hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2007-08-20 09:10 am
hackthis_archive) wrote2007-08-20 09:10 am
Entry tags:
Ordinary People Are Not Like You and Me - Heroes AU, Peter/Nathan NC-17 (2/2)
Part I
Peter wanted to go to college in New York City. He got accepted to Princeton and Stanford and MIT and every other college his father suggested he apply to, but Peter really wanted to go to NYU. To say his father wasn't especially keen on the idea was an understatement, but Peter accepted anyway because he wanted to see the city. He'd heard so much about it that he had to experience it for himself. Peter has always been a hands-on guy.
The first week of classes, the woman next door tripped and broke her arm, except when Peter went to help her, nothing was wrong. A week later Peter watched a sophomore get all her teeth knocked out during a hockey game, when he went to help her, through the blood they were all still there. And then other strange things began to happen. Dead plants came back to life around him. A book flew across the room in one of his classes and nearly decapitated a soccer player who had called Peter's lab partner a racist slur.
And then the headaches began, and Peter could hardly get out of bed. He took to wearing sunglasses whenever he left the house. His friends insisted on accompanying him everywhere he went just because.
The last time Peter went to his apartment in the Village; he ended up being carried out of it three days later. His father showed up at his hospital room at St. Joseph's, took one look at him and brought him home.
Once Peter was away from the noise and the people and the touching, it was like nothing had ever happened, and that was when his father told him all sorts of things that Peter didn't know. Things about healing powers and abilities that he had and that his mother had had. And then his father introduced him to Jessica, and she taught him about her job. Every hitman has to learn the job from somebody. Peter never went back to school. He hasn't really spent any time in New York since –- a day or two here. A week there. He keeps his apartment because it's his. His father bought the building; it's safe, secure and most importantly discreet.
Hitmen like discretion.
Nathan follows Peter quietly except for the occasional brush of an arm or Peter glancing back to make sure Nathan's still there. He can hear Nathan breathing, feel Nathan near him, but he wants to touch anyway. He has this thing he has to do, but he just wants to have this. Peter hasn't had anyone in a long time, not like this.
There are many locks on Peter's door, but he only tends to lock every other one. Most of the things in Peter's life are about appearances: the appearance of normality, even though he's special, the appearance of submission, even when he wants nothing more than to break free.
Nathan's breathing down the back of Peter's neck as he tries to slot the keys into the right places, and Peter has to laugh in the back of his throat, because this isn't just funny, this is hysterical. He's going to fuck someone and then kill them. Jesus, a shrink would cream their pants.
"If you keep that up," Peter says, "I'm going to have to break down the door, because I can't concentrate with you near me."
Nathan's voice is low and scratchy. "You seemed able to concentrate pretty well back at the bar."
Peter finally gets the key to do what he wants it to and the door opens. Peter only turns back to drag Nathan inside. He uses Nathan's body to slam the door shut, and it's Nathan's turn to be amused. "You want to play rough, huh?" he says as Peter frantically yanks at Nathan's tie and jacket.
"I was concentrating on not bending you over the bar and fucking you there," Peter admits as he pulls Nathan's jacket down to his wrists. He can hear it when Nathan inhales sharply through his teeth.
"Would you like that, Nathan?" Peter asks softly, stopping to study Nathan in the moonlight arcing through the gauzy living room curtains. "Or maybe you'd like to fuck me."
It's too dark to see if Nathan's eyes are dilating, but he's certainly breathing a bit harder. When Peter's hands slide down Nathan's chest to his groin, Nathan is definitely hard. "Why make a decision now?" Nathan asks, his words catching as Peter rubs his cock through his trousers. "We have time, right?"
Peter pulls himself back together. "A true politician makes no promises," he says with a grin. "You're right, though." Peter moves his hands away to pull Nathan's jacket free from his wrists. "No hurry. We have all night."
Nathan makes a disapproving noise when Peter drops his jacket on the floor and Peter rolls his eyes. "You're worrying about your clothes at a time like this?" he asks incredulously.
Nathan gives him a wry smirk. "At a time like what?"
Peter knows this cue. This is his sign to kiss Nathan until neither one of them can remember how to breathe. He can do this, except that when he leans forward to kiss Nathan it's like he does forget how to breathe. Nathan's lips are soft and his mouth is hot and wet. He bites and sucks and Peter makes these whimpering noises that are so unlike him.
Peter is the tough one; Nathan makes him want to submit.
Peter doesn't even realize Nathan's guiding his head where he wants it to go, until Nathan's mouth moves away, along the side of his jaw and to his ear. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll feel it tomorrow," he says, and Peter's brain goes to mush.
What Peter does is a solitary way of life; sometimes he forgets what it's like to be alive. Clearly Nathan plans to remind him. It's been three years since Peter let anyone touch him, and judging by the way he's kissing and biting Nathan, maybe he's got a little something extra bottled up. He feels this overwhelming urge to devour Nathan whole just to keep him with Peter for the rest of his life, and he doesn't know he's clawing at Nathan's clothing until the discordant sound of buttons falling on the hardwood rises to his ears.
Peter sucks on Nathan's bottom lip as he pulls back. "Oops?" he says innocently, looking from Nathan's bared chest to the floor.
Nathan gives him a dry grin. "Oops, huh?"
Peter licks his lips and drops to his knees. "Is there anything else you want to me to do while I'm down here?" Peter's eying Nathan keenly and not even making a pretense of looking for the missing buttons.
Nathan opens his mouth, ostensibly to say something, but Peter's hands have made the decision for them, busying themselves with unfastening Nathan's trousers and pulling them down around his ankles.
Peter hasn't given anybody head in a long time. Hell, Peter hasn't done most of this in a long -– "Commando, Congressman?"
If Nathan were the shrugging type, Peter's pretty sure he would shrug now, instead he just smirks, and yeah, Peter's got problems. Real big, falling head first type problems. He runs his nails down Nathan's thigh and is very pleased by the responsive shudder.
Peter's always been sort of jump first and ask questions never, and when he takes Nathan in his mouth, he makes this really undignified moan –- but nothing is ever dignified about sex anyway. Not with Peter's hands gripping Nathan's ass, and Nathan's hands yanking fruitlessly at the short strands of Peter's hair.
The blow-job is way too wet and way too messy, and Peter loves every minute of it, from the obscene noises and the way Nathan's fingers glide over his ears, to the way Nathan stares at him as though he's never seen anyone like Peter before. The more Nathan pets him, the louder and messier things seem to get.
Peter feels this weird connection with Nathan as though something is looping through them together, and he lets go of Nathan long enough to scrabble at his own pants and get his hand on his cock.
He's thrown completely off when Nathan pushes him away and Peter lands on his ass with his hand on his dick. He has porn if he just wants to jack off.
"Problem?" Peter snaps, still stroking his dick. He's never been really good with waiting for other people.
He's taken off guard again when Nathan bends down and grabs him by the collar of his shirt. "I'm going to fuck you. Now," Nathan says firmly. Peter nods as though Nathan asked him a question, and if he moves a bit faster than humanly possibly to strip his clothes and go to the bedroom, all while praying for unexpired condoms, well, it's dark anyway.
Peter has to turn on the bedside lamp to dig in the nightstand drawer though, and he says a blessing to whatever higher power that there's an almost empty bottle of lube and condoms that are still good for another eight months.
He looks up when Nathan clears his throat, and he drops the condoms back in the drawer at the sight of Nathan folding his ruined shirt and dropping it on the side of the unmade bed.
"I, uh, --" Peter does mean to say something, but Nathan's stalking toward him naked, well, mostly he's just naked, and then Nathan's kissing him again and Peter doesn't really care about much of anything. Especially when Nathan pushes him back on the bed and climbs on top of him.
Peter's hands immediately go back to Nathan's ass. "You have a really nice ass," he says fervently, and Nathan freezes and then starts laughing, leaning down to muffle the noise against Peter's chest. "I was just saying!" Peter points out.
"Peter, you don’t have to give me pointless compliments," Nathan says, stretching his body along Peter's. "I think you've already sealed the deal, don't you?"
Peter licks his lips. "Nothing I say to you is pointless, Nathan."
With the lamp on, this time Peter can see when Nathan's eyes go dark, and he exhales softly, using his knees to urge Nathan further up. He makes a strangled noise when Nathan's cock bumps against his own.
There's another frisson of that electricity that Peter feels every time Nathan touches him or breathes on him or is just near him. If he could bottle this he could put nuclear power out of business, and it takes him a moment to realize that he's freely molesting Nathan. His hands have a mind of their own and they stray everywhere they can possibly touch: Nathan's back, his forearms, thighs, ribs, along his cheekbones.
Nathan submits to this study for several seconds before he gets impatient and begins thrusting against Peter rather unsubtly. "The condoms are a bit old," Peter warns through clenched teeth, not wanting to come from this alone.
Nathan sits back on his haunches. "How old are we talking about?"
"They expire in eight months."
Nathan cocks his head to the side. "Really? They're not more up to date? I would've thought you would be a hit with anyone you want."
Peter props himself up on his elbows. "I don't want most people," he says boldly.
Nathan blinks and then nods once. "Where are they?"
Peter gestures towards the open drawer, idly stroking Nathan's ribs as he stretches away to get the supplies. When Nathan turns back there's something Peter can't parse on his face.
"How do you want to do this?" he asks quietly.
"Like this," Peter says.
Nathan considers him for several seconds, says "okay," and then he's sliding backwards, pushing Peter's legs apart, and moving further down the bed than Peter thought it went.
When Nathan kisses the inside of Peter's thigh, Peter thinks his head might explode. Nathan's hands stroke Peter's skin softly, and then there's that soft snick of the bottle of lube being opened and Peter gasps when Nathan's fingers circle his entrance.
"Breathe, Peter," Nathan coaxes, sliding one finger in, "just breathe." One finger feels like three, and Peter can't tell if he's breathing or hyperventilating, but he can feel Nathan's knuckle brushing inside of him and he pushes back fervently. They could do this for the rest of the night and he would be fine. Or he would be if he could see Nathan.
Peter reaches down blindly and grabs at Nathan's wrist. "No, wait! Not like this."
Nathan stops and sits up. "How do you want it?"
Peter bites his lip. "I want you on your back," he says after a moment.
Nathan laughs. "You want to be on top."
"Being on top has nothing to do with positioning," Peter points out, pulling Nathan up the bed and pushing him onto his back.
"Well you're certainly being pushy enough," Nathan points out with a laugh. The amused sounds die in the back of his throat when Peter grabs Nathan's hand and slides two of Nathan's fingers back into where they were.
"Jesus Christ, Peter," Nathan hisses as Peter makes a happy noise. Peter keeps a firm grip on Nathan's arm and lets himself ride Nathan's fingers, wave after wave of pleasure rushing over him. His dick is slapping wetly against his stomach, but when he tries to touch himself Nathan slaps his hand away. "No," he says sternly, his eyes darting between Peter's face and where he's inside Peter's body.
When Peter opens his mouth to protest, Nathan curls his fingers slightly and hits Peter's prostate. Peter has a complete and utter moment of blankness. His spine melts and he comes hard enough that his teeth hurt. "Huh," he says eloquently afterwards, looking at the mess he's made on the sheets and Nathan.
Nathan chuckles. "Can I have my arm back now? I think we need it for other things." It takes Pete a minute to realize he's still got a death grip on Nathan's forearm. He lets Nathan go only to dab absently at the mess with a sheet corner and then crawl down the bed for the errant condoms.
Shaking off the post-orgasm lassitude that's threatening to knock him out, Peter kneels between Nathan's legs and takes Nathan's cock in hand. He's duly gratified when Nathan thrusts upward sharply. Nathan's cock fits in the palm of Peter's hand like it was made to be there, and Peter works deftly at bringing Nathan back to his prior state.
Soon enough Nathan's batting Peter away and snapping his fingers in the direction of the condoms. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Nathan asks after Peter's slipped a condom on Nathan and situated himself over Nathan's hips.
"No," Peter confesses, taking hold of Nathan's shaft and positioning it right where he wants it to go. He takes a deep breath and begins to lower himself, nearly biting through his own tongue as he slides down. "But that's never stopped me before," he grits out.
Nathan's hands reach up to grab Peter's hips and his mouth falls open as Peter slides all the way down. "I know what you mean," Nathan gasps, watching intently as Peter takes one deep breath, two, and then begins to move. "If I knew what I was doing -–"
Peter's a little busy at the moment trying to fuck himself stupid on Nathan's cock. He exhales through his nose and reaches down to cover Nathan's mouth with his hand. "Nathan, fuck now, talk later, okay?" In response Nathan grips Peter's hips and pulls him down that much harder.
Peter doesn't know what he did to deserve Nathan, but he's really glad he did it.
Peter wakes up floating two feet above the mattress. It's the most shocking thing that's ever happened to him. More shocking than finding out that Jessica planned to kill his father, more shocking than finding out that he could heal, or walk through walls or go to China and back while someone was yawning. He spins in mid-air madly for a moment trying to figure out what happened or how or why, and then he gets control of himself and finds himself staring down at Nathan. This is Nathan's gift. This is what Nathan's given to him. He's made him feel alive for the first time in years -- oh, and now Peter can fly. Nathan's given back all the life that Peter's stolen. Peter can't –- he won't. "Nathan," he calls softly.
Nathan stirs, rolling over onto his side. The sheets fall away from him, exposing wide swathes of skin and a long line of neck. There are scratches on Nathan's back and a bruise on his forearm. Peter did that. Peter did a lot of things. But Peter won't do this.
His father is going to have to be disappointed.
"Nathan," he says more urgently. Nathan rolls over again, he's too close to the edge. Peter reaches down to grab him before he falls at the same time that Nathan wrinkles his nose and his eyes open fractionally. There's that moment of disorientation; Peter knows it well. The expression on Nathan's face would be comical if this were a comedy.
"Peter -– you --" Nathan sits bolt upright suddenly, nearly falling out of the bed. Nearly. It almost looks like he's floating. Huh.
Peter smirks. Nathan has very good recovery. "I presume this is a gift from you," Peter says, floating in mid-air leisurely. He's completely naked and the air currents feel sinful against his skin.
Nathan seems paralyzed. "You," he begins again.
"Am floating. Flying possibly," Peter says. "Yes. It's pretty damn awesome. Thanks."
Nathan's face goes pale and then impassive. "What -– I -– you're a freak."
Peter snorts. "Yes, that I am, but I couldn't fly until I met you, so what does that make you?"
"I have nothing to do with this," Nathan snaps.
Peter rolls his eyes and finds himself moving to an upright position. "Let me tell you how I work," he says, levitating a couple feet above the bed and Nathan. "I have abilities. Amazing abilities," he corrects. "I can heal. I can walk through walls. I can make anything electronic do anything I want it to do. I have strength you've never seen." To make his point Peter lowers himself until he's standing in the bed. Nathan's eyes grow even larger as Peter steps clear of the bed and then picks it and Nathan up with one hand.
"I can do great things, Nathan. I have a destiny," Peter says, his eyes never leaving Nathan's face, even as he sets the bed back on the floor. It's filthy under there, which isn't really shocking. Peter's a bit of a slob sometimes. Still, he tells Nathan these things as though he's reading from the phone book. Except that Nathan is only the third person he's ever had this conversation with is his life -– of the other two, one is his father and the other is dead by his hand.
Nathan's looking at Peter as though he's just sprouted horns. "Why are you telling me this?" Nathan hisses, scrambling out of the bed and grabbing up his clothing.
"Because I get my gifts from other people," Peter says quietly. "I'm an empath. I can't do things on my own, I can only acquire abilities from other people. I couldn't fly until this morning."
"I'm running for Congress," Nathan snaps. "I was born in Westchester to Gordon and Angela Petrelli. I graduated top of my class from Princeton. I was in the Navy. I served my country. I used to be an Assistant District Attorney!"
Peter sighs and grabs some of his own clothing from off the floor. "Some people aren't born to be like everybody else, Nathan. Some of us are meant for something more."
Nathan's in the middle of buttoning up an Oxford that, thanks to Peter, is missing several buttons. "I'm going to be president one day," Nathan says flatly.
Peter stops trying to zip up his jeans and sighs. "Nathan."
Nathan ignores him.
"Nathan."
"Whatever it is, I don't want to know."
Peter sighs louder. "Nathan –- my last name isn't Wilmer. It's Linderman. My name is Peter Linderman."
Nathan stops trying to button buttons that aren't there and looks up at Peter in shock. His face is the most naked Peter's ever seen it.
Peter takes a deep breath, this is going to hurt. It already does. "I think you know my father -- he sent me here to kill you."
"You're going to kill me?" Nathan's voice is deceptively calm. If Peter couldn't see the color drain from his face, he would think Nathan wasn't fazed at all. "What was this? A last fuck?"
Peter bites his lip and shakes his head. "No. I -- I'm supposed to, but I can't. I did that once because my father asked and it's followed me ever since. And you -– Nathan. When I'm near you it's like -- I want you. Just you. Do you realize how fucked up this is?"
Nathan drops back down near where the bed should be, but he's a couple feet short and instead just hovers in the air. Peter watches quietly, because he wants to remember this. Remember that he had this, even if it was just for one night. Especially because it was just for one night.
"I thought I was the only one who felt it," Nathan's head is in his hands and his voice is muffled. "I thought I was just having this moment. It's supposed to pass. You're not supposed to happen. You could ruin everything. You're going to ruin everything."
Peter chuckles and scratches his chest. The marks fade before they've even been fully realized. "Everyone wants love to live up to its reputation," he says to the floorboards. "Everyone wants to feel alive and fulfilled and like they could die without that person. I think if I kill you I probably will die, and I'd rather not have that happen just yet."
Nathan lifts his head and rubs his temples. "What happens now? How much do you want to keep quiet?"
Peter exhales through his nose. "I'll pretend like you didn't just insult me that way for a start. Then you'll go take a shower and put on some clean clothes -– hopefully something in my wardrobe fits you or you can fake it. We can't have our next Congressman looking like he just fucked some guy through a matress."
Nathan eyes Peter warily as he crosses the floor. Peter hasn't even bothered to fasten his jeans and he stops right before Nathan and stares at him openly, hungrily. He wants Nathan to see this. For all the lies, this is true. They are true.
Nathan looks up at him, looks away, and then looks back. "Why did you do this to me?"
Peter laughs. He can't help it. "I didn't do anything to you, Nathan. Sometimes things just happen. Like right now, you're going to clean yourself up, and then you're going to leave and I'm not going to see you again. I'm not even going to join you in the bathroom and blow you until your legs don't work. Instead I'm going to make some coffee and go downstairs and get you a taxi. In a few weeks you're going to become a congressman, and one day you'll be president."
Nathan looks seriously doubtful. Peter doesn't blame him. Nobody in their right mind would turn down a blow job -- or maybe he's just waiting for the proverbial other shoe.
"And then your father blackmails me to make me do what he wants?" Nathan's question is more like a statement.
Peter ponders this. "Let me worry about my dad, you just -- you worry about you."
"And who worries about you?"
Peter pauses and then bends down and kisses Nathan lightly. "That's for even bothering to ask." When Peter pulls away, Nathan pulls him back. They kiss again, once, twice. Every kiss is the last one; it feels like Peter's repeatedly stabbing himself.
Finally, Peter pulls back. Nathan's eyes are a perfectly balanced shade of hazel. They remind Peter of his own. Lots of things about Nathan remind Peter of himself; that's probably what draws them together in the first place.
"Go on," Peter says standing upright and moving away with great effort. "I'm going to make the coffee."
"Pete?"
Peter pauses in the doorway between the bedroom and the living room. Jessica used to call him Pete, too. "Go," Peter says. He means the exact opposite.
Okay.
Peter only has so much resolve. He made the coffee, he's found the taxi, so what if in between he sped into the bathroom, gave Nathan a blowjob that almost ended with him concussed on the floor of the bathtub, and then nearly howled down the building while Nathan jerked him off. Nobody's perfect. Well, nobody's as close as Nathan seems to be. Still, thoughts like that are going to get Peter in trouble, but as Peter leans against the driver's side door of the yellow taxi he realizes it's a little too late for that.
He was supposed to fly back to Vegas at 7:43 this morning. It's now a quarter to ten. The taxi's been waiting for twenty minutes, but Peter gave the driver $100 to sit here and wait for Nathan. Maybe Peter just wanted company. Maybe Peter knows that if he stays in that apartment with Nathan he's going to come up with some stupid plan that'll get them both killed.
Maybe it would be better to have Nathan for a while and lose him than to just walk away. Except that's what Peter does, he walks away.
Soft reggae sounds and cigarette smoke emanate from the cracked cab windows and Peter revels in the feel of the sun on his skin. He's wearing his favorite sunglasses, he just got laid, and okay, he's about to lose his heart, but you can't have everything.
Nathan emerges eventually. Hair perfectly coiffed and wearing a Gucci suit that Peter forgot he even had. It looks better on Nathan than it probably would on Peter. Nathan's even wearing Peter's spare set of sunglasses.
Peter pushes himself upright and goes to meet Nathan half way. "So," he says with a smirk.
Nathan's eyebrow goes up. "So."
"Good luck, Congressman."
"I haven't been elected yet." Nathan reaches out and straightens Peter's collar, which is laughable, because Peter's shirt isn't even entirely tucked in.
"You will be," Peter assures him.
"Peter." Nathan's warning tone makes Peter's smirk slide into a smile.
"If you keep saying my name like that we're going to have a problem," Peter admits.
"What kind of problem?" Nathan's forehead furrows.
"The kind where the congressional candidate gets kidnapped and then is found in Canada six months later, married to a flying freak from Las Vegas."
Nathan smiles a real smile. Peter's chest hurts. "I don't see how that could be a problem."
"Don't make me offers I won't refuse."
Nathan's smile slips away. "We could do it you know -- just leave."
Peter doesn’t know if Nathan is serious. He can't see his eyes. He can't tell. Or maybe he can. Nathan doesn't seem like the kind of guy to do anything impulsively, so if he's just humoring Peter that's okay. "Really?"
"I don't –- I don't know," Nathan concedes. "Maybe."
Peter sighs. "You should go."
"My taxi's waiting," Nathan agrees.
"Think about it," Peter says, clapping Nathan on the shoulder for a moment. Peter grabs onto Nathan's shoulder, because it's either that or kiss him in front of god and country and cab drivers and a city of ten million people. That's not a very smart move for someone who kills people for a semi-living. "Think about us," he amends.
Nathan gives him a wry smile, and Peter's laugh this time is completely mirthless. He turns as Nathan moves past him and gets into the car. "I doubt I'll think about anything else," is Nathan's parting line.
Peter rubs his forehead. "Yeah," he admits as the taxi takes off. "Me too."
Epilogue
"You didn't do it." Four simple words tell Peter everything he needs to know about his father's reaction. It's not the tone, nor the way his father appears puzzled. It's almost as though his father hadn't even considered the possibility –- which is sort of understandable.
"I couldn't," Peter corrects himself. "I could have, but I didn't want to."
His father narrows his eyes and shuts the folder lying open on his desk. Peter could argue. He could try to explain, but people are always trying to explain to Peter. Peter isn't going to fall into that trap. "I didn’t do it, because I didn't want to do it," he repeats. "I –- if you wanted me to take his ability, I have it now. I can fly."
Peter's father's face goes impassive, it reminds Peter of Nathan. Or maybe Nathan reminds Peter of his father. He doesn't want to think of it that way though. "Do you mind my asking you why you didn't want to do it?"
Peter opens his mouth and this comes out. "Yeah. Yes, I do mind. I do everything you ask of me without hesitation –- I want this. You owe me this."
His father's face twists into a rictus of wry amusement. "I owe you this?"
Peter could back down, now would be the time. But this. He wants this. He wants Nathan. He wants a Canadian marriage and an apartment in Vancouver. He doesn't want to do this anymore. He wants to go back to school and help people. He want to make amends, maybe become a nurse.
"Yeah," Peter says. "Yes. Please."
His father sighs and rubs his forehead. "Do you know who Nathan Petrelli is?"
Peter nods. "I know what you told me. I know what he told me."
"Yes, well, I think it would be hard for him to tell you a story he doesn't know." His father sighs again and flips open the folder in his hands. He picks up a piece of paper and slides it across the desk in Peter's direction. "This is your mother, Peter. Her name is Angela."
Peter's scrabbling for the photograph in the time in takes to blink. He's wanted this for so very long; he doesn't know why his father is giving him this now. He hopes it's not an explanation. Bad things always seem to happen to people who want to explain things to Peter.
Peter takes a deep breath and closes his eyes briefly before looking at the photograph. The woman has dark hair and sharp features. She's impossibly elegant and beautiful in a cold way. Peter has her hair and her jaw line. He's also seen her before.
"I -- no." Peter doesn't like where he thinks this is headed.
This isn't an explanation; this is much worse.
Peter doesn't want to look at the other photograph his father slides across the desk, but it's almost like he can't control his own actions. Besides, he hasn't been able to stop looking at Nathan since they met.
"And this is her son -- Nathan," his father's voice is flat and even. "Nathan Petrelli."
Peter doesn't even know what to say. He knows that face. Knows that body. Knows Nathan intimately in ways he hasn't known anybody. And yet he doesn't know Nathan at all. His father has kept this from him. His father wanted him to commit fratricide. His father sent him to kill his brother.
Did he think this would make Peter's mother come back to them? Why now and not twenty-six years ago? What the hell was he thinking? There's no justification for something like this. This is a complete lack of principle.
For the first time ever, Peter wants an explanation -- and yet -- there isn't one.
There will never be a plausible one.
Everyone has a bottom line.
"No," Peter says again. The photograph in his hands goes up in flames suddenly, surprising both his father and himself, but that's nothing compared to the glowing that begins to emanate from his forearms and the rest of his body.
Like most of his powers, Peter doesn't know where this ability came from or who he got it from, but at this moment he wishes he could thank them for the gift.
Peter doesn't know exactly what's happening, but in a way he does. If he can't have Nathan, he doesn't want anything else, and when the explosion happens, he's almost sorry to take his father with him.
Almost.
-end-
These photos are the original inspiration for this story. Yes, I saw those photos and wrote this story. What? The photos were first brought to my attention by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
croakvegas, so thank you for that.
This story was betad byserialkarma who came out of retirement to help a sister out. I adore you madly and thank you a thousand times over for bearing with the crazy lady.
For the convalescingscribblinlenore you have brought so much enjoyment into my life, I hope I can return just a small bit of that to you through this story. And again to the fabulous antheia ilu!
Title taken from 'Go Let it Out' by Oasis.
And to everyone who voted for me over at the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
heroes_slash awards, THANK YOU. As always it's my pleasure to be your hack writer.
Peter wanted to go to college in New York City. He got accepted to Princeton and Stanford and MIT and every other college his father suggested he apply to, but Peter really wanted to go to NYU. To say his father wasn't especially keen on the idea was an understatement, but Peter accepted anyway because he wanted to see the city. He'd heard so much about it that he had to experience it for himself. Peter has always been a hands-on guy.
The first week of classes, the woman next door tripped and broke her arm, except when Peter went to help her, nothing was wrong. A week later Peter watched a sophomore get all her teeth knocked out during a hockey game, when he went to help her, through the blood they were all still there. And then other strange things began to happen. Dead plants came back to life around him. A book flew across the room in one of his classes and nearly decapitated a soccer player who had called Peter's lab partner a racist slur.
And then the headaches began, and Peter could hardly get out of bed. He took to wearing sunglasses whenever he left the house. His friends insisted on accompanying him everywhere he went just because.
The last time Peter went to his apartment in the Village; he ended up being carried out of it three days later. His father showed up at his hospital room at St. Joseph's, took one look at him and brought him home.
Once Peter was away from the noise and the people and the touching, it was like nothing had ever happened, and that was when his father told him all sorts of things that Peter didn't know. Things about healing powers and abilities that he had and that his mother had had. And then his father introduced him to Jessica, and she taught him about her job. Every hitman has to learn the job from somebody. Peter never went back to school. He hasn't really spent any time in New York since –- a day or two here. A week there. He keeps his apartment because it's his. His father bought the building; it's safe, secure and most importantly discreet.
Hitmen like discretion.
Nathan follows Peter quietly except for the occasional brush of an arm or Peter glancing back to make sure Nathan's still there. He can hear Nathan breathing, feel Nathan near him, but he wants to touch anyway. He has this thing he has to do, but he just wants to have this. Peter hasn't had anyone in a long time, not like this.
There are many locks on Peter's door, but he only tends to lock every other one. Most of the things in Peter's life are about appearances: the appearance of normality, even though he's special, the appearance of submission, even when he wants nothing more than to break free.
Nathan's breathing down the back of Peter's neck as he tries to slot the keys into the right places, and Peter has to laugh in the back of his throat, because this isn't just funny, this is hysterical. He's going to fuck someone and then kill them. Jesus, a shrink would cream their pants.
"If you keep that up," Peter says, "I'm going to have to break down the door, because I can't concentrate with you near me."
Nathan's voice is low and scratchy. "You seemed able to concentrate pretty well back at the bar."
Peter finally gets the key to do what he wants it to and the door opens. Peter only turns back to drag Nathan inside. He uses Nathan's body to slam the door shut, and it's Nathan's turn to be amused. "You want to play rough, huh?" he says as Peter frantically yanks at Nathan's tie and jacket.
"I was concentrating on not bending you over the bar and fucking you there," Peter admits as he pulls Nathan's jacket down to his wrists. He can hear it when Nathan inhales sharply through his teeth.
"Would you like that, Nathan?" Peter asks softly, stopping to study Nathan in the moonlight arcing through the gauzy living room curtains. "Or maybe you'd like to fuck me."
It's too dark to see if Nathan's eyes are dilating, but he's certainly breathing a bit harder. When Peter's hands slide down Nathan's chest to his groin, Nathan is definitely hard. "Why make a decision now?" Nathan asks, his words catching as Peter rubs his cock through his trousers. "We have time, right?"
Peter pulls himself back together. "A true politician makes no promises," he says with a grin. "You're right, though." Peter moves his hands away to pull Nathan's jacket free from his wrists. "No hurry. We have all night."
Nathan makes a disapproving noise when Peter drops his jacket on the floor and Peter rolls his eyes. "You're worrying about your clothes at a time like this?" he asks incredulously.
Nathan gives him a wry smirk. "At a time like what?"
Peter knows this cue. This is his sign to kiss Nathan until neither one of them can remember how to breathe. He can do this, except that when he leans forward to kiss Nathan it's like he does forget how to breathe. Nathan's lips are soft and his mouth is hot and wet. He bites and sucks and Peter makes these whimpering noises that are so unlike him.
Peter is the tough one; Nathan makes him want to submit.
Peter doesn't even realize Nathan's guiding his head where he wants it to go, until Nathan's mouth moves away, along the side of his jaw and to his ear. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll feel it tomorrow," he says, and Peter's brain goes to mush.
What Peter does is a solitary way of life; sometimes he forgets what it's like to be alive. Clearly Nathan plans to remind him. It's been three years since Peter let anyone touch him, and judging by the way he's kissing and biting Nathan, maybe he's got a little something extra bottled up. He feels this overwhelming urge to devour Nathan whole just to keep him with Peter for the rest of his life, and he doesn't know he's clawing at Nathan's clothing until the discordant sound of buttons falling on the hardwood rises to his ears.
Peter sucks on Nathan's bottom lip as he pulls back. "Oops?" he says innocently, looking from Nathan's bared chest to the floor.
Nathan gives him a dry grin. "Oops, huh?"
Peter licks his lips and drops to his knees. "Is there anything else you want to me to do while I'm down here?" Peter's eying Nathan keenly and not even making a pretense of looking for the missing buttons.
Nathan opens his mouth, ostensibly to say something, but Peter's hands have made the decision for them, busying themselves with unfastening Nathan's trousers and pulling them down around his ankles.
Peter hasn't given anybody head in a long time. Hell, Peter hasn't done most of this in a long -– "Commando, Congressman?"
If Nathan were the shrugging type, Peter's pretty sure he would shrug now, instead he just smirks, and yeah, Peter's got problems. Real big, falling head first type problems. He runs his nails down Nathan's thigh and is very pleased by the responsive shudder.
Peter's always been sort of jump first and ask questions never, and when he takes Nathan in his mouth, he makes this really undignified moan –- but nothing is ever dignified about sex anyway. Not with Peter's hands gripping Nathan's ass, and Nathan's hands yanking fruitlessly at the short strands of Peter's hair.
The blow-job is way too wet and way too messy, and Peter loves every minute of it, from the obscene noises and the way Nathan's fingers glide over his ears, to the way Nathan stares at him as though he's never seen anyone like Peter before. The more Nathan pets him, the louder and messier things seem to get.
Peter feels this weird connection with Nathan as though something is looping through them together, and he lets go of Nathan long enough to scrabble at his own pants and get his hand on his cock.
He's thrown completely off when Nathan pushes him away and Peter lands on his ass with his hand on his dick. He has porn if he just wants to jack off.
"Problem?" Peter snaps, still stroking his dick. He's never been really good with waiting for other people.
He's taken off guard again when Nathan bends down and grabs him by the collar of his shirt. "I'm going to fuck you. Now," Nathan says firmly. Peter nods as though Nathan asked him a question, and if he moves a bit faster than humanly possibly to strip his clothes and go to the bedroom, all while praying for unexpired condoms, well, it's dark anyway.
Peter has to turn on the bedside lamp to dig in the nightstand drawer though, and he says a blessing to whatever higher power that there's an almost empty bottle of lube and condoms that are still good for another eight months.
He looks up when Nathan clears his throat, and he drops the condoms back in the drawer at the sight of Nathan folding his ruined shirt and dropping it on the side of the unmade bed.
"I, uh, --" Peter does mean to say something, but Nathan's stalking toward him naked, well, mostly he's just naked, and then Nathan's kissing him again and Peter doesn't really care about much of anything. Especially when Nathan pushes him back on the bed and climbs on top of him.
Peter's hands immediately go back to Nathan's ass. "You have a really nice ass," he says fervently, and Nathan freezes and then starts laughing, leaning down to muffle the noise against Peter's chest. "I was just saying!" Peter points out.
"Peter, you don’t have to give me pointless compliments," Nathan says, stretching his body along Peter's. "I think you've already sealed the deal, don't you?"
Peter licks his lips. "Nothing I say to you is pointless, Nathan."
With the lamp on, this time Peter can see when Nathan's eyes go dark, and he exhales softly, using his knees to urge Nathan further up. He makes a strangled noise when Nathan's cock bumps against his own.
There's another frisson of that electricity that Peter feels every time Nathan touches him or breathes on him or is just near him. If he could bottle this he could put nuclear power out of business, and it takes him a moment to realize that he's freely molesting Nathan. His hands have a mind of their own and they stray everywhere they can possibly touch: Nathan's back, his forearms, thighs, ribs, along his cheekbones.
Nathan submits to this study for several seconds before he gets impatient and begins thrusting against Peter rather unsubtly. "The condoms are a bit old," Peter warns through clenched teeth, not wanting to come from this alone.
Nathan sits back on his haunches. "How old are we talking about?"
"They expire in eight months."
Nathan cocks his head to the side. "Really? They're not more up to date? I would've thought you would be a hit with anyone you want."
Peter props himself up on his elbows. "I don't want most people," he says boldly.
Nathan blinks and then nods once. "Where are they?"
Peter gestures towards the open drawer, idly stroking Nathan's ribs as he stretches away to get the supplies. When Nathan turns back there's something Peter can't parse on his face.
"How do you want to do this?" he asks quietly.
"Like this," Peter says.
Nathan considers him for several seconds, says "okay," and then he's sliding backwards, pushing Peter's legs apart, and moving further down the bed than Peter thought it went.
When Nathan kisses the inside of Peter's thigh, Peter thinks his head might explode. Nathan's hands stroke Peter's skin softly, and then there's that soft snick of the bottle of lube being opened and Peter gasps when Nathan's fingers circle his entrance.
"Breathe, Peter," Nathan coaxes, sliding one finger in, "just breathe." One finger feels like three, and Peter can't tell if he's breathing or hyperventilating, but he can feel Nathan's knuckle brushing inside of him and he pushes back fervently. They could do this for the rest of the night and he would be fine. Or he would be if he could see Nathan.
Peter reaches down blindly and grabs at Nathan's wrist. "No, wait! Not like this."
Nathan stops and sits up. "How do you want it?"
Peter bites his lip. "I want you on your back," he says after a moment.
Nathan laughs. "You want to be on top."
"Being on top has nothing to do with positioning," Peter points out, pulling Nathan up the bed and pushing him onto his back.
"Well you're certainly being pushy enough," Nathan points out with a laugh. The amused sounds die in the back of his throat when Peter grabs Nathan's hand and slides two of Nathan's fingers back into where they were.
"Jesus Christ, Peter," Nathan hisses as Peter makes a happy noise. Peter keeps a firm grip on Nathan's arm and lets himself ride Nathan's fingers, wave after wave of pleasure rushing over him. His dick is slapping wetly against his stomach, but when he tries to touch himself Nathan slaps his hand away. "No," he says sternly, his eyes darting between Peter's face and where he's inside Peter's body.
When Peter opens his mouth to protest, Nathan curls his fingers slightly and hits Peter's prostate. Peter has a complete and utter moment of blankness. His spine melts and he comes hard enough that his teeth hurt. "Huh," he says eloquently afterwards, looking at the mess he's made on the sheets and Nathan.
Nathan chuckles. "Can I have my arm back now? I think we need it for other things." It takes Pete a minute to realize he's still got a death grip on Nathan's forearm. He lets Nathan go only to dab absently at the mess with a sheet corner and then crawl down the bed for the errant condoms.
Shaking off the post-orgasm lassitude that's threatening to knock him out, Peter kneels between Nathan's legs and takes Nathan's cock in hand. He's duly gratified when Nathan thrusts upward sharply. Nathan's cock fits in the palm of Peter's hand like it was made to be there, and Peter works deftly at bringing Nathan back to his prior state.
Soon enough Nathan's batting Peter away and snapping his fingers in the direction of the condoms. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Nathan asks after Peter's slipped a condom on Nathan and situated himself over Nathan's hips.
"No," Peter confesses, taking hold of Nathan's shaft and positioning it right where he wants it to go. He takes a deep breath and begins to lower himself, nearly biting through his own tongue as he slides down. "But that's never stopped me before," he grits out.
Nathan's hands reach up to grab Peter's hips and his mouth falls open as Peter slides all the way down. "I know what you mean," Nathan gasps, watching intently as Peter takes one deep breath, two, and then begins to move. "If I knew what I was doing -–"
Peter's a little busy at the moment trying to fuck himself stupid on Nathan's cock. He exhales through his nose and reaches down to cover Nathan's mouth with his hand. "Nathan, fuck now, talk later, okay?" In response Nathan grips Peter's hips and pulls him down that much harder.
Peter doesn't know what he did to deserve Nathan, but he's really glad he did it.
Peter wakes up floating two feet above the mattress. It's the most shocking thing that's ever happened to him. More shocking than finding out that Jessica planned to kill his father, more shocking than finding out that he could heal, or walk through walls or go to China and back while someone was yawning. He spins in mid-air madly for a moment trying to figure out what happened or how or why, and then he gets control of himself and finds himself staring down at Nathan. This is Nathan's gift. This is what Nathan's given to him. He's made him feel alive for the first time in years -- oh, and now Peter can fly. Nathan's given back all the life that Peter's stolen. Peter can't –- he won't. "Nathan," he calls softly.
Nathan stirs, rolling over onto his side. The sheets fall away from him, exposing wide swathes of skin and a long line of neck. There are scratches on Nathan's back and a bruise on his forearm. Peter did that. Peter did a lot of things. But Peter won't do this.
His father is going to have to be disappointed.
"Nathan," he says more urgently. Nathan rolls over again, he's too close to the edge. Peter reaches down to grab him before he falls at the same time that Nathan wrinkles his nose and his eyes open fractionally. There's that moment of disorientation; Peter knows it well. The expression on Nathan's face would be comical if this were a comedy.
"Peter -– you --" Nathan sits bolt upright suddenly, nearly falling out of the bed. Nearly. It almost looks like he's floating. Huh.
Peter smirks. Nathan has very good recovery. "I presume this is a gift from you," Peter says, floating in mid-air leisurely. He's completely naked and the air currents feel sinful against his skin.
Nathan seems paralyzed. "You," he begins again.
"Am floating. Flying possibly," Peter says. "Yes. It's pretty damn awesome. Thanks."
Nathan's face goes pale and then impassive. "What -– I -– you're a freak."
Peter snorts. "Yes, that I am, but I couldn't fly until I met you, so what does that make you?"
"I have nothing to do with this," Nathan snaps.
Peter rolls his eyes and finds himself moving to an upright position. "Let me tell you how I work," he says, levitating a couple feet above the bed and Nathan. "I have abilities. Amazing abilities," he corrects. "I can heal. I can walk through walls. I can make anything electronic do anything I want it to do. I have strength you've never seen." To make his point Peter lowers himself until he's standing in the bed. Nathan's eyes grow even larger as Peter steps clear of the bed and then picks it and Nathan up with one hand.
"I can do great things, Nathan. I have a destiny," Peter says, his eyes never leaving Nathan's face, even as he sets the bed back on the floor. It's filthy under there, which isn't really shocking. Peter's a bit of a slob sometimes. Still, he tells Nathan these things as though he's reading from the phone book. Except that Nathan is only the third person he's ever had this conversation with is his life -– of the other two, one is his father and the other is dead by his hand.
Nathan's looking at Peter as though he's just sprouted horns. "Why are you telling me this?" Nathan hisses, scrambling out of the bed and grabbing up his clothing.
"Because I get my gifts from other people," Peter says quietly. "I'm an empath. I can't do things on my own, I can only acquire abilities from other people. I couldn't fly until this morning."
"I'm running for Congress," Nathan snaps. "I was born in Westchester to Gordon and Angela Petrelli. I graduated top of my class from Princeton. I was in the Navy. I served my country. I used to be an Assistant District Attorney!"
Peter sighs and grabs some of his own clothing from off the floor. "Some people aren't born to be like everybody else, Nathan. Some of us are meant for something more."
Nathan's in the middle of buttoning up an Oxford that, thanks to Peter, is missing several buttons. "I'm going to be president one day," Nathan says flatly.
Peter stops trying to zip up his jeans and sighs. "Nathan."
Nathan ignores him.
"Nathan."
"Whatever it is, I don't want to know."
Peter sighs louder. "Nathan –- my last name isn't Wilmer. It's Linderman. My name is Peter Linderman."
Nathan stops trying to button buttons that aren't there and looks up at Peter in shock. His face is the most naked Peter's ever seen it.
Peter takes a deep breath, this is going to hurt. It already does. "I think you know my father -- he sent me here to kill you."
"You're going to kill me?" Nathan's voice is deceptively calm. If Peter couldn't see the color drain from his face, he would think Nathan wasn't fazed at all. "What was this? A last fuck?"
Peter bites his lip and shakes his head. "No. I -- I'm supposed to, but I can't. I did that once because my father asked and it's followed me ever since. And you -– Nathan. When I'm near you it's like -- I want you. Just you. Do you realize how fucked up this is?"
Nathan drops back down near where the bed should be, but he's a couple feet short and instead just hovers in the air. Peter watches quietly, because he wants to remember this. Remember that he had this, even if it was just for one night. Especially because it was just for one night.
"I thought I was the only one who felt it," Nathan's head is in his hands and his voice is muffled. "I thought I was just having this moment. It's supposed to pass. You're not supposed to happen. You could ruin everything. You're going to ruin everything."
Peter chuckles and scratches his chest. The marks fade before they've even been fully realized. "Everyone wants love to live up to its reputation," he says to the floorboards. "Everyone wants to feel alive and fulfilled and like they could die without that person. I think if I kill you I probably will die, and I'd rather not have that happen just yet."
Nathan lifts his head and rubs his temples. "What happens now? How much do you want to keep quiet?"
Peter exhales through his nose. "I'll pretend like you didn't just insult me that way for a start. Then you'll go take a shower and put on some clean clothes -– hopefully something in my wardrobe fits you or you can fake it. We can't have our next Congressman looking like he just fucked some guy through a matress."
Nathan eyes Peter warily as he crosses the floor. Peter hasn't even bothered to fasten his jeans and he stops right before Nathan and stares at him openly, hungrily. He wants Nathan to see this. For all the lies, this is true. They are true.
Nathan looks up at him, looks away, and then looks back. "Why did you do this to me?"
Peter laughs. He can't help it. "I didn't do anything to you, Nathan. Sometimes things just happen. Like right now, you're going to clean yourself up, and then you're going to leave and I'm not going to see you again. I'm not even going to join you in the bathroom and blow you until your legs don't work. Instead I'm going to make some coffee and go downstairs and get you a taxi. In a few weeks you're going to become a congressman, and one day you'll be president."
Nathan looks seriously doubtful. Peter doesn't blame him. Nobody in their right mind would turn down a blow job -- or maybe he's just waiting for the proverbial other shoe.
"And then your father blackmails me to make me do what he wants?" Nathan's question is more like a statement.
Peter ponders this. "Let me worry about my dad, you just -- you worry about you."
"And who worries about you?"
Peter pauses and then bends down and kisses Nathan lightly. "That's for even bothering to ask." When Peter pulls away, Nathan pulls him back. They kiss again, once, twice. Every kiss is the last one; it feels like Peter's repeatedly stabbing himself.
Finally, Peter pulls back. Nathan's eyes are a perfectly balanced shade of hazel. They remind Peter of his own. Lots of things about Nathan remind Peter of himself; that's probably what draws them together in the first place.
"Go on," Peter says standing upright and moving away with great effort. "I'm going to make the coffee."
"Pete?"
Peter pauses in the doorway between the bedroom and the living room. Jessica used to call him Pete, too. "Go," Peter says. He means the exact opposite.
Okay.
Peter only has so much resolve. He made the coffee, he's found the taxi, so what if in between he sped into the bathroom, gave Nathan a blowjob that almost ended with him concussed on the floor of the bathtub, and then nearly howled down the building while Nathan jerked him off. Nobody's perfect. Well, nobody's as close as Nathan seems to be. Still, thoughts like that are going to get Peter in trouble, but as Peter leans against the driver's side door of the yellow taxi he realizes it's a little too late for that.
He was supposed to fly back to Vegas at 7:43 this morning. It's now a quarter to ten. The taxi's been waiting for twenty minutes, but Peter gave the driver $100 to sit here and wait for Nathan. Maybe Peter just wanted company. Maybe Peter knows that if he stays in that apartment with Nathan he's going to come up with some stupid plan that'll get them both killed.
Maybe it would be better to have Nathan for a while and lose him than to just walk away. Except that's what Peter does, he walks away.
Soft reggae sounds and cigarette smoke emanate from the cracked cab windows and Peter revels in the feel of the sun on his skin. He's wearing his favorite sunglasses, he just got laid, and okay, he's about to lose his heart, but you can't have everything.
Nathan emerges eventually. Hair perfectly coiffed and wearing a Gucci suit that Peter forgot he even had. It looks better on Nathan than it probably would on Peter. Nathan's even wearing Peter's spare set of sunglasses.
Peter pushes himself upright and goes to meet Nathan half way. "So," he says with a smirk.
Nathan's eyebrow goes up. "So."
"Good luck, Congressman."
"I haven't been elected yet." Nathan reaches out and straightens Peter's collar, which is laughable, because Peter's shirt isn't even entirely tucked in.
"You will be," Peter assures him.
"Peter." Nathan's warning tone makes Peter's smirk slide into a smile.
"If you keep saying my name like that we're going to have a problem," Peter admits.
"What kind of problem?" Nathan's forehead furrows.
"The kind where the congressional candidate gets kidnapped and then is found in Canada six months later, married to a flying freak from Las Vegas."
Nathan smiles a real smile. Peter's chest hurts. "I don't see how that could be a problem."
"Don't make me offers I won't refuse."
Nathan's smile slips away. "We could do it you know -- just leave."
Peter doesn’t know if Nathan is serious. He can't see his eyes. He can't tell. Or maybe he can. Nathan doesn't seem like the kind of guy to do anything impulsively, so if he's just humoring Peter that's okay. "Really?"
"I don't –- I don't know," Nathan concedes. "Maybe."
Peter sighs. "You should go."
"My taxi's waiting," Nathan agrees.
"Think about it," Peter says, clapping Nathan on the shoulder for a moment. Peter grabs onto Nathan's shoulder, because it's either that or kiss him in front of god and country and cab drivers and a city of ten million people. That's not a very smart move for someone who kills people for a semi-living. "Think about us," he amends.
Nathan gives him a wry smile, and Peter's laugh this time is completely mirthless. He turns as Nathan moves past him and gets into the car. "I doubt I'll think about anything else," is Nathan's parting line.
Peter rubs his forehead. "Yeah," he admits as the taxi takes off. "Me too."
Epilogue
"You didn't do it." Four simple words tell Peter everything he needs to know about his father's reaction. It's not the tone, nor the way his father appears puzzled. It's almost as though his father hadn't even considered the possibility –- which is sort of understandable.
"I couldn't," Peter corrects himself. "I could have, but I didn't want to."
His father narrows his eyes and shuts the folder lying open on his desk. Peter could argue. He could try to explain, but people are always trying to explain to Peter. Peter isn't going to fall into that trap. "I didn’t do it, because I didn't want to do it," he repeats. "I –- if you wanted me to take his ability, I have it now. I can fly."
Peter's father's face goes impassive, it reminds Peter of Nathan. Or maybe Nathan reminds Peter of his father. He doesn't want to think of it that way though. "Do you mind my asking you why you didn't want to do it?"
Peter opens his mouth and this comes out. "Yeah. Yes, I do mind. I do everything you ask of me without hesitation –- I want this. You owe me this."
His father's face twists into a rictus of wry amusement. "I owe you this?"
Peter could back down, now would be the time. But this. He wants this. He wants Nathan. He wants a Canadian marriage and an apartment in Vancouver. He doesn't want to do this anymore. He wants to go back to school and help people. He want to make amends, maybe become a nurse.
"Yeah," Peter says. "Yes. Please."
His father sighs and rubs his forehead. "Do you know who Nathan Petrelli is?"
Peter nods. "I know what you told me. I know what he told me."
"Yes, well, I think it would be hard for him to tell you a story he doesn't know." His father sighs again and flips open the folder in his hands. He picks up a piece of paper and slides it across the desk in Peter's direction. "This is your mother, Peter. Her name is Angela."
Peter's scrabbling for the photograph in the time in takes to blink. He's wanted this for so very long; he doesn't know why his father is giving him this now. He hopes it's not an explanation. Bad things always seem to happen to people who want to explain things to Peter.
Peter takes a deep breath and closes his eyes briefly before looking at the photograph. The woman has dark hair and sharp features. She's impossibly elegant and beautiful in a cold way. Peter has her hair and her jaw line. He's also seen her before.
"I -- no." Peter doesn't like where he thinks this is headed.
This isn't an explanation; this is much worse.
Peter doesn't want to look at the other photograph his father slides across the desk, but it's almost like he can't control his own actions. Besides, he hasn't been able to stop looking at Nathan since they met.
"And this is her son -- Nathan," his father's voice is flat and even. "Nathan Petrelli."
Peter doesn't even know what to say. He knows that face. Knows that body. Knows Nathan intimately in ways he hasn't known anybody. And yet he doesn't know Nathan at all. His father has kept this from him. His father wanted him to commit fratricide. His father sent him to kill his brother.
Did he think this would make Peter's mother come back to them? Why now and not twenty-six years ago? What the hell was he thinking? There's no justification for something like this. This is a complete lack of principle.
For the first time ever, Peter wants an explanation -- and yet -- there isn't one.
There will never be a plausible one.
Everyone has a bottom line.
"No," Peter says again. The photograph in his hands goes up in flames suddenly, surprising both his father and himself, but that's nothing compared to the glowing that begins to emanate from his forearms and the rest of his body.
Like most of his powers, Peter doesn't know where this ability came from or who he got it from, but at this moment he wishes he could thank them for the gift.
Peter doesn't know exactly what's happening, but in a way he does. If he can't have Nathan, he doesn't want anything else, and when the explosion happens, he's almost sorry to take his father with him.
Almost.
-end-
These photos are the original inspiration for this story. Yes, I saw those photos and wrote this story. What? The photos were first brought to my attention by
croakvegas, so thank you for that. This story was betad by
serialkarma who came out of retirement to help a sister out. I adore you madly and thank you a thousand times over for bearing with the crazy lady. For the convalescing
scribblinlenore you have brought so much enjoyment into my life, I hope I can return just a small bit of that to you through this story. And again to the fabulous antheia ilu!Title taken from 'Go Let it Out' by Oasis.
And to everyone who voted for me over at the
heroes_slash awards, THANK YOU. As always it's my pleasure to be your hack writer.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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