shadowglitter | PSL || peter/odin

[ Fuck. That's true. Ammunition in Peter's hands is never good. This. Just. He just. Odin... hates? Odin hates? He hates this. He's going back to Poe? Or, like, he'll steal Leia. Bye, Maximoff, you worthless piece of shit.

He tries not to let it show, how much Peter even wanting to mess with him makes his ribs ache with a kind of swelling happiness. It's such a little thing to do, but it's - warm? Being able to screw around with the person you're with, being able to find joy in their reactions because they're making those reactions for you. It already feels like whatever they are is-- just-- something. A shade brighter than whatever was already there between, maybe, but-- something, nevertheless. ]

Pffshhh. Pffshshsfhsfhsfhssh.

[ PFFSHSFHSFHSFSH. He scoffs, then scoffs again, then scoffs a third time for good measure. He finds one of Peter's pillows and holds it in his lap, burying his chin in it, his eyes peering out over the top. He could squawk. Or cringe. Or groan.

But he likes watching Peter eat oreos. ]

... I mean, like. I'm not gonna, like, stop you, or whatever. So.

[He was kidding but at the same time he's not so sure, he feels like his smile is plastered to his face permanently now - especially as he rolls to the edge of the bed and gets a leg under him to get up. He feels better now, stupidly so, and grabs the soda off the nightstand to down it as he disappears for a moment to grab a snack. Literally just a moment, too, because he's back in a flicker to throw down the cookies on the bed and offer Odin some sweet, sweet Faygo in a can of his very own.

He really should stop buying it ironically. He's starting to actually enjoy it?]

I don't even remember how I was eating them - the bowl of milk wasn't the sexy part, right? [He asks, flopping back down with a cookie in hand and a lowkey desire to put a shirt back on in the presence of chiseled abs beside him.]

[ He's not sure if Peter's showing off or not, but the flickery speedy bullshit always impresses the shit out of him. His eyes widen, and he'd ramble about how cool Peter is if a can of faygo hadn't been shoved under his nose. ]

It's not-- ugh.

[ Odin grabs his drink and taps his fingernails against the aluminium, but he can't quite bring himself to crack it open and sets it down on the floor beside him. There's a nervous flip in his stomach, as if he were attending school again after a long break. Can't drink like this. ]

It's not about the cookie, it's just... your tongue, the way you-- do stuff with it. And, like, your hands are insane? You're always fidgeting and you keep showing off all this dexterity you've got and your fingers are long and nice and-- you're making me sound like a fucking serial killer? You've just got nice hands. I don't know.

[ Fuck, man. He's beet red, and the more he talks, the more obviously affected he is by Peter just-- being there, almost taunting him but not. The more he speaks, the more words start to stammer, and the more his eyes keep flicking to Peter's hands and to his lips and then away, only to cycle back again. He's got it bad? He rubs at his forehead. ]

Fuck. Nevermind. This is stupid.

[Again, this makes Peter giddy in a way that he rarely is. His friends always make him happy, just to be around them and whenever he laughs he feels good and in his own skin. When he makes other people laugh, it's even better. But he rarely allows himself to feel too confident, always edging on self depreciation and humorous advances when it comes to sex and romance. To think that someone genuinely finds his idle behavior entrancing and impressive? It bolsters him and Peter loves this feeling.

He twists the oreo side to side, parting disc from disc.] Most people just tell me to stop moving, like - you know how many times I got detention because I'd get so bored in class I'd make my desk vibrate?

[Peter snorts as he remembers this fondly, licking at the oreo while at first forgetting his whole intent was to make Odin squirm. After a drag of his tongue against the creme he remembers, a spark sitting behind his eyes as he repeats the motion, but slower.]

[ Odin still can't tell, on whatever level, that he's feeding into this joy Peter's feeling. All he can tell is that every time Peter smiles or relaxes or just looks at him, he suddenly feels like warm static is rushing through his blood, everything under his skin just fuzzy and burning too brightly, filled with too much energy. He wants to just go for a run to calm down before he overheats, but he can't think of anything he'd like less than to be away from Peter's side right now. ]

Most people are dicks, then? Fuck most people. I love all your energy. You're bright and you're full of life and it makes me feel like I get you, because I'm the same, I've got too much energy and I always have to move and it feels like you're... my...

[ second... half okay hold the fucking phone. Peter's eating the oreo as Odin's talking and when he looks up and sees that agonizingly slow lick he stammers over the rest of his sentence and trails off, entranced. There's a second or two where he can't do anything but watch - after it's done, he tries to act casual, laughing like he's in on the joke, even though he's not and he's too flustered to seem natural.

Fucking.

Fuck.

He puts his hand over his eyes, red, shifting the pillow to hide his lap a little better. ]

I swear to god. Every god. The fell dragon, Grima. The world devourer, Anankos. Uncle Thor.

Edited 2018-02-05 01:44 (UTC)

[Ah, this is too much fucking fun. Being a little shit's always been Peter's thing and that's always been great, but this is something even better - a new tier to the fuckery that can rile Odin up harder than before. Literally. Harder. New tier of control and he just - snickers, a glob of glistening creme on his lip that he licks off just as slowly as he cracks open a second oreo. It's not going to stop any time soon.]

What, 's this distracting? [A deliberately slow lick, tongue rimming the edge of the cookie before he snorts harder than before and stretches over to smack at the pillow over Odin's dick. Is it really - like seriously, is it working? He'll then try to knock it away to see.]

Am I distracting? Eh, Odin? Eh?

[ He's gonna smack that fucking cookie into Peter's dumbshit fucking face in a minute. Opening the tiniest sliver of a gap between his fingers, he watches far too intensely, trying - and failing - to hide what he's doing. His heart picks up harder and faster in his chest with each swipe Peter makes, like a switch being flipped over and over again to just-- fucking get to him. If he were a little smoother, he'd lean out and kiss that creme off of Peter's lip, but he's frozen in place right up until it's over.

Yes. It is working. Peter snatches the pillow for the briefest of seconds and even after everything they just did, Odin's hard as a fucking rock. He yelps and scrambles to get the pillow back, reaching out with his foot and just kinda kick-smacking Peter in the face until he lets go and he can hide his lap behind it again. ]

I don't-- [ his voice cracks like a fifteen year old's, and he wheezes in shame. ]

I don't know why the fuck you're after proof, I told you this is what-- I shouldn't have told you? I shouldn't have told you. I was like, "oh, man, this'll be a funny little piece of information to break the ice around all of this, this'll be a good way to show Peter I'm into him without keeping the realness level super high," and you were like-- you were like. You... were like...

[ He falters, but he looks at Peter, who is probably still grinning like a piece of shit, and his heart skips even harder. Fuck. ]

Fuck, you're so pretty. [ He rubs at his temple, exhausted. ] Or - like - handsome? Handsome's a stupid word, though. You're just-- ugh. Nice? Stupid. Both of those.

[Peter relents, slipping to sit back and let Odin cover himself with the pillow again - though he smiles brilliantly even after having the cookie in his hand kicked away to inevitably get crushed amongst the bedding. He laughs into the back of his hand, running his tongue over his teeth.

He's happy enough he's not going to call bullshit on being called handsome, though it does fade his smile down to a mirthful smirk. His eyes flick down to the modesty pillow and he's once again amused.] I'm none of those words, especially not nice, but okay.

If you don't want me to help, that's fine. Sit just like that and I'll just keep eating these. [He says, picking up another oreo and slowly twisting it apart, eyes set on Odin as creme sticks to both sides and he'll alternate licking one half and then the other.]

[ In any other circumstance, he might have kept all this bullshit teasing going. Dived further into keeping that smile on Peter's face, just because it makes him feel like there's lava churning in his stomach and it's fucking amazing. He's really, really, really tempted to know what Peter meant by help, and it's obvious-- he perks the fuck up, staring at those lips and that hand and that fucking cookie with wide eyes and a needy throb of his dick-- but.

It takes a while f... or... fuck, holy shit, that tongue--

It takes a while for him to get out of his head, to fight the urge in his cock to just pin Peter down and take him, something only made worse when he sees the bruises on his neck, but he shakes his head as hard as he can to clear those thoughts away. This part is important. ]

You are to me.

[ It's quiet and almost apologetic - like he knows he's pushing against one of Peter's insecurities, but he's going against his better judgment and forging forward anyway. ]

Just. You are. To me. Attractive. I wouldn't-- you wouldn't be affecting me as much as you are if I didn't find you... like... [ He trails off, watching that creme on the tip of Peter's tongue and just-- FUCKING. HE PUTS HIS HAND OVER HIS EYES. ]

Like-- like, yeah. Like that. You're fucking ruining me here, man.

[Peter can accept that, in that phrasing, and he won't fight the compliment back. Won't dig in his heels about the subtle nuances he gets hung up on, this isn't the time or place to point out how you're handsome is different when a to me is attached. Because when it is? That makes him happy, he's happy.

He doesn't move until Odin's eyes are covered, popping the cookie into his mouth and chewing as he slides on over on his knees to get close. He swallows, speaking with that thickness back in his voice. If it's not cum, it's creme, who knew.] Then let me ruin you a little more, dumbass.

[This is the weirdly exciting part - the smutty, stupid experimental part of a relationship where they're just sort of... exploring their options. Exploring each other. And he hasn't really had a relationship before that was as energy-charged as this one, where this much messing around in a short period of time was possible.

He slips his hand along the side of Odin's neck, a tender touch that wraps around to slide his fingers into his hair and give a tug at the name of his neck to tip up his chin. From there he will dip in to kiss at his neck, lips over bruised skin turning blues to purple and purples black.]

[ There's a part of him that's unsatisfied, however briefly, by this itchy feeling in his stomach that feels as if Peter's ignoring him. This is always a problem he has, though - everyone's happy, everyone's getting along, things are going great, and then he fixates on something small and blows it up in his head with anxiety until he ruins everything. It would be so, so easy to put a hand on Peter's chest to stop him so they could just-- argue about how he's handsome, until Odin almost bullies him into admitting it--

But that side of him, all that self-destructive anxiety, goes silent when Peter promises to ruin him.

The acid that had been tearing away at this gives way and he starts to warm, swallowing hard as Peter touches him. The tug at his neck has him hissing in air through his teeth and letting out a low, breathless laugh, because fuck, he liked that. He lets Peter kiss at his neck until there's enough electricity in his hands that he just has to fucking move, and he lets them rest on Peter's sides, just by his ribs. His bruises are sensitive enough to sting, but it turns out he likes that, too.

He lowers his eyes, half-lidded and heavy, and brings his lips to Peter's. It's clumsy and awkward because now that they're doing this, all the pent up aggression and competitiveness that comes from Peter teasing him - everything inside of him that wants to win, wants to be better, wants to make Peter writhe like that - all rolls out of him at once. He leans Peter down against the mattress until he's on his back and stays over him, tugging at his bottom lip and slipping his tongue between them. Tasting oreos. ]

Think you've got it in you to come again? [ It's whispered against Peter's lips between sudden quick and powerful kisses, words all said with a lilt in his voice. ] 'Cause, I mean - I can. I dunno if you can.

[Peter's definitely expanded the radius of red and bruised skin on Odin's neck, teeth biting at it before their lips are on one another's again and he pours forth his attention into that. He's more laid back right now than Odin, whose cock is like a third party in this conversation with how prominent it is. His palm seeks it out, slinking its way down his stomach again once he's over top of him.

He didn't think he'd like this, he's definitely not used to it, having a figure looming over him. But it's hot when it's Odin, someone he trusts even when his heart skips the occasional beat. They're tethered together by a kiss he's attentive to, lips parted and an eagerness to the way his tongue darts out in the midst of it.

His nails drag down the side of Odin's neck as his fingers curl over the bulge of his cock.] Guess you're gonna have to try me then, aren't you?

[If there's one thing Peter hates it's the common association that a quick and speedy guy's gonna blow fast. They never think about the stamina aspect, the recovery aspect, and how he can go blow for blow here. Even with a nervous twinge accompanying messing around, his dick's doing its best to try and navigate how it feels and is already back on track towards going up. Not as eager as Odin's but you know, whose dick really is?]

[ It would probably be a pretty fucking huge lie if Odin suggested for even a moment that he wasn't going to totally jerk off up against the mirror the second he sees what Peter's done to him. The spread of his hickeys, the marks on his skin - ownership. Belonging.

Poor Magnus. He's not going to know where to look when his brothers show up at Fauxhalla pink and bruised from the neck down, almost wine-stained in colour.

But back home, Odin is one of those quick and speedy guys, so said common association isn't really a part of this for him. He just wants to set some kind of challenge, and when Peter takes the bait and taunts him right back Odin feels a surge of something crash through him. Affection laced with lust. Admiration for Peter. Fondness.

He doesn't moan when Peter touches him, because that might give away how much he wants this. He's here to make Peter make those noises - to writhe and to squirm and to fall to pieces in Odin's hands. ... unfortunately, he can't help the involuntary shiver that shoots through his spine as Peter's nails scratch over him or as his hand hits his cock. Odin takes a deep breath and kisses Peter a little harder, only pulling back when his chest is aching and he wants more from this.

Odin lowers his voice, keeping steady, keeping focused. ]

I'm gonna suck your cock. [ He gently punches Peter on the shoulder, slightly red, still daring. ] You want me to do that?

["Make me" is going to be the tagline to their relationship, something centered around butting heads and top tier emotional hand holding. Peter feels that same push in his chest to fight back against this, breathing hard when their lips part and having alert eyes meet Odin's gaze sharply. Fuck if saying that doesn't jolt him, cock stiffer as he shifts beneath Odin - yeah, yeah,] - yeah.

[His palm presses more solidly against Odin's cock, rubbing against it because while he's not going to decline this - he still wants to do something for Odin. Even if he's not sure what that is, since he's not sure he's up for foolishly pawing his way through another blowjob himself. But if Odin wants to blow him, okay, he can stumble through that instead.

Because at least he has some - experience with that? He doesn't feel so nervous, instead the void is just full of anticipation and a clenching in his gut.] I want that.

PSL || peter/odin

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