Fic: Ruined
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,550
Disclaimer: Heroes characters belong to Tim Kring.
A/N: For the Plaude Bingo prompt "bedtime rituals." More like something taking place at a time that involves a bed that may have happened once or twice before, but whatever.
Summary: Peter's bought new sheets. Something must be done with the old ones. Partially inspired by #14 in the second column of this list.
Peter pulls back the comforter on the bed. He pauses, gazing contemplatively at the sheets. Off-white from being stuffed into the wash with clothes, a few small holes here and there, a long stretch of seam that came loose who knows when, a large pale brown stain. Peter blinks a few times, then turns on his heel and leans out into the living room. “Hey, Claude?”
“Mm,” the man replies, brow impressively furrowed over some report or another. Peter can most definitely sympathize, making his need to rescue Claude all the more urgent.
“I finally remembered to get the new sheets.”
“Oh, yeah? Congratulations.”
Peter rolls his eyes with a small smile, It’s a good thing you’re cute. “Yeah, I was gonna put them on, and I kind of noticed... the old sheets are pretty old.”
“Mmhm?”
“Kind of frayed a bit. And there’s that huge tea stain-”
Claude’s eyes snap up at that, “Haven’t done it again, have I?”
Peter holds up his hands, “No, you haven’t. Settle down.”
Claude glares at him, but unruffles his feathers.
“Anyway, I figured, I’ll probably just throw them out. So...” he pauses, with a shrug of pure nonchalance, “Maybe you want to come in here and help me ruin them completely?”
He doesn’t bother holding back a grin as he watches Claude process the invitation. Watches him stare straight ahead, and then down at his paperwork, and then at the pen in his hand, which he puts on the table as carefully as a bomb. Peter’s heart gets in a few quick pounds as Claude stands and crosses the room, then his arms are banded around Peter’s waist and his mouth is sealed over his and they’re stumbling backwards into the bedroom with all the grace of a two-legged creature suddenly become a four-legged one.
They fall back on the bed and Peter huffs out a laugh as half his air is knocked out.
“What is this?” Claude growls in his ear, “I’m not a teenager, I’m a middle-aged man. What’m I doin’ in bed with you at two in the afternoon?”
“I can think of a few things,” Peter growls right back, “That is, if you’re up for ‘em.” He sucks Claude’s earlobe into his mouth and applies the slightest edge of teeth, to which Claude responds with that delightful gasp and a shallow buck against Peter’s hip. Peter shifts slightly and hitches his leg up to align himself with Claude, drawing groans from them both at the friction.
“Something... something sheet-ruining, perhaps?”
Peter can’t reply for a moment, mouth busy as it is with ever deepening kisses. “Uh huh...”
“Well all right then.” Claude’s fingers slide under Peter’s shirt, encouraging him to sit up and help pull it off. That reminds Peter to take care of the buttons on Claude’s shirt, get them out of the way so he can run his hands over the man’s broad shoulders and his tongue along his elegant collarbones, already tasting salt. Hands and tongue find time to caress the scars that mean Claude’s here, with him, alive.
Peter finds himself licking air as Claude moves away, down, and then that’s fine, because he’s got his own mouth on Peter’s nipples and then further down, over his stomach, and then even further. Peter lies back and shuts his eyes, happy just to feel those clever hands undo his fly and pull his cock out. He focuses on his breathing as Claude sucks him in, swallows him deep. He goes agonizingly slow, drawing back at a snail’s pace and keeping the suction up all the while until Peter’s writhing and swearing from it. Peter looks down long enough to see the smirk in Claude’s eyes before he sinks again, causing Peter’s back to arch as he practically screams. If he wasn’t quite hard at the start, he’s aching now, panting and threading nerveless fingers in Claude’s hair.
The man pulls back and sinks a few more times, each round pushing Peter closer to the edge. “I’m... oh god, please... Claude, I’m-”
He catches Claude’s eyes again, and the smile there says it’s okay. He lets his head fall onto the pillow with a happy moan and waits for the finishing touch... that doesn’t come, as his cock slips from the wet heat of Claude’s mouth and the man levers himself back on top of Peter.
“Hey...” he whines, but Claude just raises an eyebrow.
“Thought you were getting off that easy?”
Peter groans, this time not in pleasure. “How could you?” he demands as he wriggles out of his clothes, “And a pun too? You’re pure evil.”
He feels the rumble of Claude’s laughter in his own chest, “Now how would all your come going down my throat be conducive to our overall goal?”
“Oh no, I’m too late. The reports have eaten your brain. You’re nothing more than a Company drone now-”
Fire flashes in Claude’s eyes, and Peter finds himself instantly on his stomach, Claude pressed heavily against his back from chin to ankle. “Drone? Drone? I’ll show you a bloody drone, mate.”
“Promises, promises...” He’s still so rock hard, and leaking. He ruts against the sheet mindlessly, and earns a slap on his ass.
“Wait.” Claude leans over Peter, all but crushing him into the mattress. Peter stoically endures this as he listens to the man rummage through a familiar drawer. He moves back to where he was and Peter listens to some more familiar sounds, including Claude yanking off the rest of his clothes. Then he shudders at a cool, slick finger running along the cleft of his ass. “Good?”
“Great.”
Claude’s arm slides under Peter’s neck and goes across his chest, pulling him close. Two fingers push in deep and he grunts, hurries to relax.
“Sorry,” Claude murmurs against his skin.
“It’s fine,” Peter replies. And it is. He wants the intrusion, before he’s quite ready. He smiles to himself, If that’s not a metaphor I don’t know what is. He closes his eyes, focusing on the feeling of penetration, breathing in time with the thrust of Claude’s fingers, rocking back on them. A thigh presses between Peter’s, opening him wider. A faster pace means faster breathing, faster rocking. A tantalizing brush against his prostate and he gasps, breath hot and wet on the sheet. He feels sweat collect at his temples and between his shoulder blades. “Ah, Claude, please...”
“Yeah, yes...” The fingers slip out, and Claude rolls further on top of Peter, pinning him to the mattress. Propping himself up on an elbow keeps his weight a pleasant burden. He pushes in slowly- too slowly for Peter, who reaches back and grabs a handful of Claude’s ass, pulling him deeper and drawing a rough shout from them both.
“Come on, Claude. Fuck me...”
Claude finally seems to catch Peter’s drift, his forehead falling to rest on his hair as he picks up a rhythm of thrusts while laying kisses along Peter’s back and shoulders. Peter sighs happily, spreading his legs wider and moving his hand to Claude’s hair. His eyes crack open to look at the worn sheet they are ruining. His cheek rests on Claude’s tea stain. The sheet’s seen plenty of this kind of thing, and so will the new one, Peter knows it.
For now, he closes his eyes again and lets out a whine, “That’s so good, Claude. Ahh, faster.”
Claude hums and picks up the pace, “You’re perfect, Peter. Fucking perfect...”
Soon they’re beyond words- just gasping, ragged breaths and increasingly hard and frenetic thrusts. Sweat drips from their bodies onto the sheet. Saliva escapes Peter’s mouth and soaks into the sheet. His cock keeps leaking, trapped between his body and the sheet. The pressure is building, and every inch of Peter’s skin is sensitized, getting pleasure even from the old cotton. He writhes on it whenever he’s not responding to Claude’s movements. Soon, always too soon, his hand is clutching hard in Claude’s hair, spine arching into him, mouth gaping in a silent shout, come gushing out all over the sheet beneath him.
He barely notices when Claude pulls out and rolls off. “What... wait, didn’t you-? You didn’t...”
“Fair’s fair.”
Peter manages to roll to his side. Claude’s on his back, taking off a condom. He shoots Peter a slightly wild-eyed glance, “D’you- d’you think you could help me out here, Pete? Sometime before I explode would be favorite.”
“Oh- uh, yeah.” Peter moves closer, spooning up beside Claude and reaching to wrap a hand around his straining cock.
“Ahh, yes, that’s it,” Claude hisses. His eyes are shut now, mouth open, chest heaving. Peter, with his cheek pressed to a thick scar high on Claude’s shoulder and lips against his pounding pulse, begins stroking at a fast pace. It only takes a minute or two for Claude to come, adding his own pool to Peter’s on the sheet.
They lie in spent silence for a while. Eventually Peter grimaces, “This bed is all wet spot.”
Claude chuckles, “Didn’t really think this through, did you, mate?”
“You loved it,” Peter retorts. He tries to smack Claude’s arm, but he’s so drained it’s much closer to a caress.
Claude hums, “As far as traditions go, ‘s a pretty good one.”
“Damn right.”
Word Count: 1,550
Disclaimer: Heroes characters belong to Tim Kring.
A/N: For the Plaude Bingo prompt "bedtime rituals." More like something taking place at a time that involves a bed that may have happened once or twice before, but whatever.
Summary: Peter's bought new sheets. Something must be done with the old ones. Partially inspired by #14 in the second column of this list.
Peter pulls back the comforter on the bed. He pauses, gazing contemplatively at the sheets. Off-white from being stuffed into the wash with clothes, a few small holes here and there, a long stretch of seam that came loose who knows when, a large pale brown stain. Peter blinks a few times, then turns on his heel and leans out into the living room. “Hey, Claude?”
“Mm,” the man replies, brow impressively furrowed over some report or another. Peter can most definitely sympathize, making his need to rescue Claude all the more urgent.
“I finally remembered to get the new sheets.”
“Oh, yeah? Congratulations.”
Peter rolls his eyes with a small smile, It’s a good thing you’re cute. “Yeah, I was gonna put them on, and I kind of noticed... the old sheets are pretty old.”
“Mmhm?”
“Kind of frayed a bit. And there’s that huge tea stain-”
Claude’s eyes snap up at that, “Haven’t done it again, have I?”
Peter holds up his hands, “No, you haven’t. Settle down.”
Claude glares at him, but unruffles his feathers.
“Anyway, I figured, I’ll probably just throw them out. So...” he pauses, with a shrug of pure nonchalance, “Maybe you want to come in here and help me ruin them completely?”
He doesn’t bother holding back a grin as he watches Claude process the invitation. Watches him stare straight ahead, and then down at his paperwork, and then at the pen in his hand, which he puts on the table as carefully as a bomb. Peter’s heart gets in a few quick pounds as Claude stands and crosses the room, then his arms are banded around Peter’s waist and his mouth is sealed over his and they’re stumbling backwards into the bedroom with all the grace of a two-legged creature suddenly become a four-legged one.
They fall back on the bed and Peter huffs out a laugh as half his air is knocked out.
“What is this?” Claude growls in his ear, “I’m not a teenager, I’m a middle-aged man. What’m I doin’ in bed with you at two in the afternoon?”
“I can think of a few things,” Peter growls right back, “That is, if you’re up for ‘em.” He sucks Claude’s earlobe into his mouth and applies the slightest edge of teeth, to which Claude responds with that delightful gasp and a shallow buck against Peter’s hip. Peter shifts slightly and hitches his leg up to align himself with Claude, drawing groans from them both at the friction.
“Something... something sheet-ruining, perhaps?”
Peter can’t reply for a moment, mouth busy as it is with ever deepening kisses. “Uh huh...”
“Well all right then.” Claude’s fingers slide under Peter’s shirt, encouraging him to sit up and help pull it off. That reminds Peter to take care of the buttons on Claude’s shirt, get them out of the way so he can run his hands over the man’s broad shoulders and his tongue along his elegant collarbones, already tasting salt. Hands and tongue find time to caress the scars that mean Claude’s here, with him, alive.
Peter finds himself licking air as Claude moves away, down, and then that’s fine, because he’s got his own mouth on Peter’s nipples and then further down, over his stomach, and then even further. Peter lies back and shuts his eyes, happy just to feel those clever hands undo his fly and pull his cock out. He focuses on his breathing as Claude sucks him in, swallows him deep. He goes agonizingly slow, drawing back at a snail’s pace and keeping the suction up all the while until Peter’s writhing and swearing from it. Peter looks down long enough to see the smirk in Claude’s eyes before he sinks again, causing Peter’s back to arch as he practically screams. If he wasn’t quite hard at the start, he’s aching now, panting and threading nerveless fingers in Claude’s hair.
The man pulls back and sinks a few more times, each round pushing Peter closer to the edge. “I’m... oh god, please... Claude, I’m-”
He catches Claude’s eyes again, and the smile there says it’s okay. He lets his head fall onto the pillow with a happy moan and waits for the finishing touch... that doesn’t come, as his cock slips from the wet heat of Claude’s mouth and the man levers himself back on top of Peter.
“Hey...” he whines, but Claude just raises an eyebrow.
“Thought you were getting off that easy?”
Peter groans, this time not in pleasure. “How could you?” he demands as he wriggles out of his clothes, “And a pun too? You’re pure evil.”
He feels the rumble of Claude’s laughter in his own chest, “Now how would all your come going down my throat be conducive to our overall goal?”
“Oh no, I’m too late. The reports have eaten your brain. You’re nothing more than a Company drone now-”
Fire flashes in Claude’s eyes, and Peter finds himself instantly on his stomach, Claude pressed heavily against his back from chin to ankle. “Drone? Drone? I’ll show you a bloody drone, mate.”
“Promises, promises...” He’s still so rock hard, and leaking. He ruts against the sheet mindlessly, and earns a slap on his ass.
“Wait.” Claude leans over Peter, all but crushing him into the mattress. Peter stoically endures this as he listens to the man rummage through a familiar drawer. He moves back to where he was and Peter listens to some more familiar sounds, including Claude yanking off the rest of his clothes. Then he shudders at a cool, slick finger running along the cleft of his ass. “Good?”
“Great.”
Claude’s arm slides under Peter’s neck and goes across his chest, pulling him close. Two fingers push in deep and he grunts, hurries to relax.
“Sorry,” Claude murmurs against his skin.
“It’s fine,” Peter replies. And it is. He wants the intrusion, before he’s quite ready. He smiles to himself, If that’s not a metaphor I don’t know what is. He closes his eyes, focusing on the feeling of penetration, breathing in time with the thrust of Claude’s fingers, rocking back on them. A thigh presses between Peter’s, opening him wider. A faster pace means faster breathing, faster rocking. A tantalizing brush against his prostate and he gasps, breath hot and wet on the sheet. He feels sweat collect at his temples and between his shoulder blades. “Ah, Claude, please...”
“Yeah, yes...” The fingers slip out, and Claude rolls further on top of Peter, pinning him to the mattress. Propping himself up on an elbow keeps his weight a pleasant burden. He pushes in slowly- too slowly for Peter, who reaches back and grabs a handful of Claude’s ass, pulling him deeper and drawing a rough shout from them both.
“Come on, Claude. Fuck me...”
Claude finally seems to catch Peter’s drift, his forehead falling to rest on his hair as he picks up a rhythm of thrusts while laying kisses along Peter’s back and shoulders. Peter sighs happily, spreading his legs wider and moving his hand to Claude’s hair. His eyes crack open to look at the worn sheet they are ruining. His cheek rests on Claude’s tea stain. The sheet’s seen plenty of this kind of thing, and so will the new one, Peter knows it.
For now, he closes his eyes again and lets out a whine, “That’s so good, Claude. Ahh, faster.”
Claude hums and picks up the pace, “You’re perfect, Peter. Fucking perfect...”
Soon they’re beyond words- just gasping, ragged breaths and increasingly hard and frenetic thrusts. Sweat drips from their bodies onto the sheet. Saliva escapes Peter’s mouth and soaks into the sheet. His cock keeps leaking, trapped between his body and the sheet. The pressure is building, and every inch of Peter’s skin is sensitized, getting pleasure even from the old cotton. He writhes on it whenever he’s not responding to Claude’s movements. Soon, always too soon, his hand is clutching hard in Claude’s hair, spine arching into him, mouth gaping in a silent shout, come gushing out all over the sheet beneath him.
He barely notices when Claude pulls out and rolls off. “What... wait, didn’t you-? You didn’t...”
“Fair’s fair.”
Peter manages to roll to his side. Claude’s on his back, taking off a condom. He shoots Peter a slightly wild-eyed glance, “D’you- d’you think you could help me out here, Pete? Sometime before I explode would be favorite.”
“Oh- uh, yeah.” Peter moves closer, spooning up beside Claude and reaching to wrap a hand around his straining cock.
“Ahh, yes, that’s it,” Claude hisses. His eyes are shut now, mouth open, chest heaving. Peter, with his cheek pressed to a thick scar high on Claude’s shoulder and lips against his pounding pulse, begins stroking at a fast pace. It only takes a minute or two for Claude to come, adding his own pool to Peter’s on the sheet.
They lie in spent silence for a while. Eventually Peter grimaces, “This bed is all wet spot.”
Claude chuckles, “Didn’t really think this through, did you, mate?”
“You loved it,” Peter retorts. He tries to smack Claude’s arm, but he’s so drained it’s much closer to a caress.
Claude hums, “As far as traditions go, ‘s a pretty good one.”
“Damn right.”