shadowglitter | PSL || peter/odin

[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?

[The illusion of pretending Jean's the one sucking him off is really a filthy thing, Peter thinks, for he's even felt bad enough the few times before he's thought about her to get off. It's borrowing from a moment and utilizing that moment, that memory, in a way it wasn't meant to. Remembering the sex he'd had with her was slightly different, but to think that Odin between his thighs was her and it was her tongue pressed against his cock as her head bobbed up and down? Yeah, different. Really hot, honestly, but he still felt kind of shameful for it.

More so when he comes back to attention that it is Odin, giving the moment an inescapable flooring feeling when he opens his eyes now and then to look up at him. He can't catch his breath for a moment, swallowing hard as his hips rock upward in a lingering rhythm he hadn't noticed himself start. His breath is a bit shaky as he tries to level it out, pulling his hand away from his face and returning it to his side.

He doesn't have to look down at his cock to still see it erect, feel it throb with want. But he's uncertain about what Odin's asking - but he tries to remember that he trusts Odin with his life. So why does he feel so suddenly nervous about the option? He consented to this, he's due to get off on it so... is more too much?]

More? [a heavy breath] Like... what?

[ He can still hear the music from next door, coming in from over the garden, distant but there. It hits him, suddenly, that the mixtape Peter made for him isn't playing anymore - someone must have found the christmas carols and put them back on. There's something appropriate about that, maybe. The part of Odin that was in Poe's life, gone, like it was never really there. He wonders if Poe had liked that music, while it was playing, or if he'd been the one to shut it off.

Odin closes the window, and the silence that fills the room is tense, suddenly. Maybe that's just Odin. He looks down at Peter with something close to pity in his eyes - does it hurt this bad for you, too? - but then he shuts that down for good. He grins, sharp and devilish, as he tilts his head from side to side, like he's trying to think of what to do. ]

I could fuck you.

[ He knows it's selfish, the second he gives voice to the thought. Peter's so fucking inexperienced, and he doesn't even know if Odin-- he doesn't even know if guys are what he wants. It's a lot of pressure, to throw on somebody, and he knows the only reason he's asking is because he wants to keep pretending. Doing what he used to do, back when he was happy. It was such a stupid lie, when he'd said tonight was about Peter. ]

Could keep doing this, first. Could keep blowing you 'til you're barely able to breathe, lost to the feeling of my lips on your cock, blinded by stars. Then I could fuck you. If you're up for it.

[ He tilts his head away from the window. He can't hear anything, anymore, but he knows it's out there. He's getting impatient, not having Peter as his distraction. ]

Thoughts?

[Peter's hinging on what Odin says with a reluctant wonder because it bears repeating that this is a lot. A lot of firsts, a lot of bad decisions and a lot of physical feelings he's not sure he can cope with. But he still feels heady from drinking - did toking earlier make that better or worse? Or was it Odin's mouth on his cock that made him feel this fucked up that he can't seem to think? Or is that just a bit of panic in his chest making him close his eyes and suck in a deep breath, trying to hold on to some part of this fucked up experience as a positive.

He doesn't think he wants this, doesn't think he's drunk enough for it - maybe he is, maybe that's why he just feels a bit like lead on the bed as he blinks up at Odin with his lips sticking together as he parts them to reply. Dry, he can't really form any words so he looks away.]

Whatever, man. Let's just do whatever.

[A yes, more or less - words that confuse him as they come from his mouth as he feels a chill tingle down his spine. He doesn't know what next to do, but he's taking Odin's word on it that if he gets worked into it it'll just all flow again, like it did with Jean. Like maybe it'll feel good? Worth it, in the end.

His voice cracks but he'll just confirm:] Let's fuck.

[ That impatience and false devilishness is already gone.

Odin's back to feeling disconnected, as he watches Peter make the call. Back to feeling equal parts irresponsible, for doing this with someone who thinks whatever is an okay answer to the question he just asked, and apathetic, because the thought of Poe alone with someone else is clawing at his stomach and making him want to die in the way fears of the war used to do when he was young and nothing else matters but that. He takes a breath and nods, again, just pushing through the fact-- the growing, ever unavoidable fact-- that he doesn't want to do this. He cracks a grin, cocky and stable. Like he knows what he's doing. Like he's done this a thousand times before, rather than just a dozen, all with someone else.

He thinks about doubling down on the dirty talk, because Poe had always liked it, and Odin knows he's pretty okay at it, he thinks. As he slowly strokes his own cock in smooth, circular motions, gently prying Peter's legs apart and kneeling between them, he thinks that he could gasp and lie about the size of Peter's dick or say things like fuck, you're so fucking tight when this really starts, but it doesn't sit right. This isn't fun, this isn't sexy, this isn't-- anything, anymore. Just a bad mistake they're both too deep to back out of.

He licks his middle finger, gets it wet. Looks at Peter with something close to reassurance, but not quite, because again, he's not sure he cares about any of this, which is fucked up beyond belief, given that it's his first time. Poe had been so straightforward and careful with him, his first time with another man. Odin's not doing that. He takes another sharp breath and gently pressures the tip of his finger to Peter's hole, taking his cock in his free hand, stroking and squeezing everywhere it might really make him shake just in an attempt to keep him hard. There's no warning - because he's trying to stay silent, mostly - when he tentatively eases the tip of his finger inside, watching Peter's face for a reaction. ]

[All he can think as his knees spread apart and he look at Odin between them is it's too late to stop now, too far into this to give up. He should be thinking of anything else in this situation, preferably with a hint of excitement. It should be anticipation resting in his gut not a strained concern, a strong flush of vulnerability that makes him feel a bit sick.

He doesn't know how this goes - there weren't any great PSAs on gay sex in the 80s and he's still not quite sure he's good at the straight shit. He's out of his element entirely and so he's betting he'll be abysmal at this. Even though it's Odin - someone he'd trust with his life, he feels like this is already a disappointment. A mistake.

But he groans, trying to relax but feeling Odin's finger press into him makes him twist his fingers back into the sheets and his body tense. The distraction of toying with his cock is the saving grace in this situation as Peter tries to focus on it more than the foreign feeling of Odin's finger, sucking in a breath and looking up at the ceiling.

He wants to say something - anything, but the words die in his throat. He should be telling Odin what feels good or at the very least trying to compliment the situation but he can't. Calling Jean beautiful was never something he hesitated on, never something he didn't mean. Odin's handsome, especially now that Peter's drunk and very horny, but when he looks up at him he just remembers that this isn't the time or place for what they were. What they are. It's just what they're doing now that counts.

So he stays silent, save for another panting moan as his back arches gently.]

Edited 2018-01-04 08:47 (UTC)

[ He should pick up the twist of Peter's fingers as a sign of anxiety, the way they clutch at the sheets and tense, because-- because fuck, that's something Odin does whenever he's overwhelmed by something he doesn't want, spiralling the front of his clothes while fear settles in his stomach like wet sand. He should notice, but he doesn't, too far gone under thoughts of wanting to forget, and--

And even after everything they've done tonight, the arch of Peter's back and the way that he pants like that puts him in a light that Odin's never seen him in. It hits Odin all at once, that he might actually, genuinely be really fucking physically attracted to this dude - everything they're doing feels different, suddenly, like something's shifted, now that Peter's beneath him, being worked over by him and taken care of by him, trusting him in a way that he doesn't deserve. He feels - like this really might be something that could be good for him. For both of them, maybe, but mainly for him.

At the very least, hearing Peter make a noise like that-- because of him-- makes the lie a little easier to believe.

He leans down, as he presses his finger further into Peter, slow and methodical, trying to ease him into something Odin's sure he's never felt before. He lowers his lips to the bridge between Peter's shoulder and his neck, tall enough that he doesn't need to strain more than their fucking relationship to do it, and even Odin wouldn't be able to say if he was trying to keep him calm or just trying to hide his face. He clears his throat, a wordless alert for what he's about to do, and then his finger starts to slowly, slowly fuck in and out of Peter, dragging over every soft ridge, steady and rhythmic. He sucks, gently, on Peter's neck, making it pink, leaving a mark - and then he inserts a second finger, stretching him open, fucking him, getting him ready.

He pulls away from the mark he left on Peter's neck and his free hand finds Peter's cock again. He strokes it, back-handed, in time with each gentle in and out of his fingers. ]

Are you, uh... [ He clears his throat, again, and he feels like he's at a fucking job interview, or something. ] Are you feeling-- is this... yeah? Or... nah?

[Peter's breaths can't evolve past shallow gasps while Odin is working his finger in and out of him, the feeling is... unique to say the least and the arching of his back briefly doubles by the introduction of a second digit. But Peter surprises even himself by making it through that fairly easy, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth as his head lolls back with an antsy writhing against the bed sheets.

If he's to think on it, which he's not really right now - not while it's happening - it's not a bad feeling. It's new and confusing and a bit terrifying in a way, having his trust in someone else like this but it does feel sort of good. Made more so when Odin pumps his cock in time with his fingers, making Peter's next moan a little more obscene and having it become accompanied with a rocking of his hips. He doesn't know what direction to move in but the movement just comes naturally.

Like the flush of color brightens his face and cascades down his neck, turning him a shade of pink beneath a slight sheen of drunken sweat.] Yeah.

[It's out of his mouth before he registers the question all the way, caught up in wanting more. More touch, more... all of it. He might be in over his head and at risk of drowning but something about this is working for him despite it, even if he can't pretend it's anything else but what it is. Getting finger fucked for the first time by his best friend while he sweats vodka and digs his heel into the mattress to push back experimentally against his fingers.]

J-Jesus Christ, Odin.

[ Peter rolling back to meet his finger makes Odin just-- intensely fucking hard, and his hand actually slows to a stop as he stares, mesmerized, at Peter's hips. He swallows and fingers Peter a little faster once he regains his bearings, but it's softer now, coming in too quick touches that just barely brush over his prostate, barely give him that feeling of fullness. When he draws his fingers back from Peter, he lets go of his cock and gives one sweeping look over his body.

Fuck, he's starting to get in deep.

He moves to kneel back by Peter's ass, slowly stroking his own cock with the lube and the precum he drew out of his best friend. He-- loves that. Loves this. Loves seeing that red in his skin, the heat and the embarrassment and the vulnerability that contrasts so easily to that silver, those slick attempts to be funny so as not to be real. He aligns himself with Peter's hole, swallowing down his nerves and looking at him just once for permission, and -

It's very tentative, when he leans down, anchoring Peter on the head of his cock, pressing past the tip and carefully entering him. He's not sure if this is-- okay, given everything-- but he presses their lips together in a soft, chaste kiss, something slightly possessive about it. This is his and Peter's moment. Fuck Poe. Fuck Jean. This is them. ]

[Peter feels like his face must be a dark shade of scarlet over the pink it really is, what for all the heat that floods there from the shuddering pleasure that has his cock rigid and his gut feeling tense until he relaxes with a slow exhale. That lasts for about half a second as Odin presses into him, reflex making him grunt as he grabs at Odin's arm for something to hold on to.

One second, two second... he relaxes better on three, eyes still scrunched together as he kisses back rather needy for the contact. It's still a little uncomfortable, the full feeling of Odin's cock sliding into him and he finds his breath in little gasps against his mouth. With his fingers curling around the nape of Odin's neck he holds him to him for the kiss, biting at his lip and encouraging a rocking of their hips instinctively.

He wants to feel... something. He wants to feel...] More.

[ He stays steady, fighting the instincts in his body that are (slightly drunkenly) telling him to just drive himself deep into Peter and make him scream his name. He instead presses careful, soothing lips to the curve of Peter's neck, kissing down to his collar, humming gently against the bone. It's hard, laying here just barely, barely stretching Peter open, that tight, oppressive heat gripping the head of him like soft fire, and he focuses on the slightly uncomfortable pain in his arm where Peter's holding him to stay good.

He was ready to wait for Peter to tell him he wants this, but then he's kissing him, hungrier than he's been all night. Odin's breath comes in barely restrained pants, his hands curling tighter on Peter's skin, resisting every fucking urge to just fuck, but then it's getting worse, Peter's taking the lead, being more aggressive, biting him and holding him and moving and Odin's doing his best to keep up with him--

And then he's saying more and Odin fucking grunts as he sinks half of his length into Peter in one quick motion, his toes curling and every thick inch inside of Peter just stretching him apart. ]

Fuck-- fuck, fuck--

[Peter's breath is sucked straight out of his lungs when Odin thrusts into him, giving him what he wanted but perhaps not what he was totally prepared for. His shoulders go rigid but he finds a way to breathe after a pained moment, tucking his face in against Odin's neck after pain and pleasure shoot through his body like a bullet. He's not precisely sure when he did it, but he pushed himself up on his forearm, almost as if bolting upright before relaxing. With a strained noise against his best friend's neck, he tries not to tense up again and focus instead on the feeling of Odin sinking into him.

His eyes tear up but it's fine, it's actually kind of ridiculous that his first gay fuck is with the guy with the ridiculous dick. What did he get himself into here? It's actually rather fucking obscene and he'll laugh at the situation later when he's not currently getting rammed by the aching, turgid member of his bestie. He always gets into shit way over his head, wouldn't be Peter Maximoff if he didn't.]

Fuck. [He echoes, setting his teeth against Odin's neck to bite because that's all he can do aside from working with the motion of their bodies to feel the thrusts. His cock aches and he can't even concentrate, lost to the feeling and curling his arm around Odin's back with an encouraging nudge.]

[ Odin tries to apologize, but he doesn't have the breath. He almost finds it, tilting closer to Peter to whisper the word sorry against him in a short, frenzied gasp, but then there are teeth sinking dangerously close to his throat and he's speechless again. The sharp pain in his nerves fucking jolts his hips forward, making him grunt as he bottoms out in Peter far faster than he should have. This time, at least, he whispers sorry, but it's quiet and hard to hear amongst all the fucking panting and through the clenched jaw.

He tilts his head, meeting Peter's eyeline. He's not really looking at Peter like he's his friend, anymore. He's looking at him like it's his fucking mission to make him lose his god damn mind.

It only lasts for a second, though, this heat of primal energy to turn Peter into a quivering mess of orgasms and bruised bones, because Odin sees the way he tears up and he absolutely cannot have that. He leans forward and presses his lips to Peter's eyelid, making it all better. There.

He wraps one strong arm down behind Peter's shoulderblades and lets the other get tangled in his hair, cradling Peter close while he fucks him. The rhythm he picks up is infuriatingly slow, trying to get Peter used to the feeling of a real dick in his ass sliding in and out of him, but they're chest to chest, which means Peter's cock gets to grind over his abs in a way that might be too rough if they were going any faster but should hit just right like this. ]

Hey--

[ There's hesitation in his voice, now that he finally learns how to speak again. He's-- not sure what this is, not sure why he wants to ask this, why he has to ask this, but he thinks of Poe and he thinks of Jean and he thinks of Peter and he thinks of them and as he drills his cock harder into Peter than before and gently tugs on his hair and looks the other way and he just-- ]

Hey--

You-- love me, yeah?

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havalynd - Today at 20:47: makes u do the a and b route <-- ??? ?? ?? ? THANKS , ? ? ? ? THNK

i love you gero gero gero

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thanks again. Thanks . Than kYou.

i love You

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