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.

Comments

Re: Peter's flashback

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

It's hard for me to keep my voice down, it really is. I can't help but ride my pleasure against his chin and nose, biting down on the meaty part of my hand like he taught me so long ago. I suck the skin there, between my thumb and forefinger and sigh in bliss as the last jet leaves my body and slides down his throat.

I use to have such trouble swallowing his cum. Not anymore though. He once told me that I'd become addicted to it. And I am. In fact, that's the second gift I want.

I look at him with big, bright brown eyes, moving my bitten hand down to my cock when it leave his mouth. I jerk on it slowly, feeling his saliva sink into my skin. "My turn," I whisper, already licking my lips.

He's so big, twice the size of me at least, and it's my goal to one day swallow him down like he can swallow me. I love it when I slide down in this chair and he stands over me, pumping into my mouth. I like to beat myself off in time to his thrusts so that I can moan around him.

I don't know how I survive the months when he's not here, or when he leaves me alone. I'd do this for him any time he wanted. Doesn't he realize that?

Re: Peter's flashback

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I thrust myself into Peter's mouth over and over, barely able to control myself now. Holding his head in place, I wait for him to relax the muscles in his throat, just like I taught him, so I can push a little deeper into that slippery heat.

I want to fuck him so badly.

His mouth is so fucking wet, so hot. His eyelids flutter, his nostrils flare, and soon, I'm able to get a deeper range of motion. Jesus Christ. I fucked some girl at a party just last night, but I can't believe how close I am to blasting my load into his throat before he even knows what's happening.

Peter's hand is moving frantically between his legs, and just like I expected, he's hard again, groaning around my shaft, and the vibration runs straight through the head of my cock to the base of my spine.

"That's a good boy, Peter," I moan, petting his face, his hair. "You like sucking me off, Pete?" I gasp, pulling myself out of his mouth before it's too late.

He looks up at me and nods, and gives me his trademark shy, crooked smile, casts a hand over his lips to wipe away his saliva.

He's so beautiful, so perfect, and I just have to have him. I have to get my hands on him, my mouth on him, get my dick inside him.

"You want to try something new?" I suggest casually, gesturing towards the bed. He really doesn't have any suspicion at all of what I'm going to do, and I know that the eagerness I see in those hazel eyes matches mine entirely, the mirror image of one another's.

You just don't know what you're getting yourself into, Pete, I think. But I push that hard stab of guilt away as quickly as it comes.

Re: Peter's flashback

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I nod, licking my lips. I can taste him -- which is what I want -- a little bit of who my brother is coating my tongue. I'm out of breath as he pulls me to my feet, eyes on his eyes and no where else. This is called trust. Complete and utter trust. Nathan had never purposefully hurt me -- I push away the doubt that floods me -- and when he and I climb into bed, I have to wonder if we're done for the night.

He's put his cock between my thighs before, laying side by side, and has come between them while moaning into my hair. That's probably tonight's game, but I'm disappointed. I like him in my mouth. I think I'm happiest when he's there. Still, I climb into bed like he likes and lay on my side for him, waiting.

It's cold, the hairs on my arms and neck standing up to catch and hold the warmth to my skin. At least this way we can get under the covers.

"Nathan?"

My eyes are closed, though he's turning on the lights rather than flicking them off. "Yeah, Pete?" He's the only one that shortens my name. I love it. I use to like it when he called me 'Champ' and 'Buddy' too.

"Tomorrow...are you going out somewhere?" It's my birthday, but that usually doesn't stop him from going out. I want him to stay with me, though, but I know what to offer him. I'm not usually so bold. "Because I can suck you better than those girls." I'm not usually so jealous either. "I'll get better at it if you let me practice."

My eyes open in time to watch him pull something out of his pocket. A little tube.

Re: Peter's flashback

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I smile at his desperate need for my approval. Of course he can suck me better than any other girl can. Except for this one chick...

I push those ridiculous thoughts away while I direct Peter to lie down on the bed with some of his pillows behind him so he can see everything I'm doing. This is all about Peter tonight. His surprise birthday present, the best one he'll ever have.

Snapping the cap off the tube, I squeeze a little bit into my hand, rub it through my fingers, and then massage the inside of his thigh, and naturally he spreads his legs wider, pulling one knee up. Maybe he does have an idea now, since I've handed him the tube for inspection.

"I love you," I sigh. I trace my fingers up along the soft skin of his thigh, over his cock which is now harder than I've ever felt it, give him a few purposeful strokes.

Peter looks a little scared, but he hasn't made a move to stop me or said he's uncomfortable, so I take it as my cue to continue. My fingers inch closer and closer to his asshole, and the skin tightens even more when I press experimentally with my fingertip.

I feel my own fear rise in me. He's so young, and he's going to be tight, and his nervousness won't help either. I have to go very easy, very slowly.

I snap out of the spell his nubile young body has cast on me, and I realize I'm jerking myself off while I touch him. Control is of the utmost importance right now. I will not hurt him.

"Feel all right, Pete?" I ask, the words sticking in my throat, my mouth suddenly dry.

Re: Peter's flashback

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

The first strokes between my legs are nice. I hardly notice what he's doing at first until he rests the tube on my chest. I pick it up and read the back, interested in what he's doing. As he strokes a finger around the puckered ring I shit from, however, the jokes the boys tell in school hit me.

Faggot. Ass licker. Fudge packer. Homo.

That is what two men that touch each other where they use the bathroom are called. I stiffen at once, my eyes roaming over the tube. It's got a very definate description on it. For intimate use such as for internal sexual contact.

I'm about to protest when Nathan pushes a finger into me. Immediately, I'm up on my elbows, frowning heavily at my brother between my knees. It's uncomfortable, but not painful. "Jesus, Nathan, what are you--"

I pause when he looks into my eyes. He wants me to trust him so I sigh and lay back down in a huff. My eyes screw closed as he wriggles his finger all the way up inside of me. Well now he's gonna have a shitty finger, I think to myself before he pushes back into me. That makes me gasp slightly.

What...an odd feeling.

He does it again. In. Out. In. Out. It stops feeling uncomfortable and starts making me flush. In. Out. In. Out. Stretch! I know he's put another finger inside of me and I buck, pushing downwards unexpectedly. "N-N-Nathan--" I whimper. It doesn't feel good...but it doesn't feel bad either.

The process repeats until I hear the clock strike one in the morning down the hall. I'm trembling all over by then. He's been at this for almost half an hour. There are three of his fingers inside of me. And--

"Aaaha!" I can't be quiet when he finds it. That special place. I arch my back. "Nathan!" If my parents are awake, they'll hear me for sure.

Re: Peter's flashback

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

Before he can scream again I clamp a hand over his mouth. I hiss, "You gotta be quiet, okay, Pete? Mom and Dad can not wake up right now, you got it?"

Peter nods. He's shaking, and he's scared now because of my own outburst. My own heart is thundering in my chest, and my cock is aching. I finger-fucked him for half an hour, loosened him up as best I could. He yielded to my touch slowly at first, and I wasn't sure he'd ever be ready, but now I think he is.

Don't do this to your baby brother. Don't take his innocence like this... my conscience screams at me. I struggle to breathe, and I'm shaking just as badly as he is when I lay atop him, one hand still over his mouth, my other gripping my cock, guiding myself inside him before he can protest, before he can stop me. His heat almosts overwhelms me, and I let out a deep groan of my own. He's still a bit tight, but he'll be okay, I'm sure of it.

I hear his muffled gasp, and his teeth sink into my palm. Peter's little body goes slack beneath me, his muscles relaxing as my first thrust brushes that place inside him.

That's right, Peter.

Re: Peter's flashback

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I don't know what's happening, not at first. He needs to bend me, roll back my hips so that my knees are nearly to my shoulders in order to put his cock inside of me. It's one thing to suck him off, but this is something else entirely. He's being gentle, but he can only go so far with that. His length seems to take an eternity to push into me. I think I'm going to die.

I'm sure I'm going to die. Tears pour down my cheeks until I feel his heaviness settle against me. They run to his hand, run to my ears and into my hair and the pillow behind me.

Thunder cracks. Whole house seems to shake. And the lights go off.

"Wait--" It's muttered under his hand and I grip his wrist to pull it away from my mouth. "Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, not yet, stay here--" God is going to strike us down for this.

But he strokes my hair. He tells me he loves me. And he gives me time.

I still cry at him though. "Don't move...don't move please..." I heard it in one of his movies once, a baby sitter asking the dad who hired her to just stay where he was for a few moments when he pushed into her ass. I really do need him to stay there. To settle. I squeeze experimentally around him. God down not call down more lightning and though the lights do not come on again, I learn to relax. And then, after he kisses me, I nod just a little.

It's exquisite, really, after a dozen thrusts. He finds the pattern then, and I learn to lean my hips up into him. I find the magic angle and suck on my fingers to keep myself from crying out. It don't really help. I like it. I love it.

I come with such little fanfare it's hardly worth mentioning, dribbling over my chest as my lips part in ecstasy.

I don't want him to stop.

Re: Peter's flashback

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

The first flash of lightning illuminates my brother's face, tearstained and scared. I hear that first crack of thunder, and I know God is passing judgment on us both, sending a loud message to the Devil to make room for two more fallen souls. When the electricity fails, I feel the blackness settle on me, then permeate me completely.

You've corrupted him. You've ruined him. You're going to hell, Nathan Petrelli, and you're taking Peter with you.

I almost stop at these thoughts. They fill my heart with shame and guilt, even as my body is still enjoying the physical sensations.

No...that's not true. It's all in your head, Nathan. You love him, that's why you're doing this. Show him how much you love him.

I try not to cry myself as I reassure him of that very truth. "I love you, Peter, love you so much..." I wipe the tears from his face as he moans my name, as he finally starts to move with me, to enjoy this, and soon, I find a slow, deep rhythm that sends us together towards our peak.

I'll worry about Hell later. Being here with my brother, kissing him, thrusting inside him, hearing his soft cries, feeling his muscles clench around me in orgasm, this is heaven as far as I'm concerned. It's almost like we're flying, even if we've lost our wings.

With a strangled moan into his shoulder, just before he finishes, I come too, everything inside me rushing forth, into my little brother's body. Peter and I fall back to earth together, both of us shaking and clinging to each other.

There's an incredibly long moment of silence, and then I hear it. Rain slaps against the windows relentlessly, and I just know those are God's tears.

He is crying for us, the lost children that we are. We've committed a most unforgivable sin.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

We've managed to sink to the floor, my brother and I, as I wrap my arms around him. He's almost passed out, face against my neck. He had cried himself to a near sleep, though he was still whimpering softly about needing his wife. I shake my head to clear it of memories I didn't know I have.

It was such a vivid flash of thought, and I know I wasn't making it up. I didn't hallucinate. I remember the next day limping downstairs and blaming it on trying to slide down the banister again. I remember trying hard not to look at Nathan across the table at breakfast as he carried on about his girlfriend, his work, his degree.

I frown lightly now, reaching up to stroke Nathan's hair. I wonder if he knows that two days ago was not our first time. I can't bring himself to mention it.

Instead I kiss his temple. "Tomorrow," I whisper, "she'll love you again."

I think I can do that.