"Lessons", G, "Reasons why the boys never wear protection"rhea_carlysseNovember 30 2007, 20:08:25 UTC
The fist hits his jaw before he can even see it coming. Not hard enough to make him bleed; enough to make him stagger, his lower lip stinging.
“You okay?” of course, Peter is by his side faster than lightning. He places a hand on his elbow, steading him; a worried look on his face. “You should have ducked that,” he adds, but he doesn’t stop trying to lift his chin to inspect the bruise.
Mohinder frowns. I’ve been doing karate since I was eight, he said. Black belt, first Dan, he said. And Mohinder thought it would be nice to learn not to be on the receiving end of a fight for once in his life. Apparently, the learning process is long. And tedious. And painful.
“I’m fine.” “I told you to wear the gumshield.”
It’s irritating, not being the one teaching the lesson for once. “It makes me gag,” he grunts, and avoids Peter’s hand when he tries to reach him again. He rubs his jaw. And it hurts, dammit.
Peter doesn’t desist. “Don’t be childish,” and ends up winning this round, because Mohinder might be stubborn, but the Petrellis seem to lift any category to a whole new level, and this one is not an exception. “I didn’t hit you that hard, did I?” When his thumb brushes his lips, Mohinder tries not to grab his hand so he doesn’t pull it away.
And, god, he tries so hard not to stutter. That would be a horrible idea. “I know how to take a punch,” he mutters, and pretends he’s more than fifteen -emotional- years old.
“I can see that,” Peter answers. He bites his lower lip, doesn’t step back. “Should we continue?” But he doesn’t move.
Mohinder believes he might respond with something similar to “uh”, although, he is not sure enough to actually feel embarrassed about it. He is sure enough to know he doesn’t want to move away when Peter’s hand slides over his skin, to hold his jaw, and kisses him, ephemerally, with a tiny smile on his face.
“You okay?” of course, Peter is by his side faster than lightning. He places a hand on his elbow, steading him; a worried look on his face. “You should have ducked that,” he adds, but he doesn’t stop trying to lift his chin to inspect the bruise.
Mohinder frowns. I’ve been doing karate since I was eight, he said. Black belt, first Dan, he said. And Mohinder thought it would be nice to learn not to be on the receiving end of a fight for once in his life. Apparently, the learning process is long. And tedious. And painful.
“I’m fine.”
“I told you to wear the gumshield.”
It’s irritating, not being the one teaching the lesson for once. “It makes me gag,” he grunts, and avoids Peter’s hand when he tries to reach him again. He rubs his jaw. And it hurts, dammit.
Peter doesn’t desist. “Don’t be childish,” and ends up winning this round, because Mohinder might be stubborn, but the Petrellis seem to lift any category to a whole new level, and this one is not an exception. “I didn’t hit you that hard, did I?” When his thumb brushes his lips, Mohinder tries not to grab his hand so he doesn’t pull it away.
And, god, he tries so hard not to stutter. That would be a horrible idea. “I know how to take a punch,” he mutters, and pretends he’s more than fifteen -emotional- years old.
“I can see that,” Peter answers. He bites his lower lip, doesn’t step back. “Should we continue?” But he doesn’t move.
Mohinder believes he might respond with something similar to “uh”, although, he is not sure enough to actually feel embarrassed about it. He is sure enough to know he doesn’t want to move away when Peter’s hand slides over his skin, to hold his jaw, and kisses him, ephemerally, with a tiny smile on his face.
Then he licks his lips.
“You should wear protection next time.”
He doesn’t duck the next blow either.
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