[ Quentin fumbles off him, worms upright again to grab for Peter--but he just gets handfuls of sheets. ] I don't know either! I told you, the last time I shared space with anyone was totally different, I couldn't do this on purpose! Peter. Please.
[ Sheets yanked away, he makes another grab for Peter's hands. Hips. Backs of the knees, thighs, whatever. It just feels like the farther he lets Peter get from him, the worse he feels. If he backs up, Quentin will slide to his knees to lengthen the reach--to show off his penitence. ]
What do you want? Tell me what you want from me, I'm trying here.
[ there's something... distressing about the way quentin scrambles for him, desperate to keep him here and present, to have some sort of physical contact as a tether. peter can't will himself to move any further away, and once quentin has his hands on him again, he takes a hesitant step forward.
then back again, adding pressure where quentin's hands lay.
peter breathes out a sigh, fingers twitching at his sides, fighting the urge to reach up, to return his gesture. ] Fuck, [ he murmurs, ] Don't you get it? Haven't you put the pieces together yet? [ his expression hardens for a brief moment, shaken away when he puts his hands on quentin's forearms. ] Why do you think I never talk about this shit? I only wanted you for your body— [ he cringes, ] And now all I can think is— I don't want the way you look at me to change because I fucking lied about what you saw.
So don't lie to me. [ LIke it's just that easy. He says it like it is easy, only a moment's hesitation for the sting Peter's confession. It's fine. He can't say he was any better: ] I know we're not--anything. But you're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time, so we could just be honest. We could just--be honest.
[ His mouth hangs open, expression dull, head shaking. ] ...I like you, Peter. I really--I really like you, I don't want you to think I'm some kind of fucking monster. I don't wanna lie to you. I don't think you wanna lie to me either.
No, that's exactly what I want. [ he huffs a humorless laugh, confounded by the awful taste the admission leaves in his mouth. ] I want to pump you full of lies until you're so delusional that you'd believe even the most blatant. I want to string you along for as long as possible and break that big fucking heart of yours— [ but the look in his eyes tells a different story, undermining every single word.
peter groans miserably, his grasp on quentin's arms growing a little tighter, reciprocating that stupid need to remain close. ] But I can't. [ he whispers as he lowers himself to his knees, ] You've somehow wormed your way under my skin—I couldn't cut you out even if I tried... even if I really wanted to.
[ wrapping both hands around one of quentin's, he clings to him in a pathetic and desperate sort of way. ] How's that for honesty?
[ Even for honesty, that feels raw. Quentin watches him intently, dumbstruck trying to see what kind of strategy Peter's running, but the strategy seems like--surrender. His mouth hangs open till Peter squeezes his hand, and Quentin snaps it shut. How is that? It feels raw, like cleaning an old wound. When was the last time he was honest with anyone?
[ His free hand fits to Peter's cheek, and he bows into kiss him feather-light. Still concerned, he frowns as he pulls back. ]
[ the kiss catches peter off guard— he's not exactly sure what kind of reaction he expected, but that wasn't it. there's something oddly calming about it, tempering the twist of guilt in his chest. he breathes deep with a subtle nod, instinctively leaning into quentin's touch. ]
I feel like I should be the one asking for you— [ he swallows thickly, thumbs brushing warm skin. ] I do, alright?
[ he's not fond of it, but quentin's right about one thing... he pulled him in. ]
And you believe me? [ Maybe he's right about Peter kicking this off--but that's the tone of a guy who feels like shit. ] I'm not--spying on you, I'm not doing this on purpose?
No, I know. [ it's sincere, at least, even if he sounds a little weary.
tired of his own shit, really. tired of fighting the way he feels about quentin. ] I know better than most that this shit isn't easy, there's no fucking handbook or cheat sheet. [ peter reaches up to hold quentin's other hand, ] You're fine, I just— blaming you was supposed to easier than the truth.
[ in any other circumstance, peter would readily follow quentin's pull. he'd lift himself off the floor and crawl in beside him, shoving everything else by the wayside for as long as he could.
but he resists while casting his gaze down, returning the squeeze— then release. ] Go on.
[ he figures quentin's all talked out, and maybe he is too. one thing he knows for certain, sleep is the furthest thing from his mind... but maybe something to smoke might help. ]
[ He can't imagine sleeping, not after this. But he absolutely cannot imagine being alone, either. Peter lets him go, and Quentin's stomach drops like a rock, face paling. ] ...Come on. Don't--
[ It's okay. It's okay, he meant to get up to start anyway. Quentin turns and goes for the other edge of the bed, where his clothes are piled clumsily on the floor. ] Let's watch TV or something. I can make coffee. Or something to eat maybe? Don't--leave me. We don't have to talk, just don't leave me alone.
[ jesus, there's something so final about the way quentin says it in his frantic intonation. it guts him, and overwhelms him with a need to reassure. ] I'm not— [ peter shakes his head, and plucks a pair of sweatpants off the floor as he follows quentin to the other side of the bed. ] I won't.
[ peter doesn't mind the company, probably prefers it anyway. ]
I could probably use some coffee, [ he finally adds as he slips into the loose-fit pants, then holds out a hand to lead them both out into the open-concept living space. the bedroom lets out next to the living room and dining space with it's too large windows, and across the room is the kitchen with an island. all in all, it's easy enough for quentin to keep peter in his sights. ]
let's call it a wrap on this thread...........we can talk next steps B)
[ Coffee is a formality as far as Quentin's brain chemistry goes; he's beyond caffeine most days. But the idea of a hot mug and walking rounds around Peter's floor until his nerves cool off already soothes him a little. His hand winds insistently together with Peter's. They don't have to talk. Not yet, but they can't go much longer without it.
[ Nightmare man. EVO meetings. Gwen. Why did you open the door? Quentin skips a step to catch up to Peter from behind, slink an arm around his waist and squeeze. Quentin kisses the back of his head where his hair whorls together.
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[ Sheets yanked away, he makes another grab for Peter's hands. Hips. Backs of the knees, thighs, whatever. It just feels like the farther he lets Peter get from him, the worse he feels. If he backs up, Quentin will slide to his knees to lengthen the reach--to show off his penitence. ]
What do you want? Tell me what you want from me, I'm trying here.
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then back again, adding pressure where quentin's hands lay.
peter breathes out a sigh, fingers twitching at his sides, fighting the urge to reach up, to return his gesture. ] Fuck, [ he murmurs, ] Don't you get it? Haven't you put the pieces together yet? [ his expression hardens for a brief moment, shaken away when he puts his hands on quentin's forearms. ] Why do you think I never talk about this shit? I only wanted you for your body— [ he cringes, ] And now all I can think is— I don't want the way you look at me to change because I fucking lied about what you saw.
But I think you already know that.
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[ His mouth hangs open, expression dull, head shaking. ] ...I like you, Peter. I really--I really like you, I don't want you to think I'm some kind of fucking monster. I don't wanna lie to you. I don't think you wanna lie to me either.
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peter groans miserably, his grasp on quentin's arms growing a little tighter, reciprocating that stupid need to remain close. ] But I can't. [ he whispers as he lowers himself to his knees, ] You've somehow wormed your way under my skin—I couldn't cut you out even if I tried... even if I really wanted to.
[ wrapping both hands around one of quentin's, he clings to him in a pathetic and desperate sort of way. ] How's that for honesty?
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[ His free hand fits to Peter's cheek, and he bows into kiss him feather-light. Still concerned, he frowns as he pulls back. ]
Forgive me.
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I feel like I should be the one asking for you— [ he swallows thickly, thumbs brushing warm skin. ] I do, alright?
[ he's not fond of it, but quentin's right about one thing... he pulled him in. ]
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tired of his own shit, really. tired of fighting the way he feels about quentin. ] I know better than most that this shit isn't easy, there's no fucking handbook or cheat sheet. [ peter reaches up to hold quentin's other hand, ] You're fine, I just— blaming you was supposed to easier than the truth.
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Lay back down?
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but he resists while casting his gaze down, returning the squeeze— then release. ] Go on.
[ he figures quentin's all talked out, and maybe he is too. one thing he knows for certain, sleep is the furthest thing from his mind... but maybe something to smoke might help. ]
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[ It's okay. It's okay, he meant to get up to start anyway. Quentin turns and goes for the other edge of the bed, where his clothes are piled clumsily on the floor. ] Let's watch TV or something. I can make coffee. Or something to eat maybe? Don't--leave me. We don't have to talk, just don't leave me alone.
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[ peter doesn't mind the company, probably prefers it anyway. ]
I could probably use some coffee, [ he finally adds as he slips into the loose-fit pants, then holds out a hand to lead them both out into the open-concept living space. the bedroom lets out next to the living room and dining space with it's too large windows, and across the room is the kitchen with an island. all in all, it's easy enough for quentin to keep peter in his sights. ]
let's call it a wrap on this thread...........we can talk next steps B)
[ Nightmare man. EVO meetings. Gwen. Why did you open the door? Quentin skips a step to catch up to Peter from behind, slink an arm around his waist and squeeze. Quentin kisses the back of his head where his hair whorls together.
[ They don't have to talk. Not yet. ]