[MitS] 009 -- "Bed" by Semisonic
Apr. 28th, 2008 02:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
changehistory[ooc: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
recreating_eden!verse, Peter is ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
its_myturn, and used/fantasized about with permission.]
My little darling I'm a tangled mess // When you tease me the way you do
And what it would be like I can only guess // If you'd please me like I wanna please you
Well show me a friendship that's pure and chaste // And I'll show you an engine that's dying to race
There were moments when he thought Peter might have figured it out. Oh, not the virus, not that it hadn't been an accident, not that Adam was not the hero he pretended to be. He lived in fear of that, sometimes, or would if he allowed himself to dwell on it, but he was very good at not dwelling when things seemed so problematic. No, what he wondered, the thoughts he didn't keep shielded so well, was how Peter could remain so very oblivious to Adam's far more visceral urges. How he could not realize how badly Adam's fingers itched to reach out, brush through his hair, tease along the edge of his jaw. Every now and then he imagined there was a glimmer of something when brown eyes met blue. This would be the moment, he'd think, when recognition would blossom, and the ache that seemed constant in his presence would nearly burst. He'd watch that crooked smile, which came far too infrequently these days, and his breath would catch with a deep seated longing to feel it curve against his own lips.
It wasn't as if it was a secret that Adam's inclinations swung that way, nor was the fact that he did not spend every night in Elle's bed hidden. So, it wasn't ignorance of Adam's sexual orientation, or some misguided belief that he was bound only to Elle. He supposed his relationship with Hiro might slide blinders over Peter's eyes, but, really, at the end of the day...Peter lived in the same house. He had to know about the random ways Adam got through nights that were far too long for someone who barely slept. He had to know, and yet, it seemed he didn't.
He didn't see the looks for more than those of a friend. He didn't feel when Adam's eyes lingered. He didn't hear the note of longing that throbbed under the words Adam spoke. He didn't seem to taste that edge of desire that laced the air, nearly making Adam whimper.
And it was slowly, methodically, driving Adam insane.
There were times when obliviousness was a good thing. There were plenty of things it was excellent that Peter ignored or missed: Sylar's presence in the area, with Adam's blessing. The level of planning Adam obviously had given rebuilding the world. Mohinder and the girl's kidnapping on Adam's orders. Adam's previous relationship with Peter's mother and the result of said liaison. Exactly what Adam had done to Bob once he got his hands on him.
Adam's growing obsession, however, was not one of those things that should be ignored. Even if giving in to it would be dangerous because of all the other things he really would rather Peter not find out about, ever, Adam was ceasing to care. He didn't want to examine it too deeply, didn't want to put it in terms of need or, heaven forbid, love. He didn't want to consider his own loneliness or wonder whether he had found someone who could truly be his equal for the first time in centuries.
He told himself, instead, that he just wanted to know what it was like to be with someone else who couldn't be destroyed. He wanted to taste those lips, hear the sounds Peter made when he let his tongue wander lower, teach him exactly what his body was capable of, and learn for himself what it meant to be outmatched. Peter was danger, the one thing that could topple the empire he was building, the one person who could break him down physically. It ran under his skin and in his eyes and was fire in his soul. Danger was new, exotic, intoxicating.
It was playing with fire to watch him move, to imagine him up against the wall, pliant under Adam's hands, or across the desk, teeth biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood that went away immediately, begging for something he didn't even fully know he needed yet. It had been too long since there had been a fire to toy with, Adam thought, and that was what was drawing the obsession to the surface. The one thing he didn't have, the one thing out of his reach, the one thing that could smash his feet of clay. The world held too few challenges, even as decimated as it was. It had all gotten old centuries before, but Peter was something new entirely. And something that could last, the voice he tried to ignore whispered. He didn't want that to matter, because without such thoughts he could ignore that it was more than the feel of a conquest, something to bind the boy closer, to keep that power by his side that he was longing for.
That his stomach flipped at each smile he coaxed out of Peter, he pushed aside. That he wanted to tell him things he never could, he deemed unimportant. That part of him just wanted a chance to drop the guard, to have someone meet him in the center of his soul, heart and mind, he crushed under his heel even as the urge rose. Such desires never worked out, and disappointment only left him aching for it more, little pieces shattering each time he tried to show them and had them cast aside. It hurt worse, after, than it had to keep it inside, and that was a lesson far too recently learned for him to contemplate the promise Peter could represent of something different on a level far beyond the physical. He couldn't, simple as that, he told the small voice that protested, and turned his thoughts back to the physical.
Eyes, fingers, skin that he sometimes fancied shimmered with the power sliding underneath it. Lips and hips, pressing closer, meeting and merging; tongues and limbs both tangling until they were both exhausted, sated. The taste of sweat on skin, the way it reddened then healed immediately under the pressure of teeth, the strength of his arms, the way heat could singe and slide along nerves...
He found his release where he could, nearly punishing partners with the force of his growing need. He buried himself in his work more, trying to distract himself. And in quieter moments, he watched. He let the thoughts slip out from behind the barrier he kept up, eyes tracking Peter's movements. And he waited for Peter to notice, and wondered if he was dooming them both with it.
recreating_eden!verse, Peter is its_myturn, and used/fantasized about with permission.]My little darling I'm a tangled mess // When you tease me the way you do
And what it would be like I can only guess // If you'd please me like I wanna please you
Well show me a friendship that's pure and chaste // And I'll show you an engine that's dying to race
There were moments when he thought Peter might have figured it out. Oh, not the virus, not that it hadn't been an accident, not that Adam was not the hero he pretended to be. He lived in fear of that, sometimes, or would if he allowed himself to dwell on it, but he was very good at not dwelling when things seemed so problematic. No, what he wondered, the thoughts he didn't keep shielded so well, was how Peter could remain so very oblivious to Adam's far more visceral urges. How he could not realize how badly Adam's fingers itched to reach out, brush through his hair, tease along the edge of his jaw. Every now and then he imagined there was a glimmer of something when brown eyes met blue. This would be the moment, he'd think, when recognition would blossom, and the ache that seemed constant in his presence would nearly burst. He'd watch that crooked smile, which came far too infrequently these days, and his breath would catch with a deep seated longing to feel it curve against his own lips.
It wasn't as if it was a secret that Adam's inclinations swung that way, nor was the fact that he did not spend every night in Elle's bed hidden. So, it wasn't ignorance of Adam's sexual orientation, or some misguided belief that he was bound only to Elle. He supposed his relationship with Hiro might slide blinders over Peter's eyes, but, really, at the end of the day...Peter lived in the same house. He had to know about the random ways Adam got through nights that were far too long for someone who barely slept. He had to know, and yet, it seemed he didn't.
He didn't see the looks for more than those of a friend. He didn't feel when Adam's eyes lingered. He didn't hear the note of longing that throbbed under the words Adam spoke. He didn't seem to taste that edge of desire that laced the air, nearly making Adam whimper.
And it was slowly, methodically, driving Adam insane.
There were times when obliviousness was a good thing. There were plenty of things it was excellent that Peter ignored or missed: Sylar's presence in the area, with Adam's blessing. The level of planning Adam obviously had given rebuilding the world. Mohinder and the girl's kidnapping on Adam's orders. Adam's previous relationship with Peter's mother and the result of said liaison. Exactly what Adam had done to Bob once he got his hands on him.
Adam's growing obsession, however, was not one of those things that should be ignored. Even if giving in to it would be dangerous because of all the other things he really would rather Peter not find out about, ever, Adam was ceasing to care. He didn't want to examine it too deeply, didn't want to put it in terms of need or, heaven forbid, love. He didn't want to consider his own loneliness or wonder whether he had found someone who could truly be his equal for the first time in centuries.
He told himself, instead, that he just wanted to know what it was like to be with someone else who couldn't be destroyed. He wanted to taste those lips, hear the sounds Peter made when he let his tongue wander lower, teach him exactly what his body was capable of, and learn for himself what it meant to be outmatched. Peter was danger, the one thing that could topple the empire he was building, the one person who could break him down physically. It ran under his skin and in his eyes and was fire in his soul. Danger was new, exotic, intoxicating.
It was playing with fire to watch him move, to imagine him up against the wall, pliant under Adam's hands, or across the desk, teeth biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood that went away immediately, begging for something he didn't even fully know he needed yet. It had been too long since there had been a fire to toy with, Adam thought, and that was what was drawing the obsession to the surface. The one thing he didn't have, the one thing out of his reach, the one thing that could smash his feet of clay. The world held too few challenges, even as decimated as it was. It had all gotten old centuries before, but Peter was something new entirely. And something that could last, the voice he tried to ignore whispered. He didn't want that to matter, because without such thoughts he could ignore that it was more than the feel of a conquest, something to bind the boy closer, to keep that power by his side that he was longing for.
That his stomach flipped at each smile he coaxed out of Peter, he pushed aside. That he wanted to tell him things he never could, he deemed unimportant. That part of him just wanted a chance to drop the guard, to have someone meet him in the center of his soul, heart and mind, he crushed under his heel even as the urge rose. Such desires never worked out, and disappointment only left him aching for it more, little pieces shattering each time he tried to show them and had them cast aside. It hurt worse, after, than it had to keep it inside, and that was a lesson far too recently learned for him to contemplate the promise Peter could represent of something different on a level far beyond the physical. He couldn't, simple as that, he told the small voice that protested, and turned his thoughts back to the physical.
Eyes, fingers, skin that he sometimes fancied shimmered with the power sliding underneath it. Lips and hips, pressing closer, meeting and merging; tongues and limbs both tangling until they were both exhausted, sated. The taste of sweat on skin, the way it reddened then healed immediately under the pressure of teeth, the strength of his arms, the way heat could singe and slide along nerves...
He found his release where he could, nearly punishing partners with the force of his growing need. He buried himself in his work more, trying to distract himself. And in quieter moments, he watched. He let the thoughts slip out from behind the barrier he kept up, eyes tracking Peter's movements. And he waited for Peter to notice, and wondered if he was dooming them both with it.
