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

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.

"Oh yeah, that's it," Fiyero answers, playfully sarcastic. Granted - he's also said he sometimes wants to be alone when he's upset, and he did have just about the most awful nightmare he's had in a very long time. But given he's able to joke like that, that's not really it at the moment, no. He also woke up pressing up against Peter like he was a shield against the world.

It's also clear by the way his lips automatically purse to return the quick kiss, that he doesn't truly want to leave. As Peter rolls off him, Fiyero reaches over to give him a friendly pat on his stomach, before getting out of bed.

"Have we had breakfast anywhere else?" he quips rhetorically, turning to walk backwards a couple steps towards the bathroom, enjoying the view regardless of whether it's intentional or not, before he turns again to see where he's going and not bump into anything or trip over their various piles and bags of stuff.

It feels comparatively very quiet in the bathroom, suddenly alone with his thoughts - for better and for worse. At first he's smiling at Peter's cuteness, but it doesn't take too long for thoughts of the nightmare to return. He doesn't remember all of it, but he does remember enough to give him an uncomfortable feeling. That queasiness returns again, whether it's like phantom pains from the dream, or an actual symptom, he doesn't know. He certainly doesn't know he actually used his powers.

He does take his time as Peter suggested. Doing his business, washing his hands, his face, and a quick once-over with a cloth to get rid of some of that clammy sweat. His stubble has returned, and he considers shaving. Once he picks up the razor though, he finds his hand is shaking ever so slightly.

He really doesn't feel great. He takes a moment, leaning his hands on the sink, trying to figure out what's wrong. It feels like.. Well, it's not completely unlike a panic attack, but it's not that. It feels more like a stronger version of after he uses his powers. Maybe he used them too much yesterday? Maybe something else is wrong?

Fiyero's not really sure what's going on, but he does know he feels sick - and then suddenly he's turning towards the toilet to throw up in it.

Peter laughs warmly at the quip, watching Fiyero disappear into the bathroom with a soft click of the door. It's okay - he's okay, clearly shaking off the nightmare and soldiering on. Fiyero will talk about it when he wants to talk about it - even just a few days ago, his reaction to waking up curled against Peter's chest for safe-haven would have been very different. This is a marked improvement, it seems.

After a beat, Peter rolls out of the bed, running a hand through his hair as he sits up, mussing it and making the bedhead worse. He did promise breakfast, so while Fiyero is waking up and taking time for his morning routine, Peter bangs around the kitchen - pulling out the mixing bowl, haphazardly dumping ingredients into it as he goes. Blueberry pancakes are indeed a recipe he knows by heart - swap the fruit for banana on occasion, and add a touch of vanilla, the way Ben always used to make them.

Soon, Peter's heating up a pan to cook the flapjacks, pouring surprisingly neat circles while he hums to himself, intentionally turning his hearing to the neighbors to avoid intruding on Fiyero's privacy to the best of his abilities. There's plenty else to occupy his mind, of course; particularly in thinking about what kinds of training opportunities they can set up for Fiyero's powers. Much harder than training super strength, that's for sure...

One of the pancake pours goes wonky when a violent retch comes from the other side of the bathroom door - Peter can't help the way his hearing zeroes in on it, not expecting such a sound. He frowns to himself, nudging the pancake with his spatula and debating whether or not to say something.

He elects not to, after carefully flipping the pancakes, and glancing worriedly towards the bathroom door. They are, by necessity, attached at the hip - he's a bodyguard and a boyfriend, all in one. But there's a fine line to walk, especially after Fiyero just woke from a nightmare - giving him his space and not smothering him, while also being supportive.

It's not like he can pretend he didn't hear it - well, he can, but he won't. Fiyero knows, anyhow. Giving Fiyero the moment he needs to rinse his mouth and come out to face Peter on his own terms - that, Peter will do. It could genuinely be that Fiyero felt unwell; in which case, blowing it out of proportion and not-so-subtly implying that it was because of Fiyero's nightmare... probably wouldn't go over well.

So Peter continues pouring pancakes, though he can't help the way his glances towards the door increase in frequency. What? He'll avert his eyes when Fiyero comes back out - he can totally play it cool. Totally.

Fiyero knows Peter heard that. Even without special hearing, it would be impossible not to. There's another, smaller retch, followed by some soft coughing and spitting, and then heavy breathing. No signs of dying or anything like that.

He's a little surprised Peter didn't come running. Perhaps it's too his credit that he's giving Fiyero privacy. Fiyero can only imagine if he even whispered his name, Peter would probably be at his side in a second. Unless he's getting sick (no pun intended) of having to look after every little thing for Fiyero. Fiyero wouldn't blame him. He doesn't like to demand much. He doesn't truly expect much. It's probably for the best that Peter gets a break from fussing over him.

Fiyero reaches up to flush, then sits down on the cool tile for a moment, closing his eyes. He doesn't feel like he's gonna throw up anymore, but the queasy feeling lingers. Not like when you throw up alcohol, and it goes away after you empty your stomach.

He gives himself a minute or two to just sit, before he pushes himself up, getting to his feet. His head doesn't feel great, a little woozy from that, but not faint.

Almost mechanically, he rinses out his mouth, washes his face and hands again, and brushes his teeth for good measure. He doesn't like the look of himself in the mirror, but he tries to straighten up a bit, to make himself look less pathetic than he feels. It sort of works.

He finally emerges from the bathroom, and he swears he can tell Peter is pointedly not looking at him but that he's very much paying attention. Peter's not particularly good at pretending to act casual.

Fiyero is a bit better at it, and it would be convincing if the events of his bathroom visit just now was more of a secret. Oh well. Fiyero just does what he had wanted to anyway. Which is to walk up behind Peter, looping his arms around his waist, resting his chin on Peter's shoulder. "You ordered some cuddles," he points out softly. He can still be a good, cuddly boyfriend.

Guiltily, Peter feels like he's overstepped - even without having actually done anything. It's easier when nobody knows about his abilities - when he has plausible deniability, and they're not stuck in the he-knows-I-know of it all. That for Fiyero to have true privacy, it has to happen out of Peter's rather large radius - that's tough. He's already had so much of his own agency and privacy stripped from him, and violently, too. Peter doesn't like feeling like he's contributing to that.

There's nothing for it, though, aside from what they're doing - which is apparently pretending like it didn't happen. Peter has the urge to chew on his thumbnail, an anxious tic that he suppresses, sliding another round of pancakes off the pan and onto the increasingly tall stack on the plate. No, he's not good at acting casual - he hasn't been, this whole time. Pretending like he didn't have feelings for Fiyero? Abysmal failure. Pretending like he's not Spiderman? Barely lasted a week.

Peter lets his cheek brush Fiyero's as his boyfriend settles behind him (and jeez, his boyfriend. Peter's not sure whether to blush or have a conniption.) He pours another round of batter, starting to get to the bottom of the bowl, and rests one hand on Fiyero's arms while the other wields the spatula, nudging the edges to make sure the pancakes don't stick.

"Mm, I didn't know they delivered." He smiles softly, hand rubbing gently along Fiyero's arm. It's a reassuring touch, reaffirming that he's there - even if Fiyero doesn't want to talk, and just wants to use Peter as a human body pillow. He's there, and there's nowhere he'd rather be. "Food's almost done..."

Peter's not so much overstepping as he is unable to really step back. Fiyero knows that, that Peter would happily give him privacy if he could. The one privacy Fiyero has is his thoughts. He shares those with Peter too, but only when he wants to, and Peter doesn't press. It will have to be enough.

Fiyero hums softly in response, enjoying the closeness. He playfully shifts his cheek against Peter's in a way to make their stubble rub together. If Peter's worried - which he usually seems to be - Fiyero being playful seems to reassure him.

Peter doesn't ask, though. Fiyero's not entirely sure why, and it's simultaneously a bit of a relief and a bit disappointing. He might just feel awkward about bringing it up.

"I'll see how much I can manage," he answers softly. A way to acknowledge that yes, he's not feeling the best, and food might be a challenge. Just to show that he's not completely pretending it didn't happen. Mentioning it so Peter knows he's allowed to, well... also acknowledge it.

Peter laughs quietly, twitching at the rough scrape of stubble; he doesn’t get much, but it’s enough to feel it, hyper-sensitive. Fiyero seems in good spirits - enough to keep the mood light, which is a good sign. Peter flips the pancakes over, enjoying the feeling of Fiyero’s hum vibrating through his chest, into Peter’s back - it’s nice. Being with him… it’s very nice. Even when everything else isn’t.”

“Yeah, whatever you can stomach.” Peter agrees, tone gentle, and the hand on Fiyero’s arms rubs again comfortingly, fingers sliding to encircle Fiyero’s wrist. Given tacit permission to address it, Peter’s concern is evident. “Stomach upset? I think I have some ginger - or tea, if you want? Maybe it’ll help.”

Good spirits might be an exaggeration. But he's fighting to be, and failing that, giving the impression that he is. If Peter thinks he's in good spirits, then he's succeeding at something. He could fake it much more strongly than he is, brush it off and summon his energy to be the chipper, dapper, charming version of himself that is what most people get to see.

But it feels too much like lying to someone he doesn't want to lie to. Peter would see through it, at least partially, and he'd probably feel lied to as well, or feel like Fiyero was shutting him out - which of course would be accurate. And then he wouldn't get Peter touching him like that, offering him comfort in different ways, through touch or words or food and drink.

So Fiyero's just going to smooth the rough edges, push down the worst - but still let Peter in. Now he's gotten to feel what it's like, that kind of care and comfort, he finds himself almost addicted to it. Even when it's uncomfortable or too much, he still seems to crave it.

"I'll try whatever remedy you think is best," Fiyero answers, accepting the offer. And while he kind of wants to just rest his cheek against Peter's shoulder and close his eyes, he can't let himself wallow. So instead he shifts a little and presses some kisses to the back and side of Peter's neck. Nothing suggestive, just wanting to distract himself by showering Peter with some gentle affection - and distract Peter from worrying too much about him too.

Good enough spirits, perhaps Peter should amend. As he's well aware, it could always be worse; and unfortunately, not-as-bad-as-it-could-be is a very familiar emotion to him. He wishes Fiyero wasn't having the same experience, but all Peter can do is be there to weather to storm with him. As much as Fiyero will let him, anyway.

At least that seems to be going okay; they're calm, and that goes a long way towards accepting circumstances for what they are. Fiyero might still not be feeling the best, but he's holding onto Peter and allowing himself the tacit comfort of being close - which is more than he permitted himself a week ago, for sure. It's more than Peter's permitted himself in a long time... they're both getting used to it.

"Both is good," Peter teases, keeping his tone light, trying not to let concern win out - Fiyero's letting him take care of him, so he's going to shut up and do just that. Light kisses trail idly against his neck - not for any particular purpose or goal, but just to... feel nice. To be present with each other. Just because Fiyero wants to, and Peter tries not to let his heart swell up inside his chest, but - it's a losing battle.

Peter lets his cheek rub against Fiyero's hair for a second before he refocuses, plating the remaining pancakes and turning off the burner. The syrup and plates and utensils are already in a neat pile on the counter, and Peter offers them to Fiyero, turning in his arms. One hand slides behind Fiyero, offering a warm hand on his lower back while the other holds out the plates. "Here, baby. I'll make the tea; I'll be right over."

He presses a kiss to Fiyero's temple and offers him an encouraging smile, thumb brushing lightly against the knob of his spine. They do have some time to cuddle and let Fiyero relax after his nightmare - benefits of waking with the sun, Peter supposes. Still, he thinks Fiyero will feel better with something in his stomach.

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

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