Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/107470.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Heroes_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Nathan_Petrelli/Peter_Petrelli
  Character:
      Nathan_Petrelli, Peter_Petrelli
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Community:_kink_bingo, Virginity, Pre-Canon
  Collections:
      Kink_Bingo_2010_(Round_Three)
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-07-19 Words: 2371
****** You Said Every Road is a Good Road ******
by cm_(mumblemutter)
Summary
     No-one has to know.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
This is Peter at seventeen, awkward and gangly and mostly just wide eyes that
are staring at Nathan as if he might just do anything Nathan asked him to.
Would do anything Nathan asked him to. Not yet grown into his face, but Ma
would say, even when Peter was younger, "He'll be so beautiful when he grows
up," and now Nathan can see it, the ghost of who his brother will be, what he
will look like, and it's not a place he wants to go, especially not when Peter
is on his knees in Nathan's bedroom, telling him things like I just want to,
Nathan. Just you. Offering himself, the only way Peter knows how, honestly and
openly and without reservation. Telling him he's adult enough to know what it's
like - I've been with boys before, Nathan. When pressed, he confesses: make-out
sessions and blowjobs. Nothing more than what they've done, really.
Peter smiles, and they're both maybe just a little bit drunk right now, or
they'd not be here, and when Nathan pulls Peter up he just sighs and throws
himself onto the bed, says, "You're such a prude, Nathan. I thought you'd
loosen up in the Navy, but I guess not."
"Yes," Nathan says stiffly, and slides his hands into his pants pockets. "You
asking me to fuck you while our parents hold a dinner function downstairs,
that's the level that the Navy taught me to 'loosen up' to. In between serving
my country, I guess I was supposed to lose all sense God gave a peanut as
well?"
"Well, put it that way," Peter says sourly, and takes a swig from his bottle.
Nathan sits down heavily next to him and tries to get the bottle back, but
Peter is fast and Nathan hasn't got enough conviction to put that much effort
into it, so he just lets Peter drink, and wonders how many families out there
have sons that are fucked up enough to be negotiating the popping of someone's
cherry like they were discussing the weather. Not many, he figures. And if they
were a normal family, he'd be walking out right now, instead of being here,
listening to Peter's soft, light breaths, and watching the way his mouth curls
around the bottle, and trying to keep himself from reaching out to smooth an
errant strand of hair from his forehead.
Because one thing always leads to another, and a voice in Nathan's mind is
already formulating a reason: If not you, it'll be someone else. Might as well
be you. Take one for the team, Nathan. For the good of the family. And that,
yeah, okay. Is fucked up. "I dream about you, Nathan," Peter says drowsily, and
this he's heard before as well. "I jerk off and I think about you fucking me,
and your cock, just. Jesus, I can't help it. I don't care if you think it's
fucked up. It doesn't have to be today, okay. If not here, then somewhere else.
Later, maybe."
But if it's later then he'll have to think about it, and that never goes well.
"We can't, Pete," he says, and he sounds broken and unsure to his own ears. And
Peter, he's surprisingly observing for someone purporting to be so drunk, he
sits up and loops his arms loosely around Nathan's shoulders, the neck of the
whiskey bottle cold and hard on the nape of his neck. "We can't."
"But I want you to. It'll be okay. Mom and Dad will only blame me anyway."
"Oh, Pete. Don't. Let's not get into this." Kissing Peter then, seems like an
easier solution than getting into another one of their long discussions where
Peter accuses their parents of not loving him as much as they did Nathan, and
Nathan denying it vehemently, but knowing it to be true. And maybe all this is
just Peter seeking attention, or Peter seeking revenge in some small way, but
then. He pulls back, and something snaps between them, something terrifying and
dangerous and real, and Nathan can't breathe, can't think beyond the here and
now, and Peter pliant and pleading in his arms, his hand sliding down to cup
Nathan's hard cock through his pants, and Nathan breathes, "Pete," and Peter
moans, and this would be so easy, here and now. The door is locked, and no-one
has to know.
"No-one has to know, Nathan. Please."
And that's when Nathan starts shaking for real. "Look, we can't okay. People
are waiting downstairs. There's no way we can just disappear for so long
without anyone looking for us."
"You make it sound so complicated. In and out, is what I was told."
Nathan starts laughing, until Peter kisses him, a tiny kiss on the corner of
his mouth, and he stops. "Look, how about later."
"When later?"
"I don't know." He closes his eyes, and once the plan comes into his mind it's
easy enough. "I'll make an excuse, send Heidi home and then come over to stay
for the night. How about that?"
"How do I know you're not lying to me, huh?"
"I'm not - I'm not going to discuss the terms on which I will or will not fuck
you tonight." He touches Peter's cheek with the back of his hand softly, to
soothe the sting just a little. "I promise," he says. "You know I never break
my promises."
"Yeah, Petrellis never do, right," Peter responds, and he sounds inexplicably
sad. Peter never thinks of himself as a true Petrelli, but Nathan knows that to
be patently untrue. Here he is, all of seventeen years old: getting exactly
what he wants. Nathan's made a promise now. He can't break it. Doesn't want to,
if he's honest with himself.
Downstairs, he kisses Ma on the cheek and she murmurs, "You shouldn't disappear
like that, Nathan. Your presence is expected."
"Sorry," Nathan says distractedly, watching Peter thread his way through the
guests and out the veranda door, grabbing a glass of champagne along the way.
He'll hide somewhere, Nathan knows, until everyone's gone, and no-one will
notice or care. It irritates him more than it should. Nathan stifles the urge
to follow Peter out, hunts Heidi down instead and dances with her, forgets
Peter entirely until he spots him, lounging against a door and glaring
resentfully at them both. Heidi he likes though, more than any other girl
Nathan's brought home yet, and perhaps that's why, in the end, she's the one
he's going to marry. The music stops, and he disentangles himself from Heidi,
whispers, "I'm going to see how Peter is." She nods her head briefly: it's
understood between them, Peter requires handling, and Nathan's the only one
that he allows to do it. Peter watches Nathan as he makes his way to him,
raises his glass in a mockery of a toast. It's full, and Nathan wonders how
many of these he's had, and why no-one is stopping him from taking them.
"You're making a fool of yourself," he says, when he's near enough. "How drunk
are you?"
"Not drunk enough," Peter replies, and passes the glass to him. "Will you come
back after you've sent Heidi home? You won't, will you. You're lying to me,
like everyone does. To placate me."
"You're drunk, and you should pipe down. Someone might hear you."
Peter shakes his head and leans in close, tsks him. "Come on, Nathan. Live a
little."
"I'm trying to live a lot. I am going to go and dance with my fiancée, and you
will behave yourself."
"Fine, be that way." Peter sighs heavily, as if Nathan's the one being
unreasonable here. He catches Nathan's hand though, as Nathan turns to leave.
"Come back."
The lies come far too easy. He goes home with Heidi then makes a big show about
receiving a call from Peter, some teenaged emergency or another. Heidi kisses
him on the cheek, says, "If it's too late for you to return, you should stay.
I'll see you tomorrow."
"Are you sure? I could -" And he's not the best liar in the world when it
counts, when he's got nothing but guilt bearing down on him, but she's already
turned away, and he almost says: No, I'll stay. Explain it to Peter somehow.
Tell him he has no right to ask. Tell him it's too messed up, too wrong. It's
over. Has to stop.
Except that he ends up outside Peter's door anyway. Uses a back entrance and
steals his way upstairs, careful for any noise. Wondering what he'd say if he
got caught. But Nathan still has a room here; his presence won't be questioned
too much. Peter's door's unlocked, and when Nathan steps in he's just coming
out of the shower, drying his hair on a towel. "Hi," Peter says, and he sounds
surprised, and pleased, and everything just. Stops.
And in the end, it happens, easy, like he thought it would be. More difficult
than anything he's ever done. Peter on his hands and knees, and Nathan kisses
every inch of his back, tries counting the moles on there, the tiny
imperfections in his otherwise perfect skin, and finally gives up, and Peter
says "Please," more than once, and at some point it becomes a command rather
than a plea. Lube is slapped into his palm, and where did Peter get lube from
anyway -
"Are you sure this is the first time you've done this?"
Peter laughs, loud and dorky, and then Nathan slides a lube-slicked finger into
him and he starts and stutters, jerks away with a gasp and a whispered apology,
"Sorry, I - Nathan, maybe." He sounds unsure now, maybe a little afraid.
"We can stop if you want to, Pete. Anytime, just say it." Meaningless words,
because most of him wants this. Wants to be Peter's first, as messed up as it
might be. Wants to be Peter's only, as messed up as it might be. Entirely way
too messed up for words, his mind supplies helpfully, but he's here and now and
it's possibly a little too late to turn back. History will probably not look
upon him kindly, not for this.
"Fuck stopping, Nathan. Jesus you're already halfway there, come on." Peter
turns around and kisses him, open mouthed and needy and sweet, and maybe
history can go fuck itself, just for tonight.
He pushes Peter down to the bed, says, "Breathe, just breathe." Feels Peter
clench, and then unclench around him, and it's easier than he thought it would
be, one second to the next and he's there, he's inside and Peter's grabbing
fruitlessly at his shoulders, twisting and whimpering in his arms, and there is
nothing that could possibly feel this good, not here, not ever, and: "Fuck,"
Nathan says, "fuck," and kisses him, too hard, but he doesn't care, not right
now. Not when Peter's keening, and his body is awkward in Nathan's arms, too
hot too young too uncertain, and maybe Peter wants love right now, maybe Peter
wants gentleness and soft endearments and light caresses, but Nathan's too far
gone for that, wants to fuck him until he breaks, hot and shivery around him.
"Do it," Peter says, and he sounds dazed, and he starts moaning again, so
Nathan covers his mouth with his hand, whispers for him to be quiet, someone
might hear, Ma might come in, or Pa, and wouldn't that be unfortunate, but all
that does is make Peter spasm up into him, try to ride his dick, and he would
let Peter, maybe, if this ever happens again. When this happens again, and when
he puts his hand on Peter's belly he can almost see the shape of himself inside
of him, marked indelibly for life, and what the fuck is he doing, this is his
little brother. What the fuck is he doing. "I love you, Nathan," Peter says,
when Nathan releases his palm, his eyes huge and dark and wet. "I trust you.
Anything you want."
Nathan melts into Peter, and he wants to say the words back to him, but love
means so many different things - he's always loved Peter, since the day he came
home from the hospital and Ma deposited the squalling baby into his arms, to
the sporadic times when he was back for the summers and Peter would come
barreling into the living room on chubby legs, deliriously happy to see him, to
right now, like this, splayed out and beautiful with Nathan inside of him,
waiting for Nathan to let go.
"Anything," Peter repeats.
"Okay," Nathan says, and then he doesn't care anymore. He wraps his hand around
Peter's cock and drops his head into the crook of his neck, his other hand in
Peter's hair as he thrusts, and they're possibly making a racket now, the
headboard is shaking and Peter's groans in his ear are so loud there's no way
anyone can't hear it, but Nathan doesn't care doesn't care just doesn't care,
and then he comes, suddenly and surprisingly, and Peter stills underneath him,
comes in hot wet spurts into Nathan's hand, and Nathan finally blurts out, "I
love you," and it means exactly what it does, and nothing more.
Afterwards, when he's sitting up against the headboard, Peter puts his head in
his lap and asks, "Did you mean what you said?"
"What?"
"You know what."
"Of course, Pete. You're my brother. I will always love you."
"Not what I asked, Nathan," Peter says, and he sounds disappointed, but Nathan
ignores him. It seems like they didn't make everyone come running after all,
no-one's knocking on the door, no-one's calling them to see what kind of
trouble they're getting themselves into now, locked up in Nathan's room like
this. It doesn't matter though. Outside, everything matters, but in here -
"Let's just not talk for a while, okay? Can we do that?"
Peter only shrugs, and he looks flustered, and then hurt, and then he says
stubbornly, "Whatever, Nathan. I know what you said."
The problem, of course, is that Nathan knows what he said as well, and the
truth of the matter is, it doesn't change anything. Anything at all.
End Notes
     For the virginity / celibacy square.
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