since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid

[irrigo]

(harmless) hanahaki meme

hanahaki (literally "vomiting flowers") is a fictional illness that began in japanese literature. most commonly, it happens in the case of unrequited love; flowers bloom in a person's lungs and their love suffocates them until it is either requited or they die. that's pretty angsty. instead, consider a world where hanahaki is a normalised inconvenience and it's never hurt anyone. flowers grow in your chest from the cultivation of love — for your friends, your family, your dog. and it's a feeling that wants to be known, so maybe you can't help spilling petals sometimes when you laugh, or sigh, or shout at someone. everyone knows what it means and it's something to be celebrated. you love. maybe you don't want to, though. maybe you chew on the petals and swallow them back, so that no one knows the feelings you're carrying around in your heart. but maybe that's not going to work forever, and sooner or later, you're going to cough those feelings up.

the short version ① hanahaki means your characters cough up flowers. plain and simple. ② it's caused by unspoken love, in any form, platonic or romantic; whether the love is requited has nothing to do with it. ③ the disease is not harmful in any way, and it's no more annoying than a persistent cough; it's treated as more symbolic magic realism here than concerned with the real life implications of coughing up flowers. ④ it's "cured" when a person expresses their love, whether the feeling is requited or not. ⑤ so basically, you can rp any everyday scenario... but now your character might have to deal with the minor nuisance of hacking up petals around the people they love. and those people are going to know what that means.

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[iuno]

[ those wandering hands are enough to take in, but it's Peter's soft endearment that whip-cracks electricity through Juno, a smash-cut to static in his fingertips like pins and needles. darling. that shouldn't hit him as hard as it does; the sincerity in it makes it unbearable, though, sweetness that Juno has deprived himself of for a long long time. it was easier to shrug those words off when it was a part of Duke Rose's character. what Peter says here is something he means in a way as genuine as his own fucking heartbeat, and it passes between them like a secret meant for Juno.

he shudders hard enough to shake his breathing and nearly chokes trying to swallow back the amount of flowers in his mouth. he turns his head to the side instead — reluctantly, when it tears him away from Peter's mouth and the indulgent kisses he keeps leaning back in for — to let them out before he even tries to speak.

but he kisses Peter again, first, just as slow and deep, hands framing his face and thumbs sweeping across his cheeks as delicately as he can manage when he feels this voracious, when he wants to dig his fingers into this moment with a wild desperation. it's a breath of air every single time, that much of a relief and something he needs that badly; like surfacing from deep water, lungs burning for it. eventually, he falls back against the pillows, panting and his voice strained with want. ]

I do, I get it, just— [ his laughter this time is barely mirth at all, breathless, that little scoff he does so often. ] Not like there's a lot worth seeing, come on.

[ even less than usual, he thinks. he hasn't had time to get used to the eyepatch; he's aware of the difference in his vision, but the change hasn't hit the way he sees himself yet. and this isn't a matter of self-loathing, not as far as he sees it, it just seems obvious. he doesn't need this much exploration afforded to him, he's not a work of art. Peter, he could spend that time on — find every little freckle and mole, every pale scar, catalogue them all, even being an impatient person as he is.

because it's not self-loathing to him, he goes on in the same tone of voice and with a tired grin, unbothered: ]

Besides that, you're killing me here.

[stilettoes]

[ a soft fall of white presses itself past his lips and he wipes at it a bit with his wrist, catches a few in his palm to do away with onto the sheets. it feels never ending, the pressure lifted against his head, no longer crushed up alongside his lungs. the ease of breathing is there, it's coming in great, fantastic sighs, but it feels as though his love won't stop growing.

peter lets his lips press to the rough bridge of his nose, to the crest of his forehead, before he moves to press against his mouth where juno still tastes like petals, a little tart and bitter all at once. his face holds a moment as juno explains, and he can feel a little bit of his heart hurt, eyes sharpening up keenly but affectionate still all in one go as he takes a moment to give a sultry bat of his eyelashes. ]

Thus confirming your suspicions that I've been planning to murder you this entire time.

[ he leaves a kiss on his chin, on the vein in his throat that thrums hard, on his collarbone like a whisper of a hint. he plans on taking all the time the evening will allow him to memorize every dip and cut and curve of him, to keep the sensation ever on his palms, to worship each and every inch he can place his mouth against. between kisses every couple of words, he adds, barely looking up: ]

Who knew I could trick the ever-clever detective into a slow, torturous, little death at my hands.

[ he has work to do and that work involves hooking fingers the waist of juno's trousers and lowering them that much more to kiss down the length of his torso with agonizing timing. ]

[iuno]

[ his laughter is a clear sound this time, full and stuttering in his throat. he's so stupidly fond; he didn't even know he could still feel this kind of thing, warmth and quiet curled up in himself. maybe it's just something that belongs only to Peter, same as the flowers. ]

Hell of a way to go, though.

[ god, he really meant it about taking his time, didn't he? Juno is left without much to do other than watch Peter leisurely make his way down his body, which is... a sight, for sure, and one he can't really take his eyes from. but at the same time, he — doesn't like this, bereft and useless. he should be saying something, knows that if their places were swapped then Peter would be crafting a litany of praise and affection and things as sweet and soft as flower petals. Juno can't. wants to but physically can't, because he doesn't know how to make anything soft out of what he is, all barbs and broken glass, and it isn't like him to give anything away so whatever he finds just won't leave his chest. the words don't feel right on his tongue.

and he should do more than just lie here, his exhales coming out in soft sighs, but he doesn't want to move, like he might disrupt the weight in the air and ruin it if he reaches out with his fumbling. for lack of anything else to do, he threads his fingers gently into Peter's hair, blunt nails dragging across his scalp; his other hand lays flat beside him, fingers digging into the mattress. he never really manages to relax, even now. ]

[stilettoes]

[ juno slides fingers through his hair and almost instantly he hums in return, his own hands still working on slowly moving fabric out of the way. peter leaves about as many kisses as he does petals, and juno wasn't kidding when he'd said it was about to get just a touch more ridiculous. he doesn't move them, doesn't stir them however, lets them be with every breath as he makes his way down, mouth finding the tip of him to press a kiss just beneath the head of it.

peter is quiet a moment, barely hovering over him before reaching up behind his head and pressing on the hand against his hair, pushing at juno's fingers softly. the suggestion is silent, you could go a little harder if you wanted to.

especially with this part.

peter can't recall a time he cared as much as he does now (and there are maybe a handful of times that could come close but never as close as this, never breathing out flower petals like this, all of them too fast, quickly hurtling towards an endgame and a quick escape--far and few between, but enough that peter is thrilled at the chance to take his time on someone he wants, someone who's sent everything inside of him careening out into the open). this wasn't what he'd originally intended to happen the night he tried to procure the mask. in fact, he should have been systems away from here by now, but he doesn't want that anymore. doesn't want it nearly as much as he used to, not with juno laid out under him, both tense and trusting all at once, a combination that just seems to be his and his alone.

for once, he's wordless, and maybe he's done with words for the moment. peter looks up a moment before leaning in to take him in. it's not nearly as slow as each individual kiss, but peter's mouth makes an almost effortless glide to take between his lips, his own fingers drifting now to find juno's thighs and hold them with nails poised to press into his skin as he starts to move, alert to tension, to every sound juno might make, thumbs stroking along his skin. ]

[iuno]

Fuck—

[ gripping Peter's hair isn't a decision, but a reflex, both of his hands clenching at once with the sudden heat. his body's instinct is to arch his back, bowstring-taut — and instead Juno digs his heels into the mattress, curls his toes so hard that they hurt. Peter has set the pace slow, exploratory, and as impatient as Juno is, for some reason that matters to him. whether it's the molasses feeling of his affection, sweet and heavy enough to make even Juno sluggish; or something he doesn't want to put a name to, winding around his ribcage and constricting when he thinks about following Peter's lead, keeping still for him though he can't manage to be pliant.

or just the newness of this, too many lines they haven't found yet because they haven't had time to feel it out. it must seem funny how determined even he is to hold this (this thing with them, whatever it is) carefully, considering their backgrounds and the course of their relationship, but he wants so badly to be gentle with Peter that it hurts, some kind of awful heartache he can't put his finger on. that isn't in his nature, and he doesn't have Peter's finesse, his clever quick fingers, but he feels like Peter deserves it. deserves a soft hand that isn't afraid of a blade.

he forces his grip to go slack and soothes where he had pulled, sighing, scraping his nails over Peter's scalp with a more deliberate intent, sometimes just smoothing his hair back from his forehead; and then he switches back, tugging hard enough to be felt but not to hurt, and he alternates between the two. if Peter is the one in control of things here, then what else does Juno have to do but indulge — even if it is with the hesitancy of someone who isn't deserving of it, who wades out up to his knees and can't bring himself to go entirely under. ]

[stilettoes]

[ in the seconds it takes for him to get his mouth around juno, peter thinks of any other time he'd done this for something beyond money, an endgame, a finish line, no one forgets a good roll in the hay and sometimes it just barely saves your skin but.

this. he's never had something tie itself up so pleasantly inside of him like this, around his spine and down his legs making him feel utterly useless for him. he's not sure there's ever been a time remotely close to this, where he's this far gone it's almost outright dizzying. juno means... too much to just let go and be done with. peter's a man of stories and this is one he wouldn't mind seeing out to some kind of cock-eyed happy ending with juno steel bickering with him until the eventual heat death of the universe.

the single word juno manages has peter going down on him deeper than before, a breath, pressing himself as far down as he'll go to brush a faint curl of hair against his pelvic bone. he breathes steady and deep, mouthing out a rhythm as he goes, one that responds in kind to how juno flexes his fingers against his scalp, tight enough to make him purr, loose enough to make him want more on the upstroke as he pulls off teasingly enough to keep him sliding against his tongue. coming off completely means that his mouth is wet, damn near lewdly so.

he kisses the inside of juno's knee, lips slightly parted, breath hot on his skin as he presses one more in the exact same place, and again. ]

Relax, just relax for me... [ he murmurs, nosing down against his thigh with a tender brush and glancing at him from the corner of his eye. ] You don't need to be made of steel the entire time.

[iuno]

[ that's a fucking sight. Peter there between his legs with his sharp teeth and painted lips, planting wet-mouthed kisses against Juno's skin — he groans and lets his head fall back against the bed, hand lifting up from the mattress to cover his eyes. ]

You're hilarious.

[ but after a moment he breathes out, and he keeps going until his lungs protest, like he could just exhale all the tension from his body as easy as that. it isn't impossible; not in this room, not when he feels less like he's just letting things go and more like he's entrusting them to Peter, lying back so that careful hands can pry him open and take whatever Peter seems to think is worth it. he wonders what the inside of him would even look like right now. if you could peel back layers and there would be roots and vines, delicate and curling around his ribs and his lungs and his heart.

obviously that's not how it works. but it's a nice thought. pretty green things living in him, thriving even though he's spent so long depriving them of sunlight. ]

Relax. [ he sighs again. ] Okay. I can do that.

[ to his credit, he is trying: he flexes out his toes, lets his muscles go slack even where Peter's lips are pressed to his leg. it isn't that simple, his thoughts still strung out tense like piano wire and the feeling in his chest a panicky winged creature trapped in its cage, but. for once, because he's here, his best seems like enough despite falling short of what it should be. ]

[stilettoes]

[ he knows he's hilarious! thanks!!!

he keeps his attentions detailed and dedicated and resumes a trail of kisses (shadows of faint lip tint ghosting on juno's skin) down his thigh, pressing his mouth to his hip again and feeling the slight change against his hands as he settles in the best way he can, a process peter watches with rapt interest because juno feels as though he ripples beneath his touch like water.

not quite so easily tempered, but he strokes slowly along his knees, up until his hands splay over his belly. ] There you go... [ a soft whisper, perhaps barely audible against the sound of shifting sheets. the slack in his legs is good, enough that peter encourages it further with kisses that dote, a press of teeth like a reward in the sweet little spots fingertips can't find with a fond touch to trouser-covered knees usually.

he spends time like this, between mouthing the length of juno's cock and pressing kisses up the line of his stomach and down again, leaning up more than a few times over him on his way up his chest to kiss his throat, to cover him with as much of his mouth as he can, painting the way you paint a canvas, not a spot left untouched until his own body shifts. back between his thighs, peter's shoulders bunch together the way a sleek cat might as he settles, parts his lips for a kiss just over juno's hip,

laves with his tongue the way some do to imprint the taste of someone on their mouth,

and bears his teeth down against his skin and bone, fingers digging in as he bites with a purpose to leave a bruise, however temporary it might be. ]

[iuno]

[ it's not as difficult as he thought it would be. there's a peaceful rhythm to it the longer Juno stays there, like breathing, like the push and pull of the ocean; easing more with each pass, unravelling under Peter's careful attention. his head is still buzzing away with heavy static, but he can tune it out a little if he focuses on every place where Peter touches him, the press of his fingertips and the brush of his mouth. and then— ]

Ah!

[ he doesn't start with pain so much as surprise. the pain is fine, honestly; he already likes the sting of it as the initial sharp pinch fades, and he should have figured that Peter would be the type to bite, with those teeth of his and the lipstick marks he leaves behind like a calling card. he's not at all opposed to the thought of bruises or pain. but it came as such a shock that he yelps, and then he's laughing helplessly, both hands over his face. ]

Goddamn, Nureyev, I thought you said to relax! [ now that he's in easy reach again, Juno runs his fingers through Peter's hair, thumb rubbing at his hairline. ] My hip? Seriously? Most people go for the neck.

[stilettoes]

[ he hums a laugh into his skin, pressing his thumb into the slowly forming welt he leaves behind. there's a satisfaction in that. yes, he most certainly did tell juno to ease up, but the laughter earned from the surprise of it has him smiling more, gliding fingers up to slowly trace and curl into his skin. truth is, he can't get enough of touching him. leisurely, tracing circles against his chest with a slender finger, pressing his head into juno's hand: ]

If you'd prefer that I ruin your pretty little neck, I can do that too. I've a lot of teeth and we've a lot of time.

[ it's true, maybe, that peter is far chattier than most, but it's what he loves, adjusting tonality, choosing words and phrases, feeling the raise of hair at the nape of a neck and the prickle of goosebumps all along bare skin. he leans up, taking juno's hand with him, moving again because if he can't be everywhere at once then what's the point? all of juno deserves his attention, every bit. his mouth comes to rest poised in a dangerous little smile against his pulse, thigh pushed in against where he'd poured all his attentions previously. he kisses, the barest scrape of teeth, affectionate and wanting as the warmth between his own legs pressing against the fabric of his trousers still

he's not very shy, pressing himself against juno as he purrs. ]

Does the lady like to kiss and tell, hm? Should I give him a souvenir to show off to everyone else? [ he makes me dumb with love, peter decides, laying here with their collective of pretty little flowers and soft breaths. ]

[iuno]

[ he doesn't move when Peter crawls up the length of his body all lithe and graceful, just lays there almost transfixed by the sight. all he can think about is what the hell he could have done to deserve this; to have reeled in someone as fluid as Peter Nureyev so that he can touch him here, after Peter has given up so much of himself to be as insubstantial as smoke. master of the disappearing act, and here he is, pressed up against Juno everywhere, warm skin and shifting fabric.

the questions bring him back into the moment like a bowstring snapping, and the strangled, keening noise Juno makes should be telling of just how much he wants what Peter offers, even when he can't put it to words — or, he can, but he finds his jaw locked around them, please stuck in his throat. those sharp teeth had caught his attention from the moment he saw Rex Glass, and he's thought plenty of times about having them on him, sinking into his neck, his collarbone. it's not something he decides to do, but Juno tips his head back, the line of his throat an invitation. ]

I, uh... [ his Adam's apple moves with a hard swallow. ] I wouldn't have any objections to that.

[ god, but it's hard not to push back against that thigh instead, and Juno's own legs are clamped tight around it, desperate to find friction. ]

[stilettoes]

[ the way juno bares his throat has peter laughing warmly, kissing just below where his pulse quickens. he whispers sweetly to him, more than happy to oblige, ]

And neither would I.

[ and it's effortless, the way he skims his throat with his teeth like he'd mapped the entire thing out in his head, following the line of juno's collar from their place so tightly seated in his car in the middle of the martian desert to the very first night he'd gotten close enough to glance down between the two of them, barely a centimeter apart and smelling like whiskey. he bites down where shoulder and neck meet to start, a thing that will peek out of a shirt unbuttoned too lazily, a collar wrinkled and out of place. he likes it, the idea of a glimpse to start, a bruise he'll nurse with his tongue and scrape his teeth along while juno presses up against him as he works.

it's only fair he moves back against him, hips pushing to ease desperation in a rhythm that's steady and long. he doesn't care about the fabric of his trousers at this point, whether it wrinkles or stains isn't really a consequence he minds at this point, not when juno is laid out here beneath him, breathing out a strand of tension at a time past his lips, letting peter mark him slowly with his mouth. ]

[iuno]

[ it's burning him up to be pinned here under the weight of Peter's body, nerves sparking and focus torn between the sweet-sharp sting of teeth on his neck or the relief of hips bearing down on his own. Peter is working away at his skin like it's an artform and he can't rock against Peter's thigh the way he wants to because he's trapped here and he wouldn't have any of this any other way. wouldn't trade this moment they've carved out for anything in the world, not even a second chance. Peter is so—

Juno has mostly just been hanging on, fingers digging into Peter's arms and every gasp, every soft moan singing out because his throat is too exposed to bite any of them back; but one of his hands loosens its grip to tug uselessly at Peter's belt, more to bring a protest to attention than to actually pry it free: ]

You're too dressed for this. [ he wants Peter's bare legs sliding against his own, wants to see every inch of him in the dim glow of Hyperion City's neon lights. wants to stop feeling selfish and greedy with Peter lavishing so much attention on him, because Juno doesn't see what there is to enjoy in himself. ] Quit wasting time on me when you're not even comfortable yet, come on. You're gonna ruin your pants.

[stilettoes]

[ peter lifts his mouth up and he sounds pleasantly breathless. ] Hardly what I'd call waste...

[ but a hand slips down to help juno with his belt no less, sliding it undone, dragging fingers over a clasp, a zipper. it occurred to him, but he'd too eager to drive juno careening over the edge for him to care. but now, juno's fingers tugging loosely have his body warming with the thought of pressing ever inch of their skin together to bring the fabric down and off like a weight lifting.

who knew.

they'll probably wrinkle regardless of where he shucks them off at this point, no concern to him as he pulls up and lets his mouth find juno's in the dimming room's lights. but it's a small price, not even a price worth denying because peter looks down at juno's face with a heady warmth in his eyes he's fairly certain he's never had to reserve for anyone else because there has been no one else. to the point where peter is almost painfully aware of it and the moment the cycled air hits his bare skin all he wants is pure contact.

he brings himself down to juno, pulls him close with his thigh now bare brushing his skin with a pleasant shiver running down his spine as he kisses him on the mouth and nearly melts down into him to do so fully. ]

[iuno]

[ better. he sighs into Peter's mouth and arches up to meet him along every line of his body, tangling their legs together for nothing but the warmth of it, the pleasure of skin sliding against skin. his arms wind around Peter's ribs, fingernails tracing gentle lines down his back with laziness for just this moment, sinking into indulgence. much, much better. the feeling where his heart should be seems fit to burst, huge and amorphous; something that could crack him open, leave behind an empty chest cavity bursting with plantlife.

close enough: the flowers Peter kisses out of his mouth are full and blooming in action as they come off his tongue, and there's one that's a full, flowering stem of milkvetch, several of them clumped together on this curling green stalk. Juno has to pull away for that lest one of them choke on the thing. ]

Ugh, that's— [ kind of gross? and kind of desperate, Steel. ] Wow. Sorry.

[stilettoes]

[ he feels it, the barest tickle of a thing reaching out between the both of them, kissing soft petals as they reach their way towards his tongue. it happens fast, juno pulling back to reveal a plant in full bloom falling from his mouth. inside, peter swells a bit more, eyes wide with fascination as a bloom falls past juno's lips, stem and all and maybe... it's a little gross.

but god if it doesn't excite him more than anything else. he leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth softly, still very much unwilling to be untangled from him now that they're so wound together. ]

No need, [ quiet. fingers sliding themselves up to rest on his throat, thumbing at his pulse. he kisses his throat. ] They're beautiful, regardless of... timing.

[ he mouths the shape of each word along his skin, letting ringed fingertips sink into his hair, stroking, thumbing behind his ear in equal measure, stretching out long like a cat, impressing himself against the shape of him. they hold fast like a knot, and as peter winds an ankle around him, he's fairly certain he doesn't want to let go as he chases the taste of juno's flowers with his own. ]

[iuno]

[ there's a snort of laughter, and Juno's vocal chords humming under Peter's fingers: ] You don't have to be polite about it.

[ romantic or not, it was pretty bad.

he could almost purr with those fingers sliding through his hair and the long limbs entwined with his. but their easy, sedate pace doesn't do anything to bank the heat Peter already sparked, the thing licking at Juno's insides, his fingertips singed along their nerves and buzzing with sensation. he ducks his head to kiss Peter, long and deep like he's trying to drink him down, or press petals against Peter's tongue to preserve them. leans in again, and again, and again, kissing with less finesse and more hunger as he goes.

and with their legs already tangled, it's easy to nudge his own thigh in between Peter's and put pressure on; gently, looking to stir interest. this soft atmosphere is soothing and all — Juno is more relaxed than he has been in a long time without the aid of whiskey, he knows that full well — but he wants Peter's teeth against his bones, wants the lithe movements of a cat with a bird in its reach, wants what those slow, rolling hips had promised would follow. he wants to drown in Peter Nureyev. ]

[stilettoes]

[ he'd answer (he'll always answer--get the last word in slyly like a pick in a lock every time), but instead juno is kissing him and like he could eat him alive. it's good, better than good really. fantastic, stupendous, incredible, delicious. too many words, not enough time to think them all within the seconds that pass as peter sighs into the kiss, presses back just as firmly and hums.

he's gentle when juno is tense out of respect, to test, to try and to feel him out, but being pushed up against in a gradual stacking of sensations says more than enough to peter now. their knees bump and shins graze and juno's thigh sits perfectly at the apex of his thighs where he lets him know just how interested he is in him. there's still care in his touch, in how he settles palms against him.

but the way he presses his fingertips in has far more fire than before, raking instead of just trailing now as he matches him with each swell of motion and each breath. and when he gasps between them both, it's with a mouthful of soft white and pale pink again, velvety petals that scatter as he pulls away to meet juno's eyes with a sly smile, a petal caught between the sharp little canines before he leans in to nip the tender swell of his lip, hips pressing deep and lingering with a grind now.

he whispers his name against his mouth over and over, syllables half-sung, a litany half-way there, an indulgence. ]

[iuno]

[ the friction between the both of them is electric now that there's intent behind the way Peter's hips bear down on him, and Juno is taking damp, panting breaths of air, both of his hands anchored at the small of Peter's back. what he'd wanted more than anything was to stop more of those words he can't bear to hear about him and the ugly, thin flowers he coughs up, things that hurt all the more for the conflict between knowing that Peter is sincere and knowing that he can't be, like gears grinding together and all the other motions getting stuck. as far as distractions go, this outcome is — good. it definitely could not have gone any better than it is.

Juno's heels are digging into the mattress, scrabbling for purchase on the sheets to better meet Peter's long, languid movements, and although he tries to keep his teeth closed to stopper the sounds he makes, it's getting more difficult as he's starting to breathe harder. and between the snatches of hitched breath and quiet moans, there's one thing that he doesn't manage to lock his jaw around, straining: ]

Please—

[ he's stuck in the middle-ground of good but not enough, every crest of sensation along his nerves so close to something better. he doesn't even mean to beg, he just — wants. ]

[stilettoes]

[ silencing him is never an easy feat, but juno seems to do it almost effortlessly in this moment, swallowing his every word with incomprehensible sounds, the feeling of his hands along his lower back, his body practically swaying underneath him as they move. it's a movement of limbs that escalate to being frenetically desperate juno whispers out a crumpled up "please" past his lips and peter kisses the shape of the word at it's end, pulling up only to look down at him without the frame of his glasses to impede the truly hungry look in his eyes.

he doesn't speak, there's no speaking here in this moment as he reaches down with his fingers to drag juno up against himself in the cup of his palm. he strokes him with a firm hold, thumb rubbing concentric circles just beneath the head of his cock, thigh pressing up a bit more to brace the both of them against one another.

teeth on juno's jaw clip him just slightly and peter hisses out softly, eager: ]

A little louder now...

[ a cruel press of his thumb all along the underside of him, and back up, slick with him. ]

[iuno]

[ it shouldn't be this much just to have Peter finally touch him with intent instead of those light, teasing passes. it isn't as though Juno is close to an edge of their evening, but it's a shock to his system somehow, and his hands slide further up along Peter's spine, clutching at him, clawing. the encouragement hits him hard, or maybe opens him up vulnerable to Peter's clever fingers, the way his thumb drags along him and hits below his gut like goddamn free-fall, coiled tension coiling tighter — all of it wrenches a gasp out of him: ]

Please! Shit, Peter—

[ his head bows, forehead pressed to Peter's as he pants for breath, close enough to kiss him but too wound-up to close the gap. this seems so unreal, dream-like; the fact that he could have Peter here after he spent so long with nothing but the memory of a scent and a voice he couldn't get out of his head. even after everything Juno did to push him away — even though Juno should have died — Peter is draped over him and looking at him like he's been wanting this for so long he's ravenous and he sounds so pleased.

it's a lot because it isn't just the sensation in it, trying to chase the promise of something more right now. it's how many times Juno thought about this and hated himself for it, and that didn't do anything to stop it from happening again because he missed Peter Nureyev with a real, phantom feeling of absence. how often he thought about Peter after that first case, how being near him again felt like a fishing hook planted right through Juno's sternum with the line reeling in. it's, honestly, the urge to just tell him it turns out I've been waiting months for you to fuck me and I'm really, really bad at waiting. ]

[stilettoes]

[ well.

he'd be lying if he said he hadn't wanted to bang juno steel like a storm door in a radiation hurricane long before now, before the cave, before the casino, but maybe somewhere between the cyanide lipstain and bloodied hands.

juno makes a caught noise, like some animal in a trap, his name gasped out through a vice. ]

There.

[ the sound of his name is better than any written symphony coming off of juno's lips (most would say this is a very gross overstatement, but peter would sooner show them the business end of his knife than agree with that).

truth is, they're probably not done talking. they shouldn't be. there's too much laid out on the table untouched, even more left unsaid. you left me behind. you left me behind so you could die. and maybe that's said somewhere in peter's hands, a touch too rough because he wants to be certain he's real, even now, cruel in the way he slows his strokes, presses the heel of his palm against the head of him and brings his fingers down to slide just beneath his cock, and even further to press against the softness of his taint with warm fingertips.

god he wants to spread him on his fingers now, but peter holds back his aching teeth just a bit. i'm gonna nat 20 his sleight of hand check on getting lube somewhere at some point don't look at me right now. ]

[iuno]

[ the fingers pressing against him come as a surprise if only because he definitely didn't notice Peter drawing away at any point to prepare, which probably shouldn't surprise him, partly because he's plenty distracted and partly because when does he ever know what Peter is up to behind his back. he keens with his teeth clenched hard enough that he feels the sound through them, and shifts his hips, trying to push back a little against Peter's careful teasing.

he likes the rougher edge of Peter's touch, the insistent message of stay under his cruelty — he thinks that maybe he needs to be convinced that he's alive as much as Peter does. Juno was so ready to die. he'd accepted it before he even closed that door and there wasn't any fear at all, there was relief, weightless in a way that should probably frighten him now in the aftermath. and all of this is so perfect that it doesn't do much to convince him he really did come out of that tomb, only grounded in reality by the ache where Peter has left imprints of his teeth, and the missing half of his vision.

he's still writhing, knowing he should relax but desperate for the pressure of Peter's palm grinding against him, and one of his hands falls to the bed, the other sliding up into Peter's hair. ]

God, you don't have to take that much time. [ he clutches at the sheets and there are petals between his fingers, soft and velvet; he doesn't know whose they are without looking, but his heart twists. ] I'm not getting any prettier.

[stilettoes]

[ yeah, well.

that's twenty years of pick pocketing for you, the ability to seamlessly multitask (though juno makes it difficult--he hardly wants to divide any of his attention from him when he has to in moments between kisses, between grinding headily with a rhythm he doesn't want to shunt.)

the sight of juno grasping at the sheets has him shaking his head, biting his lip as he smiles and lets his fingers tease him open slowly, knuckles bruising petals where they lay on the sheets beneath them. it really is getting just a little ridiculous--petals under his knees, around them, half a blur because peter's glasses are somewhere else and the only thing that fills his vision is juno, swaths of skin and sweat and the warm curls at his pelvis and the weight of his body twisting and needing.

and that's just fine.

whether it's pure tunnel visioned fervor or his sight, it doesn't matter. his eyes flick up over to juno's in the faint light as he teases him open on two fingers methodically, a thorough press and pull to keep him from going completely tense with each inward push. ] I strongly disagree, [ he whispers, letting his free hand press against juno's sternum, nails digging in ever so slightly as he curls the fingers on his other hand, searching. ] You get prettier by the second.

[ that being: squirming in the sheets, grasping what he can. juno's fingers in his hair have him half a mess already, the rest from the prospect of being so close that his cock nearly aches as he works him open, presses himself in a little closer and removes his hand from his chest to prepare with both, smoothing skin, angling him just right.

peter is methodical, insanely meticulous, but the stutter of his fingers here and there and the faint tremble in his thighs could give it away. he's reigning in his impatience because the last thing he wants to do is hurt him (more than he's already been hurt these past few weeks.) ]

[iuno]

[ as he's being worked open, Juno can't shut himself up — not keening anymore but gasping, open-mouthed moans and sounds choked off in his throat because there's a vice wound tight around it. he feels like he's breathing in smoke, burning him up inside and filling up his lungs; feels dizzy with it, feverish and delirious, and he can't remember why that's a problem. he's never wanted anyone this badly before, enough to want months, years, forever. enough that it hurts in some bone-deep way, wanting to run his hands over every inch of Peter, to wake up in the morning and press him into the mattress and—

but the edge of his desperation is wearing, with Peter pressing into him with such painstaking, languid care. even when he feels the occasional slip, the eager curl of his fingers, the tension that vibrates through every line of his body; Juno is panting with a fire blazing in him but he's breathing deep. the pressure is steady as a heartbeat, persistent and burning low, instead of the wild thing that had him clawing. and he's on the edge of falling into something else, he knows, molasses-thick and sweet and indulgent. he doesn't fight it. ]

Come on. [ he gives a shaky sigh that comes out half a moan, sweeps his fingers through Peter's hair, down the back of his head. rests his fingers at the nape of his neck. ] I'm alright. You're not going to hurt me.