At first, it's because the thought holy shit the company are making biological weapons is looping on repeat. He spends a considerable amount of time in self-recrimination. He prides himself on being perceptive, but he'd sat in that cell for months, unaware of what was going on. Being lied to, and swallowing those lies for too long. Willingly playing captive for a group that never had his best intentions in mind. Then he starts thinking about what to do about the biological weapons and the lying and the potential link to the plan to let him blow up, and... look, nobody ever called him the best offensive strategist, so he mostly only manages to come up with a couple of plans of attack, each with their own drawback.
It's somewhere around pondering the details of Adam's history with them that he manages to fall asleep. He thinks his dreams are restless. Glimpses of a plague; of death, bodies thrown into burning pits. Glimpses of an eclipse, of an airplane packed with orange jumpsuits. A world where commuters fly down the streets and a dark-haired Claire hunts him.
It all evaporates into smoke when he wakes and he's warm and comfortable for the first time in months. It takes him a second to realize his arm is looped over Adam's waist, keeping them snugly together, and bare skin is pressed against bare skin, chest to back, thigh to thigh, buried in rumpled covers.
He should probably feel embarrassed. But it's not the first time he's woken up cuddling someone he isn't dating. Peter figures he probably grabbed Adam in the night -- that's just how he is when he sleeps. And why complain? Unless Adam's virtue is bothered, he's comfy.
"Morning," he murmurs, hoarse with sleep. He smooths a hand over Adam's side, and the action feels more intimate than he's earned. "You awake?"
no subject
At first, it's because the thought holy shit the company are making biological weapons is looping on repeat. He spends a considerable amount of time in self-recrimination. He prides himself on being perceptive, but he'd sat in that cell for months, unaware of what was going on. Being lied to, and swallowing those lies for too long. Willingly playing captive for a group that never had his best intentions in mind. Then he starts thinking about what to do about the biological weapons and the lying and the potential link to the plan to let him blow up, and... look, nobody ever called him the best offensive strategist, so he mostly only manages to come up with a couple of plans of attack, each with their own drawback.
It's somewhere around pondering the details of Adam's history with them that he manages to fall asleep. He thinks his dreams are restless. Glimpses of a plague; of death, bodies thrown into burning pits. Glimpses of an eclipse, of an airplane packed with orange jumpsuits. A world where commuters fly down the streets and a dark-haired Claire hunts him.
It all evaporates into smoke when he wakes and he's warm and comfortable for the first time in months. It takes him a second to realize his arm is looped over Adam's waist, keeping them snugly together, and bare skin is pressed against bare skin, chest to back, thigh to thigh, buried in rumpled covers.
He should probably feel embarrassed. But it's not the first time he's woken up cuddling someone he isn't dating. Peter figures he probably grabbed Adam in the night -- that's just how he is when he sleeps. And why complain? Unless Adam's virtue is bothered, he's comfy.
"Morning," he murmurs, hoarse with sleep. He smooths a hand over Adam's side, and the action feels more intimate than he's earned. "You awake?"