Holding, 1/1
Peter had begged and begged Nathan to play football with him. Each time, he had had a different excuse: too busy, too tired, not dressed right, etc. But this time, he’d said yes, without Peter having to sell his firstborn or anything like that.
Nathan had said yes, and sixteen-year-old Peter was ecstatic.
The Thanksgiving Day air was crisp and clean as the sounds of the remaining parade crowd drifted across the massive lawn of the Petrelli mansion. Peter zipped up his sweatshirt and tossed the ball to Nathan, who caught it deftly against his chest.
“How’s Heidi?”
Nathan shrugged. “Tired. Simon’s keeping her up at night.”
He tossed the ball back. The pigskin made a small slapping noise against Peter’s bare hands.
“Mom seemed disappointed when you said she wasn’t coming.”
Nathan looked skeptical. “I’m sure.”
The ball sliced through the air. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing, Pete.”
Peter sighed, brushing his ever-growing hair out of his eyes. “Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“You never explain anything to me, like I’m a child that won’t understand.”
Nathan sighed. “You are a child - “
“I’m sixteen,” Peter insisted angrily.
For a moment, Nathan seemed almost remorseful. “That’s the problem.”
Peter shook his head in confusion. “What?”
But the moment of Nathan’s dejection was over. He smiled, flashing his perfect white teeth. He threw the ball back hard and fast. “Get ready.”
Peter blinked. “Why?”
But suddenly, he knew why, because Nathan was running at him full-force, and before Peter could make a break for it, Nathan’s arms were wrapped around his waist, hands trying to pry the ball from him. But he had taught Peter the art of wrestling perhaps too well. He held onto the ball with all his might, as Nathan pushed and pulled him across the yard, their sneakers ruining their father’s perfectly manicured lawn.
They grappled for control, their strength nearly even. Peter was suddenly glad he had begun weight-lifting. But each time he almost freed himself of Nathan’s grip, his brother only tightened his hold on him.
“Give it to me! Give. It. To. Me.”
Peter tried to wriggle out of his hold. “You want it?”
Nathan’s voice was deep and rough, and suddenly, Peter felt something long and hard brush against his thigh. “Yes.”
Like a domino effect, he felt his own erection strain against the rough material of his jeans. He gasped. “Fine.”
He dropped the ball on the ground, and expecting Nathan to let go of him, he stopped struggling against his hold. But instead, Nathan knocked him to the ground with the force of an entire team and straddled him. The friction of Nathan’s body against his own sent a wave of pleasure through his body, but the fact that it was Nathan and Nathan was on top of him, rubbing against him and oh, god he had only ever dreamed about this could it be real sent him over the edge, bucking eagerly against Nathan, who, with a little grunt, came soon after.
And suddenly, Nathan had dismounted him and was practically running back toward the house without a word, leaving Peter on the ground confused, cold and sticky.
Nathan had said yes, and sixteen-year-old Peter was ecstatic.
The Thanksgiving Day air was crisp and clean as the sounds of the remaining parade crowd drifted across the massive lawn of the Petrelli mansion. Peter zipped up his sweatshirt and tossed the ball to Nathan, who caught it deftly against his chest.
“How’s Heidi?”
Nathan shrugged. “Tired. Simon’s keeping her up at night.”
He tossed the ball back. The pigskin made a small slapping noise against Peter’s bare hands.
“Mom seemed disappointed when you said she wasn’t coming.”
Nathan looked skeptical. “I’m sure.”
The ball sliced through the air. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing, Pete.”
Peter sighed, brushing his ever-growing hair out of his eyes. “Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“You never explain anything to me, like I’m a child that won’t understand.”
Nathan sighed. “You are a child - “
“I’m sixteen,” Peter insisted angrily.
For a moment, Nathan seemed almost remorseful. “That’s the problem.”
Peter shook his head in confusion. “What?”
But the moment of Nathan’s dejection was over. He smiled, flashing his perfect white teeth. He threw the ball back hard and fast. “Get ready.”
Peter blinked. “Why?”
But suddenly, he knew why, because Nathan was running at him full-force, and before Peter could make a break for it, Nathan’s arms were wrapped around his waist, hands trying to pry the ball from him. But he had taught Peter the art of wrestling perhaps too well. He held onto the ball with all his might, as Nathan pushed and pulled him across the yard, their sneakers ruining their father’s perfectly manicured lawn.
They grappled for control, their strength nearly even. Peter was suddenly glad he had begun weight-lifting. But each time he almost freed himself of Nathan’s grip, his brother only tightened his hold on him.
“Give it to me! Give. It. To. Me.”
Peter tried to wriggle out of his hold. “You want it?”
Nathan’s voice was deep and rough, and suddenly, Peter felt something long and hard brush against his thigh. “Yes.”
Like a domino effect, he felt his own erection strain against the rough material of his jeans. He gasped. “Fine.”
He dropped the ball on the ground, and expecting Nathan to let go of him, he stopped struggling against his hold. But instead, Nathan knocked him to the ground with the force of an entire team and straddled him. The friction of Nathan’s body against his own sent a wave of pleasure through his body, but the fact that it was Nathan and Nathan was on top of him, rubbing against him and oh, god he had only ever dreamed about this could it be real sent him over the edge, bucking eagerly against Nathan, who, with a little grunt, came soon after.
And suddenly, Nathan had dismounted him and was practically running back toward the house without a word, leaving Peter on the ground confused, cold and sticky.