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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[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

Peter's body thrashes beneath me, and I feel his muscles clench and close around me as he comes from the anal stimulation alone, a guttural, animal cry unleashed from his throat, his fingernails tearing at my back, my shoulders, his eyes rolling back into his head. Unadulterated pleasure. My brother, coming beneath me. So beautiful, and all mine, now and forever.

And still he moves beneath me, moaning and pulling at my hair while I continue to fuck him. This time, he wanted it, and this time, he loved it.

I did it right this time.

"Oh, Peter, did you like that?" I whisper, kissing, biting at his soft white skin while I feel the tension build in my belly, my thighs tightening. God, I'm so close.

So close.

He knows it.

He urges me on, repeating my name, the first beautiful burst of orgasm burning through my spine, my body shuddering, my cock pulsing inside him, spilling myself into him.

And to my surprise, Peter's hand slides once over his own cock, still half-hard, and he actually comes again, nowhere near as violently as the first time, but beautiful just the same.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I paint my brother with the essence of myself, a long stream of everything that makes up who I am, at the most cellular level creating a glue to bind us, to keep us connected. I whimper now, softly, sucking on his lower lip when the last of my orgasmic spasms is over and my body aches for me. When the last of my brother's bliss fills me with thick and heavy cream, I realize that my lust is not sated, just left to sleep for the time being.

He's talking, stroking my hair, but I have no idea what he's saying. I can only hear our hearts, beating so wildly I almost think we're going to die, locked together like this.

I realize, as Nathan pushes a hand against my hip, that I am still crashing up into him, still milking him for everything he's worth. It keeps him hard though, keeps him inside of me. In fact, when he tries to pull out so that he can hold me, I almost cry, shaking so terribly as the tears well up that he is concerned.

"Nathan....Nathan....don't even go..." I want him inside of me forever.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

Peter looks heartbroken when the last of my erection fades and slips from his body, and I know neither of us wanted it to end so soon. I stroke his hair, his face, his shoulders, until he's finally still beneath me, and he sighs with each of my soft touches.

If he wants to go again, he's going to have to give me some time. Forty years isn't quite that old, but I still need to recover, especially after the intensity of that encounter. "I'm not as young as I used to be, Pete," I say, smiling. I roll us both on our sides, our bodies still pressed together, my arms still wrapped around him. I hold him like this until both of us have stopped breathing so hard, until our frantic heartbeats slow.

"Shh. Shh," I admonish him gently. "I'm not going anywhere, okay?" I wonder if Peter thinks I'm just going to get up and get dressed and act like nothing happened. Does he think I'm that callous with all my lovers? And even if I were, doesn't he realize he's the most special one of all, because he's my brother? The one I've wanted for what feels like forever?

Never, never leave you.

"I love you, Peter, you know that, don't you?"