Heroes - Clothing Does Make the Man, Nathan/Peter, PG

[hackthis_archive]

antheia and I have been talking about Peter and Nathan as we are often wont to do and I have become firmly attached to the notion that Peter and Nathan are Bruce and Dick, and Tim Kring is totally riding this metaphor for all it's worth: the relationship issues, the sexual tension, the misplaced animosity, the sexual tension… you get where I'm going here, yes?

I think Peter is becoming a mini-Nathan much in the way Dick tried to become a mini-Bruce. And then I somehow got led down the path of clothing porn. I don't really know how that happened, but this is something I just tossed off for shits and giggles since I've suddenly become obsessed with delayed gratification.

Heroes
Spoilers for 1.19 '.07%'
Nathan/Peter, PG (no, really)

Clothing Does Make the Man










The navy polo shirt is a fluke, not that Nathan's never seen Peter in one before, they're just more his own style. Casual, but not. Authoritative, but relaxed. Nathan refuses to notice the long tan line of Peter's arms, the definition in his biceps, the soft hairs on his forearms. It's nothing. It's post-death euphoria. The joy of knowing the most important person in his life isn't really dead. Will never actually die either. Nathan will never have to experience this loss again.

If he focuses long enough though, Nathan could probably recall how many eyelashes Peter has. It's just a detail. It's always just details. Like the slicked back hair, and the assertive gaze, and how long it's been since Peter's touched Nathan and they've been alone.

This saving the world lark is completely ruining Nathan's schedule.

And then Peter starts wearing Oxfords all the time. Not just white, but blue and pink and purple, clothing that only Nathan has ever worn. There's a moment, just a brief one, where Nathan thinks that Peter might be taking *his* clothing and wearing it all day. This turns him on so badly that he walks around an entire fundraiser half-hard.

He shakes it off, because that's just ridiculous: how would Peter get his clothing? How could Nathan not notice? How *could* Nathan notice with the size of his wardrobe?

Only it's not just the Oxfords, it's the belts, which sit perfectly on Peter's hips, and the ties, which lead Nathan down all sorts of roads involving bondage and headboards and fixtures in the bathroom. And then there are the pants, which emphasize Peter's ass just so and break perfectly on Peter's shoes -- Ferragamo shoes that Peter has always hated. It's suit jackets and cufflinks, and before Nathan knows it, he's fairly convinced that Peter's stolen his entire wardrobe, which, again, is ridiculous. But apparently Peter can fly and disappear and come back from the dead, so petty theft suddenly doesn't seem that far off the mark.

It's on the tip of Nathan's tongue to call Peter on it, to tell him Nathan will buy him an entire wardrobe of his own, but he can't, because the idea of Peter wearing his clothing -- before or after he's worn it -- is just too much to be believed. Or denied. Or thwarted in any way.

Nathan doesn't even realize how far over the edge he's gone until he finds himself alone in his mother's office, Linderman's gift behind him and the latest polling numbers before him as he sips a faultless scotch and sniffs at his own wrists to see if they smell like Peter.

"Something wrong with the starch content?" a wry voice asks, and Nathan smiles automatically. The politician smile all the way.

"Just thinking," he replies.

"Thinking about how your wrists smell?" Nathan rolls back his chair just as Peter comes to perch on the edge of his desk. Nathan's line of sight is approximately at Peter's waist. If he rolled his chair forward, he might be able to smell the supple leather belt that Peter is wearing. If he sits back, he gets the entire package.

Oh, he really is fucked in the head.

"Is that my belt?" Nathan knows it's not, just like he knows Peter's not wearing his clothing, but everybody has fantasies. Projections.

"No," Peter says, and after a beat, "would you like it to be?"

Nathan's eyes travel slowly up Peter's chest. Up the pale lavender shirt and the dark grey tie, to where Peter is dressed less like the savior of the free world and more like the First Brother. Or the First Gentleman -- which is so far past the pale, Nathan feels slightly ill.

Nathan doesn't know who exhales that rather shaky breath, but he thinks it might be him. "Pete, we're not doing this," he says firmly.

Peter shrugs and loosens his tie. "We're not doing anything," he says quietly. "We never have."

Nathan nods automatically. When in doubt -- deny. When in trouble -- deny. Even when you know the truth -- deny.

Peter unfastens his top button, exposing his throat to Nathan like the best sex they've never had. Nathan can taste Peter's skin on his tongue. The salt. He can feel the warmth on his lips.

"Are you thirsty?" Peter asks, Nathan doesn't even realize he's licking his lips.

"I'm fine." Nathan takes an entirely too large mouthful of scotch.

Peter smirks and rubs his throat as Nathan swallows. "You're always fine, Nate, that's not what I asked."

It's Nathan's turn to smirk as he sets his glass down on the desk. He makes sure Peter is watching him as he removes his cufflinks and rolls up his sleeves. He can see the outline of Peter's erection when he shifts on the desk.

If Nathan reached out, he could trace the fine wool with the tips of his fingers, but that's not how this game is played. This isn't about instant gratification. It's about later. They always have to wait for later.

Nathan rubs his lower lip as Peter undoes his tie and pulls it through his collar slowly. Shhhhhhhh. Nathan looks down as Peter drops the tie in his lap.

So, it's going to be that kind of evening.

Nathan exhales slowly. "Did you need something?" he asks, wrapping the tie around his fingers distractedly.

Peter stands up and stretches, his shirt gapes open slightly and Nathan can see a thin line of dark hair leading downward from Peter's navel. "I'm supposed to tell you dinner is ready," he says moving away.

Nathan snorts. "Dinner. Right."

"Gotta have dinner before you can have dessert," Peter points out.

Nathan raises an eyebrow. "When have you ever followed the rules?"

Peter leans down to Nathan's ear and pulls at the tie in his hands, "You wouldn't like me if I wasn't bad sometimes."

Nathan's heart is hammering in his chest, but he just smiles slowly and lets Peter take back his tie. "I wouldn't like you if you weren't bad all the time," he corrects.

"I get it from you," Peter says, standing up and looking perfectly innocent.

Nathan checks his own sleeves rather than staring at the exposed skin of Peter's neck. "Don’t say I never gave you anything," he mocks.

Peter's smile is unlike anything Nathan has ever seen from him before. "You'll give me everything; I won't accept anything less," Peter says matter-of-factly.

Nathan's left slightly dumbstruck as Peter turns away for the dining room. He's always been the dominant one in their relationship. It looks like things are changing.

At least he's dressed for the occasion.


-end-

Comments

[hackthis.livejournal.com]

Oh my gods. Look at him with his toys and his parents. *essplodes everywhere*

[heidi8.livejournal.com]

Isn't he the woobiest ickle guy to ever be a future president?!?

Glad to see you so asquee over this!

[hackthis.livejournal.com]

He's so flipping cute, look at him waving his little toy. Oh, Nathan.

Gift.

[heidi8.livejournal.com]

My icon skilz are crap but feel free to use it...

Re: Gift.

[hackthis.livejournal.com]

Oh, my god. Do you what he's playing with? IT'S A FLYING MAN! WITH WINGS! *lovse all over Nathan all over again* Also, as a thank you, this is a snippet of something I'm working at sparky77's behest, an AU of Monday's AU.



Peter and Nathan once had a fight. They'd had fights before -- it was the nature of the beast -- the nature of them to disagree, to argue, to want to protect each other at any cost. Siblings to do that.

Nathan had always been the protector; he wasn't ready to relinquish his role. Except that Peter wasn't asking Nathan to give up his role -- he was telling him that this was what was going to happen. Nathan had no say.

Nathan has always had a say. This was not acceptable. This was not something he was prepared to hear -- except that Nathan had plans to save Peter, and Peter had plans to save the world, and when Nathan woke up three days after his election, groggy from God only knew what, and sleeping in his bed at his mother's home. He looked out the window and the world still existed, that only meant one thing in his mind -- that Peter didn't.

Except that Peter couldn't die -- but maybe he had, because Nathan hadn't been around to save him -- to protect him. This was Nathan's job. Nathan had protected Peter from everyone, including himself, including Nathan -- and now. Now that wouldn't happen anymore.

Nathan had his hand on the doorknob when it was pushed open by an outside force -- and Nathan's fist registered Peter's face long before his brain did. Long before his heart did, too.

Peter smirked as the blood pooled at his split lip. "I see you're awake," he said dryly.

"What the fuck did you do to me?" Nathan hissed. Apparently, the grogginess didn't matter when every neuron in Nathan's brain was firing on "Peter is alive. This is good, because that means I can kill him."

"I protected you," Peter said flatly. "What did you think I was going to do? Let you die?"

"That wasn't your choice to make!"

"Don't play the martyr, Nate, it doesn't suit you."

"Why, because only you can run around like fucking Jesus Christ."

"Jesus didn't explode in the atmosphere and come back in one piece." Peter raised an eyebrow. It was wrong and so was the scar and so was the toughness -- it was all wrong. For some reason Nathan felt inexplicably -- well, not that inexplicably sad.

Nathan blinked again. Peter had a scar. A huge scar; it threw him off. It looked old, but, "What day is it?" he asked abruptly, crossing his arms across his chest, when it was clear that Peter wasn't moving from the doorway.

Peter gazed at him for a moment, and Nathan felt the warmth all over his skin. Not only he had missed everything, but apparently he'd been put to bed in his pyjamas. Very droll. "It's the day after yesterday," Peter said with a smirk.

Nathan growled in the back of his throat. Peter licked his lips and leaned forward to whisper in Nathan's ear. "I have to say, Mr. President, that you really shouldn't tell people if you're having memory lapses this early on."

Nathan's breathing caught in his throat for any number of reasons. Peter's hand resting on the center of his chest, the presidency, a scar that he couldn't place. "Did you do this, Pete?" Nathan asked quietly.

Nathan tried not to shudder when Peter's lips brushed against the shell of his ear. "I'd do anything for you, you know that."

Re: Gift.

[heidi8.livejournal.com]

Yes! And a teeny plane because he's going to be a Navy pilot!
: loves his cuteness

And wow! Fic-section! That's an amazing start and fascinating and so totally *them*! You're doing such a great transition between how they are and what they may become that I'm just guh.

Re: Gift.

[hackthis.livejournal.com]

Hopefully the story won't get eaten by Mohinder the Stupid and his Star-Crossed Brain-Eating Boyfriend, Sylar -- Not the Watchmaker.

Yeah, that's actually the title of the intended piece. What can I say, they bring out my sarcastic side.

*coos over Baby!Nathan*