Fic: Dream Interpretation (Nathan/Peter, NC-17)
Title: Dream Interpretation
Author: Trekker (47_trek_47)
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Length: 3,300 words
Notes: Peter is underaged in the first section, but he is legal age for the porny part. Thanks to mydeira and futuresoon for betaing!

Summary: It begins with dreams.

***
"Hey, Nathan?" Peter sat crossed-legged on the peak of a boulder, with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped on his forearms. He gazed through his bangs at the fields and rural towns that spread below this leg of the Appalachian Trail. "Can I talk to you about something? It's kinda... I dunno. Kinda... personal."

Nathan was a couple feet away, relaxing against his backpack and letting the breeze dry the sweat that had gathered under the straps. He tensed. He'd known this was coming. Not what was coming, just that something was, because Peter had been ominously quiet all day as they'd hiked, and their mother had warned him this might happen. Now here it was. He had a sneaking suspicion his fifteen-year-old brother was about to ask him about sex.

Lovely, he thought, darkly. The last thing he wanted to discuss with his baby brother was sex. His reason for that reluctance, however, was one of those things he didn't let himself think about. Resigned, he said, "Yeah. Sure, Peter. What's on your mind?"

He twisted around so he could face Peter, but Peter was still studiously avoiding eye-contact with a small frown on his face. Finally, Peter spoke again. "I think--I mean--I think maybe I might be, uh..." Here he paused again for a long time. Nathan waited. Somewhere, a bird whistled. "Be, uh. Gay," Peter finished.

Nathan felt his eyebrows bob a bit. That hadn't been quite what he'd been expecting. Peter was looking down at the ground now, a faint pinkness rising to his cheeks.

"What makes you say that?" Nathan said, since it seemed like the thing to say.

Peter grimaced slightly and shrugged. "I dunno. I just--I've had... dreams. You know. Those kinda dreams."

Nathan drew in a breath and sat up straighter, those words invoking a memory he'd rather not recall, of dreams of his own. Dreams that he'd told himself didn't mean anything enough times to believe it. And now he told Peter, "Dreams don't mean much, Peter. It's just your subconscious, screwing around."

He could see some of the tension go out of Peter's shoulders, but Peter's brow was still furrowed. "Yeah, but, these are like... all the time. Not all the time, but a lot. And they're really, uh, vivid. Y'know?"

Nathan knew. Nathan knew because even the remembered sensations of those dreams were still enough to prickle his skin: smooth skin under his hands, dark eyes on his, slim body beneath him. Stop it, he told himself, They're just dreams. Not real. They don't mean anything. Even though those same dark eyes were on him now, level and needy, asking him for comfort, for salvation, and that made Nathan wonder what kind of dreams Peter was having, exactly. "Well," Nathan said, pressing on through it all as he always did, "What about when you're awake? Are you attracted to men?"

Peter looked away again, and a part of Nathan relaxed at the cessation of that intense gaze.

"I dunno," Peter said. "Maybe? Sorta?"

"Well, what about girls? Got a girlfriend?"

With a slight bunching of his shoulders and a duck of his head, Peter said, "Yeah, kinda. For a few weeks now."

"So," Nathan said, not really wanting to ask the question, "are there, uh... sparks?"

Peter responded with another shrug, and a small, "Yeah," said with a smile.

Nathan nodded. "Well, good. There you go," he said, turning back to the view and trying not to sigh with relief for finding a way to end that conversation.

"Yeah," Peter said. "Yeah, okay."

***

New York is a glittering blanket below Peter, and up this high the air tastes sweet and the wind is cool. Billowing gray clouds surround him, but he is in a pocket of clear. Someone's arms are around his chest and their chin is tucked to his shoulder. Gravity seems to ignore them both.

They're naked. A strong thigh is tucked between his, cradling his balls.

"Nathan," he says, and only then does he realize who it is holding him.

Nathan's stubble drags against his jaw and Nathan whispers in a broken-rough voice, "Love you. Love you so much."

***

After their father's funeral, they ended up back at Peter's apartment, safely away from the disinterested well-wishers and the political schmoozers. It was a haven for Peter, but particularly for Nathan. Peter was gratified to see some of the tension ease from him when the door shut behind them.

"Beer in the fridge," Peter said.

Nathan nodded as he headed for the kitchen.

Peter hit the bathroom, and when he came back out, Nathan was slumped on his couch, with a can of beer in his hand and a second can sitting on the coffee table in front of the empty space beside him. Peter took the silent invitation, sitting down, taking the beer and pulling the tab.

They drank in silence, almost in sync, both of them staring straight ahead.

Then Nathan leaned forward and set down his empty can.

"Peter," he said. Just that and nothing more, quiet and hurting.

Peter had been waiting for this. He put aside his own can with the dregs left in the bottom and turned to Nathan. Nathan's arms were already open and they curled into each other's embrace, eyes shut, cheek to cheek. Peter felt a few of the tears that had been close to the surface all day break from his eyes and catch between their skin, for a moment all of it catching up to him--Dad's dead. Oh god, Dad's dead. Nathan pulled him closer, though their knees bumped together, holding them apart.

Peter turned his head to kiss Nathan's jaw, his cheek, needing the connection, needing the closeness. The hair at Nathan's temple smelled like him, and Peter breathed in deep. Nathan smelled good. So good. Like safety, like home, like love. Like the sweatshirt he'd left behind once that Peter had worn for days before Mom had taken it and washed it and ruined it. And Nathan was warm. Warm, strong and solid, and Peter craved that. Needed it. He nestled into Nathan's arms and pressed his chest to Nathan's chest, like he could bury himself in Nathan and they could stay there forever, both of them safe and warm. He wanted Nathan closer, wanted skin against skin, nothing between them anymore.

Peter was shaking. Nathan's breath was faster against his neck, tickling like a lover's touch. It felt good. So fucking good. Like a dream. Peter pushed forward, sliding their smooth-shaven jaws together, his nose now touching the shell of Nathan's ear, his mouth close enough to Nathan's earlobe that when he swallowed against his dry throat, his lips moved like a kiss against the soft flesh.

Nathan shuddered and clenched his hand in Peter's shirt.

I have to stop, Peter thought, like he had during a thousand other close calls over the years, during a thousand other too-long, too-tight brotherly embraces. I shouldn't do this.

But this time, the slow burn starting in his stomach and sliding to his cock argued otherwise too strongly and the need was too much and it was too easy to let his tongue slip out to lick his lips and just--inadvertently, it could so easily be argued--flick the lobe of Nathan's ear.

Nathan's soft, high whimper shattered whatever was left of his defenses.

Nathan's hand released his shirt with a jerky movement, then slid down his back and partway around his flank, stopping there, feeling hot and moist through the thin, sheer silk. That gesture was all the approval Peter needed. His heart swelled even as his arousal surged.

"I dreamed of this," Peter whispered. "This is what I dreamed of."

"We can't do this," Nathan said, grinding the words out as though forcing them.

Peter sat back and met Nathan's eyes, feeling calm and certain. Nathan was breathing through gritted teeth, his body tight as a drum and his fists clenched.

Peter reached out and touched Nathan's cheek, and immediatly Nathan's jaw relaxed at the contact. "Who's going to stop us? No one, Nathan." He smiled. "We're safe. Who's going to know?"

"I'll know," Nathan said.

Peter swept his thumb along Nathan's cheekbone and Nathan shut his eyes with a flutter of long lashes and exhaled. Beautiful. He was so beautiful it made Peter's stomach tighten and his heart pound. So close. Peter was so close. Something he'd wanted so badly and so long was literally at his fingertips. He couldn't let him get away.

"Kiss me, Nathan. Com'on. Just--"

Then Nathan's eyes opened, hard and sharp as diamonds. Peter's heart sank at the resolve he saw there. It was over. That part of Nathan that could never accept this was back and now he was going to storm out the door--

And then Nathan gripped Peter's face in both hands, so firmly it almost hurt, and kissed him hard.

Lightning struck Peter's spine, shattered through his nerves and whited out his brain and the next thing he knew, his hands were buried in Nathan's hair and he was crushed into the cushions, panting for breath through his nose as they kissed like fighting. He tasted blood.

He shoved his hips up, exultant, felt his cock drag alongside Nathan's, heard Nathan's hoarse curse in response. Felt Nathan grind down against him, finding a rhythm, jolting them both with jerks of his hips. Peter was chanting, barely audible over the roar in his ears, "Fuck. Yes. Don't stop. Nathan. Yes."

Then Nathan did stop. He went suddenly and completely still but for the heaving of his chest. Peter couldn't quite stop his hips from rocking, pushing up against the now motionless weight on top of him. He thought Nathan must have come, but then Nathan raised his head, looked down into Peter's eyes and said, "Not like this."

"What--?" Peter said. He couldn't believe that Nathan could be stopping this now. No, no, no, not now. What could Nathan possibly think to justify it to himself? If there was damage to be done, it had been done already. But, then... Nathan's eyes were soft, not accusing, and he hadn't thrown himself off the couch and run yet.

Nathan licked his lips and said, "Not if we've both wanted this so long."

"Oh," Peter said, breathless, relieved, and exhilerated. "Oh. Okay."

Then Nathan did get up, carefully pulling his leg over Peter and standing. Peter stared at the tent in Nathan's pants and the shine of saliva--his saliva--on Nathan's jaw. Nathan's always-perfect hair was tousled and messy, still holding the shape of Peter's fingers, and Nathan's eyes were on him, drinking him in the way Peter was drinking in Nathan.

A sudden wave of fear hit Peter. Absolute, abject, what-the-fuck-am-I-doing terror. This was his brother, for god's sake. This was wrong. If anyone found out--

But then Nathan reached down and took his hand. His warm, dry palm was all the comfort in the world. "Com'on," Nathan said, echoing Peter's own words.

***

In the bedroom, they undressed. Peter's hands shook and fumbled with the buttons and the sound of his zipper was embarrassingly loud. He didn't look at Nathan until he pushed his boxers down his legs. He found Nathan was watching him and setting his cufflinks beside his tie on the dresser. His shirt was unbuttoned and hanging open, his belt undone, his shoes off and neatly set against the base of the dresser.

He's taking his clothes off so that we can have sex, Peter thought, thrilled and shocked and a hundred other emotions swirling too fast to catch. All of his insides shuddered and his cock lunged to full attention. Peter was naked, utterly, as he stood back up and stepped out of the pool of fabric around his feet. Nathan's eyes seemed glued to him. Nathan's lips were parted and Peter could see him breathing. Peter sat on the edge of the bed then shifted to the center and dropped back, half-lying down, propped up by his elbows, his knees bent up and together. He didn't once stop watching Nathan watching him. The only moment Nathan's eyes left him was when Nathan crossed his arms and lifted off his undershirt, breaking the contact between them for a split second and then immediately returning his gaze to Peter, not even looking away as he undid his pants and pushed them and his briefs down and off.

He really wants me, Peter thought, He wants me.

Naked now, Nathan stood at the foot of the bed. Peter's eyes slid down to Nathan's groin, driven almost as much by curiosity as lust. Nathan's cock was hard, standing at an angle, tipping just slightly to the right at the end. Peter raised his gaze back to Nathan's eyes. For a moment, they held each other's gaze. Peter couldn't read Nathan's expression. He wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but held back. The last thing he wanted was to damage this thing between them and drive Nathan away. So instead of speaking, he pushed his feet apart and let his knees fall open: invitation, submission, suggestion. The fear came again as the cool air caressed his cock. It was stronger this time, like being in a dream and suddenly finding himself naked in a public place, or like he'd made some horrible, unforgivable faux pas.

Then Nathan said, "Oh," softly and eased one knee onto the bed, and it was okay again. He had his answer. The world righted itself as Nathan's hand gently covered his knee, and Nathan stopped, kneeling between his legs. "You are so beautiful."

Peter didn't know what to say to that, but he couldn't summon words through his suddenly-tight throat, anyway. That seemed to be all right, because Nathan leaned forward and ran both of his hands, palms flat, up parallel tracks along Peter's torso, from his stomach up to his throat and then back down. It was like a firestorm of sensation and Peter dropped his head back and groaned, feeling his cock press against his belly. Nathan didn't stop there. He kept moving his hands, constantly, first just up and down Peter's chest and stomach, sometimes down around his ribs, sometimes lingering at his pecs or sliding up his neck to cup his chin. Peter could only whimper, paralyzed by the sensations.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Nathan rasped.

Peter groaned, the closest he could get to coherence as Nathan's hands pressed up his ribs and then down his arms, fingertips briefly lingering at the creases of his elbows. Up again, down his chest, across his belly and then over the place where his thighs met his groin, just missing his cock, then up along the insides of his thighs, so light it would have tickled if Peter hadn't been so turned on that instead it burned. He grunted as his balls drew tight and his cock twitched and a small, hot drop of precome fell on his stomach.

Then there was only one hand, sliding up his side, cupping the side of his neck. He opened his eyes and blinked away the spots and looked down his body to see Nathan staring at his hand on Peter's body, with his other hand wrapped around his own cock, pumping fast. Nathan's hand moved up his neck, curled around his cheek, pinky finger on his ear, ring in his hair, middle on his temple, index on his nose and thumb resting across his lips. Nathan's other hand didn't stop, didn't slow, and Peter parted his lips to breathe, captivated, amazed and aroused, and felt Nathan's callused thumb touch his teeth. Nathan made a sound. His thumb twitched slightly. Peter opened his mouth and shut his eyes and curled his tongue around Nathan's thumb, licking the salt from it then sealing his lips and sucking.

The bed jerked and Nathan's hand curled alongside Peter's face and hot wetness spattered Peter's inner thigh. Then Nathan pulled away and the bed dipped on either side of Peter. Peter opened his eyes to find Nathan on his hands and knees over him, gasping.

"Sorry," Nathan said, his eyes squeezed shut. "Sorry. Sorry."

"Nate," Peter said, holding perfectly still to better feel the strange, fascinating sensation of Nathan's come on his skin. "Nathan, don't be sorry. Fuck, that was--"

Then Nathan's eyes were open, blazing down on him and Peter couldn't say anymore.

Nathan dropped back, sitting on his heels, and slid his hand, the one he'd brought himself off with, down the center of Peter's chest and stomach to wrap it around Peter's cock. Peter moaned and pushed his hips up, feeling the tense, anticipatory thrill of the top hill of a rollercoaster, still watching Nathan's face. A series of expressions passed across Nathan's brow, settling on one of focused concentration, no different than he looked reading the paper or doing a crossword puzzle. Peter's huffed laugh turned to a groan when Nathan rubbed his rough thumb over the head of Peter's cock, then stroked down and up. Then again, then establishing a slow, short rhythm.

Peter rocked his hips with the motion, trying to find a rythym, but it wasn't quite enough, too slow, too dry. He felt a pent up breath escape him and with it a small sound of frustration.

Nathan let go abruptly, sitting back. "Sorry," he said, again, "Sorry, that's not-- I've never-- Uh, I've never--"

"It's okay," Peter said, quickly, thinking, just don't leave, getting the words out as he tried to catch his breath.

Nathan was looking away, his lips in one tight line, an expression of disgust and annoyance he always got when there was something he couldn't do perfectly instantly, and Peter had to fight back a laugh again, at the familiarity and the strangeness all wrapped up together. Then he sat up and said, "Hey, got an idea."

Nathan looked at him, not by turning his head but his eyes, silently questioning and hopeful. Peter wondered for a moment at how much Nathan trusted him. It was odd, he supposed, since he was the little brother. He should have been the one looking to Nathan to make things right. "Here," Peter said, inclining his head back, "Sit against the headboard."

Nathan cocked his brow, then moved to do as Peter asked.

"This better not be weird, Peter," he said, darkly.

Peter, crawling to get his lube from the bedside drawer, laughed out loud. "What about this isn't weird?" he said, then turned back to find Nathan sitting back with his arms hanging over his bent knees. His eyes were narrowed and he looked unamused. Peter felt the smile slide from his face. "Sorry. Uh." He knee-walked over to Nathan, then said, "Here, let me--" he made a complicated gesture and nudged his hip between Nathan's knees and somehow, Nathan correctly interpreted all of that and stretched his legs out into a V around Peter. He wrapped his arms around Peter's chest when Peter settled himself there, his back to Nathan's chest.

Then, finally, Peter felt himself relax again. He let his head drop back to be cradled by Nathan's shoulder, with Nathan's cheek resting alongside his own. Nathan tilted his head and half-kissed Peter's chin, and Peter shut his eyes, smiling. "I had a dream just like this," he said.

He felt a soft breath against his cheek, then Nathan said, to Peter's shock, "Me too."

Before Peter could form a question to ask about that, and perhaps that speed was intentional, Nathan plucked the lube from his hand, drizzled some into his palm, and reached down to take Peter's half-hard cock in his hand again. Any question Peter may have asked was lost in a helpless whimper as Nathan began to stroke him, this time faster, firmer, and more confidently.

"Yes," was all Peter could say as Nathan held him cinched tightly to his body, pulling him fast and hard and just damn right, with a small twist at the top of each stroke that made fireworks go off behind his eyes. Hard, demanding, uncompromising, everything that Nathan was all the time, and Peter could hardly breathe, kept finding himself holding his breath and then letting it out suddenly and gasping for more, twisting and bucking against Nathan's restraining arm until finally he hit the point of no return and turned his head, desperately seeking and finding Nathan's lips as he shuddered and came all over his stomach and Nathan's fingers.

Then they sat together, both panting, both shivering, both clinging to one another.

"Nathan," Peter said. He didn't know why he'd said it or where he meant to go with it.

But Nathan seemed to know. He rubbed his cheek against Peter's and whispered, as though in response, as though on cue, as though quoting a dream: "Love you. Love you so much."

---
End