shadowglitter | PSL || peter/odin

[Peter snorts, barely surviving a wild kick grazing at him before Odin does what he tends to do a lot lately - act a bit weird and flop around like a fish. Peter ends up sitting on the bed, eventually laying on his back next to Odin when it's clear he's not getting him off the bedding any time soon.

He stares up at the ceiling, which now has some glow in the dark stars on it.] You know, like... girls- nevermind.

Don't jizz on my bed.

[ Odin cranes his neck to get a better look at Peter, arching one eyebrow, clearly not following. g... gir ls ?

Whatever. He's distracted when he catches the gentle way Peter gazes up at the ceiling, and it doesn't take long for his heart to settle into a kind of arrhythmic, nervous flutter. Fuck. He swallows some jizz-based retort back down (gross, rephrase this,) and just-- watches Peter, only turning away when he notices his eye start to drift down to Peter's chest, his stomach, his--

Fucking. Fuck. Cool, great. Cool. This is still going. Great.

He stays quiet, watching the stars overhead. He breathes out, towelling down more of the rain that collected on his chest, then bunching it up and using it as a pillow. ]

... Ssssssso.

[ So. ]

Weather sure is wet.

[ fuck, nailed it ]

[Peter looks sidelong at Odin after a beat, stealing a glance with a furrowed brow before looking back up at the ceiling. Something about the curves of his chest, the dip from his hipbones and the sheen still on his skin from the water makes Peter feel - different. Like, he's never really looked at Odin's body before in great detail and he figures that's why, he's hyperfocusing on something stupid and like... noticing the detail.

He stares up at the ceiling with more intensity when he catches himself wanting to look again, a bit alarmed. That's not cool? This isn't a locker room or anything but there's something weird there. Peter instead pitches himself forward in a blur of motion, scrambling to get to his feet and - leaving the room. Mostly.

At the entrance way, he turns back.] I'm getting - checking the weed. Making sure it's not wet? It's ga- gotta. Hold on? Hold on.

[He disappears with a stammered breath. So not cool.]

[ Odin's a little startled when Peter bails, propping himself up on his elbows to watch him go. He... worries, because of course he does, that's his base reaction to pretty much anything - but. Has he been too obvious, maybe? He's tried to make this fucking-- attraction or-- or whatever the fuck it is-- something private, something buried, because he barely understands it himself, and neither of them are really in any place to deal with it. He's not gonna let his best friend, the light in his darkness, feel uncomfortable just because of his... his stupid physical bullshit. His stupid desire to just-- take Peter and just-- god damn it.

He considers just staying quiet and waiting for Peter to come back. He considers going out there to check on him, make sure he's alright. He doesn't do either, in the end, opting for a mix of cowardice and bravery by just acting like everything is normal from the safety of the bed, calling out to him through the doorway. ]

Bring some back? And - like - drinks. We haven't got wasted since Christmas? It's been ages.

Surrreee. [Peter calls back, trying to sound composed when he's standing in his kitchen feeling peculiar. He tries to rationalize that it's just him now focusing on how he was focusing on Odin, thus over-focusing and how that's just triggering more anxiety that makes it weird? Right?

Nothing to do with stomachs and muscles and - involuntary blushing out of embarrassment in your kitchen as you fumble with tiny baggies of weed and a shaky grip on some beer bottles. He nearly fucking slips and dies on the hardwood floor, kicking his foot to try and get disgusting wet feathers off his toes and failing as he skids back into the bedroom after a looooooong pause just out of sight.]

Uh. Yeah. Wasted. Let's get. Wasted. [Stilted sentences. He's staring at Odin from across the bedroom and suddenly wondering why they're still here? At least there's a TV to pretend to watch, or something.]

Would you put the uh, tv on? Remote is... somewhere. I'll set up my pipe for us.

[ Peter sounds anything but composed, but Odin's pretty sure that's just because he's fucking paranoid and expecting the worst. Overthinking everything. Peter wouldn't just say "sure", he'd say, like - get it yourself, or something, and then probably call Odin gay or whatever. He scratches at the back of his neck and sits up, stretching his legs out over the bed. He's bouncing his knee, every part of him energized by nervous anxiety, when Peter returns.

He pulls a face that's a... a sort of half-smile half-wide-eyed-fear as Peter tells him to find the remote, and he nods, too eager to seem natural. He rips through the sheets until he finds the remote, flicking it on and shifting to sit his back up against the wall, one leg outstretched, the other curled up to his chest. Knee still bouncing.

Peter's definitely weirded out. He can tell. ]

Do you, uh...

[ He's talking without knowing where to go. Do you wanna watch a movie? Do you wanna watch a specific channel? Do you wanna tell me why it suddenly feels like we're both twenty feet underwater, drowning in a sea of weird unexplainable tension? A thousand different endings to that question run through his head until he settles on something that seems only sort of slightly stupid. ]

Do you... want... food? I don't. I don't want food. I'm not hungry. So.

[ fucking nailed it. two for two ]

I... don't really either? [Rare for Peter Maximoff, who is shuffling around his bedside table to get his pipe in order to do the weed. He's always up for food, even if he's not necessarily hungry. And maybe he will get munchies from this later on but like, right now he feels a bit ill at the notion. Even tater tots don't feel appealing.

He can't even look at Odin, which is extra weird. He's just so fucking aware that he's shirtless? Like, when has this ever been a problem before? He's just dwelling on something that isn't an issue and making it more of one. SO when he looks back over on purpose, he doesn't let himself glance away.

It's just Odin. Deep breath.] Let's watch something cool - more vet videos? I don't know, I think there's one with a cat with four eyes or something. That could be cool.

[He bites his lip. When did Odin's jaw get so defined? How did he miss these details that are stirring up now, like the way his hair ruffles or how perfectly aligned and straight his jaw is? How his collarbone dips, his biceps curve. How nice his hands are? Peter nearly drops his weed on the floor and looks down at his feet, feeling a bit short of breath.

Odin is handsome? Like, attractive handsome. Not just good looking. Peter always knew he was that because how else do you get Bwitter trending, win a Reality TV show and get your own spinoff? How else do you get dates so easily, of course he's handsome. And attractive. To other people. Not to Peter. Definitely not to Peter?

God, why is he attracted to Odin dark right now.] Um.

[Why did he make a noise just now? It's not like he has something to say - he's just internally panicking and looks up to Odin, pale in the face and not even feeling like lighting up because the ball of anxiety in his gut isn't the type that'll be alleviated by the weedy weeds.]

... Can we have a real talk moment?

[ Cat with four eyes. Cat with four eyes. Okay, cool, he can work with that. Odin's building up a joke in his head, something about... something about how it's probably just a cat with two eyes but it's wearing glasses, or something, but all that weird jumpy energy is settling in his chest and making it hard to talk. Or think, for that matter. He laughs, weak, his voice cracking like a teenager's as he fidgets with his hands, needing something to do with them. He wishes he had his sword to polish, or - or his guitar to play, or something.

Peter's weird dead eyes are a fraction too intense for him to handle while he's quietly stressing about being caught out. He's been struggling so much with just being near Peter, these days - every face he pulls makes something tighten behind Odin's ribs, every stretch or yawn has Odin hoping his shirt will ride up just a little higher, every stupid expressive hand gesture makes him imagine those fingers wrapped around his-- just. It's been a lot, and he's been dealing with it. He thought he'd been keeping it quiet, but now Peter's looking at him and he obviously knows and there's a sour taste in Odin's mouth as he struggles with how to handle this.

Stupid fucking rain. ]

No?

[ wait, fuck. Odin's eyes widen and he holds his hands up in surrender, leg bouncing a little faster. He takes a deep breath and tries again. ]

I mean -- no. We don't need to. I know what you're going to say? And, like. I'm sorry. About-- I'm doing better? I'm doing better. About it. It's, like. Going. Away.

[ That's a lie. He looks sheepishly to the side, scrubs at his cheeks, slaps 'em a little. Trying again. ]

I mean, like. Just. Don't worry about it? I'm sorry. If it's weird. If I've been weird. If I'm weird. It's not--

[ jesus christ. He looks at Peter somewhat helplessly. ]

Sorry? Sorry. About that. And also about-- saying. That. Just. Just, just, just-- just-- what were you-- what? What do you want to talk about?

[Peter just sort of sets the pipe back down and watches Odin for a moment, briefly distracted by the stammering to not overthink just how symmetrical his face is due to him staring at it over his still naked chest. He's never felt this way before, even in gym class. There was no... allure to looking at anyone else, aside from a glance around every now and then to see - or compare - himself to other people. And that kind of always ended poorly for him, so he rarely did that.

And here he... he just is kind of shook by the way Odin's chest looks and he doesn't understand it and it's really making him more and more nervous the longer he tries not to think about it.]

What?

[He frowns, cocking his head to the side and looking away as well - he didn't really catch much of anything in that except I know what you're going to say which has Peter feel like he's been stabbed in the gut with ice. Because has - it been obvious? What... what hasn't he been paying attention to here.]

I just. I was - can, can you just? [He picks up a shirt off the floor, clean enough. Throws it at Odin.]

Put that on?

[ At some point, Odin started looking at his feet, feeling somewhat caught in Peter's spotlight. He's insecure and paranoid enough to think the way Peter's looking at him comes from a place of disgust, maybe - that Peter's second-guessing their entire friendship, trying to find the thread to pull that'll let him bail on the whole thing as neatly as possible - and he's beating himself up so loudly in his own head that he doesn't really notice what Peter's asking until there's a shirt in his lap. He jumps, hooking onto it. ]

Uh. Right. Yeah, duh. Obviously. Idiot.

[ He pulls another face, struggling to figure out what he's supposed to do at a time like this. Should he leave? He should leave. It's raining too hard to get home, the drops hammering against the glass by this point, drowning out everything with a rush of sound except for the dull whitenoise of the TV, Peter's voice and the pulse beating in his own head. But. He could probably sit downstairs in the lobby or something until the storm eases up.

He pulls the shirt over his head, some sleeveless band thing he only knows from conversations between Magnus and Peter that he never really understood, and it's far too tight for him. He's still a little wet, enough for the fabric to stick to his body, the white going see through around his stomach, that fucking apollo's belt still peeking through the bottom hem above his sweats.

He scratches somewhat self-consciously at his elbow, biting his bottom lip and looking up at Peter from the bed, guilty and apprehensive. ]

I don't really... know... what... I mean. Is that-- is that all you wanted to talk to me about? The shirt thing?

[Peter thinks his problem is solved when he hands Odin the shirt and he puts it on, like finally he can just - sit back and watch TV with his best friend and ignore whatever the fuck just happened as if it didn't just happen. But then his mouth feels a bit dry as Odin drags the shirt down over his chest, snagging on damp skin and turning the fabric translucent.

He sucks in a sharp breath because he doesn't know how to react, staggering back a step as his face floods red and he starts to do what all sane individuals in this situation do: panic. This is the feeling he got when he spoke to Magnus about Jean, and how close he'd been to her without realizing there might be more to it. How happy he felt to be close to her, arms around her at Halloween and the first kiss they shared on her bed after realizing he had a gut feeling.

This gut feeling.] No.

[He hears his voice before he even thought he opened his mouth, tinny and strange and rocketing off the walls of the room a little louder than it needed to be because it's someone else's voice. It's just something he can't control, like the blush on his face and the sweat on his palms. Like the shiver he feels, the goosebumps on his skin and the way his heart beats too fast in his chest.

He's panicking and he doesn't know how to fix it - he wants to run but there's nowhere to go. The rain anchors him here to the moment, in bare feet in a chilly room that smells like dank weed and mistakes waiting to happen. What did he want to talk about?]

What did you think I was gonna ask you about?

[ Odin deflates, finally meeting Peter's eyes. He fucking loves those eyes. Even since before this... this thing, this new thing, this parasitic feeling that drilled into his brain and taken over everything, this fucking flutter he gets, this new light he's been seeing Peter in-- even since before all of that, all of that, he's loved those eyes. Dark and full and perfect, an incomprehensible depth to them, overwhelming and piercing and heavy and total. They have a strength to them his own are lacking; Odin's eyes are grey and mild and empty, inferior in every aspect, like dishwater next to Peter's ocean. Inferior.

But he's always been like that. He's always inferior next to the people he loves. It's why they always leave. It's his fault his parents died. He let down Lucina, time and time again, back home. He was never enough for Poe. It's going to be the same here - he's a plague. It's always him that ruins things.

And it's always him, in the end, who speaks first. It's always him who feels something wrong, something inappropriate, something that fucks everything up and kicks down the foundations of everything he'd tried to build with a person. Always him.

Odin looks at those eyes one last time. Drinks them in. Takes a breath and gets ready to say goodbye. ]

I thought you were going to-- like. Call me out? I thought--

[ Man. This hurts. He draws one hand down the back of his neck and wonders if he should just - lie? Pretend he doesn't feel the shit he feels. But-- no. That wouldn't work. Coercing Peter into staying his friend... he wouldn't be able to handle the guilt. ]

I've just been, like... thinking too much. Lately. Just - I don't know. Physically. Mostly. Not always? Mostly, though. So I thought you were...

[ He stumbles over himself, hesitates, then tries again. Tries to think through what he wants to say before he says it. ]

I've been, like - noticing you a lot more. You're a good looking dude. I've noticed that a lot lately. And I get that me being attracted to you sort of fucks up our dynamic? I haven't been, like - hugging you as much, or whatever, because it's - hard. Now. For me. Every time, it's like-- like.

Like, I just catch the smell of your shampoo and my heart gets all weird, and, like-- like, I catch you out of the corner of my eye doing something Peter-ish, like just, tapping your fingers on the arm of the sofa when you're watching TV, or something. Every time you laugh at something dumb on your phone I get excited because I know you're going to show me what you've found, which means you're going to lean in close and I'm going to feel the weight of you on my side and-- and, like.

I don't know. I don't know? You're just-- I'm always like-- I'm always like, "shit, I wanna fuck that!", and then I'm like, fuuuck, dawg, calm down. You know? So I thought... thought you'd... noticed.

[ He... stares. Quietly says "like" for the hundredth time under his breath. ]

I thought you noticed. I thought you were calling me out. About the-- about the fucking. About wanting to fuck you. About being attracted to you and wanting to fuck you? About that. So.

Was that not... what... no? Not that?

Edited 2018-01-30 11:41 (UTC)

[Peter's a little - stunned? And it shows on his face, furrowed brow melting away to a look of surprise as Odin confesses feelings in a way that feels real. Even still, Peter gears up for an inevitable slap in the face of just kidding, waiting for it to come but only hearing more compliments pour forth. Nobody's ever said this to him, not like this. As romantic as I catch you out of the corner of my eye doing something Peter-ish," to as crude as "shit, I wanna fuck that!".

His laugh is light, a little disbelieving because - this is a joke right? It distracts him from just how his feelings line up with what Odin says and he hasn't even begun to imagine how this conversation may soon fuck up what they have together. Then the laugh dies away because it's not appropriate and Peter feels his entire fucking throat go dry.]

You... you what? [Are attracted to him? Really?]

Are you like, serious? Is... [He starts to ask as he looks away, answering his own question with the rest of the sentence:] That's why you've been acting... I was wondering? I just, I didn't know why but.

I was just... feeling weird. [That's not the truth - that's not how you say I've been noticing you too, but Peter fidgets and doesn't know how to elaborate. His face is red and his eyes skitter around to different things to stare at, only briefly skirting Odin every one out of three.]

What changed?

[ Logically, he can justify Peter's laugh as an after-effect of nerves, but on an emotional level, Odin feels eight years old again, being laughed at for the way he spoke or expressed himself. He goes pink and a little sad, rubbing at his temple with the palm of his hand. Fuck. ]

Yeah... sorry.

[ He tries to grin, play this off as light, but the paranoia is chewing away at him again and it's hard to relax when he knows this might be the end of things. For a second, he's content just not looking at Peter, but-- but fuck, he's so cute. The way he meets Odin's eyes every so often and looks away? Odin's heart feels twice as big, and he clutches a the transparent hem of his Nirvana shirt.

He breathes out. ]

Nothing's changed, exactly. Like... it's always been-- there, right? Under the surface?

[ He sounds like he's begging, more than anything. Desperate for some kind of acknowledgement, some kind of recognition, that this is just a natural progression of their relationship. He winces and interrupts himself before Peter can answer. ]

Just-- you're Peter. My Peter. You make sense to me. A lot of little things triggered it, but it's-- like I said, it's been there. Dormant. For a while. Since space, at least.

[It’s always been there-right— since space, at least. Peter isn’t sure why that winds him so much, it’s less about the words and more about how they trigger his gut to fall in slow realization. This is Jean all over again, him falling for someone close without even knowing it until it’s way past the point someone smart would catch on. What’s wrong with him? Why is he always getting these confusing feelings about pseudo-family? That’s weird in some way, right?

He doesn’t think to consider Odin’s feelings at the moment, just kind of drowning in his own.] Oh.

I noticed... something lately, but. I mean, I noticed- [He sighs stiffly because any time he tries to speak he feels like the words dissolve in his mouth like sand to fuel him choking on it further. His best friend is here in front of him confessing and giving Peter an out, giving him an in to talk about the confusing jittering in him and he knows he could use this moment to brush it off and shut it down or do more. But this is the crucial moment. Right here.]

I was... I don’t know, fuck? Now it sounds stupid after what you said but... I just. [Peter’s fingers nervously tremble and his fidgeting motions are more erratic, like a cornered mouse. His breathing picks up and he knows he’s choking. He’s choking At a crucial moment so he just... tips back his head and stares at his good old friend the ceiling.]

It’s funny you say this [still stiff, he stares upward rather than look down] because... because today I was just like kinda noticing...you for the first time. As like. You know.

[He groans, lifting his hands to cover his face. You’re a reject, Peter Maximoff.] As someone... more than just...

Edited 2018-01-30 20:10 (UTC)

[ It is weird. Just straight up weird. Peter "Fucks His Family" Maximoff.

I noticed something lately splinters through him like a bullet through bone. A terrible, embarrassed heat runs up Odin's spine and he tentatively shakes his head, as if he were watching a fucking train crash in the distance and had no idea how to help but sure as shit knew how to quake in the shadow of imminent disaster. He considers bailing again - running downstairs, hiding in the lobby until the rain ends - but then Peter keeps going, and all of this snowballs, and things take an unexpected god damn turn, and by the end Odin is left just standing there sort of dumb with a mouth unwilling to work. ]

More than... just?

[ He wants to tug Peter's hands away from his face so he can get this, but fuck, even the way he's hiding sends a skip through Odin's heart he barely knows how to handle. Adorable? Fucking. God damn it. Fuck this adorable piece of shit. Odin wants to see him blush? It has suddenly become his life's mission to make Peter Maximoff stammer and blush and not know where to look or how to handle himself and-- just--

Wait, okay, no, wait, the whole-- the whole friendship ruining conversation. Right. Priority. Fuck. God damn. ]

Do... you...

[ Odin takes a breath. Tugs on his shirt again. Considers taking it off, just to be an asshole, but doesn't. He smooths it down onto his skin, unwittingly wetting even more of the fabric with leftover raindrops. Making it cling even tighter. ]

Do you want... that? For me to be more than "just"?

I don't know. [That part Peter's quick to let out, hands still over his face as he can't seem to move from the rigid upwards-staring pose of despair he's struck. It's like as long as his eyes are closed, this isn't reality. As long as he doesn't move, nothing is real. He's just existing in blackness, with Odin somewhere nearby... but that can't last. This is real. This is happening.

He drags his hands down his face and drops them to his sides, eyes still fixated on a glowy bullshit piece of plastic star but his lips start to form words that die before he gives them breath. Mechanically, he starts to straighten up, looking down at Odin with the most fearful, skittish look he's ever given anyone in his life.

With Jean he just went for it, maybe he and her were farther past this point? Or he just went on impulse quicker, when he didn't have to struggle through this confusing hedge maze of sexuality confusion because he's never... looked at a guy this way before? He was always comfortable with himself enough to admire a dude, maybe, but that was surface value? This is, honest... attraction.

He lets out a breath almost comically, cheeks puffed and his face a flushed mess.] My brain says it's a bad idea. I just... I just went through all these motions like, a month ago? Two? Got my heart ripped out, stomped on and destroyed... still aren't really all that put together again, sufficiently recovered... enough that that heart's being a fucking stupid goddamn asshole right now but you know? That's me.

[Dry laugh.] My life: As overly complicated as possible, right?

[That doesn't answer the question. I don't knows don't answer the question.]

I don't wanna fuck up the best thing I've got going for me.

Edited 2018-01-31 00:25 (UTC)

[ Fuck, okay. He's torn into three seperate pieces. He wants to... push for something, because that's just what he does, he pushes and he ruins and he dives in without thinking, and he feels like there's something here, feels like there's a new layer to their connection that's starting to thrive and thrum with energy and he wants to hold it and see where it takes him. At the same time, he wants to internalize that I don't know - wants to find the worst in it and stress himself the fuck out about how he's being manipulative or pushy or about how Peter deserves patience and understanding and a barrier from questions like do you want me to be more than "just" when this is so god damn new. For the both of them.

More than anything, he wants to just fucking fix Peter's heart. Wherever that leaves them.

He's said it time and time again, but Peter deserves so much more than what he's had. He bites his bottom lip and looks down and away, concentrating on a knot in the floor so he doesn't have to look anywhere else. He thinks of Jean, and for the first time, there's a flare up of jealousy in his chest when he pictures the two of them together, and that twists under a thousand layers of guilt and self-flagellation as he reminds himself that she's gone and Peter's heart got ripped out, stomped on and destroyed and he's being a fucking scumbag. He twists his hands in his shirt and nods as if he's listening, even though he stumbled past most of it, thoughts of Peter kissing someone else stuck in his head and-- and it should be him, not her, that's not--

Cool. Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Definitely something emotional here. He'd thought that might be the case, but cool. Cool. Great. Cool and great. ]

... Man. I'm not gonna push anything, but.

[ He chews on the inside of his cheek, bites down a little too hard to punish himself for being like this. The best thing I've got going for me. His heart hurts, and he looks up at Peter, and then away when it suddenly aches too much to see that stupid, perfect face staring back at him. ]

I... had a crush on Poe for about two weeks before I felt like I was in love with him. And, like - I didn't have any history with him? Not like I do with you. We were just friends, and then it - changed, him and me. Where as you-- like. You've been everything to me since I got here? I was barely finding my footing before Magnus introduced us.

[ He chews his cheek again, then wets his lips, dragging his tongue over the bottom one. ]

And I'm just saying this because, like - I know myself? I know how easy it is for me to just, like - obsess over someone, when I feel like this. So - so if I'm falling for you - which I think I might be - then. I'm already gonna fuck this up. It's gonna go hard and fast and in a week I'm not gonna be able to look at you without wanting to cry because of how happy I feel just being able to see you, and-- and like, I'm gonna just wanna be everything to you? All the time? And cry when I can't be? Until you feel too guilty to stay around me and just-- like.

It'll just-- be a mess. So.

[ He's red, embarrassed by all the stupid shit he's rambling the fuck on about, but he takes a breath and looks back up to Peter. Determined. ]

Sorry. I think.

[Peter doesn't get a lot of this in his life, people who like him and tell him they're attracted to him and it makes him feel good, but at what cost? He feels like there's a second part to this confession, the part where it all goes sour. But even still he feels pitched forward by it, flattered and happy to hear it. And that's the part that keeps him from utter panic, that's the part that closes a bit of the gap between them as he walks closer to the bed and stands with his shins brushing the edge.

He doesn't like hearing about Poe, it brings back sour memories from space and beyond that - the hurt that guy put Odin through and how it pisses Peter off in ways he can't describe. How you could hurt Odin like that is beyond him, it's wrong and Peter starts to wonder how many of his feelings are defensive as they are jealous.]

So like, it might end terribly. But like, is this something you can... get over? I - I mean, I'm not telling you to get over but like... I'm just saying if it's gonna be bad either way, like...

[What's he saying? He blanks.] I just mean, why not... ?

[STILL NOT ANSWERING QUESTIONS OR FINISHING STATEMENTS: PETER MAXIMOFF]

[ He watches Peter come close and he resists the urge to reach out, tucking his legs under himself and resting his hands on his knees. He... feels like this is an answer, to an extent. It's hard not to take Peter telling him to just get over this as anything other than final, and he looks to the side, slightly hurt. Not as much as he would have been a few months ago, back before Poe calloused his heart to rejection. He takes a moment to just - think, to recalibrate, to not assume the worst without getting the worst explicitly handed to him.

Peter just... Peter's so fucking stupid. Odin looks at him, at that red face, at the mix of panic and joy in his expression, at the general blank dead fish-ness he has going on. He decides Peter is... uncertain, and Odin's going to have to fucking guide him through his own emotions, because apparently he only ever falls for men who don't know how to fucking use their fucking god damn words and fucking think through their fucking bullshit. He takes a breath. He'll just-- help him figure out what it is he wants.

Which is a good thing, maybe. Odin can't act on instinct anymore and just hope for the best. Not as readily as he used to. ]

Do... you want me to get over it? I can try, if you do. But.

[ He hesitates. Looks away from Peter, finally. ]

I don't really get over things. I follow everything through to the end and then just, like-- hang onto them, 'cause I suck at letting go. If this gets as bad as I think it will, then. Yeah. But if you want me to get over it, I'll try. We can spend some time apart and I can go on dates with randoms and just-- yeah.

No, I don't - want... that. [Peter spits out again, almost immediately. It's spurred on by the idea of Odin going on dates with other people and this twinge of jealousy that's been sitting in his stomach like a rock. He knew this was jealousy, the same feeling he felt when he saw other people interact with Odin sometimes. The part of him that wanted to be the one closer to Odin, laughing about a shitty joke or stuffing food in his face.

Peter's shoulders just kinda slump in defeat. 'Oh my god, I'm an idiot' type of defeat.]

I like being near you. That - shit, that sounds really... [Gay? He looks down at his feet, bumps his legs up against the bedding a few times and just kind of processes his feelings and he's nowhere as good at it as Odin, maybe, but he has far less experience with having to. He was a solitary creature and now he's not, exploring the world for the first time and falling into every goddamn pitfall there is.

He clears his throat.] But it's true. I like being near you.

[He wants to fan himself off and get rid of the nauseating heat in his face but he can't, he can only laugh at shit that's not funny to alleviate the stress in his chest. He slinks forward on one knee, sliding onto the bed toward Odin with no real roadmap here. He's just - trying this out. No biggie? No biggie.

He reaches out for Odin, grabbing him by the stupid shirt like its a set of Christmas lights and yanks him forward. He dips in and hesitates, finding this easier when he was drunk. Wasted. God, he was so wasted on Christmas? He wishes he was even a thirteenth as drunk right now.] I wanna kiss you I just - don't know how? This feels weird. Can you...

[sdfjkl?] Do - do you remember how you kissed me at the party?

Edited 2018-01-31 03:27 (UTC)

[ He notices the venom in Peter's voice when he shuts Odin down. It brings a lump to his throat that he immediately identifies, because it-- fuck, fuck, fuck, it sends a shiver down his spine and makes his hands tremble with excitement. All his life, all his god damn life, all he's ever wanted was for someone to want him, just him, to want him entirely to themselves, and Peter seems to almost panic at the idea that Odin could leave and try to be with other people and-- and he can't--

He can't let himself get carried away. He can't turn this into more than what it is. He needs to stay grounded, and he does his best, staying silent as Peter slumps his shoulders, but he looks up at him with a kind of mystified joy that he doesn't know how to handle. He scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms and laughs, awkward and watery and weird, but given that Peter laughs like that all the fucking time, he's not too embarrassed. ]

I, um. I like being near you, too.

[ He's got half his face hidden behind his hand now, peering over his thumb, and he stays like that even as Peter grabs him, though he finds himself warming progressively redder. He's biting his lip behind his palm, lowering it once Peter looks like he's about to kiss him, and when he stops, keeps some distance between him, he... smiles, biting down harder as he tries not to, leaving indentations. ]

Are...

Are you too fragile for me to be all, like, "if you want me to kiss you, you're gonna have to say please"? 'Cause I like teasing hot dudes about shit like that.

[ boom. called Peter a hot dude. if he had a mic, he would drop it. He has a TV remote, but by the time he thinks about dropping that, he remembers that this is a pretty fucking serious situation and he's letting his nerves and the way Peter always makes him so fucking excited run away with him again. ]

Ju- Just shut up? [That's Peter's flustered reply, further noise caught in his throat because he takes it like it's competition before he takes it like a compliment, seeing the teasing as something exasperating that just makes him wanna fight back instinctively. And to do that would be to do what he does next.

Which is just kiss Odin, sealing their leaps together with a fierceness as he pushes the weight of his body against him for something to ground him in a not chaste and not quick kiss. It's heated, but also tentative after a beat because he's not sure once he's stubbornly past the part where he started sucking face what he wants to do next.

Other than curl his fingers around the back of Odin's neck and shift closer, trying to feel this out through the awkward shifts on the bed and the fact he has no idea where else to put his hand. Shoulder? Arm? Twist it in his shirt? He does the latter, gripping Odin's stupid wet shirt for a hold.]

[ There's a moment where Odin just lets this happen. Relinquishes his agency so he can just stay still, giving back to Peter everything he gives him first. When Peter first crashes their lips together Odin is pushed back hard against the wall by the force of it, and it makes him laugh, somewhere between happy and just fucking-- filled with lust. If his attraction were purely physical, he'd be able to keep his hands off of Peter to tease him, to compete with him and force him to take this somewhere new, but the hesitance rings in his heart and makes Odin want to help him. He leans forward, hands on Peter's neck to hold him steady as he softly swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

The kiss starts out okay, with gentle pressure that he steadily deepens, but it actually doesn't come easy for Odin, either, and so much of his excitement just drains along with his confidence. He doesn't get it - he's done this dozens of times by now, between Poe and a few other imports, but it's... it's different with Peter, different than it's ever been, even though it's hardly their first time making out. There's this weird mix of feeling relaxed, like he knows no matter where this goes, everything will be okay, because it's Peter, and then just an overwhelming, intense fear that he won't be good enough, that Peter will leave, that this is too much.

He pulls back from the kiss pretty quickly, stammering a nervous u-u-uhhh as he stares at Peter like a deer in headlights. He swallows and threads his fingers through Peter's hair, catching his breath. ]

Don't tell me if I'm bad at this? I'll, like. Leave. If you do. So. Just-- blindly compliment me. Okay? Okay.

[ Okay. ]

[Peter feels like this mattress is the worst thing in the world for how he's sliding into it, gripping at Odin and feeling shaky in a way that has nothing to do with where his knees are sliding. He feels happy, but for a second when he peels back and looks at Odin he's sort of worried that it's not good? Not great? And just sort of mirrors his stare back like two preteens having their first kiss behind the school gym.]

If you sucked I wouldn't have asked you to kiss me like you did before. [He murmurs, breathless and shuddering from the feeling of fingers in his hair - an involuntary movement that has him kiss at Odin again, biting at his lip because he knows there's more to this. There's more to the feeling - there's more fire in him that needs out.

He just doesn't know how, at least until his hand slips and touches Odin's side and he realizes that's exactly what he wants. Needs. He presses Odin back against the wall harder, his hand sliding down to scoop under the wet nasty napkin of a shirt and thumb over warm skin. He feels himself redden a bit, he's never quite been so forward before - took ages to get there with Jean - but he just feels this pang of lust in him that needs satiating.]

So kiss me. Asshole.

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