pietro maximoff (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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exitiabile2022-02-19 01:06 am
hastening) wrote in exitiabile2022-02-19 01:06 am
wearing a warning sign;
𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕠𝕥/𝕡𝕚𝕖𝕥𝕣𝕠
ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ
ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ
ᴏᴡɴ ᴍᴇ, I'ʟʟ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏʟᴇ
ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟ
ᴍʏ ᴍᴏᴍᴍʏ ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴛᴏ sɪɴɢ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ
ʙᴜᴛ sʜᴇ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ sɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs sᴏɴɢ
ɪғ sʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅs ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟʏʀɪᴄs
sʜᴇ'ʟʟ ᴘɪᴛʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇɴ I ᴋɴᴏᴡ
no subject
it felt better to be the one inflicting a sense of untouchable air. the transformation left him more closed off than he presents. he was widely different before university. pietro should have been one of those boys, left in the back rooms of the night club to be a sweet memory. then he broke his own rule. he brought him to his room in brakebills, past the wards. he risked getting caught. he didn't care. pietro became his little addiction and now he's so much more.
the shame that has risen goosebumps upon his skin makes him wince into his wine glass as he moves to turn around and settle it onto the dresser. he closes his eyes, audibly breathes in as he hears pietro. the hurt, anger, confusion mixed in; it all stuns eliot into a nightmarish silence.
he has to compose himself before turning back around, his fingers tapping upon the edge of one drawer as he opens it up and finds a shirt of his. it's a salmon color. he bunches it up in his hand and although he knows he shouldn't, he is a glutton for pietro and he can't deny that he's still fucking worried. the blood isn't all gone, only mediated. eliot walks over and sits next to him with the ease of someone in forest where a deer might be startled. he makes sure to leave some room between them. it's enough to show distance, but not too far it's at the end of each side. although he wants more than anything to reach out, he's hurt pietro enough. }
You're right. I left and I didn't come back.
{ he offers the shirt, meant to be utilized to wipe the remaining blood off. he's trying not to be overtaken from the fact that he wants more than anything to hold pietro and comfort him. }
You should move on. { he says it, but he does not believe in his words. he is only attempting to put distance between them in a neutralized ground. it's a cowardice move. he has an opportunity to make sure pietro deserves better. eliot hasn't been that, and he can't promise he won't continue to be. except every fiber in his being is screaming at him that he'll regret it. the charade is thinly veiled, shakeable by the fury in pietro's eyes, the raw emotion. it compels him to go against his own when it shouldn't. }
I missed my opportunity to come back. I almost did, but then I couldn't. For a month, the stupid door couldn't open. It left me in Fillory and I thought that would be it. She kicked me out to only traps me later. I wondered if you would move on, if I would be a memory that started out sweet, but soured. I wanted to leave you with a good memory.
{ i dreamt about you nearly every night. i don't think i can handle what life would be without you. }
I'm sorry I couldn't even do that.
{ his expression flickers, his hand tightening around the shirt as the devastation can be seen slowly manifesting through to his actual truth. he finally sets the shirt down between them so pietro can grab it. he won't force it into his hand even if his fingers twitch to reach out. he contemplates reserving his next thought, but it comes out with more passionate punch than he intends. it's the sort of desperation that could combust within his chest while he tries to keep it together. it feels as if the everything is falling apart. }
I don't want to give you up. You will have to be the one to give me up.
no subject
but what takes the air out of him is the simple statement: you should move on.
a tiny part of him festers at the statement, the hurt growing into something that feels akin to paranoia. if eliot is saying things like that, if he is willing to let those words fall from his mouth - is that what he wants? did that last meeting in his rooms only mean something to pietro? did he make up the strange, deep connection, the understanding, the love he's sure he felt?
pietro's eyes burn but he refuses to cry in front of eliot, refuses to cry in front of anyone trying to tear him down from the inside out. the bombs of sokovia couldn't reach his heart, the scientists of hydra, but eliot waugh has wiggled his way in past the locks and doors and bars. ]
Do you want me to leave?
[ his voice comes out steady, quiet, and he watches the way eliot sits, slow and cautious, with the shirt offered to him. he knows what it's for - there's blood all over his skin, the waistband of his jeans. but even now, with the confused hurt he feels, he doesn't want to dirty any more things that belong to the man across from him. so he stares at it idly, until it's sitting in the distance between them, bridging it across the bloodied sheets.
pietro has even ruined that. ]
If you want me to leave so badly you need to say it, ano? [ his accent comes in thicker as his words rise with passion, heated and intense and suddenly furiously determined. ] I do not understand why you didn't come back to me. I do not understand why it has to be me to give you up when I do not want to give you up at all.
[ he shakes his head, frowning deeply and he looks up at eliot finally. ]
But if that is what you want you cannot hide from it, you must say it. I came here. It was stupid. It was very stupid because I could bleed out and all of this, but I wanted to see you. You came back, and it was late, and I waited and instead of saying sorry you tell me to leave?
[ a huff, a shake of his head, and without thinking he stands and crosses the room to the very same little bar. standing was a mistake, the pain in his side unmistakable as it stretches and heals, but he doesn't touch anything else, afraid to have his blood left everywhere in his wake. but his back remains to eliot, muscles wired tight, shoulders tense. his voice shakes, watery, one hand pressing at the bandage of his side, the other curled tight into a fist. ]
I came here because I do not have any safe places, and when I started running home, when I couldn't think, when I could only run? I came here.
no subject
he has once more dived too far into the deep waters and now he's searching for air while he slowly drowns. eliot realizes then that he put pietro at a distance in his own manner while keeping him selfishly close. the kisses, the fucking, the love-making, the days spent together without a care for anyone else. it was everything and he wanted to make both lives to work. he can't have both.
do you want me to leave?
the answer is clear. his yearning is loud. he still remains quiet. when normally he would be filled with words, they've rendered him mute as he slumps into his body, the dejection beginning to show visibly. }
You deserve better.
{ eliot looks down at his lap, the shame now making the room want to spin out of control. it has transformed into the fear of losing pietro for real. his pulse has risen and he suddenly feels the room too hot, too stuffy and far too mocking. his sheets are bloody. they're the same ones he didn't bother to change since the last time they laid on it. he said he wasn't going to hurt pietro, and here he is doing just that.
pietro gets up and for a moment he thinks he is leaving. panic is up to his throat. eliot feels it like a punch. he might as well be having an out of body experience. his hands want to shake as he looks up to see pietro's back and he finds more relief than he should. he could be yelling at himself, and he'd tell this version to stop being ridiculous, to not ruin the one thing that is making him the most happy.
he gets up, the distance between them longer than what his legs take to get closer. he's careful as pietro speaks, but his body reacts ahead of his thinking. a protectiveness overcomes when he finds him wincing over the wound. it isn't until he's staring down upon pietro's neck that he notes how much closer he's gotten. he's sure pietro heard him approach. }
I haven't been honest with you. I would be lying if I told you I wanted you to leave. I'm only ever satisfied when I'm with you. I left to Fillory since nothing in my life was fulfilling, not even my hedonistic lifestyle. Then I met you.
{ eliot tentatively touches against pietro's wrist and he slowly runs his fingers down until he's holding the fist and encouraging fingers to uncurl by simply keeping his touch there. it's him asking for permission as he makes sure his chest isn't entirely touching pietro's back. he's lightly hovering to make sure pietro doesn't feel trapped even if he wants to badly hold him. he does not care if the blood might stain his hand or has already touched his clothes. }
You scare me. I had a boy I could have loved once. I thought I could be happy, but he was a lie. A terrible, possessed lie the Beast took advantage of to get to us. A threat to our magic. I was forced to kill him. I didn't think I could handle life. It was easier to surrender everything and become part of Fillory. Now I don't think Fillory is what I truly want.
{ i only want to be with you is stuck. saying it would admit more, but his heart already aches and he can't deny pietro coming here even if he wasn't going to be around. pietro's gut reflex when seeking a safe place was his bedroom, to the very place eliot first found his infatuation for the speedster. hell, if that isn't what makes him realize how thick-headed he's being. his voice is quieter as well, the absolute raw emotion overcoming. }
I'm sorry. It’s not fair for you to keep waiting for me.
no subject
I am not a lie. Not like that thing, that boy.
[ and why would eliot think he was some trap? idly, pietro wonders if he seemed like one at first glance. even he hadn't anticipated falling for the man behind him. he hadn't anticipated wanting to wait like this for anyone, and right now he knows that he would do this and more for eliot. it's frustrating, to be yearning for his touch and comfort yet feel simmering anger and betrayal all at once. ]
But you chose Fillory. What does that mean? [ his hand flutters against eliot's gentle touch, fingers opening tentatively, letting the other man's slot between his. pietro's hold is gentle, uncertain, skittish. ] I can tell you have to go back soon. It is obvious.
[ eliot will always have to go back and pietro will always have to wait and worry and wonder. he cannot open the doors to find him, cannot pry into the universe and beg something to take him closer still. the apology unsteadies him, makes him want to scream out and push him and tell him to stay instead of hearing the apology that only promises he won't. not permanently.
pietro takes a deep, shuddering breath, and finally lets his weight rest into the warmth of eliot's chest, lets his fingers curl around eliot's. ]
Do you think I will run away so easy? Do you think I am satisfied by anyone else without you? I let you meet Wanda, yes? My only family. Would I do that if I didn't want you to come back?
[ he sighs, closing his eyes as he leans his head back against eliot's shoulder.
do you think i would love you like this if it was just a game? ]
I am angry at you. I am angry at Fillory. But I missed you.
no subject
eliot ends up brushing his pinky along the side of pietro’s knuckle, a small touch meant to ease into the unclenching. he finds his will is compromised. he reached out to keep them connected when he knows it’s unfair. }
I thought that if I could let you float away this way, it wouldn’t hurt if you decided to be done with me. I’m not good at this. At whatever we have. I’m not stupid. I know it’s not a silly hook up anymore.
{ he feels the shift of their fingers and he easily tangles their hands against one another. the warm of pietro’s palm makes him pause briefly, fingers slowly running along the underside of his hand before sliding fingers between. it’s not a tight hold, rather still loose. he wants to grip and force them to remain clasped, but he’s still tentative and it’s in the way his body is reacting. }
Fillory would take you. I know it would. I won’t ask that of you. All I know, and hear me on this. Is that if I hold you any closer — { eliot’s other hand traces along pietro’s shoulder, glides off and under his arm where the wound lays and he carefully hovers over it as he slips his arm across pietro’s abdomen. he knows he has to be careful, and he is, but he’s also withholding as his touch is the lightest it has ever been. his mouth is near pietro’s ear as he finally lets his chest touch pietro’s back. they are puzzle pieces that need to be slotted in place, but eliot holds back from fully connecting. it does not make his touch any less gentle, it just fuels his continued confession: }
I know I won’t be able to let you go. Fillory can take me, but I will keep coming back until I’ll be the one waiting for you when you’re on your mission.
{ pietro’s head leaning back on his shoulder gives him a sideway view, and he turns his head so he can see more of his outline, from his lips to his beard beginning to grow past where he last saw it. he’s woken up to the view before, and with pietro closing his eyes, he finds his own want to burn from the sensation overtaking. it’s an emotion that syncs to his heart and mind, and to the same place he uses to utter what comes from his mouth in a lowered voice. }
I don’t want to be the cause of your hurt, neshama sheli. If anger is what you have now, I’ll take it.
{ don’t let me go. }
no subject
they're not some silly hookup anymore, and this moment cements that. he's not sure what they are, but he finds even if he knows he should run far and fast from him, he can't. his heart keeps him rooted in place, keeps his weight leaning into the man behind him. he brings his free hand up tentatively, touching eliot's forearm, then pressing his palm over his, keeping it tight and close. ]
Make a promise, hm? [ quiet, tired, he squeezes eliot's hand softly. ] That you will come back, even if it takes a very long time. I will wait if you say you will be back. Then you can hold me as tight as you want, yes?
[ his eyes slowly open again and he turns his head just so against that shoulder in an attempt to peep the uncertain man beside him. yes, he's hurt. yes, he's angry, but he can admit to himself that he loves this strange man in some way he can't put into words. so, he's quiet, a silence befalling him before he swallows hard and leans into eliot just enough to close any tentative distance between them. ]
I do not have much. You know this. When Sokovia burned, I had the things we could grab and I had Wanda. No one else. And here you are with your stupid face and pretty words and suddenly I have one more thing, you see? I care about you, kochav, and you told me you would return. And when you didn't, I thought I lost you.
[ he frowns, lets out another tired sigh. ] So promise you will come back, so it doesn't feel like losing something when it takes you too long. I have lost everything, and I do not want you to go, too. Do you understand now? Why I am angry?
[ eliot disappearing had hit him like a suckerpunch to the gut, and he finds himself still wondering if a promise will mean anything. he thinks it will, with the shy confession he's made - i care about you - but the hurt and confusion murk things up. ]
no subject
You revive me. I need you to know that meeting you the day at the club changed me. You’ve become important. More than Fillory. That is why you have to understand why I’m hesitant to make a promise. Someone like me doesn't get to have nice. But, I still find myself wanting simple with you.
{ pietro confessing his echo, that he cares about eliot, it’s enough to make his feet light. even a hint have nourished him more than the last few weeks have, and maybe that’s the biggest consideration. ultimately, it’s pietro’s choice. eliot, with the burst of shame still there even if reduced, takes the plunge and lets his head fall fully onto the dip of pietro’s shoulder. his hand squeezes the other’s in return.
he takes in what he’s been lacking for too long. the smell of sandalwood is faintly still there. his hot air exhales upon pietro’s skin where his voice will resonate. pietro has had more loss than someone his age should have. they both have. eliot didn’t lose a whole country, a home. he should have known better. he wrongfully thought pietro could move on from him easier than eliot, that their relationship didn’t have a strong enough foundation to last the distance.
he’s been a fool too trapped in his head. the darkest part of his mind has fed into his insecurities and fillory has only given him a gateway into those festering fears that come with finding that he’s fallen in ways he didn’t think were meant for him. eliot isn’t just infatuated. it is here that he knows and feels that he loves pietro enough to walk through a thunderstorm to get to him if had to.
shit. he’s in love. eliot waugh has gone and fallen in love with none other than pietro maximoff.
the arm around pietro tightens and he gulps nervously as his brain catches up to the heart on his sleeve pouring out. }
I fucked up. I do want to keep trying. If you’ll keep having me and my stupid face, I’ll come back. I wasn’t lying when I said I was figuring out shit over there. I want to figure us out too. Can I give you something as a token of my promise? I have only one request from you. I know I have no right.
no subject
he likes the feeling of the man holding him, the feel of him breathing in against his neck, the weight of his head on his shoulder. it does more to soothe his aches than the bandages have done so far and while he still very much wants to be frustrated and angry that eliot took so long to return, he doesn't have much energy for it.
so as eliot speaks again, he sighs softly, his eyes fluttering open. he debates on what he wants to do, because hearing the distress in eliot's voice eats at him, but the simmering unease hasn't left yet. all the same, he can only hear you revive me and i care about you as an echo in his head. so carefully, he turns in eliot's hold, bringing them chest to chest, his arms slowly reaching to loop round his neck. ]
Your face is very stupid.
[ blunt, dry, meant to be the joke he'd make if they were lazing about and being ridiculous. it lacks some of the warmth, the energy, but there's a tug at one side of his mouth, the faintest of smirks. ]
But lucky for you, I like this version of stupid.
[ he shrugs one shoulder, wincing when it stings at his side. it's annoying, how slowly the injury heals and it takes him a moment to catch his breath. ]
So we will figure this out. Us. I am still mad at you. But if you give me something to prove you'll come back eventually, then maybe it will be easier next time.
[ he huffs a little, looking away. he wants to be angry, wants to be frustrated, but instead, his face flushes just slightly. ]
I missed you, you stupid little king.
no subject
{ it's not his promise, not yet. he takes in the smell of pietro's neck, lips brushing along as he lifts his head and steps over so he can switch their hands. it's also a better view that allows him to secure his hold and gently tug him back to the bed. pietro voicing he’s missed him is like air to his lungs.
there's a newfound fire, kindled by a determination he didn't think he was capable of casting in the romantic sense. it's new, more than his sorry attempt with mike. he would have given up, let pietro go. somehow he finds he's unable to. he'd rather have his anger if that's what he has now, for it means he cares, then to have pietro feel nothing for him.
he makes sure to be careful even if pietro is a superhuman. eliot guides them back to the bed so he can grab the shirt from earlier. he squeezes their clasped hands before stepping towards the bathroom a few feet away. the door is open when he wets a part of it. it'll give pietro time to adjust. the glimpse he gets from the mirror on the way out is that he's tired, but he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
eliot returns and applies the throughly wet shirt along pietro's forearms where some blood has splattered, and drags it along to his hands, bunching it up into pietro's palms. }
Hold this for a second. { he reaches into the inner pocket of the breezy shirt he's wearing and pulls out a necklace, laying it onto his palm. eliot offers it, palm facing up. } I'll trade you.
{ he commissioned someone in fillory to craft him the silver necklace, a simple chain with some morse code hidden in-between. it says kochav as if pietro could carry some part of eliot with him. he also has made sure to carry it around for a while now, just in case he'd get the courage to gift it one day. he thought pietro might find it too silly, too much, so he held back. it could also be passed off as simply fashion jewelry. }
I wanted to give you this for a while now. I wasn't sure if you liked jewelry. And that's the problem? Me not being around to know. I want to see you more. I’ll make it so. I’ll fight for it. You can have it if you want. It’s my promise to come back.
{ it's the closest he'll get to the whispered i love you that is clearly there. he glances back up, carefully taking in pietro's reaction. }
no subject
he can be mad at eliot, sure, but pietro knows it's not enough to keep him away. maybe he's foolish - maybe he's playing the part of the stupid moth drawn to the light - but it's a chance he can't help but take. so he sits while eliot cleans him up, holding his arms out and assisting when he's allowed. what he doesn't expect is for the wet shirt to be bartered away for a silver chain.
the chain itself is beautiful - pietro has never had something so nice before - and he blinks down at it then back up to the man. ]
I've never had something so nice as this.
[ he smiles a little, wanting to reach out and touch it, but he squeezes the damp shirt in his hands, wiping them free of the blood and dirt and grime. he fidgets, looking tiredly to the chain then back up at eliot. he might be flustered, might have been frustrated earlier, but when he looks up at him now, pietro finds his chest clenches, warms, and his smile broadens just so. ]
I will take it. I do not have anything to give you. I am sorry.
[ he steals and buys things for wanda, but now he realizes he should have been doing the same for eliot, surprising him with treats or gifts or trinkets. but none of them would matter so much as this chain does. none of them would mend this as much as it. he reaches to touch eliot's wrist, but not the necklace itself. ]
Will you help me put it on? I do not want to get it dirty.
[ there's some level of nearness expected from assisting with a necklace, what with it needing clasped and snared round a neck. so if eliot does assist, if he does lean in? he'll find he's met with a kiss instead, slow and soft and tender.
i've missed you, love, he whispers in sokovian against his mouth. he's missed eliot as much as a bee might miss nectar, as the sun might miss the moon. he can overlook the tardiness, he can overlook the questions, the hurt, the confusion, and it's all promised silently in another tender kiss, slower, deeper. ]
no subject
the necklace dangles when he leans in to clasp it around pietro's neck. they're much closer now. he can see the frown upon pietro's brow before it transforms into a smile. he's sure his breath is taken from him then. something about seeing the man happy makes him all fuzzy and warm inside. tensions aside, he's just glad pietro is choosing to stay. }
I once told you, you deserve nice. I meant it. You don't have to give me anything. Just seeing you is enough.
{ there’s an indescribable tone that seeps, almost begging to be unearthed. he surpasses it and finds pietro’s mouth on his. the kiss is better than what he’s been dreaming about, wanting for two months. he’s been a fool to deprive himself of it. he makes an embarrassing little groan when pietro pulls away, and he makes sure the necklace is secure by running his hand along the back of pietro’s neck. it makes it easy for him to hold on, to nudge him as he leans back in. }
Fuck. I’ve missed you, too. { it could be played off as his instinct, but really over the last month he took an old sokovian grammar book, his attempts at learning the language still difficult. it’s enough to understand part of it.
eliot softly captures pietro’s bottom lip, eases the parting of his mouth so he can draw him closer and keep him trapped in his webbed kiss. it has been too fucking long. he doesn’t care if he’s pressed their thighs together, leaning in close that he’ll surely get his clothes dirty from the blood that has begun to soak from the wet cloth, on what remains. eliot just wants to live in their kiss, tangled within pietro. nobody is going to stop him, not when he can taste revival on his tongue. }
no subject
the moment eliots mouth rests against his, he can't help but reach for him, blood be damned. he reaches for his thighs, bracing a palm on either until his hands slide to his hips, pulling him closer despite the sting in his side. he wants to feel eliot with him, even if there are still things left unsettled between them. they can deal with that come morning - all that matters now are eliot's lips on his, and the warmth of him being here and close.
he pulls away only when eliot speaks, blinking at him, bewildered. ]
How did you know I said that?
[ his face burns with the realization, but he reaches for eliot's hand and holds it, as if marveling that he's truly here with him still. ] I did miss you. Even if I am mad at your stupid face.
[ a stupid face that he loves kissing, seeing as he leans again, slotting his lips over eliot's, prying and begging sweetly for entrance so he can taste him, lick the flavor of him onto his tongue again and commit it to memory. but his body protests, tired and sore and sticky, and he draws back just enough to press their foreheads together, to breathe him in. ]
But it is a good face to kiss. A very good face.
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instead of running away, he leans into it and soaks it up within pietro's mouth, to the light nip of his lip and in the little sigh that releases when he has to take a breather as well. }
What? Oh, that. I pick up words rather easily. It's my lack of effort that I only know parts of other languages and a few full ones. Can be said about everything I do. { he's sure his face is surely sporting a flush, his hand still securely holding pietro's as his other seeks to run along a firm chest and then a shoulder, seemingly checking how he's fairing. priorities, with a dash of deflecting. he can only handle so much. } I... also missed you a lot. Unless you were telling me I have a stupid face in Sokovian? I'll take it.
{ his smile is sheepish. eliot rarely stumbles, but pietro always seems to find a way to catch him off guard. he's aware pietro is tired so he keeps their foreheads together instead of aiming for more kisses (despite how much effort it takes to resist). he opts marveling at them being together again. }
We should get you out of these clothes. I have a couple robes. I promise I'll behave.
{ a light joke. his roaming hand ends up with pietro's cheek in the palm of his hand, cupping and holding him close. }
no subject
so he leans into every touch, ever kiss, squeezing their fingers together and breathing the man in. he snorts softly, and speaks again in sokovian: you do not have a stupid face. it is a very good face. ]
There. Now I have said you have a stupid face.
[ the feeling of eliot's hand over his chest and shoulder make goosebump raise beneath the skin. he's not been touched since eliot left, since they shared that languid, peaceful and loving afternoon in pietro's room. and these touches feel like a callback to that. he tilts his cheek into eliot's hand and grins, turning to press his lips against the curve of his thumb. ]
I think it will be easy to behave, ano? I am bruised and dirty. I will not be so fun to touch.
I bled on your bed. [ he gives a little sigh, dreading the push to his feet, but he knows he can't keep sitting on the bed, waiting for things to feel better. instead, he reaches for eliot's hand, peeling it away to press a kiss into his palm. ] And on you. I think we will both need robes? Or a bath. I do not care what it is just stay here with me a little while before you leave?
[ he doesn't meet eliot's eyes, instead looks down to their joined hands, as if the lines of the palms could tell him some secret. ]
no subject
eliot is also enjoying having the means to touch pietro when he hasn’t been able to for a long time. it’s just another reminder that he’s at fault, but it won’t dissuade him. }
You sorely underestimate me if you think a little dirt and blood would stop me. But, I understand. I’m no heathen. { he lets his hand lean into pietro’s kiss, more so seeking to be held. eliot does not care if the bed is ruined. the sheets are replaceable. pietro being here and giving him another chance isn’t. he considers their jointed hands and gives pietro an assuring squeeze. }
A bath would be nice. I’ll prepare you one. { he gets up, but stands close enough to pietro that the palm he has kissed is able to freely move back to cradling pietro’s cheek. eliot nudges softly so the other can look up at him. when pietro does looks up, he’ll see eliot’s expression is openly soft, fond even, and he caresses upon his cheek with his thumb to add to the effect. }
I’m staying tonight. A few days. At least.
{ he doesn’t want to move away or let go, but eliot knows the bath isn’t going to draw itself. it takes effort. he’s letting go to roll up his sleeves and make a beeline to the bathroom. upon arriving, he instantly sits at the end of the tub where he can turn on the water. his hand ends up underneath the faucet, waiting until it turns warm. the flow upon the bathtub’s enameled cast iron can be heard from across the room. }
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If dirt and blood do not stop you, then you have many more kinks I need to discover, hm?
[ he calls it out to eliot's back, watching him go. there's still something on the air between them, a desperate reach neither of them will give a name to. pietro hurt and a little angry, eliot despondent and apologetic. he thinks to sit there and wait for him, to make eliot come but pietro can't sit still, even injured.
he stands slowly, shucks the sticky, torn jeans he's wearing, leaving them in a puddle on the floor. he's only in his briefs when he pads into the bathroom, quiet, letting his hand reach for eliot's shoulders to pull him close as he slowly bends to kiss his curls.
it hurts, the bend, and it likely shows in the soft shake of his breath as he bends deeper to kiss eliot's ear, then his neck. reverent, attentive. ]
I will have you for your few days, ano?
[ an acceptance that he knows eliot has to go, knows that he isn't long, and it's an attempt to meet in the middle. with the cool chain around his throat, it's easier to begin to forgive. ]
Join me, hm? In this bath? I will make room.
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the water is warmer now, filling up the sizable tub. he recalled having to expand it because he didn’t like how small he had it freshman year. the things he would do for his own pleasure. now it’s big enough to fit two people at most, and someone of his height too. the mouth on his neck makes him close his eyes briefly, and he rises so pietro does not need to lean further. he also has to start taking his clothes off. }
Love, my sexual prowess has nothing to do with kinks. It’s a bonus. I just find you attractive no matter what. { he’s now standing, and he briefly leans in for a kiss before continuing, } I’m going to get in first. I don’t want to squeeze you. You’re already hurt enough.
{ it does not take long for him to peel off his layers, to be left in only his silky undergarments. his fingers go along the waistband while lining pietro’s at the same time. it’s a way to acknowledge before he’s taking his off and slipping his fingers away from the hairs trailing over the underwear. there are some robes nearby for afterwards. }
There. { it’s all he says before he’s nude. true to his word, he’s perfectly at ease all over. no horny indication in sight. he immediately gets into the water and settles onto a comfortable spot. there’s room for them both, be it sitting nearby, across, or leaning against eliot. he can behave, and right now all he wants to do is help soothe the wounds. eliot runs his hand across the top layer of the water, and lightly flickers some towards pietro. }
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[ there's a little, weary tease on his voice, his skin tingling under eliot's touch. sure, they can be around one another without the heat of passion and need, but even pietro must admit that eliot is a sight to behold. pietro clocks how tired eliot looks, but he doesn't have much time to dwell on it before the water is being flicked his way.
he snorts softly and shimmies out of his underwear. the wound on his side is stitching itself closed slowly, but it hurts all the same. it's why he braces himself with one hand on the edge of the tub, steadying before he slips in. while most might choose to sit opposite, pietro places himself against eliot, slotting between his knees and settling in with his back leaning into his chest.
it takes a long, deep sight before he relaxes fully, the injury reminding him not to do too terribly much. it doesn't stop him from turning, however, if only so he can kiss eliot slowly, deeply. there's something unspoken for them to bridge, still - but the hurt and confusion seem to be buried beneath the longing he feels. he breaks the kiss, letting his head fall back against eliot's shoulder, his eyes on the ripples of water around them.
it is easy to close his eyes and forget the fighting, to forget the injury and eliot's tired eyes. he recalls the last time they were together, wrapped up in an indescribable warmth. it's unfair just how much he loves eliot. ]
I am glad you are here. [ a little sigh, a hand reaching for one of eliot's to tug it round his waist, to keep him close, fingers threading through his. ] I'm glad you came back. I would have waited a long time for you. I still will.
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his heart is still metaphorically on his sleeve, as much as he wants to cage it. it won't stay put. the reality of seeing pietro for the first time in a while, injured badly, has put a more daunting prospect for him. he really hasn't been fair at all. eliot makes sure to make it more comfortable by spreading his knees, adjusting pietro by the hips. his shuttered breath is notable with the rise of his chest against his back. }
The most I ever want to see you is thoroughly sore. I’ll tie you up one day, when you're back to your full strength. I promise.
{ an assurance, but also it helps him be idly conversational as he settles the storm in his head. he keeps his arm above pietro's wound, solid and there. then he squeezes their hands as his other one cups water. eliot tenderly cascades it along pietro's shoulder where he caresses his now wet skin. he's only able to be reactive when it comes to pietro. he kisses the side of his head, then brushes upon the outer of his ear in the lightest of touches. }
You shouldn't give me that much. But, I wouldn't have been able to stay away anyway. I...
{ why is it difficult? it's the intimacy. they're here despite themselves and their influenced lives, even if they need to work through their issues. he isn't scared to let pietro see some of his usually veiled vulnerability. they’re already naked anyway. it's only fair. }
I've been thinking. Margo might be better suited to be High King than me.
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[ the warmth of the water and the solid heat of eliot's chest against his back do something to lull him into and easy, lazy sort of fatigue. the injuries and the rush of the day leave him tired for different reasons, but for the first time in weeks he can feel his shoulders relax, can feel the tension of want and worry dissolve.
being held is something he's missed more than anything, and he lets his head fall back against eliot's shoulder, feeling the way his jaw moves as he speaks. he can tell it will be something important, with the shudder he feels in his chest. one of his hands falls to press over eliot's, threading their fingers together.
then comes the confession, and he doesn't know what to make of it. ]
Margo will be High King?
[ he tips his head back, just enough so he can see a glimpse of his lover's face, nose brushing the underside of his jaw. ]
What does this mean? [ will you stay with me is what he wants to ask but doesn't. even if eliot is not high king, if he holds no political importance there, he's sure that he will have to continue to leave, to wander away to magical fillory at its beck and call. ] Do you believe that?
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there's infinite comfort in the way their fingers are threaded together. he ends up stroking pietro's thumb, idly just letting the weight of their hands exist. he decides then that he could hold pietro and never tire of it. but, pietro peering up at him? the brush to his jaw is enough to make his heart nearly stop. }
Would you believe me if I said I don't know? I think I would be okay kneeling for her if... I'm not doing so great lately. Half of Fillory isn't for me, Pietro. They want democracy. { a significant pause, churning to the hot press of his fluttering thoughts and an attempt to shift conversation. } How's it going with the Avengers? Please tell me they're better at not letting you bleed out.
{ he doesn't want to burden pietro with these sort of thoughts and he almost regrets bringing it up. at the same time, he hasn't been able to talk about it. he finds he hasn't really had someone, when all his friends are off in quests. even if they weren't, he's compelled to want to confide in pietro. pietro is both a lover and a friend. the combination alone is what hesitates him, considering he's not accustomed to it. he's used to separating it with a hard boundary that seems loose from afar for effect. eliot gulps. his body tenses before it relaxes again. he ends up finding comfort in continuing to press his knuckles against pietro's bicep with the lightest contemplation. }
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he keeps his face tucked gently beneath eliot's chin, nosing at his jaw as he shifts to rest his cheek upon his shoulder inasmuch as he can. he gives eliot's fingers a gentle squeeze. ]
I believe you. I do not understand Fillory or what you do there, and if you think Bambi is the right choice then it is the right choice? It may be a harder choice.
[ he huffs when the man shifts the subject so easily and he goes quiet, feeling the way the other's body tenses, acutely aware of eliot and all his movements, all his gestures. he sighs softly and presses a kiss against the soft of eliot's throat. ]
They are Avengers, ano? They Avenge things. But it is easy enough. They do not trust me, but it doesn't matter. I do not care about them, only Wanda. And you. But you are not one of them, you are a magician. A magician with talking rabbits and a magical kingdom.
[ A small smile and he shifts his weight to lean into eliot even further, the sound of the water soothing. ]
Tell me what you are thinking? Even if you use your mother tongue. [ And, as encouragement, in simple Sokovian (maybe enough for Eliot to even understand some parts) he says: I will listen and won't stop until the stars burn out. ]
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it is a hard choice, so much that he’s incredibly conflicted. there’s another part of him that wants to just be wherever pietro is at. would he be coming on too strong if he voiced it? he nearly misses what pietro says. }
They do… { his brain catches up, reeling back from being a million miles away. pietro has the easy effect of centering him. } I am a magician. Is it bad that I like that you thought to come to me and not them?
{ he looks back down, sees the outline of pietro’s jawline and then presses his mouth to his temple. this way he can adjust his expression, finding it will betray just how shaken seeing pietro hurt has gotten him. it doesn’t stop his hand from slightly gripping his bicep before quickly loosening his hold, fingers now at the surface of the water, floating. }
I could listen to you all day. { you’re quickly becoming the most important person in my life and it scares me, he gently says in hebrew, pulling rust off his once sharp language. the expression he holds now is incredibly fond. it’s undeniable. }
I know you’re okay now, but I didn’t like seeing you hurt. I know even if I were around more, you still have to fight. You will probably get hurt more. { careful steps. he can address one at a time; pietro hurt, then fillory. then…? }
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I feel safe, even with your silly magic.
[ he listens to eliot, wishing suddenly he had studied the language that falls so easily from the man's tongue. he doesn't know the words, but it's only fair - how many times has pietro confessed in sokovian because he couldn't find the english words to match. but eliot's expression is fond and warm and it makes something flutter in his chest regardless.
how odd, to feel like this about someone. it's foreign to pietro, new. ]
But you are right, I will still have to fight and I will get hurt sometimes. But I am fast, faster than bullets and even silly knives. Unless they have a pretty face, then maybe it will be harder.
[ it's a small joke to ease some of the tension, and he tips his head back to kiss eliot's jaw, nestling there, feeling the warmth and listening to his heartbeat. ]
I will be careful. Because maybe one day I will not have to fight so much.
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I'm glad. I'm not good at this.
{ his mouth presses back against pietro's head where he is able to lean in and kiss his jaw before leaning back. he likes the feel of his beard hair grazing against his skin. it sometimes tickles, and other times he enjoys the potential burn it can leave behind. }
Just know you're important to me. I could say I can't tolerate many people. The truth is, I don't think many would understand. Many don't actually know chaos. You do. { a sudden pause, then a slight part of his lips as if he's suddenly parched. eliot gently squeezes pietro's middle. } So, retirement? What does that even look like for heroes and company?
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