Odin (Owain) | Fire Emblem (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shadowglitter) wrote2017-12-31 07:23 pm
shadowglitter) wrote2017-12-31 07:23 pmPSL || peter/odin
JUST... JUST,, JUST TWO BROS -- JUST TWO, TWO BROS, BEING, BEING STRAIGHT
shadowglitter) wrote2017-12-31 07:23 pm
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Each time he starts to feel disconnected from what's going on, he gets grounded and pulled away from the temptation to pull the brakes. The kiss hardly matters but it's something to focus on, much like Odin's hand lubing his cock and the strangeness that follows of having another person lower themselves down onto it. He trusts Odin knows what he's doing but for the moment can't go back to an idyllic day dream that this is Jean - not when instead he gasps, putting his hand against Odin's thigh and trying to listen.
Don't move. He can do that. He can try to do that.
His teeth are grit but his brows shoot up - trying to alleviate the gravity of the situation by putting his other hand on Odin's forearm, for stability and some semblance of an affectionate (albeit slightly mindless,) touch.]
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He clenches his jaw and eases his hands away, breaking contact to rest his fists on the sheets either side of Peter's chest. He leans his weight on his arms as he slowly, slowly, slowly lowers himself down Peter's cock, stretching himself apart until he's taken a little more than half of him. There's a line of sweat down his neck, and Odin reaches up to wipe it away, any false bravado he'd tried so hard to hold onto already gone. He falters, waits for the pain to fade, and then--
He takes the rest of Peter, in a fast, stuttering roll of his hips, and then he sits there, panting hard. He shifts to find-- comfort, maybe, or just a way to feel less borrowed-- but he doesn't, only finding the tight brush of Peter's tip against something inside of him that makes electricity pulse through him. He moans, embarrassingly loudly, and his face goes fucking scarlet as he bites down on the inside of his cheek to shut himself the fuck up. ]
S-Sorry. Jesus. Hold on.
[ His legs are shaking, knees digging tight into Peter's side. He lifts his hips, and then he feels it again, that soft and warm contact against something inside of him, and his cock that had been steadily softening is fucking rigid, twitching once with need as Odin tries not to swear. There's a thought, again, of Poe, but it's blurred under everything new he's feeling. He shuts his eyes, not sure if he's trying to block it out or hold onto it. ]
You, uh... [ He nods, rapidly, trying to tell Peter he can move, if he wants to, without actually using the word. ]
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He waits, feeling Odin tight around his cock and almost holding in his breath until given a sign. His hands slip back up Odin's forearms to brace but also to maintain a sense of touch, Peter's eyes a little more in focus when he looks up at Odin while swallowing hard and beginning to lift his hips and initiate a rhythm he can move to.
It's clumsy at first because Peter has no fucking clue what he's doing like this, but part of him is surfacing beyond the whatever of earlier to want to make this be at least a little less than abysmal for the both of them.]
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You-- uh.
[ He's a little unfocused, from the booze and the lust, but that image he had in his head a moment ago - of Poe - it's completely fucking gone, when he sees the expression on Peter's face. He swallows and just-- takes that in. The way he's looking back at him, watching him, taking care of him.
It's very tentative, when he leans down, anchoring himself deeper on Peter's cock, taking him to the base. 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. ]
You can-- go faster. If you want to.
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With a grunt against Odin's lips he rocks up into him before resuming a rhythm of thrusts that gradually become quicker. His hands slip back down to Odin's thigh and hip for a grip, falling into instinct rather than overthinking his motions. He's still a bit drunk but he's a bit reluctant to go too hard to too fast, trying to study Odin for what seems right so he's not over doing anything unintentionally.
He bites at Odin's lip before letting go, pulling back from the kiss to swallow hard. Red in the face but no longer as embarrassed, Peter flicks his over Odin before meeting gaze.] Is - that good? Tell me, sh- shit... ah.
[One second, he just has to shudder as he thrust up a bit hard that time.] Tell me what you uh... like?
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He nods, when Peter asks for reassurance, stunned into speechlessness by how much he wants this, suddenly. A thousand words run through his head, all at once, when Peter asks him to speak up - explicit, stupid shit he could say about the size of Peter's cock or what he wants him to do to his body. Eloquent purple prose about the heat inside of him, the raging beast Peter turns him into, something dramatic about swords and hilting them in perfect sheathes or something fucking weird and medieval like that. They're all there on the tip of his tongue, and he's about to beg to feel more of Peter's ACHING, TURGID MEMBER plunging DEEPER INTO HIS BRINY SEAS, but then he sees Peter's eyes, and his heart skips a beat.
Huh.
He's not sure if his heart has ever felt like that because of Peter. ]
Fuck, man, I just--
I like you. I just like you. Nothing else matters about this. I'm doing this with you. My best friend. Nothing else-- no part of this-- is anywhere near as important. So just... do whatever the fuck you want. Yeah? If you feel good, I'll feel good.
[ He takes a breath and raises his hips, pulling almost entirely off of Peter's cock before hammering himself back down. He grunts with the effort and his legs tremble at the pulse that bolts through him, but he does it again, screaming FUCK loud enough for the neighbours to hear when he takes Peter back to the base. He shudders and claws at Peter's forearms for balance, but he's laughing, low and throaty, like he's god damn motherfucking proud of himself. ]
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Guess that's what's happening all over again, isn't it?
He groans in reply to Odin at first, breathless but rocking back against him each time he comes down hard on his cock and he feels the same ecstatic rush that shatters the looming veil of something else that threatened to overtake this. He sees Odin laugh and someone laughing while on his cock is not something he thought he'd ever see as a positive but - it's infectious and he finds himself joining in, breathy and strained but laughing light.]
Stop fucking - laughing. [He's smiling, a flash of white teeth as he rests the back of his hand over the bridge of his nose, covering one eye but staring up at Odin with the other. He squeezes his other hand against the flesh of Odin's thigh, digging in his nail in a faux-threatening way.]
You fucking idiot. [He laughs again, right before it transitions back into a low moan while his head rolls back against the bed. He's feeling a few slow shuddering swells ripple through him and before he fucking ends up coming while laughing, he wants to at least reciprocate something... more than just letting Odin say this is all about him.
His hand slides up Odin's thigh, slick with sweat and hesitantly nervous - genuinely clumsy on account of it being Peter's hand but he reaches to curl his fingers around Odin's cock. It's definitely a weird feeling, like a numb hand reversed if he overthinks it (which he really shouldn't do right now, no matter how much his brain wants to cope with some fucked up mechanism over reality,) but he gives it a pull as he moves his hand higher up his forehead to better make eye contact.
His lips are still curled, smiling through the words as they come out his mouth:] Well, if you feel good - then I feel good.
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If he were sober, maybe he'd be able to notice how the second he just embraced Peter for being Peter, instead of just-- embraced him as a replacement, or as a bandaid-- his life became so much brighter, so much better. Instantaneously. If he were sober, he'd be able to connect that thought to something sweeping and romantic, like the idea that maybe that's what Peter was made for - made to make Odin happy, just as he might be for Peter in turn. A light in all his darkness that could shine even brighter, if they were both brave enough to escape the dull warmth they've found themselves in.
But he's drunk. Dawn will break, and he'll regret this, and he'll think of Poe, and he'll pine, and Peter will think of Jean, and he'll grieve, and they'll lose the future they're so fucking close to finding in each other.
Peter rolls his head back against the bed and Odin takes the opportunity to grind hard against his cock, clenching his ass and fucking himself down hard like he's done this a thousand times before even while he's screaming, privately, that he has no idea what he's doing and he's fucking terrified he's going to break something. He's lost in Peter's laugh, the sound like fucking music piercing through the tired aches of his body. When Peter wraps his hand around his cock, his eyes widen even further, so much of that cockiness just blowing away from him. ]
Wait, don't--
[ But he does, and Odin squirms down, resting his hands on Peter's waist. Fuck. He uses his knees to ride Peter's cock, rather than just his hips as he had been. It lasts for all about three seconds before he's slapping at Peter's hand and grunting through his teeth. ]
Fucking-- stop, you'll make me come.
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Another flash of heat in his face and Peter's laugh dies to something soft, more raw and genuine as he grips at Odin's thighs again with fumbling fingers. His lower lip trembles a bit as he thrusts up against Odin with a bit more determination.]
That was - the point. But fine. [A harder thrust, punctuated with a roll of his hips once flush with Odin - Peter's getting a bit more in tune with what feels good and right, and what's definitely gonna make him come within a few more haphazard thrusts. It winds up inside him, tenser and tenser until his nails dig into Odin's skin.
For an instant the world stops with a choked out noise and a hard thrust of his hips, rigid for the white hot second when it happens.] Fuck.
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[ Whatever it is he was going to say is drowned out by a quick, strangled moan, his legs turning into a quivering mess when Peter fucks up hard into him. He breathes in one shaky breath through his nose and just shuts his eyes for a minute, letting Peter do anything he wants to do to him.
He wants to win.
He thinks he might be able to come just from this, the feeling of Peter stretching him apart and grinding through him. His toes curl tight and he looks down at Peter with an unguarded kind of vulnerability - like he's completely willing to forego his ego and forget, for a second, how desperately he wants people to like him, or like the way he looks, or like the way he acts - because Peter's here and he likes him as he is and everything's fine. The nails biting into his thigh make him hiss, the final thrust up into him makes him moan loader then before, and then--
He goes tense, almost exactly when Peter does. It's the thought of this is happening, I'm making Peter do this that pushes him over the edge, and he only has to wrap his fingers around his own cock and give it a few quick, slick strokes before he's shooting his load, jets of white painting Peter's chest while he grunts and rides the wave through it. He's dizzy and disoriented and still pretty fucking drunk when the fire in his body calms down, hips rising and falling on Peter long after they have to, and he sinks down and just-- rests, blearily, everything a warm and cloudy haze.
His instinct is to be happy, rather than to regret, and the chuckle and the "oh man" that roll out of him are as quiet as they are genuine. ]
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He sucks in a few long breaths for what feels like the first time in too long, a clarity settling in now that lust isn't tinting his vision. He sees Odin on him still, his hands against his thighs and it becomes even more official that that just happened.
Peter's not as drunk as he was before, but still not enough to blame for the feeling that rocks through him: What did he just do? What did they just do? It's not so much that he regrets what happened, because it was... good sex, honestly. But it's that he did it with his best friend and so a flash of panic sits behind his breastbone.
He just fucked his best friend. Fuck.] I... uh, we... should clean up?
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He doesn't roll onto his side when he looks at Peter, but he turns his head, still soft and content in a way he hasn't been for months, and he doesn't see any of that feeling returned. ]
... You okay?
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He can finally feel air against his hot skin, cooling him down as he shifts against the bedding and starts to sit up. He doesn't climb to his feet but he does briefly look down at himself (again, what the fuck do you do with cum on you,) before returning his gaze warily to Odin. There's something fragile here behind his eyes, an uncertainty and flight over fight type of nature in Peter slowly resurfacing.]
Yeah. I think. [That part's not a huge lie.]
That was just... a lot.
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[ He rests with his forearm above his head, listening to the thud in his ears as his heart beats far too loudly. It's hard not to see Peter in a different light after this - the soft curve of his lips, the light in his eyes. Every part of him seems a little more beautiful, but a little more dangerous, aided only by the wary way he meets Odin's eye.
He takes a breath, and he tries not to let the past decade of self-hate and disgust claw away at this. He's happy, and he doesn't want to lose that. Not to a fear that he wasn't good enough, or a fear that he's ruined everything, or a fear that he's--
Fuck. The way Peter's looking at him.
Odin tries to grin, but it's nervous and it falters. He puts his forearm down over his eyes and the pulse in his ears is louder, faster. He chews over every word he wants to say before he says them, then swallows those words down and finds new ones. He moves his arm again and watches Peter just as carefully. Afraid he's going to-- run from this. Him. Both of them. Away from what they are, even if all they are is friends. ]
It was-- good? For me. That was good. I think. After a while. Not that-- [ Fuck. ] Not that it started bad, it just wasn't-- just-- I don't know. I liked doing that. With you.
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He doesn't realize that his breaths are shallow again, or that he's a bit paler but he looks away and around the room. The party feels like a year ago, something that happened far, far away and they've been in this room far too long. He ruffles his hand through his hair.]
I just... I need a second, I uh. I gotta... [get this cum off my chest?] go to the washroom, okay?
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[ He sits up with his back to the head of his bed and tucks his knees up to his chest so Peter can leave, idly scratching his shoulder, the nerves in his stomach tightening with the rest of him. He feels coiled and wound in on himself like a spring, all this pressure on him suddenly pushing him down, and he wants to just break and run away, even though he doesn't know where to run to.
To Poe, maybe. He looks out the window. Realizes, a little heavily, that he's not sure if he wants Poe right now. Not sure he would even if he busted down the door and told him he was in love with him and only him. That thought might mean more if the person he's slowly, steadily starting to want wasn't right at this moment panicking and trying to leave.
Jesus, he's gotta learn to fuck better people. Just once he wants someone to like him as much as he likes them.
He waits while Peter's in the bathroom, just kind of watching the ceiling, the lights and the shadows intermingling. He finds the christmas lights he'd worn to the party and just fidgets with them in his hand, using magic to make each individual bulb glow and fill the room brighter than it should be able to, just for a second, before fading into darkness. Peter takes too long to come back for it to seem natural, so when he's finally back in his bedroom, Odin's a bit of a mess, a build up of a thousand different anxieties piling into his chest.
He just. Grins. Like he always does. Lights in hand. ]
Hey. You, uh - hi.
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Odin's in there waiting to come in here next and Peter doesn't know how to deal with that. His best friend is one wall away and it takes too long for him to muster up the strength to go back out there, but he finally does. He licks at the corner of his lip as his eyes skirt around Odin before landing on him, walking back toward the side of the bed he sits nearest to.
If in this time Odin starts to get up, Peter'll lift his hand to stop him or nudge him back down against the bed because no, this next part has to happen. He's going to just - they're just going to have to acknowledge that what happened happened and it was a one time thing. It was Odin making a drunk Peter feel better or vice versa, a mish-mash of broken hearts and mistakes culminating in something... dangerous.
Only he looks at Odin and he can't say anything. He looks a bit distraught, really, brows creasing before he ducks down to kiss him again. Like this kiss is going to tell him what the feelings in his chest really mean, why this feels like de ja vu again with falling head over heels for someone he considers his best friend. He kisses hard and aggressive until he has to pull away, almost angry.]
What did - what are we doing? [That fragile look is back because he needs Odin to tell him something, he needs to be told what this is because he can't make the jump. He's afraid to make the jump. What if he's wrong and he fucks it all up even worse?]
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Eventually he gives up on scrambling for words and he waits for Peter to say something, but he doesn't, and it makes the nervous acid writhing and crawling in Odin's stomach feel like it's spreading through his arms and his legs and his veins and his bones, until he's just a mess of guilt and sadness and an overwhelming need to apologize. The cornerstone of who Odin is is just-- he's unlovable, that's the biggest part of him, he knows that, it defines every action he takes-- and it's never been enough of a problem to drag him down, with Peter. Never been enough of a problem to stop him from smiling, when he needs to.
But Peter's just standing there and Odin's panicking to himself and seeing it as resentment and the decade of self-loathing and anxiety that always, always sweeps so easily away from him when he's with Peter all just-- it's all there.
His eyes are on the ground, but he looks up just in time to see Peter kiss him. He grunts in relief and locks his hands around his neck, keeping him close, trembling hands finding purchase in Peter's hair. His lungs are on fire and he kisses back with just as much aggression, biting and tugging and just needing and when it ends so quickly and Peter's looking at him like he's done something wrong, Odin has no idea what to do with it. He lets his hands fall from Peter's neck, down his chest, and then away.
Okay. ]
I don't--
[ No, fuck, that's a lie, he does know what they're doing. He takes a sharp breath, moving to screw his fingers in the sheets, clutching tight. ]
We... were lonely. Are lonely. Poe is in love with me-- but not enough to want me. Jean was in love with you-- and now she's gone. But I love you. And you love me. So... we... stopped... hurting. For a while.
[ He frowns, imperceptibly, looking away from Peter, staring at the wall. Everything feels too big for him, suddenly, like his body is small and his thoughts are too much for them. He runs his tongue over the inside of his teeth as he thinks, then looks back up to Peter. ]
That stopped mattering. To me. A little. I just started thinking about you, and about what we were doing, and about how I wanted to make you feel good, and about how you make me feel good, and about how I just wanted-- you. More of you. All of you. I don't know.
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He doesn't sit down like he wants to, he doesn't curl up next to Odin like it feels it would be natural to, either. He just stands there, looking at Odin like he's as lost as he feels and bumps his knees against the side of the bed like he's gravitating towards something he can't yet touch.]
Wanted? [He licks his lips, hesitant like a deer stepping out across the road when headlights are visibly coming his way.]
Or want? I get - I know what we did, Odin. But what are we gonna do now?
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He breaks it. ]
Peter...
[ There's something admonishing, in his voice. He steels his arms and pulls himself back on the bed, just an inch or two. He has a headache, suddenly, and he rubs at his temple, breathing out in hopes that the pain will ease, but it doesn't. He stretches his neck until something cracks, then finally looks back up. ]
I needed tonight. To feel like I'm-- something. [ There's a beat of hesitation that wraps around the rest of him. ] But I don't want to be the alternative to being alone. I'm not going to be with someone who doesn't really, really want me. Not after Poe. So...
[ He rolls a shoulder, the laziest of shrugs. He's known Peter long enough to realize this was just-- a drunken mistake, experimentation from a straight dude, who the fuck knows what else. After all - Odin's unlovable. Peter couldn't love him, not like that, no matter how much time they might have in America before one of them ports away. Nobody could. Fuck, the guy doesn't even call him by his real name. He'd be stupid to think there could be more here. Even if-- he wants that, he thinks. ]
Friends. I guess. Back to normal. Yeah? You can stay here tonight, I'll sleep on the couch.
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It's the 'an alternative to being alone' that really strikes Peter next, causing him to take a half step back with his heel dragging on the floor at the barbs of the statement. He's not sure why that hurts so much too, it's the honest truth - he's just a fucking moron who can't get over his girlfriend. Who keeps lowering his guard and getting fucked over by his own emotions. Who gets shut down just when he starts to reach out for something, making him feel all the more foolish for thinking there was a chance.
He laughs, humorlessly.] Friends, yeah.
You uh, you know... I can just go. [He says it before he means to, his voice a bit shaky as he grabs his jeans on auto-pilot. His brain is telling him to run and go feel shitty somewhere else. He knows if he leaves it makes it worse, it won't be repairable but he can't stop himself. He moves like he's not in control of his limbs, pulling on his pants with a distant look in his eyes. He ruins everything good he puts his hands on in true Maximoff style.]
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So, that's it. Peter took the out that Odin gave him, and Odin isn't going to allow himself the luxury of sulking when he knew this is how it would go. If Peter wanted him, wanted more, he would say something - but the most he ever did was hesitate, stand on the brink, give Odin the distinct impression that this could have been more if he would allow himself the chance but then bailed when Odin opened up. Said he needed things.
That's just what happened in space. Peter's no different to Poe.
He watches Peter get dressed and figures this, too, is just an attempt to run and get out of the situation as fast as possible. He opens his mouth, prepares to stop him, but he doesn't, because what's the fucking point? Every part of him aches and he just wants to go to sleep, just wants to forget that the core of him is a ball of negative bullshit crushed together in high gravity that nobody would ever want. He lays on the bed, spine to mattress, and he watches the ceiling. The only stable friend he has.
He takes a breath.
He turns and looks at Peter, watching him slip on his pants, watches him seem so far away.
He's not sure what makes him say it. ]
Do you wanna go on a date?
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He's so stupid.
Pulling up his jeans, he looks up from buttoning them when Odin speaks aloud - interrupting the rebound of bullshit in his head like a distant pull back to the present. Back to reality that isn't self loathing and self doubting. He almost misses what he said, catching it a few seconds late, blinking in a surprised way.
A wrench is thrown in his plans to bolt.] A date?
[Truth be told it's not really the most inspiring thing. He doesn't feel a swell of excitement or joy but much rather is... befuddled by it. He realizes after a beat that the reason he doesn't seem charmed by this is because it's not something new for them. Anything they'd do on a date they've already done, more or less. Which constricts his chest and obscures his answer as he looks away. A date sounds stupid because they're already so close.]
I dunno. [At this rate, they've already dated for like... three months?]
I'm a shitty boyfriend and I'm not like, ["like Poe", he gestures with his hand as he's caught up in his own head again] I'm not really worth it? I don't know what I want. I mean, that's a fucking lie - I know what I want. But I don't know how to not fuck this up for us, 'cause I totally fucked it up for us...
[His voice is a bit higher, shrill with a nervous sort of panic as he looks back to Odin. He knows what he wants. He just doesn't know how to make that not ruin the best thing he's got going for him. He wants that out but he can't make himself take it. And he can't help looking at Odin for an excuse for that in.]
I just. I can't lose you? You mean too much to me and... ["I'm scared."] I'd date you but you... you said it yourself, you deserve better? Better than me.
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It's the stumbling over his words, the way Peter gestures and struggles to form whatever it is he wants to say, that grabs Odin's attention more than anything, pulling him out of his spiral. He sits up and takes notice and listens, both to Peter's words and the silences between them. It's not like he can read his mind... he can't tell what Peter's thinking, or what this means, but this is something Odin does, too. Stumble, nervous, when there's something he has to say and he doesn't know how. He takes a breath.
He's not good with actions, like so many people in America, not when they count - he freezes up, when he has to think on his feet and not rely on things he practiced in the mirror over and over and over again. He relies on actions and big gestures only when he can plan them or when the words he spends so hard thinking through aren't going to be enough. Actions are reserved for when he's desperate for people to like him, to be kind to him -
So he doesn't think to just fucking kiss Peter and show him that he wants him.
He just curls in on himself and closes his eyes, head down, focusing and concentrating and trying to make sure he doesn't misunderstand anything. He's fucking stupid, so it's likely he will. What... he takes away from this... is that Peter thinks - on whatever level - that he's not good enough for Odin.
Which is ludicrous enough to make him actually laugh, loud and maybe even a little mean. ]
Are you serious? All I want is to be loved, man.
[ He grins, shifting in his bed, and it fades as he talks, but it's still there, plastered under empty eyes and distant sadness. ]
I don't think that'll ever happen? I don't think I'll ever be loved. Not really. Not the way my dad loved my mom, or the way Magnus loves Alex, or the way Poe loves-- whoever. And I know you love me - like a brother, or something, but it's just -
[ He shrugs. Pulls a face. It's not what he wants. ]
I want to be everything to someone. I think you could be mine? My everything. Pretty easily. You're already there, on a platonic level - there's already nothing I wouldn't do for you, and I know that the more time I spent with you and the more I allowed myself to fall in love with you rather than just-- bury the potential I always feel when I'm with you, because I know you wouldn't want that with me, or-- or with any dude-- then. Yeah. I don't know. I could see this working. Long-term.
[ He runs his hand through his hair, looking at Peter from underneath the porcupine mess he leaves himself with. ]
There's already-- something. There. For me. To you. That's more than friendship, or-- familial. I know it could grow. The only reason it hasn't is because I haven't-- let it. Because I didn't think you'd-- with me. And there's-- Poe. But that's-- yeah. Dead.
You wouldn't fuck anything up for us. For me. Why the fuck do you think you're a shitty boyfriend?
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To have someone so openly tell him these things for the first time, things he never got around to discussing with Jean - his only other actual relationship. 'I could see this working. Long-term'. Peter feels like he's made of lead, rooted to the spot and for once not burning to fidget or move.]
Everything I do gets screwed up. It's like, a fucking marvel we're even friends? I over-do shit because I don't know what I'm doing and I really don't know what I'm doing here. I'm gonna like, do or say something offensive... or just, freeze up and - disappoint you? And I don't want to. To... to let you down.
["I'm scared".] I don't know what a healthy relationship looks like - my mom and my dad, they split up before I was even born? I don't... I don't know what I could even like, give you... I'm just a shitty person. I fuck up. I'm a fuck up.
A twenty seven year old fuck up. You really wanna date this? Like... really?
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