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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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.

Peter has no idea if that's a question, or a simple proclamation of his name. Curious as ever, he manages a quiet, 'mmh?' against Adam's lips, but even then, it's not a fully fledged question and Peter's too preoccupied against Adam's mouth to turn it into one.

Even though he knows that time is ever dwindling, he can't be bothered to truly stop himself. And it's frustrating as it is addicting, needing to make every moment, every second of this count until it's all nearly too much to take. One of his palms finds it's way to Adam's hip, and once it's there, Peter refuses to let go, situating himself in close enough to make the warmth spread all the way up to his cheeks.

But even Peter, addicted as he may be, has to pull back eventually, leaving himself panting a mere breath away from Adam's mouth. "Adam..." He can't stand the thought of leaving just yet and so he buries his face in against Adam's neck, still attempting to curl himself into the taller man from above.

He finds his own breath lost, trying to find it again as his fingers push through Peter's hair. Everything is crumbling, but as long as he can feel the heat rising from Peter's skin, he'll keep nudging his lips against his cheek, his arm securing him fast and tight against Adam's own heartbeat.

If he breaks the silence, he'll only ruin this moment, and that's the last thing he needs to do. For once he can do the right thing, and let Peter take what he needs. It's not exactly a chore for him either, and yet the words are still threatening to bubble up to the surface.

Holding even more tightly to Peter, both his arms wind around the smaller man, knowing they're down to the wire. He also knows they're both counting down and trying desperately not to; wringing everything they can out of these last minutes asleep.

Saying that Peter hates it would be an understatement; that he has to count at all, that he's wasting time counting, thinking about it in the first place. But it is what it is, and there's no changing it. All they can do is make the most of what they've been given and suffer the consequences of what they can't have.

Nosing in against Adam's warm throat, it's nearly impossible to keep from whimpering, Peter already feels as if he's loosing his grip on Adam and if he stops paying attention for a moment, he'll slip away. He hopes that at least the betraying sound was muffled against the other man's skin, feeling hopelessly pitiful for wanting to spend even more time here.

Eyes closed against the onslaught of emotions that Peter keeps trying to ignore, Peter's fingertips form slow trails along Adam's skin back to the line of his jaw, wanting to feel Adam react at least one last time. There's so many things he wants to say, that he'll miss Adam, that he loves him, that he needs him to be here when he comes back. But all of it seems too sharp to push into existence, and Peter can't stand the thought of crying against Adam again, so he stays quiet, wrapping himself up in the sound of the other's breathing.

Feeling the sound more than hearing it, it still doesn't do anything for Adam holding himself together. He's positive his hands are shaking as they trace Peter's spine, his breathing forced against the man's cheek.

"This might seem like a silly thing to ask, now." The beginning is the roughest part, and really, once it's started rolling he couldn't hazard to stop it anyhow. He's clutching Peter just a little too tightly as he makes himself speak up again, voice only cracking a bit. "You truly forgive me for everything I've done? Every wrong committed against you."

His eyebrows knit together, throat constricting with the effort it takes not to flee the room. But he still needs to go on, the wavering words speaking to all that he feels for Peter; all the fear in his chest trying to break free.

"I'll understand if you can't, or if you don't want to answer." They're barely words it comes out so soft, and he's pushing in his face back towards Peter's ear, the thought of Peter seeing the emotion spelled out over his face too much for him to stomach.

Peter goes unnaturally still at the question, partially because it simply wasn't a question he expected. And for a moment the fear of not being able to answer Adam immediately catches up with him and renders him absolutely useless, struggling to even be able to think properly against Adam's throat.

A few months ago, more like what amounts to years in Peter's mind, the answer to that question would have been instantaneous. He didn't believe he'd ever be capable of forgiving someone that had betrayed him so wholly. That had helped lead him down a path that only he felt guilty for; the death of millions of people.

And yet, at the same time, he would have never believed himself capable of forgiving Sylar. There was a time and a place for holding onto his anger, and it was long gone. It had been lost right along with everything else, and now, he couldn't convince himself of the worth of his own dwindling bitterness. All that was left was directed inwards, vying for the award of how many things he could find to blame himself for. But even that was hard to find when clinging to Adam as if the world was about to end.

Nosing against the heartbeat racing in Adam's neck, Peter knows he won't be able to breathe until he can answer. Pulling himself back together using his hold on Adam to do so, when he finally finds his voice, it holds no waver. As muffled as it is against Adam's skin, against the firm blockade of his own emotions, Peter finds it in himself to make the words heard over the bood pounding in his head. "I forgive you."

The words send a tremor through him, eyes squeezed shut against all that they bring. There's only one thing he can do, bringing his own shaky lips up to meet Peter's, fingers curling against his jawline. His heart is pounding fast as they kiss, feeling as though another layer has been stripped away; a weight lifted off his chest even as Peter's weight bears down on him.

This place, that he hated, that he blamed Peter for conjuring--it had brought him equilibrium.

Peter was thankful in more ways than one for Adam's lips pressed against his own. He wasn't sure he could find any more words after that admission, and he didn't want to try.

Brushing his fingers across Adam's cheek while he sinks into the kiss, all he can do is use this to impress upon the own truth to his words, to try to make them as real as he possibly could in a place where nothing was. And it only made it worse that he could feel himself starting to slip. Fingers digging into Adam's waist, the sharpest they've been yet, Peter pulls back far enough to repeat himself, "I forgive you." And then he's stealing one last forceful kiss, knowing if he doesn't do it know he'll regret it when he wakes.

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