Current mood:

accomplished

Fic: Reunion (Nathan/Peter, NC-17)
Written for the Heroes Kink Meme, in response to a request for "Nathan/Peter - clothed frottage."

***
"Jesus, did you just--" Through the door. Not through the door, through it, like it wasn't even there--

"Shut up." Peter slams him against the wall in the darkness, Nathan almost falls, feet catching and stumbling over a bucket on the floor. He swings out his arm to catch his balance and there's a clatter of mops and brooms falling away, and then there's a hot mouth on his, and Nathan forgets this latest defiance of physics and just focuses on the familiar defiance of nature, opening his mouth beneath his brother's uncharacteristicly forceful kiss, feeling his dry lip split under Peter's biting teeth.

Nathan groans. "Oh, fuck, Peter, yes."

Peter's hand's at his crotch now, squeezing, and Nathan throws his head back, hitting the wall, gasping, seeing stars, pushing his hips into Peter's hand. Missed him, missed this, want this, always. Peter pants into his shoulder, and Nathan can smell his breath, feels dizzy from the desperate familiarity of it, the reaquiring of one more thing he'd feared he'd never sense again. Peter's stroking him frantically, like if he can't make Nathan come, they'll both die, and it's almost too much, it is too much, and Nathan fumbles in the dark, finds the beltloops on Peter's jeans, gets a good grip and yanks him in, trapping Peter's hand between their groins, between their cocks. "Like this," he says, he growls, his voice rough with desire.

Peter makes a small sound against him, pulls his hand out and shoves with his hips, pinning them both to the wall hard enough that it hurts, but Nathan doesn't give a shit, not when Peter's cheek is pressed to his, Peter's cock is nestled right along side his own, both of them hot and hard enough to feel through their underwear and jeans. Peter starts rocking, quick roll-snaps of his hips, like fucking, and Nathan pushes his feet apart, begging him to get in closer, press them tighter, both of them gasping against each other.

"Pete, oh, Peter, oh god," he says, too many things he wants to say, can't say any of them, just clenches his fist against Peter's short, soft hair and pushes back. So good, but not enough. He wants to be buried in Peter, hot and slick and horizontal, fucking him, feeling him squeeze around him, hearing him grunt every time Nathan shoved into him. But there's no time for that, all there's time for is this, oh this, and maybe it is enough, because like this they're fucking each other, him fucking Peter, Peter fucking him. He hears his shoes slip on the smooth concrete, the rasp of their jeans rubbing, the rush of Peter's breath. Feels Peter's lips skating down his throat, not biting, not sucking, not leaving a mark, because--because--fuck, it didn't matter anymore, did it?

"Bite me. Hard. Please."

Then teeth, in the line of muscle along his shoulder, digging in, deep and hard, and it hurts and it's perfect, and oh god--

He digs his fingers into Peter's ass, holds him there as he fucks against him, cock finding a perfect groove between Peter's hip and crotch and yes, yes, yes, oh fuck.

He tries to catch his breath, feels Peter's hand slide away from his lips and realizes Peter had to stop him from shouting. I'm not who I was, he thinks. He'd always been the one to keep them quiet, keep control. He opened his eyes as Peter pulled his hand over and slipped it into the unzipped fly of Peter's pants. Nothing beneath them, and Nathan is only relieved, as he closes his hand around Peter's cock. Or maybe this is who I always really was, he thinks, and slides down to his knees.

---
End