A Hard Lesson

Peter shook off his thoughts and continued on, tugging at Nathan’s skin with his teeth just enough to hurt him a little, just the way he knew Nathan liked it. He was pissing Nathan off with his advances, and that was his intention.

Nathan sucked in a deep breath in half-arousal, half-annoyance. “Pete, goddamn it, you shouldn’t be here, at least, not doing this…I have half a dozen fucking interns that come in and out of here every fifteen minutes. You want a quick lay? Go take one of them out and show her a good time. Half those little sluts out there would be happy to fuck the daylights out of you if it meant getting in bed with at least one Petrelli.”

What the fuck kind of left-handed compliment is that? Peter thought. He stopped himself from retorting by biting down on his brother’s skin. He swallowed the anger and continued to seduce him.

“No, Nate. I want you. I’ve been hot for you all morning. Don’t worry. They won’t even think to come in here. I can make them ignore us. Have you forgotten all the things I can do?” All the mini-blinds flipped closed, the door’s locking mechanism clicked, and Peter sent everyone out in the office a mental command not to come in or allow anyone to disturb Nathan Petrelli for the next hour.

“We can do whatever we want, Nate, it’s always been that way,” Peter whispered, loosening his brother’s tie, undoing the top two buttons of Nathan’s dress shirt. He slipped a hand inside his brother’s shirt, and tugged playfully on one of Nathan’s nipples. Peter ran his tongue gently along the outer edge of his brother’s ear, eliciting a soft sigh from Nathan’s lips.

Nathan swiveled around in his chair. He got to his feet, pushed the chair aside, pulled Peter into his arms and kissed him hard on his mouth. Peter drew him in even closer, so that his brother’s erection ground into his own.

“You’re really a bad boy sometimes, Peter. Really bad,” Nathan murmured in between kisses. Peter’s heart ached. The taste of his brother was hauntingly beautiful, like a forgotten dream suddenly remembered, and Peter despised himself for what he was about to do.

No. It had to be done.

You have no fucking idea how bad this is going to get, Nate.

Nathan turned them both around and backed Peter up until his ass hit the desk, and Nathan swept the desk clean of all the papers he had been perusing before Peter’s unexpected arrival, the contents fluttering softly to the carpet.

“You’re going to fuck me right on your desk, Nathan?” Peter asked. “How fucking romantic.”

Nathan’s hand grasped at Peter’s rigid cock through the denim fabric of his jeans, and his other hand tangled in Peter’s hair, pulling it a little bit too hard. “I’ve told you, Peter, you’re too pretty for such filthy things to come out of your mouth. Apologize,” he mumbled against his brother’s neck, as he sucked and bit Peter’s skin hard enough to bruise. He pulled Peter’s shirt over his head, and then unbuckled his brother’s belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. A low growl escaped Nathan’s lips as he reached in for his brother’s cock and pulled it free of the constricting clothing.

“I don’t hear you apologizing,” Nathan threatened.

Peter challenged, “Make me.”

“What? What the fuck did you say?” Nathan backhanded him, and Peter was ready with an instant retaliation. Peter pushed Nathan off him, cocked his arm back and punched Nathan right in the mouth.

Nathan clapped a hand to his face. In utter disbelief, he cried, “What the fuck are you doing, Peter? That fucking hurt! This is not how it goes, Peter, and you know it!” For the first time, Peter had just hit him back.

What the hell had gotten into his little brother all of a sudden? Peter was not supposed to hit back. Their game didn’t go like this.

Nathan licked his rapidly swelling lip and tasted blood. Peter had split his lip and Nathan was now bleeding all over a new three-hundred dollar dress shirt.

Nathan fumed, blood spraying from his mouth, “You little bitch.” Nathan raised his hand again, but Peter held a palm out and Nathan’s arm stopped mid-motion, then dropped, locked against his side.

Nathan was entirely fixed to the spot where he stood; he couldn’t move a muscle.

Peter smiled wickedly. He traced his finger over the cut on his brother’s mouth and licked the blood from his fingertip. “You want to play a fucking game, Nathan? Let’s play this one. I’m you, and you’re me. A little bit of role-playing. You’d like that. I know you would, you sick bastard.”

“Fuck you, Peter. Stop this shit right now. Take it like the little slut you are,” Nathan demanded.

Peter punched Nathan again, and he fell to the carpeted floor, banging his elbow painfully on the side of his desk. Nathan could taste his blood pouring down the back of his throat, and his face ached badly. He coughed, and groaned thickly, tears in his eyes, “Christ, Peter! I think you broke my goddamned nose!”

Peter had hit him so hard he had dislocated two of his fingers, and he popped them back into place. He wrenched Nathan to his feet, wiped the blood away from under his nose, and cleaned his hand off on the front of Nathan’s dress shirt.

“I hope I did, you bastard. You know what makes this even better, Nathan? I heal instantly. You don’t,” Peter taunted. He laughed maliciously, a look that bordered dangerously close to insanity in those dark eyes, and Nathan was sure that Peter Petrelli had lost his mind.

Panic set in, an unwelcome creature crawling beneath his skin, burrowing into the pit of his stomach. Nathan was frozen in place, held fast by Peter’s telekinesis. There was no way Nathan could control this, no way to stop him. Nathan had always kept in mind that Peter’s powers made him infinitely stronger than he was, but he had always been absolutely sure that Peter would never, ever retaliate like this. Peter had never before now used his powers against him. One thing that was glaringly obvious: Nathan was in serious trouble. Peter was so powerful that there was no way to escape, and no way to call for help, either.

He blinked away his tears and studied the familiar angles of his brother’s face, currently contorted in rage. Something wasn’t right there. He looked…older, maybe, if that was even possible, considering he’d just seen him two hours ago. No, no, it was something else. Peter’s face was not as soft; he was not as beautiful as he had been this morning when they had awoken together, their naked bodies tangled under the covers.

Peter raised his hand and flung his brother across the room, anchoring him to the wall. Nathan had just enough time to turn his head so that he didn’t hit the wall face-first. Peter held him there, and raised his other hand, waving his fingers menacingly. Peter’s dark brown eyes sparkled with dangerous desire, and Nathan’s stomach turned, realization slamming him like a speeding tractor-trailer.

This wasn’t his brother.

Correction.

This wasn’t his Peter.

His Peter was at work right now caring for and comforting some sweet little old lady who was dying of cancer, or leukemia, or some other terminal illness. This Peter was some fucked-up future version of his little brother, just like the one that had shot him in Odessa, Texas. Not the same one, though--that future Peter was dead, and this one did not have a disfiguring scar across his face.

What the hell was going on? Why had this insane, twisted, future Peter Petrelli come here? To do what, exactly? What sick person traveled through time to beat the hell out of the past incarnation of his older brother?

While Nathan was still glued to the wall, Peter waved his hand, turning Nathan around to face him. The buttons to Nathan’s ruined dress shirt flew off, the small white disks scattering through the air, hitting the door, skittering over the desk.

Peter stepped slowly closer, closer, until he was standing nearly nose-to-nose with his older brother.

“Who the hell are you?” Nathan said, more tears coming to his eyes, unable to stop them from falling this time.

Peter gave Nathan a kiss on his cheek, and then stepped back an arm’s length away.

“Oh, Nathan. You know who I am. Are you scared? Don’t cry, Nate. You’re me, remember? You usually hit me when I cry.” Peter hit Nathan with a fierce backhand, and Nathan’s head banged against the wall.

Nathan started to shake badly when Peter cut his clothes off him with only a motion of his hand.

Suddenly naked and exposed, Nathan pleaded, “What do you want from me?”

Peter replied, “I want you to stay right where you are. I’m going to let you go for a minute. Don’t even think about moving. You stay right there and be a good boy, Nate. You understand?”

He felt Peter’s invisible hold release, and Nathan’s legs weakened beneath him. Nathan slid down the wall until he was sitting on the carpet. He lifted his aching head and watched Peter calmly flip off his shoes and pull his jeans off. He gazed upon his brother’s beautiful, indestructible body, and an ominous thought occurred to him: Peter’s cock was still fully hard. He was getting a sick thrill out of hurting him. Nathan rested his head back against the wall and fought to breathe through the blood that had clotted in his nasal passages. His head swam, and he half-hoped he would black out. No such luck.

Next thing he knew, he was back up against the wall, and Peter’s body was pressed against his, his brother’s erection digging into his thigh. Peter repeated softly, “Are you scared, Nathan?” He pulled back and stared into his brother’s eyes, waiting.

Nathan debated whether to answer that truthfully or not. Peter could read his thoughts any time he wanted; Peter knew he was scared to death. He just wanted to hear Nathan admit it. A smartass reply would probably result in more pain, but he just couldn’t give Peter the satisfaction of hearing him say he was afraid of his little brother.

“I’m not afraid of you, Peter. I’m afraid of your abilities. But not you. You’re nothing without them. Without them, you’d just be little Peter Petrelli, too sensitive, too emotional, too weak. You were never good enough, and you still aren’t.” Nathan did not break his eye contact while he waited for the assault that those words would earn him.

The insult seemed to roll right off Peter’s back; he didn’t even acknowledge it. Peter said, “Nathan, have you ever wondered what it’s like to be me? Since, you know, you’re in my position right now?” Peter raised his arms and placed his hands on the wall to either side of Nathan’s head. Once again, he kissed Nathan’s throat, and he could feel his brother’s pulse beating a staccato rhythm under his lips. “I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be you, the one who’s in control. Now I am. You do know what’s going to happen, don’t you, Nathan?”

Nathan was aware of a slight tingling sensation on his skin where Peter’s lips were, and it was starting to hurt a bit. “No, Peter, why don’t you tell me?” Nathan spat.

Peter murmured, “I’m going to fuck you, Nathan. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

Nathan actually laughed. “You’re out of your fucking mind, Peter.” Despite Nathan’s defiance, a sick feeling coiled in his gut. He was starting to grasp the reason why this future Peter was doing this. For all the times he had done it to him. But why wasn’t he doing it to the future Nathan?

“Like it or not, you get to lose your virginity today, Nate. You’d better get used to the idea, or you’re in for some trouble,” Peter said, every touch of his lips now leaving small, painful blisters on Nathan’s skin. At first, Nathan was utterly confused at the heat that emitted from his brother’s mouth, and then it clicked: Peter was burning him with that godforsaken radiation that uncontrolled had almost obliterated New York City. Peter had learned to control it, and he’d used it to incinerate that goddamned virus last year. Now Peter could control it so well that he was concentrating it through his lips, only applying as much as he wanted. Nathan tried to squirm away, but Peter held him still while he tortured him.

Nathan's anger at his inability to protect himself threatened to consume him, and he grunted, “I know why you have to hold me still with your powers, Pete. If I could move, you’d be the one in pain right now.”

Peter let go of Nathan for a second, taken aback by his brother’s threat, and Nathan shoved him as hard as he could. Peter flew back and hit the desk, his hip glancing sharply off the corner.

Peter got up, enraged, and grabbed Nathan by his shoulders and threw him down on the floor, and Nathan landed wrong on his arm, pain shooting through his wrist and elbow. He pushed Nathan flat down and straddled him, holding his face into the carpeting, releasing him every few seconds, just enough to allow him to breathe.

Peter held Nathan immobile while he trailed a searing tongue down his brother’s back, leaving an angry red line of burnt skin from his right shoulder to his right buttock. Nathan didn’t think he’d ever felt such pain in his life, and he knew he was going to have to comply.