"Whine and Bitch-Is that all you know how to do, kid?" Claude shot, and not for the first time that evening, contrary to his thought, Claude seemed to 'whine and bitch' more than Peter had thus far, and the younger Petrelli couldn't help but resent his mentor for that fact. He was so keen to point out Peter's faults he seemed to think he had none of his own. Peter, however, wasn't keen to point this out, for one thing, the last time he'd tried, Claude had not taken it well and he'd ended up hit upside the head.
"How much longer?" Peter grimaced, his body aching all over. The power Claire had given him allowed him to heal, but that didn't mean he didn't feel every second of pain, and it didn't mean the pain itself was gone as quickly as the wound and all of this remained either unknown or Claude simply didn't give a damn.
"That's what I mean-Whining again," Claude reminded him, bringing the metal poll he'd been wielding for the past few hours over Peter's head and sending the male to the ground with an ungrateful groan and a few whispered curses beneath his breath. "You aren't trying," Claude muttered, catching Peter in the stomach before he could stand back up, "-Jesus!" Peter cried out, cringing and doubling over as his insides rearranged themselves and he coughed up a mouthful of blood.
Leaning against the poll which he'd propped against the ground, Claude tisked, "You're a real handful, and a pain in my ass. Maybe I should just kill you-It would save all this word, and stop that whole 'exploding man' problem you seem so sure on," He murmured in that tone of his which Peter could never read as to whether he was serious or playful. "Why don't you?" Peter shot back resentfully as he forced himself into a sitting position, wiping the blood from his lips with the back of his sleeve, his eyes remaining downcast, blood-shot from the days of training during which time he'd neglected sleep.
"You know, you're a real girl-I've never met someone so keen on dying because they can't get off their own ass and do some work," Claude drawled, his voice thick with that accent he always bore, Peter narrowing his eyes on the male, "You don't know me," He muttered with the slight air of defensiveness. "Aw, poor baby-Spent all your life with everything being given to you. How hard was it to receive everything you wanted on a platter?" He questioned, sarcasm almost dripping from each word.
Gritting his teeth together, Peter launched himself to his feet and at Claude before the male could even grasp the poll to defend himself. "You don't know anything about me!" Peter growled behind his teeth, shoving Claude against a wall, his fists grasping a handful each of the front of his shirt while the elder man had the nerve to laugh in his face, a cheerful smile appearing, "What's the matter, did I strike a nerve?" Claude murmured, falsely concerned.
Tightening his hands on the clothing, Peter gritted his teeth, unsure of what to say next, all he knew was he hated the man infront of him. For pushing him, for making him someone he wasn't, for striking a nerve inside him and before he could pull himself from his thoughts, his own body was shoved against the wall and Claude held him there by the throat.
"See, what you have to know is that nothing matters. Nothing. Not your friends, not your family. Those things are only distractions. The only thing that matters is the here and now," Claude spoke, leaning forward so Peter could feel his rough bristles against his face and he felt the air between their lips mingling causing his throat to tighten and his Adam's apple to bob up and down. "You need to learn that, you need to block out everything else than what's happening right now," Claude continued, his knee colliding with Peter's stomach and forcing the male's legs to buckle before giving in, Claude lowering to his height as Peter swore angrily.
"Block it out, stop thinking about everything else," Claude ordered, his knee colliding with Peter's stomach once more and causing the male to groan unhappily. "So you want me to ignore everything?" Peter croaked, his stomach aching as he struggled to breathe with the pain, "Finally he gets it," Claude snorted, surprised to see the male push forward, "What about you? Can you ignore everything?" Peter challenged, his lips brushing against the coarse, dry lips belonging to Claude, satisfied with the silence before Claude filled it with his booming laughter.
"Don't even try, because you'll get more than you bargained for, after all, I've been without sex for a long time," Claude chuckled, Peter coloring uncomfortably at the thought, unaware of how this suggestion was effecting his body until he was pulled to his feet and pinned against the wall with a rough jerk of his wrists which were pushed into the wall with a bruising force and Peter felt his ego shrink as his member grew harder more so at Claude's mere force in the matter.
Swallowing and licking his lips uncomfortably, Peter concentrated on the pain, hoping to God that Claude didn't notice the prominent erection in his jeans, though when the next hit struck it was to that particular area, and the only thing Peter could think of as he collapsed was how the 'abuse' just seemed to ignite his lust and when Claude bent over him, grasping the front of his shirt, their lips were forced together, Claude with one knee either side the younger boy as their tongues wrestled inside each others hot caverns, Claude's teeth dominantly scraping over Peter's lips, nipping at them, sucking on them and bruising them with his sheer force.
This action continued for minutes, and what felt like hours as Peter's body yearned for more than just that and then he was floating…Floating?
Coughing up a mouthful of blood, Peter snapped into a sitting position, Claude sitting on the edge of the building with a raised brow, "You really are a pain-I kicked you in the stomach and you damn well passed out," He scoffed, Peter grimacing and glancing down as the ribs in his chest mended themselves before his eyes regarded the steady stiffening in his pants and he cleverly draped his jacket atop it, his cheeks somewhat flushed as he listened to the other man ramble on about how 'pathetic' he was, not even taking it in, concentrated only on those lips and the image left in his mind of their taste and feel.
Swallowing, Peter stood and followed the other male's lead back to the apartment, his eyes seeking clever glances at Claude before collapsing on the bed face down, cursing the fact he'd had nothing but contact with Claude and no more sleep than an hour that week.
God day dreams were killer.