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 pm
PSL || peter/odin
JUST... JUST,, JUST TWO BROS -- JUST TWO, TWO BROS, BEING, BEING STRAIGHT
[Continued from here, a variant of this canon thread.]
[Peter shuffles closer to Odin when he pulls him in, making a pitiful mewling noise as he fights to free his hands from the sweater sleeves (you seriously haven't been any help with this,) managing only one while the other hand remains pinned with his sweater pinned under his own weight.
He might not remember exactly how this conversation went tomorrow, but he'll remember the peace it brings him. The peace that comes from a sympathetic friend, a cozy touch. He's been longing for the latter since the day his girlfriend disappeared, shaking his world and prepping him for a steeper fall once his sister passed as well. Neither have returned and he still feels like he's walking on cracked ice with every step he takes.
The next breath Peter sucks in makes his voice thick, something lodging in his throat.] I just - I don't want to feel shitty anymore? I wanna feel... feel anything else. Just any fucking thing else.
[Peter shuffles closer to Odin when he pulls him in, making a pitiful mewling noise as he fights to free his hands from the sweater sleeves (you seriously haven't been any help with this,) managing only one while the other hand remains pinned with his sweater pinned under his own weight.
He might not remember exactly how this conversation went tomorrow, but he'll remember the peace it brings him. The peace that comes from a sympathetic friend, a cozy touch. He's been longing for the latter since the day his girlfriend disappeared, shaking his world and prepping him for a steeper fall once his sister passed as well. Neither have returned and he still feels like he's walking on cracked ice with every step he takes.
The next breath Peter sucks in makes his voice thick, something lodging in his throat.] I just - I don't want to feel shitty anymore? I wanna feel... feel anything else. Just any fucking thing else.
[ Odin continues to not give even the slightest of fucks about Peter's stupid sleeves. He just slips his hand over Peter's back and rubs soft, soothing circles over his spine, mumbling something comforting but not exactly coherent. He's more concerned with keeping his eyes trained on Peter's, far too close, far too fucking serious, searching for any sign of hurt or sadness or grief in them that he can jump on and try to chase away. ]
... I know. Me too.
[ It's why he's been doing half the shit he's done, since coming back from space. Hooking up with friends from the show. Getting blitzed with natives. Drinking way too much.
If he were a better friend - less broken, by the things he's been going through, recently - he wouldn't want Peter to do the same stupid, naive bullshit he's been throwing himself into. He would take a long time to think through what he wants to say, before he says it. But he thinks of Poe, next door, having the time of his life, the man of his dreams probably hidden amongst the guests, his face unknown to Odin. He thinks of Jean, and the comfort she must have brought Peter while she was here, and the gnawing, lonely, selfish, selfish, selfish envy that bites at his chest, wholly wishing he could experience the kind of love Peter managed to have for a moment, before it was all gone. He clenches his jaw and holds his eyes firmly to Peter's. ]
I could... ah.
[ He swallows, losing his game. This is kind of fucked up - both of them drunk, both of them throwing themselves so heavily into so many mistakes tonight. He shouldn't do this. ]
I could... [ He's not sure what he wants to say, but his eyes drift from Peter's, down to his lips. I could be your distraction, I could make you feel something else, I could be for you what I can't be for him and maybe you could be what you used to be with her. Again, he swallows, and the heaviness in his voice makes it clear that this isn't friendly anymore. ]
I... could. If - you want.
... I know. Me too.
[ It's why he's been doing half the shit he's done, since coming back from space. Hooking up with friends from the show. Getting blitzed with natives. Drinking way too much.
If he were a better friend - less broken, by the things he's been going through, recently - he wouldn't want Peter to do the same stupid, naive bullshit he's been throwing himself into. He would take a long time to think through what he wants to say, before he says it. But he thinks of Poe, next door, having the time of his life, the man of his dreams probably hidden amongst the guests, his face unknown to Odin. He thinks of Jean, and the comfort she must have brought Peter while she was here, and the gnawing, lonely, selfish, selfish, selfish envy that bites at his chest, wholly wishing he could experience the kind of love Peter managed to have for a moment, before it was all gone. He clenches his jaw and holds his eyes firmly to Peter's. ]
I could... ah.
[ He swallows, losing his game. This is kind of fucked up - both of them drunk, both of them throwing themselves so heavily into so many mistakes tonight. He shouldn't do this. ]
I could... [ He's not sure what he wants to say, but his eyes drift from Peter's, down to his lips. I could be your distraction, I could make you feel something else, I could be for you what I can't be for him and maybe you could be what you used to be with her. Again, he swallows, and the heaviness in his voice makes it clear that this isn't friendly anymore. ]
I... could. If - you want.
[Peter is drunk and he knows it, he can feel it after overdoing it at the party just to cripple his own metabolism enough to feel good for a while. He's so over saturated it might still take a while for him to burn it off. But that's still not a great excuse when he can hear Odin's words and knows without a doubt this is a bad idea. He can feel it, a little black speck of a thought in his brain that says: This is a bad idea.
They're best friends - they're brothers, almost. They're so close that anything closer would jeopardize everything, especially since Peter's still not even sure he's into dudes. Plus, you know, the whole heartbreak element. Which seizes Peter by the chest like a vice, constricting and in half a second it reminds him of everything he's lost. And it hurts so badly that he just doesn't care anymore. He just wants something else.
He stares at Odin and he doesn't reply, he just sees himself lift his hand up to Odin's neck and pull him closer for a kiss. It's confused and tentative at first, more than any of the others this night had been - but it soon becomes fired by a lonely hunger that has no other out.]
They're best friends - they're brothers, almost. They're so close that anything closer would jeopardize everything, especially since Peter's still not even sure he's into dudes. Plus, you know, the whole heartbreak element. Which seizes Peter by the chest like a vice, constricting and in half a second it reminds him of everything he's lost. And it hurts so badly that he just doesn't care anymore. He just wants something else.
He stares at Odin and he doesn't reply, he just sees himself lift his hand up to Odin's neck and pull him closer for a kiss. It's confused and tentative at first, more than any of the others this night had been - but it soon becomes fired by a lonely hunger that has no other out.]
[ For Odin, at least, the kiss comes easy enough. All he has to do is shut off the part of him that knows this is Peter and he can treat him the same way he's been treating the natives he's spent his time with, recently, or -- or Jon, or Bela -- just nameless, faceless people who are there to warm his side, a set of someones who serve as a distraction and nothing more. He's had too much practice, this past month, to not be capable of compartmentalizing all his guilt and his apprehension, to not be capable of seeing Peter as just-- just somebody who isn't Poe-- even though he may as fucking well be, with how unfulfilled Odin is going to feel after being with him.
But try as he might to hold onto that distance, it doesn't work. This is-- Peter. The kisses at the party were different, even the one where Odin really tried, because there had been a barrier back then, something unspoken held safely between them. They were both just idiots, doing stupid shit, even when they danced close to feelings neither of them cared to examine further, and this felt - worse, somehow, like the difference between a prank and a crime, a joke and an insult. A step above what they've been doing, but not for the better.
Peter's the one who deepens the kiss, but Odin's the one who makes this physical, rushing things just to shut down the voice in his head telling him he's going to ruin something else that should be sacred. He snakes his hand under Peter's shirt and he rests his hand on his hip, softly stroking his skin with his thumb as he tugs at Peter's lower lip and leans further into him. He tilts his head, just enough to lean into the hand on his neck, as he carefully parts his lips to taste Peter's tongue with his own.
Maybe he could fall in love. That's what he'd been thinking at the party, and it's what he's thinking now, as his hand glides down Peter's stomach and finds his belt, clumsily trying to get it open with one hand. Maybe Peter could, too. Things would be easier, for the both of them, if this just - worked, somehow. A quick, easy solution, he thinks, as he pries the belt loose and stops, letting his fingers rest just above his waistband. Maybe this is going to be enough, finally. ]
I'm-- [ He breaks the kiss, if only for a second. ] This-- everything-- everything's about you. [ a lie. ] I want to-- this is-- tonight's about you, not me. [ a lie, a lie, he's trying so fucking hard to forget Poe, just for an hour. ] Tell me if there's anything you want, otherwise just-- just--
Just-- relax, okay? I'll take care of you.
But try as he might to hold onto that distance, it doesn't work. This is-- Peter. The kisses at the party were different, even the one where Odin really tried, because there had been a barrier back then, something unspoken held safely between them. They were both just idiots, doing stupid shit, even when they danced close to feelings neither of them cared to examine further, and this felt - worse, somehow, like the difference between a prank and a crime, a joke and an insult. A step above what they've been doing, but not for the better.
Peter's the one who deepens the kiss, but Odin's the one who makes this physical, rushing things just to shut down the voice in his head telling him he's going to ruin something else that should be sacred. He snakes his hand under Peter's shirt and he rests his hand on his hip, softly stroking his skin with his thumb as he tugs at Peter's lower lip and leans further into him. He tilts his head, just enough to lean into the hand on his neck, as he carefully parts his lips to taste Peter's tongue with his own.
Maybe he could fall in love. That's what he'd been thinking at the party, and it's what he's thinking now, as his hand glides down Peter's stomach and finds his belt, clumsily trying to get it open with one hand. Maybe Peter could, too. Things would be easier, for the both of them, if this just - worked, somehow. A quick, easy solution, he thinks, as he pries the belt loose and stops, letting his fingers rest just above his waistband. Maybe this is going to be enough, finally. ]
I'm-- [ He breaks the kiss, if only for a second. ] This-- everything-- everything's about you. [ a lie. ] I want to-- this is-- tonight's about you, not me. [ a lie, a lie, he's trying so fucking hard to forget Poe, just for an hour. ] Tell me if there's anything you want, otherwise just-- just--
Just-- relax, okay? I'll take care of you.
[Peter's so desperate to forget his shitty feelings that he inadvertently is throwing himself into something that'll definitely make it worse. A world of uncertainty, treading into a new experience in the worst set up imaginable but committing 100%. This is Odin whose neck he's holding on to, whose body is over top of him and... whose hand is on his belt.
Peter's stomach tenses and he's so aware of where Odin's hands were with a hesitance that didn't happen with Jean. With her they just... moved, each touch felt natural and right. This still feels like there's time to back away and bail on it, that maybe he's not as committed as he thought he was. But then his belt's undone and Peter is gasping in a breath to hear Odin tell him things will be okay.
Just relax. Let him - let him...] Okay.
[His breathing feels tight and he's still a little too on the fence to be comfortable but he reaches out to grab Odin again and pull him closer. Maybe if he throws himself into this harder and just makes himself relax it'll feel better - easier. That there'll be something to focus on for a little while. He kisses Odin again, biting at his lip and letting out something of a heaving breath against his mouth.]
Peter's stomach tenses and he's so aware of where Odin's hands were with a hesitance that didn't happen with Jean. With her they just... moved, each touch felt natural and right. This still feels like there's time to back away and bail on it, that maybe he's not as committed as he thought he was. But then his belt's undone and Peter is gasping in a breath to hear Odin tell him things will be okay.
Just relax. Let him - let him...] Okay.
[His breathing feels tight and he's still a little too on the fence to be comfortable but he reaches out to grab Odin again and pull him closer. Maybe if he throws himself into this harder and just makes himself relax it'll feel better - easier. That there'll be something to focus on for a little while. He kisses Odin again, biting at his lip and letting out something of a heaving breath against his mouth.]
Just-- just tell me if--
[ -- if we should stop. He meets Peter's eyes, for a second, his own wide-eyed and careful, but it hits him like a track that no, no, he can't fucking do that anymore. He can't, he can't, he can't look at him, not this closely. All the resolve in him will crumble and die, if he spends too much time seeing Peter for who he is. He's the only real friend he has, the only person in America who has been there for him without question, without making him feel shitty about himself on some level, and he's the man who might leave him, after tonight, blanketed by regret and drowning in resentment. He lets himself believe that the way Peter kisses him means that this is fine, this is fine, and he takes his hand away from Peter's skin to tangle it in his hair and gasp, sharp and stuttering, at the gentle pain of teeth catching at his lip.
But he still can't look at him. Whenever he fucked Poe, he couldn't tear his eyes away, absorbing every smile and every pinch of his eyebrows, every connection. He looked at Poe with so much fucking love, staring into him with admiration and need and affection and Peter gets fucking none of that. Odin looks at his lips, between short, sudden kisses, or at his neck, when Odin pulls away to press his mouth to his throat and breathe out, shaky, through his nose, but he always, always avoids his eyes, and-- and when he sits up, rolling Peter onto his back and hooking his thumbs under his waistband, he clenches his jaw tight with resolve and tries, again, to pretend like he doesn't even know him.
He's rougher than he needs to be, when he strips Peter of his pants, leaving them down around his knees. Acting like he's just trying to get this done. He takes a breath, realizes how callous he must seem, and when he hooks his fingers under Peter's boxers, he tries to be so much more gentle, this time. He leans in to plant a kiss over his best friend's skin, the pressure of his lips on Peter's thigh, but then his arms freeze in place. He... lets go, saying nothing, pulling his fingers away. He gives Peter one last chance to tell him to stop, one last chance to laugh and say "fuck, we're so drunk", use the mess of tonight as an excuse to just roll over and go to sleep -
But at the same time, he tentatively, tentatively moves his hand to the fabric covering Peter's cock, sucking air through his teeth as he touches him. It's clinical, almost, less fun than it should be, but the way he slowly strokes Peter through his clothes is a warmth and a comfort that feels good and it's here and it's Peter's if he just lets himself have it. ]
[ -- if we should stop. He meets Peter's eyes, for a second, his own wide-eyed and careful, but it hits him like a track that no, no, he can't fucking do that anymore. He can't, he can't, he can't look at him, not this closely. All the resolve in him will crumble and die, if he spends too much time seeing Peter for who he is. He's the only real friend he has, the only person in America who has been there for him without question, without making him feel shitty about himself on some level, and he's the man who might leave him, after tonight, blanketed by regret and drowning in resentment. He lets himself believe that the way Peter kisses him means that this is fine, this is fine, and he takes his hand away from Peter's skin to tangle it in his hair and gasp, sharp and stuttering, at the gentle pain of teeth catching at his lip.
But he still can't look at him. Whenever he fucked Poe, he couldn't tear his eyes away, absorbing every smile and every pinch of his eyebrows, every connection. He looked at Poe with so much fucking love, staring into him with admiration and need and affection and Peter gets fucking none of that. Odin looks at his lips, between short, sudden kisses, or at his neck, when Odin pulls away to press his mouth to his throat and breathe out, shaky, through his nose, but he always, always avoids his eyes, and-- and when he sits up, rolling Peter onto his back and hooking his thumbs under his waistband, he clenches his jaw tight with resolve and tries, again, to pretend like he doesn't even know him.
He's rougher than he needs to be, when he strips Peter of his pants, leaving them down around his knees. Acting like he's just trying to get this done. He takes a breath, realizes how callous he must seem, and when he hooks his fingers under Peter's boxers, he tries to be so much more gentle, this time. He leans in to plant a kiss over his best friend's skin, the pressure of his lips on Peter's thigh, but then his arms freeze in place. He... lets go, saying nothing, pulling his fingers away. He gives Peter one last chance to tell him to stop, one last chance to laugh and say "fuck, we're so drunk", use the mess of tonight as an excuse to just roll over and go to sleep -
But at the same time, he tentatively, tentatively moves his hand to the fabric covering Peter's cock, sucking air through his teeth as he touches him. It's clinical, almost, less fun than it should be, but the way he slowly strokes Peter through his clothes is a warmth and a comfort that feels good and it's here and it's Peter's if he just lets himself have it. ]
[Peter's too wasted right now to notice too much of how Odin's eyes skirt away from his, mostly because he finds himself inadvertently doing the same. For him, in this moment, it's a strange uncertainty that has him looking about the room with unease coiled in his gut. This is the first time he's screwed around with another guy - but the second time he's played the line between friends and something else, only...
Stop thinking about Jean, Peter. Just fucking stop having every goddamn thread of thought circulate back to her because it winds him every time. Every memory is frayed at the edges and covered in broken glass. And then maybe even singed when he thinks about them, giving him a nauseating flare of anxiety that he's trying to avoid.
He glances up at Odin as he settles on his back, feeling sheepishly exposed even before his pants are pulled down his hips. He's grateful for the moment of pause, letting out a breath and looking down at Odin's hands and finds himself watching as his palm settles over his boxers to stroke him through it. His eyes close and his head lolls back, a hissing breath through his teeth at how suddenly that feels so real. Too real?
With Jean it was all about heat, passion and an already set-in love and longing that made everything flow. There weren't any awkward pauses, no moments of hesitation. He knew what he wanted to do with her, do to her and he can remember how easily those thoughts alone aroused him. Where as now he's not yet hard but the touch piques an interest, especially now that his eyes are closed and - well, those painful memories of Jean have one upside.
Picturing her makes the groan come out of him easier, makes him feel confident this isn't a disaster waiting to explode. He realizes his fingers are twisting into the sheet at his side and he relaxes them, forcing his eyes to open and briefly look up. At Odin, but past him. The less he focuses the less he has to realize this as reality.]
Shit. That's... [weird] good.
Stop thinking about Jean, Peter. Just fucking stop having every goddamn thread of thought circulate back to her because it winds him every time. Every memory is frayed at the edges and covered in broken glass. And then maybe even singed when he thinks about them, giving him a nauseating flare of anxiety that he's trying to avoid.
He glances up at Odin as he settles on his back, feeling sheepishly exposed even before his pants are pulled down his hips. He's grateful for the moment of pause, letting out a breath and looking down at Odin's hands and finds himself watching as his palm settles over his boxers to stroke him through it. His eyes close and his head lolls back, a hissing breath through his teeth at how suddenly that feels so real. Too real?
With Jean it was all about heat, passion and an already set-in love and longing that made everything flow. There weren't any awkward pauses, no moments of hesitation. He knew what he wanted to do with her, do to her and he can remember how easily those thoughts alone aroused him. Where as now he's not yet hard but the touch piques an interest, especially now that his eyes are closed and - well, those painful memories of Jean have one upside.
Picturing her makes the groan come out of him easier, makes him feel confident this isn't a disaster waiting to explode. He realizes his fingers are twisting into the sheet at his side and he relaxes them, forcing his eyes to open and briefly look up. At Odin, but past him. The less he focuses the less he has to realize this as reality.]
Shit. That's... [weird] good.
[ Odin stays silent. Communication has always been something he's relied on, during-- times like these. He feeds on encouragement like a vampire, and knowing he's making whoever he's with feel good typically sends a surge of pride straight through his stomach. Not tonight, though. There's no electricity running down his spine, when Peter tells him this is good, no fire in his veins that makes him light up and grin like his whole world has gotten brighter. He just nods, seen but unseen, as Peter looks through him.
He shuts down. Leaves his mind, a little, and just focuses on the way his body reacts to everything going on. He tugs Peter's boxers down and helps him kick everything off, pants and underwear thrown carelessly over the bed. He swallows, dry, and he takes Peter's dick in his hand, jerking him off a little too mechanically. He closes the distance to it, again, silently pressing his lips to the base of his length and circling his fist around the head, doing everything he would do to--
Has Poe already done this, he wonders? With the other guy. Taken him to bed, made him his, officially, in a way other than just through words and silence and heartbeats and waiting. The thought makes him break, enough for his hand to falter and for Odin to consider just fucking stopping, but he doesn't. He throws himself back, to a few months ago, when he thought he had a chance, when he thought things were good, and he-- pretends.
He shuts his eyes. Drags his tongue up the underside of Peter's cock, making it wet. He jerks a little faster, doing everything he can to make Peter hard, the sound of flesh on flesh starting to fill the room. He presses another few kisses to the inside of Peter's thigh, and he moans, a little, a sad and tired noise he didn't mean to make. He keeps his eyes closed, still, as he circles his palm over Peter's head, and he breathes out. Eyes closed, still.
Imagining someone else. ]
He shuts down. Leaves his mind, a little, and just focuses on the way his body reacts to everything going on. He tugs Peter's boxers down and helps him kick everything off, pants and underwear thrown carelessly over the bed. He swallows, dry, and he takes Peter's dick in his hand, jerking him off a little too mechanically. He closes the distance to it, again, silently pressing his lips to the base of his length and circling his fist around the head, doing everything he would do to--
Has Poe already done this, he wonders? With the other guy. Taken him to bed, made him his, officially, in a way other than just through words and silence and heartbeats and waiting. The thought makes him break, enough for his hand to falter and for Odin to consider just fucking stopping, but he doesn't. He throws himself back, to a few months ago, when he thought he had a chance, when he thought things were good, and he-- pretends.
He shuts his eyes. Drags his tongue up the underside of Peter's cock, making it wet. He jerks a little faster, doing everything he can to make Peter hard, the sound of flesh on flesh starting to fill the room. He presses another few kisses to the inside of Peter's thigh, and he moans, a little, a sad and tired noise he didn't mean to make. He keeps his eyes closed, still, as he circles his palm over Peter's head, and he breathes out. Eyes closed, still.
Imagining someone else. ]
[Peter continues to feel even more uncomfortable once he's naked - exposed doesn't begin to touch on the depth of the feeling when Odin's still (mostly) dressed and Peter's laying next to his stupid sweater and kicked aside jeans. Part of him didn't really think about getting to this point, didn't calculate the variables at hand and how a flush of heat rolls across his face - marred with a weird sense of shame. Like his body knows its betraying itself, going against the better thoughts of his brain and ignoring the throbbing of his heart to throb elsewhere instead.
He's breathing shallow and fast, squirming against the mattress when Odin's hand begins to move - thinking alright, he can handle that up until he feels his tongue as well. It's kind of overwhelming and he's screwed up his eyes again, a panting whine sitting in his mouth because this is fucked up. They should've stopped. He should stop now, just... just back out and go sober up.
But he can't bring himself to lift his arms, he just lays there with a low groan as his cock swells. This isn't sex he ever imagined himself having because it's selfish and one-sided, normally he can't help put have his hands all over his partner but he doesn't seem to know how to do that right now. Not because Odin's a man but more in that... he just can't bring himself to do it.
He gasps a little, picturing someone else in his head as well. Fire red hair he could almost feel brush against him, a lithe body settled between his legs. Thinking of Jean in the position is way more lewd for him and after a moment he's much harder, but also much more red in the face. He lays the back of his hand across the bridge of his nose, chin tilted up as he starts to really feel the pleasure roll in with another choked moan.]
Fuck.
He's breathing shallow and fast, squirming against the mattress when Odin's hand begins to move - thinking alright, he can handle that up until he feels his tongue as well. It's kind of overwhelming and he's screwed up his eyes again, a panting whine sitting in his mouth because this is fucked up. They should've stopped. He should stop now, just... just back out and go sober up.
But he can't bring himself to lift his arms, he just lays there with a low groan as his cock swells. This isn't sex he ever imagined himself having because it's selfish and one-sided, normally he can't help put have his hands all over his partner but he doesn't seem to know how to do that right now. Not because Odin's a man but more in that... he just can't bring himself to do it.
He gasps a little, picturing someone else in his head as well. Fire red hair he could almost feel brush against him, a lithe body settled between his legs. Thinking of Jean in the position is way more lewd for him and after a moment he's much harder, but also much more red in the face. He lays the back of his hand across the bridge of his nose, chin tilted up as he starts to really feel the pleasure roll in with another choked moan.]
Fuck.
[ The panting whine is something Poe might have done, once upon a time. The low groan, even more so. It's enough for him to lose himself to the fantasy in his head, and the smell of his sheets, this bed being where he and Poe always spent their nights together, only helps. It's - enough. He can feel his own cock twitch with need, hidden away in his stupid fucking Santa pants, and his eyelids flutter like they want to open, but they don't. He can't lose this. Won't let himself remember what he's really doing.
He brings his mouth up Peter's cock, and with a breath, he takes him in. He swirls his tongue over the tip, he applies pressure, he tastes every part of Peter's dick that he can fit in his mouth, humming, everything about this shameless and without restraint. There's - enthusiasm, but it's false, like he's throwing all of his energy into this out of habit, because it's what he's used to doing. When he swallows around Peter's cock and takes him further into his throat, taking all of him, until his nose is pressed up against his skin and breathing becomes a bit of a struggle, the tears that spring to his eyes have nothing to do with an inability to handle this.
The fuck Peter breathes takes him out of it, reminds him this isn't Poe, and it's like he's being drowned in ice water. As ever, he says nothing.
He slides off of Peter's cock, exhaling, wiping away some of the moisture from his eyes and laughing to play it off. He's achingly hard, now, which is fucked up, he thinks, but not enough to stop him from snaking his hand beneath his clothes and slowly beating himself off, mostly out of sight.
He looks out the window, towards the party. He clenches his jaw. He looks back to Peter. ]
You wanna-- you wanna do more than this?
He brings his mouth up Peter's cock, and with a breath, he takes him in. He swirls his tongue over the tip, he applies pressure, he tastes every part of Peter's dick that he can fit in his mouth, humming, everything about this shameless and without restraint. There's - enthusiasm, but it's false, like he's throwing all of his energy into this out of habit, because it's what he's used to doing. When he swallows around Peter's cock and takes him further into his throat, taking all of him, until his nose is pressed up against his skin and breathing becomes a bit of a struggle, the tears that spring to his eyes have nothing to do with an inability to handle this.
The fuck Peter breathes takes him out of it, reminds him this isn't Poe, and it's like he's being drowned in ice water. As ever, he says nothing.
He slides off of Peter's cock, exhaling, wiping away some of the moisture from his eyes and laughing to play it off. He's achingly hard, now, which is fucked up, he thinks, but not enough to stop him from snaking his hand beneath his clothes and slowly beating himself off, mostly out of sight.
He looks out the window, towards the party. He clenches his jaw. He looks back to Peter. ]
You wanna-- you wanna do more than this?
[The illusion of pretending Jean's the one sucking him off is really a filthy thing, Peter thinks, for he's even felt bad enough the few times before he's thought about her to get off. It's borrowing from a moment and utilizing that moment, that memory, in a way it wasn't meant to. Remembering the sex he'd had with her was slightly different, but to think that Odin between his thighs was her and it was her tongue pressed against his cock as her head bobbed up and down? Yeah, different. Really hot, honestly, but he still felt kind of shameful for it.
More so when he comes back to attention that it is Odin, giving the moment an inescapable flooring feeling when he opens his eyes now and then to look up at him. He can't catch his breath for a moment, swallowing hard as his hips rock upward in a lingering rhythm he hadn't noticed himself start. His breath is a bit shaky as he tries to level it out, pulling his hand away from his face and returning it to his side.
He doesn't have to look down at his cock to still see it erect, feel it throb with want. But he's uncertain about what Odin's asking - but he tries to remember that he trusts Odin with his life. So why does he feel so suddenly nervous about the option? He consented to this, he's due to get off on it so... is more too much?]
More? [a heavy breath] Like... what?
More so when he comes back to attention that it is Odin, giving the moment an inescapable flooring feeling when he opens his eyes now and then to look up at him. He can't catch his breath for a moment, swallowing hard as his hips rock upward in a lingering rhythm he hadn't noticed himself start. His breath is a bit shaky as he tries to level it out, pulling his hand away from his face and returning it to his side.
He doesn't have to look down at his cock to still see it erect, feel it throb with want. But he's uncertain about what Odin's asking - but he tries to remember that he trusts Odin with his life. So why does he feel so suddenly nervous about the option? He consented to this, he's due to get off on it so... is more too much?]
More? [a heavy breath] Like... what?
havalynd - Today at 20:47: makes u do the a and b route <-- ??? ?? ?? ? THANKS , ? ? ? ? THNK
shadowglitter
2018-01-01 11:15 am (UTC)(link)
[ He can still hear the music from next door, coming in from over the garden, distant but there. It hits him, suddenly, that the mixtape Peter made for him isn't playing anymore - someone must have found the christmas carols and put them back on. There's something appropriate about that, maybe. The part of Odin that was in Poe's life, gone, like it was never really there. He wonders if Poe had liked that music, while it was playing, or if he'd been the one to shut it off.
Odin closes the window, and the silence that fills the room is tense, suddenly. Maybe that's just Odin. He looks down at Peter with something close to pity in his eyes - does it hurt this bad for you, too? - but then he shuts that down for good. He grins, sharp and devilish, as he tilts his head from side to side, like he's trying to think of what to do. ]
I could fuck you.
[ He knows it's selfish, the second he gives voice to the thought. Peter's so fucking inexperienced, and he doesn't even know if Odin-- he doesn't even know if guys are what he wants. It's a lot of pressure, to throw on somebody, and he knows the only reason he's asking is because he wants to keep pretending. Doing what he used to do, back when he was happy. It was such a stupid lie, when he'd said tonight was about Peter. ]
Could keep doing this, first. Could keep blowing you 'til you're barely able to breathe, lost to the feeling of my lips on your cock, blinded by stars. Then I could fuck you. If you're up for it.
[ He tilts his head away from the window. He can't hear anything, anymore, but he knows it's out there. He's getting impatient, not having Peter as his distraction. ]
Thoughts?
Odin closes the window, and the silence that fills the room is tense, suddenly. Maybe that's just Odin. He looks down at Peter with something close to pity in his eyes - does it hurt this bad for you, too? - but then he shuts that down for good. He grins, sharp and devilish, as he tilts his head from side to side, like he's trying to think of what to do. ]
I could fuck you.
[ He knows it's selfish, the second he gives voice to the thought. Peter's so fucking inexperienced, and he doesn't even know if Odin-- he doesn't even know if guys are what he wants. It's a lot of pressure, to throw on somebody, and he knows the only reason he's asking is because he wants to keep pretending. Doing what he used to do, back when he was happy. It was such a stupid lie, when he'd said tonight was about Peter. ]
Could keep doing this, first. Could keep blowing you 'til you're barely able to breathe, lost to the feeling of my lips on your cock, blinded by stars. Then I could fuck you. If you're up for it.
[ He tilts his head away from the window. He can't hear anything, anymore, but he knows it's out there. He's getting impatient, not having Peter as his distraction. ]
Thoughts?
[ He can still hear the music from next door, coming in from over the garden, distant but there. It hits him, suddenly, that the mixtape Peter made for him isn't playing anymore - someone must have found the christmas carols and put them back on. There's something appropriate about that, maybe. The part of Odin that was in Poe's life, gone, like it was never really there. He wonders if Poe had liked that music, while it was playing, or if he'd been the one to shut it off.
Odin closes the window, and the silence that fills the room is tense, suddenly. Maybe that's just Odin. He looks down at Peter with something close to pity in his eyes - does it hurt this bad for you, too? - but then he shuts that down for good. He grins, sharp and devilish, as he tilts his head from side to side, like he's trying to think of what to do. ]
You could fuck me.
[ It's something he offers on a whim, and it - surprises him, as it tumbles out of him. It hits him why he asked, suddenly, and he smothers the listlessness that threatens to overwhelm him before it has a chance to show on his face. He's been so scared of doing this - of giving up control, of putting his body entirely in someone else's hands - but fuck, what does it matter, anymore? There's no worth in this body, no value to his fears, especially not those as indefensible as these ones. Poe's probably done worse with that other guy and didn't even think twice about it.
It's not that he trusts Peter to be gentle with him, or to guide him through this. He does, in one way, but he really doesn't care about that kind of thing right now. He needs the distraction, more than anything. Something new. Fuck, fuck, he's starting to panic, he needs something new, he needs to stop thinking, he needs everything to stop--
He's already sliding his clothes off, baring himself to Peter, his dick still achingly hard, despite it all. He breathes out, releasing some of the tension building up in his shoulders. He leans over Peter, finding some lube from the bedside table, pulling back with the little bottle and straddling Peter's waist. ]
Just close your eyes, man. [ He laughs, a little, like this is just a joke. Just two bros being bros. Definitely Not Sad About Dead Girls And Exes-Who-Aren't-Even-Exes,-Technically. ] I'll take care of you, okay? Lean back.
Odin closes the window, and the silence that fills the room is tense, suddenly. Maybe that's just Odin. He looks down at Peter with something close to pity in his eyes - does it hurt this bad for you, too? - but then he shuts that down for good. He grins, sharp and devilish, as he tilts his head from side to side, like he's trying to think of what to do. ]
You could fuck me.
[ It's something he offers on a whim, and it - surprises him, as it tumbles out of him. It hits him why he asked, suddenly, and he smothers the listlessness that threatens to overwhelm him before it has a chance to show on his face. He's been so scared of doing this - of giving up control, of putting his body entirely in someone else's hands - but fuck, what does it matter, anymore? There's no worth in this body, no value to his fears, especially not those as indefensible as these ones. Poe's probably done worse with that other guy and didn't even think twice about it.
It's not that he trusts Peter to be gentle with him, or to guide him through this. He does, in one way, but he really doesn't care about that kind of thing right now. He needs the distraction, more than anything. Something new. Fuck, fuck, he's starting to panic, he needs something new, he needs to stop thinking, he needs everything to stop--
He's already sliding his clothes off, baring himself to Peter, his dick still achingly hard, despite it all. He breathes out, releasing some of the tension building up in his shoulders. He leans over Peter, finding some lube from the bedside table, pulling back with the little bottle and straddling Peter's waist. ]
Just close your eyes, man. [ He laughs, a little, like this is just a joke. Just two bros being bros. Definitely Not Sad About Dead Girls And Exes-Who-Aren't-Even-Exes,-Technically. ] I'll take care of you, okay? Lean back.
[Peter's hinging on what Odin says with a reluctant wonder because it bears repeating that this is a lot. A lot of firsts, a lot of bad decisions and a lot of physical feelings he's not sure he can cope with. But he still feels heady from drinking - did toking earlier make that better or worse? Or was it Odin's mouth on his cock that made him feel this fucked up that he can't seem to think? Or is that just a bit of panic in his chest making him close his eyes and suck in a deep breath, trying to hold on to some part of this fucked up experience as a positive.
He doesn't think he wants this, doesn't think he's drunk enough for it - maybe he is, maybe that's why he just feels a bit like lead on the bed as he blinks up at Odin with his lips sticking together as he parts them to reply. Dry, he can't really form any words so he looks away.]
Whatever, man. Let's just do whatever.
[A yes, more or less - words that confuse him as they come from his mouth as he feels a chill tingle down his spine. He doesn't know what next to do, but he's taking Odin's word on it that if he gets worked into it it'll just all flow again, like it did with Jean. Like maybe it'll feel good? Worth it, in the end.
His voice cracks but he'll just confirm:] Let's fuck.
He doesn't think he wants this, doesn't think he's drunk enough for it - maybe he is, maybe that's why he just feels a bit like lead on the bed as he blinks up at Odin with his lips sticking together as he parts them to reply. Dry, he can't really form any words so he looks away.]
Whatever, man. Let's just do whatever.
[A yes, more or less - words that confuse him as they come from his mouth as he feels a chill tingle down his spine. He doesn't know what next to do, but he's taking Odin's word on it that if he gets worked into it it'll just all flow again, like it did with Jean. Like maybe it'll feel good? Worth it, in the end.
His voice cracks but he'll just confirm:] Let's fuck.
[Peter's hinging on what Odin says with a reluctant wonder because it bears repeating that this is a lot. A lot of firsts, a lot of bad decisions and a lot of physical feelings he's not sure he can cope with. But he still feels heady from drinking - did toking earlier make that better or worse? Or was it Odin's mouth on his cock that made him feel this fucked up that he can't seem to think? Or is that just a bit of panic in his chest making him close his eyes and suck in a deep breath, trying to hold on to some part of this fucked up experience as a positive.
He doesn't think he wants this, doesn't think he's drunk enough for it - maybe he is, maybe that's why he just feels a bit like lead on the bed as he blinks up at Odin with his lips sticking together as he parts them to reply. Dry, he can't really form any words so he looks away until he sees Odin strip and flicks his eyes down to look at him. It makes it weirder, knowing they're both naked and knowing what they're doing. What they're about to do.
He sucks in a breath and squirms a bit, feeling Odin settle over his hips with a confused mix of feelings - he's still fucking uncomfortable but he's hard, so his dick aches. Maybe they should've just settled on simpler things but shouldn't he be thinking of Odin a little too? If he's willing to do the work where Peter doesn't seem able, then... this is fine.]
Okay.
[A yes, an agreement - words that confuse him as they come from his mouth as he feels a chill tingle down his spine. He doesn't know what next to do, but he's taking Odin's word on it that if he gets worked into it it'll just all flow again, like it did with Jean. Like maybe it'll feel good? Worth it, in the end. He lays back and tries to relax, feeling his chest rise and fall with nervousness. He can pretend again, this is fine.
His voice cracks but he'll just confirm with a nod. Let's fuck.]
He doesn't think he wants this, doesn't think he's drunk enough for it - maybe he is, maybe that's why he just feels a bit like lead on the bed as he blinks up at Odin with his lips sticking together as he parts them to reply. Dry, he can't really form any words so he looks away until he sees Odin strip and flicks his eyes down to look at him. It makes it weirder, knowing they're both naked and knowing what they're doing. What they're about to do.
He sucks in a breath and squirms a bit, feeling Odin settle over his hips with a confused mix of feelings - he's still fucking uncomfortable but he's hard, so his dick aches. Maybe they should've just settled on simpler things but shouldn't he be thinking of Odin a little too? If he's willing to do the work where Peter doesn't seem able, then... this is fine.]
Okay.
[A yes, an agreement - words that confuse him as they come from his mouth as he feels a chill tingle down his spine. He doesn't know what next to do, but he's taking Odin's word on it that if he gets worked into it it'll just all flow again, like it did with Jean. Like maybe it'll feel good? Worth it, in the end. He lays back and tries to relax, feeling his chest rise and fall with nervousness. He can pretend again, this is fine.
His voice cracks but he'll just confirm with a nod. Let's fuck.]
[ That impatience and false devilishness is already gone.
Odin's back to feeling disconnected, as he watches Peter make the call. Back to feeling equal parts irresponsible, for doing this with someone who thinks whatever is an okay answer to the question he just asked, and apathetic, because the thought of Poe alone with someone else is clawing at his stomach and making him want to die in the way fears of the war used to do when he was young and nothing else matters but that. He takes a breath and nods, again, just pushing through the fact-- the growing, ever unavoidable fact-- that he doesn't want to do this. He cracks a grin, cocky and stable. Like he knows what he's doing. Like he's done this a thousand times before, rather than just a dozen, all with someone else.
He thinks about doubling down on the dirty talk, because Poe had always liked it, and Odin knows he's pretty okay at it, he thinks. As he slowly strokes his own cock in smooth, circular motions, gently prying Peter's legs apart and kneeling between them, he thinks that he could gasp and lie about the size of Peter's dick or say things like fuck, you're so fucking tight when this really starts, but it doesn't sit right. This isn't fun, this isn't sexy, this isn't-- anything, anymore. Just a bad mistake they're both too deep to back out of.
He licks his middle finger, gets it wet. Looks at Peter with something close to reassurance, but not quite, because again, he's not sure he cares about any of this, which is fucked up beyond belief, given that it's his first time. Poe had been so straightforward and careful with him, his first time with another man. Odin's not doing that. He takes another sharp breath and gently pressures the tip of his finger to Peter's hole, taking his cock in his free hand, stroking and squeezing everywhere it might really make him shake just in an attempt to keep him hard. There's no warning - because he's trying to stay silent, mostly - when he tentatively eases the tip of his finger inside, watching Peter's face for a reaction. ]
Odin's back to feeling disconnected, as he watches Peter make the call. Back to feeling equal parts irresponsible, for doing this with someone who thinks whatever is an okay answer to the question he just asked, and apathetic, because the thought of Poe alone with someone else is clawing at his stomach and making him want to die in the way fears of the war used to do when he was young and nothing else matters but that. He takes a breath and nods, again, just pushing through the fact-- the growing, ever unavoidable fact-- that he doesn't want to do this. He cracks a grin, cocky and stable. Like he knows what he's doing. Like he's done this a thousand times before, rather than just a dozen, all with someone else.
He thinks about doubling down on the dirty talk, because Poe had always liked it, and Odin knows he's pretty okay at it, he thinks. As he slowly strokes his own cock in smooth, circular motions, gently prying Peter's legs apart and kneeling between them, he thinks that he could gasp and lie about the size of Peter's dick or say things like fuck, you're so fucking tight when this really starts, but it doesn't sit right. This isn't fun, this isn't sexy, this isn't-- anything, anymore. Just a bad mistake they're both too deep to back out of.
He licks his middle finger, gets it wet. Looks at Peter with something close to reassurance, but not quite, because again, he's not sure he cares about any of this, which is fucked up beyond belief, given that it's his first time. Poe had been so straightforward and careful with him, his first time with another man. Odin's not doing that. He takes another sharp breath and gently pressures the tip of his finger to Peter's hole, taking his cock in his free hand, stroking and squeezing everywhere it might really make him shake just in an attempt to keep him hard. There's no warning - because he's trying to stay silent, mostly - when he tentatively eases the tip of his finger inside, watching Peter's face for a reaction. ]
[ Okay, then. He's doing this.
He can pretend that the only one hurting here is him, now that they've made this decision. Giving up something that makes him vulnerable because his vulnerability doesn't really matter. Pretending that his aches and pains are the only ones between them. He laughs, and it comes easy, bright and airy and light but distinctly masculine, distinctly not Jean. ]
Relax, dude. You're gonna have fun. If you change your mind at any point - just tell me, yeah? [ He leans down, gently presses a kiss to Peter's lips, smiling through it all. ] This isn't that serious. We're just helping each other out.
[ He doesn't bother with protection, given the nanites. He's straddling Peter's waist as he squeezes some of the lube onto his palm, and he reaches back behind him to coat Peter's cock in a heavy layer of it. Soft and warm and gentle, maybe like Jean used to be, but probably not. He's scared out of his fucking mind, doing this, but it doesn't really matter, does it? He'll be able to feel something. He'll be able to make Peter feel good, maybe. This is a good thing. This is good. For both of them.
He coats himself in a thin layer of lube and throws the bottle to the side, hoping, secretly, that that'll be enough, but having completely no fucking idea, given his inexperience. He doesn't even think to stretch, he just - grins, again, not letting anything show, as he reaches back to grab Peter's cock and line it up with himself. It hurts, a little, when he lowers his hips to take the head of Peter's dick inside of him, but the lube helps, and when he forces himself to pretend that he's relaxed, that helps, too. He stays there, for a second, once Peter's entered him - taking a moment to breathe and to adjust, his hands that are still slick with lube and pre-cum resting on Peter's chest for support. He didn't think his would get to him so bad, already, but it has, a thousand nerves bouncing in his gut. ]
Fuck. Hold on. Let me-- just-- don't move, yet.
He can pretend that the only one hurting here is him, now that they've made this decision. Giving up something that makes him vulnerable because his vulnerability doesn't really matter. Pretending that his aches and pains are the only ones between them. He laughs, and it comes easy, bright and airy and light but distinctly masculine, distinctly not Jean. ]
Relax, dude. You're gonna have fun. If you change your mind at any point - just tell me, yeah? [ He leans down, gently presses a kiss to Peter's lips, smiling through it all. ] This isn't that serious. We're just helping each other out.
[ He doesn't bother with protection, given the nanites. He's straddling Peter's waist as he squeezes some of the lube onto his palm, and he reaches back behind him to coat Peter's cock in a heavy layer of it. Soft and warm and gentle, maybe like Jean used to be, but probably not. He's scared out of his fucking mind, doing this, but it doesn't really matter, does it? He'll be able to feel something. He'll be able to make Peter feel good, maybe. This is a good thing. This is good. For both of them.
He coats himself in a thin layer of lube and throws the bottle to the side, hoping, secretly, that that'll be enough, but having completely no fucking idea, given his inexperience. He doesn't even think to stretch, he just - grins, again, not letting anything show, as he reaches back to grab Peter's cock and line it up with himself. It hurts, a little, when he lowers his hips to take the head of Peter's dick inside of him, but the lube helps, and when he forces himself to pretend that he's relaxed, that helps, too. He stays there, for a second, once Peter's entered him - taking a moment to breathe and to adjust, his hands that are still slick with lube and pre-cum resting on Peter's chest for support. He didn't think his would get to him so bad, already, but it has, a thousand nerves bouncing in his gut. ]
Fuck. Hold on. Let me-- just-- don't move, yet.
[All he can think as his knees spread apart and he look at Odin between them is it's too late to stop now, too far into this to give up. He should be thinking of anything else in this situation, preferably with a hint of excitement. It should be anticipation resting in his gut not a strained concern, a strong flush of vulnerability that makes him feel a bit sick.
He doesn't know how this goes - there weren't any great PSAs on gay sex in the 80s and he's still not quite sure he's good at the straight shit. He's out of his element entirely and so he's betting he'll be abysmal at this. Even though it's Odin - someone he'd trust with his life, he feels like this is already a disappointment. A mistake.
But he groans, trying to relax but feeling Odin's finger press into him makes him twist his fingers back into the sheets and his body tense. The distraction of toying with his cock is the saving grace in this situation as Peter tries to focus on it more than the foreign feeling of Odin's finger, sucking in a breath and looking up at the ceiling.
He wants to say something - anything, but the words die in his throat. He should be telling Odin what feels good or at the very least trying to compliment the situation but he can't. Calling Jean beautiful was never something he hesitated on, never something he didn't mean. Odin's handsome, especially now that Peter's drunk and very horny, but when he looks up at him he just remembers that this isn't the time or place for what they were. What they are. It's just what they're doing now that counts.
So he stays silent, save for another panting moan as his back arches gently.]
He doesn't know how this goes - there weren't any great PSAs on gay sex in the 80s and he's still not quite sure he's good at the straight shit. He's out of his element entirely and so he's betting he'll be abysmal at this. Even though it's Odin - someone he'd trust with his life, he feels like this is already a disappointment. A mistake.
But he groans, trying to relax but feeling Odin's finger press into him makes him twist his fingers back into the sheets and his body tense. The distraction of toying with his cock is the saving grace in this situation as Peter tries to focus on it more than the foreign feeling of Odin's finger, sucking in a breath and looking up at the ceiling.
He wants to say something - anything, but the words die in his throat. He should be telling Odin what feels good or at the very least trying to compliment the situation but he can't. Calling Jean beautiful was never something he hesitated on, never something he didn't mean. Odin's handsome, especially now that Peter's drunk and very horny, but when he looks up at him he just remembers that this isn't the time or place for what they were. What they are. It's just what they're doing now that counts.
So he stays silent, save for another panting moan as his back arches gently.]
Edited 2018-01-04 08:47 (UTC)
Yeah... [Peter replies, eyes closed for a beat when they kiss.
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.]
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.]
i needed something happy but idek what this trashfire is
quickfingers
2018-01-04 09:06 am (UTC)(link)
[December was a shit lord but it's done, gone and over with. Light has begun to thread in through the shitty storm clouds it brought with it and Peter feels relaxed, finally. He's not sure life would've been the same had he not gotten to know the friends here that he had, who pulled him through the darker times. Odin's been an inseparable friend, one of which he's visiting today with some draaaanks, a pizza and a 2L of Faygo for old time's sake.
The clocktower's a little much but the view is an insane one - something Peter wanders over to admire after setting the trash heap of stuff he brought with him on a kitchen counter. Not yet pictured are the blunts in his jacket pocket, a little extra buzz for later on.
He still can't believe Odin got this place.] I still can't fucking believe you got this place.
[He turns around, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over a chair. He kicks his shoes off next, just to get comfortable because tu casa, mi casa? Oversharing homesteads goes both ways, bro. He hoists himself up to sit on the counter next to the pizza box, opening it to take a slice.]
The clocktower's a little much but the view is an insane one - something Peter wanders over to admire after setting the trash heap of stuff he brought with him on a kitchen counter. Not yet pictured are the blunts in his jacket pocket, a little extra buzz for later on.
He still can't believe Odin got this place.] I still can't fucking believe you got this place.
[He turns around, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over a chair. He kicks his shoes off next, just to get comfortable because tu casa, mi casa? Oversharing homesteads goes both ways, bro. He hoists himself up to sit on the counter next to the pizza box, opening it to take a slice.]
[ He should pick up the twist of Peter's fingers as a sign of anxiety, the way they clutch at the sheets and tense, because-- because fuck, that's something Odin does whenever he's overwhelmed by something he doesn't want, spiralling the front of his clothes while fear settles in his stomach like wet sand. He should notice, but he doesn't, too far gone under thoughts of wanting to forget, and--
And even after everything they've done tonight, the arch of Peter's back and the way that he pants like that puts him in a light that Odin's never seen him in. It hits Odin all at once, that he might actually, genuinely be really fucking physically attracted to this dude - everything they're doing feels different, suddenly, like something's shifted, now that Peter's beneath him, being worked over by him and taken care of by him, trusting him in a way that he doesn't deserve. He feels - like this really might be something that could be good for him. For both of them, maybe, but mainly for him.
At the very least, hearing Peter make a noise like that-- because of him-- makes the lie a little easier to believe.
He leans down, as he presses his finger further into Peter, slow and methodical, trying to ease him into something Odin's sure he's never felt before. He lowers his lips to the bridge between Peter's shoulder and his neck, tall enough that he doesn't need to strain more than their fucking relationship to do it, and even Odin wouldn't be able to say if he was trying to keep him calm or just trying to hide his face. He clears his throat, a wordless alert for what he's about to do, and then his finger starts to slowly, slowly fuck in and out of Peter, dragging over every soft ridge, steady and rhythmic. He sucks, gently, on Peter's neck, making it pink, leaving a mark - and then he inserts a second finger, stretching him open, fucking him, getting him ready.
He pulls away from the mark he left on Peter's neck and his free hand finds Peter's cock again. He strokes it, back-handed, in time with each gentle in and out of his fingers. ]
Are you, uh... [ He clears his throat, again, and he feels like he's at a fucking job interview, or something. ] Are you feeling-- is this... yeah? Or... nah?
And even after everything they've done tonight, the arch of Peter's back and the way that he pants like that puts him in a light that Odin's never seen him in. It hits Odin all at once, that he might actually, genuinely be really fucking physically attracted to this dude - everything they're doing feels different, suddenly, like something's shifted, now that Peter's beneath him, being worked over by him and taken care of by him, trusting him in a way that he doesn't deserve. He feels - like this really might be something that could be good for him. For both of them, maybe, but mainly for him.
At the very least, hearing Peter make a noise like that-- because of him-- makes the lie a little easier to believe.
He leans down, as he presses his finger further into Peter, slow and methodical, trying to ease him into something Odin's sure he's never felt before. He lowers his lips to the bridge between Peter's shoulder and his neck, tall enough that he doesn't need to strain more than their fucking relationship to do it, and even Odin wouldn't be able to say if he was trying to keep him calm or just trying to hide his face. He clears his throat, a wordless alert for what he's about to do, and then his finger starts to slowly, slowly fuck in and out of Peter, dragging over every soft ridge, steady and rhythmic. He sucks, gently, on Peter's neck, making it pink, leaving a mark - and then he inserts a second finger, stretching him open, fucking him, getting him ready.
He pulls away from the mark he left on Peter's neck and his free hand finds Peter's cock again. He strokes it, back-handed, in time with each gentle in and out of his fingers. ]
Are you, uh... [ He clears his throat, again, and he feels like he's at a fucking job interview, or something. ] Are you feeling-- is this... yeah? Or... nah?
[ Mindless or not, the touch is what Odin needs to get through this. It sends an aching, aching warmth through his chest - it's not hard for him to think that Peter's trying to comfort him, to get him through this and show that he cares, because it's Peter, and that's just what he does. What he's always done, for Odin. The thought that he's giving this side of himself away to his best friend instead of to the person he loves doesn't seem to make him so bitter, all of a sudden.
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. ]
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. ]
[ The second Peter's through the door to his tower-turned-apartment, Odin's on him like a fucking rash, squeezing him in a hug tight enough to make something crack - which, this time, at least, just turns out to be Odin's shoulder, which he rubs with a loud whine after he lets go. The pain is forgotten, gone with so much of that fucking nightmare of a December, by the time Peter's stripping all his shit and bouncing onto the countertop, and Odin's there by his side, leaning on the surface and taking a slice of pizza for himself. ]
I know! It's bullshit? And I think that even though I spent, like, all of my money, it's probably super illegal for me to actually live here. But. I'm rich and I'm an imPort and I think it's my constitutional right as a Hero for America to get literally everything I want, all the time, always, until my end of days, forever and ever and ever times a million. Definitely remember signing something like that when I was ported in. Probably.
[ He bites into the pizza, chewing loudly and complaining about the toppings, just to be an irritating piece of shit. Every so often, in moments like this one, when the sun is warm and the afternoon is quiet and everything is just good, Odin is kind of ludicrously fucking stunned by how relatively unscathed the two of them are after the way this year started. He watches Peter as he eats, wondering how, for the thousandth time, some scrawny little grey-haired squirrel saved him from so fucking much just by being there. ]
D'you think Alex and Magnus ever talk about us when we're not around? 'Cause I think they do, but I don't know what they'd say. ... Or, uh-- well, that's not true. They would definitely compliment me and only ever insult you, but. That's as far as I've thought.
I know! It's bullshit? And I think that even though I spent, like, all of my money, it's probably super illegal for me to actually live here. But. I'm rich and I'm an imPort and I think it's my constitutional right as a Hero for America to get literally everything I want, all the time, always, until my end of days, forever and ever and ever times a million. Definitely remember signing something like that when I was ported in. Probably.
[ He bites into the pizza, chewing loudly and complaining about the toppings, just to be an irritating piece of shit. Every so often, in moments like this one, when the sun is warm and the afternoon is quiet and everything is just good, Odin is kind of ludicrously fucking stunned by how relatively unscathed the two of them are after the way this year started. He watches Peter as he eats, wondering how, for the thousandth time, some scrawny little grey-haired squirrel saved him from so fucking much just by being there. ]
D'you think Alex and Magnus ever talk about us when we're not around? 'Cause I think they do, but I don't know what they'd say. ... Or, uh-- well, that's not true. They would definitely compliment me and only ever insult you, but. That's as far as I've thought.
[Peter laughs, kicking his feet out in front of him as he sits on the counter. It doesn't take long for him to try and kick out at Odin with sock covered toes. He polishes off the crust in his hand and pauses before going for a second slice.]
They probably do. [He narrows his eyes a bit, flicking them away to the Faygo which he cracks open with a sssst.] But like old people talk about their grandkids. Either as annoying or missed, maybe? Kinda like how we talk about them but... probably with more compassion.
Definitely would be calling you an idiot at least once a day, though. [He drinks straight from the 2L.]
They probably do. [He narrows his eyes a bit, flicking them away to the Faygo which he cracks open with a sssst.] But like old people talk about their grandkids. Either as annoying or missed, maybe? Kinda like how we talk about them but... probably with more compassion.
Definitely would be calling you an idiot at least once a day, though. [He drinks straight from the 2L.]
[Peter's breaths can't evolve past shallow gasps while Odin is working his finger in and out of him, the feeling is... unique to say the least and the arching of his back briefly doubles by the introduction of a second digit. But Peter surprises even himself by making it through that fairly easy, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth as his head lolls back with an antsy writhing against the bed sheets.
If he's to think on it, which he's not really right now - not while it's happening - it's not a bad feeling. It's new and confusing and a bit terrifying in a way, having his trust in someone else like this but it does feel sort of good. Made more so when Odin pumps his cock in time with his fingers, making Peter's next moan a little more obscene and having it become accompanied with a rocking of his hips. He doesn't know what direction to move in but the movement just comes naturally.
Like the flush of color brightens his face and cascades down his neck, turning him a shade of pink beneath a slight sheen of drunken sweat.] Yeah.
[It's out of his mouth before he registers the question all the way, caught up in wanting more. More touch, more... all of it. He might be in over his head and at risk of drowning but something about this is working for him despite it, even if he can't pretend it's anything else but what it is. Getting finger fucked for the first time by his best friend while he sweats vodka and digs his heel into the mattress to push back experimentally against his fingers.]
J-Jesus Christ, Odin.
If he's to think on it, which he's not really right now - not while it's happening - it's not a bad feeling. It's new and confusing and a bit terrifying in a way, having his trust in someone else like this but it does feel sort of good. Made more so when Odin pumps his cock in time with his fingers, making Peter's next moan a little more obscene and having it become accompanied with a rocking of his hips. He doesn't know what direction to move in but the movement just comes naturally.
Like the flush of color brightens his face and cascades down his neck, turning him a shade of pink beneath a slight sheen of drunken sweat.] Yeah.
[It's out of his mouth before he registers the question all the way, caught up in wanting more. More touch, more... all of it. He might be in over his head and at risk of drowning but something about this is working for him despite it, even if he can't pretend it's anything else but what it is. Getting finger fucked for the first time by his best friend while he sweats vodka and digs his heel into the mattress to push back experimentally against his fingers.]
J-Jesus Christ, Odin.
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