"He Belongs to the Storm"
Title: "He Belongs to the Storm"
Author: Stormswift
Rating: PG-13, consensual incest
Word Count: 1,088
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing.
Author's Note: Rain is one of my big turn-ons. I couldn't not write fic once that prompt came up! Beta'd by the fabulous and irreplaceable
eris_amazing. Enjoy!
Prompt: Day 36: Rain
The rain took the city, well, by storm. One minute, Nathan and Peter were walking amiably around the neighbourhoods of the Upper East Side, enjoying each other's company in a rare afternoon to themselves; the next, a spring deluge soaked them to the skin before they even had time to register that rain was falling.
"Jesus Christ," muttered Nathan, dodging under an awning, holding his briefcase over his head in a fruitless attempt to seek shelter. It wasn't terribly effective. The wind blew the water everywhere, rendering every safe haven useless. A thousand things ran through his mind: his ruined suit, his meeting that evening, the sensitive papers in his briefcase that would doubtlessly be damaged by the water, trying to find a taxi at this busy juncture during the day...
His inner grumbling monologue faded as he looked around, expecting to find Peter right beside him, ready to commiserate. Instead, his breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of his younger brother standing in the middle of the now-deserted sidewalk, looking up to the grey-clouded heavens, blinking water from his eyes. His scrubs stuck wetly to his slim frame, outlining his angular form, clinging like a second skin. With his long hair (would he ever cut it? It kept giving their mother fits) plastered to his scalp and rivulets of water tracing down his face, his arms, his neck, all the exposed skin, Peter looked almost unearthly.
"Pete," he called finally, once his voice came back to him, "Pete, don't just stand there, try and get us a taxi!" Peter looked around, his small crooked smile lighting up his face.
"You know what? I think I'm going to walk home."
"What? Are you crazy? You can't walk home from here! It's too far! Peter...don't tell me you're going to take the subway. Just hail a cab."
"Where's your sense of adventure, Nathan?" he called impudently, kicking a spray of water in his brother's direction. Nathan gave a very un-Congressman-like yelp as it splashed across his ankles. "I know, I know. Congressmen aren't allowed to have fun. Be that way. Hail your own damn taxi. I'm walking," Several visions flashed before Nathan's eyes, visions of his constituents seeing him doused like a wet rat, his mother's face when she learned that Peter went about like a wet rat, you're so difficult, Peter, always difficult...
...and Peter, standing in the rain, gazing up at the heavens as though he saw his salvation there.
Nathan closed his eyes, groaned, then launched himself into the street after his wayward brother, the prodigal son of the Petrellis. He still had some vague notion to make an attempt to shove Peter into a cab, but it melted away the instant his hand closed around his brother's arm. He felt the muscle there, tightening and contracting; he saw the indentations his grip made in the skin; then he looked up and met his brother's gaze, full of mischief, smug determination, and love. Love.
"So glad you've decided to join us, Nathan," he said, sounding unerringly like their father.
"Pete..." What was he going to say? Something about a taxi, but who cared? Even the pouring rain faded away in his brother's eyes.
They had a rule, the Petrelli brothers did: no touching in public. Absolutely none. The last thing Nathan's campaign needed was for some wayward camera to capture an intense gaze between the two or a too-intimate touch that couldn't be written off as mere brotherly love. Nathan had chastised Peter about it countless times, never quite sure that the message sank in to his affectionate, tactile younger brother. He'd always forgive Peter, of course; that went without saying, but every time Peter's hand strayed during press conferences, these rare solitary walks, hell, sometimes family dinners, yelling was sure to follow behind closed doors.
Once again, Peter ignored the rule, ignored it as he so often did, and slowly reached an arm up, slow enough for Nathan to bat it away. Nathan didn't.
"You're a little wet," said Peter, almost too softly to be heard above the downpour. He cupped Nathan's cheek, rubbing his thumb underneath Nathan's lower lip. Nathan's eyelids fell shut under the weight of the rainwater clinging to his lashes, the weight of Peter's touch. A well-known shudder swept through him and when Peter's lips met his with a sudden clash of mouths, all he could think was yes, yes, yes.
He didn't often give Peter control, but now he surrendered it. The rain-swept city belonged to Peter, not to Nathan. Nathan Petrelli represented sun-shiny days in Central Park, a gleaming smile with a wink and a promise. To him, Peter always represented the raw power of dark thunderclouds and rain that always cleansed no matter how harshly it came down.
Peter's fingers met at the back of his neck and pulled him forward while Nathan's hands found their way to Peter's bony hips. He revelled in the feel of his brother's skin underneath the scrubs: smooth, a little soft, achingly sweet and familiar. There in the middle of the deserted sidewalk, Peter held Nathan firmly, securely, clearly signalling that there was no escaping this one.
Nathan didn't want to escape. A small noise-part groan, part exhale-grew in the back of his throat as Peter's tongue traced his lower lip, where the pad of his thumb had traced moments before. Nathan parted his lips eagerly and nearly lost his grip on wet skin trying to pull Peter's hips into his. His fingers finally found purchase and-rougher than he meant to-he pulled his brother to him, wishing and willing that they could meld together and be one, as he knew they were somehow meant to be.
The sound of Peter's erratic, heavy breathing as he pulled away was sweeter than applause from a crowd of thousands, though Nathan knew that his breathing was no more regular. Peter rested his head on Nathan's shoulder and Nathan was content to hold him for the moment, cheek resting against the side of his brother's head, and damn who saw him do it.
"Love you, Nathan," Peter muttered into his neck, lips tickling, words ghosting across the freshly shaven skin. He revelled in the sensation.
"Love you, too, Peter. Always." The rain began to fade, slowly but surely. When it was nothing more than a light sprinkle, Nathan broke the embrace. "Come on, Pete. Time to go home."
Arm in arm, the two brothers walked back.
Fin.