Disclaimer: Heroes is owned by NBC, Kring, and others who aren't I.
Author's note: Written for the mission_insane prompt, "Space." This is the fifth part of the Moving series. Also, many, many, so many thanks to thepansythug, bigfiction, and oh_mcgee.
Summary: Peter explores his apartment.
Fear Of the Future
One Step Closer
Static streamed down along Peter’s arm, making his hand tingle as he inserted his key into the lock of his apartment for the first time. He twisted his wrist to the right slowly, experiencing an irrational surge of nervous energy when he heard the mechanism click and release. He grasped the knob and pushed open the door, letting it swing open and tap softly against the wall as he looked inside. The room was dark, with a shaft of light sifting in through the window and stretching out across the uncluttered carpet, staining the off-white fibers a rusty orange.
Peter stepped over the threshold, then reached out to his left, groping along the cheap plaster for the light switch. The apartment was suddenly illuminated, bringing Peter’s attention to the empty space before him. He reached out behind him and pushed the door closed softly. His hand lingered on the knob for a moment, then he half-turned and flipped off the switch again; the darkness made the place seem even bigger, and he wanted to revel in the potential that surrounded him.
He looked about him, visualizing where he would set up all of his stuff, and began to move along the perimeter of the room, brushing his fingertips against the smooth wall. He inhaled deeply, smelling paint, and just a hint of the musty scent that came with water damage. Peter paused in his trek around the living room and pressed his fingertips into the plaster, digging his nails into the paint. Nathan had overruled the super’s mandatory new paint job and ordered a “better” one, along with new carpeting. Peter had tried to protest, but Nathan had explained that his place needed to look presentable, at least. He removed his hand from the wall, heaving a sigh. His big brother would always look out for him, whether he wanted him to or not.
Peter looked down at his hand, grimacing at the paint that had collected under his fingernails. He rubbed them against the pad of his thumb, feeling the chalky substance crumble into a coarse powder at the contact and drift lazily to the floor. He lifted his gaze back up to the wall and studied the four crescent-moon shaped indents. The fresh, expensive paint was marred by tiny off-white slits, positioned just a fraction of an inch above eye-level—Nathan’s height. They stared back at him in disapproval, melding together and turning into his brother’s eyes.
Peter lightly traced his fingers over the grooves in the plaster as he imagined soft, warm skin beneath them. He curled his fingers where Nathan’s tie would be and leaned into the wall, closing his eyes as he visualized the heat of his brother’s body. Tilting his head upward, Peter licked his lips before pressing them against the flat, smooth surface in front of him. He felt cool, expensive paint turn into Nathan’s mouth, and he moaned and deepened the kiss, bringing himself flush against the wall.
Peter’s cheeks flushed as he splayed his hand over Nathan’s chest, feeling hot flesh underneath smooth fabric. He closed the distance between them again and pressed a kiss against the sensitive scars on the older man’s chin, licking the raised skin. Instead of slightly bitter paint, he tasted the combination of soap, aftershave, and sweat that was his brother. His eyes fluttered shut as he thought of everything the older Petrelli meant to him, dipping his head as he felt a familiar blend of security and rebellion in response to Nathan’s controlling nature. He swallowed and moved his hand down to cup his brother through his pants, his touch becoming more certain as he pictured Nathan’s reaction to his more aggressive behavior.
A small shiver ran through him as he squeezed the other man’s growing erection. “What do you want, Nathan?” he whispered, breath hot against his ear. “Do you want to fuck me?” He drew his index finger along Nathan’s cock, looking down through half-closed lids as he tightened his grip on his tie, drawing their faces even closer together. “Or do you want me to suck you off?” He ran his tongue along his teeth, raising his gaze to meet Nathan’s dazed expression. He inched his hold on the tie upward until he could spread his hand over his brother’s throat, feeling the pulse beat furiously against his palm. “Do you want me to slide my hot, wet mouth over your hard dick, Nate?”
Peter’s took a moment to breathe, trying to get himself under control as he reveled in the sense of power he felt over Nathan, even if it was only a fantasy. He bit the inside of his cheek, then opened his eyes and lifted his hand from his brother’s neck to his jaw, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. “I think we’re gonna do what I want,” he said, his voice thick with lust, “and you’ll like it.” He rubbed himself against the wall, inhaling sharply at the friction the motion created. He repeated the movement, becoming increasingly uncomfortable in his jeans as he ground himself against Nathan’s groin. He was suddenly overwhelmed by images of fucking the older Petrelli, making him beg for release.
Groaning, Peter brought one of his hands down to his pants and quickly unbuttoned the fly, then yanked them down just far enough to clamp his hand around his dick. He choked on a breath and jerked forward, feeling his own pulse throbbing as he began to stroke himself roughly. He looked back up at his brother, and the sight of his dilated, glazed over eyes made the edges of his vision go white as his entire body thrummed with need. “That’s right,” he gasped, speeding up his rhythm as he bucked into his hand, his fingers slick with pre-come. “You want this; you need this, just as much as I do.” He closed his eyes again, seeing Nathan writhe beneath him as he fucked him senseless, and let out a sob of frustration as he longed for the fantasy to become real. “You want this,” he chanted under his breath, bringing himself to the edge as he heard his brother calling out his name. Nathan’s face, contorted with pleasure, was enough to bring Peter to orgasm, and he cried out incoherently, digging his nails into his brother’s shoulder as he slammed into his other hand.
He slumped forward, bracing himself against the solidity that was Nathan’s frame, feeling heat and musk slip away to become cold, impersonal wall again. “Oh, God,” Peter sighed, dropping down onto his knees on the floor. More than anything, he wanted this to happen, to be able to feel Nathan around him, letting him take over—take care of him. “Please,” he murmured softly, looking up and catching a glimpse of his brother’s eyes in the wall before fading away into the off-white crescents he’d left behind.
He rose to his feet and traced his fingers over the marks one more time, staining the paint with traces of come and spreading it down to the sticky mess that had already collected on the floor and the lower part of the wall. He grinned wryly as he guessed how the older Petrelli would react when he found that Peter had already ruined something in the apartment before he’d even officially moved in. He picked at one of the notches he’d made, increasing its size just the slightest bit, as if he was marking his territory. He backed away from the wall and pulled up his jeans, grimacing as the denim brushed against raw skin and drying semen, before making his way to the kitchen.
He stepped off of carpet and onto linoleum flooring, reaching out to his right to find a light switch. He walked over to the now-visible sink and turned on the tap, waiting for the water to heat up as he inched his jeans back down to his knees. When the water was warm enough, he leaned forward over the sink and rinsed himself off, watching his come run down the drain. Another thrill traveled through him as he recalled what it had felt like to be in control for once, and he bit his lip as he thought of ways he could act on the images playing in his head.
Deciding that he was clean as he could possibly get, Peter turned off the tap and straightened, flinching as he pulled his pants back up over wet thighs. He zipped and buttoned the fly, turning to leave the kitchen, when something caught his eye. He smoothed his hand along the counter top from the sink, coming to a stop as his fingers came into contact with a large wicker basket. His brow furrowed and he drew the basket closer to him, then trailed a finger up the deep green glass of a bottle of champagne, halting its course at the neck in order to remove it from the rest of the items in the gift basket.
He chuckled softly as he read the label: Dom Pérignon Rosé—his brother would never have just settled for a fifth of Jägermeister. He opened the bottle and took a careless swig of the expensive champagne, then picked up the card nestled near the front of the basket. The words were impersonal, and the gift itself was most likely delivered by Nathan’s secretary, but his brother had definitely intended for Peter to find it the following morning when they could celebrate together.
Flipping the card onto the counter, Peter took another nip and left the kitchen, ignoring the remaining items in the basket. He returned to the center of the living room for a minute, drinking more of Nathan’s housewarming gift as he thought about the older man’s reaction to his opening the bottle early. He loved his brother and appreciated his efforts to help him, but the whole point of getting away from his parents had been to establish Peter’s independence, and so far Nathan had found a way to dominate every aspect of his little brother’s new life. Peter experienced a familiar mix of annoyance and gratitude, knowing that he would have to argue about whether or not Nathan would furnish his apartment.
His eyes fell on the wall one last time, and Peter pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth before taking another gulp of champagne. He licked his lips and wiped them with the back of his hand, and a resolute smirk played at the corner of his mouth as he anticipated the disagreement he would have with his brother when Nathan insisted on covering up the flaws in the plaster; maybe if he kept the wall the way it was, some day he would be able to achieve what it represented—to be regarded as his brother’s equal.