onepassingnight | volume 4

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volume 4

There's something eerie about walking through an empty New York, a place that's supposed to be the opposite of a cowboy ghost town. At least there aren't any tumbleweeds. But it always leaves Peter feeling hallowed out in all the wrong ways, lost with nothing left to find. He doesn't even bother looking into the windows of empty buildings; he's done this too many times to know that there's nothing there to see, that there won't be anyone else looking back.

The sound of his footsteps echo far too loudly and Peter sighs, trying to ignore the part of him that keeps getting its hopes up at the turn of every corner. There's not going to be anyone there waiting. Not at this street or the next, and yet Peter peers around each street, down every alley, still searching for the remnants of people that might have passed by. Maybe if he listens hard enough he'll hear something outside of the thoughts inside his own head.

He's already done all his shouting, he always tries it, seeing if the sound of his voice might bring any wanderers out from hiding. But he always stops just before going hoarse, there's no point. Turning at another street corner, Peter will never enjoy feeling as if he's the last person left on earth.

[ ooc; feel free to hit up this post however you'd like to -- be it prose or actionspam/brackets. i'll respond accordingly ]

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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."

Burying his face against Peter's shoulder, he can feel the man's pulse against his lips, only making him want to wrap Peter up all the more. "That's because there isn't one."

Peter nearly laughs, but he cuts the sound short, squirming in the sudden effort to get closer. He might have given himself more time, but he doesn't have forever to spend here, and he doesn't want to let go just yet. "Yeah, I know. And I get to have him."

He pushes in against Peter's face, lips tracing cheekbones as his fingers slide down his throat. Adam can't think of time anymore, not when just touching seems infinitely more important. "You're a lucky man."

"Tell me about it." Amusement having found its way back into his tone, Peter doesn't falter. He's trying not to think of time and focusing in on the good parts of this, on the reasons why exactly he doesn't want to let go. Trailing his hand down to Adam's hip, he uses his hold on the other man to pull in close, sneaking in a kiss where he can.

Out of all the times to feel weepy again, this isn't good time management, and he's trying to force too many feelings back down where they belong. Allowing the kiss at some junctures and refusing it at others gives him back his power and he's left with too-destructive thoughts and not enough love in his heart; enough guilt to power a small lighthouse.

Pulling away just enough to fall back into the pillows, he's looking up at the dingy ceiling as if it'll give him answers. Everything about these dreams is wrong, as if he's stealing something from Peter he didn't even know he could. Some part of him feeds on it with riotous triumph but another piece is crying out for it to stop.

He glances over at Peter, wondering how to say the things in his head, but instead finds himself pulling the other man over him and into a slow-burning kiss. Even conflicted and with his chest in knots, all he wants is as much closeness he can squeeze out of whatever time they have left.

Peter is once again caught with the distinct worry that he's done something wrong. He's not entirely sure when he started to become so easily effected, but just having Adam pull away for a few moments is enough to make him question whether or not he should ask. It's obvious that all of this, every second, is near painfully high emotion, and the last thing Peter wants is to be left unaware when he's screwed up.

But then he's pulled over Adam and he can't exactly complain, sinking into a kiss hard enough to make him ache. Fisting his hand into the sheets at Adam's side, it's so much easier to do this than it is to think, to care about what happens after he wakes up. His life is already broken beyond repair, it's not as if Adam can truly break what's already unfixable. And even if he could, Peter's still content searching out those few moments of happiness he has left, and he can't complain, won't dismiss what he can't find anywhere else.

Instead, he settles in above Adam, mouths still connected even though his lips have already been worn raw. There's no letting go now, only letting his fingers retrace paths they made mere moments before, if only to see what he can get away with.

It's not as if Adam intends to stop him, letting the pad of his thumb stroke across Peter's cheek. His legs tangle with Peter's and he catches himself in a contented sigh, contrast to his moments earlier trepidation. His free hand starts around Peter's waist, dragging across his skin in an attempt to pull him even closer.

"Peter," he's spoken before he knows it, lips moving against the slighter man's still. He wonders how much meaning he could pack into that one word, if Peter will understand just by osmosis or other nonverbal means of communication. Apologizing is one thing; asking the question he's always wanted to know is truly another.

Instead of releasing the woes of his heart, he allows them to dwindle, tightening his chest as he rests here against Peter. Whatever answers he could get from the other man now surely don't matter. And even if they did, he knows he doesn't want them.

volume 4

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