for reflextve

[spacegroovin]

[Continued from HERE



Sure you mean acid and not ass?

[After Peter took a sip he wasn't so sure he had stolen the right bottle. It had looked toxic enough to get him wasted fast but the taste left a lot to be desired. He should have known, often the most delicious looking things ended up being bad.

That didn't just apply to booze, either.

Still he kept drinking because he was far too sober for being in this bar.]

What were you doing here anyway? On your own? Got into a fight with your crew again?

[Kirk seemed to have a thing for causing and getting himself into trouble. Much like the ravenger who, despite now working for the good guys still had a knack of doing the wrong thing.

You couldn't really take the thug out of a man.]

Or did you just need to blow of some steam?

[Stretching his legs he got himself more comfortable now that the were out of sight.]

Comments

[reflexive]

Burns like the first.

[ and he can’t help but arch a brow, watches with a hint of admiration as peter downs a mouthful without wincing. it almost occurs to him, to grab the bottle back, because peter is hogging it. but. he’s probably intoxicated enough as it is. so much so that the bar they’re in, infamous for it’s brawls and exceedingly low health standards, seems nice.

there’s a moment where he mulls over how to answer peter’s questions, he doesn’t especially want to hash out the details of exactly what happened, the incident was almost a repeat of months ago when he provoked spock into throttling him on the bridge. he’s good at it. provoking people. maybe he takes an odd bit of satisfaction in making people lose their composure, in knowing that he’s the one who did it. ]

My first officer seems to think I’m not fit for Captaincy, for holding responsibility of the lives of the crew more specifically. Given that I can’t even look after my own.

[ the last sentence is punctuated with an eye roll that shows how ridiculous he finds the sentiment. he’s alive isn’t he? he always comes back from away missions with souvenirs of the physical kind. abrasions and bruises mostly. there was no need to over react.

and there was no need to escalate it to he point where the only thing he could think to do was stomp over to the transporter. beam down to the first place he could think of, which happened to be here.

with a certain displeasure, he finds his thoughts slipping into the area of the maudlin—and no, that is not acceptable at all.

so he kicks at peter’s outstretched legs just because he can, and because it makes him feel a bit better. ]

These aren’t the legs, but I guess they'll have to do.

[spacegroovin]

[Peter couldn't completely relate to that. Kirk had a different background, worked for different people and their way was far more official than his even if he frequently helped out Nova corp. Fact was Gamora was still an assassin, he was still a ravenger, Drax was still very much a destroyer and well Groot and Rocket? They were never going to fully walk the good path. And he was fine with that. But he did relate to being told off. There had been plenty of times where he got the side-eye from multiple people for what he did.

It was clear tonight he would be housing the Captain. He'd expected as much already but there was no way he'd let him out of his sight now, not in this state.

He knew Kirk a little and when a soft spot was being hit he was prone to doing the stupid.

Wordlessly he handed Kirk the bottle. Yes he had enough to drink but Peter had a feeling he could do with some more.]

I know. My legs leave a lot to be desired.

[They were hairy and muscly from all that running through space he did.

Reaching out he raked a set of fingers through Kirk's hair, an oddly fond gesture that he allowed to happen at times.

Mostly when Kirk was drunk and wouldn't remember.]

Come on. Let's take this bottle to my ship before you can't walk anymore.

[reflexive]

[ maybe part of the reason why he likes quill so much is that he reminds him of the better parts of his past. how easy things used to be when he just had himself to look after, dirt poor in iowa when the most he had to worry about was who was going to bail his sorry ass out of jail. though most times he managed to sweet talk himself out with only a slap on the wrist. he didn’t have many people back then, who were willing to deal with him on a regular basis. that being said, he wouldn’t go back there for anything. wouldn’t trade in the enterprise, his family, for dirt roads and the assurance that his actions wouldn’t get anyone killed.

the thing is, just like back then, when he gets angry, it doesn’t lie easy. it festers into poor life choices that either leave him bloody and bruised ( worst case ) or lying in bed with the first stranger that looked at him with even the barest hint of interest ( best case ).

there must be something off in his gaze because peter actually hands the bottle next to him. it occurs to him, blearily, that peter is his friend. he supposes that’s the best word for what they are. but then the other man has to go and do things like this, cards his hand through his hair, just a touch too gentle and it makes things confusing.

though he does lean into peter’s hand, while it’s still there. almost gives way to the urge to pout when the touch is rescinded. ]

That’s not what I said.

[ peter’s legs are nice legs. he lilts a smile, reaches forward with the hand that isn’t occupied by the most toxic alcohol he’s ever had the pleasure of ingesting and pats peter on the thigh in what his addled brain conceives to be a reassuring gesture. ] Like your legs.

[ a beat where it registers that peter wants to take him to his ship-- ]

Thought you were too afraid I'd decide to commandeer it if you let me on board.

[spacegroovin]

[They were friends. Peter considered them as such. Yet there was something weird with their friendship too. At first he'd labelled it friends with benefits. Then, after he realized there was something more than that, he refused to label it all together. Denial was the way to go! It had worked for him plenty of times.]

In this state? You wont be commandeering anything.

[Making sure Kirk had a good hold onto the bottle Peter raised to his feet. He could feel intoxication kicking in but he still felt good enough that he could get them both safely to his ship.]

Come on.

[Grabbing Kirk by his left bicep he hauled him up, arm securing around his waist. Yes Kirk could still walk but who knew for how long that was going to last?

Shushing any possible protests he took him through the crowd that was getting more drunk by the hour. They got out without any trouble - surprisingly so - though Quill had to threaten an ugly looking fellow with his gun once. He considered a rather good passage.]

I think you got heavier.

Time to lay off the sweets, Captain.

[And after that a few more complaints followed as he took them both back to his ship. Usually it would be about a fifteen minute walk but with a drunk Kirk attached to him it took twice that time to get back to his precious Milano.

A bit of a struggle to get them both up and inside but soon enough he had Kirk sitting comfortably on his bed.]

Christ, I forgot what a hassle it is to get you back.

[He wiped the sweat off his brow then extended one hand.]

Come on, hand over some of that booze.

[reflexive]

[ he levels peter with a stare that reads offended. hey, if he wanted to commandeer peter’s ship he could, okay. even like this, with the world tilting on its axis, and his sense of balance off kilter. he isn’t looking forward to walking, isn’t sure he’d be able to pass the age old sobriety test of walking in a straight line. he’s silently grateful, when peter grabs him by the arm, navigates them through the crowd. though. what’s the deal with peter and dragging him around, anyway? not that he’s protesting. going to peter’s ship, means peter’s bed, and peter’s ridiculously high thread count sheets.

of course he drags his heels into the ground, sizing up the old geezer who decides to stall them. his eyes brighten with something dangerous and he’s about to make a stupid comment, one that’s likely to get him punched ( which is what he wants, so he has an excuse to punch back ) when peter decides to start pulling him. again. rude.

they emerge into the cold night air, and he resolves to make the trip to the ship as difficult as possible. stumbling, and shifting his weight in turns. soon enough though, he’s deposited on peter’s bed, which he makes himself comfortable on no invitation needed. though he does take a moment to toe off his boots, because he isn’t that much of an ungracious guest. ]

It’s muscle mass making me heavy. [ he hasn’t forgotten that sweets comment from earlier. ] Muscle mass.

[ and not at all because he had taken to trying to re-engineer the replicators to spit out ice cream. besides, the amount of work in the training room should make up for it. hypothetically.

then peter makes the mistake of extending a open hand, and well, it’s too easy to deposit the bottle on the bed sending it rolling along the comforter and grab peter's hand—and pull, hopefully hard enough to send peter sprawling. ]

Whoops.

[spacegroovin]

Sure it is.

[And just to make sure Kirk feels his dripping sarcasm he pokes him right where decided the pudge was after he got dragged face down onto his bed.

With a grunt he rolled over staring up at one of the ceilings on his ship. He shifted then, higher up till he was lying properly next to the other Captain.]

Are you going to share? Or are you going to drink till you pass out? Because if you are I am moving you somewhere else.

[Because that meant he definitely was going to puke.]

Come on Captain, let me join you and get proper drunk too.

[reflexive]

[ he chuckles, the sound reverberating through the space, because his plan worked peter is face down, and he can’t push down the drunken satisfaction he feels—even if it only takes a moment for peter to right himself, shuffle so he’s lying next to him. close enough that their shoulders brush. he’s content to lay like this, for a moment at least, until peter asks for the bottle. his face scrunches up, much like a displeased child’s. ]

Nope. [ his lips pop on the consonant sound, and his eyes wander over to the bottle where it lays on his ( as he’s denoted ) side of the bed. ] Don’t want to drink anymore.

[ or be moved for that matter. he stares up at the ceiling for a moment, considering, before hooking a leg over peter’s form, hefting himself up so he’s for all purposes straddling the other man. bracketing him with his thighs. ]

I want my consolation prize.

[ for having the second best ass in the galaxy, of course. ]

[spacegroovin]

[There was a grunt because Kirk wasn't the smallest of guys - thank God - and he had been focused on booze, not really the captain. Now he damn well was, eyes for a moment glued low at his crotch area then back up.

He knew what Kirk wanted. What was required of him now. Wasn't it always the same with them? One got drunk, the other had to come get them. Then this.]

Do you now?

[Resting both hands on Kirk's waist he decided to play difficult. It was fun when Kirk got impatient.]

I donno Captain. Do you even deserve a consolation prize?

[reflexive]

[ the hands on his hips, warm even through the layer of clothing, feel nice—but then peter doesn’t move to do anything else, which makes his brow furrow. surely he’d made himself clear enough, he’d even forgone the sure sting of alcohol in favor for moving astride the other man. a huff before: ] It was almost a tie, you know, you were there.

[ and he shifts minutely, leaning forward to jab peter in the chest with his index finger ]

Besides, it’s not as if you don’t want this.

[ he’d seen quill, after all, where his gaze had landed to where their bodies meet. and his expression clears, once again in good humor, lips pulling at one side into a smirk. ]

This being me, of course.

[spacegroovin]

[It definitely was clear to Peter what Kirk wanted, he just felt like postponing it for a while longer. He was definitely eager for it, yet the desire to see Kirk struggle was stronger. It was bad but he found it a turn on whenever Kirk got annoyed at him for not doing as he was told.]

Oh I want this.

[It had been a while, both their jobs keeping them busy and away from each other. So yeah, he wanted this pretty badly too.]

Question is, how badly do you want this?

[Quickly he changed their positions, flipping Kirk onto his back and pressing himself snug between his legs.]

I don't think you want me badly enough.