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Shot for Shot	By : crashgirl82 Category: G through L > Heroes Views: 1749 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or its characters; I make no money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Shot for Shot
- 1
From the very first shot Nathan had taken, he had just known this night was headed in the wrong direction. Whenever his brother was involved, that was just the way it was.

Peter was smiling smugly at him, slamming down his shot glass for what seemed like the thirtieth time, and Nathan’s stomach turned.
“You win. I’ll--be right back--” Nathan slurred, and bolted off the chair.
How the hell he and Peter had ended up in a bar in Queens escaped him, as he prayed that he wasn’t going to throw up all over his slacks and his six-hundred-dollar Italian leather shoes. He pushed open the restroom door and barely made it into the stall.
He began to think a little more clearly when his stomach finally finished expunging the exorbitant amount of alcohol he’d just knocked back. Oh yes, that’s right. Peter’s girlfriend lives in Queens. She had him meet her here so she wouldn’t feel guilty about breaking up with him via text message. What a thoughtful move.
Peter hadn’t really seemed all that upset about it when he’d received Peter’s call at the office, but when he’d spoken to him later in the evening, he could tell Peter had started drinking away his sorrows and had a few too many. Naturally Nathan had worried about him and offered to pick him up.
When he’d arrived, Peter was all smiles and had sobered up a bit, and Nathan was relieved. Then Peter challenged him shot for shot. “Oh, come on, Nathan. We can get a taxi, or get a room for the night. It’s been a while since you and I had a good time together,” Peter had said, a conspiratorial look in those dark eyes.
Nathan had relented finally, and now yes, he had just thrown up all over himself. That little fucker sure can hold his liquor.
He splashed some water on his face, and then grabbed some of the virtually useless institutional brown paper towels from the dispenser by the sink and cleaned up the best he could. When he was confident that he would make it out of the men’s room without falling flat on his face, he opened the door and ignored the annoyed stares he received from the people he had kept waiting.
He scanned around the bar counter, the flash of reflecting light off the back mirror and the liquor bottles sending pain shooting through his head. Peter was nowhere in sight. What the hell? Where did he go? He knew I was sick, and he just up and left? Peter couldn’t have gone far. He hadn’t been in the restroom that long, had he?
As Nathan headed for the exit, an extremely attractive, red-headed waitress stopped him, resting her hand gently on his arm. “You looking for your brother? He stepped out about ten minutes ago. He said you’d be picking up the tab?”
Nathan’s stomach churned again, this time from anger and not from alcohol. “Of course,” he said through a wide, fake smile. “How could I forget?” Nathan took a seat at the bar once again, asked for one more shot, and slapped a handful of bills down on the counter.
Peter was a real piece of work. Nathan had driven all the way out here because he actually gave a shit about him. Now Peter was gone, and had left him holding the bag as usual. Not that he cared about the money; it was just the principle, really. The last time I do a damn thing for you, Nathan fumed silently.
He left the bar and walked out into the clear, slightly chilly evening, the fresh air doing wonders for him. Nathan scanned the unfamiliar, car-choked streets for any sign of his brother. Drunken, laughing college-age kids not much younger than Peter himself rambled down the sidewalks; others stood around smoking cigarettes, talking on cell phones, looking disinterested and bored with life on a Saturday night in the suburbs.
Did I ever act like that? Nathan wondered. No way. I was always stuck at family functions with ten of my cousins, sneaking alcohol out of Mom and Dad’s liquor cabinet. And we had cigars.
The silly thought made Nathan chuckle to himself.
Nathan shoved his hands into his pockets and resumed scanning the faces of the people who walked by him. He was aware he probably looked worse than any of them after a long night. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot, his suit jacket rumpled, and the hems of his pants were still wet where he had tried to clean them up. He was just thankful that he wasn’t that much of a celebrity in Queens; if he were closer to home, there was a good chance someone might recognize him. For a former assistant district attorney, and would-be Congressman, “any” publicity was far from good publicity.
He was still pretty drunk, and after a while, all the faces started to look the same. None of them were Peter.
Could he have gone into another bar? This street and the surrounding area were full of them.
He chose one at random and ducked inside, and seven bars and seven shots later, Nathan was absolutely smashed and positively shaking with fury at Peter’s inconsideration, and what was worse, an irrational feeling was building in him that bordered dangerously close to panic. Peter’s cell phone was going directly to voicemail now.
Peter’s a big boy; he can take care of himself. Fuck this. He decided the best thing to do was just go rent a room and sleep it off. Peter would be fine, wherever he was. Some fucking good time, drinking by myself. Thanks, Pete.
He opened his cell and dialed 411 for the number to a local taxi service, and waiting for the call to connect, he glanced up, and across the street, he finally saw Peter. He was standing in the shadows between two buildings, and a tall blonde in low-cut jeans and a halter top had her tongue halfway down his throat and her hands in his pants.

Peter had left him, while he was throwing up, for a girl he had just met? In a jealous rage, Nathan stormed across the street, narrowly missing collision with a city bus. “Peter!” he bellowed.

Peter looked up at the sound of his name and pulled his hands out from under the girl’s shirt, a guilty look coming to his face.
The girl eyed Nathan curiously, and looked like she might open her mouth to say something about his sudden interruption, but Nathan just glared at her. He knew he really looked like shit now; he had forgotten his suit jacket in one of the bars, the top buttons of his shirt open, his tie undone, and his hair was probably sticking up every which way.
But she didn’t look much better. Her eyeliner and mascara were smudged all around her eyes, and her dyed-blonde hair hung in long chunks in her face, her roots desperately needing a touch-up.
Nathan clamped a hand possessively on his brother’s shoulder and gave the girl a distasteful look, as if to say, This is mine. He seethed, “Let’s get the fuck out of here, Pete.” He took Peter by his arm and dragged him into another alleyway between two buildings a little further down the street.
“Christ, what happened? You look like shit!” Peter exclaimed, attempting to straighten Nathan’s clothes out somewhat.
Nathan slapped Peter’s hands away. “ ‘What happened’? You fucking left me, that’s what happened! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
“Nathan, calm down! I’m fine! That girl, she was crying, and she just wanted to go out for a cigarette, and then she asked me if I wanted to take a walk with her, and then one thing just led to another…” Peter’s voice trailed off. “I’m sorry, Nathan.”
But Nathan would not be mollified. “What, were you going to fuck her right in the damn alleyway? Real classy, Pete. That chick looked like a prostitute!”
That was not entirely true, but Nathan was so pissed off and so relieved he had found him that of course, he would now do what any good brother would: take out his frustration with him by insulting him.
Peter rolled his eyes, rested his head back against the bricks and was silent for a moment. “You don’t have to treat me like a kid, Nathan,” he said finally, slurring his words slightly.
Nathan would have loved nothing more at that moment than to slap him. “Then don’t act like one. After all the shit you put me through with the goddamn flying, all I need is for you to get arrested for having sex in public.”
Peter shot him a dirty look, and Nathan couldn’t quite tell if it was laced with genuine hurt or just disdain.
“Oh, because you really give a shit about me? All you’re worried about is how bad it’d look for you. You think just because you cheat on Heidi behind closed doors, that makes it any better?” Peter’s eyes did not leave his, and Nathan could tell that Peter had had way too much to drink himself. He sure knew that look: that dangerous, drunken sparkle that told him Peter had only one thing on his mind.
That.
“Don’t even start,” Nathan threatened. But it was too late; Peter had put the thought in his mind, just as he always did, even though Nathan swore to himself every time he touched Peter it would be the last time.
It was never the last time. He knew it. Peter knew it too, and he wouldn’t be contained.
“Oh, Nathan,” Peter said, his voice a deliberate, husky whisper, his fingers hooking into Nathan’s belt, pulling him closer. “What if all your constituents and your supporters knew that the golden boy liked fucking his little brother? That would be something to talk about at your next fundraiser, don’t you think? Far more interesting than the state of my mental health. Think that might hurt your performance in the polls?”
“I swear to God, Pete, don’t--” Nathan wanted to punch him now, even as he felt himself getting hard. Peter always had to throw it in his face, didn’t he? Like Peter didn’t want it just as much?
His thoughts were interrupted as Peter suddenly slammed him into the brick wall on the other side of the narrow alley, and they were totally engulfed in darkness now; no light from the hazy sodium streetlamps permeated this far in between the buildings. A shiver ran through Nathan’s body as he felt Peter’s lips graze his earlobe, his teeth sinking in gently.
“Come on, Nathan. Right here. Right now.” It was so dark that Nathan couldn’t see him, but God he could feel him, his lean, slightly built frame pressed up against him, hips rocking, hard already, his mouth now traveling along his jaw line, over his chin, finally meeting Nathan’s lips in a rough, needy kiss.
“Peter, no,” Nathan tried, as Peter unashamedly groped at him. But he knew Peter wouldn’t stop, and he didn’t really want him to, either.
Nathan allowed Peter to touch him, his excitement building, Peter panting and moaning when Nathan gave him just a little, a shift of his hips, a touch of his fingers through Peter’s longish hair. He hated to admit it, but he loved when Peter was like this. This was the side of Peter that didn’t care what other people thought of him. The part of Peter that drove him to endanger his life and his sanity, the one that had made him jump off a building just to be sure he could really fly.
The part of Peter that Nathan sometimes wished he could find in himself. To just throw caution to the wind and the best-laid plans out the window. Doing this with his brother was the closest he could ever get to feeling the same way.
Well, if Peter wanted sex, after the disaster that had been tonight, it sure as hell wouldn’t be under his terms. Not in a random alleyway in Queens, of all places. But Peter was making it quite difficult to say no and mean it.
“We could get--in big trouble--for this,” Nathan groaned, his resolve bending, breaking as Peter’s hand slipped into his shirt, tracing a little circle around his nipple, his other hand still manipulating Nathan through his dress slacks.
“I know…that’s why it’s so exciting.” Peter’s reply was muffled as his mouth crushed over Nathan’s once again, tasting mostly of alcohol, but beneath that, something else, something he’d never been entitled to, something he needed, wanted more than anything.
“Peter,” he said.
“Nathan,” was his answer.
Peter grasped Nathan’s wrist and jerked it downward, and what he felt next shocked him and aroused him even more--Peter was hard and hot in his hand, thrusting into Nathan’s palm.
Nathan closed his hand around him reflexively, not even thinking about it, not caring anymore. Wrong or right, his brother or not, it was dark, and it was three in the morning. No one would see.
“Fuck. You’re a slut when you drink,” Nathan said.
“And that’s a bad thing?” Peter asked. Peter’s hands busied themselves elsewhere now, at Nathan’s belt and his zipper, making quick work of them.
The cool night air felt wonderful on his naked skin, Peter’s slender fingers caressing his hips, that mouth now moving down his chest, his stomach. Peter’s tongue ran along the underside of his cock, and Nathan bit back a moan. He could understand now why this got Peter so hot: the thrill that they could be seen or caught at any moment. Reason and logic didn’t apply; it never had, not in Peter’s world. Instant gratification, plain and simple. So very Petrelli of you, Nathan thought.
He let Peter continue for a few moments, and then gently pulled away. “Stand up, Pete,” he demanded. Peter did as he was told.
Nathan’s eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness, and he could see a slight smile on his brother’s face. The reality of what Peter had done to him slammed him full force.
You manipulative bastard, Nathan thought. You knew I wouldn't be able to resist this.
Nathan felt Peter press something into his hand. A little bottle.
“What a good little Boy Scout,” Nathan panted into Peter’s ear, turning him around so that Peter faced the bricks. “Always prepared.”
“Yeah,” was all Peter said, as Nathan spread some between his fingers, ran his hand slowly over the smooth white curve of Peter’s ass, dipped in between. Peter’s body tensed, and he felt Peter’s heart beating faster beneath his palm as he opened him with two fingers, pressing on that little spot inside him. Peter made soft, barely controlled noises that sounded even more beautiful to Nathan’s ears than his usually louder, more unrestrained ones.
Nathan pressed the tip of his cock right at the base of Peter’s spine, then a little lower, until he just nudged himself between his buttocks, and he heard Peter swallow a desperate cry.
“Fuck,” Peter breathed. “Come on.”
Nathan leaned into him, let just the head of his cock slide into him, no more. He took a handful of Peter’s hair and pulled a little more roughly than he should have, and Peter took a sharp breath.
“You were a bad boy tonight, Peter. Leaving me alone. Tricking me into this. Now that I think about it, you don’t really deserve it. Ask nicely, Peter.”
“Please,” Peter said, his voice very quiet.
“Please what?”
“Please now.”
“Okay, okay,” Nathan laughed, and leaned forward more, felt his resistance give, and with a single fluid motion was engulfed in Peter’s tight heat. Peter let out a shaky, satisfied groan. “God, yeah, Nathan.”
“How do you always fucking do this to me?” Nathan asked, pulling Peter’s head around so he could kiss him.
Peter whispered, “Because I’m your brother. Because you want it too. Because it’s wrong.”
“Shut up,” Nathan said, anger flooding him. “Don’t fucking say things like that.” But God damn it, he was right. Peter laughed, and fueled by desire and anger both, Nathan moved faster, Peter’s moans getting louder.
He had to make this quick. For God’s sake, they were in a damn alley! Nathan didn’t even want to imagine the headlines if they were seen. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and concentrated on only this, on only Peter.
After just a few minutes more, just as he’d intended, Peter was trembling slightly, his body now slack in Nathan’s arms.
“Oh, God. Nathan,” Peter sighed, “I’m gonna fucking come already.”
“No one’s stopping you,” Nathan said softly, adjusting his hips to the angle that would feel best for him. He held Peter up, pulled him against him, his thrusts slowing and deepening. Peter’s head fell back, resting on his shoulder, and with a deep sigh, his brother came, shuddering and gasping, into Nathan’s hand. So fucking wrong. But Nathan couldn’t care anymore. Not when he had Peter like this.
“I love when I do that to you,” Nathan murmured into Peter’s shoulder. He knew Peter had to be hypersensitive right now, but he’d be damned if he was stopping. The alcoholic rush was leveling off as his peak approached, and he really had to finish. They had to get the hell out of here. Just as soon as--there--now--
Nathan pushed Peter against the wall, drove into him furiously, and silenced himself by biting down into Peter’s shoulder as he came, Peter’s inner muscles tight around him. God, no one could make him come harder than Peter could. So wrong…
Nathan rested his head between Peter’s shoulder blades and attempted to compose himself. He realized his mistake then as Peter groaned, “Oh, come on. You asshole. Couldn’t you have pulled out?”
Nathan opened his mouth to answer when a light came on in a window from the building above them. A little old lady’s voice screeched, “Who’s down there? Fucking teenagers! Get the hell out of here! I’m calling the cops!”
“Shit!” the brothers exclaimed in unison. They both pulled their pants up and buttoned their shirts, and walked out of the alleyway trying desperately to look nonchalant.
“You’re the asshole,” Nathan grumbled, attempting to straighten his tie. “Seducing me in a goddamned alley for God’s sake!” He tried to keep a straight face as he noticed that Peter was walking a little funny. Not that he’d hurt him or anything; Peter just hadn’t been able to clean himself up properly. Nathan unsuccessfully tried to stifle a laugh.
Peter looked at him crossly and rubbed his shoulder. “No, you’re the asshole. You bit me! Call a damn taxi, will you? I feel disgusting right now.”
Nathan flipped open his phone and pressed the call button. “Well, you should. That’s what you get. If I had my way, we’d be at the Marriott Marquis. Nice soft bed, nice hot shower.”
One more thing to piss him off. Shot for shot. Nathan just couldn’t resist. “Nice clean clothes…”
Peter punched him in the arm, but gave him a smile anyway. “Shut up! I didn’t think this all the way through.”
Nathan shook his head and slung an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “You never do, Pete."
- 1
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