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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"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.

"Thank you," it's barely a word, breathy and rushed, and yet still forceful even as it disappears into Peter's kiss. Knowing full well the next time he opens his eyes he'll be seeing his own bedroom, he holds all the tighter, fingers securing in Peter's hair as if he can keep them there by sheer will alone. Turning his lips over to Peter's, he desperately opens them to the other man, knowing he can't stop what happens next. "I'll see you again."

"Okay." Peter thinks briefly that if the morning is going to drag him away, it's going to have to do it under sheer threat of force. Which is exactly what it's doing, even as it leaves Peter scrambling to put all of himself into a kiss that he can still feel against his lips by the time his alarm injects itself into his conscious, forcing him back to his empty room in a New York full to brim with people.

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volume 4

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