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 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…”

Fiyero slowly becomes more aware of his surroundings, and the fact that he was just dreaming. He feels awful, heart still hammering, clammy with sweat, muscles aching, uncomfortable and queasy. There's still that fear and disgust surging through him, and even as he realises he's safe and curled up in bed, it's hard to completely let go of the dream.

He makes a grumpy noise of complaint, somewhere between a grumble and a whine, burying himself deeper into Peter's neck, his arm tightening around Peter's waist. It's the first obvious sign of him actually being awake - it's clearly a conscious objection to the dream, even if it's not really verbal.

His heartbeat does slow down, breath evening out. Warm little puffs against Peter's neck, making his skin moist with his breath, the air there warm and a little stuffy - but he doesn't want to emerge quite yet. Now that he knows where he is, he's hiding from the world in the safety of his boyfriend's embrace. Trying to let his comforting touches soothe him further, trying to convince his body to actually relax.

It's never fun to wake from a nightmare - just ask him how he knows. He wonders - is Fiyero prone to nightmares, too, or is this a new problem - one he'll have to contend with now, long after they've solved the situation?

Either way, Peter's grateful to be able to provide a safe harbor, hand drawing soothingly against the back of Fiyero's head as he tucks his face away, down the tense line of his neck. Sure fingers trail along the muscles there, pressing firmly, a light massage. He can feel the moisture between their chests, the way Fiyero's body has externalized the stress from the dream - and the way it slowly quiets as the minutes trickle by, and Fiyero settles.

Peter's never really had the luxury of waking up with someone next to him after a nightmare; well, not until Fiyero. Not since he was very little, when his parents had left him on May and Ben's doorstep. He would wake, little fists clenched, May's cool hand on his forehead, the raspy, warm words of her blessings bringing him back from the edge.

"...Ribono shel olam, ani shlach," Peter begins quietly, after the silence has pervaded, and Fiyero's heartbeat has started to decline back into something calmer. He's a little rusty on the words, but he finds them nonetheless, sure that Fiyero will forgive a stumble or two. He presses light kisses to whatever part of Fiyero he can reach, lips trailing along the side of his face. "...vechalomotai shlach - "

He realizes he's forgotten the end as he gets to it, so Peter slips back into English, hand cupping the back of Fiyero's neck, thumb resting just over his pulse. "...And just as You turned the curses of Balaam the wicked from curse to blessing, so turn all my dreams about me and all Israel to good; protect me, be gracious to me and accept me. Amen."

If you compare him to Peter, Fiyero probably isn't prone to nightmares. On a more average scale, it's not unheard of for him to have nightmares, though it's more of an occasional thing. Brought on by stress, for example, or some sort of triggering reminder, but not a nightly occurrence. But then, Fiyero's never really been through anything like what he's gone through here.

Mostly settled, he's more confused than anything by Peter's words in a language he can't understand. For a moment he thinks his brain is so addled by sleep and bad dreams that he simply isn't processing what Peter is saying - but no, that's definitely just him saying something in a different language. Even the sounds are different.

The tone is soothing though, and Fiyero listens mostly to the sound of his voice, taking it as what it is. Some sort of comfort that doesn't necessarily necessary to be understood.

And then it switches into English, and Fiyero's mind has to adjust, which is a lot to ask this early. He doesn't know who Balaam is, nor Isreal or Amen. But the meaning is still clear enough. Particularly the last part.

Peter finishes, and Fiyero is quiet for a moment before he speaks up. "Wchat's--" he starts hoarsely, cutting off to softly clear his throat. "What's that?" he asks, voice soft and quiet. He's still mostly buried against Peter, but with his head resting more against his shoulder than fully nuzzled into his neck now.

Peter finishes with a kiss to Fiyero’s temple, settling there for a beat. Fiyero is the one to break the stillness with his gentle question, and Peter smiles faintly, lips upturned at the corners. “A blessing May used to give me. For bad dreams.”

Whether or not the words truly matter, Peter can’t say - but it’s the comfort he remembers, the sense of safety and the tranquility of repetition. If there’s one thing he hopes to give Fiyero, too, it’s that kind of peace.

Peter lets the silence hang for a moment, before his hand drags a slow path up Fiyero’s spine, gentle touches to soothe and ground him. “Are you okay?”

An invitation to talk about it is easy enough to extend; though regardless of Fiyero taking him up on it, Peter has a pretty good guess as to what it was about. Lions, tigers, and bears oh my indeed. Perfectly understandable - normal, even, unfortunately expected after everything he’s been through since his arrival. Over time, it would get better… but truly going away? Peter wished it could be that simple… but at the same time, he knew better than to promise such a thing. Even when they made Fiyero safe again, the feeling of being unsafe would linger.

It makes Fiyero emotional on several levels, most of which he definitely doesn't want to or isn't even able to examine right now, that Peter gives him a blessing that his aunt used to give him. There's something so incredibly caring and familial in that, in a way that makes his heart hurt a little bit.

He doesn't say anything to it, but he does give Peter's middle a slight squeeze, as a nonverbal thank you, acknowledgement and gratitude. He's slowly starting to feel a bit more settled, even if this isn't a great start to the day.

The question isn't a surprise. Fiyero reaches up with his free hand to wipe the sleep (and perhaps some mostly dried tears from his dream) from his eyes. He shifts back just a little, just enough to look at Peter, giving him a sleepy smile.

"Better now, waking up next to you," he answers. It's the truth, but it's also a way of saying he doesn't really want to talk about it, doesn't want to linger on it right now. He leans in to give Peter a soft kiss - lips closed, sparing him the worst of his sleepy breath. Although he's immediately foiled in that regard, as he can't help but give a big, involuntary yawn, mouth open wide and eye shut. It's cute, if nothing else, and hopefully that makes up for the breath - and the unwillingness to talk about stuff.

Peter shifts his head against the pillow as Fiyero moves to sweep a hand over his face, clearing away the last vestiges of sleep. His smile solidifies, brightening up his expression when Fiyero smiles back, and offers him the soft truth. Peter's thumb brushes fondly against Fiyero's neck as they kiss, hand drifting up to cup his cheek.

"Good." It is abominably adorable, the way Fiyero yawns - and hey, Peter can smell much more than the average person, he's used to it, in some capacity, and it could definitely be worse. Peter can't help but anoint Fiyero's brow with a pass of his thumb, still handling the prince with aching softness. No, Peter won't press Fiyero to talk about it; but he'll still offer. He'll always extend his hand, for whenever Fiyero wants to take it. "Me too."

"But I can do you one better: breakfast?" Peter drops his hand to Fiyero's arm, rubbing encouragingly, the other arm still slung to Fiyero's lower back, holding him. "Sunday morning special... blueberry pancakes?"

As he finishes yawning, Fiyero rolls onto his back and stretches. One of those big, satisfying ones where he unfurls and elongates almost like a cat, face screwed up, back arched. Honestly, that alone goes a long way to making him feel human again. Maybe not so strange, after the end of his sleep was spent basically curled up into a ball.

As soon as Fiyero is done stretching, he rolls right back onto his side, facing Peter and letting him continue to touch him sweetly, holding him gently. He can't get enough of that, so now that the stretching is done, obviously he wants to immediately return to it.

"Oh, yes please," he answers with something between a groan and a sigh at how amazing that sounds. Fiyero still has the remnants of the nightmare lingering in the back of his mind, the tension not quite having left his body - but Peter sure is doing a good job trying to chase it away.

Peter relaxes into the pillow as Fiyero uncoils himself, releasing the bundle of tension with a big stretch of long limbs. Their legs are tangled comfortably, the sensation raising pleasant gooseflesh on Peter's arms. The simple fact is that he likes having Fiyero in his space, and all the gentle touches are feeding something warm right in the center of his chest.

Peter leans in for another kiss, though he directs it to the corner of Fiyero's mouth, sparing him the morning breath. "Mm, I'll have to get up. Give me a second to prepare for that."

He's pretty comfortable, honestly. Troubling though the nightmare might be, Fiyero's right - waking up with him is really quite wonderful. Peter groans quietly, closing his eyes and peeking out at Fiyero playfully. "...and another ten before we face May today."

Fiyero smiles softly at the kiss, his arm slung over Peter's waist again, his fingertips tracing a little figure eight on his back.

He definitely prefers the way he woke up yesterday, naughty and unexpected. It's very different to waking up to a nightmare - just about as polar opposites as you can get. But even so, Peter's sweetness and comfort manages to soften it into something manageable, pushing it to the back of his mind.

Fiyero's probably taking Peter's trepidation about meeting May a little more seriously than intended. It still worries him a bit. He's not even sure he can put a finger on why, it's just
... It feels like it's going to go badly. He's not sure what to say to it.

He's spared having to come up with something, as he realises he didn't go to the bathroom before bed, and now he's waking up, so is his body.

"I'll go first then, how about that?" he quips, playfulness returning, going to climb over Peter to get out of bed.

Peter doesn't mean his complaints all that seriously, but then, the fact that he loves her dearly is an assumed truth. He doesn't catch the thread of gravity in Fiyero's expression, whining theatrically and catching Fiyero around the middle as he tries to clamber over him. He catches Fiyero square in his lap, tipping his head up to bury his face in Fiyero's neck, nuzzling him playfully. "Noooooooo..."

"So not fair, I was not ready." Peter grins, rolling Fiyero onto his back and pinning him with the solid line of his body. Peter relaxes, one leg slung high against Fiyero's thigh, lips trailing against Fiyero's shoulder, to the line of his collarbone. "It's your fault, for being such a comfortable pillow. I hope you realize that."

Fiyero lets out a soft oop of surprise as Peter stops him in his tracks, making Fiyero flop down on top of him instead. It's not right on his bladder, but it's definitely threateningly close.

Still, he can't help but laugh at the playfully possessive way Peter grabs hold of him, squirming a little as he nuzzles into his neck. Even with that tension underneath, his boyfriend manages to pull out the giggles, especially once Peter rolls them over, Fiyero struggling half-heartedly.

He loves the way Peter demands he stay, and if there was any other reason, Fiyero would happily have been persuaded. Even now a part of him is debating how much he really needs to go to the bathroom. Unfortunately it's enough that this isn't sustainable, especially with Peter making him laugh.

"It you don't let me go, I'm gonna end up peeing on you," he warns, voice full of laughter. He's pushing at Peter's shoulders to get him to climb off - except not really a push so much as a request. Even if he could take Peter in a fight, he's far too sleepy to really struggle - and he's also too reluctantly at the fact he really does go, as he would definitely have stayed just like this if he could. Forever, preferably.

Fiyero's laughter is a balm to the residual worry - if Fiyero is able to sound so carefree, even for just a moment, it's a victory, and proof that he's rebounding from his dream well enough. Fiyero capitulates to his sticky hold with minimal squirming - just enough to put up a token fight, clearly unserious. Peter pouts, mirth dancing in his eyes, and folds a hand against Fiyero's shoulder, propping up his chin to look at him. "You could just say you don't want to cuddle..."

Of course, he knows Fiyero's not kidding - it's not like his prince has a track record of not cuddling, it's so far swung far in the opposite direction - and Peter steals one more light kiss before he rolls off Fiyero, freeing him magnanimously. He folds one hand behind his own head - which is, genuinely, casual, and not a deliberate attempt to pose - smiling beatifically at Fiyero. "Go. Take your time, I'll get started - we can do breakfast in bed."

Peter waggles his eyebrows - as if there's anywhere else to have breakfast in the little apartment. Not that it matters, so long as Fiyero is happy with it, too.

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

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