::mystery_sock::

Fic: Ritual (39): Both Sides Now

Sun, 11 May 2008 23:12:45 GMT

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!

Heroes casting news: I am PSYCHED!

Thu, 08 May 2008 19:53:55 GMT

Well, maybe not the best. No, who am I kidding? THE BEST. When I found this out I was so excited I had to go out and walk around so that I wouldn't just start screaming with joy right here in the office.

Bruce Boxleitner ("Babylon 5," "Scarecrow and Mrs. King," "How the West Was Won") has landed a top-secret
recurring role in NBC's "Heroes."

The ... role was originally going to be modeled after Sen.
John McCain. The character has since been reconceived and is expected to be
sharing scenes with a female series regular.

They add that, although the show is introducing some new faces next season,
the primary focus will remain "on the core characters from the pilot."

Anybody who's known me for a while knows how much I esteem Babylon 5 - I still hold it up as the best science fiction show ever made (and no, you can't convince me otherwise) - and how insanely in love I was with Boxleitner's character, Captain John Sheridan (and his Ass of Mastery - a dear friend who unexpectedly became a B5 freak during a B5-season-viewing marathon nicknamed him "Motorbooty"). Also anybody who knows me well knows what a gigantic TRON freak I am... I notice they don't list that amongst his credits! C'mon, throw us nerds a bone!

Here's my rampant speculation - and only time will tell if I'm wrong:
I just have a feeling that our Brucie is going to be playing Arthur Petrelli. Because he's hot, he's the right age, he's got the right body type, etc. "A female series regular"? Like who? Niki? I think not. Claire? Heh, I doubt it. Monica? C'mon. It's gotta be the queen of the world, Angela "The Queen of Diamonds" Petrelli. Even if I'm wrong, I couldn't possibly be more excited. Does this trump my glee over Richard Roundtree, George Takei, Nichelle Nichols, Malcolm McDowell, or Christopher Eccleston? IT MIGHT JUST. Best stuntcasting ever.

I am EXPLODING. I am so happy I have a headache now. God, I love this show.

review: CSI: "Friends and Lovers"

Wed, 07 May 2008 02:31:51 GMT

I guess I'm really just not a CSI kind of person, though I kind of understand the thing that people have for Grissom (he's such a savant!). I was not into this hour of television, even with the sparing presence of Milo Ventimiglia, tearing up yet again. (Man, that guy gets typecast as a crier. I don't mind, but dang.) I especially hate shows that have the "if you take drugs ever, you will die - or kill your loved ones and not remember it afterwards!" Or, for that matter, almost any hour of television ever that features a "rave". This one is particularly ham-fisted, not to mention that it came out about ten years after the rave scene had already collapsed. Grr! Stupid mainstream media! [/cranky oldster]

Anyway, Milo is cute, but not as cute as he would later become. He looks oddly older here than he does on The Gilmore Girls. The character itself is fairly vague and unformed, his plotline only one of three (the CSI standard? Very standard for any kind of procedural, as I've learnt watching House), and the culmination as lurid as it has to be, seeing as it involves drugs. I'll watch the episode again if it happens to be on, but this is not one of my Milo favorites.

Onward! Maybe I'll try to uncover some of those Boston Public episodes... aw, who am I kidding? This is what NetFlix was made for. (But do I dare open that hornet's nest? I have such poor impulse control when it comes to movies and TV shows... I just really want to see WINTER BREAK and Opposite Sex, as well as the truckload of embarrassing past Adrian Pasdar credits.)

Unnecessary personal update: I'm exhausted. I'm writing, but very slowly. Life is still really busy, but I am poking at Ritual 39 every day. But for right now, I'm going to take a nap.

review: TOUCHED BY EVIL

Fri, 02 May 2008 06:17:13 GMT

This is really Paula Abdul's movie, but it sure does have Adrian Pasdar in it, which is why I'm spending neurochemicals watching this. Made for TV, 1997, based on a true story, not at all good, but on the other hand, Adrian, his bubble butt, and a general air of tremendous sexual menace - All right!

This is not his finest moment, but at least he gets to be shirtless a couple of times, and intermittently really scary. And he does look good with blood on his face. His character is stalker-tastic, but still takes the time to spritz his houseplants. And of course, he's sexiest when he gives in to his dark side (his hairstyle markedly improves, too).

Still, this movie is not, er, good, or fun. But it can be obtained through NetFlix if you feel like viewing this curiosity.

unofficial Heroes holiday - ROLL CAMERAS!

Thu, 01 May 2008 23:28:20 GMT

According to the bastion of truth, Wikipedia, filming for Season 3 was scheduled to begin today.

Hope so! Hope so! Not a moment too freakin' soon!

wordless, frustrated grumble

Wed, 30 Apr 2008 00:19:29 GMT

Man, I really want to work on those stories!

I'm doing something I've never done before - working on TWO at the same time. I just got some really good lines for one of them (inspired by reading the interview with Cristine Rose in the new-ish Heroes Official Magazine), so I started on it, too. Many requests will be fulfilled!

*tosses confetti*

Perhaps there's a Ritual smorgasbord in the future. But for now - it's just day after day of having no more than 10 minutes a day to work on them. I can't live on 60 words a day. I want to stretch my legs... but yet again, not tonight. And perhaps not tomorrow night, either. Stupid poopy day job, and gosh darn my friends for either needing me desperately, or providing things that I need desperately, or both! Stupid love. It's for schmucks.

I listened to the new episode of "Heroes: The Official Podcast" from BBC7 today and it made me all goopy and sentimental. I want my Season 2 DVDs right the hell now, but in the meantime I guess I'll have to soothe myself with my crappy dubbed VHS-with-the-commercials-in. But I think I must. It's so horrible how I've become this format snob recently; I hate watching things on VHS now, especially television. Even my Bad Boyfriend™. It doesn't change the fact that the tape is in the player right now... I just haven't turned it on for a couple of months. But I've got a need to be reunited... to climb back into the thicket of the Drunk!Nathan Beard/Hedgehog of Doom.

Happy Charlie's Birthday!... and on Arthur Petrelli

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 21:37:44 GMT

Happy birthday, Charlie Andrews. April showers; it's been stormin' all week. Let's all give Hiro-kun a sympathetic fictional hug.
....
Working, slowly, on Ritual 39. I am having unexpected difficulties deciding on POV, chronological setting, and whether or not I want it to turn into a longer, semi-drawn-out tale that's as much about Peter and Nathan's relationship with their father as it is about their relationship with each other.

It's not as though the former approach is a problem, but if I can't find a parallel between the two subjects, I ought to drop the parent/child Petrelli dynamic and concentrate on the brothers. There's plenty enough going on there in this story as it is (perhaps, even, too much). (And do I really want to write another 11,000 word fic? How many people have the patience to sit through that?)

This is an issue that I might have forseen last year, back when Ritual started growing in scope and complexity - as I go along, writing them becomes much harder work. I guess this is just something I do to myself; of course I could just write a simple, straightforward quick dash of smut, but other (cool) ideas keep crowding their way into my mind, and I then have to make decisions about what stays and what goes.

I am dying to write about Arthur Petrelli, if only because I'm dying to know him. Who is this guy, really? "War Buddies" gives a hint of how he was when he was in Vietnam (strict, slightly sentimental, lacking in superstition, get-the-job-done, harsh, unafraid to kill in the line of duty but not exactly bloodthirsty either, but also with a streak of cruelty) and we know he looks more or less almost exactly like the adult Nathan (thank you, Jason Badower; you're my favorite webcomics artist!). But there are so many unanswered questions, and Arthur Petrelli is as central to the mythology of Heroes as Chandra Suresh, Thompson, Linderman, or Kaito Nakamura – perhaps even more so.

But for me (and other fic writers in the fandom, especially Petrelli-lovers), it's also very personal. How did he interact with Nathan? With Peter? With Angela? (Yeah, seriously, what was going on there?) With the other members of the Company? I really, really wish they'd give us some canon on the show to work with, but I can't tell if they're going to go in that direction at all in their haste to give us lots of tasty supervillains. (Or maybe Arthur is one of those supervillains?...)

We need flashbacks (and hell, cast Adrian in the role; powder up his hair, slap some Buddy Holly glasses on him, and let him bust out his thespian chops) and we need them now. DAMN YOU, HIATUS.

not lacking inspiration

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 02:08:09 GMT

I have three potential stories to work on now (2 definite Rituals and one potentially not, but possibly yes). Nothing like being too busy to write to really get my engines going... I always want to get to a nice even number in Ritual stories before I take a break from writing them, but it never works out that way (see: Ritual 11, Ritual 16, Ritual 21, Ritual 34, etc.) Oh well.

I need to decide on a POV for one of them, and then I'm ready to go - I outlined it yesterday... evening, I guess? before going out. I can work on it over the course of the next week, and maybe outline the next two as well. I hope to have all three stories done by the end of the month, but I'm facing a couple of very busy weeks with job stuff, other job stuff, and scrambling around trying to make ends meet, so... it'll have to be hobby/leisure writing instead of "THIS IS SO TEWTALLY WHAT I DO".

Ah well, it'll work out.

review: Law & Order SVU: "Escape"

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 22:56:42 GMT

Another entry into the "obsessively tracking down every one of Milo or Adrian's screen credits" series... I got the fifth season of L&O:SVU from the library just so I could watch the episode guest-starring Milo Ventimiglia. To my great delight, it also co-guest-stars Michael K. Williams, who portrays my Ultimate Hero of All Time, Omar Little of The Wire. Michael K. Williams makes me really, really happy; he could read me the L listings in the phone book and it would reduce me to loving giggles.

Anyway, the show itself (which I've never seen before) is general police-procedural TV, neither bad or particularly engaging. I sure do love Ice-T, though. The plot developments are pretty darn lurid; Milo is the past victim of a convicted child molester, his stepfather, recently escaped from prison. He goes after Milo and kidnaps him, and there's a tense standoff with him, Milo, and Mariska Hargitay, where Milo gets to grit out, "You ruined my life!" and "You raped me and I hope you burn in hell!" while on the verge of hysterical tears. It's almost laughably over the top, but it's Milo, so it goes into this weird psychosexual/chain of abuse Andrew Vachss territory that makes my head spin a bit.

As it turns out, Milo's cousin Jeremy got into Milo's bed one night, and... "Things got out of hand," Milo elaborates. Oh, dear. "I was scared!" he insists... but he also insists (at first) that Cousin Jeremy didn't rape him. OH DEAR. So he set up the whole crime scene to keep from having to explain things to his mom, who he was afraid he'd lose to the stepdad, and destroyed his entire family... and yeah, semi-consensual incest is bad, people. "We were kids... we were just messin' around," Cousin Jeremy tries to defend himself.

I feel dirty, y'all. Yay Law & Order.

Milo (age 25, filmed in 2003) looks utterly choice. Man, he's just amazing; he is delightsome to the eye, especially kind of banged up and with his eyes full of tears. This episode is notable if you want to see him tied up with his mouth covered in a strip of duct tape. I'm not implying anything, but I just thought I'd point it out. Lovely in a blue oxford shirt (presaging the blue oxfords sported by Peter and Adam) and rocking the cherry-red lips, it's classic Milo wrong hotness. Completely worthy of Milo enthusiasts everywhere.

Next I'm going to watch the CSI episode from 2000, which I believe will be the earliest Milo material I've ever seen. I'm trying to catch the episode of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air that he was on in 1995, but it's so hard to chase down those episodes on Nick at Night at 2 in the morning when I'm all drunk. I have to, though... Milo at 18? It's worth it!

PATHOLOGY opens today

Fri, 18 Apr 2008 15:46:37 GMT

It doesn't look like PATHOLOGY is going to be screening in my city. Color me bummed. Seriously, movie made just for me - a hyper-gory medical horror movie starring (the occasionally naked) Milo Ventimiglia? Oh, cruel fate. If you have a chance to go, you must. For me.

This could be one of those things that I end up having to bootleg, but dammit, I wanted to see Milo's naked hiney on the big screen (even if I'd have to go alone; I am the only Milo enthusiast that I know in person, and I could see myself getting kicked out of the theater for giggling uncontrollably).

I will soothe my lack by watching TOUCHED BY EVIL, a 1997 made-for-TV movie starring Adrian. And, er, Paula Abdul. But apparently it's kinky. Of course it is; it's got Adrian Pasdar and his eyelashes of S&M. Thank you, Netflix.

ETA: AV Club gave it a B-. That's about a million times better than I expected. Milo does not get high marks. I hate to say it, but he probably deserves the lumps. I love you, Mi, but you're no Pasdar. I'd still pay matinee prices to see your movie, though, because I adore you and right now, you're my boo.

datarock datarock

Wed, 16 Apr 2008 15:59:48 GMT

It just amuses the hell out of me imagining David Anders rocking out to a song called "Nightflight to Uranus". We're gonna take you to our favorite place... Aw, yeah.

In the absence of Anders, Alias is pointless and dumb, and even Michael McKean and Sonia Braga can't make it any better. I'll watch the last few episodes of season 4, but after that, to hell with it. Alias should be used as an object lesson in "How to wreck a totally awesome show"...

Fic: Ritual (38): Quiet

Tue, 15 Apr 2008 03:28:10 GMT

Title: Ritual (38): Quiet
Author: mystery_sock
Pairing/Characters: Peter/Nathan, Angela
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: none (pre-series)
Word Count: about 4800
Warnings: explicit sex, incest, alcohol use
Summary: A disappointing birthday party for Peter, a late-night secret visit from Nathan, and a (mostly successful) attempt to be quiet... Big ups to darkbloom for the prompt, and much love to fabrisse for the beta!
• 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.

JULY 2000

Friday night was Peter's twentieth birthday party.

His actual birthday had been at the beginning of the week, while he was still out of town. Peter had just come back from three weeks touring the Ionian islands in Greece on a family friend's yacht with a bunch of other young people who Peter didn't know. The trip had been an early birthday present from his mother. Angela had planned the entire party while he was away, and didn't consult him on any aspect of the party itself, let alone whether or not he actually wanted one. She invited her own acquaintances, including their family members Peter's own age who she thought would be useful for Peter to know. Peter had friends already, but in general, Angela didn't think much of them; she considered them to be hippies, slackers, gangbangers, and sluts... which they kind of were, but there was more to them than that; a thoughtfulness, a sensitivity that distinguished them from their environments. They didn't have to be advantageous for Peter to be friends with them. He missed them after coming back from his trip, and he would have liked to see them at the party, but Angela had micromanaged the guest list, too. Sometimes Peter felt like his mother cared more about getting ahead than about being happy.

Peter quickly got bored listening to Ivy League freshman gossip involving people he didn't know and places he'd never been, and after a while standing around feeling useless, he gravitated toward his brother.

Nathan was standing by the punch bowl, holding court with an adoring circle of young women, telling his own Ivy League tales. Peter had heard all these stories before, and even though Nathan told them well, his voice making even the weakest story sound exciting, Peter wasn't in the mood. He snickered loudly at some embellishment in Nathan's story, making sure everyone could hear him.

All the girls turned and stared at Peter. He blinked innocently back at them. Nathan narrowed his eyes at him and gave an impatient sigh. "Hello, Peter," he said, his pleasant tone oddly sarcastic.

"Hello, Nathan," Peter replied in the same tone, but grinning. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Sure, Pete," Nathan said, sipping at his punch. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you for the CD," Peter said. "That was nice. I'm glad you remembered."

Something in the sound of his voice implied that he wanted to talk to Nathan alone, and all the girls in Nathan's audience slowly drifted away, back into the body of the party. Nathan watched them go with a strange expression, a combination of longing, lasciviousness, and disgust, flickering across his features. Peter stared at him, observing the tiny details, drinking in the sight of him. Nathan looked very handsome tonight, dressed down in a dark-purple polo shirt and tan slacks, his hair very slightly tousled. He had put on a little weight, filling out his clothes with firm, muscular, curved lines. His lips glistened from his sip of punch. "It's really good to see you. Feels like I haven't seen you for ages," Peter said.

"Well, it's been more than a month." Nathan's expression softened as he regarded Peter more closely than he had when he'd arrived, when he'd mostly been swept away and distracted by his mother. They hadn't yet had a chance to exchange the usual hug, and Peter felt the lack like a physical hunger. They could always hug now, but the moment didn't seem right. "You sure look well-rested. I don't think I've ever seen you so tan."

"Not much else to do on a boat but hang out in the sun," Peter said. "Swim and read and drink and eat and all that shit."

"What, did you hate it?" Nathan asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No, no, I had a nice time. It was a nice vacation, but I didn't need a vacation. I don't do anything."

"Sure you do, Pete. You go to school. And you're pre-law. That's not exactly a walk in the park."

Peter rolled his eyes and sighed, setting down his empty wine glass and grabbing full one off the table in the same smooth movement. Nathan looked askance at him. "It has been so far," Peter said. "It's been stupid, actually. I mean, I tried to get into my classes, but... I mean..." His voice trailed off as he realized that he didn't know what he meant. He had hoped that Greece would clear his mind and intentions, but they seemed to drift even further away, lulled by the gentle rocking of the yacht and the endless, baking blue sky, waiting and hoping that Nathan would call him. Nathan was in love with him, too – Peter knew that now – and he just wanted to hear his voice some more. Nothing else seemed to matter very much. "I think I just don't like school anymore."

"That's nonsense," Nathan replied. "School is just school. It doesn't matter whether or not you like it. It's what you do."

"Who says?"

"Uh..." Nathan said. "Dad says."

"Dad," Peter echoed, rolling his eyes, and scoffed.

Nathan narrowed his eyes again. "Dad's paying for you to live, in case you hadn't noticed. He certainly paid for this party."

"Yeah," Peter responded, still scoffing. "Whatever. This party is wack."

"It's what? 'Wack'? Whatever, Peter, you're not street. Cut it out. Get a little grateful."

"Whatever," Peter said again, a little chastened. Again, he just wasn't sure what he was getting at. The sight of Nathan made him feel all confused; he wanted to impress Nathan, but the quickest way to lose Nathan's respect was to try too hard. He wanted to tell Nathan everything, but really, there wasn't much to tell, and it wouldn't be interesting anyway. Peter wasn't sure what to do. He just wanted that hug. He thought it would be easy once he was actually around Nathan, but he'd never really thought about what it would be like to be mutually in love with someone, and not be able to show it in public. And to have that someone give a big-brother lecture which Peter so completely didn't feel like hearing.

"So..." Nathan said, seeming to note Peter's sudden paralyzing discomfort; he wandered away from the table. Peter followed, walking alongside him. "Did you meet any cool people on your trip?"

Peter shrugged. "Yeah," he said. "A couple. One of the women on the boat was nice."

That seemed to interest Nathan. He was always interested in Peter's interactions with girls. "Was she, now? What was she like?"

"Dutch," Peter said. "Smart. Not stuck up. We did some diving together. And we went into town together when we got to Corfu, and hit a couple of clubs." Peter broke into a grin, remembering.

"Did you get together?" Nathan asked casually.

Peter just smiled back. "Yeah, kind of," he said. "You know. We were drinking and dancing."

"Hm," Nathan said, not looking at Peter. "Were you safe?"

"We didn't really need to be. We didn't go all the way. We were, um, too drunk, you know. And then it was just kind of weird after that. It kind of wrecked our friendship. Sucked." Peter sighed. He had tried to forget about it; even the most pleasant part of the memory didn't make up for the fact that he'd lost a potential friend, and he wasn't entirely sure why.

"Hm," Nathan said again. He turned the corner into the kitchen, Peter following, and headed toward the little bathroom along the back corridor. Moving with startling speed, he grabbed Peter by the arm and shoved him inside, following close behind, and shutting the door.

In the semi-darkness, illuminated only by the filtered streetlight coming in through the upper window, Nathan held Peter still by the arms, his hands cupping and squeezing the muscles of Peter's chest, and attacked the back of his neck with rough, hasty, sucking bites and kisses. Peter gasped, startled and pleased, but still a bit uneasy. "Whoa! Jealous?" he murmured, laughing.

Nathan just bit him again. "Hm," he grunted. "God, you look so fucking beautiful tonight. Ahh. You change, but you don't change, do you?"

Peter pressed his shoulder blades against Nathan's chest, and caressed Nathan's forearms with his thumbs. "You better cut it out," he whispered warningly. "You're gonna give me a hickey. We can't do this right now."

Nathan took a deep breath, and released Peter's arms. Peter instantly regretted saying anything, but it had to be that way. If he suddenly returned to the party with bite marks and bruises, their mother would instantly demand an explanation; none of the well-bred young ladies she'd invited would maul her son that way. "Right," Nathan sighed reluctantly, and rubbed the faint marks he left on Peter's neck. "Sorry. I just had to bite you. You understand."

"I do," Peter said. "I totally do...You're beautiful too... I..." He let out his breath in a faint, desperate burst, and begged, "Kiss me on the mouth."

"I'd better not," Nathan said coolly.

He opened the bathroom door and left, then closed the door behind him again. Peter turned on the light and washed his hands, his mouth feeling empty, sticky and sour from the wine. He left the bathroom a safe minute or so after Nathan had gone, and went in search of a slice of cake and maybe some of what his father was drinking.
***
Shortly after his father headed for bed, Nathan left the party with a grandiose goodbye, more to his public at large than to Peter or his mother. He actually stood on a step of the staircase and waved his arms, making an apology for his early departure, claiming a long work-week. He was answered by a general murmur of regret from the party guests. Peter ditched the conversation he was having and went up to Nathan, arms held out. Nathan gave him a big, boisterous, impersonal hug. "See you later," he said, then turned to his mother and kissed her cheek.

Peter stared after him, frowning in frustration. That was it?

Fortunately, after Nathan was gone, things rapidly began to wind down. Guests meandered towards the door, giving Peter birthday wishes and Angela compliments on a splendid party. He stood beside his mother and repeated the same phrases of thanks and pleased-to-meet-you until they lost all meaning and became nothing but a jumble of sounds coming out of his mouth. Every time he thanked someone for coming, he hoped that Nathan would be behind the door as the guests left.

But as the last couple went out, Peter realized with sad resignation that Nathan had really left, and wasn't coming back. He trudged silent and sad after his mother, walking through the foyer and downstairs parlor. "Well, I think that went very well," Angela said cheerfully, not a hint of fatigue in her voice, although she'd been going like gangbusters since early that morning. "I really think the Stewarts liked you a lot. If you wanted to go visit them for a week before your classes start, I'm sure they wouldn't mind putting you up. Oh, Peter, why do you look like that?" She stopped halfway up the staircase, and rested her hand against his cheek. "You're not too drunk, are you?"

Peter laughed softly. "Oh, I'm not drunk," he said. "No, you're right, that was a good time. Thanks."

Angela looked into Peter's eyes and sighed. "Now, cheer up," she said. "We'll go shopping tomorrow, and we can pick you up some new clothes for school. I'm just so proud of you for sticking with it; your father and I both. We love you, Peter."

"Yes," Peter said, smiling, and taking his mother's hand. She smiled back at him. "I love you too. Thanks again, for everything. Sleep well."

"I certainly hope so," Angela said. "I could use it. Looks like you could too." They exchanged a quick kiss on the lips, and Peter hugged her, taking a deep breath, getting in touch with his better feelings. "Good night, dear."

Peter went to the hall bathroom, brushed his teeth and washed his face, then retreated to his bedroom. He was not sleepy, and though he had had several glasses of wine and a large shot of scotch, he was barely tipsy. He sat on the edge of his bed and slipped off his shoes, then took off the dark-gray linen sport jacket he'd been wearing over a plain white V-neck T-shirt. He sat and stared at his bookshelf, trying to decide what to read until he fell asleep.

On his desk, his new mobile phone buzzed, startling him. He picked it up. Nathan.

"Hey, Nate," Peter answered.

The voice that answered was low and husky. "Put some music on."

Peter laughed quietly. "What are you talking about?"

"Sorta quiet, but with a beat going on."

"How about that Beta Band CD you just got me? That sounds about right."

"Sure, that'll do, I suppose. I only know that song that was in the movie." He and Peter had seen High Fidelity together, and kissed for a long time in the car afterward.

"Yeah, okay. What for, though?"

Nathan just hung up.

Peter unwrapped the disk and put it into his small bedside stereo, turning the volume down to a normal speaking level. He sat back on the edge of the bed listening for a moment. The first song was the one he knew best – "Dry the Rain" – and he was transported into the music all over again. Something about how the song grew and developed and changed, and yet became so lyrically simple, reminded him of Nathan somehow... of that way that Nathan made him feel, of the way he wanted Nathan to feel around him. If there's something inside that you want to say, say it out loud, it'll be okay. I will be your light. I need love.

Before the song's final chorus bloomed, Peter's bedroom door opened silently – you had to know that to silence the creaky hinges, you had to lift up the door slightly by the knob – and Peter just stared in astonishment as Nathan slipped into the room. He closed the door behind him, just as soundlessly, holding his finger to his lips. Peter held out his arms like a giddy child, and Nathan walked up to him and tackled him down onto the bed.

It was chaos. Nathan clamped his mouth down onto Peter's, their teeth clicking half-painfully together and their tongues colliding in their haste to get them into the other's mouth. Their knees banged into each other, and Nathan elbowed Peter in the stomach as he tried to get his hand under Peter's T-shirt. Peter wrapped his left leg around Nathan's waist and grabbed his hair, trying to hold him still so Peter could kiss him properly; Nathan let Peter's body go and swiped at Peter's hand in his hair, dislodging his grip. He shoved with his hips against Peter's crotch, unzipping Peter's pants and fumbling his fingers inside.

The song changed to something incredibly quiet, barely there.

Peter squirmed, trying to rub against Nathan, but he had misjudged how forceful he had to be, and he actually half-threw Nathan off him. Nathan grunted impatiently and pinned Peter against the surface of the bed, grabbing Peter's cock and balls in one hand and holding Peter's neck down with the other, thrusting against him. Peter gasped out loud, the sound shocking in the quiet. Nathan whispered, "Sssh! Peter, sssh. They're right down the hall."

Peter held his breath for a moment, almost losing his arousal at the thought, but Nathan just went back to kissing and fondling him again. He stripped Peter's trousers off, taking Peter's underwear with them, then replaced his hand where it had been before, encircling penis and testicles, holding them all in his hand, pressing Peter's genitals all together, making them strain back against Nathan's hand. Nathan rubbed in circles, licking and sucking Peter's throat. When he took his hand away, Peter's cock was hard and when he put his hand back again, it didn't all fit in his grasp anymore. Peter bit his lip and reached for Nathan. He pulled Nathan's shirt off over his head, and ran his fingers across Nathan's shoulders, his chest with the pattern of hair that vaguely resembled a phoenix in flight. Nathan hastily unfastened his own trousers, and Peter used his toes to shove them down over Nathan's hips. When their groins touched again, it was skin on skin, flesh on flesh.

Together, they let out a heavy breath; together, they rocked against each other. "Are we gonna fuck?" Peter whispered, running his fingers over Nathan's bare ass, across to his balls, pulling Nathan in tight.

"Absolutely," Nathan responded. He knew how to mute his whispers, lisping across the sibilants: Abtholutely. Peter always found Nathan's lisp, whether deliberate or involuntary, amazingly sexy. Peter kissed him hungrily, sucking on his lower lip. Nathan thrust against him in time with the music, which was perfect...

Peter relaxed, taking some deep breaths. Nathan relaxed too, stroking Peter's torso underneath the shirt, peeling the shirt back to lick Peter's belly, then expose and caress a nipple. Peter quivered, half ticklish, then grabbed Nathan by the shoulders and flipped them over, Nathan on his back and Peter on top of him, between Nathan's thighs. The bedsprings creaked loudly. "Sssh!" Nathan reminded him.

The song changed again – quiet, mellow, and repetitive. Peter tongue-kissed Nathan, and suddenly the song had percussion. Peter wished they were already fucking, because he would have loved to take it – or give it – in the same tempo. He thrust against Nathan in time with the song, and Nathan breathed heavily, though silently, his head rolling back and forth against the bed. Peter grinned. "You like that?" Peter whispered.

"Yeah..." Nathan pushed Peter's shirt up into his armpits, and raised his head to trail his tongue across Peter's sternum. "You're delicious." He finally yanked the shirt off, dragging Peter even more fully on top of him, insinuating himself between Peter's legs, lifting his hips against him. His hardening cock pressed into Peter's buttock, his thigh, his balls, wanting to be inside.

"Are you gonna eat my butt?" Peter murmured, quivering with lust.

"Sure," said Nathan, grinning back. "I'd love to."

After a quick kiss, Peter confessed sadly, "I'm not that clean, though; I only took a shower after lunch. And it was kind of a hot day."

Nathan shook his head, still smiling. "Then you're out of luck," he said.

Peter sighed in frustration. Nathan had been licking him all over; surely, he wanted to continue? He suggested, "I could... run to the bathroom and wash up right quick. Would that be good enough?"

Nathan nodded and wet his lips with his tongue, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. "You're addicted," he whispered.

He had him. Peter wasn't the only one addicted. "You just stay here," Peter said, getting up and putting his robe on. Nathan sprawled out on the bed, handling himself, keeping himself stimulated. Peter tore himself away while he still could.

In the hallway, he gave an exaggerated yawn and padded barefoot towards the bathroom. His mother poked her head out of her room and glared at him, her face free of makeup, and her hair under a scarf. "Peter," she said with thinly veiled impatience.

Peter froze and stared at her, open-mouthed.

"I know it's your birthday week, but what are you thinking, playing music so late at night?" Angela asked.

Peter hesitated for a moment before answering, willing his heart to start beating again. "I just wanted to listen to this album once before I go to sleep," he replied, his voice admirably soft and steady. "I'm sorry, mom, I'll turn it down."

"Thank you. It's not loud, but I can hear it, and I can't quite help listening. It's keeping me from getting to sleep."

Peter grimaced. "Is Dad okay? Did I wake him?"

Angela answered, sighing, "He's still asleep. He can be a pretty heavy sleeper after he's been drinking."

"I'm sorry," Peter apologized again, "I just wasn't thinking." He felt guilt and love swelling in his chest. She really was trying so hard, trying to keep them all together and take care of them all, and she had other things in her life that were problematic besides him. He went to her and gave her another kiss. He couldn't quite tell if she believed him or not, but she only said good night again, and disappeared back into her room, shutting the door behind her.

In the bathroom, Peter trembled with relief, hastily scrubbing himself with a damp, slightly soapy washcloth. He wet a clean one and hastened back to his room, closing the world outside.

The reading lamp had been turned off. Nathan lay in the same spot, his eyes closed, almost appearing asleep. His eyes opened again, watching as Peter went to the stereo and turned the volume down more, then returned to the bed. Peter held his finger against his lips and smiled. They really did have to be quiet now...

He knelt on the floor at the far edge of the bed, away from the door, and Nathan scooted over to meet him. His erection bobbed out in front of him. Peter ran his hand along it, marveling at its stiffness and heat, wondering if he'd ever get sick of it, if he'd ever move beyond this fascination. He kissed Nathan's stomach, then pulled the cock between his lips, licking his way down the shaft until he enclosed it entirely within his mouth. Nathan clasped his hand around the back of Peter's head, nonverbally asking him to stay. Peter drew back and took a deep breath, then began to suck, bobbing his head, filling his mouth over and over again. The ambiently quiet music was now strange and mysterious, sampled voices and snippets of tunes that had already gone by. Peter wished he could hear Nathan moaning the way he would have if he could, but the absence of it made Peter suck harder. He wanted to break Nathan's composure and make him moan out loud. Yes, they had to be quiet, but he wanted...

Nathan's body quickly tensed, occasional muted, passionate sighing escaping his lips. "Cock-hungry," he whispered, holding Peter's head still. Peter shook his head a little, subtly breaking free. He refused to take Nathan's direction, wanting to suck the way he wanted, from tiny slurps at the tip of the glans to throat-challenging deep lunges, and everything in between. Sure, he wanted to fuck, but he also wanted this. Loved this. Dreamed about this. If that made him cock-hungry, so be it.

Eventually, Nathan stopped him, shoving Peter's face away, murmuring, "That's enough."

He gave Peter a hand up and drew him forward against the bed. They changed position, Peter with his knees on the floor and his arms spread across the bed, and Nathan behind him on the floor, rushing his hands down Peter's back to his ass, spreading the cheeks. Peter found that Nathan had drawn a pillow down close to him, and Peter made use of it too, biting it hard, muffling his groans into it. Nathan darted his tongue along the crack of Peter's ass, down against his anus, swirling around it, lapping at him. Lapping at his balls, lightly sucking their thin coating of hair-studded skin. Peter curled his toes. He wanted to scream.

Taking a momentary pause from his oral ministrations, Nathan squeezed and pinched Peter's buttocks. "Even your pretty little ass is all tan," he remarked, his barely audible words transmitted through Peter's skin. "I can just imagine it. Your gorgeous body all naked in the sun. I wish I could have been there. I'd have given you a real educational Greek vacation." Peter laughed out loud before he could stop himself. Nathan pinched the back of his thigh hard enough to really hurt. "Sssh-sssh!" Nathan reminded him.

"Fuck," Peter muttered. "Ow."

"Where's your lube?" Nathan asked.

"I'll have to go get it," Peter whispered. "I haven't unpacked it yet."

Nathan sighed impatiently. Peter stood up on shaky legs, and went to his closet where he had tossed his toiletry bag last night, much more interested in getting some sleep in his own bed than unpacking stuff he didn't need. He didn't know he'd need it so soon... He came back to bed with the tube, and handed it to Nathan. Nathan frowned at it, shaking his head in disapproval. Peter just shrugged in response, rolling his eyes, and reassumed his position against the side of the bed. Nathan wasted no time smearing a generous amount over Peter's moist asshole, following it inside Peter with his fingers. Peter bit the pillow some more, clenching down hard with his jaws. He was hungry for this, too. Addicted. Yes.

Nathan fingered him for a moment, working in the lubricant until it had become hot and slick from friction, then pulled Peter down onto the floor beside him. "You're gonna rock the bed," he explained. Peter jumped up again, grabbed some more pillows and blankets, and lay down a layer of padding on the floor for their knees. Nathan smiled and nodded in satisfaction. Peter smiled back, happy and proud of himself. He was getting there; figuring things out.

They were now completely hidden from sight from the bedroom door. Peter moved his torso down onto his arms stretched straight out, up on his knees, ass in the air, head down. It was a yoga pose, but it looked extremely slutty, submissive and eager all at the same time. He wished that Nathan could slap his ass, hard, the sound ringing through the air, hard enough almost to knock him over... it was amazing how the impossibility of something could increase its erotic significance, make him want something that he had never really wanted before.

Nathan filled Peter with his fingers again, adding fingers until Peter's breath hissed desperately through his teeth. Nathan wiped his hand on the clean, damp washcloth, moved his body up against Peter's, slid his lubed cock against Peter's lubed ass, then pressed himself inside, his other hand holding Peter's head down. Peter gasped out loud – so deep, so soon? Nathan didn't even bother to shush him this time; instead, he covered Peter's mouth with his hand, and shoved in deeper still. Peter squealed against Nathan's hand. Nathan muttered, "Sssh, they're gonna hear. You want that? You want them to come in here and see this happening to you? Get ahold of yourself." All the while, he fucked Peter harder.

Peter got dizzy, head down, and holding his breath, too. Nathan rubbed Peter's belly, soothing his inner muscles and keeping them relaxed, but the blood in his body couldn't decide if it wanted to rush to his head or to his cock. After a while, the wet, squishing sound of the fuck was almost louder than the murmuring music. Peter felt first extremely disoriented, then very calm. He idly wondered if he was fainting. He didn't care if so, as long as this didn't stop.

Nathan paused with a sigh. He pulled out, turned Peter over onto his side, shoved his fingers into Peter's mouth, and thrust in again, holding his cock inside as deep as he could. Peter's legs began to jerk uncontrollably, and he squealed again, pitifully muffled through Nathan's fingers. "You gonna come?" Nathan taunted. He slid out halfway, then back in, so deep it went beyond pain into something else. Something strange and transformative for them both, something that could never be spoken aloud. Nathan knew how much it might hurt; he could see how Peter twitched and struggled for breath. And yet Peter didn't feel that he was in pain. It was a deeper, wilder form of pleasure. No one else could provide that but Nathan. "You gonna come, beautiful? Come for me. Come on, now. Come for me. Yeah."

He pulled out all the way, and eased Peter over onto his back, sliding his fingers back into Peter's mouth. He wrapped his other hand around Peter's cock again, jerking swift and silent along the hot, throbbing root of the shaft, spilling sticky fluid over his belly and groin. Peter made only the faintest, most tentative noises against Nathan's fingers. He had gotten ahold of himself.

Moaning faintly, Nathan licked the semen from Peter's skin. Swiftly he climbed over Peter's torso, straddled Peter's shoulders, and jerked off directly into Peter's mouth.

Peter happily, if grimacingly, swallowed Nathan's issue, coughing and choking a little on the sudden bitter tang of it. He didn't like the taste at all, and the faint trace of cheap lube made it worse, but he would do it again in a heartbeat. Yes, come for me, he thought. Come for me and I'll love it. He giggled and pulled Nathan down for a kiss, transferring the flavor between their tongues. Nathan drew back and groaned. "That's disgusting!" he hissed.

Peter just giggled some more. Nathan grinned at him, and kissed him again, kissed him more. They wrapped their arms around each other and hummed into each other's mouths, congratulating each other on another dare accomplished, another challenge met. Another ecstasy shared. More fun than anything else in the world.

The CD was over. They relaxed together on the floor in silence, listening to heartbeats and clocks ticking somewhere and the electrical current in the walls. Peter shifted his weight, gradually becoming aware of rug burns and jet lag and mild post-party indigestion. He really had had a lot to drink, and way too much cake. But hey, it was his birthday party, after all.

Peter kissed Nathan's ear and murmured, "Stay."

Nathan shook his head. "I just pray they're still asleep," he said. "I gotta make my getaway."

Reluctantly, gradually, they got up off the floor. Peter piled all his bedding back onto the bed and nestled into it. Nathan cleaned up with the washcloth and put his clothes back on under Peter's watchful, worshipful eye. His hair was even more tousled now. He petted Peter's hair and kissed him on the forehead.

"Sleep tight," he whispered. "Happy birthday."

Peter mouthed, Love you. Nathan answered him with a wink.

Silent as a panther, Nathan slipped out of the room, and Peter only had time for one last adoring sigh before he slipped away into sleep, promising himself that he'd listen to that CD again as soon as he woke up.

END (38)

A/N: I'm sure it's semi-obvious that I really, really love the Beta Band. I'm sorry if you hate them – always possible – but I hope you stuck with the story even if so. It's just there for a frame of chronological reference, but I do love "Dry the Rain" a whole lot so I threw in a little music geekery too. This is more my tribute to Milo with a yummy dark-caramel tan, and in white-neck t-shirts...truly a thing of beauty... I'd bite him too. Thanks for reading!

all righty then

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 22:41:23 GMT

OK, I have a plan for the next story... or perhaps two.

I feel a bit crap at the moment, but I will attempt to start working on something tonight. (I already started on an outline last night before bed, after my Profit DVD started fritzing out.) For now, though, more drugs, more headache, more blowing my nose, and curling up on the couch with some China Miéville, a cup of tea, and the classical radio station.

Being sick just plain sucks, but I might make some porn because of it (I almost always do).