fic post:Heroes
12/27/06 06:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Float
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating:PG
Word count:807
Summary: Angela’s viewpoint, political wife cliché, throw in a pot and stir. Sprinkle with implied incest.
These two are so much fun! I decided to ignore all canon except for a line or two from the pilot—pretty much SOP for me!
Sunset brings them to her home, near strangers masquerading as dear acquaintances, dressed in their evening best, prepared to enjoy themselves, and if her wise husband plays the game well enough, to leave with promises of support. She sighs. Dreary, mind-numbing, boring…all perfectly good words waiting to be employed to describe the evening.
Music plays softly in the background, and torches cast a golden glow over the quartet toiling away on the patio. Millions of little lights sparkle in the trees, in the bushes, like a galaxy fallen, dripping, puking light all over the immaculate lawn. Lovely. She tilts her glass first in a toast to the pocket universe out there, tilts it to her lips and sucks in a mouth full of cheerful sparkling sweet/astringent. She holds it for a bit, bubbles bursting against the inside of her cheeks, before swallowing.
Conversation rises and falls, like waves, like the sea, lapping against the shore of her unfortunately sober mind and providing background to the dance of ‘Smile One Two Three Laugh’. “Charmed, delighted, darling, you look marvelous…” God, you look like shit—if your face were pulled any tighter, you’d be smiling out of your ass, is any part of you not made of silicone…Tedious, but her duty--and performed to expectations—it’s easier that way. Anyway, she’s damn good at it. She sips a little more champagne, and thinks longingly of the Johnnie Walker in the liquor cabinet, a tall glass, a little ice, no more than a cube or two because there are limits after all and she doesn’t like to go overboard….
From the corner of her eye she sees them drifting out of the crowd, her pride and joy, her reason for living, bobbing on the surface of this farce, her darling buoys. Peter and Nathan--Nathan and Peter, correction. She watches them perform their part. Look charming, darlings. Look well behaved but not spineless, obedient but not lifeless.
Nathan shines like a light, effortlessly brilliant, handsome, drawing the grown-ups to him.
Peter doesn’t.
“How’s school, Peter,” he’s asked and Nathan answers, “Peter is in the top third of his class.” And shrugs. Smiles. Peter watches Nathan. “Any young lady caught your eye, Peter?” and Nathan answers, “He’s too busy with his studies—and he’s shy,” said in such a way as to suggest subtly that he’s…hopeless.
She drinks a little more, and finds her glass is empty and an observant waiter is at her elbow, fresh glass, fresh smile. She watches Peter watch Nathan. Nathan breathes in and Peter…glows. Lives. Without Nathan, Peter is nothing. To Nathan, Peter is…well, not exactly nothing. He’s…like jewelry; he’s an accessory of sorts.
She drinks deeper and wanders around the perimeter of the room, angling closer to the library door like a lion to the waterhole. Every step brings her closer to freedom, or solitude, or blessed quiet at least. Behind the doors in the friendly gloom she drops a single perfect cube of ice into a glass, and covers its crystal nakedness in fluid gold. She wanders in the near dark, until she’s cozily tucked in a corner, just Johnnie and her and a goal of becoming one with nothing.
The door of her haven opens, and in float her boys, her angels…arm in arm, heads together as if plotting some little mischief. She sips, and hides with a smile. Let them have their moment, soon enough their father will scoop them up again and toss them out, bait to his wishes.
They pass, and as they pass, Nathan pulls Peter close in a hug, leads him without seeming to…Peter’s pulled along in his wake, admiring, full of love and helpless. They move to the couch, its huge leather bulk becomes a bower—a nest—a something like that.
She turns away, moves farther into the darkness of her corner. She can hear the faint creak of leather; the soft sibilance of their voices, whispering in the dark…barely makes out a word here or there…a gasp, a sharp inhalation, something muttered, a laugh smothered.
She tilts the glass until she’s watching ghost light filtered through a thick ring of crystal and the bite of liquor is on her tongue, and the tang of it is in her nose.
She spares a brief thought to the show on the lawn, has no doubt he’s covering for her absence the way a dutiful husband should and by the morning the only thing she’ll remember is the taste of scotch, and thank God for that.
12-27-2006
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating:PG
Word count:807
Summary: Angela’s viewpoint, political wife cliché, throw in a pot and stir. Sprinkle with implied incest.
These two are so much fun! I decided to ignore all canon except for a line or two from the pilot—pretty much SOP for me!
Sunset brings them to her home, near strangers masquerading as dear acquaintances, dressed in their evening best, prepared to enjoy themselves, and if her wise husband plays the game well enough, to leave with promises of support. She sighs. Dreary, mind-numbing, boring…all perfectly good words waiting to be employed to describe the evening.
Music plays softly in the background, and torches cast a golden glow over the quartet toiling away on the patio. Millions of little lights sparkle in the trees, in the bushes, like a galaxy fallen, dripping, puking light all over the immaculate lawn. Lovely. She tilts her glass first in a toast to the pocket universe out there, tilts it to her lips and sucks in a mouth full of cheerful sparkling sweet/astringent. She holds it for a bit, bubbles bursting against the inside of her cheeks, before swallowing.
Conversation rises and falls, like waves, like the sea, lapping against the shore of her unfortunately sober mind and providing background to the dance of ‘Smile One Two Three Laugh’. “Charmed, delighted, darling, you look marvelous…” God, you look like shit—if your face were pulled any tighter, you’d be smiling out of your ass, is any part of you not made of silicone…Tedious, but her duty--and performed to expectations—it’s easier that way. Anyway, she’s damn good at it. She sips a little more champagne, and thinks longingly of the Johnnie Walker in the liquor cabinet, a tall glass, a little ice, no more than a cube or two because there are limits after all and she doesn’t like to go overboard….
From the corner of her eye she sees them drifting out of the crowd, her pride and joy, her reason for living, bobbing on the surface of this farce, her darling buoys. Peter and Nathan--Nathan and Peter, correction. She watches them perform their part. Look charming, darlings. Look well behaved but not spineless, obedient but not lifeless.
Nathan shines like a light, effortlessly brilliant, handsome, drawing the grown-ups to him.
Peter doesn’t.
“How’s school, Peter,” he’s asked and Nathan answers, “Peter is in the top third of his class.” And shrugs. Smiles. Peter watches Nathan. “Any young lady caught your eye, Peter?” and Nathan answers, “He’s too busy with his studies—and he’s shy,” said in such a way as to suggest subtly that he’s…hopeless.
She drinks a little more, and finds her glass is empty and an observant waiter is at her elbow, fresh glass, fresh smile. She watches Peter watch Nathan. Nathan breathes in and Peter…glows. Lives. Without Nathan, Peter is nothing. To Nathan, Peter is…well, not exactly nothing. He’s…like jewelry; he’s an accessory of sorts.
She drinks deeper and wanders around the perimeter of the room, angling closer to the library door like a lion to the waterhole. Every step brings her closer to freedom, or solitude, or blessed quiet at least. Behind the doors in the friendly gloom she drops a single perfect cube of ice into a glass, and covers its crystal nakedness in fluid gold. She wanders in the near dark, until she’s cozily tucked in a corner, just Johnnie and her and a goal of becoming one with nothing.
The door of her haven opens, and in float her boys, her angels…arm in arm, heads together as if plotting some little mischief. She sips, and hides with a smile. Let them have their moment, soon enough their father will scoop them up again and toss them out, bait to his wishes.
They pass, and as they pass, Nathan pulls Peter close in a hug, leads him without seeming to…Peter’s pulled along in his wake, admiring, full of love and helpless. They move to the couch, its huge leather bulk becomes a bower—a nest—a something like that.
She turns away, moves farther into the darkness of her corner. She can hear the faint creak of leather; the soft sibilance of their voices, whispering in the dark…barely makes out a word here or there…a gasp, a sharp inhalation, something muttered, a laugh smothered.
She tilts the glass until she’s watching ghost light filtered through a thick ring of crystal and the bite of liquor is on her tongue, and the tang of it is in her nose.
She spares a brief thought to the show on the lawn, has no doubt he’s covering for her absence the way a dutiful husband should and by the morning the only thing she’ll remember is the taste of scotch, and thank God for that.
12-27-2006
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
12/28/06 12:40 am (UTC)Neat. Creepy. Good stuff.
:)
(no subject)
12/28/06 03:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/28/06 06:23 am (UTC)http://osiness.livejournal.com/19746.html#cutid1
(no subject)
12/28/06 03:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/28/06 12:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/28/06 03:48 pm (UTC)I think that Nathan does need Peter, liked that Peter looked up to him so--most older sibs do. They pretend it's annoying but when it's gone, as it almost aways has to, they miss it. What makes me think that? *koff* no idea...*g*