[Heroes/The Godfather] Crimson sepia (Nathan/Peter, R)
Title: Crimson sepia
Fandom: Heroes/The Godfather
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating: R
Word count: 1381 (W)
Warning(s): Consensual incest and (gratuitous) violence.
Note(s): Set in the mafiaverse of Godblessed, but out of the canon. Approximately, ten years before.
Written for: Day 41 at theyreitalian
Thanks to: snopes_faith for beta-reading and being so awesome.
Crimson sepia
Of the awakening you remember only the pain at your shoulder, when they dragged you from your bed and you fell, the cold floor against your light pajamas and the noise of footsteps downstairs. Now you're lying on the marble floor and your back is freezing, with the bedsprings a couple of inches from your face and Nathan's hand pressed on your mouth, and you can only listen to your heart's noisy thump-thump-thump, and you wish you could silence it but you can't. You touch Nathan's hand, while trembling with the cold and the adrenaline.
"Don't say a word," Nathan whispers directly in your ear, withdrawing his palm from your mouth. The steps are louder and closer now - they're climbing the stairs. Somewhere near your head, you hear the click of a gun's hammer.
"Listen," Nathan mutters, quickly. "Don't come out of here for any reason. They don't want you and won't look for you. If they get me, stay here. Whatever you hear, you stay here. Got it? Don't come out until you're sure they're gone. Promise."
You swallow and shake your head. It's not possible that your single bed is covering you both. Nathan must be out for a half at least, by the side of the window. You try to shrink by your side, but Nathan stops you. "C'mon, Peter, promise," he hisses. "They're coming."
"What're you gonna do?" you just manage to whisper, then the steps are suddenly inside the bedroom. At the dim moonlight filtering through the window, you count three pairs of shoes. Nathan hears you inhaling brusquely and quickly puts his hand back on your mouth. His lips are on your temple, his breath against your forehead. You lean your hand on his and squeeze it planting your nails in his flesh, biting the inside of your cheek so hard that you feel the taste of blood flood your mouth.
You wonder if they took your father and your mother too, but this thought can't stick a nail in your chest and stop your blood in your veins as the thought that they could hurt Nathan does. You don't have the time to think about it. You hear him moving next to you and you instinctively stick your nails deeper in his flesh to stop him. The steps come closer, cautiously. In a moment they'll see Nathan's leg coming out from under the bed. You feel the cold metal of the gun brush your head.
God Christ please everything but not this please not Nathan.
When the first blast of the machine gun starts, you're not sure of anything anymore but Nathan's warmth, still palpitant and tight to your body. Then a second blast and a third one come, and eventually you're left in a smoky silence, broken only by the rolling of the used ammunition across the floor.
You open your eyes when you hear Pietro Ventimiglia's voice call Nathan, and Nathan murmurs that it's alright, stroking your cheek with a calloused hand. But you turn to the other side and you find the wide open eyes of a stranger staring at you, with the blood flowing from a hole under his cheekbone.
"You did good. You did good," Nathan whispers, even if you did nothing. "Come on. Let's get out of here."
In the confusion, nobody notices that you pissed your pants.
Pietro Ventimiglia accommodates you at his home for the night. Your parents are well, he says. The Godfather's been moved to another ward of the hospital, watched over 24/7 by your guys. Your mother stayed there with him.
Ventimiglia gives you his kids' room, that's big and has two large beds. You think you remember that the elder son is a little older than you - you used to play together when you were children - but the caporegime must have told his family to stay apart, for when you enter the house there's nobody in sight.
You quickly wash yourself and slip under the covers, but you can't stop trembling. At the other side of the room, you hear Nathan's breath become regular, get interrupted by a brusque turn that makes the bedsprings creak, then get regular again. You can only think about the dull noise of the bullets piercing flesh and the wide open eyes of that man. And Nathan's lips with his burning breath against your temple.
You slip out of your bed on your bare feet. "Sorry," you whisper on his cheek, feeling ashamed. Nathan shifts aside, saying nothing, and you enter in his bed without even wondering if the door's locked.
Nathan passes an arm around your shoulders and you close your eyes, waiting for your teeth to stop chattering, crossing a leg with Nathan's and gripping the fabric of his pajamas with your fingers. You cling to his hip with the same nails that skinned the back of his hand.
"You would've got killed," you say after a bit, when the cold seems gone, but it's enough to say it, to think it, and there, it's back again.
"It wasn't my time," Nathan replies, calmly.
"Fuck you, Nate. Fuck. You would've got killed like a dog."
"No, and stop that. I'm alive. It's alright. It won’t happen ever again. Now sleep."
"You would've got killed to protect me, for God's sake."
Nathan is silent for a moment. "What's so strange about that?"
"I..." You raise a hand clenching the fist and let it fall on Nathan's ribs, but weakly. Your throat is clenched so tight that you can't breathe. "Fuck you, Nate," you croak with your broken voice.
"You're welcome, Peter," Nathan mutters against your temple. And you wonder why Nathan lets slip one of his rare smiles when you can't see him.
Then, slowly, the cold goes away and the knot in your throat releases. You stop shaking. Nathan leans his fingers on your hip and you shiver, but in a different way.
"I would get killed for you too," you murmur, with your closed eyes. Nathan's lips, for some reason, don't move away from your temple.
"Just try it and I'll kill you," he grumbles. And in the meantime you feel his fingers stepping on your belly and down under the edge of your pants, and you shift upward with a movement that brings your lips at the same height as his and captures his hand in your pants. It's calloused and large and you breathe deeply while it squeezes you, making you feel like you're wavering.
"I'm sorry," you moan softly, searching for him in the darkness.
"For what?"
"I... don't know."
Nathan kisses the angle of your mouth and strokes your erection, sending a rush of blood to your cheeks. "It's alright," he whispers at your ear. "I'm here."
You smile and bite his lips and murmur something else you would never tell if you hadn't his hand inside your pants. You wish he could fuck you, but the house is so silent you're afraid even of breathing too hard, with your lungs made heavy by the arousal and the air that seems to be never enough. You wish you could leave a mark on his neck, a small and unmistakable one, but tomorrow it would be visible and Nathan wouldn't like it. You wish you were like him, as calm and rational with a gun as with a cock in his hand - but you aren't and you can only hope that at least for Nathan you're enough anyway.
You moan his name between your teeth, and even if you're not too noisy, Nathan presses his free hand on your mouth, digging his fingers in your cheeks. You let him, even if the one you bit still burns like hell.
But after, when you're coming, for some reason in your eyes you've got nothing but the rivulet of crimson blood from the hole in that man's face, flowing from his cheek to the floor, and it seems like you can feel it ooze still warm against your skin, just as like your semen down along your erection. You shiver and hug Nathan, but Nathan is lost in the moment, too far gone to notice.
You close your eyes and settle for his warmth, taking what comfort you can.
Fandom: Heroes/The Godfather
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating: R
Word count: 1381 (W)
Warning(s): Consensual incest and (gratuitous) violence.
Note(s): Set in the mafiaverse of Godblessed, but out of the canon. Approximately, ten years before.
Written for: Day 41 at theyreitalian
Thanks to: snopes_faith for beta-reading and being so awesome.
Crimson sepia
Of the awakening you remember only the pain at your shoulder, when they dragged you from your bed and you fell, the cold floor against your light pajamas and the noise of footsteps downstairs. Now you're lying on the marble floor and your back is freezing, with the bedsprings a couple of inches from your face and Nathan's hand pressed on your mouth, and you can only listen to your heart's noisy thump-thump-thump, and you wish you could silence it but you can't. You touch Nathan's hand, while trembling with the cold and the adrenaline.
"Don't say a word," Nathan whispers directly in your ear, withdrawing his palm from your mouth. The steps are louder and closer now - they're climbing the stairs. Somewhere near your head, you hear the click of a gun's hammer.
"Listen," Nathan mutters, quickly. "Don't come out of here for any reason. They don't want you and won't look for you. If they get me, stay here. Whatever you hear, you stay here. Got it? Don't come out until you're sure they're gone. Promise."
You swallow and shake your head. It's not possible that your single bed is covering you both. Nathan must be out for a half at least, by the side of the window. You try to shrink by your side, but Nathan stops you. "C'mon, Peter, promise," he hisses. "They're coming."
"What're you gonna do?" you just manage to whisper, then the steps are suddenly inside the bedroom. At the dim moonlight filtering through the window, you count three pairs of shoes. Nathan hears you inhaling brusquely and quickly puts his hand back on your mouth. His lips are on your temple, his breath against your forehead. You lean your hand on his and squeeze it planting your nails in his flesh, biting the inside of your cheek so hard that you feel the taste of blood flood your mouth.
You wonder if they took your father and your mother too, but this thought can't stick a nail in your chest and stop your blood in your veins as the thought that they could hurt Nathan does. You don't have the time to think about it. You hear him moving next to you and you instinctively stick your nails deeper in his flesh to stop him. The steps come closer, cautiously. In a moment they'll see Nathan's leg coming out from under the bed. You feel the cold metal of the gun brush your head.
God Christ please everything but not this please not Nathan.
When the first blast of the machine gun starts, you're not sure of anything anymore but Nathan's warmth, still palpitant and tight to your body. Then a second blast and a third one come, and eventually you're left in a smoky silence, broken only by the rolling of the used ammunition across the floor.
You open your eyes when you hear Pietro Ventimiglia's voice call Nathan, and Nathan murmurs that it's alright, stroking your cheek with a calloused hand. But you turn to the other side and you find the wide open eyes of a stranger staring at you, with the blood flowing from a hole under his cheekbone.
"You did good. You did good," Nathan whispers, even if you did nothing. "Come on. Let's get out of here."
In the confusion, nobody notices that you pissed your pants.
Pietro Ventimiglia accommodates you at his home for the night. Your parents are well, he says. The Godfather's been moved to another ward of the hospital, watched over 24/7 by your guys. Your mother stayed there with him.
Ventimiglia gives you his kids' room, that's big and has two large beds. You think you remember that the elder son is a little older than you - you used to play together when you were children - but the caporegime must have told his family to stay apart, for when you enter the house there's nobody in sight.
You quickly wash yourself and slip under the covers, but you can't stop trembling. At the other side of the room, you hear Nathan's breath become regular, get interrupted by a brusque turn that makes the bedsprings creak, then get regular again. You can only think about the dull noise of the bullets piercing flesh and the wide open eyes of that man. And Nathan's lips with his burning breath against your temple.
You slip out of your bed on your bare feet. "Sorry," you whisper on his cheek, feeling ashamed. Nathan shifts aside, saying nothing, and you enter in his bed without even wondering if the door's locked.
Nathan passes an arm around your shoulders and you close your eyes, waiting for your teeth to stop chattering, crossing a leg with Nathan's and gripping the fabric of his pajamas with your fingers. You cling to his hip with the same nails that skinned the back of his hand.
"You would've got killed," you say after a bit, when the cold seems gone, but it's enough to say it, to think it, and there, it's back again.
"It wasn't my time," Nathan replies, calmly.
"Fuck you, Nate. Fuck. You would've got killed like a dog."
"No, and stop that. I'm alive. It's alright. It won’t happen ever again. Now sleep."
"You would've got killed to protect me, for God's sake."
Nathan is silent for a moment. "What's so strange about that?"
"I..." You raise a hand clenching the fist and let it fall on Nathan's ribs, but weakly. Your throat is clenched so tight that you can't breathe. "Fuck you, Nate," you croak with your broken voice.
"You're welcome, Peter," Nathan mutters against your temple. And you wonder why Nathan lets slip one of his rare smiles when you can't see him.
Then, slowly, the cold goes away and the knot in your throat releases. You stop shaking. Nathan leans his fingers on your hip and you shiver, but in a different way.
"I would get killed for you too," you murmur, with your closed eyes. Nathan's lips, for some reason, don't move away from your temple.
"Just try it and I'll kill you," he grumbles. And in the meantime you feel his fingers stepping on your belly and down under the edge of your pants, and you shift upward with a movement that brings your lips at the same height as his and captures his hand in your pants. It's calloused and large and you breathe deeply while it squeezes you, making you feel like you're wavering.
"I'm sorry," you moan softly, searching for him in the darkness.
"For what?"
"I... don't know."
Nathan kisses the angle of your mouth and strokes your erection, sending a rush of blood to your cheeks. "It's alright," he whispers at your ear. "I'm here."
You smile and bite his lips and murmur something else you would never tell if you hadn't his hand inside your pants. You wish he could fuck you, but the house is so silent you're afraid even of breathing too hard, with your lungs made heavy by the arousal and the air that seems to be never enough. You wish you could leave a mark on his neck, a small and unmistakable one, but tomorrow it would be visible and Nathan wouldn't like it. You wish you were like him, as calm and rational with a gun as with a cock in his hand - but you aren't and you can only hope that at least for Nathan you're enough anyway.
You moan his name between your teeth, and even if you're not too noisy, Nathan presses his free hand on your mouth, digging his fingers in your cheeks. You let him, even if the one you bit still burns like hell.
But after, when you're coming, for some reason in your eyes you've got nothing but the rivulet of crimson blood from the hole in that man's face, flowing from his cheek to the floor, and it seems like you can feel it ooze still warm against your skin, just as like your semen down along your erection. You shiver and hug Nathan, but Nathan is lost in the moment, too far gone to notice.
You close your eyes and settle for his warmth, taking what comfort you can.