[ 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. ]
no subject
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.