Unanswered Riddles
By: BrunetteBeliever
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own no rights to the Heroes show or characters.
Summary: Claude is a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, locked in a safe box. [PeterClaude
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Claude is a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, locked in a safe box. Peter isn't sure if he'll ever understand the strange Englishman. One moment he's hand-feeding pigeons and the next he's beating him with a stick. As soon as he thinks they've forged some kind of bond, Claude pulls back into his little invisible shell and deepens the rift between them. Peter can't even pretend to understand Claude. He can, however, pretend to not like him.
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Peter is a pink little poodle, strapped into high-heeled hopes, and carrying around way too many pounds of chiffon and lace. Well, perhaps he's never actually seen any frilly fabrics laying around the pups apartment, and while the idea of Peter in high-heels is an interesting possibility for later down the road, there's still no denying the fact that Peter is far too naïve and foolish for his own good. And while Claude can pretend that those silly little crooked smiles of his mean nothing, he can't even begin to deny what those butterflies in his stomach mean.
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The pigeons are annoying. Beyond annoying, actually. Their soft cooing, the background music to his severe training. The stupid birds do nothing, just sit there waiting for food, and yet Claude likes them - them! The stupid birds! - more than him. Him, who makes the stupid homeless man dinner and offers him a place to stay, a shower to use, a stupid body to warm his stupid bed and the man just gives him that severe, intense look and laughs. Yes, he actually laughs. Peter isn't sure if he's more offended or confused. He can no longer deny the fact that every rejection hurts, but even more so, he can no longer deny the fact that the man who's unknowingly stolen his heart may not offer his own in return.
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He laughs because he knows of no other way to react other than throwing him against the nearest flat surface and having his way with him, and he's not about to do that when Peter has three drinks in him and may not remember it in the morning. Peter may think he's a cheeky bastard, but he's not bad enough to take advantage of him when he's in such a vulnerable state…though, the thought is tempting. So he reigns himself in and sits back and watches because after seven years he's good at watching, but with each day it gets harder and harder to only look and not touch.
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The kiss is as unexpected as the hands in his hair, pulling him in soft and deep. The lips that meet his are warm and demanding, just like he dreamt they'd be, panting hot breath into his mouth and licking out his secret places. He touches, because that's all he's been wanting for so long. He grabs hair, arms, back, waist, anything he can get his hands on. This is what he needs more than anything else. More than bomb-squad training, more than his brothers watchful, protective eye, more than anything.
And then he hears it, the cheering. And he can't stop the laugh that bubbles up inside of him and pours out into their kiss. Claude looks at him questioningly. "The pigeons," he giggles out. "They're cheering us on." Claude laughs. "Told ya they were smart birds." Their lips meet again, softer this time, searching. And Peter doesn't second guess anything with this because this is destiny.