vivicidal | open rp / overflow

No--no, no, no just-- [ Just come in and let him see. Once he's urged Peter in, Quentin goes to lock up quickly, as if for some reason those drunk assholes followed Peter here. For a few seconds, Peter can get the lay of the land.

[ The apartment suits the kind of budget Peter might expect from Quentin's tiddlywinks job clerking at a secondhand bookstore. Everything is a little too narrow and a little too long, and he has the place plastered with paper. Almost collaged, images torn from books to the tune of protection, nightmares, dream interpretation, and here and there a band flyer for something local. There are post-its at various spots with mundane things listed on them (turn off!!, check list app, phone? keys? wallet?) where he'll obviously see them. The place is cluttered, and there's something that makes noise in each oddly sectioned room. A chintzy plug-in zen garden water bubbler in the kitchenette. A ticking wall clock in the room with the broken TV. A tinny speaker playing surly music in the bedroom/office. There's a folding chair in the bedroom, an office chair in the sitting area, and not another seat to be seen in the place. He likes to keep it moving and noisy.

[ They haven't talked about the nightmares again, but the place paints a pretty clear picture of Quentin's relationship to sleep. ]

What are you doing picking fights with drunks? [ If he's self-conscious about anyone seeing his inner sanctum, though, it doesn't show just yet. He takes Peter's shoulders to turn him about face, holds onto him for a look up and down. Scowling, Quentin tilts his head for a look at the mottling around Peter's jaw, one hand feathering under his chin to suggest tipping it. ] Whattayou mean everything, how much are you missing? Hey, take this--lemme see--

[ Coat off, come on, let him take inventory. ]

[ the shift from the eerily quiet hallway, to the discordant mixture of sounds, perfectly contained in quentin's apartment is all but startling... not unwelcome in the slightest, but also not what he had anticipated when he found himself outside the building. by the looks of it, peter almost expected paper thin walls, but perhaps it's older than he realizes. or maybe he was far more engrossed in his thoughts as he patiently waited for quentin to answer the door, who's to say?

coupled with the state of his apartment — the walls especially — it certainly speaks volumes, a vivid display of quentin's most inner thoughts, splattered, and seemingly disorganized. peter takes as many seconds as he can to survey his surroundings, noting only a few key pieces before he's realigning his attention. ]

Oh, you know, one of my favorite pastimes after a long day of work, [ light sarcasm hangs on every word, delivered as a defense mechanism... one that he quickly rectifies with a whispered apology.

peter moves willingly, freely, adjusting the angle to allow quentin a better look at the fresh and tender contusion. he takes another moment to study his expression, watching the varying degrees of concern, displeasure, and concentration. it's... honestly, kind of sweet and almost reminiscent. his gaze then drops to the cupids bow, tracing its curve with his eyes before he's lightly shaking his head and those thoughts free for the time being. ]

Wallet... I don't know how much I had on me, but I'm sure it made their night. Phone, key card... keys— who the fuck takes keys? I— [ peter huffs another sigh, shrugging his coat off, now looking more defeated than anything else at this point. ]

I just need somewhere to stay, and I can figure everything else out in the morning...

[ he doesn't necessarily ask, but it's obvious in the look he gives him. ]

Yeah, of course. [ He murmurs automatically, too distracted with taking Peter's coat and setting it on the counter to realize that the question was never asked. He clears his throat. ] You can stay here. Is what I mean. I figured, if you're here, then--

[ Shut up. Just shut up. His lips purse to keep from rambling. The rambling is no new occurrence, but just now, when Peter is battered--possibly bleeding?--it feels particularly useless. Not that he's sure what impression he's trying to give here; the fact that Peter showed up here for a place to stay instead of some place else cleaner, more comfortable, or with someone else should speak for itself. He keeps that in mind while digging into the freezer for a gel pack. The place may be a mess, but he's fully prepared for injuries. Always.

[ The dish towel he hands it to Peter in is perhaps not the cleanest though. ]

I don't know how much it'll help at this point, but it'll feel better anyway. [ His hand rings Peter's wrist loosely as he makes the pass, turns it to see the state of his hands--knuckles. ] Is that the worst of it? You breathing okay?

Thank you, [ he smiles lightly for a fleeting moment, sincerity interlaced in his words as he accepts the pack and holds it gently against his jawline. gentle, but not gentle enough. peter inhales through his teeth as the pain radiates and etches itself across his features, then exhales, slow and controlled, easing into his discomfort.

the things he puts himself through should have him shaking his head, reevaluating his life choices. but he made his bed, and it's time to lie in it. ]

For this... for-- letting me stay.

[ peter doesn't hold anything back, doesn't try to hide any of his injuries from quentin. his hands aren't quite the worst of it, but there are signs that he definitely put up... some sort of fight. reddening knuckles, minor abrasions. he outstretches his fingers, resting the tips of them against quentin's arm, a mark of how grateful he is. he then shifts to lean against the counter, body gradually relaxing, ] Breathing is fine, as far as I can tell... but maybe we should wait for the adrenaline to wear off before I commit to that.

[ peter manages to huff a laugh, one that dissolves into a soft groan. ] Come to think of it, I'm sure they left me with more than a few tokens of their gratitude.

[ the bulk of it under his shirt, scattered bruising along his rib cage and a few more down his legs... nothing that requires immediate medical attention. just a little tlc. he made certain of that. ]

You can use my phone to call the cops. [ Goosebumps from those fingertips. Quentin's eyes linger a little longer over the cloudy stretch of skin over Peter's knuckles, thumb skimming the abraded skin, less to gauge the damage now than to avoid making eye contact and accounting for the shiver. He can look up once he finds a serious tone. It sounds a little too much like his dad, but better than being flustered, probably. ]

Seriously, what were you thinking? Not about coming here. I'm glad you came here, but--I mean, you're not drunk, are you? [ Letting go, he backs away, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. It's dry, but it's a joke: ] Can you touch your finger to the nose? Say the alphabet inside-out.

[ it doesn't go unnoticed, the goosebumps, the way quentin and his body reacts in peter's presence... more and more without his permission. it never has... but peter's smart enough not to shine a light on it. some people don't want to be seen until they're ready and sure. and some people need an encouraging nudge in the right direction.

so he nods, but he's in no rush to report a fictitious crime.

peter stays where he is, tips his head at the tone that quentin adopts, all while suppressing the tiny smile that threatens to curl at the corners of his mouth. lowering the pack to his other hand, peter pushes off the counter to close the space between them once more. ]

What nose? [ he narrows his eyes, teasingly. presses the pack to his ribs as he reaches out to run a single digit down the line of quentin's. ] This nose?

[ finally, finally, he smiles. ] You know, you're cute when you're concerned.

See, now I know you're drunk. You're falling back on the pickup lines. [ And the smile, it feels like a sucker punch every time, a fucking concealed weapon--makes him feel like his guts are wide open. He diverts his eyes to the new ice pack placement. ] Y'know, if you were out someplace dicey, I would've come walk with you before you got picked over.

[ Not that he has a car or can afford to be out anywhere or would be a huge help in a big fight, but--he reaches to cover the pack with his own hand. To help. To have a reason to stay close. The militant tone is gone, faded to something serious but (buzzing in his stomach, creaking in his throat) soft: ] I'm--I am. Glad you're here.

[ the gesture is quite intimate... far more intimate than anything else prior, and if there was any uncertainty about quentin's interests, this alone would likely settle those lingering thoughts. peter's smile softens in its wake, reflecting the tone of quentin's voice, while his own hand slips out and overtop, offering another reason to stay. ]

Just—

[ he idly strokes his thumb over the back of quentin's hand, softer to the touch than he expected. quite pleasant really... warm, inviting. ] How glad are we talking here?

[ but peter doesn't expect an answer, he hardly even leaves room for one anyway as he takes another half step toward him, fully invading his space with intention. he tilts his head, leaning close. then closer still to seal their mouths together in a kiss that's equal parts delicate and experimental, testing the waters to see what quentin might do. ]

[ Goosebumps, spiking up under Peter's thumb, down the back of Quentin's neck when he comes in close. His nerves are lit to the very tips--but Quentin is used to diving, to jumping, to taking ever shot he gets, so when Peter leans in, Quentin butts his chin up to meet him. It's considerably less delicate, no experimenting. Bold, his hand comes up to cup Peter's cheek--

[ Oh shit, and Quentin hisses, yanking his fingers away from the bruise and his mouth away from Peter's. ] Shit, shit--I'm sorry. Are you--?

[ peter should've seen it coming from a mile away, it's predictable and instinctual by nature, and yet, the last thing on his mind. he winces almost immediately, jerking his head in the opposite direction as the dull ache is reinvigorated. ]

Mhm, [ not at all convincing by the look on peter's face, though he does try to force his expression to even out quicker than naturally. he's not done with quentin just yet, and a little pain every now and again never hurt nobody. so he grits his teeth, but even that sends a throb down the line of his neck, one that bounces back to the point of contact. ] I'm fine.

[ he's fine... he'll be fine. ]

Maybe just... aim a bit lower, [ peter manages a soft laugh, then curls his fingers around the back of quentin's neck, tugging him in to pick up where they left off. somewhere along the lines of bold... a little more firm and eager. ]

[ Lower. Yeah, okay. Peter interrupts an awed holy shit when their lips meet again, but Quentin's more ready. Both his hands brace lower and sweep Peter's ribs. He's seen this body in half-measures, skin peeking out from wide collars, hips hinted at under slinky athletic fabric. It's different under his hands. Same as Peter is different against his mouth, even if he's seen that sideways smile or the steel jaw a hundred times.

[ With a heavy sigh out, Quentin nods up into the kiss, opens up to skim his teeth over Peter's lower lip--to follow the scrape with his tongue. Hands flat on the small of his back, he tugs Peter in surely. When Quentin steps forward, the motion pushes Peter back to the counter. Lower. Okay, yeah. ]

[ the gentle bite is more than enough to coax peter's mouth open, jaw falling partially slack as his tongue delves in after quentin's. he sighs, soft and contented, the taste of him permeating his senses and driving his need even higher.

it's quite a pleasant surprise to find that quentin's audacious nature translates well into situations far more... personal, and hands on. and as he's pulled in, a subtle groan contains itself in his throat, fingertips digging into the nape of quentin's neck when his backside is met with the edge of the counter. quentin's assertiveness is duly noted... then lightly challenged when peter's free hand drops to his hip, trailing a path to his rear.

he's not ashamed to admit that he's stolen more than a few glances, but quentin's choice in loose-fit clothing leaves just about everything up to the imagination. which turns out... is not all that different in terms of soft and pliable. peter squeezes and pulls them even closer (as if they aren't already close enough), hinting at what now might be on both their minds. ]

[ Now, as ever, he's dressed loosely--even more comfortable for the sake of being in his own home. The thin-worn sweatpants make it all the more apparent when his ass tenses in Peter's grip, or make it painfully evident that his blood is running lower when Peter presses the little bit of distance out from between them. Quentin hisses, but he can't ease his erection out of Peter's hip without rocking into his hand. ]

Holy shit, Pete-- [ Quentin's thumbs hook into Peter's hips to put the inch or so between them that they afford. He detangles from Peter's mouth, but he doesn't open his eyes--barely lifts his lips off Peter, his voice still vibrates between them as he rambles. ] --dude, you were just mugged. You're hurt, and I like you--like--I dunno how much, if it's like like, or--which isn't to say this isn't--heh! great, I mean it's great--but I don't wanna--

[ His eyes flutter open, breath rushes along Peter's cheek when he sighs. ] --I don't wanna hurt you, man.

[ it's unmistakable — the press of quentin's erection to his hip — it has his heart pounding just a little harder, head swimming in possibilities and all mixing together in a heady combination. the rush catches peter off guard, and while quentin rambles off in all directions, it's all he can really think about.

it takes a surprising amount of willpower not to claim quentin's lips again, to derail that particular train of thought in an attempt to throw all reason out the window. even more so with their unrelenting proximity, lips so close that with one tug, peter could effectively shut him up. instead, he listens with mild amusement, the tiniest curve settling in at the corner of his mouth as he draws haphazard designs at quentin's neck, trailing just below the collar of his shirt.

finally, he lets out a sigh of his own and nods briefly. ]

I know... I know you don't, I just— got caught up. [ he wets his lips, and lets his other hand settle at quentin's hip, doing nothing to push or pull. just there... as a reminder. ] You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that.

—kiss you, I mean. [ and well, everything else that goes along with it, but that's probably blatantly obvious by now. ]

But uh... unless you plan to bring out whips and chains, I think I'll be alright. [ he smiles, lopsided and playful in nature, ] or... if you'd rather play nurse for a while longer, don't let me ruin your plans.

[ He gets a grin for the mention of whips and chains, a laugh that's only part nervous. Quentin noses back to him, kisses gingerly at the curved corner of his mouth. ] Just--let me--lemme get you in the shower.

[ Sucking in a breath, Quentin stretches through his arms, fingers reaching down the sides of his legs and scooping between his thighs. He lets the buzzing in his stomach be excitement as he tips his head to hum in Peter's ear: ] We can decide once I get a look at you. Deal?

[ not in the least bit surprising... he fully anticipated quentin's protective nature to outweigh any selfish needs. that is... until he realizes that peter is mostly okay. just a little banged up. like a man that stumbled into the wrong crowd, and escaped before things got real ugly. ]

Mm, [ peter loops an arm loosely around quentin's shoulders, eyes sliding shut for a moment, while he indulges in the tantalizing shiver that rolls down the length of his back. one that quentin manages to evoke with ease. he turns his head to meet his lips once more, a kiss that's meant to be brief, but he finds himself lingering just a bit longer. ] You have yourself a deal, nurse hard-on.

[ His mind is mostly made up by the time Peter agrees, which might be apparent when Quentin nips a little harshly at his ear for the joke. Even so, he does want to have a look at Peter first, if only to know where to put his hands. Happily, the scrunched apartment means they don't have to be apart for long, just for the time it takes him to turn the music up and dig out an extra towel. That's all, then he's helping out with that shirt (let me--) and those jeans (i got it--), crowding Peter under the stream in the standing shower. ]

So how long have you been wanting to do that? [ Quentin peels out of his own shirt and sweatshirt at once, leaving them on the floor in front of the sink--pants too. He's fit, but soft around the edges, pale except his flushed cheeks and cock and a set of neat, narrow cuts healing on the inside of his right hip. If he's self-conscious about them, it doesn't show; Quentin's focus is on the blood pooled around Peter's ribs, blotchy marks looking even darker in the harsh bathroom light. He clicks his tongue, but the noise is lost under the sound of the water. ] Kiss me, I mean. First time we met? No--it was when you saw me talking to that toddler at the park, huh? Got the biological clock ticking.

[ His hands graze down Peter's chest, fingers pause to outline the worst of the damage. Quentin kisses his mouth shallowly, then the hinge of his jaw--the hollow of his throat--his nipple as Quentin pushes him against the shower wall-- ]

[ a+ for bedside manners.

peter watches quentin with clear interest, hungrily taking in every bit of skin as he strips himself down. he takes note of the markings, but he doesn't dwell... time and a place, and right now, there are far more important things for his eyes to focus on. ]

Oh, am I that predictable? [ he gives a wry little smile, hands lifting to rest at quentin's sides, just above the notch of his hipbones. he almost has half a mind to pull them close again, but the trail of quentin's lips signals another path, one that he eagerly follows. by now, his cock is fully erect, and twitching in response as he's pushed against the wall— sue him, he likes it a little rough. ] I would've swooned if I wasn't worried about a face full of pavement.

[ peter huffs a laugh and draws a hand into quentin's hair, combing through and gripping lightly. ]

Oh yeah, big wannabe-dad energy--mm. [ The hair that Peter doesn't catch between his knuckles flicks and plasters against Quentin's temples, dripping down his cheeks and clinging to his neck. His mouth is slack and lazing to one side, eyelashes hugging together as the spray catches him. He doesn't flinch when it runs through his eyes, though--just follows the way Peter tugs at him to look up while he takes a knee. ]

I'm serious. Tell me. [ That lazy smile takes on more lopsided purpose when he skates a palm from Peter's knee to his hip, smoothly wraps around his cock to stroke him slow and easy. ] When did you first think about it?

[ peter opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a soft sigh as quentin curls his hand around him. the weight of his touch isn't nearly enough, but it's enough to derail his thoughts for a beat. ]

Some time after we met, [ the tip of peter's tongue sweeps across his lips, his hand unfurling to push some of the hair from quentin's face. ] I came to meet you at the bookstore for our usual coffee... no idea what you were doing, taking inventory, maybe? [ his gaze then flits to the hand around his cock, distracting and gradually intensifying his ache for more, ] Scanning the books with a pen to your mouth, dragging the end across your lips.

Right there, against the bookcase.

[ Whoa. The image tightens his gut. That's gonna be a problem next time he's reviewing inventory. Could he have been making out with Peter in the stacks? Is that still up for grabs? He shakes his head and turns his cheek against the shaft in his hand, fingers wrapping snug as he pulls Peter back along his face.

[ See how it would fit? ]

That's hot. [ Simple, chuckling, casual. His free hand spiders around the bruises down Peter's leg, tap at the back of his knee while Quentin pulls back to cup the tip of his cock on his tongue. It's teasing, just the same as dragging Peter along his lower lip, wrapping his mouth loose around the crown just for a second before letting go.

[ Fuck, yeah, okay, it's extremely different not pawing at each other high or drunk in someone's mom's closet. ]

I don't usually, um. Go for guys. Or anyone, it's been--I dunno, I've been doing like an involuntary monk thing for a while, I guess.

[ sorry if I'm bad at it comes through pretty clear, but he can make up for his clumsiness with effort. On the next stroke, he pulls Peter back to his mouth and follows his fist down about halfway, tongue tight underneath him. ]

[ the first touch of quentin's tongue — hot, wet, teasing — pulls the softest of groans, barely audible over the sound of the shower. credit where it's due— most people in quentin's shoes wouldn't be so eager to drop to their knees, instead opting to let things happen to them. truthfully, peter wouldn't have minded.

he smiles lightly, one hand running through wet curls, settling at the crown of quentin's head as a sort of encouragement. perhaps a guide. ]

Don't worry about it, just go slow. [ a part of him expected a level of inexperience, quentin's fairly young and doesn't exactly strike peter as the promiscuous type. though with that face... a toss of the coin, really. ]

If I'm being honest, I thought about a lot more than that, [ he adds, glad to be of service of the invasive thoughts program. here, allow him to contribute a little something extra for those days that seem to drag on and on. everyone has them, might as well give quentin something to think about that just might make the day go by faster. ] I though— fuck... [ he moans breathily as quentin takes more of him into his mouth, fingers curling tightly around his hair, ] dragging you into the back, maybe an aisle where people don't often visit. Thought about— [ a breath, ] how your dick would feel in my mouth, what you'd sound like, trying so hard to keep quiet.

[ The permission to take his time is really relieving. No need to rush and get cocky or clumsy or lazy. He's especially grateful for the clarification when Peter keeps going because it's a little hard to focus when that picture comes to mind. Quentin hums at the thought of it (he'd be impossible to keep quiet, he can barely disguise his reactions in private, nevermind at high risk), mouth buzzing with it when he takes Peter in again. His lips brush his knuckles this time, breath rushing against Peter as Quentin pulls back for a breath, leaning into the grip in his hair.

[ Panting lightly, he smirks and massages his palm around Peter's balls, his other hand dropping between his own knees. ] You been jacking off thinking about me, Pete? Cuz I've been stuck on-- [ Still grinning, he presses a kiss to the base of his prick, licks it back up along the curve of Peter's hip. A sigh rushes along his shaft when Quentin strokes himself once, twice. ] --when I said back and you said--arch. That's gotten, uh. A lot of mileage.

[ His eyes flicker shut, mouth hanging open, lips snagging the fine skin at the underside of Peter's cock. ] You got me. Show me how you like it.

[ peter tips his head back in the wake of those little vibrations, a shuddered breath passing through parted lips as the heat of it coils up his spine. it's significantly... difficult to take things slow when quentin's mouth does such wonderful things.

slow, right— good things come to those who wait, or whatever. ]

Only on days that end in 'y'. [ he laughs lightly, lifting his head to return his attention to the pretty boy on his knees, momentarily distracted by the way he touches himself. ] Oh? [ nothing but pure intrigue in the response, fingers combing through his hair. stroking, really, now that it's mostly — if not, completely — wet. ] That far back, huh?

[ he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about that one.

with his free hand, peter presses his cock a little more firmly against quentin's mouth, rocking his hips to stroke the sensitive point just below the head. it only lasts for a handful of seconds, then he's pulling back and tugging lightly at his hair, ] am I on my hands and knees in that scenario? [ he smiles, ] c'mere.

Edited 2022-10-03 06:30 (UTC)

Or on your back. [ He adds, chasing the pressure as Peter pulls back. His chin nods up, tongue tips to his slit until Peter pulls at his hair. He comes up as called, but not without retracing his steps in bites to Peter's nipple-- ] Or in my lap. [ The hollow of his throat-- ] Or making me--ah--

[ His earlobe, firmer than before, before Quentin moves his head to the opposite side and takes a mouthful of Peter's neck, just below the dark marking along his jaw. Who's going to notice another bruise? It's fine. Long fingers wrap their lengths together to rub in synch, splay across the small of Peter's back. Quentin rocks into him. ] I've had a lot of time to think about it.

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