Chimera Mimic

Nathan had spent the evening reading his law books, and actually hadn't passed out after the first chapter. Or the second. He'd actually made notes for himself as well. It had been a very productive evening, to say the least.

Peter had been gone a long time, and though he'd known he had nothing to worry about unless a werewolf was smart enough to impale the back of Peter's head with his incredibly sharp and long fangs, he still worried anyway and had finished off the bottle of red wine to calm his nerves.

He'd been pleasantly drunk and still happy when he heard the elevator ping and stop on his floor. The sight that greeted him when he opened it could not have been worse.

Peter, covered in blood, his clothes torn and shredded, arms and lips and hands all over Jack Fucking Harkness, against the wall across from the elevator. Three doors away from Nathan's apartment.

That Nathan shared with his brother.

Nathan's stomach twisted inside of him, all that sickening, overwhelming jealousy unleashed once again, that last glass of wine threatening to come back up as he watched Peter sink his hands into Jack's jacket, watched Jack lean into him, heard Peter's sounds of approval as he enjoyed the attention.

He watched until Jack pulled away and Peter gave him those fucking puppy eyes, and then he couldn't take it anymore, his stomach flipping once again. Nathan had half a mind to lock the door on him, but then where would he go? Jack's fucking bed, no doubt.

And then he wouldn't even get the chance to confront Peter about the disgusting display he'd just witnessed.

So Nathan refilled his glass, Scotch this time, and waited for Peter to come in. A half-minute later, the door clicked open and shut.

He looked up at the sound of his name leaving Peter's mouth. The mouth that had just been all over Jack Harkness. Trembling, his blood racing with alcohol and anger, his voice threateningly low, Nathan answered, "Yes, Peter?"

From:

Peter grinned at his brother, sensing nothing wrong at all. He was on a contact high from Jack's overpowering pheromones. He was absolutely filled with adrenaline. "You should have been there. I got to play nurse." That part amused him most. "And I think I made a new friend out of that doctor. Owen. Sorry I'm a little late. I went out with him and Jack and Gadget. You should have seen the look that they gave us. I mean, here we are, a group of kids that just got chewed on, covered in dirt and blood--"

He paused, blinking at Nathan. He knew that look. Nathan was pissed off.

Peter immediately jumped back onto the mat and took off his boot and coat. He assumed that Nathan was mad at him for tracking in mud!

"Oh, sorrrry! I'm sorry. Wasn't thinking. Anyhow, so Jack went up to the bartender and was like--"

He was going to ramble all night evidently.

From:

Nathan kept his voice incredibly low and steady even as his hand shook, gripped tightly around his glass. "Shut your fucking mouth, Peter."

He tilted it back and swallowed some of the liquor, grimacing as it burned on its way down to his stomach, made worse because he'd been drinking wine right before. Not a good idea to mix the two. Too fucking bad.

"I don't give a shit what Jack said to a goddamn bartender, Peter. You know what I do give a shit about?" Nathan asked, standing up, advancing slowly toward his brother, not quite sure what he would do when he got within arm's reach of him.

"I just opened the door and got an eyeful of something Jack's been trying to say to you since you played his fucking Sleeping Beauty."

From:

Peter was too shocked to say anything at first, mouth hanging open like a frog trying to catch flies. "Excuse me?" he finally coughed out, understanding what his brother saw without understanding why he was upset. He turned his head to the side, eyes narrowing. He wasn't trying to read his mind, literally, but he was attempting to puzzle out what was going on.

Since when had whatever they been doing meant that Peter couldn't see someone else? Nathan was his brother. And that was a fact that Nathan himself was clinging to even when Peter was trying to convince himself otherwise.

"We're just friends." Friends that kissed and shoved their tongues in each others' mouths evidently! Peter knew Jack cared for someone else. He knew it! But they could kiss, couldn't they?

Nathan was drinking as if he'd turned into a fish, and Peter was having none of it.

"What is this? Some sort of stupid jealous act, Nathan? How many times did I fucking cover for you with Heidi? And you were married!" He threw up his hands. "So I kissed him? So what!"

From:

"Friends. I like that. Really, I do," Nathan said sarcastically, pouring himself another shot, taking slight pleasure in the fact that it really got under Peter's skin when he drank like this.

"But...you've got all your definitions of relationships mixed up, huh, Pete? You make out with your friend. You make out with your brother. Oh, but wait! You also let your brother suck you off. Twice. Getting confused yet? I know the fuck I am."

Nathan wouldn't lie to himself: he operated under a double standard. He'd screwed around behind Heidi's back more than once; Peter had a point. On the other hand, Nathan was extremely possessive of his lovers. It didn't matter that Peter was his brother, because in the last four days, he'd become much more than that.

He didn't even let Peter get a word in, and kept going, his voice still laden with bitter sarcasm. "Oh, good tactic, Pete. Deflect the attention off of you for just one second. Let's talk about Heidi," Nathan said. "Do you think if I saw Heidi kissing another man I wouldn't act just--like--this?" He accented the last three words with three slams of his yet again empty glass down on the wooden end table, jostling the lamp.

From:

Planting his feet, Peter let Nathan finish what he needed to before he stabbed at the air with his forefinger in the direction of his brother's chest. "I am not your wife. You don't have a say over what I do and do not do."

It was vaguely reminiscent of his brother trying to put his foot down about Texas. This escapade hadn't worked then. It wouldn't work now.

"Damn it, Nathan. I am well aware of what we've done. But I am your brother. Nothing can come out of whatever it is you think this is!"

That made him pause. He was upset, tears filling his giant, doe-like eyes as he dropped his hand down to his side. What did Nathan want from him?

He wanted to ask that, but the words wouldn't come out. Instead he had to make snide, better than thou comments right back at Nathan's drunken ones.

"So is this the part where you hit me? Or track down Jack to hit him? You're an asshole, Nathan. It's just a kiss. God knows how many people you've fucked since you got here."

From:

Nathan shook his head and pushed Peter's hand down; he was a lot more drunk now, and that accusingly pointed finger was annoying him.

"I may be jealous, but I'm not an asshole, Peter. And I'm not going to hit you. I am going to hit that bastard when I see him. Taking advantage of you, that's all he's trying to do.

"To answer your question, I've only fucked one person since I got here, and you want to know who I thought about the whole time? You. I wanted it to be you. How do you like that, Peter?"

That was why during their last encounter, when Peter was jerking him off, Nathan's imagination had run away with him and shown him those vivid images of them doing much, much more. He'd been walking through the Hub on his way to the archives and seen Eli Janus and his absolutely identical brother sitting on that infamous couch, and it triggered the memory. He'd slept with Eli, and imagined he was Peter. He'd been so hammered he'd completely blacked it out.

Edited Date: 2010-06-27 05:22 am (UTC)

From:

"Am I suppose to be flattered?" Peter left his spot by the door and started to clean up after his brother. Glasses and bottles were cleared away, the former placed in the sink for washing and the rest in with the recycling. "Enlighten me, Nathan. Tell me how fucking someone else and wishing it was me makes it better. No. No, actually, tell me how suddenly knowing that you want to fuck me makes it better."

This revelation terrified him. It was one thing to kiss, to jerk each other off...that could be seen as experimentation. Or just poor judgment. Peter leaned against the sink and finally turned his eyes back towards his brother.

"You don't even care what I think or what I want. You haven't asked me. You just take and when I fight you, you make me feel guilty for it."

He slammed his hand into the counter before turning back towards Nathan. There were tears rolling down his cheeks by that point.

"How do you want me to be taking this, Nathan? Do I fling my arms around your neck and thank my lucky stars that my brother has these....thoughts...about me?" His voice cracked.

From:

Nathan took a shaky breath as he approached Peter again. God, he hated when Peter cried. He hated it even more when he ws the one who caused it.

Why the fuck did I tell him that? he agonized, suddenly sobered now by the immensity of his revelation. He'd just told his little brother he wanted to fuck him. That was just...inexcusable. And why? Because he was feeling spiteful? "Christ, Peter," Nathan started, setting his hands on Peter's shoulders carefully, not sure what Peter might do if he touched him, now that he'd gotten a glimpse of how absolutely twisted his older brother really was.

No, he hadn't asked Peter how he felt about any of this. He had just taken what he wanted, and Peter had fought him. The first time, that was. Who was the guilty one now?

These weren't just those tears that came out when Peter was frustrated, or sad, either. He was either disgusted, scared, or on the verge of hysteria.

He wondered ridiculously, in the midst of all this, if because of Peter's empathy, Nathan's emotions affected Peter's feelings directly. If he calmed down, maybe Peter would follow suit.

"I don't know how you should take it, Pete. Why don't you just...tell me. Tell me what you want." Even while he said the words, he feared it was a little too late.

From:

Jack had gone downstairs, pulled a bottle of bourbon out of the cabinet, and drank down half of it, thinking of Peter, and of Ianto. The Welshman had mysteriously disappeared again, without a trace. He'd pushed it off, assumed that Ianto needed space, especially with the coming werewolf take-down, but when he returned, he'd expected Ianto to be there, waiting and ready to make sure everyone was alright.

But he hadn't. Jack's stomach tied in knots, and he'd rather lost control of his hormones, furiously snogging Peter in the lift. He couldn't help it; the American was absolutely delicious with his dark hair and big eyes, and Jack was always energized after missions. Luckily, he'd controlled himself long enough for Peter to escape into his flat.

He stared at the empty bottle, his body more than pleasantly drunk, and his head humming with discontent.

Why had Ianto left? Was it him? Was he that fucking damaged that even Ianto couldn't stand to be around him? That's what he got, he supposed, for trying to be a person he wasn't. For trying to change himself.

He thought of Peter, upstairs, probably alone. They never finished their altercations. There was plenty of snogging, but neither of them ever got a release. He wanted to change that...

And even if Peter wasn't into anything sexual tonight, at least he'd have someone to talk to. He didn't want to be alone tonight. He'd died and risen again, and his mind was constantly thinking of his time on the Valiant. He couldn't rid himself of those memories.

With that in mind, he took the lift back upstairs, and knocked on the door to Peter's flat.

From:

"I don't know," Peter whispered, bowing his head as he left one hand rest on the edge of the sink. He couldn't bring himself to look at Nathan. He couldn't lift his face towards him. He couldn't breathe. What was he suppose to say past that? He was new to this. It was unspeakably wrong. He enjoyed his two sexual experiences with Nathan for the most part, but anything more than that made him feel ill.

He had no one to talk to now. No one to listen to his trouble with Nathan. No one to guide him.

"I want--"

The knock on the door startled him and he shook Nathan off to turn away. He ran the water in the sink and dabbed at his eyes with the L-bend of his hand, trying to steady his breathing. Great. Maybe it was that person Nathan had sex with while thinking about him.

Shut up, Petrelli.

It was a bad sign when he spoke to himself, even in his own head.

Peter wiped a hand down his face, unsure if he was glad for the interruption or not.

From:

"God damn it!" Nathan sighed. He'd actually attempted to find out what was actually going on inside Peter's head, and someone was at his door. Who the hell could it be? Ianto? Jack, his boss? Couldn't they just pick up a phone?

Nathan rubbed Peter's shoulders soothingly. "I'll be right back, Pete."

He opened the door--and none other than Jack Harkness stood before him, looking just about as drunk as Nathan felt.

"You fucking son of a bitch."

The reaction was swift and immediate.

Nathan's arm came up, almost completely under its own volition, and his fist slammed right into Jack's jaw, sending a shock of pain up Nathan's arm and into his shoulder, both numbing and incredibly satisfying.

For just a moment, Nathan really hoped it wasn't his own boss stumbling back to the other side of the hallway. No...he had on the same clothes as the one with his filthy mouth and hands all over Peter not more than half an hour ago.

Jack was still standing there? Not in front of his fucking apartment, he wouldn't be.

Nathan lunged forward, his jealousy and his alcohol-fueled anger readying him for another swing.

From:

Jack had been in plenty of bar brawls. The fact was, he'd spent most of the late 1880s drunk and in pubs, getting the shit kicked out of him on a fairly regularly basis. So when Nathan punched him, he automatically steeled himself for the blow.

Despite that, it did hurt.

He stumbled back, holding his perfectly formed jaw, feeling the pain radiating across it. He tasted blood in his mouth from where his teeth cut into his lips. He licked his lips, cleaning out some of the bloody. His body was fairly numb from the alcohol, but now he was pissed in more than one meaning of the word.

Ianto had left him, and this man had the fucking audacity to punch him. He could only assume Peter had mentioned their session in the lift, and his brother felt the need to defend his honor.

When Nathan came in for a second swing, Jack's instincts kicked in, and he ducked, slamming his fist into Nathan's stomach. "Calm the fuck down!" he said, his voice taking on that tone he rarely used anymore. Ianto referred to it as his Captain's voice. "Nothing happened."

From:

You fucking son of a bitch. This was going to end up a mess. He paused, listening for the sound of blows, and rolled his eyes. Brilliant. "Nathan!" Not all that long ago, Jack found Nathan and Peter beating the shit out of each other. The players had traded places now, but the scenario was the same. "Stop it!"

He had just said he'd punch Jack if he saw him again. Evidently he wasn't bluffing.

This is very fucking mature! Peter thought as he slipped his hands into his hair. "Damn it, stop!"

He could make them stop--

But maybe they needed a good brawl. Maybe Peter'd join in. Or maybe he'd just slam the door and let the assholes duke it out.

No, he couldn't do that.

"This is ridiculous! Stop it!"

From:

Nathan staggered back, the punch to his stomach completely unexpected and almost debilitating. His next breath came in a gasp, and thanks to the adrenaline and the numbing effects of the alcohol, he recovered pretty quickly.

He pulled Jack into the apartment by the collar of his coat and slammed him up into the wall. "Nothing happened? I saw what happened! You had your goddamn tongue halfway down my brother's throat! What, did he need some of that 51st-century CPR again? Keep your fucking hands off him!"

He gripped Jack's collar for leverage and pushed himself back, ready to throw another punch. He could just vaguely hear Peter calling out to them and yelling at them to stop, over the blood rushing in his ears, the rage that nearly consumed him.

Edited Date: 2010-06-27 06:50 am (UTC)

From:

"Your brother is an adult," Jack pointed out, his voice calm, even though his hands were shaking. He was trying desperately not to lash out at Nathan again. He understood why the other man was angry; Peter was his brother. There was more to it than that as well. He remembered the younger man telling him about his confusion with his brother.

"He can choose whether or not he wants me without your consent," he said, realizing that probably wasn't what Nathan wanted to hear, but he was too intoxicated to give a damn. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears; Jack did not like to be manhandled...well, only under special circumstances.

He glanced at Peter, blue eyes full of conflicting emotions: sadness, lust, anger, all combined in a haze of deep, piercing blue. He wanted the younger man, yes, but he also just wanted someone to talk to...someone who didn't know who he used to be.

From:

There he went, right off the deep end. Peter could see him make the swan dive and in his head, a little comic-version of himself was giving his brother a perfect 10 in form and posture. "Will you fucking stop already!?" Peter was going to have to get more hands on than he originally wanted to, even though whatever cologne Jack was wearing was starting to really get to him. His tongue actually itched, his lips tingled--

Another time. He could think of it later when his brother's white couch wasn't on the verge of being ruined.

"I'm right here! I'm twenty-seven years old and like I said before, Nathan, I'm not your damned wife!"

Before another punch could be thrown, Peter threw himself between the other two.

From:

Nathan dropped his hands to his sides and sighed. Peter always liked to get in the middle of things, figuratively and literally. But it made sense, of course; he was the prize, and both Nathan and Jack wanted to win him. Or something to that effect.

But there was a difference here. Nathan loved him. Jack...who knew what his intentions were? His own boss was engaged for Christ's sake, and he flirted shamelessly. Nathan, who had acted that way himself even when he was married, knew what that usually meant.

"I never said you were, Peter. Now you have a choice to make," Nathan said, his voice lowering, trying to calm down. "You can move out of my way so I can escort Mr. Harkness right the fuck out of here, or I can move you myself. Whichever you choose is fine with me."

Edited Date: 2010-06-27 07:12 am (UTC)

From:

Jack resisted the urge to quip that he was Captain Harkness, but for a man as pretty as Nathan, he'd make an exception, just this once. He realized his normally well-timed flirtations would probably not go over well with the other man.

"I'll leave," Jack said quietly. He really didn't feel like a fight tonight. The one punch he'd gotten in had been satisfying, but if it continued, this would only end badly.

Jack was so tired of fighting. He just wanted to curl up in a ball and never feel again...

It wasn't a bad idea, now that he thought about it. If he killed himself in a particularly nasty way, he'd stay dead for hours, and wouldn't have to deal with the rest of the world, as fucked up as it was. He was tired of living, but he couldn't die. "You can come with me if you want," he offered to Peter, looking at him from underneath dark lashes. He knew the younger man would probably turn him down, but it was an option...

His alternative, no matter how appealing, was grim.

From:

Peter lived for other people. His entire birth had been planned from the start to give Nathan a jump in the polls, to give him an edge, to make him the figure head for the world. He didn't know that, of course, he had no idea about that plot against his life, but he had been living by the principal ever since.

His empathy stemmed directly for it.

Super strength the order of business, he shoved both men back. His brother fell into the couch, Jack into a wing-backed chair. He was not playing these games.

Stalking towards the man on the couch, Peter leaned over and jabbed his finger into his chest. "You're acting like a child, Nathan. I'm not a toy. If I want to kiss someone or let them bring me back to their bed, that's not for you to comment on with words or fists."

He turned on Jack, anger and pain dripping from his voice and collecting in his eyelashes.

"And you? The only thing you want is to be the center of someone's attention. I'm second best of your list. I thought we had a connection, but you only care to come looking for me when you can't find him.

"So. Fuck you both."

From:

Nathan opened and closed his mouth, trying to think of something to fire back at Peter and his harsh words, but there was really nothing better than a decisive 'Fuck you'.

And God, for forty years old, he really was acting like a child, wasn't he? Peter was a grown man with his own thoughts, feelings and desires. Only, Peter experiencing those three things having to do with this version of Jack Harkness made Nathan insanely jealous. The way he felt about Peter was irrational. Part of it was his overprotectiveness of his little brother, ingrained into him from the age of twelve. But more of it was--Nathan still wasn't sure.

So he decided against saying anything for the moment and got up, holding his arms out in a gesture of peace when Peter glared at him. "Just going to the kitchen, Pete."

He retrieved a clean glass, poured himself and Jack three fingers of Scotch, and offered it to him in lieu of an apology.

He wouldn't apologize; he wasn't sorry. Even though he was now paying the consequences, Nathan had still gotten his point across.

From:

Jack stared at Peter for a moment, and nodded at Nathan, taking the Scotch. He really didn't needed to be drinking anymore, but he'd already acted like a much younger version of himself tonight anyway. Snogging someone simply because he could, punching someone because it made him feel better. For all his talk of turning over a new leaf, he'd certainly reverted.

"You're right," he finally said, after actually sipping the Scotch instead of downing it. It was probably expensive; he should appreciate that. "I do like you. But I'm an arse." He leaned against the wall, and wondered how long he should stay around.

They didn't exactly need him here anymore, and Peter was obviously pissed off at him. The American had really been his only friend, and he'd royally screwed it up.

He was just glad he had enough self-respect not to start crying.

From:

"You've had more than enough," Peter muttered, snatching Nathan's drink and downing it. He couldn't get drunk but that didn't mean that he couldn't try! Nathan was already long gone and though Peter could probably heal up his liver damage with another of those entirely too morbid kisses, he was not going to give in this time.

Even if the other two were playing nicely.

"And yes. Yes you're an ass," Peter agreed, slumping into the couch. He needed a shower, but he didn't care a lick if he got grime and blood and muck all over the couches.

From:

Nathan shook his head as he watched Peter toss back the drink he'd poured for himself. "That was going be my last one," he grumbled. He didn't really need it, and he knew Peter was just looking out for him, so he didn't protest further.

His stomach ached from the hard punch delivered by Jack, and now that his anger was momentarily sated, he just wanted to lie down with Peter's soft, warm body next to him, hold him close, and sleep it off.

No, instead he had Peter's would-be boyfriend sitting in the chair across from their place on the couch, looking extremely rumpled and either reflective, or just pissed off.

Jack probably wants the same thing, I bet, the jealous part of Nathan insisted.

And of course, both of them were getting blood and dirt all over the furniture and the carpet. Now wasn't this a happy get-together?

From: