shadowglitter | PSL || peter/odin

[Continued from here, a variant of this canon thread.]

[Peter shuffles closer to Odin when he pulls him in, making a pitiful mewling noise as he fights to free his hands from the sweater sleeves (you seriously haven't been any help with this,) managing only one while the other hand remains pinned with his sweater pinned under his own weight.

He might not remember exactly how this conversation went tomorrow, but he'll remember the peace it brings him. The peace that comes from a sympathetic friend, a cozy touch. He's been longing for the latter since the day his girlfriend disappeared, shaking his world and prepping him for a steeper fall once his sister passed as well. Neither have returned and he still feels like he's walking on cracked ice with every step he takes.

The next breath Peter sucks in makes his voice thick, something lodging in his throat.] I just - I don't want to feel shitty anymore? I wanna feel... feel anything else. Just any fucking thing else.

[ Odin continues to not give even the slightest of fucks about Peter's stupid sleeves. He just slips his hand over Peter's back and rubs soft, soothing circles over his spine, mumbling something comforting but not exactly coherent. He's more concerned with keeping his eyes trained on Peter's, far too close, far too fucking serious, searching for any sign of hurt or sadness or grief in them that he can jump on and try to chase away. ]

... I know. Me too.

[ It's why he's been doing half the shit he's done, since coming back from space. Hooking up with friends from the show. Getting blitzed with natives. Drinking way too much.

If he were a better friend - less broken, by the things he's been going through, recently - he wouldn't want Peter to do the same stupid, naive bullshit he's been throwing himself into. He would take a long time to think through what he wants to say, before he says it. But he thinks of Poe, next door, having the time of his life, the man of his dreams probably hidden amongst the guests, his face unknown to Odin. He thinks of Jean, and the comfort she must have brought Peter while she was here, and the gnawing, lonely, selfish, selfish, selfish envy that bites at his chest, wholly wishing he could experience the kind of love Peter managed to have for a moment, before it was all gone. He clenches his jaw and holds his eyes firmly to Peter's. ]

I could... ah.

[ He swallows, losing his game. This is kind of fucked up - both of them drunk, both of them throwing themselves so heavily into so many mistakes tonight. He shouldn't do this. ]

I could... [ He's not sure what he wants to say, but his eyes drift from Peter's, down to his lips. I could be your distraction, I could make you feel something else, I could be for you what I can't be for him and maybe you could be what you used to be with her. Again, he swallows, and the heaviness in his voice makes it clear that this isn't friendly anymore. ]

I... could. If - you want.

[Peter is drunk and he knows it, he can feel it after overdoing it at the party just to cripple his own metabolism enough to feel good for a while. He's so over saturated it might still take a while for him to burn it off. But that's still not a great excuse when he can hear Odin's words and knows without a doubt this is a bad idea. He can feel it, a little black speck of a thought in his brain that says: This is a bad idea.

They're best friends - they're brothers, almost. They're so close that anything closer would jeopardize everything, especially since Peter's still not even sure he's into dudes. Plus, you know, the whole heartbreak element. Which seizes Peter by the chest like a vice, constricting and in half a second it reminds him of everything he's lost. And it hurts so badly that he just doesn't care anymore. He just wants something else.

He stares at Odin and he doesn't reply, he just sees himself lift his hand up to Odin's neck and pull him closer for a kiss. It's confused and tentative at first, more than any of the others this night had been - but it soon becomes fired by a lonely hunger that has no other out.]

[ For Odin, at least, the kiss comes easy enough. All he has to do is shut off the part of him that knows this is Peter and he can treat him the same way he's been treating the natives he's spent his time with, recently, or -- or Jon, or Bela -- just nameless, faceless people who are there to warm his side, a set of someones who serve as a distraction and nothing more. He's had too much practice, this past month, to not be capable of compartmentalizing all his guilt and his apprehension, to not be capable of seeing Peter as just-- just somebody who isn't Poe-- even though he may as fucking well be, with how unfulfilled Odin is going to feel after being with him.

But try as he might to hold onto that distance, it doesn't work. This is-- Peter. The kisses at the party were different, even the one where Odin really tried, because there had been a barrier back then, something unspoken held safely between them. They were both just idiots, doing stupid shit, even when they danced close to feelings neither of them cared to examine further, and this felt - worse, somehow, like the difference between a prank and a crime, a joke and an insult. A step above what they've been doing, but not for the better.

Peter's the one who deepens the kiss, but Odin's the one who makes this physical, rushing things just to shut down the voice in his head telling him he's going to ruin something else that should be sacred. He snakes his hand under Peter's shirt and he rests his hand on his hip, softly stroking his skin with his thumb as he tugs at Peter's lower lip and leans further into him. He tilts his head, just enough to lean into the hand on his neck, as he carefully parts his lips to taste Peter's tongue with his own.

Maybe he could fall in love. That's what he'd been thinking at the party, and it's what he's thinking now, as his hand glides down Peter's stomach and finds his belt, clumsily trying to get it open with one hand. Maybe Peter could, too. Things would be easier, for the both of them, if this just - worked, somehow. A quick, easy solution, he thinks, as he pries the belt loose and stops, letting his fingers rest just above his waistband. Maybe this is going to be enough, finally. ]

I'm-- [ He breaks the kiss, if only for a second. ] This-- everything-- everything's about you. [ a lie. ] I want to-- this is-- tonight's about you, not me. [ a lie, a lie, he's trying so fucking hard to forget Poe, just for an hour. ] Tell me if there's anything you want, otherwise just-- just--

Just-- relax, okay? I'll take care of you.

[Peter's so desperate to forget his shitty feelings that he inadvertently is throwing himself into something that'll definitely make it worse. A world of uncertainty, treading into a new experience in the worst set up imaginable but committing 100%. This is Odin whose neck he's holding on to, whose body is over top of him and... whose hand is on his belt.

Peter's stomach tenses and he's so aware of where Odin's hands were with a hesitance that didn't happen with Jean. With her they just... moved, each touch felt natural and right. This still feels like there's time to back away and bail on it, that maybe he's not as committed as he thought he was. But then his belt's undone and Peter is gasping in a breath to hear Odin tell him things will be okay.

Just relax. Let him - let him...] Okay.

[His breathing feels tight and he's still a little too on the fence to be comfortable but he reaches out to grab Odin again and pull him closer. Maybe if he throws himself into this harder and just makes himself relax it'll feel better - easier. That there'll be something to focus on for a little while. He kisses Odin again, biting at his lip and letting out something of a heaving breath against his mouth.]

Just-- just tell me if--

[ -- if we should stop. He meets Peter's eyes, for a second, his own wide-eyed and careful, but it hits him like a track that no, no, he can't fucking do that anymore. He can't, he can't, he can't look at him, not this closely. All the resolve in him will crumble and die, if he spends too much time seeing Peter for who he is. He's the only real friend he has, the only person in America who has been there for him without question, without making him feel shitty about himself on some level, and he's the man who might leave him, after tonight, blanketed by regret and drowning in resentment. He lets himself believe that the way Peter kisses him means that this is fine, this is fine, and he takes his hand away from Peter's skin to tangle it in his hair and gasp, sharp and stuttering, at the gentle pain of teeth catching at his lip.

But he still can't look at him. Whenever he fucked Poe, he couldn't tear his eyes away, absorbing every smile and every pinch of his eyebrows, every connection. He looked at Poe with so much fucking love, staring into him with admiration and need and affection and Peter gets fucking none of that. Odin looks at his lips, between short, sudden kisses, or at his neck, when Odin pulls away to press his mouth to his throat and breathe out, shaky, through his nose, but he always, always avoids his eyes, and-- and when he sits up, rolling Peter onto his back and hooking his thumbs under his waistband, he clenches his jaw tight with resolve and tries, again, to pretend like he doesn't even know him.

He's rougher than he needs to be, when he strips Peter of his pants, leaving them down around his knees. Acting like he's just trying to get this done. He takes a breath, realizes how callous he must seem, and when he hooks his fingers under Peter's boxers, he tries to be so much more gentle, this time. He leans in to plant a kiss over his best friend's skin, the pressure of his lips on Peter's thigh, but then his arms freeze in place. He... lets go, saying nothing, pulling his fingers away. He gives Peter one last chance to tell him to stop, one last chance to laugh and say "fuck, we're so drunk", use the mess of tonight as an excuse to just roll over and go to sleep -

But at the same time, he tentatively, tentatively moves his hand to the fabric covering Peter's cock, sucking air through his teeth as he touches him. It's clinical, almost, less fun than it should be, but the way he slowly strokes Peter through his clothes is a warmth and a comfort that feels good and it's here and it's Peter's if he just lets himself have it. ]

[Peter's too wasted right now to notice too much of how Odin's eyes skirt away from his, mostly because he finds himself inadvertently doing the same. For him, in this moment, it's a strange uncertainty that has him looking about the room with unease coiled in his gut. This is the first time he's screwed around with another guy - but the second time he's played the line between friends and something else, only...

Stop thinking about Jean, Peter. Just fucking stop having every goddamn thread of thought circulate back to her because it winds him every time. Every memory is frayed at the edges and covered in broken glass. And then maybe even singed when he thinks about them, giving him a nauseating flare of anxiety that he's trying to avoid.

He glances up at Odin as he settles on his back, feeling sheepishly exposed even before his pants are pulled down his hips. He's grateful for the moment of pause, letting out a breath and looking down at Odin's hands and finds himself watching as his palm settles over his boxers to stroke him through it. His eyes close and his head lolls back, a hissing breath through his teeth at how suddenly that feels so real. Too real?

With Jean it was all about heat, passion and an already set-in love and longing that made everything flow. There weren't any awkward pauses, no moments of hesitation. He knew what he wanted to do with her, do to her and he can remember how easily those thoughts alone aroused him. Where as now he's not yet hard but the touch piques an interest, especially now that his eyes are closed and - well, those painful memories of Jean have one upside.

Picturing her makes the groan come out of him easier, makes him feel confident this isn't a disaster waiting to explode. He realizes his fingers are twisting into the sheet at his side and he relaxes them, forcing his eyes to open and briefly look up. At Odin, but past him. The less he focuses the less he has to realize this as reality.]

Shit. That's... [weird] good.

[ Odin stays silent. Communication has always been something he's relied on, during-- times like these. He feeds on encouragement like a vampire, and knowing he's making whoever he's with feel good typically sends a surge of pride straight through his stomach. Not tonight, though. There's no electricity running down his spine, when Peter tells him this is good, no fire in his veins that makes him light up and grin like his whole world has gotten brighter. He just nods, seen but unseen, as Peter looks through him.

He shuts down. Leaves his mind, a little, and just focuses on the way his body reacts to everything going on. He tugs Peter's boxers down and helps him kick everything off, pants and underwear thrown carelessly over the bed. He swallows, dry, and he takes Peter's dick in his hand, jerking him off a little too mechanically. He closes the distance to it, again, silently pressing his lips to the base of his length and circling his fist around the head, doing everything he would do to--

Has Poe already done this, he wonders? With the other guy. Taken him to bed, made him his, officially, in a way other than just through words and silence and heartbeats and waiting. The thought makes him break, enough for his hand to falter and for Odin to consider just fucking stopping, but he doesn't. He throws himself back, to a few months ago, when he thought he had a chance, when he thought things were good, and he-- pretends.

He shuts his eyes. Drags his tongue up the underside of Peter's cock, making it wet. He jerks a little faster, doing everything he can to make Peter hard, the sound of flesh on flesh starting to fill the room. He presses another few kisses to the inside of Peter's thigh, and he moans, a little, a sad and tired noise he didn't mean to make. He keeps his eyes closed, still, as he circles his palm over Peter's head, and he breathes out. Eyes closed, still.

Imagining someone else. ]

[Peter continues to feel even more uncomfortable once he's naked - exposed doesn't begin to touch on the depth of the feeling when Odin's still (mostly) dressed and Peter's laying next to his stupid sweater and kicked aside jeans. Part of him didn't really think about getting to this point, didn't calculate the variables at hand and how a flush of heat rolls across his face - marred with a weird sense of shame. Like his body knows its betraying itself, going against the better thoughts of his brain and ignoring the throbbing of his heart to throb elsewhere instead.

He's breathing shallow and fast, squirming against the mattress when Odin's hand begins to move - thinking alright, he can handle that up until he feels his tongue as well. It's kind of overwhelming and he's screwed up his eyes again, a panting whine sitting in his mouth because this is fucked up. They should've stopped. He should stop now, just... just back out and go sober up.

But he can't bring himself to lift his arms, he just lays there with a low groan as his cock swells. This isn't sex he ever imagined himself having because it's selfish and one-sided, normally he can't help put have his hands all over his partner but he doesn't seem to know how to do that right now. Not because Odin's a man but more in that... he just can't bring himself to do it.

He gasps a little, picturing someone else in his head as well. Fire red hair he could almost feel brush against him, a lithe body settled between his legs. Thinking of Jean in the position is way more lewd for him and after a moment he's much harder, but also much more red in the face. He lays the back of his hand across the bridge of his nose, chin tilted up as he starts to really feel the pleasure roll in with another choked moan.]

Fuck.

[ The panting whine is something Poe might have done, once upon a time. The low groan, even more so. It's enough for him to lose himself to the fantasy in his head, and the smell of his sheets, this bed being where he and Poe always spent their nights together, only helps. It's - enough. He can feel his own cock twitch with need, hidden away in his stupid fucking Santa pants, and his eyelids flutter like they want to open, but they don't. He can't lose this. Won't let himself remember what he's really doing.

He brings his mouth up Peter's cock, and with a breath, he takes him in. He swirls his tongue over the tip, he applies pressure, he tastes every part of Peter's dick that he can fit in his mouth, humming, everything about this shameless and without restraint. There's - enthusiasm, but it's false, like he's throwing all of his energy into this out of habit, because it's what he's used to doing. When he swallows around Peter's cock and takes him further into his throat, taking all of him, until his nose is pressed up against his skin and breathing becomes a bit of a struggle, the tears that spring to his eyes have nothing to do with an inability to handle this.

The fuck Peter breathes takes him out of it, reminds him this isn't Poe, and it's like he's being drowned in ice water. As ever, he says nothing.

He slides off of Peter's cock, exhaling, wiping away some of the moisture from his eyes and laughing to play it off. He's achingly hard, now, which is fucked up, he thinks, but not enough to stop him from snaking his hand beneath his clothes and slowly beating himself off, mostly out of sight.

He looks out the window, towards the party. He clenches his jaw. He looks back to Peter. ]

You wanna-- you wanna do more than this?

this was gay enough to just leave as is

oh look so is this, mostly

and now add 4 cups of GAY

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

i needed something happy but idek what this trashfire is

cute-ass shit bruh

no subject

no subject

no subject

JUST 2 GUYS BEING STRAIGHT & STRIPPIN' DOWN

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject