bakerstreet | body heat

"Damn your jacket!" Or his jacket, as the case may be. He'll want it in a few minutes, but for the moment Elias snatches it out of Peter's hands and tosses it on the floor. It isn't far from the messy pallet he's made for himself by the stove; he gave up putting it away during the day about thirty-six hours ago. "Did you know about this? This spiteful little favor your people afforded me? What the hell is happening in London, what have you done?"

There are a lot of contexts in which Elias' anger can intimidate. Here, ragged looking and wrapped around himself with chill, it sounds exactly as spoiled as it is.

The jacket is snatched from his hands and thrown and all Peter can do is hold up his hands and take on an innocent expression. Certainly whatever is going on here is not his issue, after all. He was just coming over to pick him up, bring him back, you know, end the punishment. He didn't even know this was happening until like, an hour ago.

Of course, none of that's going to stop Elias wanting to wring his neck but ah, c'est la vie.

So, then he turns the innocent hands into a shrug, turning his palms up to the air and lifting his shoulders as he grins slightly. "I've no answer for you about that one, Eli." A terrible nickname, he knows Elias hates it. "No one thought to let me know you'd had a little holiday."

"No one--You're not serious." He huffs imperiously, then corrects with some surprise, "...You are serious." But if Peter didn't know, if he didn't nudge and suggest the bit of productive "fun", then why in the world has he been trapped here? He thinks on it (reaches for it) for a few scowling moments. His realization puffs out in to the air, visibly for the humidity and the chill. "The budget. The damned budget."

Peter's hands drop after that, tucking lightly into his coat and he rocks back and forth on his feet for a moment. "I warned you," he supplies, helpfully, and doesn't point out how this was also punishment for him in turn. That would be deeply embarrassing.

Then he laughs a little, reaches a hand to rub the back of his neck and savors the awkwardness of the air. This was annoying, sure, but it tastes so good. The aching isolation the house reeks with and Elias' pent up tension from being cut off completely from the outside world. Too far out for cell service, you see. God, it makes Peter salivate, just a little. "You didn't freeze to death so looks like you'll get your funding now, at least."

"Didn't freeze to death--yet. I can't help but assume you're here with some--warning or ultimatum. You've already got your I told you so in." Now is a good time for the jacket, probably. He has to shed the lighter blanket thrown over his shoulder first, then his coat, and when he bends to take the jacket off the floor, his hand visible trembles. Elias grits his teeth together, snatches up the garment and drops onto the nest of blankets to pull it on. "Well? Out with it. What does he want you to tell me?"

There's little for him to do to convince Elias that he really had nothing to do with this, that he has no ill intent here. Elias will just have to look to see for himself but he won't yet, not when he's so wound up. So, Peter just waits, watches as Elias trembles from the cold and there's those strange dual instincts in him again, as they always happen when it comes to Elias. The first initial one to step forward, take his hands, warm him up. Then the second, more insidious pleasure that would come from just letting Elias continue to freeze. The distant, cold feeling of having someone you want to touch you not touch you. Ah, it's terrible.

"Just thought I'd show up and take you home. Tundra ships out in a few days. Wouldn't want you to freeze to death before I could fetch you."

And there's a little melancholy in that. Peter was in London for two weeks. 10 of those days have now been wasted with Elias in Norway. Peter would have words for Nathaniel if he ever wanted to actually talk to him.

It's hard to See here. More than cellphone service and the sheer effort of seeing anything when no one is around, there's something proprietary and Lonely about the land itself that's kept him to himself. Peter is only a few feet to his right, but Elias doesn't get the rush of Vision until after he's full ensconced himself in jacket, coat, and blanket, pulled another fold of fabric over his lap.

Even when he finds it, it's clouded. Elias can see just clearly to note that the hostile edge he projects onto Peter is...noticeably absent. That there's real bittersweet, real truth in what he says: he came to take Elias away.

The relief that pours off him is poisoned with guilt (for blaming him), muddied with bitterness (why didn't he know, why didn't he come sooner). Elias' shoulders slump under his coverings. "...I don't--I haven't been able to move well for a while now. I don't suppose you would put the kettle on."

It seems things have finally clicked a little for Elias and Peter watches as the realization rolls over him. Peter isn't exactly the enemy in this case, even if it is his entity. He's just slightly related, by blood.

So, Elias gives, lets Peter finally do what he's come to do (which is take care of him, either by taking him away or something else). Making him some tea would work and his eyes flick over in the direction of the kitchen before he looks to Elias again. If Peter knows anything about this house, he knows that Elias is still cold and the tea won't help.

"How about I put on the kettle back at your flat?" He says, still assessing Elias to make sure he isn't too broken right now. Peter will take a few steps closer and there's only a moment's hesitation before his hands come down onto Elias' shoulders and he rubs them, giving up some of his own warmth to him.

Though, Peter's never been one known for his warmth.

He waits for the touch to turn, slide around his neck, hitch into his hair, pinch into his ear and drag him out—

And Peter squeezes his shoulder, touch warm even where the contact is still marble. The muscle there winds, then releases. He murmurs, exhausted, “Peter.”

His weight settles back against Peter’s legs. “They flew me out on a biplane. Are we taking to the seas or skies to leave?”

Peter's hands are sturdier than even he expects them to be and he stops questioning it when as Elias leans into him, his arms slide around to drag him in against his chest. He drops his head to lean in and press a cold nose against his neck, breathing him in for a moment.

There's something in this for Peter too. That ache that develops when only one person cares enough to show up. He knows Gertrude wouldn't and of the others in their circle, no, none come to mind when he wonders who else would fish Elias out of a dilemma like this. He's done his research, knows Jonah had quite a few people in his life all those years back. Even another Lukas. But Elias...?

Mm, Peter's hands tighten a bit around Elias and he sounds a little thoughtful. "I have an idea, though you're not going to like it very much."

There's the distant sound of waves, for just a moment.

Everyone left when he had to leave Jonas. James never married. Drifted from his siblings and their children, an eccentric uncle who may or may not have shown for holidays. Elias—when he came to Elias, he was already alone. Was, still is. The perfect person to overcome.

Even (especially) when it came to the Lukases. Start off on the right foot, something sweet to ease his transition in the minds of his benefactors. It had all looked good from the beginning. Still does, if he thinks about the big picture.

But he’s been festering here, missed by no one, for too long. He didn’t think about these times when he picked Elias. Any stirring concern was put to rest with the reasoning that he’s made it this far—what can stop him?

But his hand comes to Peter’s arm possessively, more wanting than he would ever say, and this—these small, aching, shivering spaces—he didn’t account for.

The waves hit his nerves hard. Elias’ hand winds hard into Peter’s arm. He knows. He know. “Peter.” His year bows into the elbow wrapped near his neck. “Peter.”

There is only Peter's voice, growing a bit more distant even as his hold around Elias remains.

"I won't keep you there," he says, soft, and faraway.

Then there's the sounds of ocean, waves, soft cries of seagulls. It's quiet, and lonely. Peter's grip doesn't seem to be there anymore. All the feelings of the past few days will be at the surface for Elias and it will be much colder than before. Much colder. The white fog of the lonely will consume the area on all sides and the distant sound of a ship horn blows. It is eerily still in here.

But Peter is true to his word because the moment the lonely seems isolating, and freezing, like there's no real way out and Elias might be trapped there forever --

Peter's hand slides into Elias' and he tugs. One stumbling step backwards and Elias will find himself in his apartment with a cheerful looking Peter in front of him. Did Peter feed a little on those feelings that might be festering in Elias? Just a bit, but he's sure Elias would do the same if the roles were reversed.

"Ah, there you are. Should I still put on the kettle?"

“Peter.” Rattled already, even before the steadying weight evaporated from behind him, from around him. Elias warbles, whines louder, “Peter, please.”

As the maw opens wide for him, some haughty part of him sneers at the rest—to see such a proud thing shrinking, vibrating tighter to itself in some attempt to ward off the cold. To see something so powerful flicker in the fog, lucky to have no one else to see. Instinctively, he reaches for his Sight, greeted only by a chill so deep that it hurts—

His flat is cold from absence, but it feels like a fever flush when Peter finally pulls him through. Frozen, hollow, Elias hardly resists stumbling forward. He falls boneless and noiseless and heatless into Peter’s chest.

Peter isn't an absolute sadist now, alright. Sadism requires having some touch, some connection to another person to relish in their pain. Peter is different, he is disconnected and content to go about his own things quite happily. No large plans, no grand gestures, not even a ritual. He just... likes his boat and Elias. One or the other, he's quite satisfied.

So, when Elias comes back out, comes into his arms, Peter has the mental thought of alright, that's enough and chuckles a little to himself as he wraps his arms around Elias. He holds him tight, pressing his face into his shoulder and rubbing a hand up and down his back to get the warmth back into Elias. He's in a good mood and well fed from the slight side trip and there's no need to continue to drag this out.

No, he's quite satisfied now.

"Mm, you're cold to the touch. Almost think a bath would be better."

Elias doesn't do anything as affectionate as wrapping his arms around him. There isn't even a sliver of suggestiveness as he bemoans, "The bath won't fit us both." His arms curl tight between their chests, face buried in the crook of Peter's neck. "Come to bed. Just--come to bed."

The amusement isn't going to fade, even as he gives Elias what he wants. He just continues smiling as he gives Elias a slight squeeze and pulls away, only to lead them towards Elias' bedroom. If Elias doesn't let him go too far, he'll walk while holding him, but if he does, then he'll just hold his hand and tug him along towards it.

Either way, they'll get to the bedroom and Peter will let go of Elias so he can pull his boots off. First they go, then he drapes his coat across a chair and hangs his hat on the edge of it. It'll leave him in his pants, his thick wool socks, and his sweater. After that, it's easy to walk to the bed and slip into it, waiting for Elias to follow in after him.

Then, he muses aloud, "I wonder what you'd do if I left. How distraught you'd be right now."

It’s his home, and he disrobes further. He struggles with the buttons of his top, so unsteady are his fingers. He gets them undone enough to pull the thing over his head. Belt, pants are easier. His boxers and undershirt help his shaking not at all, but logic—good logic coming back to him in splashes and drips—tells him that the weakness will pass.

Until such a time, he crawls in close to Peter, twisting the duvet tight. “Not distraught. Angry and exhausted. I’d wager I’d be just fine after a few days back on schedule.” He radiates soreness at the thought exercise, despite his chilly tone, and his arms slip under Peter’s jumper, legs tangle into his. “Though I know you’d like me to cry and cry.”

No crying, but he sniffs and half-burrows against Peter’s chest. The wool is practical and, by reason of practicality, uncomfortable. “What did you tell him? Nathaniel.”

The sweater is wool and the pants are jean. Warm and durable for the seas, deeply uncomfortable for laying in bed and curling up with another person. If Elias wanted better warmth, he'd make Peter take them off. As it is, Peter won't make any movements to change until Elias asks. It's all just instinct for him, barely conscious decisions at this point. Barriers upon barriers -- Peter is the pea in the princess' mattress, uncomfortable and undetected.

For now, his arms go around Elias' shoulders and he drops his face into Elias' hair. His rubs his nose slightly against him before settling, letting his thumb rub small circles against Elias' back. It would all be comforting, if it wasn't also Peter.

"I'll take that bet," he murmurs quietly, amusement unable to leave his voice at this point. "What are the stakes? Though, might not be able to collect before I leave." It's just idle talk, he's not expecting an actual wager. Instead, he nuzzles at him again and lets Elias' hands roam. His skin is warm under the jumper, chest a little hairy, but stomach well defined from the hard manual labor of the sea. He's almost a little more human again, when you get down to just flesh.

But, ah, that question. He supposes he should have expected it. For a moment, he thinks to lie but ... lying never works with Elias. So, the truth. "Nothing. Came into port, didn't hear from you, went about my business. He..." A bit of hesitation and he admits, "He knew I was looking forward to seeing you."

So, there it is. Easy to piece together the rest from Peter's side. It was a nasty trick on them both. It gets harder and harder to cultivate real loneliness from Peter when he spends so much of his time drawing it out of others. Only another Lukas could make the stakes so that that hollow ache fills Peter's chest again. Peter isn't surprised Nathaniel used Elias to make it happen.

There it is. Elias curls tight, stretching him snug into Peter's negative space. In his own home, out of that Nordic isolation chamber, this close to Peter, rucking up his top half up his stomach till Elias' arm laces around him--he can start to see again.

He hides a smirk in Peter's shoulder. "Was he punishing you, then?"

Say it.

What's he supposed to say to that? Yes, it's punishment. Yes, it's a reminder of the failure that is his relationship with Elias. Yes, Nathaniel just wanted to remind him of his own weaknesses for a spell. He's going to be discontent even after he leaves on the Tundra, feeling like he didn't get nearly enough time together. The haunting ache of missing a lover when your encounters have been so brief.

So, he says it. "Yes, Elias. He was punishing me too." A very put upon sigh and he's going to tighten his grip around the other man as he holds him to himself. He'll duck his head, nosing behind Elias' ear and breath him in. For a moment, there's the quiet stillness of the sea before he catches himself with a chuckle.

Clutched this close, it's easy to hear the muted don't that rushes out of Elias when Peter squeezes him and that sound--

"Stay." He elaborates very quickly, twisting in Peter's arms to catch his mouth. It isn't a kiss at all, only a way to get him by the eyes, to keep Elias' pleading as close as it can be between them. "I don't want you to leave. You know that, don't tease."

His hand flats up Peter's belly, thumb draws the lower lines of his ribs. "You came all this way inland, anyway. You wouldn't. Wouldn't just leave."

This shouldn't be as satisfying as it is, but it is. It should feel suffocating and overwhelming and make Peter want to crawl out of his skin to get away but somehow, with Elias, that's not the sensation he gets. Being with Elias is isolating, in the way they feel for each other. Like no matter how much they tear at each other, it'll never be deep enough, they'll never know each other. Peter craves it in a way he hasn't with anything, or anyone else. The satisfaction of being the only ones this close to each other but just... not... close enough. Never close enough.

So, he's still smiling against Elias' mouth when he pushes upwards, lift his hand to curl against Elias' cheek and stroke against the skin. He wonders if Elias is feeling any warmer. Elias twists it on him, points out that he doesn't want to leave either and he is correct. The last thing Peter wants to do right now is leave.

"Wouldn't I? When you're all worked up like this, why would anyone want to be around you, Elias?"

He says it with amusement and while Elias didn't kiss him exactly, he'll kiss Elias instead. Pressing a little closer, he tilts his head to close the space between their mouths and laugh a little, against his lips.

No one wants to be around him anyway. He thinks it objectively, but in this company it feels sardonic and self-pitying even in his own head. The smart thing to do would be to smother the feeling as soon as he notices it, but Elias shelters it. Cultivates it a little, even, sighs long and lonesome into the kiss: look what you're doing to me.

Primarily, warming him up. Less from his core or from his hand at Elias cheek than by the kiss, so Elias tips into it willfully. His weight rolls over Peter, starting from the leg hooked around his thigh then crawling up the cradle of his hips and across his half-exposed front. Above between Peter and the heavy duvet--now there's something. The next sigh that rushes direct down Peter's throat says the same thing, only more predatory than pitiful:

look what you're doing to me

It's the type of kiss he likes from Elias. Where perhaps, maybe it doesn't all ring true but there's... enough in there to feed Peter. Where Elias brings himself down to a human enough level to feel loneliness and therefore give it to Peter. Peter will take it happily, hand moving from her cheek to curl against the back of his neck and drag fingers into his hair. Oh, sweet Elias.

Then they break and when Elias pushes him down a bit more firmly onto the bed, when he straddles him and then kisses again, with a bit more bite. Peter laughs again before stops quick enough to kiss him back. His own kiss picks up in intensity, teeth tugging at his bottom lip and nose pressing into the curve of Elias' cheekbone.

Despite it all, Peter knows he's not doing anything to Elias that Elias does not want to happen. He knows exactly what it's like with this man. He doesn't exactly mind it, either.

When the kiss breaks, Peter drops his head back and smiles up at him. "Feeling better, darling? Warmer?"

A bit, yeah, but Elias doesn't answer him to show as much. Doesn't let him lie down long either, pushing up on his arms when Peter drops back. One hand, then two reach down to shove at the wool monstrosity between them. "Did you wear this specifically to pain me?"

IL OVE THIS SETUP

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