Funny you keep bringing them along. I think you just happen to like them for the flavor of it all.
[ peter could offer a similar peace offering, let the knife make its home in some soft-wooded cabinet, let it sink there and remain, but instead he holds onto the blade. he has a number of knives on his person, but he has no intention of reaching for any more of them, not unless dick plans to try to catch him unawares now. he'd deserve it if he did, truth be told. peter would take it in stride, just like he always does. there's no other way to do it. if you can't do it with style, then what's the point of doing it at all, right?
dick makes it so easy to want to be caught. at least for a little while, at least for the laughs, for the show of it. the cops seem to know this song and dance by now, and they adjust and try to accommodate, search a little harder, isolate him a little more, throw him in with the wrong crowd.
it never quite works.
peter takes a breath and turns to face him full on now, leaning one hand against the table, the other resting on his hip lightly, and even in the dim moonlight, peter can admire him, the curve of muscle leading down from his throat to his shoulder, the elegant shadow that casts itself down where his suit catches especially tight.
superheroes.
really.
peter's eyes rove up again before they dip too visibly low, before they climb past the attractive v of his waist and hips dipping downwards. this boy is such a problem, he should have left and been rid of him ages ago, but where's the fun in any of that? in running away? ]
I think you've got a few good ideas, actually. You're just taking your sweet time with them. Now, if I were you, I'd say there's no time like the present to act on it. Like so. [ and peter demonstrates--steps light and easy like a dance as he closes the distance between them in seconds, hovering himself a breath away from being purely flush to his body. the knife is in his hand, but lax, as if it were a simple little toy and not a finely-honed blade, and pointed towards the window more than it is aimed at anywhere on dick's person. he sighs, wistful, dramatic, a little longing as his voice drawls just a bit. he reaches out a hand and brushes the very tip of his chin, tipping it towards him. ] If you're really at a loss for ideas, I should stop wasting my time, hm?
[ it happens quickly, a soft flick of the wrist as he both pulls his hand away from the momentary touch and pulls the knife back from where he's left a neat little slice of the suit's material at the throat. ] Keep up.
no subject
[ peter could offer a similar peace offering, let the knife make its home in some soft-wooded cabinet, let it sink there and remain, but instead he holds onto the blade. he has a number of knives on his person, but he has no intention of reaching for any more of them, not unless dick plans to try to catch him unawares now. he'd deserve it if he did, truth be told. peter would take it in stride, just like he always does. there's no other way to do it. if you can't do it with style, then what's the point of doing it at all, right?
dick makes it so easy to want to be caught. at least for a little while, at least for the laughs, for the show of it. the cops seem to know this song and dance by now, and they adjust and try to accommodate, search a little harder, isolate him a little more, throw him in with the wrong crowd.
it never quite works.
peter takes a breath and turns to face him full on now, leaning one hand against the table, the other resting on his hip lightly, and even in the dim moonlight, peter can admire him, the curve of muscle leading down from his throat to his shoulder, the elegant shadow that casts itself down where his suit catches especially tight.
superheroes.
really.
peter's eyes rove up again before they dip too visibly low, before they climb past the attractive v of his waist and hips dipping downwards. this boy is such a problem, he should have left and been rid of him ages ago, but where's the fun in any of that? in running away? ]
I think you've got a few good ideas, actually. You're just taking your sweet time with them. Now, if I were you, I'd say there's no time like the present to act on it. Like so. [ and peter demonstrates--steps light and easy like a dance as he closes the distance between them in seconds, hovering himself a breath away from being purely flush to his body. the knife is in his hand, but lax, as if it were a simple little toy and not a finely-honed blade, and pointed towards the window more than it is aimed at anywhere on dick's person. he sighs, wistful, dramatic, a little longing as his voice drawls just a bit. he reaches out a hand and brushes the very tip of his chin, tipping it towards him. ] If you're really at a loss for ideas, I should stop wasting my time, hm?
[ it happens quickly, a soft flick of the wrist as he both pulls his hand away from the momentary touch and pulls the knife back from where he's left a neat little slice of the suit's material at the throat. ] Keep up.