Fanfic Masterlist: Heroes (WIP)
Title: Complications
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Peter/Claude
Summary: Claude can sense another question-and-answer session coming up. He wishes he had a beer handy, even some of the cheap shit that Peter drinks. Alcohol tends to make dealing with Peter a hell of a lot easier.
It’s been a long day and a late night and Claude’s crashing the couch in Peter’s tiny flat, partly from sheer exhaustion, partly from the fact that Peter’s stupid brother still hasn’t given up the search, Peter hasn’t yet learned to pick and choose the powers he uses, and invisibility’s a handy way to hide from nosy siblings.
The couch is much too small, and uncomfortable, but Claude is so used to solitude he doesn’t think he’d sleep much anyway, not when he can hear Peter tossing and turning restlessly in the next room.
Apparently Claude isn’t the only one who can’t sleep, because he hears Peter stand, hears footsteps drawing closer, and sits up as Peter walks into the room. The younger man stands in the doorway dressed in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a rumpled white t-shirt. His hair is tousled and he has a strange look in his green eyes.
“Did I wake you?” He asks quietly.
Claude shakes his head. “Nah. Can’t sleep anyway.”
Peter doesn’t answer, but pads silently into the living room and sits next to Claude, that look still on his face.
The silence stretches, but Claude isn’t about to break it. He’s used to silence. Finally, Peter shifts uncomfortably and takes a breath.
“Claude?”
“Yeah?” Claude can sense another question-and-answer session coming up. He wishes he had a beer handy, even some of the cheap shit that Peter drinks. Alcohol tends to make dealing with Peter a hell of a lot easier.
“How long have you been alone?”
Claude’s jaw tightens. Why the hell does that matter?
“Long enough,” he grunts.
Peter looks exasperated. “That’s not an answer, Claude.”
“It’s the only one you’re going to get, mate.” Claude snaps back. “It’ll have to do.”
“Why are you so bitter?” Peter demands, angrily.
Claude laughs at that. If Peter only knew.
“I’m not bitter, mate. I just see people for what they are.”
“Oh? And what’s that?” Peter snaps, full of idealism and righteous anger.
He’ll learn.
“Bastards.” Claude replies. “Selfish, ignorant, hateful bastards; the whole human race. Doesn’t mean I want to kill ‘em, that’s just the reality of it. People suck, Peter.”
“That’s really what you see?” Peter looks disgusted. “When you look at people… that’s really what you see?”
Claude gives a tight little smile that’s completely devoid of happiness. “Yep.”
“Is that what you see when you look at me?”
Claude brings his head up to stare at Peter, sharply. Peter looks almost nervous, but he meets Claude’s gaze. Claude is very suddenly aware of how close they’re sitting, and his mouth goes dry. He knows what he should tell Peter; Yes. Yes, I look at you, and you’re just as bloody thick and insufferable as the rest of them. But that would be a lie.
Claude is many things; a thief, a killer, a traitor, an outright bastard, but he has never been a liar.
So he just stays silent, letting Peter think what he wants, telling himself it doesn’t matter.
Peter continues to stare at him for a long moment, then sighs, looking away. He’s got a kind of hurt, angry resignation written plainly on his face, like he wanted to hear something different.
“Fine.” Peter sighs, sounding defeated, moving to stand. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
Shit. Shit! Without thinking, he reaches out and grabs Peter’s arm, pulling him sharply back down. Peter snarls at him.
“What the hell d'you think you’re--”
Claude grips Peter’s face in both hands and kisses him. Hard. Peter gives a startled little sound, muffled by Claude’s lips, then closes his eyes and kisses Claude back.
This is a bad idea, Claude thinks, but he’s started this, and he isn’t about to stop. He hasn’t kissed anyone in so long, and Peter’s lips are soft and oh-so-inviting. He lets his lips part and deepens the kiss. Peter takes this as an invitation, apparently, because he moves to straddle Claude’s hips, wrapping his legs around Claude’s waist.
And the feeling of Peter’s body pressed to his is like a slap on the face. Claude can’t let this happen. He can’t do this, not now, not with Peter. Adding a sexual element to their relationship will just needlessly complicate things, something neither of them need.
Even so, he can feel himself getting hard, and curses himself for his weakness. Peter’s young and pretty and eager, and god, it’s been so long. Too long.
He manages to recover enough to grip the younger man by the shoulders, holding him away.
“Don’t.” He growls, his breath coming hard and heavy. Peter ignores him and leans forward again. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but Claude shoves him away, violently. Peter sprawls back onto the floor, a look of hurt and surprise on his face. Obviously, he isn’t used to being rejected, Claude thinks bitterly, before shoving the thought away. Quickly, Claude stands up, backing away from the couch. “Peter, don’t. This isn’t…This is a mistake. I’m not what you want.”
“Fuck you, Claude,” Peter snaps back. He rises to his feet and takes a step towards the older man. Claude backs away until he hits the wall. He stares steadily at Peter, though inside he’s almost panicking. He’s the invisible man; he’s not used to being cornered.
Peter presses against him, clenching his fists in the front of Claude’s jacket. His breath is hot against Claude’s face. “I’ll decide what I want.”
Peter kisses him this time and Claude gives in to it, almost immediately. He attacks Peter’s lips with his own, taking the younger man’s shoulders in a bruising grip and reversing their positions, crushing Peter against the wall.
Peter gives a yelp of surprise, then a groan of pleasure as Claude grinds against him. He can feel Peter’s hard-on against his thigh, can see the naked desire in those green eyes.
His judgment is screaming at him that he should stop this --now, right now!-- before things get any worse but he can’t. God help him, he can’t.
He’s wanted Peter almost from the first moment that they met. And it kills him.
But he has to be sure. He has to be sure or he knows he’ll never forgive himself.
“This what you want, Peter?” He hisses, their faces so close that he can almost feel Peter’s lips on his when he speaks. He grinds his hips mercilessly into Peter's, his grip crushing Peter’s shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. “This? Me?” He gives a harsh, derisive laugh. “You don’t even know me. If you knew half of what I’ve seen, what I’ve done, you’d run screamin’ the other way.”
Peter presses himself into Claude’s body, panting.
“You really think that, Claude? Really? You think I’m the type to run away from anything?”
No, Claude thinks, you aren’t. It’s worse than that. You run right at danger. You play the hero, and one day it’ll get you killed. And Claude will lose someone. Again. And this time he thinks it might break him.
But he doesn’t answer Peter, not out loud, just kisses him again; harsh and demanding. Peter kisses back, giving as good as he gets.
They stumble together towards the bedroom, lips dueling, hands fumbling with clothes.
Finally, Claude has Peter pressed down into his sheets, crouching above him as Peter slides his hands under Claude’s shirt, trying to push it up over his head. Claude takes Peter’s wrists in his hands, pushing them away, gently.
“No.” He says softly. “That stays on.” There’s only so much of himself he can give up, and there are some questions he’s just not willing to answer, scars he’s not willing to explain. Not yet.
Peter looks questioning, but after a few seconds, he nods, wordlessly accepting the boundary and pulling Claude in for another kiss.
Peter is intoxicating; passionate and young and gorgeous and fucking eager. He touches Claude, kisses him, caresses him with a kind of urgency that just about drives Claude insane. Claude realizes ruefully that he’s been alone for too long, when such a simple thing as the reality of another human touching his skin makes him lose all control.
He breaks the kiss long enough to divest Peter of the rest of his clothing, then leans over the younger man, breathing heavily, drinking in the sight. Christ. Peter really is a classic pretty-boy; all sensuous, sleek lines, smooth skin, and wiry muscles. For awhile Claude’s fine with just touching him; running his hands along Peter’s body, trailing kisses down his neck and chest.
But he doesn’t touch Peter, not where Peter wants him to. He’s an old hand at this, and he knows that anticipation is half the fun.
Before long, Peter’s writhing beneath his hands and arching his back, making these little helpless, pleading whimpers that Claude wishes he could record to listen to later.
“Damn it, Claude!” Peter grinds out through clenched teeth.
“What?” Claude asks, grinning down at the younger man, deliberately teasing.
Peter gives a frustrated moan that turns into a gasp as Claude grips his erection just hard enough to be painful.
“Jesus…” and Claude grins wolfishly down at him.
“S’matter, Peter? Too much for you?”
Peter gives another moan as Claude strokes his hand gently up Peter’s shaft.
“Claude….” His voice is tight and strangled. “Claude, please…”
Claude grins again as Peter’s hands clench in the sheets. “Please what, Peter?”
“Bastard,” Peter hisses, more exasperated than angry.
“Absolutely.” Claude leans closer, his hand never leaving Peter’s cock. “So please what?” Claude whispers in Peter’s ear. He knows full well what Peter wants, but he wants to hear the younger man say it.
“Please.” Peter gasps. “Jesus, Claude…fuck me…”
“Thought you’d never ask,” Claude grins like a maniac, pulling back. “D’you have--” He begins, but Peter cuts him off.
“Nightstand. Top drawer.”
Claude’s fingers, deft and agile when rifling through a purse or pocket, suddenly feel clumsy as he fumbles in the drawer for condoms. He finds them, and a half-empty container of lube.
Perfect.
“Roll over.” He orders. “Or get a pillow, whatever.”
Peter obediently arranges himself on his back, sliding a pillow beneath his hips. He looks on hungrily as Claude slips a condom over his cock with fingers that just won’t stop shaking. Which is ridiculous, really. It’s just sex. It’s not like he’s never had sex before, for fuck’s sake. He shouldn’t be getting so worked up.
But it’s not just sex, is it? That little insidious voice at the back of his mind keeps saying. It’s sex with Peter. And where Peter’s involved it’s not “just” anything, no matter how much he’d like it to be.
“Wait.” Peter gasps as Claude’s hands encircle his waist, fingers digging into sensitive skin. Claude catches his breath, stilling himself with an effort. “Wait. I haven’t…I haven’t done this in awhile.” Peter sounds almost embarrassed, and he looks up at Claude, eyes half-shielded by that ridiculous lock of hair that’s always hanging in his face.
Claude nods, briefly, trying hard not to think about how long it’s been since he’s played this particular game. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He replies gruffly.
He squeezes lube onto the fingers of one hand, resting the other on Peter’s thigh, moving his legs apart. Slowly, he slides one finger inside Peter, giving a tight little relieved smile as Peter lets out a groan of pleasure. He adds another finger, thrusting into Peter in a steady, measured rhythm.
Peter arches his back and moans, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Too much?”
“God, no,” Peter gasps, his eyes flying open. “Please…please don’t stop.”
Claude grins. He doesn’t plan to.
And he holds off, waiting until Peter’s almost frantic; panting and arching up into Claude’s fingers and all but begging Claude to fuck him before removing his fingers and positioning himself at Peter’s entrance.
Peter throws his head back, eyes closed, and let’s out a whimper as Claude pushes into him. His hands grip Claude’s shoulders, nails digging in, but Claude barely feels it.
All he can feel, all he can think about is Peter, tight and hot around him. He starts a long, slow rhythm. He wants this to last.
“Open your eyes.” He whispers to Peter, and Peter obeys; wide, passionate green eyes staring into his. Oh, yes. Peter’s empathic eyes brim with need and desire and Claude burns the sight into his memory. Peter feels emotions so incredibly intensely, as only an empath can, and he feels them for him, for Claude. Claude never wants to forget that.
He thrusts again, harder, and Peter’s hands spasm around his shoulders but he doesn’t close his eyes again. His gaze never wavers not until --quite some time later-- he comes, throwing his head back and crying out Claude’s name. Seconds later Claude whispers Peter’s and they collapse, spent and exhausted, onto Peter’s bed.
Peter snakes his arms around Claude, clinging to him, holding him close. He buries his face in Claude’s shoulder and tenses like he’s afraid Claude’s going to disappear. But he won’t. Not this time. Instead, he rolls onto his back, pulling Peter with him. He strokes the empath’s hair and holds him Peter until he falls asleep. Claude stays awake for a long time, staring blindly at the ceiling, the feel of the boy…the man in his arms the only the keeping away the guilt and regret he knows he’ll feel in the morning.
But Peter is warm and real and in his arms, and morning is a long way away.
~fin~
Title: Worth Everything
Rating: PG-13 for language, sexual situations, and implied sex.
Pairing: Peter/Claude
Summary: Peter’s mouth is dry, and he’s never before noticed just how intense Claude’s ice-blue eyes are. He wishes he’d thought this through better.
The first time Peter kisses Claude (he’s horny and angry; sick of the insults, unable to hold back a surge of lust at the sight of those bright, icy blue eyes with their oh-so-fucking-superior expression) he expects one of two things to happen. One, Claude will shove him away and proceed to beat the living crap out of him; or, two, Claude will grab his shoulders, push him up against the nearest wall, and shag him senseless.
Claude, however, isn’t the type to conform to peoples expectations of him, since he does neither. Instead, he does nothing. Just stands there, unmoving, letting Peter kiss him. He doesn’t freeze up, doesn’t tense, doesn’t even twitch; he just fucking stands there, lips parted, relaxed and unresisting, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket as Peter’s lips move against his own.
This pisses Peter off, maybe more than it should. After a moment of one-sided kissing, Peter finally pulls back, cheeks burning. Claude stares down at him, expression thoughtful.
“So is this going to be a part of it then?” Claude asks in a casual tone.
Peter is slightly confused, by both Claude’s attitude and his question. “Wh-what?”
“This.” Claude replies, in the half-exasperated, half-condescending tone of voice he always uses when Peter’s asked something that he thinks is beyond stupid. He indicates their proximity with an absent wave of his hand. “You. Me. Sex.”
“I…I…” Shit. Peter hadn’t expected Claude to be quite so… so fucking flippant about the whole thing. “I didn’t think we’d…I mean, I just wanted…I wasn’t going to…I just wanted to see how you’d react,” he finishes lamely, and oh god, how fucking childish does that sound?
Claude’s eyes narrow and his fists clench at his sides, a sure sign he’s upset.
“How I’d react?” He repeats quietly, dangerously. Then, without warning he moves, grabbing Peter’s waist and pulling him close. Peter gasps as he feels Claude’s erection pressing against his belly.
“Pretty boy like you, Peter, how the fuck d’you think I’d react?” Claude growls this in Peter’s ear, all but grinding against him, and Peter has to actually bite back a moan.
“So you tell me right now, Peter…” He punctuates the sentence by entangling his fist in Peter’s hair and pulling his head back so that their lips are inches from one another’s. His grip is firm, but not rough, and Peter could pull easily away if he wanted to. He doesn’t want to.
“…Is sex going to be a part of this? Cos’ if it is, you tell me right now. I don’t like being toyed with, and I’m not letting you in bed with me unless you’re serious about it. I don’t care how pretty you are.” He pauses a moment before continuing on, “And if we’re not havin’ sex, you tell me now, and I’ll let you go. We never, ever bring this up again, and next time you kiss me, I’ll break your bloody jaw.” He lets this sink in for a moment before continuing, “So what’s it going to be, Peter?”
Peter’s mouth is dry, and he’s never before noticed just how intense Claude’s ice-blue eyes are. He wishes he’d thought this through better.
On the one hand, Claude can be a fucking bastard. He’s insulting, rude, and has an unfortunate tendency to do unpleasant things to Peter, such as punching him, shoving him up against walls (though he really doesn’t mind that so much), threatening to kill him, beating him repeatedly with sticks, throwing him off 30-story buildings, etcetera.
On the other hand, Claude believes in him. He’s taught Peter so much, and Claude, unlike pretty much everyone else in Peter’s life, has never lied to Peter, never used him for his own gain, never betrayed him. Claude’s one of the few people in his life who has looked at Peter and hasn’t seen him as a failure or a disappointment or an embarrassment or a substitute for someone else. Claude sees him for who and what he is and accepts it without question. Claude wants him for who he is.
And Peter can’t give that up.
“Well?” Claude demands, bringing Peter sharply back to reality. Claude’s face is hard, but there’s something in his eyes that’s almost hopeful, almost pleading. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Claude wants this to happen, Peter realizes suddenly. As much as he tries to pretend it doesn’t matter, he wants this to happen as much as Peter does.
The knowledge causes a renewed rush of desire in him, and he looks steadily up at his mentor, taking a deep breath.
“Yes,” Peter whispers. “Yes. This is…sex is…yes.”
Claude grins; that wild, wolfish grin that makes Peter’s knees weaken. “Fantastic,” He murmurs, and presses his lips against Peter’s.
And, yes, Peter thinks, as Claude tugs him insistently towards his bedroom. This is worth everything.
~fin~
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Peter/Claude
Summary: Claude can sense another question-and-answer session coming up. He wishes he had a beer handy, even some of the cheap shit that Peter drinks. Alcohol tends to make dealing with Peter a hell of a lot easier.
It’s been a long day and a late night and Claude’s crashing the couch in Peter’s tiny flat, partly from sheer exhaustion, partly from the fact that Peter’s stupid brother still hasn’t given up the search, Peter hasn’t yet learned to pick and choose the powers he uses, and invisibility’s a handy way to hide from nosy siblings.
The couch is much too small, and uncomfortable, but Claude is so used to solitude he doesn’t think he’d sleep much anyway, not when he can hear Peter tossing and turning restlessly in the next room.
Apparently Claude isn’t the only one who can’t sleep, because he hears Peter stand, hears footsteps drawing closer, and sits up as Peter walks into the room. The younger man stands in the doorway dressed in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a rumpled white t-shirt. His hair is tousled and he has a strange look in his green eyes.
“Did I wake you?” He asks quietly.
Claude shakes his head. “Nah. Can’t sleep anyway.”
Peter doesn’t answer, but pads silently into the living room and sits next to Claude, that look still on his face.
The silence stretches, but Claude isn’t about to break it. He’s used to silence. Finally, Peter shifts uncomfortably and takes a breath.
“Claude?”
“Yeah?” Claude can sense another question-and-answer session coming up. He wishes he had a beer handy, even some of the cheap shit that Peter drinks. Alcohol tends to make dealing with Peter a hell of a lot easier.
“How long have you been alone?”
Claude’s jaw tightens. Why the hell does that matter?
“Long enough,” he grunts.
Peter looks exasperated. “That’s not an answer, Claude.”
“It’s the only one you’re going to get, mate.” Claude snaps back. “It’ll have to do.”
“Why are you so bitter?” Peter demands, angrily.
Claude laughs at that. If Peter only knew.
“I’m not bitter, mate. I just see people for what they are.”
“Oh? And what’s that?” Peter snaps, full of idealism and righteous anger.
He’ll learn.
“Bastards.” Claude replies. “Selfish, ignorant, hateful bastards; the whole human race. Doesn’t mean I want to kill ‘em, that’s just the reality of it. People suck, Peter.”
“That’s really what you see?” Peter looks disgusted. “When you look at people… that’s really what you see?”
Claude gives a tight little smile that’s completely devoid of happiness. “Yep.”
“Is that what you see when you look at me?”
Claude brings his head up to stare at Peter, sharply. Peter looks almost nervous, but he meets Claude’s gaze. Claude is very suddenly aware of how close they’re sitting, and his mouth goes dry. He knows what he should tell Peter; Yes. Yes, I look at you, and you’re just as bloody thick and insufferable as the rest of them. But that would be a lie.
Claude is many things; a thief, a killer, a traitor, an outright bastard, but he has never been a liar.
So he just stays silent, letting Peter think what he wants, telling himself it doesn’t matter.
Peter continues to stare at him for a long moment, then sighs, looking away. He’s got a kind of hurt, angry resignation written plainly on his face, like he wanted to hear something different.
“Fine.” Peter sighs, sounding defeated, moving to stand. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
Shit. Shit! Without thinking, he reaches out and grabs Peter’s arm, pulling him sharply back down. Peter snarls at him.
“What the hell d'you think you’re--”
Claude grips Peter’s face in both hands and kisses him. Hard. Peter gives a startled little sound, muffled by Claude’s lips, then closes his eyes and kisses Claude back.
This is a bad idea, Claude thinks, but he’s started this, and he isn’t about to stop. He hasn’t kissed anyone in so long, and Peter’s lips are soft and oh-so-inviting. He lets his lips part and deepens the kiss. Peter takes this as an invitation, apparently, because he moves to straddle Claude’s hips, wrapping his legs around Claude’s waist.
And the feeling of Peter’s body pressed to his is like a slap on the face. Claude can’t let this happen. He can’t do this, not now, not with Peter. Adding a sexual element to their relationship will just needlessly complicate things, something neither of them need.
Even so, he can feel himself getting hard, and curses himself for his weakness. Peter’s young and pretty and eager, and god, it’s been so long. Too long.
He manages to recover enough to grip the younger man by the shoulders, holding him away.
“Don’t.” He growls, his breath coming hard and heavy. Peter ignores him and leans forward again. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but Claude shoves him away, violently. Peter sprawls back onto the floor, a look of hurt and surprise on his face. Obviously, he isn’t used to being rejected, Claude thinks bitterly, before shoving the thought away. Quickly, Claude stands up, backing away from the couch. “Peter, don’t. This isn’t…This is a mistake. I’m not what you want.”
“Fuck you, Claude,” Peter snaps back. He rises to his feet and takes a step towards the older man. Claude backs away until he hits the wall. He stares steadily at Peter, though inside he’s almost panicking. He’s the invisible man; he’s not used to being cornered.
Peter presses against him, clenching his fists in the front of Claude’s jacket. His breath is hot against Claude’s face. “I’ll decide what I want.”
Peter kisses him this time and Claude gives in to it, almost immediately. He attacks Peter’s lips with his own, taking the younger man’s shoulders in a bruising grip and reversing their positions, crushing Peter against the wall.
Peter gives a yelp of surprise, then a groan of pleasure as Claude grinds against him. He can feel Peter’s hard-on against his thigh, can see the naked desire in those green eyes.
His judgment is screaming at him that he should stop this --now, right now!-- before things get any worse but he can’t. God help him, he can’t.
He’s wanted Peter almost from the first moment that they met. And it kills him.
But he has to be sure. He has to be sure or he knows he’ll never forgive himself.
“This what you want, Peter?” He hisses, their faces so close that he can almost feel Peter’s lips on his when he speaks. He grinds his hips mercilessly into Peter's, his grip crushing Peter’s shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. “This? Me?” He gives a harsh, derisive laugh. “You don’t even know me. If you knew half of what I’ve seen, what I’ve done, you’d run screamin’ the other way.”
Peter presses himself into Claude’s body, panting.
“You really think that, Claude? Really? You think I’m the type to run away from anything?”
No, Claude thinks, you aren’t. It’s worse than that. You run right at danger. You play the hero, and one day it’ll get you killed. And Claude will lose someone. Again. And this time he thinks it might break him.
But he doesn’t answer Peter, not out loud, just kisses him again; harsh and demanding. Peter kisses back, giving as good as he gets.
They stumble together towards the bedroom, lips dueling, hands fumbling with clothes.
Finally, Claude has Peter pressed down into his sheets, crouching above him as Peter slides his hands under Claude’s shirt, trying to push it up over his head. Claude takes Peter’s wrists in his hands, pushing them away, gently.
“No.” He says softly. “That stays on.” There’s only so much of himself he can give up, and there are some questions he’s just not willing to answer, scars he’s not willing to explain. Not yet.
Peter looks questioning, but after a few seconds, he nods, wordlessly accepting the boundary and pulling Claude in for another kiss.
Peter is intoxicating; passionate and young and gorgeous and fucking eager. He touches Claude, kisses him, caresses him with a kind of urgency that just about drives Claude insane. Claude realizes ruefully that he’s been alone for too long, when such a simple thing as the reality of another human touching his skin makes him lose all control.
He breaks the kiss long enough to divest Peter of the rest of his clothing, then leans over the younger man, breathing heavily, drinking in the sight. Christ. Peter really is a classic pretty-boy; all sensuous, sleek lines, smooth skin, and wiry muscles. For awhile Claude’s fine with just touching him; running his hands along Peter’s body, trailing kisses down his neck and chest.
But he doesn’t touch Peter, not where Peter wants him to. He’s an old hand at this, and he knows that anticipation is half the fun.
Before long, Peter’s writhing beneath his hands and arching his back, making these little helpless, pleading whimpers that Claude wishes he could record to listen to later.
“Damn it, Claude!” Peter grinds out through clenched teeth.
“What?” Claude asks, grinning down at the younger man, deliberately teasing.
Peter gives a frustrated moan that turns into a gasp as Claude grips his erection just hard enough to be painful.
“Jesus…” and Claude grins wolfishly down at him.
“S’matter, Peter? Too much for you?”
Peter gives another moan as Claude strokes his hand gently up Peter’s shaft.
“Claude….” His voice is tight and strangled. “Claude, please…”
Claude grins again as Peter’s hands clench in the sheets. “Please what, Peter?”
“Bastard,” Peter hisses, more exasperated than angry.
“Absolutely.” Claude leans closer, his hand never leaving Peter’s cock. “So please what?” Claude whispers in Peter’s ear. He knows full well what Peter wants, but he wants to hear the younger man say it.
“Please.” Peter gasps. “Jesus, Claude…fuck me…”
“Thought you’d never ask,” Claude grins like a maniac, pulling back. “D’you have--” He begins, but Peter cuts him off.
“Nightstand. Top drawer.”
Claude’s fingers, deft and agile when rifling through a purse or pocket, suddenly feel clumsy as he fumbles in the drawer for condoms. He finds them, and a half-empty container of lube.
Perfect.
“Roll over.” He orders. “Or get a pillow, whatever.”
Peter obediently arranges himself on his back, sliding a pillow beneath his hips. He looks on hungrily as Claude slips a condom over his cock with fingers that just won’t stop shaking. Which is ridiculous, really. It’s just sex. It’s not like he’s never had sex before, for fuck’s sake. He shouldn’t be getting so worked up.
But it’s not just sex, is it? That little insidious voice at the back of his mind keeps saying. It’s sex with Peter. And where Peter’s involved it’s not “just” anything, no matter how much he’d like it to be.
“Wait.” Peter gasps as Claude’s hands encircle his waist, fingers digging into sensitive skin. Claude catches his breath, stilling himself with an effort. “Wait. I haven’t…I haven’t done this in awhile.” Peter sounds almost embarrassed, and he looks up at Claude, eyes half-shielded by that ridiculous lock of hair that’s always hanging in his face.
Claude nods, briefly, trying hard not to think about how long it’s been since he’s played this particular game. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He replies gruffly.
He squeezes lube onto the fingers of one hand, resting the other on Peter’s thigh, moving his legs apart. Slowly, he slides one finger inside Peter, giving a tight little relieved smile as Peter lets out a groan of pleasure. He adds another finger, thrusting into Peter in a steady, measured rhythm.
Peter arches his back and moans, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Too much?”
“God, no,” Peter gasps, his eyes flying open. “Please…please don’t stop.”
Claude grins. He doesn’t plan to.
And he holds off, waiting until Peter’s almost frantic; panting and arching up into Claude’s fingers and all but begging Claude to fuck him before removing his fingers and positioning himself at Peter’s entrance.
Peter throws his head back, eyes closed, and let’s out a whimper as Claude pushes into him. His hands grip Claude’s shoulders, nails digging in, but Claude barely feels it.
All he can feel, all he can think about is Peter, tight and hot around him. He starts a long, slow rhythm. He wants this to last.
“Open your eyes.” He whispers to Peter, and Peter obeys; wide, passionate green eyes staring into his. Oh, yes. Peter’s empathic eyes brim with need and desire and Claude burns the sight into his memory. Peter feels emotions so incredibly intensely, as only an empath can, and he feels them for him, for Claude. Claude never wants to forget that.
He thrusts again, harder, and Peter’s hands spasm around his shoulders but he doesn’t close his eyes again. His gaze never wavers not until --quite some time later-- he comes, throwing his head back and crying out Claude’s name. Seconds later Claude whispers Peter’s and they collapse, spent and exhausted, onto Peter’s bed.
Peter snakes his arms around Claude, clinging to him, holding him close. He buries his face in Claude’s shoulder and tenses like he’s afraid Claude’s going to disappear. But he won’t. Not this time. Instead, he rolls onto his back, pulling Peter with him. He strokes the empath’s hair and holds him Peter until he falls asleep. Claude stays awake for a long time, staring blindly at the ceiling, the feel of the boy…the man in his arms the only the keeping away the guilt and regret he knows he’ll feel in the morning.
But Peter is warm and real and in his arms, and morning is a long way away.
~fin~
Title: Worth Everything
Rating: PG-13 for language, sexual situations, and implied sex.
Pairing: Peter/Claude
Summary: Peter’s mouth is dry, and he’s never before noticed just how intense Claude’s ice-blue eyes are. He wishes he’d thought this through better.
The first time Peter kisses Claude (he’s horny and angry; sick of the insults, unable to hold back a surge of lust at the sight of those bright, icy blue eyes with their oh-so-fucking-superior expression) he expects one of two things to happen. One, Claude will shove him away and proceed to beat the living crap out of him; or, two, Claude will grab his shoulders, push him up against the nearest wall, and shag him senseless.
Claude, however, isn’t the type to conform to peoples expectations of him, since he does neither. Instead, he does nothing. Just stands there, unmoving, letting Peter kiss him. He doesn’t freeze up, doesn’t tense, doesn’t even twitch; he just fucking stands there, lips parted, relaxed and unresisting, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket as Peter’s lips move against his own.
This pisses Peter off, maybe more than it should. After a moment of one-sided kissing, Peter finally pulls back, cheeks burning. Claude stares down at him, expression thoughtful.
“So is this going to be a part of it then?” Claude asks in a casual tone.
Peter is slightly confused, by both Claude’s attitude and his question. “Wh-what?”
“This.” Claude replies, in the half-exasperated, half-condescending tone of voice he always uses when Peter’s asked something that he thinks is beyond stupid. He indicates their proximity with an absent wave of his hand. “You. Me. Sex.”
“I…I…” Shit. Peter hadn’t expected Claude to be quite so… so fucking flippant about the whole thing. “I didn’t think we’d…I mean, I just wanted…I wasn’t going to…I just wanted to see how you’d react,” he finishes lamely, and oh god, how fucking childish does that sound?
Claude’s eyes narrow and his fists clench at his sides, a sure sign he’s upset.
“How I’d react?” He repeats quietly, dangerously. Then, without warning he moves, grabbing Peter’s waist and pulling him close. Peter gasps as he feels Claude’s erection pressing against his belly.
“Pretty boy like you, Peter, how the fuck d’you think I’d react?” Claude growls this in Peter’s ear, all but grinding against him, and Peter has to actually bite back a moan.
“So you tell me right now, Peter…” He punctuates the sentence by entangling his fist in Peter’s hair and pulling his head back so that their lips are inches from one another’s. His grip is firm, but not rough, and Peter could pull easily away if he wanted to. He doesn’t want to.
“…Is sex going to be a part of this? Cos’ if it is, you tell me right now. I don’t like being toyed with, and I’m not letting you in bed with me unless you’re serious about it. I don’t care how pretty you are.” He pauses a moment before continuing on, “And if we’re not havin’ sex, you tell me now, and I’ll let you go. We never, ever bring this up again, and next time you kiss me, I’ll break your bloody jaw.” He lets this sink in for a moment before continuing, “So what’s it going to be, Peter?”
Peter’s mouth is dry, and he’s never before noticed just how intense Claude’s ice-blue eyes are. He wishes he’d thought this through better.
On the one hand, Claude can be a fucking bastard. He’s insulting, rude, and has an unfortunate tendency to do unpleasant things to Peter, such as punching him, shoving him up against walls (though he really doesn’t mind that so much), threatening to kill him, beating him repeatedly with sticks, throwing him off 30-story buildings, etcetera.
On the other hand, Claude believes in him. He’s taught Peter so much, and Claude, unlike pretty much everyone else in Peter’s life, has never lied to Peter, never used him for his own gain, never betrayed him. Claude’s one of the few people in his life who has looked at Peter and hasn’t seen him as a failure or a disappointment or an embarrassment or a substitute for someone else. Claude sees him for who and what he is and accepts it without question. Claude wants him for who he is.
And Peter can’t give that up.
“Well?” Claude demands, bringing Peter sharply back to reality. Claude’s face is hard, but there’s something in his eyes that’s almost hopeful, almost pleading. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Claude wants this to happen, Peter realizes suddenly. As much as he tries to pretend it doesn’t matter, he wants this to happen as much as Peter does.
The knowledge causes a renewed rush of desire in him, and he looks steadily up at his mentor, taking a deep breath.
“Yes,” Peter whispers. “Yes. This is…sex is…yes.”
Claude grins; that wild, wolfish grin that makes Peter’s knees weaken. “Fantastic,” He murmurs, and presses his lips against Peter’s.
And, yes, Peter thinks, as Claude tugs him insistently towards his bedroom. This is worth everything.
~fin~