shadowglitter | PSL || peter/odin

PSL || peter/odin

JUST... JUST,, JUST TWO BROS -- JUST TWO, TWO BROS, BEING, BEING STRAIGHT

[ Odin sits in an awkward, uncomfortable silence once Peter paces over to him. He meets his eyes and opens his mouth a few times to say something, but he's speechless, in that uncomfortable, sad way that grips around his throat, that way that hits him so rarely and so noticeably that it only ever means bad things.

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.

[Odin lays it out like facts and Peter's brain follows from one to the other like the fucked up math equation it is that ended up with them where they are. He's sad and Odin's sad and they did something about that, something to forget and to... feel better. But if that's all it was, why does Peter feel even worse afterward? Not in the way he'd expect himself to, either.

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?

[ Peter looks torn, and Odin gets it, to an extent. He's still lonely, he still misses Jean - one night of awkward, half-drunken fucking wasn't going to ease the ache she left in him. Odin watches him with upturned eyes, holding onto this moment of sweet hesitation for as long as he allows himself. This moment where he could take advantage of Peter, push this further, make him love him. This moment.

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.

[There's a distinct moment where Peter's expression changes - from a hesitant openness to an quick and equally steeled shut down when Odin speaks. 'I'm not going to be with someone who doesn't really, really want me' kind of jabs Peter in the heart and that hurts, causing him to look down at the floor conflicted. That's all Odin thinks he is? Is that all he is?

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.]

[ Friends.

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?

[The thoughts that are rocketing through Peter's head are their own cloud of negativity - a worthlessness surpassed by inadequacy surpassed by such stupidity that it makes him want to laugh and cry all at once. Losing Jean was really hard, he loved her, but the harder thing for him to get over was how willingly he threw himself into something knowing it would hurt him on the stupidest belief it might not. And the surprise he had for the situation when it did.

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.

Edited 2018-01-26 05:39 (UTC)

[ Okay, cool. No date. That totally doesn't sting. Odin flinches like Peter just slapped him and nods a little too fast. Fucking idiot. Fucking stupid fucking god damn idiot, of course he doesn't want a date, not with you, you worthless piece of garbage, he said he just wanted to be friends and he just wanted to go home and you had to push your fucking luck like you always do, this is why you're lonely, this why you're alone, this is why Poe--

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?

[Peter feels smothered again when Odin pours forth a confession of potential that he sees in them, that he sees in Peter, and it swims through his head like some surreal day dream to think that someone could love him. He didn't have time to really let it sink in with Jean before the loss was greater than everything, choking him out. He's always felt like a loner, the exhausting one that people roll their eyes out and tolerate. He knows that's not how Odin sees him but it's how he sees himself, so this is difficult. To say the least.

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?

[ There's a sweep of righteous anger in him when Peter says their friendship is a marvel. Something that makes him want to defend Peter from himself, go on and on and on about how he's a great and wonderful person and how it's a fucking honour to stand by his side, to spend as much time with him as he does. He doesn't - because he knows, instinctively, that that might only make things worse right now - and he struggles, again, to listen.

There are... many things, here, that he wants to address. He focuses on one thing at a time. ]

Okay - healthy relationships. I know enough about healthy relationships to carry the both of us. My mom and dad were more in love than any two people in the whole wide world. They loved each other, like-- [ Odin, who always has so many words, doesn't have enough for this. He stretches his arms as wide as he can. That's how much they loved each other. THIS MUCH. ]

But I also-- I killed my dad. Indirectly. He died to save me, because I was fucking stupid, and I didn't see the arrow someone shot at me, and he jumped in the way, and I didn't-- I didn't save my mom. Either. And I'm a prince, and I let my country burn, when we were at war, and I'm just-- everyone I love either dies or leaves or never loved me back, because I am inherently an unlovable person and I'm never a good enough man to keep people better than me safe and healthy and happy. Even though that's all I've ever wanted to do. I know about fucking up. I know what being a fuck up is. I can't-- hate you. If you fuck anything up. Not after years of learning how to forgive that kind of thing. In me.

[ He's rushing through this, trying to get to his point, and he's worried he's stumbling over himself, saying something stupid. He pauses, going back through his head, mentally replaying everything he thinks he said, and it makes sense. He thinks. Okay. So far so good. ]

All I want from you-- is you. Your time and your company and your-- you. I like you. You make me feel better than anyone. I don't hate myself as much when I'm with you. Everything hurts a little less. Not because you're, like, a distraction, or a bandaid, but because you're just-- warm? You're comforting. To me. You give me a reason to think, "hey, maybe I'm worth something", or-- or-- I don't know. You just make me feel good. About me. I don't get that very often. From anyone. Least of all myself.

[ Again, he repeats everything he said back through his own head, and he gets-- frustrated, a little. He's not explaining himself well - he's not talking about why he likes Peter, just how he makes him feel. He grunts, annoyed, scratching his hair up even further. ]

I don't see you as a shitty person. I don't think you're going to disappoint me, or offend me, when all I'm asking for is-- okay, I guess I'm asking for a lot? "Yo, I'm crippled by sadness and years of abandonment issues! If we date, I want you to stay open to falling madly in love with me even though no matter how much affection you might give me, I'll still hate myself and it will never be enough because I'll just eat away at everything you do and second guess our relationship and all the nice things you do for me because I've convinced myself that I'll never be enough for someone and all I'm going to do is drag you further down into a pit of despair and an aching feeling of being incomplete!" But. Like.

Like.

[ He goes back through what he just said.

Might've fucked up. Stupid fucking idiot. ]

[That's a wall of conversation that Peter listens to intently, still wrapped up in his own shitty feelings but starting to realize that the two of them have their own fucked up tapestries of bullshit to deal with. He still struggles to accept what Odin says about him as true - this night's been a bit of a fucking rollercoaster but he does feel a pull in his gut that brings him a half step closer to the bedside like a renewed pull of gravity.

Gravity that Odin's in the center of.] Odin...

[He doesn't know how to address any of that - much like Odin he wants to go through it all, but unlike Odin he doesn't try. He feels a swell of anxiety because he doesn't want to get caught up in words, he just wants answers to the questions he hasn't even asked yet. He wants to solve a problem he doesn't even know the specifics to. He wants to know what he should do when he already does.

He wants to convince himself one way or another to do or to not do the thing he's pulled towards.

His knee bumps the bed again and he hesitates on the spot, hand moving from a halted motion before he gives it a second go and reaches out. He slides his fingers against Odin's neck in a way he hasn't done before, curling behind it with a touch more tender than any he's given him before. And then he dips down again, kissing him solidly as if to tell him it's fine. He gets it.

They're both fuck ups and neither deserves the other. Might as well do it together, though. The fucking up.]

[ Silence is the worst possible answer he could have gotten from this.

The way Peter says Odin sends a razor through his heart. He just assumes, as he always does in moments like these, that he went too far. He gets it, he gets it, he knows he talks too much, he knows he thinks too much, he knows everything he does is wrong, he knows people don't want to hear him go on and on and on about his stupid fucking feelings. Poe made that clearer than anyone, and yet he's still doing it. He looks at his feet and bites the inside of his cheek as hard as he can to stop himself from losing control of his emotions and just-- crying, or apologizing, or handling things the wrong way, like he always does.

Fuck, Peter deserves better than this. He just lost Jean, he's never been with a dude, he just - deserves better than someone who spirals.

He's not looking, and then there's a hand on his neck, so he jumps, the touch unexpected. He looks up to find Peter and he's just there, and Odin's heart hammers against his ribs and catches in his throat at the same time. He feels dumb, suddenly, not sure what to do with his hands or how to move his lips, but Peter's taking the lead on this and that's enough reassurance for him to just try and step into turn. He grips Peter's sides and just leaves his hands there, static, at first, until the kiss has gone on long enough for him to find the confidence to gently stroke a reassuring line over his hipbone with his thumb.

He doesn't want to pull back, but he does, because despite everything - despite knowing it's the wrong thing to do - he needs words. He'll second guess everything, gut himself with hooks, if he doesn't take the time to find security in things. ]

So--

So, then. A thing? Us?

[While they kiss Peter lifts a knee to rest against the mattress for leverage, leaning against Odin more than he intended - so it's difficult to pull back and he doesn't move all that far once their lips part. He just sucks in a breath, aware of the feeling of touch and how it grounds him despite all the nervous energy in him still telling him to bolt. To run, to just... move and stop thinking and dwelling and ruining everything.

He almost throws out a non-committal answer, and then he almost tosses out something vague like I guess but he chews on it for a minute longer to really work it out. He's always too blunt or too dodgey when it comes to his feelings and saying things that need to be said. But for once...]

Yeah. I'll date you. [You idiot.]

[ He doesn't mind being leant against. It makes him feel strong, in a sense. Supportive. He keeps his hands on Peter's waist even as they break, and he could stare a fucking hole through Peter's skull, with how intently focused he is on him. Listening, waiting.

And then Peter answers.

He lights up like it's Christmas (which it is, technically, but like, like it's a not shitty version of Christmas,) and his face cycles through about six emotions in as many seconds. Hype. Fear. Hype again. Terror. Excitement. Horror. Two emotions, really. ]

Um. Okay, then. I guess. I mean, yeah. I'll date you too? I guess. If that's-- I mean, I guess.

[ He nods a handful of times, sliding his palms a little further up Peter's bare skin, holding onto him tighter than before. He wets his lips, the taste of Peter and alcohol on them all over again, and then he's quietly, quietly urging him forward, back into the kiss.

It lasts a little longer, this time, but it's twice as hesitant, like he's scared if he does it wrong he'll still find a way to chase Peter off. His hands slide back down to the waistband of Peter's jeans, and there's hesitation, for a moment, as Odin decides what to do next. He figures Peter wouldn't be up for-- anything else, exactly, not after what they just did, but he slides his fingertips beneath the sides to rest on Peter's thighs, more as an act of intimacy than anything else. He keeps his eyes closed, because he can feel his face heating up, and the last thing he wants is to be fuckin' made fun of for that while they make out. ]

Edited 2018-01-26 09:26 (UTC)

[Unlike being asked out on a date, there is a certain twinge that goes through Peter when they do this awkward back and forth agreement to date. It's the same kind of swell in his chest he felt after asking Jean a very similar question bluntly in her bedroom, his foot in his mouth like always but it still somehow worked out.

He leans into the kiss again, for the umpteenth time today without hesitance, something that surprises him - it's just another layer of intimacy on top of what they already have, it feels as natural as rain. The touch, on the other hand, of Odin's hand in his pants gives him a flickering feeling of uncertainty but he doesn't flinch away. He heats up too, hating his shy reaction to intimate touch now that he's not wasted and horny enough to overlook it.

It's not so graceful what he does next but he doesn't care, sliding onto the bed to lay against Odin not unlike he used to before. It's a bit more of an awkward scramble when he still tries to maintain liplock while doing so, so he pulls away after a defeated moment when he's still not comfortable but is now the one draped over Odin in a reversal of roles.]

Why the fuck did you put these pants back on, the fuzz creeps me out. [He says, with absolutely zero intention for that to be at all a hint to get naked again - he just fucking hates those pants. He flops down on his side next to Odin, tugging him to turn in toward the center of the bed and him. This just feels normal. With... kissing and a hand down his pants. The latter of the two he actually... kinda really likes? Shit.]

You'll sleep here, right?

[ He lets Peter wrangle him back towards the bed, a tangled mess of limbs and awkward, juttering movements as they fall back to the mattress, and while they break the kiss, the intimacy is still there. He moves to lay face to face with Peter, grinning, sheepish, a kind of unrestrained warmth in his eyes that Peter's never seen. The expression he has when he's just-- wanted, like this. Allowing himself to be fully and completely happy with someone that matters more to him than words can say.

The complaint about his pants makes him grin a little wider, all toothy and sharp, shark-like. ]

Aesthetic.

[ Wait, that's what Woden says about his weird racist asian thing, right? Wait, fuck, don't think about the creepy guy with the mask, that's worse than fantasizing about Jean and Poe while they fucked. Odin shakes his head, clearing those thoughts away. He tries again. ]

I'm desperate for attention so I wear weird things to get it?

[ Better? Better. Wait, worse? Fuck, whatever. He inches forward and moves his hands out of Peter's waistband to drape over him, locking his hands together on the small of Peter's back. He tugs Peter forward so they can be close, chest to chest, fully intending to get lost in Peter's eyes for a while. ]

I'll sleep here. [ He bites his lip for the thousandth time, adding another set of tiny imprinted marks that he's been building on all night, watching Peter with a weary kind of affection. There's still-- so much hurt, he thinks, in the both of them, but Peter's here and he's warm and Odin is absolutely not going to run from someone who makes him so happy just because they're both dredged down in the grief of people they've lost. He leans forward, and the kiss he gives Peter is chaste and soft and lingering, and when he pulls back, he laughs, clear as a bell. He didn't think he had it in him to feel this happy.

But then, of course, his eyebrows are waggling. ]

But-- pants. Again. Back to pants. I could take them off again? Get all naked and weird. You're gonna have to get used to me being naked around you sooner or later, right? Sooooo.

Edited 2018-01-26 09:55 (UTC)

[Peter's finicky sometimes, just like he was before, a fine line in the sand between a slapfight and holding hands so when Odin cinches him tight and they meet eyes it's a bit weird? But not weird, just... He doesn't know where to stare and so he's happy for the kiss that relaxes him, much like kissing at his knuckles in space defused the situation there.

He looks at Odin's lips, bitten as they are, and he feels a weirdly sickly sweet feeling he thought he'd never feel again. The thing he kind of banned after Jean left, the feeling that makes him feel stupidly happy to be with someone. There'll be a time later when Peter begins to realize how attractive Odin is, other than "stupidly buff". It hasn't really hit him yet, as his own attraction came from friendship first but the subtle curves of his features and the etched lines of his jawbone... he's handsome. And out of his league.

He reaches up between them, wiggling his hand into the space to plug Odin's nose with his fingers.] Don't you own like, pjs?

And shut up. [Hotly said, because. Fuck? You? Asshole?]

[ Odin would lose his fucking mind, if Peter voiced those thoughts aloud. He's always been attracted to Peter, physically, on some level - he's never hidden that, not really, with the comments he would make hidden under loud screams of no homo and countless layers of irony. It was never exactly something that ruled their dynamic, but it was there, with every held hand and with every too tight hug. The idea that Peter could be anywhere beneath him would make Odin set something on fucking fire.

He hnenghs when Peter plugs his nose, but he doesn't slap his hand away. His heart skips another beat, and he wipes his itchy nose over his pillow to stop himself from sneezing, but he just lightly drags his fingertips over each ridge in Peter's spine and watches him. That was pretty fucking adorable. Was Peter always this adorable when he was being an annoying piece of shit? He should have noticed that sooner. ]

I do, but. [ He drags out the silence, shifting in closer. ] I don't know. I wanna do the naked thing. Just so I can watch you get all red and awkward all night? It turns out my heart does this stupid jumpy thing when you're all embarrassed about something, so. Gotta abuse that.

[Peter's plans to slowly suffocate Odin go awry and he arches a little to the touch along his spine, letting go of Odin's nose to grip his shoulder instead. He squirms at any future touch along his back like a ticklish, squirming fish but only narrows his eyes in return to what Odin says.]

I'm not... I'm not gonna go all red and awkward? I just. [H e n g h.]

I just wanna sleep? And not with your dick poking me in the side, alright? [He's a bit redder, it's true - but not for the reason listed. After a moment where that's all he's going to say on the matter, he hisses exasperatedly.]

I've also never slept naked with anyone, okay? Not even - not even before. [With Jean.] So do whatever the fuck you want but I'm keeping my shit on. And now it's not even natural? You're doing it to make me embarrassed and it's weird. Fuck off.

You can sleep! You can sleep. My dick'll behave. I'm not trying to be-- like, weird, you're just being really-- like, I wanna make you blush, you're cute when you blush and that's mine now, if we're dating, and, like--

[ Odin's torn, as ever, between just kinda slapping Peter a bit and nebulously appreciating all of his squirmy bullshit like the affectionate asshole that he is. He's pretty vulnerable after tonight, though, and the fuck off makes him shift, uncomfortable, face falling. He figures there are two ways to handle this; he could either get insecure and second guess everything or dive all the fuck in and run the risk of making things worse. He dives all the fuck in.

He strips his pants, climbs under the sheets and shuffles close, skin to skin, sliding his leg between Peter's and tangling himself up in him. He rests his palm on Peter's side and just kinda watches him for any reaction, and if it's allowed, he'll kiss him very briefly on the cheek. If it's not, he'll just stay there while Peter slaps him and spidercrawls away, probably.

Either way, he settles in as close to Peter as he can, watching him with a distant fondness. ]

Dickhead. Asshole. What a piece of shit.

You fucker. [Is all Peter stammers in return, eyes a bit wider when Odin strips down and juts his leg out between his under the covers. He's not precisely sure why he heats up as red as he does in reply, it's not so much Odin's body but just... the gesture? They intimacy and how forward it is. He's happy his jeans are a barrier, but aside from squirm a bit and some general huffing and puffing, he doesn't spidercrawl away.

Gruffly he sighs, dark eyes flickering away from Odin's face to just... look at how close they are before he curls in a bit and gets comfortable. It involves slinging his arm over Odin's side like he would do any other day, debating whether to headbutt him but instead nudges the bridge of his nose up against Odin like a dog settling in to sleep.]

... Merry Christmas, by the way.

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