brighteyedjill: Bones is pensive (Adam/Peter: get the lube)
[personal profile] brighteyedjill
Hey look, Heroes fic! Adam twice in two weeks? Crazy.


Title: We’ll Wander Down Where the Sins Cry
Fandom: Heroes
Pairings/Characters: Adam/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Rough sex and mild power play
Word count: ~1700
A/N: Written for [livejournal.com profile] game_byrd for [livejournal.com profile] heroes_exchange. Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] jaune_chat for the beta.
Summary: Peter can't imagine how it must have felt for Adam to be imprisoned by the Company for so long without the comfort of human touch. When they get out, they do something about it.




Peter dragged a hand down Adam’s chest, feeling his breath, the miracle of his lungs moving air in and out. “Perfect,” he whispered. He ran his hands back up to Adam’s shoulders, then down his sides, reveling in the shiver that produced.

“Yes,” Adam hissed. “Touch me.”
-------------

“It’s not like that,” Adam said. “In prison, at least, you have interactions with other humans. You bump against someone at the mess hall or you pick a fist fight in the yard. It’s some sort of connection.”

“I thought you said you and Elle…?” Peter didn’t know quite what word should go at the end of that sentence, so he settled for trailing off and raising an eyebrow at Adam.

Adam waved a dismissive hand. “Desperation, as I said. After that one time, though, she avoided me. I had no real companion until you came long.”

“Companion?”

“Isn’t that was this is, Peter? Companionship?”

--

They were unloading their gear-—two duffle bags Adam had brought from the warehouse—from the trunk of the car when Peter reached out to touch Adam. “Thanks,” he said. “For helping me. For getting me out, showing me how to remember. Just… Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Adam said. He didn’t meet Peter’s eyes: his attention remained fixed on Peter’s hand where it rested on his. “Quite welcome.”

“Adam? You alright?”

“Yes” Adam pulled his eyes away from where their skin touched, and he hefted his bag over his shoulder. “Apologies.”

“What’s wrong?” Peter withdrew his hand and tucked it into the pocket of his coat.

“You remember what I told you inside? About isolation.”

“Oh yes.” They’d talked about so many things in the endless idle hours of their imprisonment that Peter wondered why he recalled that particular exchange so easily.

“It’s only that,” Adam said. “I’m not used to being touched.”

Peter returned his hand to Adam’s. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix that.”
--

“I’ve seen the way you are around people: you touch as a matter of course. A hand on someone’s shoulder, or leaning against someone when you sit, or reaching out to touch someone’s hair. You seek out physical contact without being consciously aware of what you’re doing. Your mother was the same way, always touching.” He gave a shallow smile. “Well, I don’t think she was unaware of what she was doing. Angie does nothing she doesn’t plan. But the point remains, Peter. It's in your blood. You need human contact."

"And you don't?"

"I'm only human."

"A little more than human."

"Human, Peter. All of us. One special gene doesn't make us aliens. We're simply a little better than other models, that's all. I still have the same needs as other men."

--

Peter parted his lips for Adam’s fingers. He wanted to taste each part of Adam, to really know him.

“You look so pleased with yourself,” Adam said, from his luxuriant sprawl in the armchair. “As if you’d be content to do this for ages.”

On his knees in front of the chair, Peter drew Adam’s fingers out of his mouth and considered. “I can give you what you need. I like being able to fix something the simple way, for once.”

“All men’s needs are simple,” Adam said, the familiar sound of contempt creeping into his voice.

“I don’t believe that. Out there problems are complicated. I try to do the right thing, and people get hurt over and over again.”

Adam brushed his free hand—the one Peter wasn’t gripping—through Peter’s hair. “You can’t hurt me, Peter.”

“I know.” Peter sucked Adam’s thumb into his mouth and bit down, hard. Adam clenched his teeth together against the pain, but he didn’t pull away. From his place between Adam’s legs, Peter could clearly see that Adam was responding to the treatment. Peter released his bit, pulled Adam’s fingers out of his mouth, and kissed the row of lingering teeth marks. “You can’t hurt me, either,” he said. “But you can try if you want.”
--

"I can feel hunger, Peter. I can feel thirst. I told you that they didn't know a way to kill me. I assure you, that's because they tried everything they could think of. Can you imagine how it must feel to expire from thirst, not once, but over and over again?"

"No," Peter said, at last chagrined. "I can't, really."

--

Adam tightened his grip on Peter’s leg and pushed it back toward his chest.

“From famine to feast,” Adam muttered.

Peter stretched out beneath him and let his legs fall farther apart. Adam’s slick fingers dipped inside Peter greedily: three at once. Peter’s mouth snapped shut, and he caught the tail end of his whimper between his teeth. He swallowed the sound down, where it seemed to buzz and ricochet inside him as Adam opened him up.

“Am I hurting you?” Adam asked.

Peter shook his head. He’d thought the numbness he’d felt might have crippled him forever, but he could feel Adam’s touch on him as if his fingerprints were burning through the skin to imprint on his bones. “I can feel it,” Peter said. “I can feel.”
--

"Physical torture, physical pain, can be overcome. But the way to break a man, Peter, is to devastate his mind. You can chip away at a man's sense of humanity until it's entirely stripped away, and he's little more than an animal. I've seen it happen. I've seen a hundred ways men try to break each other."

"Did they... Do you mean...?"

"No, Peter. Bob hasn't the imagination for any of the more... exotic cruelties. But that's what I'm telling you, Peter. It doesn't always take creativity to break a man. If you can't move him by physical deprivation, you may still try to starve his mind, and his soul."

"You're saying being denied books to read is torture?"

"Yes."

"Come on."

"Can you imagine spending two years in a cell with no one to speak to and nothing at all to do? No outside stimulation of any kind? It's almost like... Like being buried alive, Peter."

--

When Adam finally pressed inside, Peter shoved back against him, eager for more. Adam wrapped his hands around Peter’s wrists and pressed them into the bed. “Let me,” he said. “I want to take my time.” He pulled out slowly, and began to press himself back inside at an agonizingly slow pace. “I want,” he said languidly, “To feel every inch of you.”

Although Adam was not a large man—certainly not Nathan’s size, he easily held Peter down. When Peter thought about bucking up to get what he craved, Adam’s firm look forestalled him.

“Patience,” Adam said warningly.

Peter lay back and concentrated on the feeling of Adam sliding into him: the stretch and burn, the hunger inside of him easing with Adam’s onslaught. At last, Adam pressed flush against him. They lay locked together, Adam buried inside Peter to the hilt.

“That’s it, Peter. Can you feel that?”

“Yes,” Peter whispered.

“Then pay attention.”

Adam drew out, but slammed back in this time. Peter let out a wordless gasp of gratitude as Adam began to ram into him, each thrust driving Peter’s arousal higher. Now that he knew the feel of Adam inside him, he needed more of it, and still more.

Adam kept a tight hold on Peter, as he gave them both what they needed. When his rhythm finally faltered, he dropped onto Peter’s chest and gripped his arms tight as he spent himself inside of Peter, staking his claim on Peter’s body.
--

"How long has it been, for you?"

"If you don't count my ill-advised dalliance with Ms. Bishop..."

"Let's not."

"Thirty years."

"Thirty... years?"

"In thirty years, no one has laid hands on me for any reason except to do me violence."

Peter closed his eyes and tried to imagine that kind of total solitude: never nudging his brother's shoulder, never enveloping Claire in a hug, never taking his mother's arm at a party. At least during his short imprisonment he'd had something: Elle had had no qualms about putting her hands on him. All over him, in fact, with an invitation or without it. "I can’t imagine.”

“I know, Peter. It’s best that they never got around to trying to break you.”

--

“Say please,” Adam demanded.

“Please,” Peter said easily. “Please, Adam. I just need a little more. Touch me.”

“I waited thirty years.” Adam drew a finger lazily up Peter’s thigh, but came nowhere near Peter’s straining cock. “You can’t wait another minute?”

“Please, Adam.” Peter reached for himself again and Adam caught his hands and pressed them firmly to the bed.

“You’re so easy to please, Peter. “ Adam pressed a kiss to Peter’s collarbone, then lower, at the jut of his hip. “That’s part of what I like about you.” He brushed his cheek against Peter’s cock, but when Peter’s hips bucked up, seeking more contact, Adam drew away. “On the other hand, I do like the sound of your begging.

“Adam!”

“Alright, Peter. Alright.” Adam lapped at the head of Peter’s cock with his hot tongue, then swallowed him down entirely. His mouth, warm and impossibly clever, coaxed Peter to the edge with embarrassing ease.

“Adam,” he cried, a broken note of pleasure.

Adam’s hand shot out to twine with his, and held on tight through Peter’s climax.
--

”What is it about the isolation that bothers you most?” Peter asked.

“There’s a power in touching a person, Peter. Surely you know that. You can’t truly own someone until you’ve touched him. If you know a man’s body well enough, you can easily learn the secrets of his soul.”

Peter laughed, but when silence was his only response, he thought perhaps Adam hadn’t been joking. “I know touch is important, but it can’t really do all of that.”

“Well. I suppose we’ll see.”

--

Peter lay sheltered in Adam’s arms, their heated bodies still pressed together as they watched the first streaks of dawn filter through the room’s dingy curtain.

“So,” Peter asked. “Where are we going next?”

“We’re going to save the world,” Adam said. “And now I think I know how you can help.”


END

Date: 2011-01-26 07:16 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] anansie-s.livejournal.com
It makes sense that you wrote this! :) I read it when it was posted anon. for the exchange and loved it, both for the insight into the characters and the hotness.

Date: 2011-02-23 04:13 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] brighteyed-jill.livejournal.com
Yeah, I'm kind of predictable. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. I miss writing these two!

Date: 2011-04-05 01:51 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] cherazz22784.livejournal.com
Oh...ohh...ohhhh ;_; This breaks my heart! What they had will always be magic. The contrast of their conversations really struck me...speaking about how important touch and companionship is. I absolutely cannot imagine the torture Adam endured.

But what crushed me into pieces was this line,
"Can you imagine spending two years in a cell with no one to speak to and nothing at all to do? No outside stimulation of any kind? It's almost like... Like being buried alive, Peter."

I'll never get enough of Adam/Peter. If only we had gotten more of them ;_;

-memes-

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brighteyedjill

January 2012

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