Current mood:

horny

Fic: Red Satin (Nathan/Peter, NC-17)
Title: Red Satin
Author: Trekker (47_trek_47)
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None, Pre-series.
Warnings: Consensual incest between adult brothers (Peter is nineteen). Cross-dressing. Massive amounts of gratuitous smut.
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Words: 4603
Author's Note: This is a total PWP. Really. I wrote this for my own request at the kink meme, because no one else was gonna. Yes, it is four thousand words, not four hundred or something. Yes, I am, in fact, insane.

Summary: After a college party is broken up by the cops, Peter calls Nathan to pick him up. Nathan reacts to his outfit. Strongly.

***
Peter said: "I'm at the police station, they're not charging me with anything, and oh yeah, just so you know, I'm in drag."

"You what?" Nathan had said, scrubbing a hand across his eyes and checking the clock. It was just after eleven.

Forty-five minutes later, he was dressed in the first pair of khakis he'd grabbed, a T-shirt, and a jacket, and was storming into the university's local police precinct headquarters, ready to commit fratricide.

He could hear Peter's voice before he even walked into the room, raised and angry, and he ground his teeth in frustration as he turned the knob, thinking, Perfect. Just perfect. Make things worse by pissing off the cops, Peter. Please. This night isn't fucked enough yet. But when he jerked open the door, he suddenly couldn't think at all. His fingers went numb and he stopped dead.

Peter was snapping, "I told you, I'm not signing anything. This is bullshit, I haven't broken any laws."

Dressed in red satin, calf-length, slightly shimmery even in the florescent light. It clung to him all over from his thighs to his upper back, thin straps hanging over his shoulders. He was turned three-quarters away from Nathan and his ass may as well have been naked; the fabric stuck to him like a second skin there, tight across the swell of muscle, dipping slightly between his cheeks, shadowed. Across his back, it accented his shoulder-blades and musculature in sharp relief. His whole body was tense, his hands clenched in angry fists. His feet, in patent red strappy heels, were spread apart and braced like he was putting himself in a stance for a fight. Shaved legs, perfectly smooth. Toenail polish. Nathan flushed, felt dampness prickling in his armpits and groin, his blood rushing, his cock surging. Want him. Holy fuck, want him, right here, right now, shove that dress up and fuck the hell out of him, holy shit.

Peter turned at the sound of the door, cheekbones highlighted with rouge, eyes sparking with anger. He said something, something about not having a drink, not doing anything wrong, something about Nathan doing something about it, something Nathan could barely hear over the roar in his ears.

He wasn't wearing any kind of bra, so the dress just clung to his recently-developed pecs. His nipples were hard, poking out against the fabric. Lower down, the sleek lines of the satin were interrupted by the incongruous bump of his package. Nathan couldn't breathe. His fingers literally twitched, wanting so badly to run his hand down Peter's body and feel those contours, that bulge, make Peter's cock as hard as his own.

He couldn't speak, until finally, finally, he burst out with "What the fuck?" Then, freed, he wrenched his gaze over the officer. "He says he didn't do anything. Did you give him a breathalyzer? If he wasn't drinking, what are you charging him with? Do you know who I am?"

It only took a few moments to get the officer out of the room and Peter released to his custody, uncharged, no papers signed, no mark on his record.

They were silent on the way out to the car. Nathan's body burned. The sharp tap-click of Peter's heels, in step beside him, mocked him, teased him. He didn't look at Peter, but his peripheral vision was full of red. He could hear the skirt of the dress whispering in time with Peter's steps, the swish of the hose Peter wore. He felt literally dizzy, breathless. He was looking straight ahead, but he could barely see anything but that redness.

Want him, want him, want him, his mind whispered in a low, rhythmic cadence, but overtop of that was the growing anger, saying, Why? What the hell were you thinking? Do you know what this could do to my reputation? Not to mention your reputation? For fuck's sake, Peter, do you even think at all?

It wasn't until they pulled out of the station, that Nathan said, out-loud, finally, "What the hell were you thinking?" In spite of his words, though, all he was thinking about was how Heidi was at home and Peter had three roommates in his tiny campus apartment, and this was why they were usually so careful, so scheduled.

"Just playing around," Peter said. "It was an LGBT party. I just thought it'd be fun, kind of a dare thing. The cops showed up 'cause the stereo was too loud, and there were a bunch of sophomores and freshmen drinking... I'd just got there, anyway, so I hadn't even had a drink yet--"

Nathan turned towards the financial district at the next light. It was a desperate measure, but it could work. He was so hard he hurt, with his mind full of questions about what Peter had on under that dress, about how it would feel to slide his hand up Peter's smooth, hairless thigh, to look down at Peter's face with those sharp heels digging into the small of his back. Yes. Please, yes. He could feel his pulse in his dick, and feel the seam of his pants.

"NYU's not this way," Peter said.

"I know," Nathan said. He still had to force himself to speak. It made his voice low and rough.

"What the hell? What, are you taking me home so Mom can yell at me?"

"No." I can't talk about this, not yet, not while I'm driving. If I say it, it'll be too real, it'll be too much, I won't be able to think, I won't be able to steer.

"Nathan, come on, I just want to go home. To my apartment."

"Not yet." Just stop, Peter. Stop. I can't. I'll tell you later. Why don't you know? You should be able to tell. You could always tell, even when I didn't want you to. He felt the leather of the steering wheel creak under the force of his grip.

"Where are we going?"

"Shut up, Peter." Please, please.

"No--you're, like, abducting me--"

Nathan turned his head to pin Peter with a hard glare. It was a mistake, letting himself look. One of the straps had slipped down, curling around Peter's bicep. Nathan wanted to push it back into place. Wanted to pull it the rest of the way off. Wanted to bite the creamy skin it laid against. Wantwantwant. "Shut. Up," he ground out, then turned his eyes back to traffic, firmly.

In the midst of the empty streets and office buildings, there was one twenty-four hour garage. Nathan never parked there, it wasn't near enough to his office, but he'd passed it enough to have the small, lit sign emblazoned in his brain. He pulled in and lifted up to reach for his wallet, shuddering even at the touch of his own hand. He pulled it out, quickly folded together two hundred dollar bills and held them out to the pimpled, limp-haired attendant, who'd roused himself from his textbook to check him in.

"I just want some privacy," Nathan said.

The attendant raised his brow, leaning a bit to look at Peter, before saying, "Yeah, whatever. Second level's yours." As Nathan was holding the button to roll up his window, he heard him add, "Perv," under his breath. He didn't give a shit.

"Nathan, what--"

"Don't."

He pulled the car around the tight, curving ramp, into the almost-empty second level. There were a few other cars, but no other people. There were probably cameras, but his windows were tinted, and the dim florescent light wouldn't be able to penetrate through them well enough for a picture. He shut off the car and closed his eyes, and said, quietly, "Get out of the car, and get in the back." Then, "Please." He felt his voice break on that word.

He heard Peter take a sharp breath, but he didn't open his eyes, didn't unbow his head, didn't even move his hand from the key in the ignition.

"Oh," Peter breathed, and then, in a flurry of whispering satin, he was out of the car, and a moment later, back in it. Nathan opened his eyes and looked up to the rearview mirror. Peter met his gaze, all long, dark lashes, blue eyeshadow, and burning eyes. His satin-red lips were slightly parted, bangs hanging down, hiding half his face. His shoulders were naked, both straps down around his arms. Nathan just stared, just breathed. Beautiful. Oh god, he's beautiful. He's mine.

Nathan's voice shook as he said, "Do you want this?"

Instantly, "Yes. Yeah. Always. Please."

He didn't know what he'd have done if Peter had said no. Peter never said no. But what would he have done? He just didn't know. He had to close his eyes again, swallow hard. He could only nod, a few quick bobs of his head. He realized he was still clutching the steering wheel and the key. He forced his fingers to unfold and felt the tingle of blood returning to his knuckles.

Then he felt a warm hand close over his shoulder, slightly brushing the bare skin of his throat. He shuddered.

"Sorry," Peter said. "I didn't notice. I didn't even think--Usually we have to--I mean, I just thought you'd be pissed."

"I am," Nathan said, but he couldn't put the force behind the words like he wanted to. He felt hollow. Desperate.

So. Fucking. Hard.

Abruptly, he pulled the lever, pushing his seat back. Clambering over into the backseat was one of the more awkward things he'd done in his adult life, but once he was back there, pulling the lever again to let the seat spring all the way forward, it wasn't so bad. At almost the same moment, Peter leaned forward and pulled the passenger-side lever, bending and pushing the seat forward and out of the way.

Then they were sitting, side-by-side, looking at each other. Peter's lip twitched into a small smile. "You ever had sex in a backseat before?" he said.

"No," Nathan said. Trust Peter to be the blunt one. He never had learned tact. Nathan looked away.

"I have," Peter said. "And I've got condoms and lube, too. Queer party, you know. Lucky you."

Nathan didn't talk about sex. Didn't like it when Peter talked about sex. 'It's the 90's, Nathan. Sex partners communicate now,' Peter had said to him once.

Then Peter's hand was on his chin, turning his face towards him. Peter had turned almost completely toward Nathan now, the dress bunched and pulled around him. "Look at me. Come on. It's okay. I want you to."

Then he leaned back against the door, stretching himself out, showing himself off. Nathan's eyes were drawn immediately down, to where Peter's erection stood out starkly against the tight satin. All of his breath left him, and he dragged his gaze back up, over Peter's chest, over his bare throat, back up to his eyes, so sharply defined by liner and mascara and shadow.

Drawn like gravity, he started to move towards Peter. The first place he touched was Peter's bare shoulders. Familiar bare skin was an easier first step, although even this was different, smoother. As his hands moved down to the errant straps, he realized Peter had shaved here, too.

"Just for fun?" he whispered, leaning in too close to talk out loud. God, Peter was wearing some kind of perfume, too, floral and sweet. It was nothing like their mother's, that was for sure.

"Yeah," Peter breathed out, then arched his back slightly. "Oh, wow, that feels really good. Just you touching me. Wow."

Nathan's line of sight was filled with Peter's red, red lips. Yes it does. So good.

Nathan's mouth was dry. He shook himself for a moment, pulling away, unzipping and struggling out of his jacket and dropping it on the seat between them. Instantly, Peter's hands were on him, sliding around his ribs and locking in place, pulling him in, steady and insistent, and he felt his body shake again, felt another tug of dizzy helplessness in his mind as he laid himself over Peter, one knee up on the seat, one foot brace awkwardly on the floor, and most of Peter's body suddenly against him, satin sliding against jersey-knit cotton.

Their mouths met, then, Peter's already open and hot and wet. Nathan could taste the lipstick as he pushed his tongue inside, sliding along the ridge of Peter's teeth, tasting the inside of him and feeling Peter's own tongue press and move against his. Nathan made a sound, involuntarily, just overwhelmed. His free hand had found its way to Peter's side, was sliding over the sheer, smooth fabric, feeling Peter's straight, strong body beneath it.

He was shaking continuously now, both from lust and from holding himself in the uncomfortable position over Peter.

"Right now," he said. "Please."

He felt Peter reach down between them, breathing against his lips. Heard the rustle of the skirt as Peter got hold of the hem and tugged, twisting and lifting under him for a moment, and then Nathan opened his eyes again and looked down. Red fabric bunched around Peter's waist, and beneath it, there was red silk lined with lace that strained to hold in the stiff cock beneath it. Peter's balls peeked out where the silk narrowed between his legs, and Nathan's own cock twitched and stiffened, sending a shower of sparks and sensation through him and up his spine.

Peter reached down between them again and gripped his own cock for a moment, squeezing and releasing. "Fuck, that feels good. The rest of it's kind of a pain, the shoes are torture, but I really, really fucking love these panties." He arced his hips up and said, invitingly, "Feel it."

Nathan did. Fingertips at first, trailing up the shaft. So smooth, so hot, so hard. His fingers reached the V under the head, playing very, very lightly against that so-sensitive spot through the so-soft silk, and Peter rolled his head back and groaned, "Yeah."

Emboldened, Nathan reached down, curling his whole hand around Peter's package, as much as he could, feeling the skin-hot, soft silk against his palm, the soft, malleable weight of Peter's balls inside, the scratch of the lace, the hardness of Peter's shaft against the base of his palm and the soft inside of his wrist. He gave it all a couple gentle squeezes, as Peter squirmed against him and moaned, "Yeah, oh yeah. Oh my god, I can't believe you're doing this. Here. Now. Like this. Oh yeah."

Nathan sat back so he could balance on his knee and use both hands to tug on the waistband of the panties. More. Now. Peter lifted his knees together, letting him pull the underwear down his legs, over the knee-high stockings and the strappy, shiny shoes. He let them fall to the floor of the car, silently praying that they wouldn't forget about them there, leaving them for Heidi to find when she inevitably borrowed his car.

But he wasn't letting himself think about her now. He focused in on the sensation of sliding his hands back up Peter's legs, over the slick-smooth hose and then the softer, smooth, warmer skin of his thighs, until Nathan's thumbs had settled in the hollows of his hips, the bunched-up satin brushing against his wrists. Peter's cock stood up at a slight angle off his belly, hard and pink and smooth. He hadn't shaved there, at least, his balls and groin still covered in his usual disarrayed curls. Nathan realized he was staring, but didn't care.

"It's so hot how much you love my cock," Peter said, shifting his hips, reaching down and gripping it, pumping the base a few times with his fingertips. Nathan watched, silently. "Someday," Peter said, "I'm gonna fuck you. I know you want it. You'll love it."

Not in the back seat of my car, you're not, Nathan thought, and that's when he realized the idea frightened him a little. But there was no room for cold fear in this car that was getting hotter with each of their breaths. Yeah, he wanted it. Someday. And it was hot to hear Peter say it, especially now, wearing a dress and smudged lipstick and talking about fucking him while jerking his cock.

"Lube?" Nathan said, trying to get away from those thoughts, back to his comfort zone, back to being practical and sane and not thinking about what it would feel like to have that inside him, Peter over him, whispering to him and moving in him.

"Yeah," Peter said. "Can you reach my--uh--purse... thing?"

It was on the floor, by the discarded panties, shiny and red to match the dress. Nathan snapped it open and found a small tube and a few packets tucked in with Peter's ID and credit card. He tossed aside the clutch and held the things out to Peter. "You'll have to do it. I have to go home after." The less his hands smelled like sex, the better.

He watched Peter's hands as he reached down and pressed in, and listened to the stutter of Peter's breath as he finger-fucked himself for a moment or two, stretching and relaxing. Then Nathan flicked his gaze up. Peter had slid down, almost laying flat on the seat beneath him, his head tilted back, eyes closed, focused on the sensation. The red satin pooled under him, and his cock rested atop a fold of it on his stomach, harsh masculinity against the smooth femininity. Nathan felt dizzy again and reached down, pressing his hands to Peter's chest, almost like he was grounding himself, taking some of Peter's solidity to feed his own. He heard the condom packet tear and then felt Peter unzipping and pushing his pants down around his thighs, then Peter's hands on his cock, stroking him with lube-slick fingers for a second and then rolling the condom on around him. Through it all, Nathan held himself almost perfectly still, just trying to feel every feeling, every moment, while watching Peter look down his body and watch himself handle Nathan's cock.

Then Peter pulled his arms up and crossed them over his head, a few fingers still shining with lube.

"All you," Peter said, softly, pushing his legs open as wide as he could in the restricted space, which pushed his hips up, which brushed his cock against Nathan's and made them both hiss.

As Nathan started to reach down, though, Peter said, "Wait." Nathan groaned. Peter grabbed the hem of Nathan's T-shirt and tugged it off over his head, tossing it into the front seat. "Yeah," he said, "That's better."

Nathan sighed, started to reach, then paused, "May I?" he said, heavy with sarcasm.

Peter just rolled his eyes and nudged his hips up and that was enough of an answer for Nathan.

Then, finally, he was pressed against Peter, pressing into Peter and both of them moaned, and he felt Peter's fingers dig into his arm, and oh yes. He pushed in deep and stopped, holding there, both of them pressed together with nothing but the slippery satin, hot and damp, between them. He could feel Peter breathing.

"Ah, god, Nath--" Peter groaned. "Yeah. That. Oh." Not a trace of eye-rolling, sarcasm, or cynicism. Just Peter, raw and needy and shifting beneath him, pushing up against him, gripping him so tightly it hurt.

Nathan rolled his hips, just once, then again, breathing carefully through the pleasure, holding himself back. He opened his eyes and looked down at Peter looking up, and suddenly, the makeup just seemed silly. Not alluring, just extraneous, covering up Peter's face. It didn't matter though. Peter's eyes were still Peter's, still intense, still half-lidded and sleepy with pleasure as his lips moved in some unintelligible chant. Still, as Nathan started to move for real, gently, carefully, keeping his balance on the bench seat, Peter stopped speaking and shut his eyes.

Nathan shut his own eyes and dropped his forehead to Peter's shoulder, rocking them slowly, regularly. The perfume was cloying and too sweet, but beneath it, he could smell Peter's familiar sweat, his skin, his soap. It was too gentle, neither of them could come from this, and he couldn't get the leverage to go any faster, but it felt so good. Just moving together, feeling each other, slow and easy enough that their breathing was noisy, that he could hear the blood pulsing in his ears, that Peter could reach around him, stroke the fresh sweat on his bare back with his fingertips.

"Love you. Love you, Pete."

"You too." Gasped, breathless, necessary. "So nice. So good. All I ever want."

Then they didn't speak, just moved. Faster, slightly, but still not enough, and the more Nathan tried, the more he could tell it wouldn't be enough, but he couldn't bring himself to stop, couldn't let it end, until finally a muscle in his calf knotted tight and he jerked away with a cry of real pain, shoving his pants down and out of the way, reaching down to knead at it.

"Nathan?" Peter sat up quickly, saw what was going on, and said, "Here, sit back."

Nathan did, as the pain slowly receded. Peter held up the skirt and swung his leg over Nathans', straddling him. Like a magnet clicking home, Nathan's hands settled on Peter's back as he repositioned himself over him. Peter's lashes were lowered, his lips tight with concentration. Sweat had caused his mascara and rouge to run and his lipstick was completely smeared, leaving a red streak on his chin and a bare spot on his lips. The dress fell down around both of their legs as Peter's hand found Nathan's cock and held it in place. Peter shifted closer and closer, until they were crushed against each other, Nathan's back against the seat, Peter's legs folded alongside Nathan's thighs.

This time, it was Nathan who said, "Wait."

Peter did, and Nathan slid one hand to the center of his back, finding the small zipper pull there and sliding it all the way down to the small of Peter's back. In another single gesture, he lifted the dress over Peter's head and off, casting it aside, leaving them naked against each other, just themselves and nothing more. He smiled. "Better," he said.

Peter smiled back, then shifted one more time, lining them up.

He dropped down suddenly, and Nathan lost himself in the sudden tightness, Peter's cry, the heat and closeness of Peter's arm circled around his neck. They were so close, touching chest to chest, thighs to thighs. He clasped his arms around Peter's back and Peter wrapped his arms around Nathan's neck and they moved together, a little faster, a lot harder now, Peter slamming down to meet Nathan pushing up. It was suddenly a sauna in the car. Nathan could feel sweat rolling down Peter's back. It was like a marathon: he had to keep pushing and pushing, gasping for breath, muscles burning, but couldn't stop, couldn't stop.

Then he reached out blindly for a handhold, anything, finding the handle over the door and gripping it, using it to get just a little more leverage, just a little more and yes, right there, just like that, oh yes perfect Peter oh god.

Then he was panting, clutching Peter close, feeling their sweat wet between them, feeling every time Peter so much as moved or twitched around his over-sensitive, softening cock. Peter kissed his cheek, his eyelids, his nose, and then his lips, softly, quickly. When he opened his eyes, Peter leaned back, stretching. The movement caused Nathan to slip the rest of the way out, and on a sudden wave of panic for his upholstery, Nathan managed to reach beneath them, grab the condom and pull it off. Peter opened the door a crack and Nathan let it fall on the pavement. Peter shut the door.

Peter was still hard. His cock was resting against Nathan's stomach. Nathan looked down at it, feeling the all-over rush of endorphins and such, soothing and calming, and said, "Fuck it, I'll take a shower. I'm gonna need one anyway," then felt around for the lube, got some on his hand and reached down between them.

Peter moaned with satisfying appreciation as he began to stroke him, sliding his other hand in to cradle and play with his balls. Nathan loved to watch him like this, and to listen to all the little sounds he made: sharp gasps, little groans, the occasional plea. So beautiful, hair falling in his eyes, arms around Nathan, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut as he focused on the feelings.

Nathan wondered suddenly if Peter would look like this when he fucked him, and, even after that orgasm, the thought made him twitch. Oh, yeah. Someday. Someday soon, maybe.

Peter jerked against him then, coming, spattering hot wetness on Nathan's chest and fingers. He panted and slumped against Nathan, coming down slowly, resting, until he finally looked up, smiled slightly, and then climbed off of him, turning to sit on the seat beside him. Nathan watched as he pulled the dress out from under him and peered down at it with obvious dismay.

He let Peter agonize over having to put it back on for a moment or two, before giving in and saying, "I have a change of clothes in the trunk."

"Oh, thank god," Peter said, sincerely.

Nathan chuckled, feeling light and relaxed as he lifted his ass so he could pull his pants back on. Peter handed him the car's box of tissues and he cleaned himself up as much as possible, then leaned in to grab his T-shirt from the front seat and pull that on, too, before getting out of the car. It felt good to stand up, stretching his cramped muscles. He noted with amusement that the windows were fogged over.

When he got back, Peter had returned the seats to their usual positions and was sitting in the front, completely naked, holding one foot in his lap and rubbing at a nasty-looking red, raw spot on the back of his heel.

"These shoes are clearly a form of male oppression," he said as Nathan sat in the driver's seat and tossed the shirt and pants at him.

"Patent red oppression," Nathan said, agreeably. He turned on the car to find out what time it was.

Almost four. No chance of getting back to bed tonight.

"Breakfast?" he said. Then he could be home by the time he usually made it back from his morning run.

"We're kind of disgusting," Peter pointed out, muffled by the shirt he was pulling over his head.

Nathan shrugged. "We can hit one of those dives near your place. No one cares."

"Sure," Peter said.

Nathan shifted into gear and returned up the curving ramp. At the exit, the attendant made them pay the hourly rate. He also leaned over to catch a glimpse of Peter, and then looked kind of disappointed.

Best two hundred and twenty bucks I've ever spent, Nathan thought with a smile as he pulled out into the grey light of early dawn.

---
End