Fiction: Stress Relief

[kethni]

Name: Stress Relief
Pairing: Matt/Peter
Genre: Slash, some hurt/comfort, and humour.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Adult language, sexual situations.
Word Count: 2330 approx
Note: For dragon6593 Matt/Peter as roommates instead of Matt and Mohinder. As a cop and a EMT they both have stressful jobs and after a particularly horrendous day for them both they go to a bar to unwind after work. One thing leads to another and they wind up in bed together. At first they tell themselves it was just stress relieving, recreational sex and it will never happen again. Then they tell themselves when it does happen again ok, we're just fuck buddies we can handle this,it's no big deal. Of course "we're just fuck buddies" doesn't last very long before they're the real thing.





Moving to New York, one of the things Matt had the most trouble coming to terms with was the lack of space. Matt’s an LA boy, born and bred, wide open spaces, long drives, and sprawling boulevards. New York... New York is an island; crowded, cramped, and claustrophobic. Even the air seems constricted, congested, and crushed.

It’s no wonder then that everyone is so tense, walking around on hair triggers, just ready to explode at the slightest provocation.



The truck jackknifes coming out of the tunnel, smashes through the oncoming traffic, and crashes into a wall. The air fills with squealing tires and honking horns as the cars slam on their breaks, to no avail.

Chaos; the traffic is a sprawling, screaming, mass of cars. Crushed fenders, rumpled hoods, leaking oil bleeding onto the road, and people yelling, bellowing. People inside their cars yelling into nothingness, at their passengers, at people in other cars and people out of their cars yelling at the news choppers overhead, at their vehicles, and all the other red-faced screaming men and women.

The emergency services circle the edge of the spreading monstrous mass looking for a way in. Their lights flashing, the sirens blaring, but the cars are unmoving.

Peter jumps out of the ambulance and trots over to the patrol car. He slaps the hood as he walks around the car and looks in the window as Matt winds it down.

‘Hey man,’ he says with a nod. ‘Thought that was you.’ He jerks his head and Matt climbs out of the car.

‘Hey,’ Matt replies, looking over at the snarled traffic. ‘Jesus, what a mess.’

‘Yeah, you think you can... ease things up?’ Peter suggests. ‘A little encouragement to move aside.’

Matt blows out his cheeks and then rests his hands on his hips. ‘There’s a lot of people out there.’

Peter punches Matt on the shoulder as he starts to walk away. ‘I have faith in you, man.’

Matt rolls his eyes and stares out at the traffic. Gradually the cars move, a few feet here, a few feet there. Barely enough to make a passage through, but it is enough room. Matt dabs the blood from his nose and gets back in the car.

‘You finished your pow-wow?’ his partner asks wryly. ‘I don’t know why you can’t just leave each other notes on the fridge like other roommates.’

Matt noses the car forward, frowning in concentration as the other cars move out of the way.

‘That what you do with your wife?’

‘I wish that’s the only way she complained.’



Cars are burning, and the black oily smoke is rising as Matt drags irate motorists away, holds back the rubberneckers, and frees trapped people from their cars. The day stretches on in a haze of noise, heat, and misery.



Peter performs triage as he moves from car to car; here a broken bone, there a graze, here blood spurting from an artery in a hot and sticky spray. The blood dries on his shirt, on his pants, on his skin, but he still manages a reassuring smile for everyone he sees, “it’s nothing,” he lies, “looks far worse than it is, nobody’s dying here today.”



She dies in Matt’s arms, even as his partner is screaming for the EMTs. She dies; Matt sees the light fade in her eyes and hears her thoughts slip into nothingness.



Matt makes it back to the apartment just after midnight, with the smell of burning fuel and smoke festering in his clothes. He dumps his clothes and jumps in the shower; planning to scrub the day from his skin along with the clinging grime. He’s just changing into his sweats when Peter gets home just after one. He’s also come directly home without changing. He gets enough shit hurled at him for being openly bisexual on good days and now, with tempers running high and patience running short; it’d only take one comment to push him over the edge. He’s too tense, too keyed up, to relax. Tomorrow he’ll be exhausted and irritable but right now adrenalin is still pumping around his system with nowhere to go.

‘Tell me about it,’ Matt grunts, prowling around the tiny kitchen. ‘I’m too wired to do anything.’

‘Don’t read my fucking mind,’ Peter says sharply, stamping towards the bathroom.

‘Stop think so loud,’ Matt snorts.



Matt’s cooking; bacon, eggs, and beans. Heart attack food; agitated and drunk food.

‘Some of that for me?’ Peter asks, stalking into the kitchen.

‘Help yourself,’ Matt says, nudging the frying pan with one hand and chugging a beer with the other.

Peter helps himself to a beer and paces the kitchen. ‘How many did you save today?’

‘I didn’t, I don’t,’ Matt says, shoving savagely at the frying pan, and making the fat spit. ‘Just a cop. Only good for being screamed at and holding people when they die.’ He turns off the heat and dishes out the food.

‘Oh whine, whine, poor you holding back the misery tourists while I was dealing with people impaled on steering wheels.’ Peter finishes his beer and starts another, before shovelling food into his mouth. ‘Did you ring Betty?’

Matt gives him a dark look and grabs a plate of food. ‘No.’

‘Why the hell not?’

‘What the hell is it to you?’ Matt growls. ‘You can’t keep a guy, or a woman, for more than three dates altogether.’

‘Jesus! I asked a perfectly reasonable question,’ Peter snarls. ‘Betty likes guys in uniform and I thought you’d get on, that’s all.’

‘I’m not dating and if I was, it wouldn’t be your cast-offs.’

Peter dumps his plate on the counter and swings at Matt who, drunk as he is, manages to move out of the way.

‘Are you kidding me?’ Matt laughs. ‘Even with super-strength I’d still kick your scrawny ass.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself; I’d wipe the floor with you.’

‘Bring it on Petrelli!’ Matt says, putting down his plate and gesturing with his hands.



‘Ooh,’ Peter moans, painfully opening his eyes and looking around. ‘Oh shit...’

‘Not so loud,’ Matt groans.

‘Uh... Matt?’ Peter prompts. ‘I’m... I’m kind of in bed with you.’

He’s half hanging off the edge of Matt’s bed, stark naked, with stubble rash starting to burn in the least comfortable places. And he’s lying in the wet spot.

‘We didn’t use protection!’ he squeals, sitting up so fast that the room whirls, his ears clang, and his gorge rises.

Matt opens a rheumy eye. ‘What?’

‘We didn’t use protection!’

Matt rolls over and squints at the area Peter is desperately gesturing at. ‘That’s where you spilled your beer.’ He rolls onto his back, eyes already closed.

‘Oh,’ Peter says sheepishly. ‘Oh, right. Hey, I think I sucked you off. We didn’t go all the way. Do you remember?’

Matt opens his eyes again. ‘We had sex?’



Peter gently puts a cup of coffee in front of Matt. ‘You know, there’s a joke that the only difference between a straight guy and a bi guy is twelve cans of beer.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Matt asks, sipping the coffee and wincing. ‘So if I get you sober enough then you’ll be straight?’

‘That’s not funny, Matt!’

‘You started it.’

‘It’s not like you never... you said you’d had some gay experiences,’ Peter says defensively, sitting down and gulping coffee. ‘At football camp, you said you’d wanted to but never had the nerve.’

Matt rubs his head. ‘I said that? I must’ve been drunk.’

‘Well you did! It’s not like I got you drunk and... made you do anything you didn’t want to. Okay? Just so we’re clear.’

Matt laughs and shakes his head. ‘You think I’m going to accuse you of some kind of rape?’

‘Guys do,’ Peter mutters. ‘When they’re closeted they come up with all kinds of excuses, or they get angry and aggressive. Fucking closet cases.’

Matt rolls his eyes. ‘I’m not a closet case, okay? I don’t buy you as a rapist, I don’t know what last night was about, but it wasn’t rape.’

‘Stress relief,’ Peter says quickly.

‘Stress relief, that’s it. Makes sense.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Yeah.’ Peter takes another sip of coffee. ‘That’s all.’

‘Didn’t mean anything.’

‘Nothing at all.’



The water trickles down their bodies and pools by their feet.

‘Huh,’ Matt says, wiping his face.

‘Yeah,’ Peter agrees, leaning back against the opposite wall.

‘Um... That was pretty... good.’

‘Yeah.’ Peter pushes wet hair out of his eyes. ‘You looked freaked.’

‘Never really done the casual sex thing,’ Matt admits. ‘Even when I was single.’

‘Right, right,’ Peter agrees. ‘Because that’s what it is. What this is. Casual.’

Matt rubs water off his face. ‘Friends with benefits.’

‘Fuck buddies,’ Peter corrects.

‘Right. Fuck buddies,’ Matt says, blushing slightly. ‘We’re guys; we know that sex is just sex.’

Peter nods. ‘Yeah. What’re you grinning at?’

‘I was thinking at least this time you’re not freaking about lying in the wet patch,’ Matt laughs. ‘Or using protection.’

‘You’re such an asshole sometimes,’ Peter says shaking his head and stepping out of the shower.

Matt grabs a towel and snaps it across Peter’s ass.

‘Hey!’

Matt winks and snaps the towel between his hands. ‘Just funning with you.’

Peter scowls and rubs his butt. ‘Asshole.’



Angela straightens Peter’s collar before she lets him into the house. ‘I was rather expecting you to bring along Officer Parkman.’

‘Huh?’ Peter wanders into the house, handing off his coat to the butler. ‘Did you ask Matt to dinner?’

‘No, but that’s rarely prevented you bringing a partner to dinner with the family before,’ Angela observes, walking into the dining room with him. ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘Yeah, a beer,’ Peter says, greeting Nathan with a hug. ‘Hey man.’

‘Hey Pete, where’s Parkman?’ Nathan asks, sitting down. ‘I’ve got that new ratchet I was talking to him about when I was at your place last week.’

‘Why does everyone keep asking about Matt?’ Peter asks, taking the proffered beer and taking a gulp. ‘He’s out for beers with Mohinder.’

‘You let him out with Mohinder?’ Nathan asks, raising his eyebrows. ‘Not sure I’d want my partner out for fun with someone as good looking as Mohinder.’

‘He’s not my partner!’ Peter protests. ‘Geez!’

‘I’m sure we’re very sorry, dear,’ Angela says crisply, sitting down. ‘We assume that since the two of you are... what’s the term you boys use? Fuck buddies? Since you’re living together and fucking we rather assume that he’s your partner.’

Nathan chokes on his whiskey. ‘Jesus, Ma, are you trying to kill me?’

‘Well pardon me for attempting to use the appropriate terminology.’



‘You awake?’ Matt whispers.

‘Yeah.’ Peter pulls back the covers and Matt climbs under the covers. ‘Man, your feet are cold!’

‘Sorry!’

Peter turns over and shifts closer. ‘Rough shift?’

‘Yeah, kind of,’ Matt agrees, running his hands over Peter’s chest. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘You want to screw?’ Peter asks.

Matt kisses him, and slides his arms around his waist. ‘Mmm, yeah. You sure this is okay?’

‘Sure, Matt,’ Peter promises. ‘But next time wear socks okay?’



Matt pads out of Peter’s bedroom rubbing his hair and watching Peter getting ready for work.

‘Hey,’ he says sleepily. ‘I guess I fell asleep in your bed.’

‘I guess so,’ Peter agrees.

‘Uh, sorry.’

‘No worries,’ Peter says cheerfully. He kisses Matt on the cheek and starts to walk away, before realising what he’s done. He turns around and smiles awkwardly. ‘Huh, that was kind of weird eh?’

Matt smiles and leans back against the door. ‘Pretty weird yeah.’

‘I uh...’ Peter jerks a thumb at the door.

‘Sure,’ Matt agrees.



Matt wanders down the hospital corridors, avoiding patients and staff alike, and ducks into a cubicle. He leans against the wall and tuts. ‘I hate to break it to you Petrelli, but you can’t outrun a speeding car.’

‘Shut up, asshole,’ Peter moans, getting to his feet. ‘What’re you doing here?’

‘Well I could take you home, but I figured I’d just point and laugh instead,’ Matt says, putting Peter’s arm over his shoulder. ‘Your mom called, she said that you’d be happier coming home than staying with her.’

‘She’s playing matchmaker again,’ Peter complains. ‘She thinks we should be dating.’

‘Yeah?’

Peter looks at him. ‘Yeah? That’s all you got to say?’

Matt helps Peter outside and over to the car. ‘Well I’m flattered your mom apparently thinks I’m good enough for her baby boy.’

‘We’re just fucking,’ Peter says weakly as Matt helps him into the car. ‘It’s just sex.’

‘Sure,’ Matt says with a nod.

‘Damn it! Will you say what you think?’ Peter demands.

Matt pauses before closing the door. ‘I think I’ve still not really managed “casual” sex.’



Peter turns off the lights and settles back in bed. ‘This is a totally screwed up idea.’

‘I’ll go back to my room if you want,’ Matt suggests.

Peter rolls onto his side. ‘No.’

‘Even though you can’t screw?’ Matt asks, sounding like he’s laughing.

Peter rolls his eyes. ‘Even though I’m too messed up for sex.’

‘Even though my feet are cold?’

‘Your feet are always cold,’ Peter complains, and leans forward to kiss Matt. ‘I don’t know why I put up with you.’

‘It’s a mystery.’


The end