A Long Trip Home

[chimeramimicry]

The door is two yards away but I can't move from the top of the stairs.  It's been months, four or so, since I've been here, in this spot.  Gone were the days of trudging up the stairs with my satchel on the way home from work because my building's landlords refused to fix the elevators properly.  Gone too was the pleasure I had of returning to this apartment I paid for with my own money and not from my trust fund.  I donated all of that to charity the moment I turned twenty-five and finished paying off my loans to school.  It was two years ago.  It feels like forever.

I'm not the same man I had been.  I'm not a child anymore.  At least, I want to think that.

I'm still clutching the photograph of my brother and I in our tuxedos.  There's a smudge on it from my thumb and full of creases.  I've not let it go since I opened that box containing everything that I am.  Everything I was.  I left Ireland without looking back.  There was, there is only one thing on my mind.  Nathan.

Nathan.

Nathan.

I know he's here.  I've always felt a connection to him.  Mohinder Suresh called it part of my empathy, to feel things like that.  Funny to be so empathically linked to someone I spent my whole life pining for, who has always had a life to live without me.  He's never had time for me.  Never.

"Just walk, Peter," I whisper to myself as I move to a door I have not touched in a long time.  I swallow.  And knock.  I know he's in here without knowing it.  I almost lose the nerve to knock.  Please answer, Nathan.  Please.

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[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"Oh, I know!" I say almost too quickly. I glance at him in the mirror and then away again, focusing on the blade against my face. I've got a shaking hand. I know I'm going to cut myself, I don't need a power to see that. And, just as predicted, I scrape the razor across my chin and hiss as I bleed.

It's just for a moment, and then the wound closes again.

"Don't worry, Nathan. You're not feeling to well." I finish cleaning up, knowing he's wandering around the apartment, turning things over. I can hear him. He's... Looking for alcohol? That can be the only explination. He's almost frantic. "Hey. Calm down. Let's go to bed. Take a nap. You and me."

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

At just the mention of the word "nap", exhaustion blurs the edges of my vision. Maybe with sleep I will escape the brunt of the sickness that is slowly coming over me as the alcohol in my system is metabolized.

"Yeah. Good idea." I turn around to ask him if he could possibly find me something to wear, but he's left the bedroom and gone into the kitchen, and I'm too tired to care that I'm naked. I drop my wet towel to the carpet, and fall into my brother's bed--my bed for the last few months--and I smile. The sheets have been changed, and he added another pillow. Always thinking of me.

I bury myself in the comforter and wait for Peter.

The difference this time: I know he's coming back to me.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I should get something for the refrigerator, but I can't leave him. The store might be on the corner, but who knows what he'll do to himself. Look at what he's already done to himself! I'm quick at my cleaning tasks and return to the bedroom only to flush slightly. The kiss is still on my mind. A life time of caring for my brother and caring for those sick people have at least taken over my brain for the moment.

I kick off my shoes, cover up my brother, and go to take a shower myself. When I return, my short cropped hair is towel dried and I'm wearing a pair of pajamas that smells at least partially fresh. Just the pants.

I can't tell if Nathan's asleep or not, but I slip into bed with him just the same.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

I know I drifted off for a short while, but Peter's quiet arrival awakens me. His shoulder is pressed against mine, and it's all I can do not to turn onto my side and pull him in close to me like I used to do when he was five years old, sneaking into my bed after having a bad dream.

But I want to. The urge to hold him won't go away, especially since I thought I'd never even see him again.

He'll tell me if he wants me to let go, I tell myself as I shift over and put one arm around him, resting my head on his shoulder. He's fresh from the shower now too, and I can smell that silly strawberry shampoo, mingled with the scent of shaving cream. His skin is so soft, and I don't even realize right away that my fingers are tracing gentle circles on his hip.

Sleep is stealing over me again, but I force it away. I want to feel him next to me for as long as I can keep myself awake. I put my lips close to his ear and whisper, "I missed you, Pete."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I turn my head towards him, feeling the heat of his skin against mine. We're both under the covers, the light is no where near us. I haven't felt him actually touch me in years. The last time we shared a bed like this, Nathan was having his Bachelor's party. I was...what? Fifteen? Sixteen? I don't really remember.

His friends had gotten so drunk that they passed out in the front room of the suite dad rented out for the occasion at a terribly pricey hotel. The stripers had left early, which was something I remember being thankful for. I was underage and they thought that meant that I wanted to be rubbed against.

In the master bedroom, Nathan was still drinking. I was probably drunk too, but we had already decided that we weren't going to tell Mom that I was anything more than a passive watchers of the festivities. I remember sitting on his lap, stradling him as I had seen the girls do before they left, and wrapping my arms around his neck.

"You could always marry me," I had said, as clear as day. "And then you won't have to leave." He laughed at me and held me tightly that night.

I gently stroke Nathan's back as that memory fades away again. My eyes close as his nose presses against my ear. I decide not to fill Nathan in on that little memory of mine. Not right now.

"I didn't remember you," I whisper instead. "Until I saw the picture of us at one of dad's parties...the one I carry around. Don't know how I could ever have forgotten you."

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

I have no idea what he's talking about, because I'm barely listening now. All I hear is the sound of blood pounding in my ears, my heart racing with excitement because I'm lying naked in my bed with my brother.

The thought is so thrillingly wrong, but I've known I've wanted him like this for years now, and I just can't stop myself. He's going to have to stop me, and even then, I don't know if he will. I know Peter loves me much more than any normal little brother loves his older brother, and it just seems like now is the right time to show him.

"It wasn't an accident, you know that, Peter, don't you?" I whisper into his hair. Then I press my lips to his neck, once, twice, and I feel him shiver. He smells so good, and it's not just the strawberry scent, or the shaving cream, it's him, something solely Peter.

My hand glides over his side, his ribs, over his nipple, and the skin hardens at my touch. His upper body has filled out considerably since the last time I touched him like this, and that's another reason I don't think I can wait anymore.

He's a grown man now, capable of making his own decisions. I'd always hoped that if we sinned, we sinned together.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

This is confusing, but I'm quite willing to chalk it up to the booze. "Of course it wasn't an accident," I tell my brother, grinning at him despite the intimate touches. He doesn't mean them. His hand is straying. And besides, the touches are familiar. They're not uncomfortable in the slightest. Though the kisses...that's what they are? They are different from the way he use to kiss me. No pecks this time.

They are sweet, tinged with desire. I have to put a stop to that. What I might have wanted at six, at fifteen, I've grown out of. Nathan and I are as close as we can be and still be brothers. Anything more is a line I refuse to cross.

And not just because he's my brother. But he's a man too. That's too...taboo. Even for an open minded guy like me.

"Nathan," I say, laughing and pushing him away. "Nathan, you're being silly. You should rest, not try to molest me." I mean it as a joke. Surely, he's not actually trying to molest me. "Nathan, stop."