hackthis_archive | Heroes -- wherever you go, the earth just opens up (Nathan/Peter, R)

kelly_girl wrote this incredibly awesome and warm fuzzy making Peter/Nathan story, I'm no angel, but i've spread my wings a bit that just, it's just made of 'YAY!' It's totally not the sort of story I would normally ever go for, because it has one of those fannish clichés that doesn't tend to appeal to me, but this was just so perfectly done and so perfect for Heroes that well. Fuck it, just read it. You'll thank me

scribblinlenore's birthday is on Wednesday and I'm not sure what I thought I was going to write, but I'm telling you now it wasn't this.

This is just shameless. Shamelessly awesome. Please, modesty is so passé.

Heroes
Peter/Nathan
Post S1-Finale

wherever you go, the earth just opens up

Peter likes to swim in the dingy motel pool in the afternoon. Peter also likes to swim in the mornings and after nightfall and any time that he's not off trying to find them money to pay for their grungy hotel room or using Nathan as his very own lounger. As far as Nathan can tell, Peter just likes to swim full stop. Peter says the water makes his skin feel cooler, less tight. Peter, however, also tends to say that he feels like he's on fire. They may be suffering from amnesia, but Nathan gets the distinct impression that for as long as he's known him Peter has had a very vivid imagination and been prone to grandiose statements. In fact, his lack of motivation to do anything but swim and hustle people would be irritating if they didn't have a motel bill and Nathan didn't like watching Peter swim too.

Back and forth and back again, Peter does lap after lap as though he knows he'll get there if he just swims long enough, as though it's his destiny to swim in this filthy concrete pool until it dries up or his legs give out.

Eventually Nathan gets tired of watching and goes and puts a hand in the water where Peter's coming back towards the edge. Peter pulls up just short of Nathan's hand and surfaces with a grin. The water has plastered Peter's hair to his scalp and it runs in rivulets down his face and over his lips. The smell of chlorine makes Nathan's stomach turn the longer he crouches down. "C'mon, Greg Louganis, time to get out of there before you turn into a prune."

Peter's mouth thins into a line as though he's going to disagree, so Nathan plays his ace card. "I made a couple of dollars helping Ralphie write a nasty letter to his neighbors, so we can have a big dinner."

Ralphie is the manager of the Fly By Night motel they've been staying in for the last fourteen days; he has issues with his neighbor's dogs. Actually he has issues with his neighbor's dogs shitting on his lawn, like anybody would. He asked Nathan for help because he likes Nathan's "big ass vocabulary." Apparently Nathan sounds like the guys on Fox News. Nathan's not sure if that's a good thing or not, because their room only gets three channels: The Weather Channel, ESPN and Cartoon Network.

Peter blinks, grabs the edge of the pool, and propels himself up high enough to kiss Nathan firmly on the lips once before sliding back in. Nathan's mouth twists into a wry smile, and he brushes away the droplets of water. "No, not even bribery will get you another five minutes. Come on, I'm starving."

Peter pouts for a moment and then propels himself out of the water again. Water sluices down his body, getting on Nathan's shoes, and Nathan frowns before handing him the too small towel he's brought from their room. Peter rubs his hair dry and Nathan lags a few steps behind as Peter winds his way back to their room. Nathan may be a hard-ass about some things, but that's no reason not to enjoy the view of a wet Peter.

Peter has a tattoo on his left bicep that says S.L.R.S. Neither of them have any idea what it could possibly mean. Peter thinks it stands for something like Smoke Less, Read Some or Sex Leads to Random Spells. Nathan thinks it might be the initials of a person. There's no 'N' which means the tattoo most likely isn't for him though; the idea that there's someone in Peter's past that Peter felt was important enough to mark himself over does not make Nathan happy.

Peter yawns and rubs at the sleep in his eyes. Nathan's woken him up for this conversation, because Nathan doesn't like not knowing. Even in the middle of the night their room is only moderately dark, and Nathan can see the sleep lines on Peter's face.

"It could be my mother," Peter says thoughtfully.

Nathan raises an eyebrow. "'I love you, Mom', just wasn't enough for you, huh?"

Peter snorts softly through his nose. "Maybe it's a club or a gang. Maybe I'm in a gang!"

It's Nathan's turn to snort softly. "Yes, I can see how you would be prime gang material," he says, eying Peter's perfect visage and lack of stab wounds.

Nathan turns on his side, the scratchy hotel linens dragging down his hip, and traces the block lettering with the tip of his right index finger. Peter's skin is soft under his touch. He's getting exceedingly tan, too. When Nathan presses down, he hardly sees the impression that should be left behind.

"Does it really matter?" Peter asks quietly. "Really? It's just something else we don't know, right?"

Nathan exhales. "I don't like not knowing."

Peter moves in and tucks his head against Nathan's shoulder. "I'm sure if anybody can figure it out, you can."

Nathan's sure he can figure it out too –- that's what's keeping him awake.

It's the bump that wakes Nathan up.

It's not the floating, or the white void of amnesia, or the moonlight streaming through their cheap gauzy motel curtains that sets off Nathan's mental alarms; it's the sound of Peter bumping into the ceiling that makes Nathan's eyes snap open. He feels as though he's spent a thousand nights waiting for this one sound to bring him back down to earth.

Unfortunately, that's only metaphorical.

Two men with amnesia do not a very good pairing make. Two men with amnesia and the ability to float do not a very calm Nathan make. Nathan feels like he should be more surprised than he is, but he's not. Mostly Nathan just thinks he should have a plan on how to fix this, or how to get them down, or just know what the hell is going on, because he thinks he's that sort of person -- the fixer. Peter doesn't strike Nathan as a fixer. He strikes Nathan as a dreamer, but he's Nathan's dreamer, which makes him Nathan's responsibility.

At least that's the assumption they've come to -- but what other assumptions can you make about waking up naked in the desert with another man and being fairly certain that you two belong together? Actually, there are a lot of assumptions they've come to in the last sixteen days, but those have required clothing and loose morals and hustled money and all sorts of things that they didn't have, but had to get, even though Nathan feels fairly certain that somewhere in the world these things already exist for them.

Nathan has been feeling a lot lately; he doesn't like it very much. Peter seems much more at home with his emotions than Nathan is. He's certainly much more at home with showing his feelings than Nathan is. The first time Peter kissed him in the desert, his mouth covered with grit and tasting of ash, Nathan froze as though he'd lost control of his spine, and then he'd kissed Peter back, because that seemed like the natural thing to do.

Most of what they're doing doesn't seem natural, but being with Peter does. Most of the time Nathan tries to wrack his brain for some kernel of certainty about who they are or where they belong or why nobody's looking for them. Mostly Peter goes swimming and gives Nathan knowing smiles when he finds Nathan staring at him openly.

It's hard for Nathan not to stare at Peter -- his hair, his eyes, his flawless skin. Every fibre of Nathan's being tells him that he has every right to stare. That Peter belongs to him. Every time Peter passes Nathan by in their too small motel room and Nathan finds himself grabbing Peter's jaw to kiss him, his instinct tells him that this is what he's made to do. Peter's moans and groans don't seem to disagree.

The first time they had sex, Nathan bit and Peter scratched. Peter splayed his legs wide open to Nathan and offered him his heart, and Nathan felt as though Peter was the only home he'd ever known. Afterwards they slid off of the bed and onto the floor in a tangle of arms and legs as though each one would never let the other one up.

In sixteen days they've become inseparable. In fourteen days they've made a ramshackle life for themselves. In three hundred and thirty-six hours, they've become partners and lovers and all-encompassing. It's not just the amnesia -- although that helps -- it's not just their chemistry -- although that seems to be off the charts. Mostly it's just them and their honesty. They have no memories, so as far as they can tell they have nothing to hide.

At least Nathan's pretty sure they have nothing to hide from each other, or his gut tells him he'd be a lot more freaked out about waking up and finding Peter bumping into the ceiling. Nathan automatically reaches out to pull Peter back down before he injures himself.

When Nathan's hand closes over Peter's forearm, Peter wakes up and gives Nathan a sleepy smile. He resists Nathan's tug, pulling Nathan higher up. Nathan knows that lascivious look on Pete's face, and he frowns. "No, not up," he corrects, his voice gravelly and low, "we're trying to get down. Down, Peter."

Peter's forehead furrows, and then his eyes go wide and he disappears. This is about when Nathan really starts to freak out. Or he would if there wasn't a sudden loud creak of their bedsprings below him, and Nathan spins in mid-air, once, twice, three times before he manages to stop and see Peter sprawled on the bed with a thousand questions on his lips.

Nathan needs to fix this, Peter can panic later; so, Nathan scowls down at Peter's bemused expression. "Any time you want to help me get down," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm because it's much better than the alternative.

Anything is better than the alternative right now.

Peter is immediately on his knees on the bed, and then he's on his feet, grabbing Nathan by the waist and pulling him back down. "Well, that's better," Nathan says when he's finally back on the bed, but when Peter lets go, Nathan starts to float off again.

Peter shakes his head, grabbing Nathan around the waist and his hair tickling Nathan's nose as he shakes his head. "Looks like somebody needs to be anchored down."

"You think?" Nathan snaps. He's running low on his ability not to lose it, because if he can't figure out how he got up there or how to stay on the ground, well, then they have problems. Bigger problems than amnesia and the money that Peter mysteriously shows up with every afternoon.

Peter's mouth thins into a line and then Nathan finds himself being pinned to the bed by Peter straddling his hips. "How did you do that?" Nathan demands.

Peter shrugs his shoulder and grins. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," he says, settling his weight over Nathan.

Nathan is not amused. "Tell me now."

"Is that any way to thank the guy who just pulled you off of the ceiling?" Peter mocks. "I would think you would be a lot more grateful. C'mon, Nathan, I know what a tough guy you are, but you can show me a little gratitude, right?"

Nathan's brain fizzles a bit when Peter grinds his ass back against Nathan's cock. He's not hard; he's freaked out, but, well, sex is sex.

Nathan rolls his eyes, trying to ignore his traitorous body. It's hard –- pun intended. "If you're trying to distract me, it's not going to work," Nathan warns. Except Peter chooses this moment to sprawl himself along Nathan's body, and ignoring Peter's tendency to embellish, Peter is always warm. His skin is always hot under Nathan's mouth and he smells like soap and apple shampoo. Nathan shudders when Peter's hand slips under the waistband of his boxers.

"C'mon, Nathan," Peter's mouth brushes against the shell of Nathan's ear, and Nathan sighs as Peter's hot hand closes around his cock. "Make me fly again."

Peter's head is resting on Nathan's lap. His warm breath tickles the kneecaps of Nathan's sprawled out legs while the backs of Nathan's thighs rub against their scratchy duvet cover. Nathan can't live like this much longer; every instinct in his body tells him that they're used to a life much better than this one.

Peter's talking, but Nathan's only partially listening. Sometimes he thinks Peter only talks because he likes the sound of his own voice.

His fingers card through Peter's hair mindlessly; he's trying to follow the blue fuzziness of the baseball game on their crappy cable reception, but Peter's distracting him. Peter is always distracting him, except that right now Nathan can feel the release of the baseball in his hand, the calluses on his thumb and smell the neat's-foot oil in his nose. He can't possibly be a baseball player though; surely somebody in the motel would have recognized him if he was. Right?

"Do you ever think about it, Nate?"

Nathan tugs on Peter's hair. "You know I hate it when you call me Nate."

Peter shifts, rolling onto his back and dislodging Nathan's hand. "Maybe I called you Nate all the time," Peter protests, reaching up and grabbing Nathan's chin to make him meet Peter's eyes. Peter can be very determined when he wants to be; Nathan kind of likes it. "Maybe your parents called you Nate too."

Nathan wrinkles his nose. He doesn't feel like a Nate. He feels like him. "Maybe you should shut up and let me watch the game," he says mockingly.

Peter carries on. "Do you think I knew your parents? Do you think they liked me? You don't think we ran away to get married and this is what happened do you?"

Nathan rolls his eyes and smoothes out the furrows that have formed in Peter's forehead. "I think anybody who knows you would have to like you. And I think your imagination is running rampant again. I don't run anywhere -– at least I don't think I do. Besides, if we were going to get married, I think they only do that in Canada."

The tightness in Peter's features eases away somewhat, but then it's back again. "Do you –- you don't think we're related do you?"

Nathan's features slide into some sort of effortless mask. He doesn't even realize it's happening, but he snorts all the same. "Peter, we have amnesia, we're not delusional. Do you feel like we're related?"

Peter's mouth pulls into a line. "I feel like I've known you all my life."

Nathan exhales through his nose. He knows what Peter's talking about, but it can't be that. They would never feel like this if that were true. "I think that's called love," Nathan says bluntly. Peter blinks and Nathan realizes what he's said. "Don't start freaking out on me," he warns, ready to back-peddle at any second. "Three weeks ago we woke up in the desert with no money, no clothing, no memories and nothing but our names. Two days ago we were flying and then you disappeared and reappeared somewhere else. This is not something to make a big deal about."

Peter seems to think this over for a moment and then he pushes himself upright. "Yes, it is," he says, kissing Nathan on the mouth quickly once and then again much slower. "But don't worry, I know you're right. You're probably always right."

Nathan smirks against Peter's lips. "I probably am," he admits, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that says this time they might be wrong.

-end-

Beta by

antheia. Photo from Just Jared. Title paraphrased from 'Old China' by Gomez.

Happy Birthday,

scribblinlenore!

Current Mood: just coolin'
Current Music: Teddy Thompson 'Separate Ways'

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

linaerys.livejournal.com

First!

This is so awesome. They're heartbreaking and wonderful with amnesia, and I love how much they are still themselves without their memories. This is beautiful and even hotter than that picture of Milo.

From:

Educated Black Person, Esq., A.A., B.A., MBA, Ph.D., RN, NAACP, AAA

Heroes -- wherever you go, the earth just opens up (Nathan/Peter, R)

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