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slodwick and myself, we hope you all enjoyed yesterday's Hackwick Production 'How to Be Dead'. Thanks to everyone who downloaded and commented, we have lots of warm fuzzies.
This idea was presented first byskripka and kelly_girl here, so this is a homage to them and dedicated to sameoldhope. Except that this is just SHAMELESS. And cracky. And, uh, about Mood!Wings. Yeah. In short, it's shameless, cracky mood!wing fic, as all crack should be.
Heroes
Nathan/Peter
Rated a Cracky PG-13
Very vague S2 spoilers
Like a Sunset Going Down
Blue
Nathan notices the wings first. Of course Nathan notices the wings first, because he's always the first one awake, even though he doesn't have a real job anymore besides Peter.
Yes, Peter is Nathan's job.
Nathan used wake up at 5 a.m. to go running before he went to work for the District Attorney, before the kids and Heidi, back before he spent the better part of a year on a campaign that he threw away in the end.
Nathan used to spend most of his days with criminals. He was going to make a joke about prosecuting people who have done wrong not being the same as consorting with the people his dad knew because those were the real criminals, but it's a little hard to joke when you're hovering three feet to the left of the mattress because huge, white, feathery wings have just dislodged you from your rightful sleeping place.
It's a lot to process first thing in the morning. Maybe Nathan should have listened last night when Peter complained about the itching between his shoulder blades.
As always, Peter is completely oblivious. At least Nathan assumes Peter's oblivious, since he's still snoring. Nathan's not oblivious though, because how can you be oblivious to fucking wings taking up your side of the bed?
"Pete." Nathan pushes at one of the wings, and instead finds himself sort of, well, stroking it. It's soft. Nathan thought the wings would be harder, tougher. Maybe they just have to be used first. Maybe it's just an appearances thing -- although they appear very attached to Peter's shoulder blades. Nathan doesn't mean to pluck out a feather, it just sort of comes away in his hand, and that wakes Peter up.
"Jesus, if you want me to wake up --"
Peter's words die off, Nathan's presuming, because he can't see past his wings. It would be funny if the wings weren't suddenly turning a strange shade of blue. The color shoots straight past cornflower into indigo. Maybe it's Indigo for Indignant, because one minute Nathan's hovering near the bed and the next, Peter's batted him into the wall with one of his wings.
"Hey, watch it, Birdboy!" Nathan retorts a bit more thoughtlessly than normal. It's not his fault; he's just trying to get his legs under him and figure out the situation.
"Oh, fuck. Nathan! What the hell is this?" The wings sort of flap and flutter -- a stuttering attempt at flight with Peter floating away from the bed. The sheets fall away from his legs, but Nathan doesn't think Peter's movement has much to do with the wings, if only because the wings aren't flapping in time. One's fluttering and the other seems to be trying to fold itself up.
The wings are confused. They're certainly in good company.
Nathan needs a moment if he's thinking of the wings as their own sentient property. Except, there's a naked Peter with blue wings in the middle of their bedroom -- the bedroom -- okay, again, something to process much later.
"I think they're called wings, Pete," he says casually, approaching the bed slowly. When in doubt, fake it. When freaking out, definitely fake it.
"You think?!" Peter snaps back. Both wings flap suddenly, reacting to Peter's outburst, and only Peter's hands above him stop him from being propelled head-first straight into the ceiling.
Nathan raises an eyebrow as a large crack appears in the plaster.
Empathic wings. Oh, now that's rich.
Pink
It takes Nathan twenty solid minutes to talk a naked, winged Peter down from the ceiling, where he's just sort of hovering. Except it's not just Nathan talking, he has to actually float up beside Peter and calm him down with hands on his shoulders and fingers in his hair and quiet words and a lot of stroking of the wings.
He doesn't know if he strokes the wings because he wants to, or because Peter likes it, or because it's what wants the wings want. The wing thing is new; he's not sure how he's supposed to react.
It's sort of like Doc Ock in Spider-Man 2, except Nathan doesn't think he's supposed to say that out loud. The longer Nathan pets the wings though, the lighter they become, the dark blue becomes sky blue and then a pale blue, almost white. It's extraordinary.
If Nathan were a scientist -- he thinks of calling Dr. Suresh, but decides it might be better to get Peter off the ceiling first. He doesn't even realize the wings have gone slightly pink until Peter clears his throat. "So, the wings like you," he says matter-of-factly.
Nathan's been so busy cosseting, well, the wings, he's a bit startled when Peter speaks. The shadows are really dense this close to the ceiling, but Nathan knows the look on Peter's face, and he can't help but snort. "Do you really think now's the best time for sex? Your wings are turning --" Nathan considers Peter fully for a moment. "Pink. Very pink. Pink like..."
Oh. OH.
When Peter shrugs, the wings flutter behind him, folding up precisely as though Peter's been in control of them forever. Nathan can't help the half-cough, half-laugh that escapes. Wing-stroking is the new foreplay. Wow, and he thought they were fucked up before.
"The wings respond to how you feel," he assess as Peter moves him through the air, pushing him against the wall above his dresser. "I thought that was my job."
They've never had sex like this before. Hovering above the bed, yes. In the bathroom floating above the tub, yes -- but in the upper left-hand corner of the bedroom, against the wall? This is new.
"How is this going to work with the wings?" Nathan asks curiously. He really has no idea. Peter likes to be on top, but on top on the side of the wall?
Hell, it's sex. It's supposed to be strange.
Green
Peter's had the wings for a whole day now, and it doesn't look like they're going anywhere. He's been fed. He's watched the Top Chef marathon on TV. He's tried to wash himself, but wound up nearly taking out the bathroom door. He's made some phone calls and even gone out. Well, 'going out' isn't really the right phrase. He and Nathan went up to the roof after dark and had a night flight and that was their exercise for the day.
Peter may have wings and telekinesis and nuclear power and invisibility, but Nathan's still faster.
Peter says the wings have too much drag. He says it's the wind resistance. Nathan snorts and tells him not to be such a poor loser. The wings turn a bright, kelly green right before Peter pushes Nathan off of the roof.
Nathan supposes it's a good thing he can fly.
Black
Peter and Nathan have this very secluded life right now. No kids, no wives, no jobs, just lots of togetherness and privacy. Their mother is in the Seychelles, recovering from recent trauma, which they both highly urged, and so here they are, playing house. Except with flying. So, it's sort of like they're playing Bird House, or maybe Tree House, or whatever it is that people who can fly play.
It's all ridiculous and it's all going to end one day, but Nathan doesn't want to think about that. He wants to talk about dinner and if Peter wants to fly to Nantucket. Nathan wants to wake Peter up from his nap and see if he's figured out how to fit Nathan back in the bed, because last night the wings didn't want to share the bed, so neither one of them slept. Eventually Nathan did some reconnaissance of the sofa; it wasn't as nice as the bed, but it was better than being smacked in the head by wings all night.
The first thing he notices when he walks in the bedroom is the wings. It's hard not to, not just because of their sheer volume, they have to be at least six feet across when they're spread, but because they've gone black. Glossy, obsidian black, and they've covered Peter like a bomb shelter.
Fuck.
"Pete?" Nathan doesn't even know how to approach this one, so he calls Peter again, raising his voice a couple of notches.
The wings quiver slightly, which Nathan thinks might be a good thing, but when he touches them they're hard and sharp to the touch. Sharp enough that Nathan cuts his thumb.
"Okay, this is fucked up," he says succinctly, not even realizing he's spoken. The wings flutter as though a breeze has blown through the apartment, even though the windows are all closed.
Nathan sucks on his cut for a moment and then retreats. He needs a Band-Aid and a plan of attack. Whatever Peter's dreaming about has him spooked and defensive -- at least that's why Nathan assumes the wings are reacting this way. Nathan doesn't want to think too hard about what Peter could be dreaming of though. Considering how many times Peter has died, Nathan can only begin to imagine what's going on in his subconscious, and he really doesn't want to.
Gold
Nathan couldn't find a Band-Aid, which is so ironic in the apartment of a hospice nurse that he decided to use duct tape instead. It's not exactly hygienic, but his brother has wings, so sanitary issues have slipped a bit. He also grabbed the broom from the closet; it still has its price tag on it, which, again, explains a lot. The sun is going down outside the apartment and in the bedroom it casts a pale golden sheen on the blackness of Peter's wings.
Nathan wouldn't want to be woken up this way himself, but sometimes you have to take drastic measures, like whacking your brother with a broom.
The first time, the resistance takes Nathan off guard, so does losing a third of the broom. The wings are strong. Very strong. Nathan knows it shouldn't be as surprising as it is, but Nathan thought the wings were more of an emotional foil than something Peter could actually utilize.
Another poke with the broom is just as fruitless as the first, and then Nathan realizes he's going about this all wrong. Work smarter, not harder.
He's across the room in six strides to pick up the clock radio from beside Peter's bed. A few seconds of fiddling and Nathan hits the ground just as the alarm goes off at full volume. Navy training never entirely fades, and sure enough Peter's wings snap outward as Peter is jarred awake and not a few of his feathers go flying straight into the wall like Chinese stars.
Nathan doesn't want to think about what being hit by those at full strength would be like; instead he decides to thank himself for being this smart. He rolls over on his back, sighing in relief when the wings begin to retract above him; the jet black is now a hazy shade of grey.
Peter's arm emerges from the bed to grab at the alarm, followed by Peter's torso and the expression on his face when he sees Nathan sprawled out on the floor goes from sleepy irritation to utter confusion. "What're you doing on the floor?"
Nathan rolls his eyes. "Trying to get some sleep," he replies sardonically, waving at the wings so Peter will pull them back even more. The grey is growing lighter, turning from pewter to a rainy day. "Your wings attacked me," he points out, showing Peter his duct taped thumb.
Peter's eyes widen comically, well as comical as you can be when you find out that your appendages are trying to kill people in your sleep. Here comes the panic -- and sure enough the wings begin to darken again.
Nathan gets to his knees and grabs Peter's chin to force eye-contact. "Whatever you're thinking about or freaking out about, stop it. Now. I don't think my thumb is going to make me bleed to death."
"I can't." Peter's eyes are huge and his voice is laced with this faint despair that makes Nathan feel ill. "I can't control this, and I don’t even know what it is. I have wings, Nathan. Wings! And they itch!"
"Yes, you can," Nathan coaxes, urging Peter to sit-up and then sitting beside him. He scratches at Peter's shoulder blades for him. "If you can save the world, you can definitely save yourself."
"I didn't save me," Peter retorts, "you did."
Nathan scoffs at this. "I think that's my line, Pete."
Peter turns his head and gives Nathan a dubious look, but the wings are becoming paler. Nathan leans forward and kisses Peter twice, once on the mouth and once on the side of his forehead. The kiss on the forehead is almost like a benediction when Nathan closes his eyes.
He opens them again at the feel of Peter's arm around his waist, and it takes him a moment to realize they're being encased in a circle of golden feathers.
This must be what peace is like.
Rainbow
Nathan doesn't know what to make of the rainbow thing. He's not even sure if Peter knows it's happened; Peter doesn't even know when his wings are changing color unless Nathan bothers to point it out or he's hiding behind them. Or underneath them. Or they're just sort of cocooning him from the outside world -- which is appropriate on so many levels.
Nathan coughs at all the dust Peter's wings stir up. "If you're going to keep flapping those things around the house, don't you think you should at least hire a maid?" he says while approaching his brother.
Peter's leaning out of the living room window, his back to Nathan. "Maids are nosy and tell your mom when you hide your vitamins under the bed," Peter replies matter-of-factly.
"Hide your vitamins?" Okay, Nathan can't really argue with that. "Pete, you're 26, I think if you don't want to take your vitamins, and all your feathers fall out, you'll only have yourself to blame."
Peter makes a snorting sound, bending over to rest his arms on the windowsill. He's shirtless -- they haven't figured out how to deal with strapping his wings down yet -- his jeans are riding low on his hips and his wings are really excited about something. They remind Nathan of a dog wagging his tail to go out for a walk.
If they weren't so high up, Nathan would be concerned about nosy neighbors, but this is New York. People probably just think they're into Furries, and that isn't even as disturbing as the truth.
The closer Nathan gets to Peter the stronger the colors of his wings appear, which he likes. Sometimes Peter's moods are so slight Nathan only gets a hint of blue or yellow or pale pale pink. Sometimes Peter's hormones are so manic that they give Nathan vertigo, which is what happens when Nathan puts his hands on Peter. They thought that maybe they should try to be a little bit more strict about the touching until Peter's wings were better able to handle his moods –- but that resolution only lasted eight hours, three shades of purple and one outburst (read: blow job on the ceiling) later.
Nathan can't help but touch Peter, because it's Peter and wings or no, he's still Nathan's. Right now the wings flutter underneath Nathan's fingers vermillion and chartreuse, and Jesus, Peter's practically his own Mardi Gras parade.
Nathan ducks when Peter turn suddenly. He's finally gotten with the wing whacking program, but Peter's grin isn't anything but sheer pleasure. Nathan flicks a quick glance over Peter's shoulder, expecting the wings to be turning a dark pink, but they're still just as rainbow colored as they were before. This is a little confusing.
"I'm watching the parade," Peter says by way of explanation.
Nathan glances out the window briefly, pauses, and then looks a bit harder. He really shouldn't be surprised that this is all because of the Gay Pride Parade.
Of course Peter's wings would be as gay as he is. Or they are. Or whatever. At least Nathan can't grow wings as well. Someone has to draw a line somewhere, so he's just going to ignore the itching between his shoulder blades.
If it works for Peter, it can work for him, too.
-end-
Beta byserialkarma who chose the lesser of two evils, even though I prolly wasn't going to write that other one and might've just been using it to scare her. ilu2.
Dedicated tosameoldhope, with thanks to skripka and kelly_girl for doing it first and better.
Title from 'She's a Rainbow' by The Rolling Stones.
slodwick and myself, we hope you all enjoyed yesterday's Hackwick Production 'How to Be Dead'. Thanks to everyone who downloaded and commented, we have lots of warm fuzzies. This idea was presented first by
skripka and kelly_girl here, so this is a homage to them and dedicated to sameoldhope. Except that this is just SHAMELESS. And cracky. And, uh, about Mood!Wings. Yeah. In short, it's shameless, cracky mood!wing fic, as all crack should be.Heroes
Nathan/Peter
Rated a Cracky PG-13
Very vague S2 spoilers
Blue
Nathan notices the wings first. Of course Nathan notices the wings first, because he's always the first one awake, even though he doesn't have a real job anymore besides Peter.
Yes, Peter is Nathan's job.
Nathan used wake up at 5 a.m. to go running before he went to work for the District Attorney, before the kids and Heidi, back before he spent the better part of a year on a campaign that he threw away in the end.
Nathan used to spend most of his days with criminals. He was going to make a joke about prosecuting people who have done wrong not being the same as consorting with the people his dad knew because those were the real criminals, but it's a little hard to joke when you're hovering three feet to the left of the mattress because huge, white, feathery wings have just dislodged you from your rightful sleeping place.
It's a lot to process first thing in the morning. Maybe Nathan should have listened last night when Peter complained about the itching between his shoulder blades.
As always, Peter is completely oblivious. At least Nathan assumes Peter's oblivious, since he's still snoring. Nathan's not oblivious though, because how can you be oblivious to fucking wings taking up your side of the bed?
"Pete." Nathan pushes at one of the wings, and instead finds himself sort of, well, stroking it. It's soft. Nathan thought the wings would be harder, tougher. Maybe they just have to be used first. Maybe it's just an appearances thing -- although they appear very attached to Peter's shoulder blades. Nathan doesn't mean to pluck out a feather, it just sort of comes away in his hand, and that wakes Peter up.
"Jesus, if you want me to wake up --"
Peter's words die off, Nathan's presuming, because he can't see past his wings. It would be funny if the wings weren't suddenly turning a strange shade of blue. The color shoots straight past cornflower into indigo. Maybe it's Indigo for Indignant, because one minute Nathan's hovering near the bed and the next, Peter's batted him into the wall with one of his wings.
"Hey, watch it, Birdboy!" Nathan retorts a bit more thoughtlessly than normal. It's not his fault; he's just trying to get his legs under him and figure out the situation.
"Oh, fuck. Nathan! What the hell is this?" The wings sort of flap and flutter -- a stuttering attempt at flight with Peter floating away from the bed. The sheets fall away from his legs, but Nathan doesn't think Peter's movement has much to do with the wings, if only because the wings aren't flapping in time. One's fluttering and the other seems to be trying to fold itself up.
The wings are confused. They're certainly in good company.
Nathan needs a moment if he's thinking of the wings as their own sentient property. Except, there's a naked Peter with blue wings in the middle of their bedroom -- the bedroom -- okay, again, something to process much later.
"I think they're called wings, Pete," he says casually, approaching the bed slowly. When in doubt, fake it. When freaking out, definitely fake it.
"You think?!" Peter snaps back. Both wings flap suddenly, reacting to Peter's outburst, and only Peter's hands above him stop him from being propelled head-first straight into the ceiling.
Nathan raises an eyebrow as a large crack appears in the plaster.
Empathic wings. Oh, now that's rich.
Pink
It takes Nathan twenty solid minutes to talk a naked, winged Peter down from the ceiling, where he's just sort of hovering. Except it's not just Nathan talking, he has to actually float up beside Peter and calm him down with hands on his shoulders and fingers in his hair and quiet words and a lot of stroking of the wings.
He doesn't know if he strokes the wings because he wants to, or because Peter likes it, or because it's what wants the wings want. The wing thing is new; he's not sure how he's supposed to react.
It's sort of like Doc Ock in Spider-Man 2, except Nathan doesn't think he's supposed to say that out loud. The longer Nathan pets the wings though, the lighter they become, the dark blue becomes sky blue and then a pale blue, almost white. It's extraordinary.
If Nathan were a scientist -- he thinks of calling Dr. Suresh, but decides it might be better to get Peter off the ceiling first. He doesn't even realize the wings have gone slightly pink until Peter clears his throat. "So, the wings like you," he says matter-of-factly.
Nathan's been so busy cosseting, well, the wings, he's a bit startled when Peter speaks. The shadows are really dense this close to the ceiling, but Nathan knows the look on Peter's face, and he can't help but snort. "Do you really think now's the best time for sex? Your wings are turning --" Nathan considers Peter fully for a moment. "Pink. Very pink. Pink like..."
Oh. OH.
When Peter shrugs, the wings flutter behind him, folding up precisely as though Peter's been in control of them forever. Nathan can't help the half-cough, half-laugh that escapes. Wing-stroking is the new foreplay. Wow, and he thought they were fucked up before.
"The wings respond to how you feel," he assess as Peter moves him through the air, pushing him against the wall above his dresser. "I thought that was my job."
They've never had sex like this before. Hovering above the bed, yes. In the bathroom floating above the tub, yes -- but in the upper left-hand corner of the bedroom, against the wall? This is new.
"How is this going to work with the wings?" Nathan asks curiously. He really has no idea. Peter likes to be on top, but on top on the side of the wall?
Hell, it's sex. It's supposed to be strange.
Green
Peter's had the wings for a whole day now, and it doesn't look like they're going anywhere. He's been fed. He's watched the Top Chef marathon on TV. He's tried to wash himself, but wound up nearly taking out the bathroom door. He's made some phone calls and even gone out. Well, 'going out' isn't really the right phrase. He and Nathan went up to the roof after dark and had a night flight and that was their exercise for the day.
Peter may have wings and telekinesis and nuclear power and invisibility, but Nathan's still faster.
Peter says the wings have too much drag. He says it's the wind resistance. Nathan snorts and tells him not to be such a poor loser. The wings turn a bright, kelly green right before Peter pushes Nathan off of the roof.
Nathan supposes it's a good thing he can fly.
Black
Peter and Nathan have this very secluded life right now. No kids, no wives, no jobs, just lots of togetherness and privacy. Their mother is in the Seychelles, recovering from recent trauma, which they both highly urged, and so here they are, playing house. Except with flying. So, it's sort of like they're playing Bird House, or maybe Tree House, or whatever it is that people who can fly play.
It's all ridiculous and it's all going to end one day, but Nathan doesn't want to think about that. He wants to talk about dinner and if Peter wants to fly to Nantucket. Nathan wants to wake Peter up from his nap and see if he's figured out how to fit Nathan back in the bed, because last night the wings didn't want to share the bed, so neither one of them slept. Eventually Nathan did some reconnaissance of the sofa; it wasn't as nice as the bed, but it was better than being smacked in the head by wings all night.
The first thing he notices when he walks in the bedroom is the wings. It's hard not to, not just because of their sheer volume, they have to be at least six feet across when they're spread, but because they've gone black. Glossy, obsidian black, and they've covered Peter like a bomb shelter.
Fuck.
"Pete?" Nathan doesn't even know how to approach this one, so he calls Peter again, raising his voice a couple of notches.
The wings quiver slightly, which Nathan thinks might be a good thing, but when he touches them they're hard and sharp to the touch. Sharp enough that Nathan cuts his thumb.
"Okay, this is fucked up," he says succinctly, not even realizing he's spoken. The wings flutter as though a breeze has blown through the apartment, even though the windows are all closed.
Nathan sucks on his cut for a moment and then retreats. He needs a Band-Aid and a plan of attack. Whatever Peter's dreaming about has him spooked and defensive -- at least that's why Nathan assumes the wings are reacting this way. Nathan doesn't want to think too hard about what Peter could be dreaming of though. Considering how many times Peter has died, Nathan can only begin to imagine what's going on in his subconscious, and he really doesn't want to.
Gold
Nathan couldn't find a Band-Aid, which is so ironic in the apartment of a hospice nurse that he decided to use duct tape instead. It's not exactly hygienic, but his brother has wings, so sanitary issues have slipped a bit. He also grabbed the broom from the closet; it still has its price tag on it, which, again, explains a lot. The sun is going down outside the apartment and in the bedroom it casts a pale golden sheen on the blackness of Peter's wings.
Nathan wouldn't want to be woken up this way himself, but sometimes you have to take drastic measures, like whacking your brother with a broom.
The first time, the resistance takes Nathan off guard, so does losing a third of the broom. The wings are strong. Very strong. Nathan knows it shouldn't be as surprising as it is, but Nathan thought the wings were more of an emotional foil than something Peter could actually utilize.
Another poke with the broom is just as fruitless as the first, and then Nathan realizes he's going about this all wrong. Work smarter, not harder.
He's across the room in six strides to pick up the clock radio from beside Peter's bed. A few seconds of fiddling and Nathan hits the ground just as the alarm goes off at full volume. Navy training never entirely fades, and sure enough Peter's wings snap outward as Peter is jarred awake and not a few of his feathers go flying straight into the wall like Chinese stars.
Nathan doesn't want to think about what being hit by those at full strength would be like; instead he decides to thank himself for being this smart. He rolls over on his back, sighing in relief when the wings begin to retract above him; the jet black is now a hazy shade of grey.
Peter's arm emerges from the bed to grab at the alarm, followed by Peter's torso and the expression on his face when he sees Nathan sprawled out on the floor goes from sleepy irritation to utter confusion. "What're you doing on the floor?"
Nathan rolls his eyes. "Trying to get some sleep," he replies sardonically, waving at the wings so Peter will pull them back even more. The grey is growing lighter, turning from pewter to a rainy day. "Your wings attacked me," he points out, showing Peter his duct taped thumb.
Peter's eyes widen comically, well as comical as you can be when you find out that your appendages are trying to kill people in your sleep. Here comes the panic -- and sure enough the wings begin to darken again.
Nathan gets to his knees and grabs Peter's chin to force eye-contact. "Whatever you're thinking about or freaking out about, stop it. Now. I don't think my thumb is going to make me bleed to death."
"I can't." Peter's eyes are huge and his voice is laced with this faint despair that makes Nathan feel ill. "I can't control this, and I don’t even know what it is. I have wings, Nathan. Wings! And they itch!"
"Yes, you can," Nathan coaxes, urging Peter to sit-up and then sitting beside him. He scratches at Peter's shoulder blades for him. "If you can save the world, you can definitely save yourself."
"I didn't save me," Peter retorts, "you did."
Nathan scoffs at this. "I think that's my line, Pete."
Peter turns his head and gives Nathan a dubious look, but the wings are becoming paler. Nathan leans forward and kisses Peter twice, once on the mouth and once on the side of his forehead. The kiss on the forehead is almost like a benediction when Nathan closes his eyes.
He opens them again at the feel of Peter's arm around his waist, and it takes him a moment to realize they're being encased in a circle of golden feathers.
This must be what peace is like.
Rainbow
Nathan doesn't know what to make of the rainbow thing. He's not even sure if Peter knows it's happened; Peter doesn't even know when his wings are changing color unless Nathan bothers to point it out or he's hiding behind them. Or underneath them. Or they're just sort of cocooning him from the outside world -- which is appropriate on so many levels.
Nathan coughs at all the dust Peter's wings stir up. "If you're going to keep flapping those things around the house, don't you think you should at least hire a maid?" he says while approaching his brother.
Peter's leaning out of the living room window, his back to Nathan. "Maids are nosy and tell your mom when you hide your vitamins under the bed," Peter replies matter-of-factly.
"Hide your vitamins?" Okay, Nathan can't really argue with that. "Pete, you're 26, I think if you don't want to take your vitamins, and all your feathers fall out, you'll only have yourself to blame."
Peter makes a snorting sound, bending over to rest his arms on the windowsill. He's shirtless -- they haven't figured out how to deal with strapping his wings down yet -- his jeans are riding low on his hips and his wings are really excited about something. They remind Nathan of a dog wagging his tail to go out for a walk.
If they weren't so high up, Nathan would be concerned about nosy neighbors, but this is New York. People probably just think they're into Furries, and that isn't even as disturbing as the truth.
The closer Nathan gets to Peter the stronger the colors of his wings appear, which he likes. Sometimes Peter's moods are so slight Nathan only gets a hint of blue or yellow or pale pale pink. Sometimes Peter's hormones are so manic that they give Nathan vertigo, which is what happens when Nathan puts his hands on Peter. They thought that maybe they should try to be a little bit more strict about the touching until Peter's wings were better able to handle his moods –- but that resolution only lasted eight hours, three shades of purple and one outburst (read: blow job on the ceiling) later.
Nathan can't help but touch Peter, because it's Peter and wings or no, he's still Nathan's. Right now the wings flutter underneath Nathan's fingers vermillion and chartreuse, and Jesus, Peter's practically his own Mardi Gras parade.
Nathan ducks when Peter turn suddenly. He's finally gotten with the wing whacking program, but Peter's grin isn't anything but sheer pleasure. Nathan flicks a quick glance over Peter's shoulder, expecting the wings to be turning a dark pink, but they're still just as rainbow colored as they were before. This is a little confusing.
"I'm watching the parade," Peter says by way of explanation.
Nathan glances out the window briefly, pauses, and then looks a bit harder. He really shouldn't be surprised that this is all because of the Gay Pride Parade.
Of course Peter's wings would be as gay as he is. Or they are. Or whatever. At least Nathan can't grow wings as well. Someone has to draw a line somewhere, so he's just going to ignore the itching between his shoulder blades.
If it works for Peter, it can work for him, too.
-end-
Beta by
serialkarma who chose the lesser of two evils, even though I prolly wasn't going to write that other one and might've just been using it to scare her. ilu2. Dedicated to
sameoldhope, with thanks to skripka and kelly_girl for doing it first and better.Title from 'She's a Rainbow' by The Rolling Stones.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-10-04 10:46 pm (UTC)This made me smile, and I think you make it work thanks to your perfect grip on the boys' relationship.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-04 10:50 pm (UTC)oh dear, that was crack, of the best kind. and yes, peter's wings...gay as he is...
no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-10-04 10:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-04 10:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-04 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-04 10:58 pm (UTC)Peter's wings are as emo as he is. You always bring the good crack. :D
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Date: 2007-10-08 06:40 pm (UTC)Exactly!
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Date: 2007-10-04 11:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-04 11:24 pm (UTC)Man, that is awesome.
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Date: 2007-10-08 06:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-04 11:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-04 11:44 pm (UTC)You are an EVILLLLL manipulator. :PPPPPPP
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Date: 2007-10-08 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-04 11:54 pm (UTC)I think my fav parts was all the different colors the wings turned. I know if I was Nathan (in between the petting and coddling of the wings) I'd be making color charts and everything.
I laughed when Peter shoved Nathan off the building. Just two brothers having fun and being as normal as they can be.
Peter could have totally been in the gay pride parade. Everyone would have loved him and his color changing wings.
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Date: 2007-10-08 06:43 pm (UTC)You are goading me on, I see this now. I would think the color chart would be more of a Mohinder thing though, don't you? And OMG Peter in the Gay Pride Parade! I just love your wings, and they look so real! *dies*
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Date: 2007-10-04 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-05 12:29 am (UTC)The wings are confused. They're certainly in good company.
Wing-stroking is the new foreplay. Wow, and he thought they were fucked up before.
Of course Peter's wings would be as gay as he is.
Oh, there was MUCH laughter. This was cracktastic, doll! And not only do I feel better, but the Yankees are playing better, too. Doll, you're magic just like Peter!!!!
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Date: 2007-10-08 06:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-05 01:08 am (UTC)Yay!
It's awesome!
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Date: 2007-10-08 06:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-05 02:21 am (UTC)That was great.
Cracktastic - I love it!
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Date: 2007-10-08 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-05 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-05 03:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-05 04:45 am (UTC)This was so wonderful! :D
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Date: 2007-10-08 06:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-10-05 04:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:50 pm (UTC)It's much better than a coat, right?
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From:no subject
Date: 2007-10-05 05:14 am (UTC)I laughed, I cried. It was much better than Cats.
Seriously, great fic!
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Date: 2007-10-08 06:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-10-05 05:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:52 pm (UTC)Mine too! Now that I'm over the shame of it, well, I feel much better.
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Date: 2007-10-05 06:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-05 06:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-10-05 06:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-05 08:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 06:54 pm (UTC)That is awesome. You have just achieved trademark status with that line.