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]

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.