for wheatcakes: post aunter nonsense

[lost_first]

[ When he walks through the blue door, his thoughts are entirely on Peter. Peter the man. Peter the... Spider-man, of all things. Which is why he's not surprised that he does not end up in his rooms on the Jolly Roger. Oh no, he's much too busy being surprised at the fact that he's on a rooftop in the middle of Midtown, because there's a lot to be surprised about when you're a centuries-old pirate who grew up on an island paradise hellscape.

The first thing is the noise, and he's glad he's nowhere near the edge of the building, because if he was, he's not sure that even he would be able to keep his footing. His hand grasps at some manner of cord of cabling, one that feels as if it is made of nothing short of metal, and he steadies himself, adjusts the the cacopheny as he looks out.

It is mid-day, unsurprising given that that is what it'd looked like when he'd landed on this rooftop. And behind him is some manner of large painting, a great big picture talking of a smiling woman and some manner of food in a cup that she's clearly enjoying. He doesn't know what 'yogurt' is, but he fully intends to try it if it can make a woman that joyful.

His wounds remind him of their existence: the lines on his arm, the bite across his middle, the bruising from Sebastian's last attempt at life and his fall from the glass box onto the pavement. He pushes them aside, however, to start planning.

He knows... one person here. One man. Peter. Spider-man. But even from here, he can see more people than he even knew existed at one time. A veritable sea of human beings. How in the world is he going to find Peter? For that matter, how exactly is he going to make his way down from here?]

...well, at least I have the knife still.

[ It's something, and he tries not to discount advantages when he has them.]

Comments

[lost_first]

His answer is a grunt of a laugh as he nods, puts the folded jeans aside, and places his sweater, folded similarly, to the side of it. On top of the sweater, he adds the jeans he takes off and the t-shirt, leaving him in just a pair of linen underthings that are closer to what Peter would think of as boxers than not, for all that they're tied with a leather piece.

Jamie, unlike Peter, is nothing but scars, of various shapes and sizes and severities. The body underneath is lean and toned through a life of hard living, fighting, and a lean diet almost entirely devoid of many of the staples of modern living, and Jamie is clearly comfortable in his body as it is now even if the change had been startling at the time. The crocodile bites from earlier, the lines on his arms, look like they're a few days old as opposed to a few hours: closed if a little tender.

There's a bit of a farmer's tan on him, clear marks where his clothes would usually sit over him under the Neverland sun, but he'd always been one for swimming and movement and that means there's no real 'pale' spots to be found.

Jamie, smiling in his triumph, slips into the other side and leaves Peter the pillows, laying on his arm as he'd intended to.

"Now, we're both comfortable."

[wheatcake]

Peter beans Jamie in the face with the spider-doll head.

"We're negotiating. Take a pillow or I mutiny, Romeo." Because Jamie looks really nice and um don't think about it too hard.

"Also, I store. And I have cold feet. Apparently sometimes I kick things. People, pets, imaginary objects. But I will make you coffee in the morning."

Externalizing his anxiety into jokes is definitely the best way to go about this.

[lost_first]

He lets out a single, soft bark of a laugh, taking the spider-doll head and tugging it over to keep Peter without his ammunition. Then he holds out his hand to take one of the pillows, whichever one Peter is going to offer.

"All the things you mention, I have dealt with worse and more of it. You, at least, seem to wash at least every couple of days of your own volition."

He's curious about one thing.

"'Romeo'?"

[wheatcake]

Of course that's the thing Jamie fixates on. Luckily, Peter knows how to handle it. "Handsome," he says, and then smacks Jamie in the face with his pillow. Out of ammo, suuuure.

[lost_first]

It's the only thing he has clue on, so it's what he asks for. The idea of it is a little bit odd to him, something he's never concerned himself with. 'Handsome' is not a description he's ever used for a person except perhaps for a feature: a handsome smile. Or he'd use it to describe a good knife, a handsome knife.

He's knocked out of his confusion by the pillow, but he'll just take that one as well. God, Peter.

"I prefer tea."

...maybe he'll thwap him back a couple of times. Now that he has one.

"'Romeo'."

[wheatcake]

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you got abs for miles out of the cursed Hell island, don't rub it in." Peter says, now hugging the same pillow. The lights off, he hopes it's hard to see his expression, which is a little red, and more than a little frowning. Pouting. Extremely mature.

[lost_first]

"What are you on about now?" he asks, but there's laughter in his tone as he pulls his own pillow closer and settles his head on it.

"I'm starting to think you say things just so I can ask you about them."

[wheatcake]

"No, noooo, it's fine, you're just extremely attractive and way nicer than anyone should be and you kissed my head and we're lying in bed together and I'm handling it extremely well, shhhh." He's tempted to hit him with the pillow again.

"This is just how I talk. I've tried to stop, believe me."

[lost_first]

There's a pause. Just a short pause, because he thinks quickly, before he siddles up closer and leans to look Peter in the face.

"Is that what has you acting the fool? You'd rather not be 'sleeping'?"

[wheatcake]

Peter is curled in a ball around his pillow, and his voice is at least an octave higher than it was moments ago. "What? No? Maybe? No? Can I poll the audience?"

[lost_first]

Jamie's voice is soft, fond, and just a little amused and Peter will feel a well-calloused hand settle lightly on is side, at his waist. He leaves it there as he speaks.

"Peter. Calm."

[wheatcake]

A hand on his hip is not going to do much to calm him, but he tries anyway, shoving his head into the pillow and taking a deep breath. After a moment, "I get... stuck in my own head, sometimes. Sorry. Y-you don't have to worry about it."

[lost_first]

His thumb will begin to run up and down. Up and down. Gentle. Soothing, or that's his aim.

"You're clearly upset. So I'm worried."

[wheatcake]

"Weeeeell, you're going to be worrying a lot," he says, trying desperately for levity. "I get nervous, and I make it worse. It's a thing that I do."

[lost_first]

"I'm used to it," he says, fond and steady and clearly unworried. After a moment, he considers, but he doesn't actually stop moving his thumb.

"Should I stop this and go to sleep?"

[wheatcake]

And that is soothing, if not really in a calming way. He shivers a little, and isn't that pathetic? Sheesh, Parker.

"What... what do you want?"

[lost_first]

He doesn't answer with words. Instead, he turns a little and slips his arm under and around. He puts his other arm loosely around Peter's waist, and he nuzzles at the hair at the back of Peter's head before he deposits another kiss there and settles his head on the pillow beside Peter's. Once he's properly spooned around him-

"I'd like us both to get some rest. And then we can talk about it in the morning."

[wheatcake]

The gentleness of it leaves Peter a little boneless in Jamie's arms, breath hushed in awe. He's not used to being, well, treated like this? Not to think ill of any of the wonderful people in his life, but the way he's held, like he's precious and deserves that thoughtful gentleness...

Peter lets out a sigh. "I'm glad you're the smart one," he says, and cuddles in close, unable to help the smile on his face, in his voice.

[lost_first]

That smile feels... good. Feels earned. Makes his chest feel warm and has his arms giving a soft squeeze before he dips in to give another of those kisses that he can't quite stop himself delivering.

"Aye," he agrees, "now get some sleep, oh dread slayer of avocados."

[wheatcake]

Peter lets out a little sigh, becoming more comfortable by the moment. Every second he's touched, held, kissed, it's better than the last, and he can feel his previous worries... not disappearing, but quieting. For now. Which may be long enough.

"Never," he says, and takes Jamie's hand, bringing it next to him on the pillow so he can kiss it lightly, "never gonna live that one down."

But sleep takes him quickly afterward.

(He wasn't lying about the snoring.)

[lost_first]

Jamie doesn't even try to stop his lips curling in a smile from the kiss.

And when Peter's fallen asleep, when the snoring starts, Jamie smiles again and lets his eyes shut. For all that he's a light sleeper, he's well used to sleeping noises from those he's claimed at his own. He'll be out within a few minutes as well.

[wheatcake]

Peter also wasn't lying about sleeping like the dead. He'd planned to get up early today and see some people, look for work, fight some crime. Instead, his alarm goes off at nine and he reflexively smacks it off, before rolling over and hiding his head under whatever he can find. "School's... out."

[lost_first]

His head goes under Jamie's arm and ends up burrowing up against his chest, which has some hair on it though not much given all the scars. And a natural inclination against much hair there, apparently. It's enough to wake up Jamie, who'll start an almost instinctual petting to the back of his shoulders and along his side.

[wheatcake]

Feeling a warm body nearby, Peter circles it with his arms and legs immediately, nuzzling for more warmth and comfort. Even if his feet are cold. "Five more minutes..."

[lost_first]

Which is amusing, really, since he really doesn't particularly care and Peter's welcome to snuggle up as he likes. Jamie's warm from sleep and the blankets and being wrapped around another body most of the night, so the cold feet are a bit of a shock but nothing he can't handle.

No prompts to wake up. No force. He likes lazy mornings. They're rare treasures, in his book.