Word count: 2459
Summary: Pretty boys who have powers are really quite Emo.
Notes: All a work of fiction, nothing real about it. Thanks to alwayseven who is the rockingest beta ever. Title by Unkle.
Warning: Minor Character Death
Crossposted to sn_crossovers and heroes_slash
Peter almost drowned once.
He remembers what it felt like, seven years old and water in his lungs and that heady feeling that teetered on the edge between frightening and thrilling. That moment of complete clarity, where it would have been so easy to just let go.
He could have done it too, could have let go so damn easily. Just sucked in all that salt and water and given into it, just let it take him. But fucking Nathan… well, he always was there to save everyone wasn't he?
Peter wasn't. He couldn't.
And all he can hear now is Nathan's voice in his head, like obscene sound bites: "Not your fault… she… you couldn't have known… I'll do everything I can, kid..."
Always the politician. He throws back the last of his drink and as he swallows the alcohol burns hot and bitter in his throat and no amount of drinking can get it, her, out of his head. Her body twisted and still and icy-cold to his touch. He orders another because alcohol numbs the pain, at least a little. Makes him anaesthetized. Less aware. More human.
His head snaps around as the bar-door swings open and two guys walk in. The first one he thinks might give Nathan a run for his money; a total player who seems to have caught every woman's attention in the space of five seconds. Not that Peter can really blame all the girls flocking to this guy like they've been on some island where they haven't seen a man for a year. He's pretty much drop-dead fucking gorgeous.
The second guy on the other hand, he’s… well he's another thing altogether. Tall as fuck and with a smile that he hasn't seen in… well, in longer than he'd care to admit. But there's sadness behind those eyes, too. Pain and loss and Peter can't help but think of himself, of his own pain that's been eating away at him. There's something else too, something that makes his blood hum and his skin prickle. Something different, something not quite normal.
Just like Peter.
He's leaning over the bar now, right next to Peter, and now that he can see this guy up close, Peter can't even swallow. Big hands, strong arms, and a mouth that looks like it'd be really soft, looks like it'd taste really… and wow, he must've been staring far too long because he hears him laugh and Peter knows he's been busted.
"You want anything?" He tosses over one shoulder to his friend.
"Nah, I'm good." The other guy yells, "Though you can always come over here and help us answer a really important intellectual question..."
The tall one rolls his eyes, “I’ve told you already, Dean, asking the question: ‘Who’s the bigger pussy, Usher or Timberlake?' is not at all intellectual. But I'm sure that's one ethical dilemma you can debate all on your own." He gestures to the bartender and mouths "Bourbon and Coke" over the blare of the jukebox.
Peter downs his shot. "Usher, definitely. Timberlake could take him."
"I'd agree, but then I'd be agreeing with my brother, and tonight I'm feeling more than a little stubborn." He laughs.
Peter's eyes widen, “He’s your brother? Okay, now that makes sense."
"What do you mean?" The guy squints and looks more than a little bit panicked.
Peter laughs, “Don’t worry, man. It's that wanting to make your brother suffer thing. I get it. Mine does it to me on a daily basis." Peter can see him exhale and relax and he puts his hand out. “I’m… I'm Peter."
"Hey Peter. Sam."
Sam takes his hand, and his skin is electric and… something happens. It's like Peter's inside Sam's head somehow, like he's watching a movie from the outside. He sees Sam laughing, kissing a beautiful girl with blonde hair, and as soon as she's there she's gone again and Sam's clutching his stomach in pain. The next image is all too fucking familiar. He sees himself now, cradling Simone, blood dripping from her temple and she's all broken and twisted and contorted like some grotesque rag doll as he holds onto her. Then there's nothing but fire and blood and cities burning and he can't stop it, can’t shut it out because this isn't his vision at all. It’s all Sam’s and he’s pulling away from Peter like he’s been shocked, like he’s being sucked dry and Peter feels like he’s choking, trying to get his breath back. Pain coursing through his head. He feels like he should be relieved that it’s over, and he is but he can also feel cold air against his palm where seconds ago there was so much warmth. Peter misses the imprint of Sam’s fingers against his and he wants them back where they were, marking him.
Sam backs away and Peter catches him by the arm. “Christ, who are you? What… are you?"
Peter bites his lower lip, “I’m a freak."
Sam throws back the rest of his Bourbon and Coke. "Yeah, well." He shrugs “I’m pretty much a freak too." He moves closer so Peter can almost feel Sam’s breath on his face. "But you knew that already, didn't you?"
Peter inhales sharply through his nose, "Yeah, I did. When I'm around people who are… like you, I guess? Well, I take on what makes them special."
Sam nods. "So who is she? The woman you were… I've seen her before."
Peter swallows. Hard. "Her name was Simone." And he feels like he’s choking on the words, they feel heavy and bitter like ash on his tongue. "She wasn't like us. She didn't understand, she…couldn't." He struggles to keep his voice even, but he feels the words stick in his throat. "She didn't make it." He knows he sounds broken with grief and he pauses, finally processing exactly what Sam said to him. "You. Saw her? Before tonight?"
Sam nods. "Yeah. I see a lot of things. People. I used to be able to save them, but not any more." He mutters under his breath, "There's just too many of them."
Sam sounds like someone kicked him in the gut, knocked the wind out of him and left him there, unable to breathe. He pauses, "I. lost someone too. Her name was Jessica and she..."
Sam's pain shows in his face, grief weighing him down and Peter can't resist the urge to touch him. He runs his fingers over Sam's wrist and whispers, "Yeah. I know."
"Yeah." Sam smiles kindly. "I think you really do. Sucks, don't it?"
Peter laughs, and it feels wrong. Feels bitter and stuck in his chest, because Sam’s right. It's exhausting, watching the people you love disappear in front of your eyes and not be able to do a thing about it. There's so much pressure, but it’s a huge relief to meet someone who understands. Someone who knows what it’s like and doesn't try and escape the responsibility, who doesn't try and deny who they really are.
Like Nathan. He's so fucking sick of his brother's reluctant heroism.
Peter feels Sam’s pulse beat rhythmically against his fingers. He's been touching Sam’s wrist far too long, but Peter doesn't want to let go. There's this undeniable pull between them, and it makes Peter want to lean in. To get in closer and touch more than just Sam’s wrist and see if the rest of Sam’s body hums like that small patch of skin that Peter's currently fixated on.
But Peter has to let go when Sam’s brother comes over and pushes himself in between the two of them. "New friend?" Sam’s brother nods at him, but it’s decidedly not neighborly. It’s more like Peter's advancing on his territory. "Yeah." Sam bites his lower lip, "Peter, this is my brother, Dean." When Peter puts his hand out, Dean's grip is so tight that Peter can’t help but feel incredibly uncomfortable. And the smirk on his face while he’s shooting daggers at Peter? Not exactly calming.
Dean orders a shot of tequila and slams it back. "Okay. That was one shot too many. Sammy, say goodbye, we're leaving."
Sam's jaw tenses. "We are not leaving, Dean. You wanna leave, that's cool. I'm staying." He gestures to the bartender that he'd like two more.
Dean raises an eyebrow, "Whatever then, little brother. See you back at the motel?"
Sam nods. Dean squeezes his shoulder and stares at his brother for too long before striding out the door.
And Peter thought he and Nathan were fucked-up?
"That was rude." Sam sighs, “I’m sorry about that, Peter. Dean can be a little..."
Sam pushes one of the shots towards Peter and laughs, "I would say possessive, but I guess that's a nicer way of putting it."
Peter watches as Sam licks a wet stripe up his hand and covers it with salt. He can feel a familiar tight knot forming in the pit of his stomach as Sam lifts his hand to his own mouth again and removes salt and sweat with his tongue. Peter swallows, staring at Sam’s mouth far longer than is probably comfortable in public. Can't help but picture that tongue doing dirty, dirty things to him and he loses himself in that image for more than a few seconds.
“I… I can’t blame him, I guess. "I think I'd be possessive too."
Sam blinks and he knocks his shot back. He pauses for a few seconds then leans in, breath warm on Peter's ear, “I… Do you want to…?"
Peter nods; he doesn't even need to think about it. Sam’s gorgeous and wounded, but there's more to it than that. They’re so alike and Peter just wants someone who understands him right now. Someone he doesn't have to explain anything to, and lose himself in completely. Someone not normal.
Fuck normal, he thinks. It’s completely overrated.
Sam’s lips are on Peter's ear, tongue darting out to trace around the shell as he whispers, "Outside." And Peter can still feel warm breath on his skin but before he even has time to react, Sam’s gone and what the fuck is he waiting for, even more of an invitation? He throws some money down on the counter and follows Sam out the door.
As soon as Peter's outside he feels cool, hard brick against his back as Sam presses him against the wall, one thigh in between Peter's, anchoring him there. Sam has strong thighs and he sucks on Peter's tongue like there's no time left in the world. Sam doesn't just taste of alcohol, he tastes like so many things Peter's tried to forget: want and need and death. And fuck it, like life too. Peter needs this desperately, needs to get inside Sam’s head again and see and just fucking feel. It’s been so long since he’s felt anything but regret and being inside Sam’s head is as close to reality as he’s been since he left New York with Simone's blood on his hands.
He's so sick of feeling nothing.
Sam’s mouth doesn't taste like nothing and he inches his hand up under Peter's shirt. Peter leans into the touch and it fucking burns. He's harder than he’s been in God knows how long and Peter moans as Sam grabs his ass and just holds him there as he grinds against him.
“You’re going to save the world, you know..." Sam whispers, practically purring as he thrusts against him, and Peter can’t believe he’s still standing because his legs feel like they're made of liquid.
“You’re going to have a scar, too. Right here." Sam traces a line from Peter's lower lip down towards his chin with his index finger. “I’ve seen it. It’s really fucking sexy." Sam kisses him again and drops down to his knees and Peter can’t. Fucking. Breathe.
Sam mouths the outline of Peter's cock through his pants and Peter's head feels far too heavy. He can see inside Sam’s head again. Blood and death and pain and Peter thought he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he can’t even imagine what it must be like to have to live with that every day. It’s bad enough that he can’t close his eyes at night without seeing the people he couldn't save. But Sam? He gets to see it before it happens. And that's worse, some sort of cruel joke that no one deserves.
He moans as Sam unbuttons Peter's pants and pulls his cock out and Peter can feel hot, hot breath as Sam sighs before he licks up the underside. And his eyes are half-closed but he can still see Sam watching him every fucking second as he licks again, so slowly that Peter wants to yell. His breath hitches as Sam takes him into his mouth inch by inch.
And it’s so fucking hot watching Sam on his knees, his mouth being used like that. It’s been a long time since Peter's felt like this, legs almost ready to give out, heat pooling in his stomach and the fact that anyone could just walk into the alley and see them? Well that just makes it hotter.
Sam looks up at him and draws back, tongues the head of Peter's cock and just… waits. Peter's breathing even more erratically now and he just wants… more. Twists his fingers in Sam’s hair, grabbing him tighter, fucking his mouth slowly at first, then rapidly faster.
Peter moans as he thrusts into the heat of Sam's mouth, deeper and deeper.
He holds Sam there, hands clutching him probably far too tight as he comes down Sam’s throat, moaning, gasping for breath.
He waits for what feels like long, long, minutes before he pulls Sam up and licks at his red, swollen lips. Sam looks so spent and used and Peter just feels so damned alive as he unzips Sam’s jeans and strokes him; slow and rough.
"Yeah," he whispers as Sam thrusts into his fist, "Come on."
Peter grabs a handful of Sam’s hair with his free hand and kisses him fast and hard and desperate as Sam moans into his mouth, "Fuck." And that's all it takes before Sam’s coming in his pants, mouth open and head thrown back. He's like the most perfect thing that Peter's ever seen and he sucks on Sam’s neck hard enough to mark him. And that's exactly what Peter wants right now, wants to take Sam away from here and mark him all over his body.
Mark him with bruises that anyone can see if they look close enough. Bruises that Sam can touch when he’s alone.
He thinks he'd pay to be inside Sam’s head for that.
Followed by More You Understand