Coming Back, Deleted Scene #1
Coming Back, Deleted Scene #1
Rating: PG13
Characters: Peter and Claude
Word Count: 500+
Disclaimer: Nothing related to the show or the graphic novels belongs to me.
A/N: So this one fits in right around this part of the original story. And there is kissing and issue-having, as per usual. Things get better?
“You’ll be all right, Pete,” he says, automatically, with a kind of sureness he’s not entirely used to associating with the young man and one he’d never be able to justify to himself by the light of day.
Not given the distance between himself and those vast brown depths of desperation currently melting at the smallest suggestion that the future doesn’t hold one calamity or another that he’s responsible for preventing or creating.
And it’s entirely unjustified, both his moment of confidence, and Peter’s reaction to it.
He’s failed him before, setting himself up to fail him again, and he’s not entirely sure if Peter understands the irony of that. For all the young man has an inherent, infuriating dependence on others, it’s those he depends on that are left hanging on whether he’ll get his act together or not, whether he’ll manage.
Well, except for him. He’d just run.
But generally speaking, it’s ironic, and perhaps Peter does understand that.
Because why else would he be smiling lightly at the moment, after looking about ready to hit him, justifiably, not that that would’ve stopped him from beating the boy six ways from Sunday if he’d tried it, only minutes earlier.
Why else would he be-
Oh. That would be why, then.
He moves away, automatically, or so he tells himself. But if he’s being honest, in at least the small part of his brain that’s not too busy recognizing the possibilities inherent in lips pressed to his to manage, he’s working against instinct when he does it.
Instinct that keeps him still when Peter closes the distance between them, and kisses him again, instinct that makes him curl a hand around the back of the young man’s neck, even when other instincts would’ve made it all too easy to avoid doing both.
Peter pulls away from him, slowly, eyes closed and lips still parted, and he lets him.
“Sorry,” Peter mumbles after a moment, opening his eyes and giving him a furtive glance, and he’s not really sure what the young man is apologizing for, kissing him or pulling away.
“Right, then,” is all he can think to say, and moves to go back to the house.
Except that the hand on his arm is making that difficult, much less so than the particularly pleading expression on Peter’s face, and he stops.
“What?”
“You’re not mad?”
“Why’d I be-“ he blinks. Peter looks entirely, embarrassingly earnest, and is keeping a tight hold on him, tighter than he probably realizes, and it’s all he can do not to wince. “Nah, Pete, I’m not mad.”
Probably, technically, a lie, but the grip on his arm loosens and he’s able to pull away in a manner that doesn’t feel like he’s in danger of losing it.
“Okay,” Peter gives him another smile, and Claude feels it, the heady, long-dormant, rush of attraction, crowding out the competing sentiments of guilt and annoyance normally associated with the young man in front of him.
The beautiful, earnest, lonely young man currently residing under his roof, starring at him with desperate eyes, clearly needing someone, anyone to cling to in the perfect storm that is his life, social and family.
Not an ideal situation for his will power, to say the least, especially given that said will power hasn’t been needed for years now, decades, almost, and now here he is, hands itching to reach out and lips remembering the feel of Peter’s mouth.
But he can’t. Can’t be yet another link in the chains Peter seems determined to make for himself, can’t let him get attached, can’t give him yet another excuse to remain dependant and subordinate to the whims and needs of others.
“Claude-“
“Should head back now,” he nods and turns away.
*
Rating: PG13
Characters: Peter and Claude
Word Count: 500+
Disclaimer: Nothing related to the show or the graphic novels belongs to me.
A/N: So this one fits in right around this part of the original story. And there is kissing and issue-having, as per usual. Things get better?
“You’ll be all right, Pete,” he says, automatically, with a kind of sureness he’s not entirely used to associating with the young man and one he’d never be able to justify to himself by the light of day.
Not given the distance between himself and those vast brown depths of desperation currently melting at the smallest suggestion that the future doesn’t hold one calamity or another that he’s responsible for preventing or creating.
And it’s entirely unjustified, both his moment of confidence, and Peter’s reaction to it.
He’s failed him before, setting himself up to fail him again, and he’s not entirely sure if Peter understands the irony of that. For all the young man has an inherent, infuriating dependence on others, it’s those he depends on that are left hanging on whether he’ll get his act together or not, whether he’ll manage.
Well, except for him. He’d just run.
But generally speaking, it’s ironic, and perhaps Peter does understand that.
Because why else would he be smiling lightly at the moment, after looking about ready to hit him, justifiably, not that that would’ve stopped him from beating the boy six ways from Sunday if he’d tried it, only minutes earlier.
Why else would he be-
Oh. That would be why, then.
He moves away, automatically, or so he tells himself. But if he’s being honest, in at least the small part of his brain that’s not too busy recognizing the possibilities inherent in lips pressed to his to manage, he’s working against instinct when he does it.
Instinct that keeps him still when Peter closes the distance between them, and kisses him again, instinct that makes him curl a hand around the back of the young man’s neck, even when other instincts would’ve made it all too easy to avoid doing both.
Peter pulls away from him, slowly, eyes closed and lips still parted, and he lets him.
“Sorry,” Peter mumbles after a moment, opening his eyes and giving him a furtive glance, and he’s not really sure what the young man is apologizing for, kissing him or pulling away.
“Right, then,” is all he can think to say, and moves to go back to the house.
Except that the hand on his arm is making that difficult, much less so than the particularly pleading expression on Peter’s face, and he stops.
“What?”
“You’re not mad?”
“Why’d I be-“ he blinks. Peter looks entirely, embarrassingly earnest, and is keeping a tight hold on him, tighter than he probably realizes, and it’s all he can do not to wince. “Nah, Pete, I’m not mad.”
Probably, technically, a lie, but the grip on his arm loosens and he’s able to pull away in a manner that doesn’t feel like he’s in danger of losing it.
“Okay,” Peter gives him another smile, and Claude feels it, the heady, long-dormant, rush of attraction, crowding out the competing sentiments of guilt and annoyance normally associated with the young man in front of him.
The beautiful, earnest, lonely young man currently residing under his roof, starring at him with desperate eyes, clearly needing someone, anyone to cling to in the perfect storm that is his life, social and family.
Not an ideal situation for his will power, to say the least, especially given that said will power hasn’t been needed for years now, decades, almost, and now here he is, hands itching to reach out and lips remembering the feel of Peter’s mouth.
But he can’t. Can’t be yet another link in the chains Peter seems determined to make for himself, can’t let him get attached, can’t give him yet another excuse to remain dependant and subordinate to the whims and needs of others.
“Claude-“
“Should head back now,” he nods and turns away.
*