onepassingnight | volume 4

Suddenly, Peter's trying his hardest to swallow sounds he doesn't want to let go of, nose pressed to Adams shoulder. Relaxing isn't something that comes easily to Peter anymore and at the invasion he tenses even further, the action tearing a pained whimper from his throat. Trying to duck his face down against Adam's collar, trying to distract himself with the sound of the other man's breathing, it's all Peter can to do fight with himself.

It's impossible to ignore the urge to beg Adam to give into it and tear into him, to get this part over with even if it hurts. And yet some part of him wants this slow burn, the ache that's setting his nerves on fire; it's one more piece of Adam owning him, taking him apart from the inside out. His own fingers are biting into Adam's back, leaving a trail of quickly disappearing marks, Peter's sign of existence against the man fleeting.

And maybe that's one small part of why Peter suddenly rolls his hips, sinking Adam's fingers in deeper, faster than he should. But he wants to feel Adam, to literally have him tearing him apart. Squeezing his eyes shut, feeling them watering behind his eyelids, all Peter can do is dig his fingers in harder and hope Adam understands.

Adam does understand, and it's why with a shuddering breath, he removes his fingers, already lining himself up as his teeth tear into Peter's throat. He releases a litany of nonsense words, carefulness forgotten with the bite of Peter's nails. He's cursing, proclaiming his ownership to the dark room as he watches Peter's body beg for it. He's biting into his own lip, trying to keep from crying out just from the sight.

Never has it been like this for Adam, not even last time. This slow ache of need building in his chest, threatening to tear him inside out. This is something different, and he wants it all at once, fighting with himself not to let it be over before it's begun.

With a high-pitched noise, he's pressing in, breathing harried and labored against Peter's cheek. He needs to capture every moment, to preserve it in time to revisit when they can afford the time. For now, there's only this, but it's almost enough to burst him open. His heartbeat is erratic, thundering loud in his ears and directing every action. He needs to pause, to take in Peter at this moment, hips slowing too much for himself to bear. But he pushes on, Peter's name mixing in with fragments of words getting caught in the man's hair.

Forgetting how to breathe, Peter's caught between wanting Adam to go even slower and begging him to do anything but. But speaking isn't an option when he can't even pull air from his lungs, and Peter's just trying to keep himself sane, Adam simultaneously splitting him apart and piecing him back together enough to make him feel like he's going to loose his mind. And maybe he is, but Peter can't be bothered to care, Adam's existence surrounding him enough to make every other thought fade away.

Palming Adam's hip, Peter holds tight in more ways than one, trying to convince himself to wait for Adam to choose their rhythm. His own pounding heart is dictating the need to let Adam do the same to him and even though Peter is trying to restrain himself, muscle memory has him working himself even closer, shaking as he curls himself even tighter against the other man.

His own need is pressed insistently to Adam's stomach and that alone would be enough to make Peter cry out if it wasn't for the burn still spreading through his backside. It might be a faint distraction, a steady background throb that's making his muscles seize, but it's not enough to keep him from loosing himself like he's never done before. There's no one like Adam and this moment is in a world of it's own, no one that's been this able to drag Peter away from his self-inflicted misery quite like this. Finally he lets loose a furling of breathless whimpers against Adam's shoulder, unable to keep quiet anymore with Adam's heat tearing him apart.

He wouldn't have heard it anyway, his body and mind on a singular purpose. His fingers spread into Peter's hair, keeping him still as he rocks gently forward. Any faster and he'll lose it, but the pace is driving him insane either way. Without knowing which sounds are his, and which are Peter's, he opens his mouth against Peter's skin, unable to keep his own reaction quiet. Each centimeter he takes feels like a mile, unending and tortuous in its keeping them apart. He's never held anything so tightly as he holds Peter now, not stopping until he's fully buried in the other man.

Long seconds pass just like that, quiet eternities lit only by their heartbeats. His own sounds are pathetic, but he muffles them in Peter's flesh, hips twitching to move but he can't just yet. Slowly, he raises his face to meet Peter's, only lurching forward to cover his lips. The movement drags his body with him and his mouth opens up into a cry against Peter's, wanting nothing more than to end them both. But he's determined to drag this out, waiting for ages on end to feel what it is to fill Peter; to see it reflected on the other man's face.

It's intoxicating in itself, the waiting, and he finds he mind be undone by simply this. It's almost perfect, and moving means pulling further away. It seems almost heartbreakingly cruel, and the physics of it hang him up. For a beat, he even entertains the thought of staying like this until morning, but even he doesn't have that resolve, or that cruelty.

Grabbing Peter's face roughly in his hands, he pushes back with a shattered exhale of the abandoned. The sound that follows is broken and high, and he's moving quickly to cover it up; the snap of his hips brutal in comparison to his earlier rhythm. His eyes light with something then, a bit of himself pushing past the fog, and he's pressing into Peter's lips, needing them to ground him before he's gone for good.

If Adam had, for some torturous reason, chosen to stay unmoving until dawn, it would have felt shamelessly infinite as the last few seconds had felt like years had passed by. Every moment seems to draw out, Adam's slow moving enough to capture every fragment of Peter's attention until there's nothing left but the constant beat of his heart, the pounding of blood in his ears the only thing that's keeping him vision from fogging over entirely. Adam is at the center of his focus and if the world fell down around his ears, Peter would hardly take notice.

And then something breaks and Peter can't contain it, his hips meeting Adam's in a rough impact that sends a shudder arching through his spine. The sound of skin against skin would send Peter over the edge of it wasn't for Adam holding onto him as if he's about to make the jump himself and Peter's clinging just as tightly where he can, the other man's slick skin against his fingers making the hold to be just that much more of a fight.

Lips meeting his, Peter doesn't think he's capable of a real kiss -- it's more of a frantic pressing of mouths to try to hold back the sounds tearing out of them both. But there's no stopping them, no stopping the rush of everything all at once. Once Adam's started, there's no stopping it; Peter's grabbing at the back of Adam's thigh and trying to tug him forward, trying to force Adam deeper every time his hips jerk forward. And yet he can't get there and Peters struggling, crying out sharp and wet and tight against Adam's mouth because it's still not enough and Peter doesn't know what to do.

Shaking under the barrage of nerves wound tight and frayed, every time Adam pulls back, Peter feels himself going a little more insane and suddenly it's all the more tempting to just beg the other man to stay buried to the hilt. It's a contradiction and Peter's past the capacity for reasonable thinking, burying one of his hands in Adam's hair as he tries to hold tight to the feel of Adam's completion.

Needing to break the not kiss before he drowns, Peter's not the only one shaking. Adam can barely stay upright, lost to the feeling, nails scraping down Peter's side as if that could get him closer. It isn't enough, and it isn't possible, his hips slowing their cant all the more. Opening his eyes as wide as they'll go, he takes Peter one delicate inch by delicate inch until he's there; and he's as deep as their bodies will allow, but he can't scratch the itch that something is missing. That he could do more.

Adam lets out a desperate cry of his own, fingers darting out to curl around Peter's hand. He squeezes until his knuckles go white, sliding back just enough to catch and it almost tips him over but he's holding to that ledge like he's holding to Peter's fingers, with an almost bruising force. His head falls back and he's gone, every hint of movement threatening to break him.

Coming back from the brink with not a second to spare, his free hand digs into Peter's hip as he lifts off the other man to gain a new angle. He's pressing forward, achingly and impossibly slower, needing Peter's name to breathe as surely as oxygen. He stays again, feeling closer and further away, all at maddening once. Almost afraid to move this time, his fingers take root in Peter's flesh, watching him with a hawk-like expression.

There's nothing left to take and yet he takes it, needing this slow burn like nothing he's ever felt. Peter is hot and real and overwhelmingly there, and it makes him jerk his hips without moving back at all. Even breathing is too much moving and he tries to stop, to no avail; the allure of release scratching just under his skin.

Tipping his head back to bare the flush that's crept up far past his neck, Peter's attempt to grit his teeth and bare every inch of this is lost to another all-encompassing groan, the sound an obvious admittance of just how wild the ache is driving him. Though he's near oblivious to it, Peter is thankful for Adam's hand in his, for the tight grip he's replying to the other man's with, refusing to let go of the hold now that he has it.

But that's to say that Peter cares about anything past the hideously slow crawl of Adam's hips. It's perfect torture in the form of absolution and Peter can't get enough, doesn't want it to end. He wouldn't have this any other way, though it's intoxicating, rendering Peter useless on all fronts that have nothing to do with keeping Adam exactly where he is, as deep as he'll go and even then some. The most Peter can give is the attempt to shift his hips, curling upward and nearly pulling his knee up against his chest. Anything, he'll do anything to sacrifice every centimeter for Adam's ownership.

Now that every hint of pain's been replaced, a dearly departed memory, Peter's fighting with the edge, beating it back with fingers twisting into the sheets at his back. If he could put his own body on pause he'd do it since there's no way he'd tell Adam to wait a minute, that he needs this to last for another eternity at least. If there's one thing truly cruel about this, is that it has to come to an end and Peter refuses to see it yet, won't look, and he's scrambling to keep himself contained even though there's no dying the coiling of heat in his veins.

No matter the pull in his muscles, Peter's gaze locks back onto Adam's and he's lost, the other man's name dropping from his lips before he can stop it. The word's even begun to taste like him and it makes Peter dizzy, needing to close his eyes so he can hold on to everything he can before the inevitable.

For a minute, he's almost sure he's crying again, and he has to convince himself not to check. What would it matter now, dangling precariously over this precipice and he's terrified to fall. As if falling means losing, he's determined to win, rolling his hips with a strangled groan. His hand slips around Peter's waist and disappears, licking the sweat from his upper lip as continues to watch. Adam could never tire of taking in every remote twinge of reaction Peter makes; his own name emboldening him to drag their moment nearly to a halt.

His own legs draw up, preparing for what's next, his fingers twining with Peter's and finding a place to stay. A breathy exhale breaks free, and he's gathering Peter to his chest, muffling the ensuing sound against his collarbone. His arm winds tighter around Peter and they're flush, the heat stifling him and threatening to close in. He finally feels deep enough; close enough and he has to squeeze his eyes shut, not in a hurry at all to move.

It's sheer agony and Peter has no idea what to do about it. He can't move lest he fall to pieces, and yet the tease of release is hanging just over his head and Peter would have to do next to nothing to let it drop. But he won't, he can't; for a few more long moments, that's just not an option.

So instead he's dropping a slew of nonsensical curses against Adam's hair, as if that could possibly make it easier to hold still and let the aching glare flooding his every inch wash over him. Panting thick, heavy breaths against Adam's ear, the whimper that drops from his lips more closely resembles a sob than anything else and Peter's drawing tighter as the seconds tick by.

Adam's hand in his is all Peter needs, the only grounding he requires. And yet even that's not enough, nothing could possibly be enough to pull him away from the feeling of Adam's completing what's left him so empty. Peter knows all he'd be begging for is to make this last longer and he's settling in closer, tighter, the thrum in his veins a perfect background to the temptation that he's ignoring. The other man's name is spilling out of him before he can stop it, the word a promise as much as it is a plea, a surefire surrender. He can't not admit that he's at Adam's mercy, and yet at most he's suffered a twitch or two of his own, tipping his face to nose in against Adam's, drunk on his full heat.

Pressure is building and everything's melting away but still he holds fast to Peter, the only thing tangible in this made up world. He brings their hands between them, settling over his heart, and somehow it makes his own pulse all the louder. He nuzzles in closer at his name, letting that sound resonate as he struggles with his quaking muscles not to give in.

He's almost not sure he's capable of movement anymore, caught there in stasis, Peter's flesh his only means of survival. It's all collapsing in on him and if he doesn't move soon he'll be crushed by the undertow. "Peter," it's something like a command, but without a directive it's merely an empty word. And yet he had to say it all the same.

His hips shudder upwards, barely a twitch, but it's already threatening to be his undoing. He bites his lips raw to try to prevent it, testing another hesitant roll. The sound that pours from him isn't wholly human, but he can't stop it; Adam can only press into it, burying his face against Peter's neck. Now that he's broken their stalemate, it's impossible not to repeat the action, every nerve in his body thrumming with each subtle shift.

Forgotten sounds are slipping from his throat, and it's Peter who's suddenly lost control, no matter the intensity of the fight he'd been putting up only moments before. It only took the first crack, but now Peter's pouring free, working his hips towards a goal he's trying so hard to keep at a distance. But his muscles are his own betrayal, there's no controlling something that's taken on its own mind, each twitch of his hips wracking shudders through him that only manage to fuel his hunt for more.

Clamoring to gain a hold over something, his grip on Adam only turns that much rougher, needing to hold on while he still can. If Adam's name is makings its way from his tongue once again, Peter has no idea, and he's not too interested in finding out. He can't think past the heat that's barreling through him, a tightening of his every nerve, until he's certain he might split wide open; he doesn't want to so much as blink lest he miss a sweet second of possible release, his entire reality wrapped up in the man who's always there to unravel his needs.

Peter's desperate for Adam to save him as much as he's desperate for the man to be his breakdown and the edge is fast approaching. Not even his scrambling can keep him away this time, not even holding onto Adam's pounding heartbeat. The sounds he's making have turned into a steady warning and if Peter trusted himself enough for words, he might make an attempt. But now he's chasing each pulse, each surreal beat that's driving him forward, that's making the choice for him to bring this to an end.

Adam had known what he'd begun but it's still disappointing, even if it pushes him impossibly closer to Peter; and that's all he'd really wanted from the start. He licks his lips and in an instant, Peter is pressed back against the mattress tightly, hand pinned above his head. Just being flush is more than perfect, but he can't let Peter end this.

Fingers questing between their bodies, he tests a finger across Peter's need, gentle and firm while his hips work towards a contrastingly violent goal. He's been broken, and he's seeking salvation for them both with each deepening thrust. His fist closes around Peter and it's clear what has to come next, his wrist tugging in time with their coupling.

Adam blinks his eyes wider, biting into his lip to conceal the final sound signaling his own demise. And all that's left is Peter, struggling still to make his way closer, needing to feel his undoing as surely as he needs to watch. "I love you," it's muffled, but there, and true. The truth of it threatens to rip him apart, and he's holding fast to every bit of Peter he can reach, riding the edge of the man's release.

Lifting his chin, almost in an act of defiance, as if he can still keep himself assembled even with the addition of Adam's palm increasing the pressure around him, in fact the only person he feels defiant towards is himself. How can he be defiant when he thinks he might cry all over again, try as he might to keep himself pulled back from Adam's fist, each tug rendering him more useless than the next. Adam's brutalizing thrusts were already more than enough, but the accompaniment of the soft surround of Adam's hand and there's nothing left, nothing to hide behind. He's coming apart in Adam's hands, melting into nothing as heat builds inside each stroke.

Peter's just not sure he can take Adam's stare, not when he only has one hand available to try to bury himself closer with, the other laced with the other man's fingers above his head making his movements stilted. He can't take Adam watching him fall apart under the barrage, it's too much, his skin darkening all the more and he can feel himself slipping. And then there's those three words that have burned a hole in Peter's heart and if he can't hide his face in against Adam's neck, Peter's sure he might find a way to die despite the impossibility of it.

Curling a hand around Adam's neck, Peter finds a way to pull himself in closer, ducking his face down against the other man's skin before he's choking on his own groans. "Adam, I can't--" When his frantic movements slip completely out of his consciousness, he knows he's lost to it and there's no chance for any final words when it all comes crashing down in a rush of blinding heat and tight pressure, chasing every wet thrust with his own hips. Crying out against Adam's shoulder, he's oblivious to the feel of the release caught between them, too far gone to the pleasure flushing his skin, shaking, clinging to Adam with the singular hope that he can hold onto this for as long as humanely possible.

Still numb from the power of his own dissolution, all he has the strength for is rolling off of Peter, hand still tangled in his. "Peter," he starts, glancing sideways at him, but there are no more words to say. He feels cold from the sudden detachment, already working his way closer to the warmth still cloying on his skin. Though part of him had hoped to draw it out until morning, he can only find happiness echoing through every exhausted muscle. That and he wants a little more time with Peter this way, without the urgency of flesh.

Fighting the sudden pressing of drowsiness that comes over him, he smiles. Not for any reason, but just because he's managed to find some small degree of peace in this strange dreamworld with a strange Peter. And it almost overwhelms him, heart tightening in his chest.

He can only hope Peter's alarm isn't going off just now, knowing by his luck he'll be stuck here for hours after Peter wakes, and the prospect of being in this place alone is almost too much to bear. He can't imagine what Peter went through, having to stay here with Sylar for years on end. In a place that's real but not real, at least he can do his part to alter such an unthinkable memory.

Wrapping his free arm around Peter's shoulder, he gathers him in against his chest, the pounding of his heart settling into a gentle bass line for both of their breathing. He'll greet the dawn when it comes, or perhaps the ten-o-clock, but for now it's far too tempting to chase it away inside this quiet moment.

Peter doesn't have the presence of mind just yet to keep hold of the whimper that slides out of him when Adam rolls to the side. He'd almost been hoping that he'd have the chance to tell Adam to stay put, that the loss of the other man's presence above him makes him feel off kilter all of a sudden and he shivers as the sweat he's coated in begins to evaporate.

Giving Adam's hand a soft squeeze, Peter easily lets himself be pulled in against Adam. If the other man hadn't done it, he'd be curling up against him anyway, settling closer because he can't stand being apart. He has no idea how much time he has left to enjoy this, and he can really only hope that he has more than he thinks he does. But either way, he's trying not to think about it, trying not to measure this moment using the time he might not have left.

Peter's waiting for the moment to settle back into a comfortable slowness, no desperation tinging the stretching out of his legs or the way he hooks his ankle around Adam's. There's something equally perfect about this, the rarity of a moment fogged over with a quiet afterglow, where words aren't necessary and nothing is expected except the simplicity of enjoyment.

But that doesn't mean that Peter isn't on an avid hunt to find words to fill in the spaces. Worrying at his lower lip, Peter noses at Adam's throat, it's only now that Peter feels capable of rational speech, when he's still close enough to Adam that nothing else can dare matter. "I love you too," the words are quiet, and the response is to what Adam had said earlier, but he doesn't lift his gaze until his next admittance, "I set my alarm later. Than usual, I mean."

The admission, though it isn't new, sends a shudder through him, only tightening his grip on Peter's side. But then there are more words, forcing a chuckle from his chest. The laughter sounds loud and misplaced in Peter's dimly lit room, but the meaning is infinitely comforting, and Adam can't afford to care.

Finally, he's letting go of Peter's hand, giving stiffening muscles a chance to breath. Though it isn't long before his fingers are crawling over Peter's stomach, seeking lost heat. "You could've told me sooner," he points out, ignoring the double meaning in favor of letting his own words hang in the air.

If anything, it makes the moments that much more measurable, as if knowing he has more time than usual means he can count what he has left. The words, in fact, mean nothing, and yet it's as if Peter has said they can spend forever here the way it warms his insides.

"I hope that wasn't a conscious effort," he's adding, speaking against Peter's hair. It's only a little fishing, wondering if he can glean how much often during waking hours Peter thinks of the dream time they've spent together. Adam can only think it's considerably less than he does, but these are only more immeasurable quantities to drive himself mad with.

Left with overly sensitive nerves means that just having Adam's fingers edging over his skin is enough to make Peter shiver, not that he's trying to seem unaffected, but he'd rather not seem so easy to effect, either. But by now it'd be pointless to say that Adam hasn't sufficiently gotten under his skin, in all senses of the words, and he might as well simply embrace it, no matter the cost.

"Adam, it's not like I did it on accident." He lifts his eyebrows, tempted to say that there really isn't much that he'd shift his time tables for. He has no reason to be up at the crack of dawn most days, except he always was because free time meant torture in the form of thoughts. Going into work early is the only option just so he can keep busy, searching for extra useless tasks by way of setting up the ambulances and doing paperwork that others forgot. It was extra time he didn't want to have to spare, and now he doesn't mind using it to benefit this, having a reason for it that went beyond necessary distraction.

Nuzzling in against the line of Adam's jaw, Peter smiles to himself; it's faint but undeniably there, warmed by Adam's hidden sentiments. He doesn't mind admitting to the fact that he was well aware of what he did by giving himself more time to sleep, refusing to let Adam go another second thinking that this leaves him unaffected when he wakes up in the morning.

Lips brushing against Adam's cheek, there's no way Peter's anything but addicted to the feel of Adam's skin, his own fingers trailing up the other man's arm. Clearing his throat, there's an undercurrent of amusement to his voice, "I would've told you sooner, but I was distracted. And you didn't ask."

Turning to catch Peter's lips briefly, he pushes a hand through the man's hair, mimicking the soft smile against his mouth. Even without Peter saying so, he knows what it means to push back his day, and Adam's never unhappy to be the center of attention. Though his ego doesn't usually need the help, with Peter all bets are off. He takes the words in, and keeps them close, though not as close as the man himself.

This relaxed and sated Peter has replaced the darkened one he's used to and he can't help but feel pleasantly responsible. With no work or outside influence to cover his day, Adam still spends undeniably more time remembering these dreams, but at least he isn't alone. That's all either of them wants, in truth.

"Perhaps I was distracted too." Though distracted doesn't even begin to cover it.

That comment alone nearly makes him laugh, but at most it elicits a soft breathy sound something similar to one. Distracted might be the understatement of the century, but it's still a good enough description for the time being.

Running a hand through his hair in an attempt to keep it out of his face, Peter's gaze is trained onto Adam, though it's light as it is searching. "I'll let you know sooner next time," Curling his hand around Adam's arm, he keeps the pad of his thumb moving, some part of him still distracted by Adam's warm skin, temptation too strong to keep him from touching.

Peter licks his lips before caving and once again pressing a fleeting kiss to Adam's mouth; he has to admit that all he wants is to revel in this for as long as possible, the afterglow that's still warming his every movement. He so rarely is allowed the chance to be excavated from his fortress of misery that he's taking all he can get, practically basking in the glow of a good enough mood that he's in fact, blaming entirely on Adam.

His eyes crease with the sound, chasing Peter's mouth with his own kiss to the corner of his lips. Turning on his side, he's pressing in closer, butting his nose up against the side of Peter's face. Each minute touch makes him shiver, and he can only want for more.

"And next time... we should go somewhere nicer." He punctuates with the brush of his nose, ankle rolling impatiently against Peter's. "Hawaii, Paris, Tokyo... Anywhere but New York." He's so sick of New York.

Letting the possibilities flit around in his mind, Peter hums in thought, musing silently to himself before even considering to speak up again. Face nuzzling in towards Adam's, he still has a faint smile etched into his features. "I'll see what I can do."

Peter would give near anything to pass along the message to his subconscious, to get him out of this city for a little while. The possibility feels irritatingly out of reach and yet so cose, a reprieve from the city that's slowly trying to eat him alive. Sliding his leg up against Adam's, Peter lets his fingers travel, playing at the hair at the nap of Adam's neck. "Unless you think you can get us out of the country first. Believe me, the last city I want to be stuck in is New York. And I haven't been enough places."

Closing his eyes against the pleasant feeling, he sighs, pulling Peter more firmly against himself. It was entirely unfair just how real he felt in Adam's arms. Ducking his head to give Peter more room, he encourages him to explore, already thinking of places he'd like to take the other man. He was a bit more in control of these things than Peter was, having centuries to tinker with his own dreams.

"I could probably get us there quicker," he agrees, pushing some of Peter's hair out of the way with his lips. "I know just the place." Or he was going to think of one, before Peter asked, idly tracing an earlobe with his finger.

Unwilling to loose the opportunity, Peter's fingers stay occupied at the back of Adam's neck, finding the last of the heat settled under the other man's skin. Though he's unable to ignore the shiver that pulls up his own spine, Peter's still content to enjoy the ease of touch now, needing no rush to let his fingers go where they will.

Blinking up at Adam, Peter's well aware that he has next to no control over these things and it frustrates him immensely, that no ability renders him control over his own mind. But if Adam can do it for the both of them, then it's all the better. "You do?" Eyebrows raised in obvious curiosity, Peter's content to leave the actual location a surprise, as long as there's simply the temptation of something better.

"As long as one of us gets us there," Peter says, words wrapped around a sigh before he's leaning into Adam's fingers.

"Next time," he agrees, glad for the extra time to ponder just what he'd like to show the other man. Idly rubbing over the shell of Peter's ear, he noses down his jawline, peppering kisses over his throat. His other hand slips further on Peter's waist, fingers dancing over warm skin. "I'll show you the world."

Smiling crookedly to himself at the attention, turning completely languid under it, Adam's words alone would have wracked him to the core if they had been all there was. Instead he's melting, lower lip caught between his teeth as he tries to hold onto all the meaning packed into those few words for as long as he can. Tangling his fingers intp Adam's hair, Peter swallows thickly, "Couldn't ask for a better tour guide."

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