newyorknative | Yes I want you, and that’s the way it is

Entry tags:

fiyero tigelaar : winkieprince

Yes I want you, and that’s the way it is

[ aka wicked ii: lost in new york ]

Peter's trying to figure out how they can escape - did the guard see his face? Could he whip his mask on fast enough to get them out of there? There's nowhere to web away to, trapped in the tight space of the carousel. Peter's brow knits in frustration, fear evident as his gaze cuts up to Fiyero when he squeezes his knee. Fiyero, who doesn't seem nearly as worried about the fact that Peter is dangerously close to getting arrested for far more than some harmless late night trespassing.

"Fiyero," Peter hisses, voice low, as the guard huffs and puffs his way over to them and Fiyero slides out of the carriage, away from him. Away from any potential grab-and-run scheme Peter had half-baked in the back of his mind - he carefully keeps his gloves hands out of view, refraining from reaching, fingers pressing indents into the seat by accident. He ducks his head, trying to keep the guard from getting a good look at his face, just in case it all goes pear-shaped. Fuck. Fuck.

...but Fiyero handles it - albeit with a hideously embarrassing excuse - but beggars can't be choosers, and it certainly beats attempted arrest. Peter looks up, surprised, when the guard turns away, and quickly scrambles for the backpack.

Quickchanging in small spaces is something of a skill for him at this point, and Peter manages to wrestle on the pair of sweats whilst still in the carriage, cinching them tight to avoid any potential peek of red and blue beneath. He ensures the sweater is bundled tightly over his chest, wishing he had brought a hoodie to hide in, and hastily stuffs the pie in the backpack as he slings the bag over his shoulder so he can hop off the carousel.

"Sorry," Peter says, cheeks red, sidling up next to Fiyero. He threads their fingers together and ducks his head again - both out of embarrassment, and a genuine desire to hide his identity as much as possible, just in case. It's not the worst of his embarrassing moments by a long shot, but it's still not exactly dignified, having this man think he was getting a handjob on a public carousel. "Sorry, sir."

"Don't let it happen again. I should write you both up for public indecency." The guard turns back around, suitably annoyed, though he seems to have written Peter off, addressing Fiyero more directly out of the two of them. "Plenty of other places in this city that aren't here for - that kind of thing."

Fiyero wonders how much of this is his powers, and how much is just the excuse itself. It has the unfortunate side-effect of embarrassing Peter, but embarrassing the target really is the goal. Nothing like derailing a scolding by making someone feel terribly awkward. If Fiyero can't charm someone, that's always a terrific second option. It might not work on everyone, but it usually works on stuff like this.

He keeps his focus mostly on the guard, stepping a little in front of the little carriage to block the view as much as possible, distracting in case he looks over. He only glances over when Peter gets out of the carriage, sliding up to take his hand.

"So sorry for your trouble, sir," Fiyero says, starting to step away, holding Peter's hand tight. He can't quite keep the amusement out of his voice, fighting a smile. It's funny! And it looks like they're getting away with it, which means the hilarity of the situation is outweighing the worry. "We'll get out of your hair. Have a lovely evening."

Ever charming, of course, though the guard mostly huffs. Which is a lot better than things might have gone. Fiyero thinks maybe he can tell a tiny smile there though... Maybe it's his own amusement bleeding over, in his effort to influence him, or maybe the guard does find it funny too. Either way, Fiyero gives Peter a nod, eyes crinkled and lips pressed together from his suppressed amusement, and they hurry off together.

Is it Fiyero’s powers, or is he just that charming? Did they get a lucky break, with the guard being annoyed but still letting them go with the simplest of warnings, or was it Fiyero’s influence? No matter the answer, Peter doesn’t have enough space to analyze it right now - he’s too caught up in getting them out of there as quickly as possible, and being grateful it wasn’t worse.

“Sorry, again,” Peter clears his throat, which probably just makes him sound even sketchier, and bumps his shoulder against Fiyero’s side when he can see the laughter there, beneath the surface. It’s funny to him because he’s not the one allegedly getting his dick out by the wooden horses!

The guard watches them, satisfied, as Peter quickly drags Fiyero out of there - stumbling a little, eager to disappear into the night.

“I can’t believe you got away with that,” Peter murmurs, chancing a glance back over his shoulder - the security guard is a silhouette against the bright oasis of the carousel. “Narrowly avoided getting us banned from there for life!”

Peter raises a hand to scrub at his cheeks, as if that might wipe the experience away, quickly tucking it back into his coat to hide the signature red and blue. “I think it’s the accent. People let you get away with murder!”

Making a joke out of it helps lessen his embarrassment, to be sure, but it also helps cut the tension - the obvious question being, did Fiyero use his powers?

Whether he did or not, Peter’s words remain the same.

“Thank you,” Peter squeezes Fiyero’s hand gratefully, relaxing the further they get from the guard. “Thank you for helping me back there.”

It's probably a little of everything, but Fiyero is certainly not analysing it right now. He's too busy fully snickering at they get some distance. It is funny!

And in fairness, Peter may have supposedly been getting his dick out, but Fiyero was supposedly the one doing it. It's not a good look for either of them, but Fiyero got to choose his own embarrassment, at the very least. Given how the neck kissing was going, they should count themselves lucky there wasn't any truth to the excuse.

Fiyero fully laughs as Peter says he can't believe Fiyero got away with it. "Good thing I don't have any murder plans," he quips right back, bumping his shoulder against Peter's to cheer him and try to lessen his embarrassment. It's a fun rush of adrenaline, and the joy of getting away with it.

"You're welcome, darling," Fiyero answers, giving his hand a squeeze in return, and a much softer smile than the giddy, naughty pride he's been filled with. "You looked like you were staring off the edge of a cliff. Except not really, because you jump off buildings all the time - like a normal person would look down a cliff," he continues, laughing good-naturedly.

"I'd have to web you up and turn you over to the police," Peter's lips curl in a smile, easing back into the easy, jovial mood from before at the unrestrained sound of Fiyero's genuine laugh. It doesn't make everything better - but doesn't it, though? Just a little bit? "That would really put a damper on date night."

"It would be... bad." Peter shakes his head, stuffing his free hand in the sweater pocket to run his thumb over the edge of the mask. He doesn't know how it would go for sure, of course, but he knows it wouldn't be good. "If people found out who I am, beneath the mask. People have died, because I - I mean - May would be in danger. You would be in danger, even more than you already are."

Of course the fear was never for himself.

"We make a good team, though." Peter leads them through the park, traipsing their way back towards the street, and the tall buildings that will ferry them home. It's time, and later than Peter had intended. Curling up in bed sounds mighty fine to him. He smiles, tilting his head to glance over at Fiyero, a little flash of red peeking out from his collar. "No one I'd rather have, watching my six."

Fiyero laughs at Peter's joke about an arrest ruining date night. He's pretty sure if Fiyero did murder somebody, arrest wouldn't be Peter's first option, given Fiyero doesn't legally exist in this world. He also doesn't think Peter would do that. Partly because both of them know, if Fiyero murdered somebody, there would be a pretty damn good reason for it. But even that is so far-fetched that the idea of it is just funny.

He does sober a little when Peter talks about what would happen if people found out about his other life. "I know," Fiyero answers, softer, giving Peter's hand a squeeze of reassurance. He wouldn't let that happen either. Peter might be able to handle himself if push comes to shove, but he deserves to have a somewhat normal life alongside it. And Fiyero's already in so much danger it hardly feels like it would make a difference. But they both agree they want to protect May. He may be laughing about his excuse, but he does take the consequences seriously.

They're in normal clothes now though, so Fiyero is leaving the scouting mostly to Peter. He is pretty exhausted, all things considered, and as the adrenaline and the laughter fades, he definitely feels the wear of a long, exhausting day, even with the good, long nap. Maybe he should have had more of that pie after all, because he does feel a tiny bit light-headed.

"Your six...?" he asks, gentle confusion as usual when Peter uses a term he doesn't recognise. Maybe he could have figured it out if he wasn't starting to get tired.

Peter smiles, softly at first, though it grows wider as Fiyero squeezes his hand. It may be a ridiculous situation, but he knows that Fiyero takes his warnings seriously. Even if Fiyero doesn’t know all of the details, about Gwen, about everything - which Peter privately worries may need to come sooner rather than later, preferably never, with Oscorp breathing down their necks - he trusts Peter, doesn’t write him off as a worrywart. When Fiyero saw how Peter had been caught off guard, how panicked he was - he’d slipped smoothly into action to relieve the distress. The same way Peter would for him, and in a way Peter is wholly unused to being on the receiving end of.

They reach the edge of the sidewalk, where the park pavement merges back into the city, the warm glow of the streetlights welcoming them back up to the road. It’s quiet at this hour - just a few cars waiting at for the light to turn, a couple of drunk college kids across the street, heading back into the city. Peter pauses there, tugging Fiyero into the circle of his arms - one arm hugging Fiyero at the waist, the other bringing Fiyero’s hand up to his cheek, cupping it against his jaw and neck.

“Looking out for me.” Fiyero’s hand is warm, and Peter’s cheeks are flush from the cold, the vestiges of embarrassment, and the very real warmth that can only be inspired by Fiyero’s presence. A fond gaze settles on Fiyero’s, seeing the tiredness, the affection, the confusion and care, all mixed up there - and all for Peter. “Watching my back.”

He gives Fiyero’s palm a playful kiss, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Home?”

Fiyero hasn't had quite as many opportunities to protect Peter, but he's done his best whenever the opportunity did come. Comforting him after a nightmare. Protecting him from someone trying to drug him. Making sure he gets paid what he's worth. Reassuring him from his own insecurities. Pretending Fiyero was giving him a handjob to avoid his secret identity being found out... Well, you know, whatever it takes, whatever form it may come in.

And clearly they've had plenty of proof that they need to be worrywarts. They've occasionally been a bit too lax, in fact. But even if Peter's fear about being found out was partially unfounded, and it wouldn't be that bad - well. Peter was still scared. No matter how silly it had been, that alone would have made Fiyero want to protect him.

Watching his size, as Fiyero smiles as Peter explains the meaning, embracing him. He leans in easily, letting his weight fall against Peter, his other arm looping around Peter's waist. The way Peter kisses his palm makes him feel all pleasantly gooey inside, even now.

He nods at the question of home. He's definitely ready to curl up in bed. "I do like watching your back.." he adds, his hand sliding down from Peter's back to give his ass a quick, playful squeeze, before he prepares to get picked up. Putting on his gloves again, tucking in his scarf, all that. And of course, letting Peter get changed.

Fiyero does so much for him, things Peter would have never even thought to imagine needing or wanting. He can only hope that the efforts he's gone to in return have been enough to make Fiyero feel the same kind of devotion - and reapply himself to the task every day he gets to spend at Fiyero's side, for however long that may be.

Peter laughs at the quick ass grab, the sound far too loud and unabashed, but there's no one around to chastise them. He can't help it; Fiyero is constantly surprising him, keeping him on his toes and letting life be fun again, even if it can be scary, at the same time.

The light changes as Fiyero prepares himself to swing home, and the cars disappear down the street, the college kids fading out past even Peter's hearing. He glances around surreptitiously before quickly shedding the sweater and pulling on the mask - to the untrained eye, it almost looks like one movement, the way he swings the backpack over his shoulder and practically shrugs the sweater straight into it. The pants are easy enough to step out of, and Peter straightens up, bounding on the balls of his feet, to offer Fiyero the bag again.

He turns around, looping his arms casually for Fiyero to climb aboard, as is their standard way by this point. Peter's also glad Fiyero likes swinging - or tolerates it, anyway, but given that he hasn't really heard any complaints so far, Peter's going to tentatively say Fiyero likes it. There aren't exactly a lot of reasons for Peter not to curse his powers and all the trouble that came along with them, but swinging through the city is certainly number one, if he were to make a list. Getting to share that and have Fiyero - wonderful, handsome, funny, endlessly kind Fiyero - know that part of him is... gratifying.

"Well, don't just watch." Peter gives Fiyero a little shimmy, shaking his hips teasingly and just being an idiot, now, grinning beneath the mask.

Fiyero has much the same experience, in that he never could have imagined a relationship like this, or being given the kind of care and acceptance he's been given. Ever since they got together, he hasn't exactly been lacking in feeling devotion from Peter. The moment they decided to be truthful about their feelings, there was no turning back.

And it's such a joy, to be able to make Peter laugh like that, so soon after he was looking at him with outright panic. It's satisfying, to say the least, to know he can bring that joy to Peter.

He's impressed by how quickly Peter changes, though he does make sure to glance around for anyone nearby that Peter might have missed. But there's no one, not even in the windows of the nearby buildings, so Fiyero accepts the backpack, pulling it on snug.

"Don't rush the VIP," Fiyero teases right back, going to climb onto Peter's back. He gives him a quick poke in his side just for good measure. In truth, he's still feeling a bit lightheaded from.. everything? He's not sure. So it took him a moment to catch up to Peter being ready for him to climb on.

He grips on tight, but he can't help but feel just a little nervous about his strength at the moment. It's not that he feels that bad, just.. not as secure as usual. "Hold onto my arm?" he requests softly, slightly muffled against Peter's neck.

Peter tips his head back, letting it bump affectionately against Fiyero's as the settle, ensuring Fiyero is seated properly on his back, evenly balanced. Fiyero's grip is snug, but there's a thread of genuine worry in his voice - maybe from being tired, Peter assumes, and the knowledge that they're about to be suspended quite high in the air.

"Always," Peter promises, gloved hand sliding up Fiyero's thigh, squeezing him firmly. The last thing Peter will ever allow is for Fiyero to fall, on his watch, for so very many reasons - even the idea of Fiyero falling... he wouldn't be able to bear it.

Peter takes a few running bounds, directly into the street - there are no cars nearby, or at least not close enough to be a danger. He launches them into the air with a well-placed websling from both wrists, feeling the tension catch, pull, and snap to send them flying. One hand comes up to Fiyero's arm, stuck fast, immovable, per his request.

City lights pass them by as Peter directs them back across the water, swinging expediently towards home. He's unhurried - there's no urgency, of course, just the natural itch to get home; something Peter is still getting used to. He hasn't had a reason to want to spend time in the apartment alone... just add it to the list of little, mundane things Fiyero has been teaching him to appreciate.

He switches sides smoothly, never allowing his hands to fully leave Fiyero, muscles shifting as he redirects their momentum to make a turn. Swinging is a full body exercise, but even with Fiyero's weight, Peter doesn't seem to be breaking a sweat. The buildings soon become familiar, as they weave their way back to the apartment - until Peter is landing back on the same roof they launched from, a wide swing landing them neatly just a few floors down from the roof, clinging with one hand and the balls of his feet.

Peter straightens to stand horizontally, letting go of the wall with his hand so he can reach back to support Fiyero as he walks the rest of the way up the wall, like gravity is simply a suggestion. He lets Fiyero down once they're safely on top of the roof, patting Fiyero's thigh gently. "Spidey Express, final stop."

Edited 2026-03-04 08:45 (UTC)

Fiyero doesn't easily express concern or need for protection, reluctant to show vulnerability a lot of the time. But Peter doesn't call attention to it, he just acknowledges it and then follows up with doing exactly as requested. Fiyero recognises that iron grip, not tight or painful, but still immovable. Even if Fiyero did get light-headed and his grip slipped, Peter could hold him just by the arm if need be. He's safe.

There's no need though, as Fiyero manages to hold on fine enough, and Peter's swings are smooth and intentional, not jostling him unnecessarily. Fiyero buries his face against Peter's shoulder again, squinting against the sting of the wind. Perhaps he should wear some sunglasses. Or.. borrow Peter's glasses or something.

That said, it is a little uncomfortable when Peter just walks sideways up the building, Fiyero's full weight and the backpack held by him clinging on. Fiyero's plenty strong enough to hold himself, but a little tired, and a little queasy from the swinging, he can't say he enjoys it. He'd suggest Peter turning to walk backwards - but no, then Fiyero would be just staring down the abyss. Not ideal either.

He's glad when they finally stop on the roof, Fiyero carefully slipping off Peter's back, happy to have firm ground (well, concrete) under his feet again. "Isn't there someone to take my luggage?" he quips, though it's a bit softer and tired now, as he slips off the backpack and hands it to Peter.

Peter's learning how to accept these moments of vulnerability when they come, however big or however small - the way Fiyero needs him to, in order to feel comfortable enough to keep exposing that kind of vulnerability to Peter. To not feel like it's a massive deal, to just be there for him, and provide him with the security he needs - physical or otherwise.

"That remains your boyfriend's privilege, sir." Peter smiles reassuringly, accepting the bag to quickly change into his civvies. He pulls off the mask, fingers catching just under the hidden seam, and stuffs it into the bag before peeling off his gloves to let them join the growing pile. He slings the bag over his shoulder and wraps an arm around Fiyero's shoulders, huddling them close to share warmth as they wait for the elevator. "Glorified luggage rack, that's me."

The apartment building is quiet this time of night - most of the usual chaos Peter can hear behind closed doors has wound down. Someone's watching re-runs of Jeopardy a few doors down - or maybe they've fallen asleep to it. Another is snoring, a floor above them. Peter leads the way back down to their apartment, digging his keys out to unlock the door and bring them home.

They've come a long way from Fiyero panicking on May's bathroom floor, flinching at comfort and rejecting even a friendly nickname. Tomorrow it will be be a week since that. That's completely ridiculous to even imagine. Every time Fiyero thinks about how little time has actually passed, he feels like he should question just how bound to each other they are. But the short time period only seems to intensify how meaningful and important their bond is.

Fiyero can't see the smile, but he can already hear it before Peter takes his mask off. There's no one here to spot them, no nearby windows with a convenient view or anything like that. Peter seems practiced in making sure to change on the side of the roof that's facing away from the other tall buildings, blocked by the little room that has the stairs and door to the roof.

"Glorious luggage rack," Fiyero teases softly, leaning against Peter. His face and ears are cold, but at least the clothes are doing their job. Peter's probably chillier than Fiyero is, really.

Neither of them talk on the way down, just quietly eager to get back home. Home. Their little private bubble of safety, of relative comfort. At first, Fiyero had felt like an intrusion in Peter's space, but now it's starting to feel a little like their space, like Peter is sharing it with him completely.

This is perhaps evidenced by the way Fiyero sighs as they walk in the door, and he just immediately starts stripping layers, discarding them haphazardly. Shoes, jacket, gloves, scarf, even the sweater comes off before he turns to Peter.

He feels no compunction about interrupting Peter's own undressing and unpacking, making him pause to Fiyero can take his hands into his own. They're pretty cold, not fully freezing, but colder than Fiyero's. He lifts them up to his face to press a kiss against each palm, then placing them against Fiyero's warm chest, his own hands on top of them. Wordlessly, he reaches over to help Peter with the last bits of taking off the upper half of his suit, so he can reveal his bare chest. And then he just hugs him, his warm body separated from Peter only by Fiyero's t-shirt, sharing his warmth.

Really, it's just as much for selfish needs as it is to warm Peter. It's been a lot. He's tired and slightly nauseous, that underlying worry about everything impossible to fully ignore. And he just wants to hold him for a moment, alone, where he knows they're as safe as they can be.

It is crazy, the way that it feels like it's been an age and a half, and the actual amount of time that's passed doesn't have the decency to match what it's felt like. Sure, some of that is the intensity of everything - there's hardly been a dull moment, be it by outside influence or their own internal conflict - at least the latter was mostly resolved, now. They're both giving in, tired of fighting it; maybe the attraction fades and feelings wane, but honestly, Peter doesn't see that happening. Not for himself, anyway; for better or for worse, when his feelings activate like this... there's no going back. Fiyero is right to question it, to want to test that security - but Peter already knows his answer is staying exactly the same.

The heat of the building is a welcome relief; Peter has learned to deal with the cold, numb limbs that he warm up in the shower afterwards, or on his bad days, that he simply lives with as he slides into cold sheets, shivering by himself. There's no such problem with Fiyero by his side; they enter the apartment wordlessly, a comfortable, tired silence, and Peter spends a moment to pull off his boots and empty the backpack. Setting aside the pieces of his suit and his phones, Peter fishes the pie box out of the bottom of the bag, slightly smushed by otherwise in tact. Well, that's good - at least the inside of the backpack isn't covered in sugary goo.

As Peter reaches back to pull off the sweater, making the wild tangle on his head even worse, Fiyero reaches for him. Peter lets the other considerations fall away, leaving the bag and sweater pooling at his feet, hands open to reach back for Fiyero. The action speaks of a silent need, and how is Peter to deny that? His smile is achingly soft as Fiyero so carefully kisses his palms and coaxes him towards his warmth - still happy to share his body heat, even in here, where ostensibly Peter can slowly get his own. Peter lets his palms spread flat on Fiyero's chest, warming up chilled digits, only separating slightly to help Fiyero with peeling off the upper torso portion of his suit.

His arms catch between the both of them when Fiyero hugs him, and Peter shifts his hands up just enough to press on to Fiyero's neck, cupping him; the other winds into his hair, gently brushing through it, coaxing him into resting more of his weight against Peter's bare chest. Be it for warmth, comfort, or both, Peter hardly wishes to deny Fiyero anything - and he certainly won't deny something as simple as the joy of holding him in return.

"You did amazing, tonight." Peter murmurs, fingers brushing Fiyero's hair behind his ear. His lips brush the shell of it, slightly warmer in this one area; but Peter is happy to share what warmth he does possess, too. "My 'yero..."

Fiyero really has no way of knowing how he himself will feel after more time has passed. This is his first time. But he does know that when he does connect with someone, it doesn't tend to fade. He's not quite as fickle as he might seem. And no matter what happens between them, obviously Peter is always going to be special to him. That at least is unquestionable.

How intensely they've bonded is also evident in how comfortable they are around each other. How they silently navigate around each other. Fiyero's long since past having to perform for Peter. The things he does hide or avoid or cover up, it's not really because he doesn't trust his reactions. It's his own discomfort with sharing, with being vulnerable, or insecurities he can't quite shake. But like this, they can just exist, and he an reach out for Peter knowing he'll be welcomed.

He shivers a little as Peter's cold fingers touch his neck, goosebumps rising on his arms and back, but he doesn't pull away. Rather he leans more into Peter, and it's definitely for comfort, and for sharing his warmth rather than needing any for himself.

Fiyero doesn't answer, but he does appreciate Peter's reassuring compliment. He's not used to hearing that, and he's not sure what to say to it. Thank you? Well, he is used to hearing he does amazing -- just not like this, not in this context, not with the kind of things Peter is actually complimenting him on. Bravery, keeping it together, practicing powers, dealing with superheroes...

When Peter calls him 'my yero', he does squeeze Peter a little tighter though. Like he doesn't want to let go of him, a silent thank you and possessiveness and need and affection rolled up in one. He feels more exhausted than he would expect, given their long nap. But perhaps it's more of a spiritual exhaustion. Or perhaps using his powers takes its toll.

He lets go of him after a minute or two of just standing there, face nuzzled a little into Peter's neck. A slow parting, pulling back just enough to face Peter and give him a small kiss. "Gonna go fall asleep now," he says, with a quiet, tired smile, before he slowly lets go of Peter to do exactly that.

Peter was already reluctant to hold Fiyero to anything he said under the influence - and chose to suffer in silence as a result. Holding Fiyero to anything binding while he's in no small amount of distress - Peter wouldn't. He couldn't. Even if Fiyero is stuck here, their time might still run it's course; all Peter wants is for Fiyero to be happy and safe, insofar as the circumstances allow.

He does worry, for what will happen if Fiyero has to stay. If he's forced to stay; because the more Peter thinks about it, the more worried he is that there isn't a way home for Fiyero at the end of this treacherous road they're walking. It's one thing if he gets to make a choice - and another entirely if that's taken from him, too.

Fiyero seeks a different kind of warmth from him than just the physical level, and Peter peppers kisses into Fiyero's hair, murmuring comfortingly. It doesn't require a response, and Peter smiles gently when Fiyero starts to pull back, letting his palm linger on the back of Fiyero's hair, fingers brushing soothingly over his scalp. "I'll be right behind you."

Peter lets his thumb brush affectionately against Fiyero's jaw before he releases him, setting about peeling the rest of the suit off, and tidying up the small space. It's far too late to try to be productive with any of the other 1,000 things he should probably be losing sleep over - and snuggling Fiyero to sleep is far too tempting, besides. Still, Peter needs a minute to wind down and think over the information from Hawkeye and Daredevil, as well as Fiyero's powers.

Getting into Oscorp would be no easy task, without the ins he'd had previously. Peter's still kept tabs on them over the years - clearly not closely enough if they're still running these kinds of wildly dangerous, unethical experiments - but it's not the same as knowing someone who works/owns the place. Even if they somehow do manage to find an in - should he take Fiyero with him? How can he not? They have to ensure Fiyero can protect himself before Peter willingly exposes him to that kind of danger. Which brings them right back to practicing...

Peter wanders into the bathroom to relieve himself, stripped down to just his boxers after completely ridding himself of the suit. They can start with just him - he wasn't trying to resist that hard tonight, but tomorrow, he can make an effort. See how Fiyero does when he encounters resistance. Then, work their way up to more people - a park? A train car? Something subtle and non-invasive. They'll just have to save the big stuff for self-defense, if it comes to that.

...it's still riskier than Peter would like, but it's the only way he can see, at the moment.

He returns to the main room, fetching water from the kitchen to set at the bedside, in case one of them wakes up thirsty. Fiyero has already claimed his spot in the bed, so Peter slips in behind him, curling an arm around Fiyero's waist and tucking him in close. They'll drift during the night - or perhaps they won't, with how often they've woken up wrapped around each other, even before they admitted their feelings - so his hold is loose, but still present. Reassuring and solid, Fiyero can sleep easy. Peter's not going anywhere.

Fiyero allows himself to seek the comfort, now they're in private. He can use heating Peter as an excuse, rubbing his back a little to warm him up - but he's not quite able to pretend that's the only reason. And Peter picks up on it, offering him that comfort. Soft little words and kisses. It does soothe that need.

Once parted, he peels off the rest of the layers, leaving only his underwear, before he crawls directly into bed. Doesn't worry about anything else, just wanting to curl up and rest.

No matter how tired he feels, he doesn't fall asleep without Peter though. He shifts into the inner part of the bed, leaving room for Peter and plenty of covers for him to slip under. He sleepily listens to Peter moving around, impatient for him to join Fiyero, but too inactive to actually rush him.

Finally Peter slips in behind him, and Fiyero immediately shifts backwards just a little, pressing in close. He doesn't feel freezing anymore, but his body is still pleasantly cool and solid against Fiyero's back. He feels for Peter's hand, taking it and holding it in his own. Just a silent goodnight, and after that Fiyero falls asleep quickly.

Peter smiles as Fiyero presses back against him, burying his face in Fiyero's hair, letting his nose bump just behind his ear. The natural scent of him is soothing; now that Peter's permitted himself the luxuries of Fiyero's company - and the space and admittance to enjoy them - he can admit that he likes it. His hand curls around Fiyero's, knuckles brushing against Fiyero's belly, thumb grazing just under his navel; at least Peter's hands are warmer now, not quite the numb cold as when they'd come inside.

"Night," Peter whispers, unsure if Fiyero even heard him as he slips off to sleep; if nothing else, perhaps the rumbling of his voice was comforting against Fiyero's back.

Peter's not far behind him, falling into a doze, and eventually deeper sleep. Late nights and stress take their toll, but honestly? Peter's resting easier than he has in so long. The permanent stain under his eyes has started to fade, with how often Fiyero has encouraged him to slow down and actually let his body rest and recuperate with food...

They luck out, when dawn hits; today is more overcast, or at least, for the morning it is. The morning light creeps quietly into the room, tinged grey, and it's still dark enough that Peter sleeps through it, breath puffing softly against Fiyero's neck as he snoozes.

Fiyero sleeps solidly for a long while, worn out from all the excitement, happy as Peter presses in close. Feeling his breath on the back of his neck, the way his hand brushes against his stomach where no one else has gotten to touch like that before. How instinctual that trust has become, so quickly.

His sleep gets lighter sometime around morning, squirming and shifting a little in his sleep, without really being aware of the way Peter's grip tightens a little possessively and protectively around him, like trying to keep him there. Fiyero settles again facing Peter, curled up with his face pressed against Peter's chest. They seem to just naturally adjust to each other, Fiyero's arms tucked up between them, his legs tangled slightly with Peter's, Peter's arms settled around his shoulders, holding him in a comforting embrace. Even if he doesn't really get to enjoy it consciously.

Eventually, dreams start to present themselves. Or at least, if he were dreaming before, he didn't show any signs of it until now. Little displeased noises at first, some tension in his shoulders, his eyebrows drawn into a quiet frown...

It's not like any dream he's ever had before. Not like this. He's chieftain, leading some sort of battle. It's unclear where they are, some strange mix of Oz and New York. He's ordering people into battle, and they're following his every whim. What's disturbing is he's ordering them directly into being cut down by the enemy - faceless people, dressed in white that never seems stained by blood, bright lights from behind them blinding Fiyero from seeing them properly. And he just... keeps sending people. And they just keep obeying him, without thought or objection.

After that, it gets less metaphorical, and more familiar, but far worse. Flashes of when he was kidnapped, the few things he remembers or half-remembers, combined with whatever awful things he's imagined about it. Brightly lit rooms, scientists and doctors in masks, being unable to move. Not just 'strapped down' unable to move, which would have been better in some strange way, but fully unable to get his muscles to do anything, completely paralyzed.

People cutting into him, putting little bits of electronics inside, or filling his veins up with black ooze. At one point, he looks down, and they've got his entire belly sliced open, and are rooting around in his insides, pulling them out to study them, before putting them back and sewing him back up again.

Except then Fiyero wishes for them to stop, and then they just start killing each other instead. It looks almost like a dance, duelling with scalpels, people swirling around the room in ways Fiyero can barely even see but he knows is happening, until they cut each other down one by one. Fiyero doesn't make them stop.

In the real world, Fiyero is whimpering. His body shudders, curling in on itself. Like he's trying to make himself as small as possible, protecting himself.

Fiyero’s shifting doesn’t immediately wake him; Peter is comfortably out, mouth partially agape, slack in sleep. For him, there are no nightmares or restlessness; blessedly, he’s enjoying a dreamless sleep, with only faint, drowsy and quickly forgotten moments of waking as they adjust throughout the night. Fiyero’s face tucks into his chest at some point, and Peter readjusts his hold, settling around Fiyero’s shoulders. One hand splays on his back, rubbing a slow circle until they both settle again, drifting back into sleep.

As the morning lightens, Peter slowly returns to consciousness. It’s not as violent as usual - no zing up his spine for someone dropping a pan, or arguments in multiple languages rousing him from all sides. He smiles against Fiyero’s hair, tucking in closer to block out the light. As his awareness begins to return, however, Peter’s senses prickle - there’s tension seeping into Fiyero’s limbs, seizing them; his heartbeat, a runaway train galloping onward, and Peter frowns, hand resuming a slow, comforting circle against his back.

He can understand a nightmare - surely he, of all people, absolutely can - especially with everything going on and the late night they had. Peter cracks an eye open, pulling far enough back to catch the side of Fiyero’s face - he’s tucked in pretty tight against Peter’s chest, like some part of him knows if he just hunkers down, he will get through whatever terror has ahold of him.

Peter debates with himself - should he wake Fiyero? He wants him to be able to sleep as long as possible - it’s still early yet, though he hasn’t reached to check for the time, Peter knows it must be - but is the sleep Fiyero’s getting really restful? The decision is made for him when Fiyero releases a breathy, frightened whimper, shaking like a leaf in the cage of his arms; Peter’s heart aches, and he simply can’t sit by and watch. Fiyero woke him from his nightmare; surely he won’t be mad if Peter returns the favor.

“Fiyero,” Peter whispers, letting one of his hands wind into Fiyero’s hair, cupping the back of his head. He tilts his mouth to Fiyero’s ear, letting the soft rumble of his voice be a (hopefully) gentle guide back to the land of the living. “Fiyero, baby, wake up. It’s just a dream, ‘yero…”

Peter begins the circle against Fiyero’s back again, letting his hold loosen a little - Fiyero is tucked in tight enough for the both of them, and if he wakes in a panic, Peter wants to be able to react easily to soothe him. It’s heartbreaking, bearing witness to the quiet, tightly packed pain - as if Fiyero can coil himself down deep just to survive it.

“I’m right here, Fiyero,” Peter murmurs, quiet noises and a bit of babbling, reminding Fiyero’s subconscious that he’s safe. Who knows if it helps, but it can’t hurt, right? “Nothing bad will happen while I’m here, baby. Fiyero? Wake up, sweetheart…”

Peter's words don't break through into Fiyero's dreams, but his voice does, at least eventually. The reassuring tone, the presence of a protector, of someone he can trust. Suddenly it's Peter beating people up, or maybe it's Spiderman, or more likely it's both, some strange combination of the two - because that's what he is, and that's how Fiyero knows him.

More importantly, Fiyero's will is no longer imposed on the people to attack each other. Instead it's imposed on Peter, to fight for him, to defend him, to hurt people - which is in itself part of the nightmare, not a pleasant feeling.

What's strange, is that Fiyero is suddenly doing this physically as well.

Telling Peter; fight for me, protect me, hurt people, kill the bad people.

Of course, there's no actual bad guys to fight in the waking world. Which is probably for the best, given how strong the impulse is, that subconscious command to fight. If there were any bad guys around, it seems Fiyero could easily make someone fight for him without being aware of it. He's quieted down, no more whimpers, but he's still tightly rolled up into a ball in Peter's arms.

Peter’s not sure how long he murmurs to Fiyero, how long it takes for the slight quiver to abate, for the tension in his limbs to begin easing. It doesn’t leave completely - Fiyero has claimed Peter’s chest as his pillow, hiding away from the world there - but the soft, scared whimpers have stopped, and Peter will take the win.

He’s not expecting what happens next - the command, so unexpectedly strong, a primal, subconscious need; Peter can feel the way it presses against his mind more than any of the subtler manipulations Fiyero has done before. Maybe it’s because there’s something unfiltered about this state, when his waking mind is asleep - Fiyero’s need presses itself into his head so strongly, it’s as though Peter can hear the words, clear as a bell.

He grimaces, grip tightening around Fiyero - it’s both an active choice and fulfilling the command, protecting him, keeping him safe. The rest, however, prickles unpleasantly - he would fight, he will fight, but there’s no danger to direct the impulse towards. It doesn’t help the sensory sweep Peter does, triggered by the impulse, cataloguing everything he can hear around them. Sunday morning cartoons, a few doors down - snoring above them, slow and even - the ding of the elevator, called to a lower floor.

And then, there’s the violence.

It shouldn’t surprise him how easy it is to call it forward; if Peter’s being totally honest, he knows the way it crackles under his skin. He doesn’t take pleasure in it the way Daredevil does, is more afraid of it than anything else - but he always knows it’s there. How easily he could do so much damage, more than Peter cares to admit, even to himself. Killing Fiyero’s enemies? It would be easy.

Peter closes his eyes and grits his teeth, fighting through the impulse. No, he tries to press back, unsure if Fiyero can even feel his resistance. If it’s resistance at all, or merely the absence of a threat allowing him to ignore the command. Are Fiyero’s powers growing stronger, more uncontrollable, or is it simply because he’s asleep and unable to consciously regulate?

“Don’t want to wake up, hm?” Peter mutters, when he can breathe again, the bands on his chest easing. He presses a kiss to Fiyero’s temple, tries to rub another circle against Fiyero’s back, and realizes his hand is stuck. He unsticks it with a slow exhale, rubbing gently between Fiyero’s shoulderblades. “S’okay. I’ve got you. M’right here…”

Perhaps it's not just his inability to regulate, but also the fact that the emotions are so strong in the dream, the need so great. And it's not the same as something physical. Fiyero's brain more or less knows not to fight everything around him while he's dreaming, but it's wholly unused to controlling a mental impulse like that.

Hopefully when Fiyero learns more to control it consciously while awake, his sleeping mind will follow suit to some extent. For now, it's at full power, but it's also fleeting and unintentional, not sustained. He doesn't feel Peter's resistance - if he even would while he was awake, if that's even how his powers work. After all, he doesn't necessarily feel it when his powers work on someone, not that he's noticed. It's been more about seeing their actions change, more than anything.

The command wanes, because the Peter in his dream is doing exactly as he wants.

It's when Peter kills someone in a particularly grotesque and bloody way - Fiyero doesn't even see it clearly enough in his mind, it's like a ton of different possible actions, and the only thing that's clear is the blood and a sickening sound - that Fiyero wakes with a start.

It's obvious from the gasp and the way he jerks a little, feeling his heart hammering. It takes a moment for him to realise where he is - that it's Peter's arms holding him safely. For a moment he almost fights, squirming briefly before he stops. His arm reaches out to wrap around Peter's back as he tries to catch his breath, face pressed against Peter's shoulder.

Peter drowses quietly while Fiyero sleeps, maintaining the slow circles against his back; an even rhythm, smoothed out by repetition. The daylight continues to creep in, though it remains tinged grey, not quite able to warm through the overcast of the new day.

His spidey sense sends a zing up his spine just before Fiyero gasps awake, and Peter’s eyes snap fully open. His grip tightens, just enough to keep Fiyero in place - not letting him jerk enough to knock their heads together or otherwise strain himself. His hold loosens a little as Fiyero squirms, though Peter doesn’t let go, letting Fiyero orient himself as he wakes.

“Hey, hey… s’ok, you’re okay.” Peter murmurs, nuzzling his cheek against Fiyero - not trying to coax him out from his hiding place against Peter’s shoulder before he’s ready, but in an attempt to comfort. “I’ve got you. Just breathe, ‘yero, that’s it…”

“Good morning.” Peter’s hand slips to Fiyero’s lower back, warm against the skin. The other curls in his hair, letting blond locks sift between his fingers slowly. “Relax, Fiyero, yeah? Just relax…”

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