Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Incest, violent fantasy, possible triggers. Read at your own risk.
Notes: Written for MMOM Day 8. Prompt from crashgirl82, who provided this lovely piece of fanart made by ilikethequiet:
Unbeta'd. Comments and concrit welcome.
Summary: The political calculations of Nathan Petrelli.
The way Peter’s neck looked when he tilted his head forward, practically daring Nathan to either punch him or kiss him in front of a room full of campaign consultants and volunteers, knowing damn well that Nathan could do nothing to his brother except shout loud enough to attract a few stares and then retreat back to his office, slamming the door behind him.
Nathan was still trembling slightly from the fight, the same adrenaline surge he’d felt in combat, and what was his relationship with Peter if not a war that was eventually going to destroy both of them?
Fuck you, Peter, he thought, drinking from a half-empty bottle of mineral water and wishing it were something stronger. He rubbed a hand against his chin, feeling the slight dampness of sweat and the scratch of his five o'clock shadow. He’d have to shave again before he went to that night’s fund-raiser. Take a shower, put on a tuxedo, shake hands, tell lies for money and smile. So many things he had to do, but only one thing he wanted to do.
He touched his own neck for a second in the same spot…the one that he’d always make sure to touch when they were together. There was nothing like putting his hand there, and feeling Peter’s instinctive recoil, before allowing himself to relax in Nathan’s caress. Always that moment. Every time. The sense that no, they shouldn’t and the inevitable surrender to what they couldn’t control.
Nathan had slammed the door, but he knew it wasn’t locked. Someone could walk in and find him….he already had his pants unzipped, although he didn’t quite remember opening them. Peter was stealthy that way. He could have a hand wrapper around Nathan’s cock while Nathan was still contemplating the meaning of a single gasp, waiting to see whether Peter had tilted back his neck to the exact angle of submission yet, and the signal for Peter to kiss him there.
Going commando made things easier, although somewhat harder, at least when it come to having yet another shouting match with Peter in full view of his staff. There was a small bathroom, but he preferred the risk. Let some party hack walk in and find him beating his meat. See if he fucking cared. As long as they didn’t know who or what he was thinking about, now that his cock was out and hard and in his hand, even though it was Peter’s hand in his mind.
Peter’s smooth skin against his prick, some cool lotion smoothing the way and Peter’s neck a feast before him, but also a temptation that could be pushed too far. He wanted desperately to mark Peter as his. Make him show the world what only Nathan Petrelli could do to his brother, but he never did.
He held back, the same way he learned to jerk-off in a house where the walls had ears and the ceiling had eyes and Mother could learn your secrets with a single glance at misplaced sock. Security patrolled the outside of the mansion, but the bad things were happening inside and no one must ever know what happened when Nathan visited Peter’s bedroom.
Peter wasn’t as good at keeping quiet. The sounds….he thought of those desperate whimpers as he started stroking faster. Sometimes he had make sure nobody heard and there were times when even a hand over the mouth wasn’t quite enough. He could silence Peter with kisses, or he could think about choking the life out of him. Killing the only thing he’d ever loved, the only thing that could threaten him. It would be so easy and Peter would die groaning his name.
Nathan nearly choked on his own need for release as he let out a single, growled obscenity, deep in his throat and as the come started spilling into his hand and Peter’s head rolled backwards onto the pillow, his eyes cloudy and for second couldn’t tell if he’d actually killed his brother or just fucked him silly.
“Nathan? Are you in there?”
The sound was coming from far away, as in just outside the door, the one that wasn’t locked. Must be the Brooklyn Borough President, who fancied himself to be a political king-maker and was more of a chronic back-stabber, but one that Nathan needed to at least appear to be pay homage to if he was going to win this damn election.
“With you in a second, Marty.”
Tissues, zippers, a quick comb and his best political smile and he was ready for action, and he could only hope Peter wasn’t out there doing something too stupid or dangerous, although at the moment he was hardly one to talk.
He could never stand to lose Peter; certainly not Peter’s neck.