brighteyedjill | Fic: A Choice Vintage

Title: A Choice Vintage
Pairing: Arthur/Peter/Linderman. Yeah.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con. Arthur is not a nice man. I'm serious.
Author’s note: Written for Yet Another Heroes Anonymous Kink Meme. As per usual for such things, written at speed and unbeta’d.
Summary: Peter’s plan to embarrass his parents backfires. Just a bit.

Peter was two-thirds of the way through a very expensive bottle of pinot grigio when Mr. Linderman came down the stairs into the wine cellar. Peter thought briefly about trying to hide the bottle he was drinking from, or at least getting up off the floor, but in the end he decided to stay where he was. If no one in his family cared enough to come looking for their wayward high school senior, perhaps a story from Linderman about Peter getting sloppy drunk in the wine cellar would merit some attention.

“Hello Peter,” Linderman said. “I didn’t know you were down here.”

“Hello, Mr. Linderman,” Peter slurred. He took another ostentatious swig from his bottle. “How’s the party?”

“Lovely,” Linderman said. “Looks like you have a party of your own going.”

Peter raised his bottle in salute. “I’m in disgrace.” He frowned and amended, “I am a disgrace. To the family name.”

Linderman came further into the room, examining bottle labels as he went. “Is that so?”

Peter bristled at the man’s indifference. It Peter was going to cause a scene, he’d have to do something a little more… salacious. “My parents are mad because I’m promiscuous.” He drawled the word, rolling it around in his mouth suggestively. “They’re worried I might make out in the bathroom with their friends’ daughters….or sons.” He waited for Linderman’s reaction, but saw on his face only amused tolerance.

“Yes, your father mentioned you’d become quite a handful.”

Peter scowled. Arthur shouldn’t complain about Peter’s sexual activity. Half the time when he sucked dick, it was to get the taste of his father’s come out of his mouth, to have someone tell him he was good, to blot out the humiliation and sick thrill of being used by his father. Now, looking at Linderman, a hint of a plan began to hatch in Peter’s mind: one that would embarrass his father and scratch his own perverse itch for validation.

“I’m just misunderstood.” Peter patted the floor next to him.

Linderman flashed a kind smile and sat down. “Oh, I think I understand you perfectly, Peter.”

“I just like to make people happy.” Peter set down the bottle of wine and leaned over to press a hand to Linderman’s chest. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“You’d be surprised,” Linderman said. He reached across Peter’s lap to grab the pinot grigio, and took a swallow. “Hm. Needs to breathe.” He sat the bottle down on his far side, and patted Peter’s thigh. “You’d be surprised how often giving a man what he wants is the cruelest thing you can do.”

“That’s a really negative attitude,” Peter said. That was one of his teachers’ favorite phrases. “I prefer to think that I can make the world a happier place one person at a time.” And mortify his parents, of course. He lurched to his knees and steadied himself against the wall. He managed to straddle Mr. Linderman’s lap, falling forward against his chest so their noses were almost touching. “Like this.”

Peter had honestly expected Mr. Linderman to push him away, shouting his outrage at Peter’s audacity, and run upstairs to rat Peter out to his parents. Instead, he slid his hands over Peter’s thighs to cup his ass and draw him in closer.

“I told you that I understand you, Peter. You’re a very dear boy.” He pressed his lips to Peter’s and licked his way inside.

Peter sat there dumbly, feeling trapped, frozen like a frightened rabbit. Never in a million years would he have predicted his father’s business partner would call his bluff. He sat, mind racing in panicked circles, and felt the bulge of Linderman’s hard-on swelling against his crotch while Linderman explored his mouth.

The creaking of the stairs finally broke the kiss. They both turned to see Arthur Petrelli standing in the doorway. Peter didn’t think he’d ever been happy to see his father before, but he was now.

“Dad, I—,” he began. He tried to climb off of Linderman’s lap, but firm hands held him in place.

“I brought the lube,” Arthur said. He pulled a small tube out of his pocket and tossed it onto the floor next to where Linderman and Peter sat. “Glad to see you got started without me.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” Linderman said.

Arthur shrugged off his dinner jacket, hung it on the corner of a wine rack, and began rolling up his sleeves. “Peter, get your clothes off.”

Peter looked from his father to Linderman, then back at his father. There was only one reason that after so long keeping the secret of the way things were between father and son, Arthur should be the one to drag things out in the open. He must understand that this was the last thing on earth Peter wanted to submit to.

Linderman began unbuttoning Peter’s shirt, but Peter pushed his hands away. “I’m not gonna do this,” Peter slurred. The wine muddled his words.

Arthur strode to where they sat in three long strides, pulled Peter off Linderman by the back of his jacket, and hauled him to his feet. “Did you say no to me?” Arthur’s voice was dangerously quiet.

Peter shook his head. His brain sloshed against the inside of his skull. “No,” he said grudgingly. He remembered previous punishments Arthur had inflicted that had left marks nowhere except Peter’s impressionable young mind.

“Besides, son.” Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. “If you’re going to go around giving a ride to every hard cock you see at school, I don’t understand why you can’t extend the same courtesy to an old family friend.”

Peter flinched. He couldn’t quite explain the satisfying sense of control he got from giving away the very thing he father insisted on taking from him. It seemed that if he gave enough of himself away, there would be nothing left for Arthur to steal. But Peter had gotten too complacent. He’d made his peace with what Arthur continued to take from him. He hadn’t realized he’d left a part of himself undefended. He hadn’t realized there was anything left for Arthur to take.

“I don’t want to do this,” Peter said softly. He wasn’t sure what bothered him most about the idea of his father sharing him with his business partner: the fact that Peter had known Linderman since he was a child, or the hungry looks Linderman kept throwing his way, as if he wanted to eat Peter alive, or the possibility that Linderman’s participation would open up pathways to further degradation Peter had yet to consider. “I don’t want to,” he said again.

“But you will,” Arthur said firmly.

Linderman came up behind Peter, trapping him between them. He stripped off Peter’s jacket and tossed it to the floor.

“Please,” Peter whispered to his father. “I’ll suck you. I’ll make it good, I swear.”

“You’ll do that anyway,” Arthur said.

Linderman reached under Peter’s arms and resumed undoing the buttons on his shirt. “Such an accommodating young man,” Linderman purred in Peter’s ear.

Peter tried one last time. “Dad, please don’t make me do this,” he begged.

Arthur slapped him hard enough that the alcohol buzz in Peter’s brain solidified into a clamorous ringing. “I don’t make you do anything, Peter. You bring this on yourself.”

“You’re luckier than you know, Peter,” Linderman said. He gently pushed Peter’s shirt down his shoulders, tracing his hands along the muscles of Peter’s arms until the garment fell to the floor. “The things I’ve heard your father suggest…” His hand crept to the clasp on Peter’s pants.

Peter stared at a spot on the wall past his father’s shoulder, and shivered in the cool air of the cellar.

“You’re lucky you haven’t yet ended up as a party favor at one of your father’s business meetings,” Linderman continued, “Sucking off a board room full of men from under the table. Though that would certainly keep the out-of-town clients happy.”

“I still don’t see your objection to that,” Arthur said. There was no trace of amusement in his voice.

“You’re lucky I’m able to temper your father’s whims, Peter.” Linderman finished unzipping Peter’s pants. He pushed them down until they fell around his ankles, leaving him only in boxers. “I convinced him to let me try you out first before he takes a drastic course of action.”

Arthur reached out and crushed his hand around Peter’s cock, still half-hard from rubbing against Linderman, through his boxers. “Don’t pretend you’re above this. It’s all your good for.” He slid his hand further down and squeezed Peter’s balls cruelly. “Say it.”

Peter shouldn’t let this happen to him; he knew that. He was a Petrelli, so by all rights he should be brave and strong and clever. Like Nathan. But he wasn’t. He was the one Arthur used like a toy whenever the fancy struck him. He was the one who opened his body to all interested parties just to feel something. If he couldn’t be perfect like his brother, he should just accept his station, just wipe away every trace of undeserved pride and make himself an empty vessel, a thing his father’s actions couldn’t destroy.

“You’re right,” Peter said. “This is all I’m good for.”

“Take the rest of your clothes off,” Arthur ordered. Peter bent down and untied his shoes so he could pull his pants free. As he leaned over, he put up with Linderman’s hands roving over the skin of his back and his ass, pinching and tweaking. Finally, Peter shimmied out of his boxers.

When he straightened up, Arthur took hold of his chin. “Stand still,” he said.

Behind Peter, Linderman dropped to his knees. He pulled Peter’s ass cheeks apart with his hands and sighed appreciatively.

“He’s not a damn painting, Daniel,” Arthur snapped.

“But he is beautiful.” Linderman licked a stripe up the crease of Peter’s ass, and Peter jerked in surprise. No one had ever done that to him before.

Arthur slapped Peter on the face: firm, but not cruelly hard. “I said stay.”

Linderman licked him again. This time he lingered over Peter’s hole, poking at it with the tip of his tongue. Peter found that he was tense all over. He tried to relax, to make himself indifferent to what was happening, but it was difficult with the wet, rough strokes of Linderman’s tongue prodding his ass.

“Look at me when he’s touching you,” Arthur said.

Peter looked, and immediately felt himself blush. He knew that Arthur could see every little reaction: every twitch, every gasp. He told himself to relax and take it, not to give Arthur any more satisfaction in his humiliation, but when Linderman’s tongue wormed its way into his asshole, he felt the violation tenfold because he was looking into his father’s eyes.

“He’s new at this, Daniel. I think you’re giving the boy a rare treat. I’m amazed, actually, that there’s something Peter hasn’t tried.”

In answer, Linderman kneaded his hands into the flesh of Peter’s ass, and pushed his tongue in further. Peter jerked forward to escape, but Arthur took Peter’s hips in his hands and pushed him back toward Linderman without breaking eye contact.

“How does it feel, Peter?” Arthur asked.

Peter’s blush deepened. If he said he didn’t like it, he’d be acknowledging that Arthur could hurt him. If he said he did like it, Arthur would call him a slut. He tried keeping his mouth shut.

Arthur took hold of Peter’s dick, which was unmistakably harder than before, and gave it a few idle tugs. “It seems your work agrees with him, Daniel.” He pulled Peter away. “I think it’s time to return the favor.”

From his knees on the floor, Linderman looked up at Arthur and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief from his pocket. “I could do that all night. He’s just lovely, Arthur.”

“You’ll spoil the boy,” Arthur said darkly. “Let him do some of the work, at least.”

Linderman scooted back against the wall and spread his legs. Arthur shoved Peter, who went to his knees on the floor. “Go on,” Arthur said.

Peter quelled the urge to scream, to lash out at his father, at Linderman, to grab his clothes and run from the room and out of the house and leave this place. He couldn’t let Arthur take anything else from him. He had to give it away like it was his choice.

Peter turned slowly, and crawled between Linderman’s legs, sticking out his ass as he went. He kept his ass turned up as he unzipped Linderman’s pants and pushed down his briefs to reveal his cock, which was already mostly hard, and hot to the touch. He almost lost his nerve when he took it in his hand, but a deep breath steeled his resolve. He would beat Arthur at his own game.

“Mmm,” Peter said. He licked teasingly at the head of Linderman’s cock. “This tastes so good.” He wrapped his lips around the head and bobbed up and down a few times. Peter looked up at Linderman with half-closed eyes, as if this blowjob were the most pleasurable thing in the world for him. It had the desired effect, because Linderman was getting harder in his mouth.

Peter pulled off for a moment to keep up the dirty talk. “God I love sucking cock,” he said, trying to mimic the sultry tone he’d heard in pornos. “I just want more of it in my mouth.”

“Quit screwing around Peter,” Arthur snapped. He squatted beside them and shoved Peter’s head down onto Linderman’s crotch, trying to gag him. Peter was prepared, though, and took Linderman’s cock to the hilt if not easily, then at least with a certain degree of skill. He hummed in feigned pleasure and felt a twist of vindication in his belly when Arthur’s eyes narrowed in anger.

Arthur flipped open the tube of lube and squirted some onto his hand. He shoved two fingers into Peter right away. Peter moaned theatrically around the cock in his mouth, and squirmed back against his father’s hand. Arthur shoved in another finger, and Peter began fucking himself on Arthur’s fingers as if he couldn’t get enough. Peter knew it was dangerous to tease his father like this, but this was the only defiance he had left.

Arthur pulled his hand out and wiped off his hand in Peter’s hair. Peter managed to hide his smirk of satisfaction in another series of bobs up and down Linderman’s cock.

Suddenly, Arthur stood and pointed to the spot where Peter had been sitting before. “Was he drinking wine when you came down here?”

Linderman tore his eyes away from Peter to process the question. “I suppose he was,” he said indifferently.

Arthur went to stand over the discarded pinot grigio. “Is that my—?”

“I think it is,” Linderman said with a chuckle.

“That’s a $300 bottle.”

“Expensive taste,” Linderman said, running a finger over Peter’s cheek. “He takes after his brother.”

“He’s nothing like his brother,” Arthur snarled. “Leave Nathan out of this.”

Linderman held up his hands in mock surrender. Peter didn’t pause from his work, but he heard Arthur moving. He went to the mini-fridge in the corner, where they kept beer and the airplane-service-sized wine bottles that Angela favored on picnics. Arthur came back with a mini-bottle of some sort of white wine. He crouched next to Peter and Linderman and screwed off the top of the bottle.

“You want to drink? Drink.” Arthur pulled Peter’s head back and stuck the neck of the bottle between his lips. Wine poured down his throat. He swallowed as fast as he could, but after a few seconds, he began to choke.

“Allow me.” Linderman tipped the bottle down and grabbed it from Arthur. “Come here, darling.” He urged Peter forward to sit sideways on his lap and cradled his head gently while he fed Peter the rest of the bottle.

Peter went back up on his knees right away to kiss Linderman, sharing the rich, flowery taste of the wine, using his tongue ostentatiously to show Arthur how little this mattered to him.

“That’s enough,” Arthur growled. He grabbed Peter around the waist and pulled him back. Peter yelped as his knees scraped on the rough stone of the floor.

Arthur pressed the tube of lube directly to Peter’s hole and squeezed in a generous measure. That was followed by something cool and unyielding: the small wine bottle. The neck went in easily, but Arthur had to press harder when the bottle widened.

Peter tried to breathe and relax, breath puffing against Linderman’s crotch. He should be able to take this. He’d taken bigger things: Wes Howard, the football captain, had put his fist in Peter last month, and he’d survived. But somehow this seemed harder, with his father cursing him, and Linderman petting his hair, and the shoulder of the bottle stretching his ass.

When it finally popped in, Peter couldn’t suppress the high-pitched sound that escaped him, entirely too much like a whimper. “Take it,” Arthur said. He twisted the bottle inside Peter. “I should push this up inside you, send you back upstairs like this to walk around all night with your ass stretched around this bottle like a used-up whore.” He pushed further, and Peter gasped at the pain.

“Arthur.” Linderman grabbed Arthur’s wrist. “Leave it. You’ll break the glass.” Peter craned his neck up to see his father staring down Linderman, who had something almost like compassion in his eyes.

“Fine,” Arthur said grudgingly. He gave the bottle one last twist, then left it alone. “You’re coddling him, you know. The way he lets people use this ass, he should be able to take a full-sized bottle.”

“Come on, dear boy,” Linderman said to Peter. He took Peter’s face in his hand—his cheeks were wet with tears—and guided Peter’s mouth back to his cock. Peter sucked willingly. Linderman reached down to rub his balls while Peter worked the shaft. If the man’s breathing was any indication, Peter thought he was very close.

Arthur crouched by Peter’s head and laid a heavy hand on the back of his neck. “You’re going to swallow all of it,” he said.

Peter hummed his agreement, and then Linderman’s cock jerked inside his mouth, spilling spurt after spurt of thick semen. Peter swallowed as fast as he could, but some drooled out the corners of his mouth. He quickly licked Linderman’s dick, and his own lips, free of every last trace of come.

“Oh yes,” Linderman sighed, leaning back against the wall. “You were right about his mouth, Arthur.”

“Of course. He has to be good at something.”

“Come now, the boy’s been good, hasn’t he? I think he deserves a reward.” Linderman reached his hand between Peter’s legs and stroked his shaft.

“Wait,” Arthur snapped. “Peter, tell our guest the rule.”

“I don’t come unless I have a cock inside me,” he said dully. It had been this way always with Arthur, a rule so thoroughly conditioned into him that it was only overcome with difficulty, even when he was with someone other than his father.

“So what do you say?” Arthur asked.

Both men looked at Peter expectantly. His ass ached, and his throat was sore, but his dick was a heavy, throbbing weight between his legs, and he knew they wouldn’t let him go until this was over with. “Please fuck me,” he said.

Linderman smiled delightedly up at Arthur, but Arthur shook his head. “Try harder.”

“Please, I need your cock in my ass before I can come,” Peter said. He remembered his resolution not to let Arthur beat him with all of this, and renewed his efforts. “Please, Dad, fuck me with your big cock.” He went down on his elbows, waving his ass in the air. “I need it so bad.”

“Christ,” Linderman breathed.

Arthur yanked the bottle from Peter’s ass and quickly replaced it with his cock. While he fucked Peter into the floor, Linderman scooted over and slid a lube-slick hand around Peter’s cock, jacking him slowly and rhythmically in counterpoint to Arthur’s rough treatment.

“Beautiful, Peter,” Linderman whispered in his ear. “You are truly a special creature.” Linderman’s other hand slid along Peter’s back, and he felt a haze of pleasantness settle over him: his throat, his abused ass, his scraped knees no longer bothered him. He allowed himself to focus on Linderman’s hand between his legs. When Arthur hammered into him once more, bottoming out and stretching Peter in an almost-painful, satisfying way, Peter came, silently spilling over Linderman’s hand and onto the floor.

Arthur lasted only a few more strokes. He pulled out and painted Peter’s ass with his come. He slapped Peter’s ass once, hard, for good measure before zipping up.

Linderman got to his feet, too. “Arthur,” he said. “The boy’s a treasure.”

Arthur waved a hand dismissively. “If I could, I’d get rid of him.”

“Give him to me,” said Linderman.

Peter thought he might have stopped breathing from wild anticipation: hope and terror and confusion warring in him all at once.

Arthur paused for a moment. Peter knew the look: his father was considering, calculating. “His mother wouldn’t allow it,” he said finally. He sounded disappointed.

“Well, at least don’t ruin him by sharing him around too much,” Linderman said jovially. He clapped Arthur on the back. “He does try, doesn’t he?”

Arthur looked back at Peter, who was still slumped on the floor. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “You can use him anytime, anywhere. Free lifetime supply.”

Linderman beamed.

“Peter, the grown-ups are going back to the party,” Arthur said. “Clean yourself up and go to your room. I expect to see you in my office in the morning before you leave for school.”

“Goodnight, Peter,” Linderman said with a smile. They disappeared up the stairs.

Peter gave himself another minute to crouch where he was, trembling. Then he crawled over to where he’d left his bottle of wine in the first place. He tipped it back, emptying the last few drops to wash away the taste in his mouth. He pulled out the next closest bottle—the vintage didn’t matter, as long as it was alcohol—and went in search of the corkscrew. He needed to still be drunk come morning.

Current Mood: artistic
Current Location: Salt Mines (of Pruul?)
Current Music: score from Charlie Wilson's War