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

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fiyero tigelaar : winkieprince

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

[ aka wicked ii: lost in new york ]

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.

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