[They're the same, after all. He's the one who's always saying it. He's got the same filth under his nails as John, whether he cleans them meticulously or not, and it doesn't take years on the streets to build up that kind of dirt; it comes completely naturally.]
And it probably won't do you much good where we're going, anyway. Get your ass kicked. Which you'd turn around and blame me for.
[They'd be on their knees barking like puppies before they got to lay a hand on his precious face. John managed to accomplish that, but... Petre was caught unaware. That doesn't happen so much with anyone else.]
Would you? You know what I'd do, just burn the place to the ground.
[He's more creative than that, though. He'd like the chance for a proper fight, without instant intervention. The chance to really play with his mutation, see how he could make people dance to his tune. His eyes are alight with the very idea.
This trip will definitely end with the cops driving them back up Greymalkin Lane. He's becoming more and more sure of that, and caring less and less.]
Besides, you'll be dealing with other mutants. Adult ones who don't give a shit about using their powers against you. Might meet your match.
[There's a light in Petre's eyes, too, not at the idea of getting into fights - or watching John - but just at the notion that he'll be out and about, doing what he wants, with someone on the exact same headspace. Not just fucking around to fuck someone. Actually getting to know the city. Its dwellers.
[He chews his bottom lip as he thinks about that.]
In a fight? Aerokinesis. [Since haha probably hasn't met Bobby yet.] Like throwing mud into a fan. There's only so much you can do with fire when air's being manipulated around it - yeah, lots of shit gets burnt, but not anything you were actually going for.
[And then his brows draw down.] No, no, hallucikinesis. For everything. Fuck illusions. Fuck them forever.
[He's smiling, almost fondly, as John talks. Tries to imagine what that's like, but he finds himself being unable to quite make it work. It's be better if he saw it live, he's sure.]
You know who I'd like to meet? An empath.
[he just came up with that thought, for some reason.]
[his turn to lie down, though he doesn't make an effort to do so too close to John. His eyes are just, features relaxed save for that smile on his lips.]
It was fun. More for him than for me, but still fun.
Shit, you did the whole world a favour. It's almost like hell freezing over, but not quite there. [Nothing against Ryan, he just still doesn't like telepaths.] And here I thought no one could ever be broken of the Petre habit once they started. You've been talking yourself up even more than I realized.
[Yet again, he finds himself glancing over at Petre when he can't be caught. So it really was a one-shot deal. A favour for a virgin. The thought that he might be getting too suspicious is immediately chased by a million thoughts of what happened the night before, which leave him right back where he started. With no idea what to make of Petre anymore and caring way too much about it.
And while he thinks about answering that statement, Petre's unusual peace - maybe even quiet? - prompts him to close his own eyes instead. Just enjoy the weather and the spot and the moment and pretend that there's nothing at all complicated about it.]
[Unlike John, Petre feels like he had a good night's sleep, but being in the shade when the sun's all the way up there tempts him to give in and let his consciousness go. It's okay - they're not doing anything wrong. If anything people would be more bemused by seeing them together doing nothing than aggravated.
He likes that. Make them confused, keep them guessing.]
[The very strangeness of the peace between them ruins it for John. He can't relax. Not in Petre's company. After all, he's confused and guessing more than anyone else right now.
He rolls quietly onto his side, watches as Petre appears to fall asleep. When he's not smiling, when his eyes are closed, he looks deceptively innocent. Almost childlike. The sweep of his lashes across his cheeks is unusually dark for someone with such pale hair.
There's a guilty greed to the way he catalogues these thoughts, takes Petre apart piece by piece while he's not looking. He knows it's all evidence of more interest, exactly the kind of interest Petre suspects and tries to cultivate, and the kind he now has to deny to himself as well as out loud. But he's still snatching candies out of the jar when he's not meant to, when he doesn't even like sweets.]
[Which isn't him calling John out on anything he's doing, just making sure he's still awake, eyes still shut and lips now pressed together. He didn't bring them here for a nap, and he knows just how badly John wants one. Hence denying him the pleasure.]
[He nearly jumps out of his skin when Petre starts talking, then rolls onto his back again so ungracefully that it'll be clear he was on his side from all the rustling.
[To which he opens his eyes and rolls his head, brows quirked like John just mentioned the sky happens to be green. That doesn't change his tone, though; he sounds like his usual self, no confusion anywhere.]
So did you. Does that count as hell freezing over?
I actually can be relaxed and quiet when you're not around. You're just always around lately.
[It's not really true - he almost never makes it all the way to relaxed. And Petre probably knows him well enough to know that, given how he sees right through him. But he only meets that stare for a second before turning away and closing his own eyes again.]
[Lips spread and show teeth; the smile reaches his eyes but doesn't manifest in a laugh. He shakes his head and relaxes back into his previous position.]
You're so full of shit. Bet you you could smoke an entire football field of weed and you'd still be all worked up.
[And then he points at nowhere, like he just remembered -]
I have a solution for that, too. It involves your hand and a box of tissues.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
[They're the same, after all. He's the one who's always saying it. He's got the same filth under his nails as John, whether he cleans them meticulously or not, and it doesn't take years on the streets to build up that kind of dirt; it comes completely naturally.]
And it probably won't do you much good where we're going, anyway. Get your ass kicked. Which you'd turn around and blame me for.
no subject
[They'd be on their knees barking like puppies before they got to lay a hand on his precious face. John managed to accomplish that, but... Petre was caught unaware. That doesn't happen so much with anyone else.]
But I'd like to see you in a fight.
no subject
[He's more creative than that, though. He'd like the chance for a proper fight, without instant intervention. The chance to really play with his mutation, see how he could make people dance to his tune. His eyes are alight with the very idea.
This trip will definitely end with the cops driving them back up Greymalkin Lane. He's becoming more and more sure of that, and caring less and less.]
Besides, you'll be dealing with other mutants. Adult ones who don't give a shit about using their powers against you. Might meet your match.
no subject
[There's a light in Petre's eyes, too, not at the idea of getting into fights - or watching John - but just at the notion that he'll be out and about, doing what he wants, with someone on the exact same headspace. Not just fucking around to fuck someone. Actually getting to know the city. Its dwellers.
This place really is a cage, isn't it...]
What's the toughest power you ever dealt with?
no subject
In a fight? Aerokinesis. [Since haha probably hasn't met Bobby yet.] Like throwing mud into a fan. There's only so much you can do with fire when air's being manipulated around it - yeah, lots of shit gets burnt, but not anything you were actually going for.
[And then his brows draw down.] No, no, hallucikinesis. For everything. Fuck illusions. Fuck them forever.
no subject
You know who I'd like to meet? An empath.
[he just came up with that thought, for some reason.]
no subject
Why?
no subject
[Sorry, John, if you were expecting anything deeper than that.]
no subject
Wouldn't know. I've never met one.
no subject
[He's continuing that line of thought, disregarding John's answer.]
I was with a telepath some time ago. [a telepath John definitely knows.] It's like they can't keep their mouths shut.
no subject
[His voice is low and dry. Yeah, he knows about that. And said telepath has already been warned about exactly what he's playing with.]
no subject
[his turn to lie down, though he doesn't make an effort to do so too close to John. His eyes are just, features relaxed save for that smile on his lips.]
It was fun. More for him than for me, but still fun.
no subject
[He'll never believe it. He still thinks Petre is setting Ryan up for a fall of some sort, even if their stories match.]
Don't tell me anything, actually. I really don't need details.
no subject
[And he's damn proud of himself, thank you very much.]
Told him not to bother me after, looks like he listened.
[He really wouldn't want to deal with a clingy virgin. He'd just break his heart.]
no subject
no subject
[he says so lazily, eyes still shut, hands clasped over his stomach. His head's comfortable on the grass in between the patches covered by the roots.]
no subject
And while he thinks about answering that statement, Petre's unusual peace - maybe even quiet? - prompts him to close his own eyes instead. Just enjoy the weather and the spot and the moment and pretend that there's nothing at all complicated about it.]
no subject
He likes that. Make them confused, keep them guessing.]
no subject
He rolls quietly onto his side, watches as Petre appears to fall asleep. When he's not smiling, when his eyes are closed, he looks deceptively innocent. Almost childlike. The sweep of his lashes across his cheeks is unusually dark for someone with such pale hair.
There's a guilty greed to the way he catalogues these thoughts, takes Petre apart piece by piece while he's not looking. He knows it's all evidence of more interest, exactly the kind of interest Petre suspects and tries to cultivate, and the kind he now has to deny to himself as well as out loud. But he's still snatching candies out of the jar when he's not meant to, when he doesn't even like sweets.]
no subject
[Which isn't him calling John out on anything he's doing, just making sure he's still awake, eyes still shut and lips now pressed together. He didn't bring them here for a nap, and he knows just how badly John wants one. Hence denying him the pleasure.]
no subject
Beautiful. Very smooth.]
I'm relaxed. You actually did shut up for once.
no subject
So did you. Does that count as hell freezing over?
no subject
[It's not really true - he almost never makes it all the way to relaxed. And Petre probably knows him well enough to know that, given how he sees right through him. But he only meets that stare for a second before turning away and closing his own eyes again.]
no subject
You're so full of shit. Bet you you could smoke an entire football field of weed and you'd still be all worked up.
[And then he points at nowhere, like he just remembered -]
I have a solution for that, too. It involves your hand and a box of tissues.
no subject
[And he was well acquainted with that solution in his time between roommates. He's just not mentioning that.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)