Fic: Take a Seat and Catch Your Breath (3/3)
Title: Take a Seat and Catch Your Breath (3/3)
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Claude, assorted other characters, canon and otherwise
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 2500+, 8300+ overall
Summary: Based on the "Courting/Wooing" prompt on Plaude BINGO, so naturally, given me, it's like a million words of build up to that. And eventually some courtship goes on? I guess?
Warnings:
A/N: Same universe as Differential Diagnosis, so.
He didn’t see him the next day. Or the day after that. By the third day, it began to drive him mad.
Tony’d been back in a limited capacity for the past couple of mornings, so it wasn’t as though Claude was without anyone worth talking to, but he was becoming concerned.
Apparently more ornery than usual or appropriate as well, as Shirley had quite patiently explained to him after he’d snapped at her and perhaps implied that she was an insufferable busybody who couldn’t keep out of other people’s business if her life depended on it. He’d bloody well disappointed her, and he bloody well felt bad for it, like it mattered, and that was just perfect.
He went down that afternoon to have his stitches removed. The same doctor from before, the one with Peter’s eyes but with a complete lack of his patience, went about it briskly and with a brief, passing comment on the fact that had him heading down town immediately.
Peter opened the door eventually, after what felt like five solid minutes of knocking.
“Claude-“
“Why?” he snapped, cutting him off as he barged inside. He walked past Peter, who was looking at him with wary eyes.
“Why what?”
“The stitches. Kind I had to get removed.”
Peter hesitated, and stared at the door he’d come in through as he answered. “That’s what you do with stitches.”
“Nah, mate, not always. Usually not for this type of wound, apparent-” he’d gotten so far as pulling the end of his shirt up, far enough to show the pink-white line of new tissue, and Peter was suddenly a lot closer. Pushing his hand away and his shirt down. His throat caught before he continued. “Apparently. You lot…you lot’re supposed to use the type that dissolve or somewhat, aren’t you. Given the position and the healin’ time and-“
Peter’s hand was on his hip and his head was down, putting the top of it at about level with Claude’s chin. Soft and unnecessary thoughts drifted through Claude’s mind: that he could smell him, feel the warmth of him, hear the slow, steady breaths he was taking in.
“Why?” he said, because he had to, and Peter finally raised his head enough to look at him properly.
“I didn’t…” he bit at his lower lip and suddenly looked ages younger, like he had when they’d first met. Which had hardly been ages ago itself, come to think of it. That reminder, of how much he’d changed, of how much they both had, made Claude’s chest fill with a kind of melancholy fondness. Peter’s eyes made the rest of him fill with a different kind of warmth, and for Christ’s sake, he was blushing, and far too close to Peter to do anything that would hide the fact.
Not that it mattered. Peter kept talking, or failing to talk, same as he had before. As if he hadn’t noticed. Finally cleared his throat and looked down. “I wanted to be sure I’d…see you again…”
His hand had moved, from Claude’s hip around to his back. His body was no closer, but Claude thought he might want it to be.
“Thought of that possibility, actually, mate.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“’cause that’s not why. If I…” he took a moment of his own to collect his thoughts as Peter’s other hand pressed against his chest. “If I’d thought that was true, I wouldn’t’ve come here. Wouldn’t’ve…you wouldn’t’ve seen me again at all.”
Peter laughed. Quiet, surprised, and genuine. He looked up again.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what, Peter?”
“Know me like that. Get me like that.” There was something so raw in his words, like they weren’t compliments at all, like they were the exact opposite, really. Claude shrugged.
“You’re easy, mate.”
Another laugh. His hand slid down Claude’s chest, and stopped, right above his belt.
“I’ve heard that one before,” Peter glanced up at him through his eyelashes, through a lock of hair that had fallen across them.
“I’m not surprised.”
“Claude.” Peter’s tone was mild, and his hands had stopped moving. His eyes were still watching him, closely, intensely, and Claude would be damned if he let the lad stare him down like that.
“Yeah.”
“I like you,” Peter’s words were soft and his lips were strangely, intensely red. He had to keep from staring at them.
“Kinda figured that one out, mate.”
“I always liked you. Since before, when we…when I first met you. I think I liked you since then.”
“You…you think?”
“I didn’t…” Peter let out a breath; it wasn’t quite a sigh, but there was more to it than just an exhalation. “It wasn’t the right time then.” Claude couldn’t exactly argue with that, so he just nodded. Peter smiled, not quite at him. “I wanna try, though. Being with you, I wanna give it a try. Dating you, seeing you, whatever you…whatever you want to call it. I want to go out with you.”
Claude swallowed. Shut his eyes. “I’m not…”
“What?” Peter said, breathless, nervous, but playing it off with a quick laugh. “Interested? Into-“
“Sure. ‘m not…not sure.” He let his eyes open and Peter was still staring at him.
“About what?” Peter’s voice had softened, even as his eyes kept the same careful watch on him. It made Claude decidedly uncomfortable.
“About…this,” he waved a hand, and let it fall back along his side. “Dunno if I…“
“I’d…” Peter hazarded another smile, a different kind of smile, one that made his eyes glow as Claude hadn’t realized they could still do. “We could work on it. I’d help you.”
“It’s not that I need help.”
“What do you need?” so earnest and aching, and what Claude needed was to get himself the hell out of the situation. He couldn’t quite articulate why, and perhaps he should do; maybe it was his best chance to keep Peter at bay.
“I don’t know,” he said, stalling, and Peter smiled again. Leaned a little closer, tilted his head close, and Claude...Claude should’ve taken a step away, but didn’t, and when the kiss he was anticipating didn’t come he was left with his eyes shut and his breath caught.
“How about a date?” he heard Peter say. The same register as normal but with a tenderness Claude couldn’t help warming to, even as he forced his eyes open and responded with a forced incredulous tone.
“A date?”
“You know, dinner, drinks? Sex, eventually? Normal people do it all the time.”
“Mate-“
“We’ve had dinner before. I know you like beer. Sex, you’re a smart guy, I’m sure you-”
“Peter.“
“Claude,” he said, and damn if he didn’t make it sound like he had proprietary ownership on the name. “I want to do this. Okay?”
And of course it was. Or at least it wasn’t not okay enough for him to say otherwise.
“When?”
Peter shrugged. “How about right now?”
“Now? You mean the date, right, not…”
“The date,” Peter said, with a smile, and leaned up. Took him entirely be surprised, with his eyes and mouth still open, but it was all right. Quick, and light, but sure, and it was easy enough to press back, to feel Peter’s breath against his cheek. Easy enough, and it wasn’t awful. About the opposite, really. Then it was over, and Peter was smiling again.
“Now it’s a date.”
Claude felt more relief than was really justified, and couldn’t stifle his laugh. “Doesn’t that bit usually come at the end?”
“I thought we should get it out of the way first,” he leaned in again, and Claude was ready for it that time. Relaxed against the full-bodied press of warmth, and returned the quick wet flicker of tongue against his mouth. “And second.”
Claude let himself laugh at that, too. Let Peter’s grin be enough to coax him out of the flat and into a cab, to a restaurant with an almost discomforting preponderance of candles and dark corners. Let himself enjoy it, because why not.
*
Peter got quieter as the night went on. Kept getting progressively closer to him as well, till his head was resting on Claude’s shoulder during the cab ride back to his flat. Claude would have thought he’d fallen asleep there, but he could feel the tension in him, could tell by how carefully Peter was leaning against him, that he hadn’t.
When they got to Peter’s building, he paid the cab fare. Peter didn’t argue. They stood there for a moment. Facing each other, a couple of feet apart, and Peter appeared to force a smile.
“So.”
“So?”
“What’d you think?”
“Not bad. Could get used to it.”
“Yeah?” Peter’s eyes warmed again.
“Yeah.”
The smile was a little more sincere this time but still not quite real, making it difficult to return, but he did his best. Peter’s got a little better.
“So you wanna…wanna give it another try tomorrow?”
“Why not, mate?”
“Okay. Awesome. I’ll see you-“
He took a step and closed the distance between them. Pressed his mouth against Peter’s lips and his hands against Peter’s cheeks and turned his head, just enough to make sure their noses didn’t bump. Peter kissed him back immediately. Lightly, though, just enough that he could tell Peter was reciprocating, not enough that he felt like he could expect anything more out of it.
He tried to pull away, but Peter followed, grabbing at his shirt and keeping him still as they kissed again. A little harder this time, and Peter clung to him a little more tightly. Then he let go, and took a step back, looking almost terrified.
“Tomorrow, then?” Claude said, once he could. Peter nodded, his lips even redder than earlier and his eyes wide.
“Yeah, tomorrow…tomorrow would be great.”
*
There was a knock on his door at about one minute past midnight.
He had to keep himself from flinging it open; eased it instead, and didn’t even bother to check who it was first, and discovered that the universe had rewarded his momentary trust by dropping a flushed and nervous Peter on his doorstep. The young man’s hands were in his pockets and his hair was thoroughly disheveled, as if he’d just gotten out of bed, and he was staring.
“Peter?”
“It’s…uh…it’s tomorrow,” he said, dropping his gaze to the floor and giving a sad little chuckle. “And I…I couldn’t sleep.”
“How long’ve you been waitin’ out here, mate?”
Peter gave the same laugh as before, and shrugged. “Long enough.”
“Coulda just knocked.”
“Yeah,” he said, and looked up. His gaze was hopeful, maybe a bit guarded, and Claude returned it. “Can I come in?”
He moved away from the door. Peter walked past him, past the kitchen, past the bathroom, straight toward the bedroom and, well, Claude really should’ve seen that one coming.
*
The world wasn’t all that different in the morning.
He still had a job to get to, and so did Peter. He still had to wake up and dress and shower, all those mundane morning activities that were suddenly complicated by Peter’s presence.
And Peter, well, Peter hadn’t been lying about not being able to sleep, as he hadn’t, as far as Claude could tell, spent more than two hours at it after arriving at his flat. And Claude could tell, because Peter’s unease had infected him and kept him awake as well.
He should’ve been angry about it. Or annoyed. Or pitying, but unwilling to spend another night like that. Anything other than what he actually felt, which was concerned and more than a little disappointed.
He wanted…well actually he wasn’t sure what he wanted. He definitely did want Peter. And no matter what else had happened, no matter how quickly the young man had left in the morning, Peter appeared to want him, too. Why he wasn’t satisfied with that, or at least with the knowledge that that was to be their baseline, was worth figuring out.
Not that he had the time for it. Larry Iverson’s court date was coming up, and he’d been assigned to liaise with the assistant district attorney on the case, which was bound to go fantastically. And then there were more files to go through, as there always were. Another planning meeting about the upcoming Executive Order and associated press conference, where they’d be out, once and for all, with no chance of going back.
He wanted to run. That’s what he wanted. More than he had since the first time he’d met Peter, and he couldn’t imagine it was a coincidence. But there wouldn’t be many places left where he could do that, not forever, not after next month.
So he went to for a walk instead.
*
Ended up near Central Park.
It took him longer than it would have two years ago to get inside the building (security had been much improved, imagine that), but he managed it, and once inside, getting up to the roof was easy.
The sky was clouded, and the pigeons were still there. Or some pigeons were still there, because they weren’t his. Someone had been feeding them, though. Caring for them. They weren’t street birds, that much was obvious; well-bred and ostentatiously so. They cooed at him anyway, and he didn’t know what he’d been expecting.
To have been followed. To have been met up there. To have been interrupted, even. None of which happened, and he didn’t stay for long.
*
Peter showed up at his flat again that night. Claude opened the door for him, let him in, and pulled away when he tried to kiss him. Peter frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Dunno, mate, you tell me.”
“Claude…” he sighed heavily. “It’s been a long day. Don’t screw with me. Are you pissed at me? About this morning?”
“No.”
“Then what-“
“The stitches. Tell me why.”
Peter sighed again, and covered his eyes with his hand. “I…just…you’re gonna take it the wrong way.”
“That’ll be on you, then. Tell me how I should take it.”
“Claude…Just…promise you won’t get mad at me.”
“Can’t promise that, mate, and I think you know it.”
Peter gave him a precise look, frowned, and then spoke. “The…they scar less. Or not at all, if you do it right. I tried to-“
“To what, make sure I’d-“
“I didn’t want you to…you have enough…” Peter hesitated, and then shook his head. “Look. You’ve had a hard time. You…you have a lot of…I wanted this to be different for you. You and me, the life you’re living now, I didn’t want you to remember it like you remember…Primatech. And all of that. Does that make any sense?”
“Not a bit, mate.”
Peter made a frustrated sound and looked about ready to leave. Claude reached out and grabbed hold of his arm. Pulled him closer, and Peter let himself be drawn in. Rested his forehead against Claude’s neck, curled his arms against Claude’s chest.
“I just want you to be okay,” Peter said, very clearly, despite speaking almost directly into his shirt, and Claude nodded.
“I want me to be okay too, Pete.” Peter snorted, and nuzzled against him. Claude patted him on the back, and continued. “Want you to be okay too, though. More, actually. For what it’s worth.”
He felt Peter’s lips connect with his skin. He ran his hand through Peter’s hair.
“That actually kind of works out,” Peter said, after a moment.
“If you say so, mate.”
*
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Claude, assorted other characters, canon and otherwise
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 2500+, 8300+ overall
Summary: Based on the "Courting/Wooing" prompt on Plaude BINGO, so naturally, given me, it's like a million words of build up to that. And eventually some courtship goes on? I guess?
Warnings:
A/N: Same universe as Differential Diagnosis, so.
He didn’t see him the next day. Or the day after that. By the third day, it began to drive him mad.
Tony’d been back in a limited capacity for the past couple of mornings, so it wasn’t as though Claude was without anyone worth talking to, but he was becoming concerned.
Apparently more ornery than usual or appropriate as well, as Shirley had quite patiently explained to him after he’d snapped at her and perhaps implied that she was an insufferable busybody who couldn’t keep out of other people’s business if her life depended on it. He’d bloody well disappointed her, and he bloody well felt bad for it, like it mattered, and that was just perfect.
He went down that afternoon to have his stitches removed. The same doctor from before, the one with Peter’s eyes but with a complete lack of his patience, went about it briskly and with a brief, passing comment on the fact that had him heading down town immediately.
Peter opened the door eventually, after what felt like five solid minutes of knocking.
“Claude-“
“Why?” he snapped, cutting him off as he barged inside. He walked past Peter, who was looking at him with wary eyes.
“Why what?”
“The stitches. Kind I had to get removed.”
Peter hesitated, and stared at the door he’d come in through as he answered. “That’s what you do with stitches.”
“Nah, mate, not always. Usually not for this type of wound, apparent-” he’d gotten so far as pulling the end of his shirt up, far enough to show the pink-white line of new tissue, and Peter was suddenly a lot closer. Pushing his hand away and his shirt down. His throat caught before he continued. “Apparently. You lot…you lot’re supposed to use the type that dissolve or somewhat, aren’t you. Given the position and the healin’ time and-“
Peter’s hand was on his hip and his head was down, putting the top of it at about level with Claude’s chin. Soft and unnecessary thoughts drifted through Claude’s mind: that he could smell him, feel the warmth of him, hear the slow, steady breaths he was taking in.
“Why?” he said, because he had to, and Peter finally raised his head enough to look at him properly.
“I didn’t…” he bit at his lower lip and suddenly looked ages younger, like he had when they’d first met. Which had hardly been ages ago itself, come to think of it. That reminder, of how much he’d changed, of how much they both had, made Claude’s chest fill with a kind of melancholy fondness. Peter’s eyes made the rest of him fill with a different kind of warmth, and for Christ’s sake, he was blushing, and far too close to Peter to do anything that would hide the fact.
Not that it mattered. Peter kept talking, or failing to talk, same as he had before. As if he hadn’t noticed. Finally cleared his throat and looked down. “I wanted to be sure I’d…see you again…”
His hand had moved, from Claude’s hip around to his back. His body was no closer, but Claude thought he might want it to be.
“Thought of that possibility, actually, mate.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“’cause that’s not why. If I…” he took a moment of his own to collect his thoughts as Peter’s other hand pressed against his chest. “If I’d thought that was true, I wouldn’t’ve come here. Wouldn’t’ve…you wouldn’t’ve seen me again at all.”
Peter laughed. Quiet, surprised, and genuine. He looked up again.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what, Peter?”
“Know me like that. Get me like that.” There was something so raw in his words, like they weren’t compliments at all, like they were the exact opposite, really. Claude shrugged.
“You’re easy, mate.”
Another laugh. His hand slid down Claude’s chest, and stopped, right above his belt.
“I’ve heard that one before,” Peter glanced up at him through his eyelashes, through a lock of hair that had fallen across them.
“I’m not surprised.”
“Claude.” Peter’s tone was mild, and his hands had stopped moving. His eyes were still watching him, closely, intensely, and Claude would be damned if he let the lad stare him down like that.
“Yeah.”
“I like you,” Peter’s words were soft and his lips were strangely, intensely red. He had to keep from staring at them.
“Kinda figured that one out, mate.”
“I always liked you. Since before, when we…when I first met you. I think I liked you since then.”
“You…you think?”
“I didn’t…” Peter let out a breath; it wasn’t quite a sigh, but there was more to it than just an exhalation. “It wasn’t the right time then.” Claude couldn’t exactly argue with that, so he just nodded. Peter smiled, not quite at him. “I wanna try, though. Being with you, I wanna give it a try. Dating you, seeing you, whatever you…whatever you want to call it. I want to go out with you.”
Claude swallowed. Shut his eyes. “I’m not…”
“What?” Peter said, breathless, nervous, but playing it off with a quick laugh. “Interested? Into-“
“Sure. ‘m not…not sure.” He let his eyes open and Peter was still staring at him.
“About what?” Peter’s voice had softened, even as his eyes kept the same careful watch on him. It made Claude decidedly uncomfortable.
“About…this,” he waved a hand, and let it fall back along his side. “Dunno if I…“
“I’d…” Peter hazarded another smile, a different kind of smile, one that made his eyes glow as Claude hadn’t realized they could still do. “We could work on it. I’d help you.”
“It’s not that I need help.”
“What do you need?” so earnest and aching, and what Claude needed was to get himself the hell out of the situation. He couldn’t quite articulate why, and perhaps he should do; maybe it was his best chance to keep Peter at bay.
“I don’t know,” he said, stalling, and Peter smiled again. Leaned a little closer, tilted his head close, and Claude...Claude should’ve taken a step away, but didn’t, and when the kiss he was anticipating didn’t come he was left with his eyes shut and his breath caught.
“How about a date?” he heard Peter say. The same register as normal but with a tenderness Claude couldn’t help warming to, even as he forced his eyes open and responded with a forced incredulous tone.
“A date?”
“You know, dinner, drinks? Sex, eventually? Normal people do it all the time.”
“Mate-“
“We’ve had dinner before. I know you like beer. Sex, you’re a smart guy, I’m sure you-”
“Peter.“
“Claude,” he said, and damn if he didn’t make it sound like he had proprietary ownership on the name. “I want to do this. Okay?”
And of course it was. Or at least it wasn’t not okay enough for him to say otherwise.
“When?”
Peter shrugged. “How about right now?”
“Now? You mean the date, right, not…”
“The date,” Peter said, with a smile, and leaned up. Took him entirely be surprised, with his eyes and mouth still open, but it was all right. Quick, and light, but sure, and it was easy enough to press back, to feel Peter’s breath against his cheek. Easy enough, and it wasn’t awful. About the opposite, really. Then it was over, and Peter was smiling again.
“Now it’s a date.”
Claude felt more relief than was really justified, and couldn’t stifle his laugh. “Doesn’t that bit usually come at the end?”
“I thought we should get it out of the way first,” he leaned in again, and Claude was ready for it that time. Relaxed against the full-bodied press of warmth, and returned the quick wet flicker of tongue against his mouth. “And second.”
Claude let himself laugh at that, too. Let Peter’s grin be enough to coax him out of the flat and into a cab, to a restaurant with an almost discomforting preponderance of candles and dark corners. Let himself enjoy it, because why not.
*
Peter got quieter as the night went on. Kept getting progressively closer to him as well, till his head was resting on Claude’s shoulder during the cab ride back to his flat. Claude would have thought he’d fallen asleep there, but he could feel the tension in him, could tell by how carefully Peter was leaning against him, that he hadn’t.
When they got to Peter’s building, he paid the cab fare. Peter didn’t argue. They stood there for a moment. Facing each other, a couple of feet apart, and Peter appeared to force a smile.
“So.”
“So?”
“What’d you think?”
“Not bad. Could get used to it.”
“Yeah?” Peter’s eyes warmed again.
“Yeah.”
The smile was a little more sincere this time but still not quite real, making it difficult to return, but he did his best. Peter’s got a little better.
“So you wanna…wanna give it another try tomorrow?”
“Why not, mate?”
“Okay. Awesome. I’ll see you-“
He took a step and closed the distance between them. Pressed his mouth against Peter’s lips and his hands against Peter’s cheeks and turned his head, just enough to make sure their noses didn’t bump. Peter kissed him back immediately. Lightly, though, just enough that he could tell Peter was reciprocating, not enough that he felt like he could expect anything more out of it.
He tried to pull away, but Peter followed, grabbing at his shirt and keeping him still as they kissed again. A little harder this time, and Peter clung to him a little more tightly. Then he let go, and took a step back, looking almost terrified.
“Tomorrow, then?” Claude said, once he could. Peter nodded, his lips even redder than earlier and his eyes wide.
“Yeah, tomorrow…tomorrow would be great.”
*
There was a knock on his door at about one minute past midnight.
He had to keep himself from flinging it open; eased it instead, and didn’t even bother to check who it was first, and discovered that the universe had rewarded his momentary trust by dropping a flushed and nervous Peter on his doorstep. The young man’s hands were in his pockets and his hair was thoroughly disheveled, as if he’d just gotten out of bed, and he was staring.
“Peter?”
“It’s…uh…it’s tomorrow,” he said, dropping his gaze to the floor and giving a sad little chuckle. “And I…I couldn’t sleep.”
“How long’ve you been waitin’ out here, mate?”
Peter gave the same laugh as before, and shrugged. “Long enough.”
“Coulda just knocked.”
“Yeah,” he said, and looked up. His gaze was hopeful, maybe a bit guarded, and Claude returned it. “Can I come in?”
He moved away from the door. Peter walked past him, past the kitchen, past the bathroom, straight toward the bedroom and, well, Claude really should’ve seen that one coming.
*
The world wasn’t all that different in the morning.
He still had a job to get to, and so did Peter. He still had to wake up and dress and shower, all those mundane morning activities that were suddenly complicated by Peter’s presence.
And Peter, well, Peter hadn’t been lying about not being able to sleep, as he hadn’t, as far as Claude could tell, spent more than two hours at it after arriving at his flat. And Claude could tell, because Peter’s unease had infected him and kept him awake as well.
He should’ve been angry about it. Or annoyed. Or pitying, but unwilling to spend another night like that. Anything other than what he actually felt, which was concerned and more than a little disappointed.
He wanted…well actually he wasn’t sure what he wanted. He definitely did want Peter. And no matter what else had happened, no matter how quickly the young man had left in the morning, Peter appeared to want him, too. Why he wasn’t satisfied with that, or at least with the knowledge that that was to be their baseline, was worth figuring out.
Not that he had the time for it. Larry Iverson’s court date was coming up, and he’d been assigned to liaise with the assistant district attorney on the case, which was bound to go fantastically. And then there were more files to go through, as there always were. Another planning meeting about the upcoming Executive Order and associated press conference, where they’d be out, once and for all, with no chance of going back.
He wanted to run. That’s what he wanted. More than he had since the first time he’d met Peter, and he couldn’t imagine it was a coincidence. But there wouldn’t be many places left where he could do that, not forever, not after next month.
So he went to for a walk instead.
*
Ended up near Central Park.
It took him longer than it would have two years ago to get inside the building (security had been much improved, imagine that), but he managed it, and once inside, getting up to the roof was easy.
The sky was clouded, and the pigeons were still there. Or some pigeons were still there, because they weren’t his. Someone had been feeding them, though. Caring for them. They weren’t street birds, that much was obvious; well-bred and ostentatiously so. They cooed at him anyway, and he didn’t know what he’d been expecting.
To have been followed. To have been met up there. To have been interrupted, even. None of which happened, and he didn’t stay for long.
*
Peter showed up at his flat again that night. Claude opened the door for him, let him in, and pulled away when he tried to kiss him. Peter frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Dunno, mate, you tell me.”
“Claude…” he sighed heavily. “It’s been a long day. Don’t screw with me. Are you pissed at me? About this morning?”
“No.”
“Then what-“
“The stitches. Tell me why.”
Peter sighed again, and covered his eyes with his hand. “I…just…you’re gonna take it the wrong way.”
“That’ll be on you, then. Tell me how I should take it.”
“Claude…Just…promise you won’t get mad at me.”
“Can’t promise that, mate, and I think you know it.”
Peter gave him a precise look, frowned, and then spoke. “The…they scar less. Or not at all, if you do it right. I tried to-“
“To what, make sure I’d-“
“I didn’t want you to…you have enough…” Peter hesitated, and then shook his head. “Look. You’ve had a hard time. You…you have a lot of…I wanted this to be different for you. You and me, the life you’re living now, I didn’t want you to remember it like you remember…Primatech. And all of that. Does that make any sense?”
“Not a bit, mate.”
Peter made a frustrated sound and looked about ready to leave. Claude reached out and grabbed hold of his arm. Pulled him closer, and Peter let himself be drawn in. Rested his forehead against Claude’s neck, curled his arms against Claude’s chest.
“I just want you to be okay,” Peter said, very clearly, despite speaking almost directly into his shirt, and Claude nodded.
“I want me to be okay too, Pete.” Peter snorted, and nuzzled against him. Claude patted him on the back, and continued. “Want you to be okay too, though. More, actually. For what it’s worth.”
He felt Peter’s lips connect with his skin. He ran his hand through Peter’s hair.
“That actually kind of works out,” Peter said, after a moment.
“If you say so, mate.”
*