Peter almost thinks to himself: it's been a while since he shared a bed with someone.
But that's not true, is it? It was maybe only six months ago that he and Simone had spent the night together. Just once, before everything had really started going to hell. She'd found him after Nathan's election fundraiser, soaking wet from a thunderstorm and furious from Nathan using his so-called suicide attempt for politics, and her touch and her smile and her soft skin had made him forget everything else that had happened that night.
And now all he can do is bitterly regret that night, because if she hadn't found him, if she hadn't spent the night, then maybe she'd still be alive. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten her killed.
Distracted by half-visions of blood and bullets, he's slow to respond to Adam's joke about his stupid flares. It takes him half a second of an uncomprehending stare, and then an amused little noise. "Pity I don't have pyrokinesis yet."
He mirrors Adam, stripping down to his boxers. Peter's always had a complete lack of self-consciousness about his body, and he enjoys the brief glimpse that he gets of Adam's; lean and sleek, but with a power there, a confidence. He all but collapses messily on the bed, shoving himself under the covers, settling on his side facing Adam. The sheets are nice, but even a hospital bed would feel great right now, so he doesn't think he's in the best frame of mind to judge.
His thoughts are still grey, like thunderclouds heavy with rain, and after a silence he can't help but ask--
"Adam? Did you... ever hurt anybody because of your powers?"
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But that's not true, is it? It was maybe only six months ago that he and Simone had spent the night together. Just once, before everything had really started going to hell. She'd found him after Nathan's election fundraiser, soaking wet from a thunderstorm and furious from Nathan using his so-called suicide attempt for politics, and her touch and her smile and her soft skin had made him forget everything else that had happened that night.
And now all he can do is bitterly regret that night, because if she hadn't found him, if she hadn't spent the night, then maybe she'd still be alive. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten her killed.
Distracted by half-visions of blood and bullets, he's slow to respond to Adam's joke about his stupid flares. It takes him half a second of an uncomprehending stare, and then an amused little noise. "Pity I don't have pyrokinesis yet."
He mirrors Adam, stripping down to his boxers. Peter's always had a complete lack of self-consciousness about his body, and he enjoys the brief glimpse that he gets of Adam's; lean and sleek, but with a power there, a confidence. He all but collapses messily on the bed, shoving himself under the covers, settling on his side facing Adam. The sheets are nice, but even a hospital bed would feel great right now, so he doesn't think he's in the best frame of mind to judge.
His thoughts are still grey, like thunderclouds heavy with rain, and after a silence he can't help but ask--
"Adam? Did you... ever hurt anybody because of your powers?"