks flickered coldly up his spine. What he could do was shift his his hips. The earthquake of that rattled through him, and Peter hissed above him.
Do it, Pete. Fuck me.
One tentative thrust, and then another, each one driving every thought out of his brain, twisting him inside out and making him want--need--more. More. Need to press up, feel Peter deeper, never enough, but oh, so good.
"So good. Fuck. Nath--oh. Love you. Beautiful. You are so--oh, fuck."
Peter was all around him, arms pressing into the bed and his ribs, chest burning against his back. His breath wooshed hot and wet against Nathan's face, smelling like toothpaste and the essence of him. His hair tickled Nathan's ear.
Nathan wished he could roll over and look up and see Peter looking down, but he couldn't move. He couldn't let it end so soon, even if only briefly.
Where they were joined it burned a little, and it ached when Peter pressed in deepest up against some barrier inside, but there was still no pain.
"Talk to me. Tell me--unh. Tell me. You're okay."
He couldn't speak, but he could nod, but that didn't seem to be enough.
"Is it okay? Good? Fuck, Nathan, you feel so good. But--oh."
Like swimming up from a deep, warm well, he found his way back to coherence, just enough to gasp out, "Don't you dare stop."
Peter laughed, a voiceless breath against Nathan's skin, and then Nathan lost the thread entirely again as Peter began to move faster. Harder. Doing something with his hips that changed everything and made Nathan's whole body feel every twitch of Peter's cock inside him. He could only dig his hands into the deep sheets and gasp for breath and hold on tight, completely beyond control, beyond anything he recognized of himself, and not even caring.
Exhilaration was the word for this. Ecstasy.
Time slipped away from his grasp, measured now only in the slow or fast roll of Peter's hips and his own. The touch of Peter's lips; the drip of Peter's sweat on his back; the smell of sex, heavy in his nostrils. He couldn't pinpoint the moment he came--though he knew he had by the wetness under his stomach--it was all like one long, slow climax. He felt it when Peter did, though. Peter shivered hard and froze at the bottom of one thrust, then pulled back and pressed in, once, twice, still shaking. Then he fell over Nathan, panting and clinging to him, whispering breathless nonsense like he did at those moments.
Finally, Nathan could roll over, weakened limbs just cooperating enough, and wrap his arms around his brother; his lover; Peter. Just Peter. Kiss him wetly, hold him close. Exhausted, they fell asleep like that, and he woke in the morning with Peter's chest to his chest and their arms and legs still around each other, tangled and awkward and perfect.
***
He won the case.
He won it soundly, in fact, managing to get it thrown out before anyone ever even set foot in a courtroom, thanks to an idiot at the FBI who'd been on the take and compromised the evidence long before Nathan even knew Pendleton existed. It was an obscure and convoluted thing, but it had worked on the judge, and that was all that mattered. Pendleton walked.
It was in the papers the next day, and by the time Nathan was able to call Peter, Peter wasn't taking his calls.
That was okay, though. It would be, anyway.
***
A week later, he waited outside of his father's study, pacing back and forth as his father completed a call. A folded page seemed to burn in his inner coat pocket.
"Thank you. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow," Pop said, and then hung up. And it was time.
Nathan took a long, deep breath and walked in. He tried to smile and failed. "Pop."
"Son," his father said, looking slightly bemused. "You all right?"
"Yeah. Um. Yeah. I just..."
"You're staying tonight, aren't you? To meet the gang?"
The gang: Linderman; that guy, Bob Something; Kaito Nakamura. Maybe others.
"Um. Actually, that's... not why I'm here."
Pop's brow tightened, but then it quickly smoothed again. "Oh?"
"Yeah." He stopped. Then started again. "Actually... I..." He couldn't do it. Couldn't look his father in the eye as he pulled the letter out of his pocket and held it out. "Pop, I'm resigning."
He continued to hold out the letter. Nothing happened.
He finally had to look up.
"I'm not taking that," Pop said.
"Pop. I'm serious."
"No. This is a mistake. This is a joke. What on earth do you think you are you doing?"
Nathan got tired of holding the letter out in midair. He set it down on the desk and folded his hands in front of himself. "I've accepted a position with the District Attorney's office."
"You can't--This is ridiculous, Nathan. After you--"
"Pop," he said, cutting him off, feeling a burn in his throat as it all tumbled towards the worst-case scenario. "Pop, I'm sorry. I can't keep doing this."
Now that the shock was passing, there was anger flashing in Pop's eyes. "After all I did for you--"
And Pop clearly wasn't done, but Nathan had nothing left to say, and there was nothing more he could stand to hear, so he just walked out. He made it down the hall and almost to the front door. In the sitting room, he could see the gathered company, waiting to celebrate his initiation into "the gang."
Ma stopped him with his hand on the door-handle. "Nathan," she said, sounding surprised but seemingly trying to cover it. "Leaving so soon?"
"Yeah," he said. "Sorry, Ma. I've got... somewhere else I have to be."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Then she smiled, a sort of sad smile. "Well," she said. "All for the best, I suppose. You're too young to sit and listen to us old folk natter on about places you haven't been and things you haven't done."
He stared at her for a moment, parsing what she'd just said.
She leaned in suddenly and kissed him on the cheek. "Take care, dear. We'll all still be here if you change your mind."
He tightened his lips until he found a way to shape them into a smile, even though he still wasn't quite sure if his world was about to shatter beneath him or not. "Thanks, Ma."
***
Late that night, his cellphone rang. It jarred him not from sleep, but from his scotch-induced daze. He shook himself and answered without looking, glancing out at the dark beyond the kitchen window.
"Petrelli."
"Hey," said Peter's voice.
"Oh god," Nathan said, immediately checking the clock. Almost midnight. "Please don't tell me you're in jail. I really don't need that tonight." The D.A. would throw him out on his ear, for one thing.
"Of course I'm not," Peter said, sounding as offended as if such a possibility were beyond the realm of plausibility. "I just... Mom called. Earlier."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. She said Dad said you quit your job and got one with the district attorney instead?"
"Uh." He cleared his throat. It sounded kind of stupid all laid out like that. "Yeah, I did."
There was a long pause. Then a laugh.
"Thank you," Nathan said, sardonically. He picked up his glass and looked sadly down at the emptiness. "Laugh at me. I'm having a great night. I think Pop might disown me. Please, go ahead and make it better with your mockery."
By the end of all that, he'd stood up, making for the scotch bottle on the counter, and was feeling genuinely angry. He grabbed the whole bottle and started back towards the table.
"Nathan," Peter said. "I'm not mocking you. Why would I mock--" He stopped and restarted. "You idiot. I'm proud of you. I knew you could-- I mean, I knew you were-- I just... I love you. So much. You know that, right? I really, really love you."
Nathan sat down abruptly and the bottle in his hand hit the table with a loud clunk that echoed through the empty room.
After a disoriented moment, he pulled himself together and said, as drolly as he could manage, "Well, great. That just makes everything all better."
But actually... it kind of did.