Title: Ritual (39): Both Sides Now
Author: mystery_sock
Pairing/Characters: Peter/Nathan, Arthur, Angela
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Episode 1.09 "Six Months Ago" and 2.04 "The Kindness of Strangers" (story takes place pre-series)
Word Count: about 9400
Warnings: language, incest, explicit m/m sex
Summary and Notes: As Peter backs away from studying for a law degree, he finds dealing with his father increasingly difficult... and Nathan seeks to exorcise his personal demons, with Peter's help. It is useful, but not strictly necessary, to read Ritual (27): Dixon first. Gracias to 47_trek_47 and fabrisse for their beta-ing help! Feedback=life.
• Ritual Reader's Guide - all Ritual stories in chronological order •


Heroes is the property of NBC/Universal and Tailwinds Productions. Characters used without permission. No revenue is generated or accepted by the author of this story for its publication on the internet.

OCTOBER 2000

Nathan kept an eye on Peter all evening.

He had carefully noted when Peter arrived at the charity ball, slinking along behind his parents as if he had done something wrong and was hoping no one would find out. The immaculate lines of his tuxedo and black tie were disrupted by the shaggy disarray of his hair, like he hadn't quite had enough time to get ready. When Nathan greeted them, Peter met his gaze for a lingering, smoldering moment, then averted his eyes and looked away. Obviously there was something on his mind that he couldn't even begin to mention while in earshot of his parents. Nathan let him go on his way, and, though Nathan wanted him to, Peter didn't look back.

Over the course of the night, Peter seemed to perk up and relax considerably; he mingled charmingly with the fellow guests, applauded politely when speeches were given, and stuffed his face with canapes like he hadn't eaten all day. Peter even danced with his mother, performing a respectable waltz. Nathan observed them, burning with jealousy. Their mother had taught Peter to dance when he was a little kid. Nathan had had formal classes instead, and up until this point, he had never really cared about that.

The dance ended, and Peter kissed Angela gallantly on the cheek. They laughed together. It was cute; they looked so good together, such an obvious mother and son, such a close resemblance. So comfortable, so forgiving of each other. Peter was being exactly the way his mother wanted him to be tonight (besides the messy hair), and she seemed to be displaying the very best aspects of her personality–witty, erudite, and enthusiastic about charitable causes and children's health care, or, at least, having the Petrelli name on shiny new hospital facilities.

Nathan's father suddenly cleared his throat, breaking into Nathan's reverie. He had been standing next to Nathan for God knew how long without Nathan noticing him at all. "What, are you trying to burn a hole through 'em with your eyes?" Arthur snapped. He frowned over the tops of his glasses at Nathan, then looked back out onto the dance floor, bringing his cocktail glass to his lips. "Where's your head, son?"

"Oh, sorry, Dad," Nathan responded sheepishly. "You were saying?"

Arthur didn't have much use for small talk; are you enjoying yourself, how have you been, and all the other irrelevancies. "You've been tracking Peter like you're a cat, and he's the last rat left in the barn. What's going on? Do you know something about him?" he said sharply. "Some secret of his that I should know about? He tells you everything."

Nathan's mouth went dry, but he showed no signs of emotion on his face. "I don't know what you mean," he said. "He hasn't said anything to me recently. I've barely seen him for the last couple of weeks." Not since that disastrous night when Peter had crossed a line he hadn't even known existed. Neither of them had. Peter, in his clumsy lust, had accessed a secret trauma, a secret horror; so secret that Nathan had been keeping it even from himself.

Nathan had been wracking his brains since then, trying to come up with some way to apologize to Peter for his over-reaction. To make it up to him. Only by focusing on what Peter had demanded–do what I tell you, let me control you, dominate you for once–had Nathan finally come up with the obvious solution.

"Huh," Arthur said, narrowing his eyes. Nathan calmly blinked, and maintained eye contact. "Any idea where he's spending his nights?"

Not with me. What the hell is he talking about? Is he on to us? "Dad, I–"

Arthur shook his head, interrupting Nathan before he could continue. "I mean, I couldn't care less, but your mother won't let me alone about it. She acts like he's a teenage girl, coddling him. He's soft. He's got no steel in him. No fire." He kept his eyes on the dance floor, but he wasn't focusing on anything in particular. Peter and Angela were long gone, and another dance was being announced. "That boy has no idea how hard the world really is."

Nathan squirmed, sighing faintly with relief that he could honestly claim ignorance of what his father was talking about. "Well... it's just a privilege," he said. "He's lucky. He gets to be insulated. We made life easy for him."

"It's pathetic," Arthur countered. "He's going nowhere."

"Ah, c'mon, Dad," Nathan protested. "Pete's not so bad."

"I'll tell you what's 'so bad'," Arthur said, draining his drink. He might have been drinking all night; it was hard to tell. Arthur never gave any overt signs of drunkenness until he was literally falling over. "Peter's barely been home for the last five nights, and he sneaks around so we don't have a chance to confront him. And when he is at home, he's either snooping or moping. Your mother's losing her hair over this. If he were doing better in school, I'd be more inclined to forgive it, but he's wasting a good education."

"He's just a sophomore. Give him a break." Nathan looked around the room again, trying to find Peter so that he could glare some sense into him. He hoped that their father was wrong about Peter, but Nathan had the sneaking suspicion that he wasn't. Peter wasn't stupid or lazy; he was just easily distracted, easily led astray by a hard-luck story. Easily used. "Some kids take a while to settle into college."

"And take two years to do it? He's heading for dropout territory. And he's not getting a second chance. I'm not going to pamper him the way his mother has. The last thing this family needs is a hippie trust-fund layabout." Arthur sighed and shook his head. "I warn you now–don't get too involved with him. It's a waste of time. He'll drag you right down with him."

Nathan blinked in surprise. This was a step up from the usual half-animosity Arthur and Peter had had going on for a while. "Dad. Peter's not a bad guy. He's only twenty."

"Old enough to know better," Arthur replied.

"He's... he's your kid, though. Your son."

Arthur slowly shook his head, his hard expression unchanging. "He's a Petrelli. He ought to know. You gotta be tougher than that. You've got to make the most of what you're given, whether you like it or not. And he needs to mind his own business, and keep his nose out of mine. If I ever catch him in my office again, I'm gonna break his fingers."

"Look, don't worry, I'll talk to him," Nathan promised, half just to get away from his father for a moment. He had no doubt that his father's threat wasn't an idle one. Nathan strode away with purpose, as if he knew exactly where he was going.

Peter was nowhere in sight. Nathan fetched himself a fresh drink, and wandered amongst the party guests, looking for his brother. Peter should have been obvious in this crowd, but Nathan searched for a long time (not asking after Peter; keeping it discreet) with no result. Across the room, his mother and father were talking with each other, Arthur's hand resting comfortably on the small of Angela's back, the very picture of marital compatibility. Nathan's father now looked relaxed, a big grin on his face, probably telling a joke. It was impossible to look at him and imagine that he could hurt Peter, or anyone else, for that matter. It had just been the whiskey talking.

The tall blonde who had been telling Nathan all about her divorce finally left him to get another drink, and Peter appeared in the space she had left. "Hey!" He smiled his crooked smile, eyes lighting up. "Nathan. I was trying to find you."

"Same here," Nathan countered, smiling back. "I'm kind of surprised to see you here. You hate stuff like this."

"Well, I promised Mom," Peter said. "I'm trying to get on her good side. She's kind of pissed off at me right now, and she bought me the ticket, so..." He shrugged. "We're supposed to be trying to look good as a family right now. I don't know. Whatever. Hey, uh... Want to go take a look at the sculptures in the atrium? I've heard," he added with a dry laugh, "they're brand new."

They set off in step together toward the the glass-windowed atrium, the area mostly deserted, half-darkened to allow the city streetlight to shine in. "You've been staring at me all night," Peter mentioned, pausing underneath the massive, swooping abstract wings of one of the sculptures. His face was all in light, his eyes bright with it, gazing at Nathan, parted lips glistening wet and pink, just a smudge of stubble peeking through the smooth skin at the corners of his mouth. Nathan kept staring, wishing he could get closer. "What's up?"

"Where you been for the last couple of nights?" Nathan asked. "Dad says you haven't been home."

Peter rolled his eyes and sighed. "Crashing at a friend's," he said. Shrugging, he admitted, "Girlfriend. Kinda."

"So not serious?"

Peter shook his head.

Nathan hesitated, wondering if he should say something about Heidi. She was also "girlfriend kinda", but he didn't know yet whether or not it was serious. He decided not to mention it tonight, not while Peter was gazing at him adoringly like that. Peter continued, "I just needed some space from Mom and Dad for a while. Mostly Dad. I don't really like being in the house anymore. I don't feel like I belong there."

"He also says you're fucking up at school," Nathan added. "What's up with that?"

A flash of disappointment traveled over Peter's face; he did not want to be talking about this, had not expected to be talking about this. Nathan felt a tugging in his groin; Peter had wanted something else. As had he. This was not what he had imagined saying to Peter here tonight, in this private version of "in public." Nathan had wanted to have a milestone event, a thrilling reveal, and imagining Peter's reaction to what Nathan wanted to say had inspired a masturbatory orgasm or two. But... business before pleasure.

Peter sighed a little, rolling his eyes. "I dropped three of my classes," he confessed. "Dad is pissed because..." He shrugged, and his shameful, hunted look came back. "I didn't drop them until after the deadline passed, and the tuition isn't refundable." Peter squared his shoulders and looked defiantly into Nathan's eyes, casting his shame away. "Look, I'm not gonna be a lawyer. I should not be taking pre-law courses. It's just not... this is not what I'm meant to do."

"What, are you meant to be a drain on Dad's finances? The guy's not made out of money, you know."

Peter gave a bitter laugh and looked away. "He's made out of money all right," he reassured Nathan. "Oh, he is."

Nathan just blinked at him, stunned. "Are you talking about the Wrightson settlement?"

"I'm talking about the Wrightson settlement, I'm talking about the Staten Island Bindery settlement, I'm talking about Atlantic City and moms being separated from their kids, doing time for crimes they didn't commit. I'm talking about hush money." Peter shook his head. "Millions of dollars. I'm not fucking stupid. I know. I know where the money's coming from."

"Dad's clients are legitimate," Nathan said, a little ruefully.

"But is what he's defending legitimate? Is what you're defending legitimate, or are you just doing it for the money?"

"I work for the district," said Nathan. "I'm a civil servant."

Peter gave a short, contemptuous laugh. "Huh! Really? One of these days, you should investigate Dad. You probably won't like what you find."

"Too bad I'm not a cop," Nathan replied. "I help interpret the law; I don't enforce it. If he's such a monster, why don't you perform a citizen's arrest?" He watched as Peter frowned the idea out of existence. The thought clearly troubled him. He was perfectly fine with talking shit about what Dad did for a living, but when it came to the idea of actually preventing him from doing it, he couldn't take the pain. He really wasn't an adult yet. "Look, Pete, I... just call Ma or something, if you're going to be out all night. And explain to them about the classes. You can probably make up some credits over the summer and graduate winter '04. And hey, stay out of Dad's office, okay? Whatever you learn there can't help you." Nathan paused until Peter stopped shaking his head and looked up at him again. "What?"

Peter relaxed, and a smile played at the corner of his mouth. "I wanted to know why you were looking at me. But... I got my answer," he said lightly.

"What, the school thing?" Nathan shook his head. "No. I didn't know about that until Dad said something. You didn't tell me."

Peter looked away for a moment, accepting that without explanation, then his eyes returned to Nathan's. "So you were looking at me because you wanted to say something else to me. So... what's up?" Peter murmured.

"There's something I want you to do," said Nathan. His voice, too, had dropped almost to a whisper.

Peter nodded expectantly.

They were both very still for a moment, looking at each other, before Nathan diverted his gaze, and glanced back at the party, keeping his eyes in motion. He had been staring at Peter all night; no good being caught now. But he made sure he met Peter's eyes before he spoke.

"I want you to fuck me again."

Just a tiny emphasis on me, just to clarify his meaning. I want it. Your cock inside me. I want it to be you now, from now on. Undo my damage. Absolve me. Heal me. Transform this filthy longing from shame into pleasure.

Peter just nodded again. Not quite the culmination of the masturbation fantasy, which usually proceeded directly to Peter dropping to his knees and begging for cock, but his calm, yet joyful acceptance of the idea was delightful all by itself. "Yes, I'd love to. Of course," he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "When? Tonight?" A gleam of excitement suddenly lit in his eyes.

Nathan shook his head. "I'll call you soon, set it up."

"Because we do have to plan," Peter said, blushing furiously. He was trembling a little, struggling to control himself. Nathan narrowed his eyes and smiled. Yes, he does want to get on his knees right here. I was right! "It's, like, better if we plan, right?"

"Yeah," Nathan replied. It was almost good enough, right there, just to say it. Peter knew that Nathan wanted it to happen. Peter had heard him ask for it. Nathan could say it out loud. A milestone of trust. And they couldn't touch. Not here; not now. But later.

Without another word, Nathan turned and went back in to the party, where he asked his mother to take the last dance with him.
-----
"God...! Twelve thousand dollars, down the drain. I've got half a mind to put you to work digging ditches until you've paid every penny back."

"So you could get even more blood money? Out of your own kid? That's a new low, Dad."

"What–? Don't you pull that 'own kid' bull with me!"

"Just say it, Dad. 'Bullshit.' Say it. It's okay. I'm over eighteen. It's okay to use bad words in front of me."

"Peter, you're crossing that line. Don't cross that line with me. Not tonight. You're too old to be playing this idiotic teenage rebellion bullshit. When the hell are you going to start taking responsibility for yourself? When the hell are you going to stop blaming me for your failures? Your failures are your own fault. I gave you every opportunity to excel, but instead you've got your nose in a comic book or some hippie bitch's snatch."

"Huh...! What have you got against hippies, Dad? Did a hippie spit on you when you got home from 'Nam? God, I wish Mom was here, listening to you."

"I wish she was here, too! She'd finally get over the idea that her sweet little angel is anything more than a sorry punk slacker. I struggled hard to make that money so I could send you to college. People die every day to protect your pathetic behind, and how do you show your appreciation? By deciding that pre-law is boring and you don't wanna."

"Who the fuck decided I was going to be a lawyer? It sure the fuck wasn't me."

"Oh, and you must have dropped Speech and Rhetoric, too, I see, seeing as you have a vocabulary of nothing but obscenities. Who the fuck decided? Obviously it wasn't you, because you haven't got what it takes. All you can do is complain about how things aren't good enough. When I was your age, I was willing to lay down my life to defend my country–"

"I'm not asking anybody to die for me. What the hell? Why does it always come down to that? This isn't a war, Dad. The war's over."

"The war hasn't even started yet."

The ring-tone of Peter's cell phone intervened before Arthur could add anything to that statement. Peter gave his father one last glare, then answered the phone on his way up the stairs. "Hello," he said, storming into his bedroom and shutting the door.

"It's Nathan. What are you doing?"

"Fighting with Dad," Peter replied tersely, sitting on his bed, then stretching out on it, willing himself to relax. "But now I'm talking to you. Hi! How you doin'?"

"I'm... all right," Nathan said. His voice sounded weird. "If you're not busy tonight, would you like to go out to dinner?"

Peter hesitated, examining the La Strada poster on his wall, remembering what Nathan had said at the charity ball last weekend. God, yes, you want to take it from me now, Peter thought. I want to give it to you so good. He felt a pleasurable shiver travel up the backs of his legs. "Sure, I'm starving," he said. "Cook's night off, Mom's not here, and dinner is officially 'make-it-yourself' tonight. So, yeah. Should I dress up?"

"It'd be a good idea to look nice, yeah. You don't need a tie, I don't think, but make sure you do something with that hair of yours. I've got a table at Desiderio for eight."

"Great," Peter said, amazed at his luck. He'd completely forgotten about eating dinner, getting into that quarrel with his father, who had come home from work already a few drinks down for the evening, and his temper running high. And Desiderio was the new Place to Be, the future of Italian cuisine, or something like that. Whatever; as long as they had something decent, substantial, and vegetarian, he'd be happy.

"Pick you up at seven?"

"Yeah, I'll be ready."

The doorbell rang at five minutes til, and Peter ran headlong for the front door, only to see that his father had gotten there first. Nathan came in, elegant from the his perfect hair to the gleaming tips of his shoes. "Nathan," Arthur said pleasantly. "Nice to see you. What's going on?"

Nathan put on the wide, toothy grin he always used to cover up discomfort. "Hey, Dad. Just thought I'd take Pete out for a bite to eat," he explained. He glanced over at Peter, who froze in the hallway, unsure of what to do; grab his jacket and bolt out the door, or try to make small talk with his brother and father? He wished his mother was there to defuse the situation.

Arthur looked at Peter, too, his eyes narrowing at the sight of his younger son nicely dressed in tailored trousers and a sweater, hair combed and pomaded into submission. Peter stared at his shoes, wishing that he and Nathan could just go already. His stomach growled loudly. At that, Arthur snorted. "Great," he said. "Get him out of here. He eats us out of house and home. And contributes... oh, I don't know; nothing?" he added, shrugging.

Peter blinked defiantly at his father's sarcasm, fetching his jacket from the hall closet. "I'll call if I'm going to be out late," he said, not trying to sound snotty, but it came out sounding that way anyway. Arthur squinted at him, as if only Nathan's presence kept him from leaping on Peter and beating him to a pulp. Peter turned and walked outside. "Fuck you, too," he muttered, pausing so that Nathan could catch up with him.

Nathan frowned. "Forget about it, Peter," he said, remotely unlocking his car doors with a tweet.

"Forget about what?" Peter asked in sincere confusion, then laughed at himself. "There's just so many things I really just want to forget about right now."

"Well, now you can."

"Are you going to let me drink tonight?" Peter asked. "That'll help me forget."

"I don't see how you could really want to drink, what with Dad..." Nathan began, then shook his head. "Never mind. I'm not doing this right. Anyway, hello, Peter; you look nice."

"So do you. But you always look nice."

"That's very generous of you," Nathan replied.

"Oh, I'm sure you think you do, too," Peter teased.

"I do," Nathan said, and they laughed.

The restaurant overflowed with patrons, and Peter understood why they had arrived so early; a quick word and a flash of folded green between Nathan and the maître'd assured their table. Peter just watched the transaction, standing there feeling kind of ridiculous in the midst of the crowd of moneyed men and their willowy, perfumed female companions milling around the bar. Nathan returned to Peter and took his hand for a moment, leading him inside, further into the dim light of the bar, to a little booth in back with a good view of the entire room. Nathan moved comfortably, instinctively, as though he knew not only this restaurant bar, but this table, extremely well. "Do you come here often?" Peter asked, sitting down.

Nathan sat too, and looked out into the bar almost expectantly. "I've been a couple of times in the last month," he said. "I know one of the investors, so I was here on their opening night. Apparently the place is a success." He glanced back at Peter, but he wasn't really looking at him; instead, it seemed that he was focusing on Peter's ear, or a spot right behind his head. Peter could always tell when someone was faking eye contact. "I considered investing myself," Nathan continued, holding up the wine list in front of his face, "but decided against it."

"Why?" Peter asked.

Nathan said nothing for a while, then he spoke in that odd tone of voice he'd had when he'd called earlier. "Do you feel like a glass of white wine? There's a great sauvignon blanc that I had the last time I was here that'll nicely complement anything you order."

Peter frowned at him. "You know me; I love to drink," he said.

Nathan lowered the wine list, his expression pained. He wasn't even pretending to look at Peter now. "So... how was your day?" he asked.

Before Peter could think of an answer, the waitress interrupted them and led them to their table in the restaurant. He couldn't decide if he should just play along and tell Nathan about the glories of going to his one remaining class, heading to the computer lab to type up outline notes, and then playing video games online for the next seven hours straight. No lunch. He also considered just flipping over a table and screaming at Nathan to cut the bullshit. Instead, he followed behind the waitress, staring at her buttocks shifting back and forth under her clingy dark skirt, aware of Nathan following him, hoping that Nathan was watching his ass the same way.

Another discreet little table along the back wall, with a view of the restaurant this time. Peter sat with his back to the wall, trapping Nathan on the outside, snatching all of Nathan's attention for himself. Nathan didn't seem to mind, exactly. He seemed too preoccupied to mind, smiling uncertainly as he sat. Peter was mystified. Nathan, uncertain? Nathan, shy?

Peter watched as Nathan ordered the wine, met the waitress's eyes as she glanced at him, and watched her walk away, transfixed by her ass again. I've got ass on the brain tonight. Wonder why that is. God, I want his. I wonder if I'm going to hurt him without meaning to. Or maybe I'll mean it.

He didn't say anything for a while, watching Nathan squirm. Nathan just would not look at him, not for more than a fleeting second, and a smile kept twitching the corners of his mouth without ever committing. Peter stared fixedly, wondering who would break first. Destroying the moment, the head waiter slid up to them, greeted Nathan by name, and began running down the night's specials. Nathan looked gratefully up at the waiter, even sighing with relief. Peter sat bemused, accepting a menu with a tight, brief smile.

"What's good?" Peter asked Nathan after the waiter had left again.

"Oh... it's all good. Get whatever you like."

"I'm looking for a suggestion."

Nathan just laughed quietly, apropos of nothing. "Get whatever you like," he repeated.

"Why are you doing this?" Peter asked abruptly.

That got Nathan's full attention. "What? What do you mean?"

"Why are you doing this? Why are you so... what's going on with you?"

"Nothing! I... just thought... we should go somewhere nice." Nathan blinked. "I just thought... I don't know. Spend time with you."

"You don't have to go to all this trouble just to spend time with me," Peter said. "We could have just gone to Rico's and got a bagel and a cup of coffee. What, is this, like, a date or something?"

Nathan didn't reply.

"Do you really see me like that?" asked Peter, astonished. "Like a... girl you're trying to impress? One that you want to fuck, but who you actually sort of like?"

Across the table, his brother lowered his eyes, guilty, or maybe thoughtful. Maybe both. Peter strained to make out the truth of Nathan's emotions, but he couldn't really tell, not without touching him. Peter really wanted to know. Wanted to touch him. Nathan, uncertain and shy, over him. "No... I don't," Nathan finally replied.

Of course not, Peter thought irritably. You know how easy I am. You have to kick me away to get me to let go of your pant leg, like a perverted, whiny toddler. God, I am. "Good," he said. "Because it's not like that. It doesn't need to be. What you and I have is really different. I'm your little brother; I'm already really impressed." He took a deep breath, and sighed, "But thanks for getting me out of the house."

Nathan seemed to relax, and he gave Peter the first genuine smile of the night, even if it was a strangely sad one. "Well, yeah. Just consider this me being nice to you," he said. "In a brotherly way."

Peter rolled his eyes and shrugged, really wishing the wine would get here already. He needed a drink like nobody's business. "No problem."

After a dinner where neither of them said much, Peter and Nathan got back into the car, and Nathan drove back uptown at a leisurely pace. Peter watched him, wondering what was really going on in his mind. "Hey, uh... are we... um. Do you want me tonight?" Peter asked tentatively. We're totally not going to, are we? Maybe this is over? No, please, God, no. I fucked it up.

"No," Nathan said. His voice sounded strange again; higher-pitched, slightly scared, slightly sad. A younger voice, one Peter didn't really know. "Not right after eating..." He looked over at Peter and smiled.

Peter took a long, deep breath so he wouldn't yell at Nathan. After that substantial meal, he couldn't claim low blood sugar for a bratty emotional outburst. "Okay," he said resignedly, and sighed again, shaking his head. "You're not scared, are you?"

"No," Nathan chuckled. "No, that's not it."

"Well, what is it?"

"It's... too complicated for me to explain right now."

"See, sometimes I don't tell you things that are too complicated, either," Peter said tightly. "Okay? So... you don't corner the market on problems."

"I never said I did," Nathan said mildly.

Peter couldn't speak for a moment, guilt and disappointment and worry gnawing at him. "Maybe you just don't want me anymore," he suggested. "I mean, you can tell me, it's okay, it won't kill me–"

"Of course it would kill you," Nathan interrupted. He didn't smile when he said it. "And it's not true. I do want you. It's just... tonight's not going to work for me. You didn't do anything wrong," he said.

He parked the car outside the front door of the Petrelli townhouse. Peter reached over, lifted Nathan's hand, and pressed a little kiss against the fine hair on the backs of his fingers. "I love you," he murmured. "You can tell me anything."

"I know," Nathan said. When Peter looked up, he saw Nathan's gaze trained out onto the street, his head turned slightly away. Peter let his hand go, and only then did Nathan add, "I love you, too. I love you, Peter. I do." He looked at Peter. "Good night."

Peter quickly unfastened his seatbelt and got out of the car, running up the walkway toward the house. He paused at the door and looked back toward Nathan's car, but Nathan had already turned back into traffic and headed away. Peter sighed, got his cell phone out of his pocket, and called his girlfriend, asking her if it was all right for him to come over and stay the night.
-----
Early in the morning, days after he had driven away and left Peter alone at home, Nathan relaxed against the wall of his shower stall. Hot water poured over his shoulders, keeping him wet and clean.

The middle finger of one hand slid, lubricated, inside him. With his other hand, he stroked soap suds over his cock. It was the first time he had touched himself or had any kind of sexual contact since that night at Desiderio, even making excuses to Heidi why he couldn't see her. And even now, he had to touch himself–to feel male hands upon his body–to feel sane and complete. A woman's touch wouldn't do.

He didn't have to explain or justify any of it. He was alone and free, reshuffling his feelings in privacy.

I need you, Peter. Right–right there. Yes, ah, God. Right there in that spot that Dixon hit–that right there, ahhhhh. With that big blunt dork of his, holding my head down, constricting my spine, making my body an arc. Your cock ought to do it without you having to smother my face in a pillow, without insulting me, without punching me, just that sweet violation between us. Knowing you love me because I need that. Cock in my ass–I need you to love me or I'm going to hate myself for loving this so much. Not Dixon; Peter. Yes. Not a stranger, not a symbol, not an enemy. Peter. Yes–now–fuck, punch me if you want, just do it to me–

He hissed out, "Peter–!" As his orgasm swept over him, he shoved his finger (two fingers) in so deep that his hand cramped painfully. To his surprise, a second orgasm crackled over his nerves like a forest fire igniting pine needles. He gasped and slumped against the tile walls of the shower, his fingers shaking and arms trembling, and his breath coming out as amazed laughter. "Peter!" he said again, almost accusingly, and slid down the wall until he puddled on the floor of the stall, both hands moving quickly to push pleasure in and draw it out again. He didn't stop until he was too weak to move and his next words could only emerge as a whisper:

"Fuck me..."
----
Peter sat splay-legged on the floor of the parlor, paging through volumes of photo albums, going back through the years, the familiar pictures of him and Nathan and the parents, back beyond his own baby years to the time before he was born. Photographs of his mother in a Halston gown and African beads at a swanky party; in white cotton eyelet, holding a husky, thumbsucking infant Nathan on her lap. Pictures of his parents together at a picnic. Pictures of Arthur alone, without eyeglasses, his once-dark hair and features strongly reminiscent of Nathan's, but without the great searching eyes that were their mother's legacy. Handsome as hell, but Peter didn't find him personally attractive. Those tiny variances in proportion and expression made all the difference.

Peter heard a soft scraping across the carpet, and saw his father coming in, and sitting down on the sofa nearby. Peter's first impulse was to apologize, but he fought it down. He was allowed to be in here, doing what he was doing. And Arthur didn't seem upset. He concentrated on the spread of yellowed photographs in the album, looking down at his past as though he no longer recognized it.

"You used to look just like Nathan," Peter murmured. "I didn't get the looks."

"You did," Arthur responded quietly. "Just different ones. You are your mother's son."

Peter turned a page, back to the photos of Arthur and Angela in their youth. Angela, teenaged, in a cowboy hat; Arthur in military uniform. Peter closed the photo album, sat back against the couch, and sighed. "Dad, I'm sorry," he offered. "I'm just trying to make up my own mind. I'm trying to understand."

His father sighed a little too. "Let's not talk about it right now," he replied. "Come downstairs; dinner's ready. You gonna stay?"

"Yeah, I'm just gonna work on my paper tonight. Obviously, I need to get an A in that class, right?" Peter said, trying and failing to sound light-hearted.

"You need to get an A in every class," Arthur replied, standing up, tousling Peter's hair, and leaving the room. Peter watched him go, despairing of ever being good enough for anybody.

He turned back to the closed photo albums, and went back to the most recent photos of him and Nathan, from Nathan's birthday party that year, laughing, arms slung comfortably around each other, their mouths rosy from kissing each other. Just lips, in front of everybody; with tongue, hidden in the safe darkness of the pantry.

Their beautiful secret.

Maybe he was good enough for Nathan.
-----
Peter had hit a mental roadblock, and every time he tried to read over his psychology paper yet again, the letters and spaces jumbled up into nonsense. He wasn't tired or hungry in the slightest, so he decided to do some yoga in an attempt to clear his mind. He hadn't taken a yoga class in a long time, but he still remembered dozens of poses. He wondered if he ought to become a yoga teacher; maybe that was his calling. It certainly would make dating easy.

While he was in the bow position, belly against the floor, bending back to grasp his ankles, his cell phone purred against the desk. Peter unbent himself with a grunt, and swept the phone onto the floor beside him. "Hello?" he answered, rolling onto his back.

"Hey, Pete, it's Nathan."

"Hi. What's up?"

"Come over tonight," Nathan murmured.

"Yeah?" Peter replied, still a little breathless. Excited, now. "I'll be there in half an hour."

"Okay. See you," said Nathan, and broke the connection.

Peter got up and put on his shoes. He wasn't too stylish–track pants and a thermal, with a T-shirt over it, and he hadn't shaved for days–but it wouldn't matter. Those clothes wouldn't stay on for long.

He skipped down the stairs, and ducked his head into the kitchen, where his mother and father lingered over coffee, sitting right next to each other at one end of the table. They looked up at Peter with surprise. "Hey, uh, I just wanted to let you know, I'm going to be over at Nathan's," he said. "My paper's almost done, so..."

Arthur and Angela exchanged a look, then Angela turned to Peter and said, "Have a nice time. Tell Nathan to call me." Peter agreed with a relieved grin, and Arthur gave him a genuine, if slightly regretful smile. It was as good as it was going to get. They hadn't shouted at each other in days, and at least Peter's father knew that he was trying.

Peter arrived at Nathan's door forty minutes later. "Hi," Peter said, edging into the apartment as Nathan shut the door behind him.

"Hey, Pete," Nathan replied calmly.

Without even looking at him, Peter grasped Nathan's ear and brought his face close, pressing their lips together. Nathan moaned faintly as he opened his mouth, gently consuming Peter's lips. Peter shuddered against him, the weeks of anticipation threatening to spill over right away. But Nathan sensed Peter's eagerness, and drew back, humming contemplatively, rubbing his thumb against the lips he'd just feasted upon. "God, yeah," he murmured, then chuckled at himself. "Thanks for coming."

"My pleasure," said Peter, lightly stroking Nathan's arm.

"You want a drink?" Nathan asked. "I've got a Macallan 18."

"Yeah, just a little one."

Nathan poured modest shots of scotch, and handed Peter one, then relaxed on the couch, putting his feet up. Peter sprawled half alongside him, half on top of him, nuzzling Nathan's neck, dropping little kisses against the rough-textured skin of his cheek and neck. "We're both scruffy tonight," he pointed out.

"Yeah, I kinda like it," Nathan replied.

Peter lightly kissed Nathan's lips again, then the scars on his jaw, angling back his head to watch Nathan's response. Nathan just smiled, emanating waves of comfort and ease, but his cock was already hard, pressing into Peter's groin. Peter stroked the erection with his fingers, interested and curious, but not anxious. The touch made Nathan sigh and smile. This was so good.

"So, y'know..." Peter murmured, "I'm not sure it's working out between me and Jackie."

"The 'girlfriend kinda'?" Nathan guessed. Peter answered with a nod, and a kiss. "That's too bad," Nathan added, but he didn't sound sorry at all. "Why not?"

"We're not really that interested in each other as people, and we have really different schedules. She's in two of the classes that I dropped, so now we never see each other except when I stay over, and we fuck. It was a very sex-based relationship." Peter smirked as he realized that he was already talking about it in the past tense. "I liked her because... she was really into anal sex," he confessed, grinning, "and I really wanted to get some practice."

"For me?" Nathan asked.

"For you," Peter said. "Well, for me. But you asked me to."

Nathan kept smiling, but his eyes became suddenly, overwhelmingly sad. Peter couldn't bear to see that, not while they were so close and cuddling, so he kissed Nathan again, deeply, stroking the inside of his mouth with his tongue. His arms snaked around Nathan's torso and clutched him in a tight, brief hug. "Hey, okay," Peter murmured comfortingly. "I live to please you. Okay? You know that."

"Yeah," Nathan conceded. He still looked a little sad, but in a humbled, grateful way now. "Yeah." His hand slid over Peter's belly, to his chest, seeking in vain to find a nipple through the layers of cloth. Peter happily stripped off his shirts, took Nathan's hand, and guided it to the left nipple. Nathan sighed, took it between his fingers, and squeezed it firmly, first with fingertips and then fingernails. The nub of flesh hardened and tightened in his grip.

Peter sighed too. "Too many clothes," he murmured.

Nathan pushed Peter's track pants down over his ass, cupping and stroking it as he went, and Peter busily unbuttoned Nathan's oxford shirt and shoved it from Nathan's shoulders. Nathan moved Peter away from him for a moment, sitting up, stripping off his undershirt, unfastening his belt and his trousers, pausing for a sip of scotch. Peter's sat ignored on the floor. Nathan picked up the shot glass and handed it to Peter. "Drink up," he said. "It's all you'll get." Peter kicked his track pants off and watched Nathan undress, obediently sipping from the glass until the amber liquid was gone.

They resumed a version of their previous position, but now, Peter was definitively on top, their legs interlaced. He dropped uncomplicated kisses onto Nathan's mouth, drawing back until Nathan grasped his head and made him keep still, made him keep the kiss continuous. Peter gently squirmed out of it, though, and Nathan didn't protest. Peter was going to kiss him in the way that he wanted, as much as he wanted, and no more.

Peter smiled, and took Nathan's erect cock into his hand. Nathan exhaled, a faint, grateful, lustful sigh, and Peter's smile got bigger. "So, what was that date thing about?" he asked.

The smile dropped off Nathan's face, and he was silent for a long time. Peter kept moving his fingers along the thick, hard shaft of Nathan's member until Nathan couldn't help smiling again. Peter gave him a kiss for that. Nathan said hesitantly, "I just... I felt like I should. I wanted to make it worth it for you."

"Nathan... It's always worth it." Another kiss. "Are you scared you're losing me? Because you're not. Absolutely not. Never. I'm not going to dump you because you don't take me to nice restaurants."

"No, Pete, no. I know it's not like that between us. I'm not scared. I know... what we have is beautiful. It's you. I never..." Nathan trailed off into silence, realizing that what he was saying aloud made no sense, and what was going through his head still needed years of contemplation before he could actually tell anyone about it, even Peter. And truth be told, at this moment, with Peter's mouth covering his and their hands stroking each other's cocks in gentle, rhythmic unison, he couldn't even remember what Dixon looked like. What he smelled like or felt like. It was so different, it was impossible to believe that both experiences could be called sex. That was being fucked; this was love. "We need to take a shower, huh?" he said. "We should go to bed."

"Yeah," Peter agreed. He roughly wiped off his cheekbone with his palm, and smiled. Nathan didn't let him play it off, though; he brought his lips to the corner of Peter's eye, and sipped the damp salt from his eyelashes. Peter embraced him, and clung to him like he was cold, and Nathan was the only source of warmth in the world.

The shower was hot and brief, no lingering over kisses and nipples, just a hasty scrub with soap. In the bedroom, everything was already laid out on Nathan's bedside table - hand towels, two different kinds of lube (a thick one and a thin one), tall glasses of water, a small bowl of ice cubes already half melted. Peter smiled happily, watching Nathan settle onto his bed, and immediately lay face down. Peter sat next to him, grasped his shoulder, and made him turn over, fitting himself into Nathan's arms, their damp skins clinging together. Now he kissed Nathan hard, demandingly, plunging his tongue in deep. Nathan's tongue skillfully fought back, forcing Peter's breath back into his lungs until he had to pull away and gasp.

He lowered himself to the level of Nathan's waist, and wrapped his lips around the head of Nathan's cock. Nathan moaned faintly, his fingers clenching in Peter's hair. Peter thought Nathan was going to thrust up, into his throat, but Nathan was still, besides the tiny involuntary thrusting and twisting motions of his hips. It was still enough to make saliva overflow in Peter's mouth, enough to drip down over the shaft of Nathan's cock. Peter sighed, and sucked. Maybe if there was enough time, he could get a little bang in himself. Every time he touched Nathan's cock, or even thought about it, he wanted to feel it up his ass, challenging him, teaching him. But he had to take what he had learned and share it with Nathan, who... maybe needed it even more than Peter did.

Peter drew back, pumping at Nathan's spit-wet cock with one hand. Nathan moaned again, heavily this time. Judging by the way the veins bulged on the surface of his prick, he was in an agony of desire and pleasure by now. "I'm gonna fuck you," Peter promised, his voice a rasp. "I'm gonna be inside you... I'm gonna be deep inside you. As deep as you want. Not like me... not deeper than you want it, deeper than you can take it..." Nathan moaned and shuddered again, and Peter chuckled at him. "Unless you want it like that?"

"I don't know," Nathan confessed, laughing a little himself.

"I bet you do know," Peter said. "I'm gonna open you up... you want to be on your back, or on your face?"

"I want to lie face-down first..."

"Do it."

Nathan settled onto his belly. Peter picked up the bottle of the heavier lubricant, squeezing out a thick dollop onto his fingers. It was cold from having been on the table next to the ice, and Peter had to rub it between his hands for a while before he felt like it was warm enough. When he was satisfied, he spread it all across Nathan's lower buttocks, rubbing it between. There wasn't going to be enough. "Do you mind if this is just really cold at first?" Peter asked politely.

"Ehhh... well... use the other one; it's got a warming agent in it."

"Okay. I thought this one would be better."

"Use the heavy one later. For..."

"The actual fuck," Peter finished for him, whispering reverently. He was glad that Nathan couldn't see the giant, silly grin on his face.

"Mmmm," Nathan responded. Then he snatched in his breath at the chilly touch of Peter's slick fingers, circling the pucker of his anus. Rapidly it all felt warmer, then very warm indeed. It made Nathan antsy. It was kind of like Spanish fly or something; a mild irritant which made him want to have something rubbing against his skin. His breath hitched again as Peter's forefinger slid into him, with no resistance. Nathan was surprised; without even having to make a conscious choice, he was ready to be penetrated. All that playing around with his asshole that he'd been doing in the shower every morning had apparently done some good.

Peter moaned at how easy it was. "Oh, yeah," he said. "You take it good. Oh, I probably should have licked you first, huh?"

"You can eat me out later." Nathan laughed shakily. Peter dared to use a second finger; Nathan wasn't quite so ready for this. "Ah–! Oh. Next time, okay? If you want to."

"Of course I want to eat your ass," Peter said. He thrust the fingers in up to the knuckle, twisting them, jogging them in and out. Never roughly; deftly, skillfully, concentrating on the physiology of what he was doing. Picturing it, anticipating the subtle curves and heated surfaces. It felt good to touch, to probe Nathan's body, have him be so vulnerable and trusting. He poured more lube on his fingers and slid them in again, then again, until the lube dripped out of Nathan's asshole. "I want to do everything to you."

"Oh, Peter. Grab that towel; you're going to make a mess."

"I don't care," Peter said. "We're gonna make a mess. Oh no. Send the duvet out to the cleaners. It's just some lube. You're clean." Peter smiled as he heard Nathan give a throaty, desperate cry. "Or are you gonna come? Are you gonna jizz without me? Don't do that." Peter took his fingers out, and he did grab a towel to wipe his hand clean. The lube was making his fingers tingle; he could only imagine what it felt like on the inside. "That'd be so unfair."

Nathan sighed heavily. "I want it now... please..."

"What do you want? Tell me." Peter kissed Nathan's shoulder, flickering his tongue against the scar.

"I want you inside me. Put it in me... please."

"Put what in you?"

"God–your cock, please. Peter. Please."

Peter chuckled at Nathan's pleading. "What, slide it in? Shove it in? What?"

"Ease it in."

"Please?"

Nathan smiled blissfully. "Please."

"You know what to do. Get that ass up." Peter spoke in a vague whisper. "Stick that ass out for me. Yeah. Show it to me." To his rapturous surprise, Nathan eagerly rose up onto his knees, and spread his buttocks with his hands. Peter shuddered and ran his hands backward through his hair, wondering if he actually knew what he was doing. He had never imagined he'd see Nathan like this. This just seemed so beneath him... this was Peter's way. Beg like a slave; display like the bitch of the species. He wondered if he had actually been teaching Nathan, just as much as he was being taught by him. It was devastating. No wonder Nathan couldn't resist him.

Peter rubbed some of the thicker lube onto his cock, grateful for how uncomfortably chilly it was, as it cooled his arousal to a manageable level so he could keep his mind on what he was doing. He was still new to this, and had only done it to Nathan once before. He seemed to have figured it out, though; Nathan groaned desperately as soon as Peter's cock had begun to enter him. "Oh, fuck," he said. "Oh, Pete... ohhhh."

"It's okay," Peter murmured. "Hot inside. So hot. Tell me if it hurts."

"It doesn't," Nathan breathed. "It doesn't. Go slow."

"Of course. You're okay."

"Oh! Oh!... Oh..."

"Relax. You got it." Peter was shaking profoundly, worried that it might be making the process painful. Nathan took a deep breath, and his muscles fluttered around Peter in a delicious way. "Oh, God! Oh! Oh, that's nice. Can you control that?"

"Not right now," Nathan said. "I felt it though."

"That's good."

"It's like a micro-orgasm."

"Ohhh... I'm deep. You feel that? I'm deep." Peter stroked Nathan's balls, his fingers gliding up without interruption to his own. "Mmmm... you know what? You should get on top. Do it the way you want it."

Nathan protested, "It's supposed to be you, Peter..."

"You know better than I do what you want," Peter countered. "You're still so new, y'know? You should manage this. Show me where it feels good. I'll remember for next time and I'll do all the driving. But show me, okay?"

"All right," Nathan agreed impatiently. "Okay. But I think you're being a lazy scum."

"What are you, tired?" Peter chuckled, reluctantly pulling out, and lying back on to the surface of the bed. He picked up an ice cube and sucked on it for a second, watching Nathan as he got up and changed position, straddling Peter's groin with his knees spread. As Nathan positioned the head of Peter's cock against his asshole and thrust his body down onto it, Peter accidentally pulverized the ice cube between his teeth. "Mrro-oh!" Fun! Intense! Cold! Fun...! Again. Again. Oh, this is going to kill me. Peter broke down in helpless laughter.

"Uh! Ahhhhh," Nathan groaned, his breath hissing between his teeth. He had penetrated himself almost all the way, and his internal muscles fluttered again. "Oh!"

"Dude," Peter breathed. "Get me another ice cube?" Nathan chuckled at him, but bent over slightly, taking the opportunity to arch against Peter at an angle, and picked up another ice cube from the bowl. He popped it into his own mouth first, though, then rubbed the wet ice against Peter's left nipple. Peter gasped a hollow protest. Nathan rubbed the ice cube against Peter's lips before feeding it to him. Peter didn't have a chance to crunch the sliver of ice before it melted away into nothing on his tongue.

Nathan moved carefully, slowly penetrating himself, rising off just to sink back down again deep. He whispered, "Yes... ah, that feels good..." Peter lay as relaxed as he could be, stroking Nathan's back. He felt like could watch Nathan fucking him forever. Nathan reached for his own cock after a few minutes, his expression dazed and surprised, like he'd forgotten that he could do this, too. He paused in his thrusting, concentrating instead on jerking roughly on his cock.

Peter moaned, hopelessly turned on by what he was seeing. "Fuck me," he reminded Nathan, "fuck me, fuck, fuck..." Nathan gradually found a rhythm where he could jerk off and ride Peter's cock at the same time; by his expression, he was extremely pleased with himself. Peter's moans were verging on screams now, rough cries of encouragement. "God, yes! Do it! Fuck–" His eyes rolled back for a moment. "I'm gonna come. Come inside you. Can I–"

"No, no, no," Nathan said desperately. He lifted himself off Peter, which would have brought a cry of protest to Peter's lips if the howl announcing his orgasm hadn't gotten there first. The pale spurts of his semen spattered the backs of Nathan's thighs, his buttocks, his balls. Nathan hovered above, up on his knees, his fingers yanking on himself, and grunted as he shot his load over Peter's chest and neck. Without hesitation, Nathan ran his fingers through his own semen and tucked the fingers into Peter's mouth. "You eat that," he murmured, ignoring Peter's eye-roll of annoyance. With his other hand, Nathan wiped Peter's cum off his thighs, and sucked his own fingers clean. "Yeah," he sighed, blissful, complete, and satisfied. "That's all I want... oh." He didn't bother to swab himself clean before he lay down beside Peter, rubbing his semen into Peter's skin and smiling.

Peter smiled too. He couldn't begrudge Nathan his perversities. This whole thing was Peter's own perversity. He just had a playmate to indulge it with. "I'm so glad I have you," he said.

Nathan kissed Peter's hand. Nathan's cheeks were flushed red, lips glossy with semen and saliva, hair a churned-up, crazy mess. He had never been so beautiful to Peter. "Thank you," Nathan replied.

They lay holding hands for a while, catching their breaths, soaking in the bliss. But Peter got restless; he wasn't tired, and wasn't sleepy, his body energized, his mind clear. He sat up, hoping to grab some more ice cubes to crunch, but the bowl now held only a puddle of water. "I'm hungry," he admitted. "And... as much as I know how you'd like to just feed me with cum, I kinda feel like going down to the deli."

"Yeah?" said Nathan with more interest than Peter had anticipated. "Yeah, I'm kind of hungry, too. You wanna go?"

Peter replied with a grin. "Let's do it," he said.

Nathan got dressed in a comfortable old pair of sweats and his threadbare Yale sweater, and Peter recovered his crumpled pile of clothes from the front room. Hair only finger-combed, and both of them reeking of recent sex, they went out onto the street and the deli at the end of the block. They sat at the counter, and ordered four-dollar plates of cheese ravioli out of the steam tray, and tall cherry-vanilla ice cream sodas. Neither one of them could stop smiling to save his life, and they kept poking each other, muttering "Quit it, dweeb!" and breaking down in laughter.

"See," Peter said, sliding his arm around Nathan's shoulder, and drawing him over for a sugary kiss on the cheek. "Sometimes my way's fun."

END (39)

A/N: Yes, the title is from the famous Joni Mitchell song. What can I say? It works (and the lyrics kind of do too, but I decided not to include them in the story text because they're long). Thanks for reading!

Tags: angela, arthur, fic, nathan, nc-17, peter, petrellicest, ritual
Current Mood: happy