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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[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."