Title: Hot and Cold
Length: ~2000 words
Rating: NC-17 for sexual content
Pairing: Peter/Niki
Genre: angst, het
Summary: Set a few months before Five Years Gone. Sequel to Festering Wounds. Peter is surfing the internet when Niki decides it's time to go to bed, but Peter is not in the mood.
Beta by game_byrd
Written for the Live Journal heroes_contest prompt "Black and White".
It was still relatively early, Niki was in the shower, and Peter was in the middle of surfing the internet. A YouTube video of a Berkeley professor lecturing about the hero's myth had led to another on the hero complex and the psychology behind people who became doctors and nurses; which lead to an article on paramedics, firefighters, and policemen and the attitudes behind why people became first responders, and entered dangerous lines of work. That lead to a self-help article on black and white thinking and the danger of seeing the world in terms of good versus evil, or us versus them.
"People suffering from borderline personality disorder often label themselves as villains or heroes, as good or bad, depending on their mood. Black and white thinking is unhealthy when reality is found in shades of grey. Patients with BPD should be coached to learn to think dialectically - to accept that two contradictory things can co-exist. That so called "good" people do bad things, and so called "bad" people can love, and so on. That there is not, in fact, any such thing as good or bad people at all. That every person, adult or child, is equally capable of creative or destructive, helpful or harmful attitudes, beliefs, and actions..."
Peter was so absorbed in his reading that he didn't notice Niki enter the living room wearing her sexiest, midnight blue nightgown. The one she knew brought out her eyes and felt doubly good moving between their sweat-soaked bodies.
"Why don't you come to bed early for a change, Petie?" she asked, walking up behind him and massaging his bare shoulders.
Peter didn't respond.
"Peter?"
Silence.
"Peter!" Her super strong hands clenched on his muscles.
"I'm busy. You go on, I'll be in there in a minute," he said, not looking away from the computer.
"No, you won't." She scowled at the back of his head. "You know, if I thought you were out here looking at porn that'd be something, but all you're doing is obsessing. You promised, after Raleigh, no more."
"I'm not looking at any of that." The last thing Peter wanted to think about was Hiro's ill conceived bloodbath at the National Science Center or the war that battle was a part of.
"Oh, no?" She moved to stand beside him and turned the monitor in her direction, silently reading for a minute. She shook her head in disbelief that Peter was looking at something for mental patients and sighed, looking at him tiredly, her waxed brows drawn down and lips pressed tightly together, holding back the insult she was aching to hurl at him. Then she turned abruptly, her ponytail hitting him in the face as she walked away.
A minute later, Peter heard the door to the bedroom close with a bang. He rolled his eyes at Niki's dramatic exit, then immediately ducked his head in shame. It had been over two weeks if he remembered correctly, and he was supposed to be here to comfort her, not neglect her. He was supposed to be paying penance not indulging his own self-explorations at her expense.
He scratched absently at his scar as he opened a new window. Images - smooth, soft, hard, naked, and gleaming examples of young, flawless flesh designed to arouse passed before his disinterested gaze, by-passing his conscious mind and going directly to his primal brain. Anonymous faces and bodies pressed together in simulated passion, along with a few surreptitious stokes, had his body in the mood he needed soon enough. He put his computer to sleep and got up feeling like his mind was equally in slumber, completely divorced from the rest of him. It was time for his body to take over, along with his own special empathy that he relied upon for times like this. With one hand on his dick to keep it hard, his steps took him in the direction of the bedroom.
Peter paused in the doorway to their room and watched as Niki got into the bed. She looked over at him and raised her eyebrows in question.
"I'm an ass. Forgive me?" he asked, playing his part perfectly and sending her a wide eyed look. She only made a scoffing noise in return and turned off the lamp next to her, plunging the room into darkness.
He turned the lamp on his side of the bed on and started the slow crawl of contrition across the huge mattress. When he got to her, he smiled and winked, which got him another snort, this one of amusement, he thought. She was sitting up against a pile of pillows with her arms crossed, which he took to be a partially welcoming gesture. She was giving him a chance, at least.
He let his eyes drift slowly down and back up her silk covered body, letting his gaze linger on her perfect breasts, then gave her his most seductive expression, large glistening eyes looking up at her in supplication. She leaned her head back in quiescence. He took the hint and moved in to nuzzle her long pale neck, bestowing gentle kisses and nibbles up to her ear, then letting out a hot breath that made her shiver involuntarily.
He continued his journey to drop a few soft pecks on her cheek before brushing his nose tantalizingly against hers, encouraging her to let down her guard, which she finally did, returning the slight caress of delicate skin. Short kisses were exchanged before Peter moved his tongue slowly between her parted lips, in and out, ever so softly, lips melting onto hers, then he pulled back suddenly, adding a teasing motion with his chin. She wrinkled her face up and responded predictably, by grabbing him and turning until they were sideways on the bed with him on top. She opened her legs and he settled between them rubbing against her in slow languid motions designed to ramp her up quickly. He pushed her nightgown over her belly and reached under it to massage one of her breasts just as she liked - firm and without pinching the sensitive nipple. But he could rub his thumb over the tip, back and forth, around and around, as it hardened under his sensitive digit.
His lips were sucking on her now, tongue licking her neck, under her chin, the shell of her ear, her breast through the nightgown, everywhere he knew was guaranteed to bring her erogenous stimulation. And indeed, Niki's breathing was getting erratic as she moved under him, but with no moans, yet. She was usually silent in the early stages of love making and for that he was glad. They didn't talk at all, during, unless it was a Game Night.
Peter moved to take off his pants, wishing that it was a night for one of their playful interludes of kinky fun. Then he wouldn't have to lead, wouldn't have to take so much of an active role. But it wasn't. Niki didn't feel the need to dominate him that often, anymore. Not since Raleigh and his promise to leave the war behind.
He got the cock ring that was his favorite out of his drawer and slipped it over his erection without triggering the vibrating mechanism. He knew Niki liked the ring for the extra stimulation it provided, and he hoped that she didn't realize that he actually needed it these days, just to stay hard and last longer, knowing that if he showed her a great time, it would be that much longer before he had to perform again.
As he got himself situated, he had the disturbing feeling that his package didn't belong to him, was part of another person's body, but he continued on without hesitation. Then he pounced on her and adjusted his cock so that it was slipping between her slick folds, teasing her clit, and getting her hotter. He rubbed one hand against her, fingers delving in with small, perfectly synchronized motions, getting wet as was expected. As much as Niki loved their power games, Peter knew that deep down, this what she preferred. To be teased, pleasured, and catered to. And Peter was ever happy to please. As far as penance went, this was a light sentence, he knew. He was the villain of the story, secretly working to redeem himself between her satiny smooth thighs.
Their lips met and tongues slid together as always still just a bit off, not as easy as it should have been after years together, but he ignored that and focused on the feel of the silk against his skin and her hands on him, and lost himself in her body. When the time came, he turned on the vibrator to drown out her cries and blissfully finished the scene on auto-pilot.
After a long shower of his own, Peter sat back down at his desk and looked blankly at the computer screen. He slumped in his chair, and let his hand fall away from the mouse, not in the mood for surfing anymore. He took a large gulp of whiskey that burned away all the other flavors from his mouth and let his mind drift, eyes absently roaming the pages displayed on the monitor.
Black and white. Good and bad. Hero and villain. Right and wrong.
And a new phrase was triggered - hot and cold.
Once, he'd had a girl accuse him of running hot and cold. What she didn't know was that it was because he hadn't liked her that much. She was nice, friendly, and incredibly attractive, but she was boring. They didn't have much in common and she talked about politics constantly, which he hated. Honestly, she set his teeth on edge sometimes, but one semester, she had set her sites him and wouldn't be dissuaded. He didn't like going through the motions of a relationship just for regular sex, or status, or whatever reasons other people did. But with that girl...well, he was only human, weak and insecure, and she was very pretty. Sometimes she would find him at a party, and he'd been drinking, and one thing would lead to another and they'd find themselves back in his dorm room. And for awhile it was great. But every time he woke up after, he felt shame knowing he had done the wrong thing. Just like he felt now, he realized, squirming in his seat.
He felt shame that he was living a lie with Niki, pretending to feel things he didn't. Shame that he was so weak that he couldn't simply admit the truth to her, that he had trapped himself in this prison of guilt. Just like that girl back in college, he liked Niki, found her attractive in an abstract kind of way, but he didn't love her. And given a choice, he didn't want to be with her.
But guilt made him stay. Guilt about what he had taken away from her - her son, and then her husband. She was the living, breathing example of how much pain he had caused by blowing up in New York and later, of what the war had cost them all, and he hadn't wanted to forget about it. Being with her was supposed to be him making up for what he had done and living where he deserved to be, in Las Vegas, the city of sin. But it was turning out to be so much more complicated that he had imagined, so much worse.
What made it worse, was that he knew he wasn't doing her any favors, not really. If she ever found out, she wouldn't thank him, that was for sure. Who wanted to bed their son's killer? He knew which side of right and wrong he was on. He was being selfish, so selfish it made him sick to his stomach. He took another drink and scratched at his scar as his depressing reverie circled in on his present situation.
This had all started so innocently. He needed a place to lay low. D.L. had just been killed (working for Peter) and Niki had liked the idea of having an invisible protector that she knew she could trust. Then she had wanted more and he had felt so guilty saying no, knowing how lonely she was and that it was all his fault. He had hoped, given time, that he would come to love her, and want her as much as she said she wanted him. But now, he doubted even that professed desire. He wondered if they weren't both trapped in this loveless match, going through the motions of co-dependency at its worst.
Hot and cold.
Years into a relationship where he had to turn his feelings on and off like a water faucet was getting to be too much. Required to turn on passion and love on cue when ever Niki walked into the room made him feel like a whore, and he was so tired of believing that he deserved it. And the act itself was wearing on him, numbing him in ways he didn't want to think about. Rather than assuage his torment, this was only making it worse, compounding sin on sin and living in a silk and money covered hell that was a slow death to his heart.
He ran his hand through his hair and looked back to the screen. The computer had gone to the screen saver, so he jiggled the mouse, eyes going to the article written for BPD.
Black and white. Good and bad. Us versus them.
Niki had scoffed at him reading a self-help site, but really, was it so crazy? The thought that his black and white, hero versus villain way of thinking was unhealthy had given him pause. He had a lot of Catholic teaching to go up against with that one. The idea that life could be found in shades of grey was attractive. The thought that he might not be inherently evil for killing thousands would make his current situation unnecessary. Maybe, he wasn't a villain trapped in eternal penitence masquerading as a strip joint. Maybe, the world wasn't so simple as black and white. Maybe, he didn't have to play the bad guy anymore?
Peter glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom. Maybe, he could find another way to live?
He turned back to the self-help page, understanding that he would give anything to have someone to talk to about his life and his circumstances. But he had no one. No brother, no mother, no lover, no friend. Just his own dark soul trying to find it's way back to the light alone. He sipped on his whiskey and clicked the link to a new page, this one on dependency.