ArchivedLogs:No Dying

No Dying
Dramatis Personae Peter, Eric, Shane	2013-07-10 '
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Third Floor - East Village
The hallways here are not as bright as they once were, cheery yellow paint faded to a dingier shade, carpeting old and worn and threadbare. They are generally clean, though, despite the fading, diligently cared for by the building's maintenance. Peter's been working to the brink of madness since yesterday; he hasn't even /left/ Stark Tower -- having somehow managed to convince his parents to call school and let him stay overnight (a one-time deal, they've told him; he's /going/ to school tomorrow, despite his desperate overtures regarding needing to FINISH HIS WORK). But now, he's taking a break -- running on just a few hours of sleep, an assortment of snacks, and enough caffeine to kill most small mammals -- Peter has decided it would be a good idea to WEBSLING HIS WAY to the Lofts. Despite, uh. Having told everyone he wouldn't do that sort of thing anymore. But /COME ON!/ Peter has never webslung off of a SKYSCRAPER before. And so... here he is. Some time later, stepping down the stairs, panting for breath -- having just thrown off his red hoodie, peeling off his unusual mask (a cross between a luchador and a fireman) off his head, attempting to stuff /both/ of them in his nylon backpack -- underneath the hoodie and mask, he's wearing a white buttoned-up shirt and dress-slacks, a clip-on tie (which is now /very/ crooked), and his two-toed socks -- also, his funny wrist-watch things. Slinking his way down the hall as he looks this way and that, to make sure the coast is clear as he approaches -- /teen/ haus. The door at the end of the hall swings open, and a rather sweaty figure steps up and into the hall. Eric's clothing is simple - a dark navy exercise shirt with a small logo of the NYPD on the breast, and a pair of dark jeans that end, raggedly, at around the knee. His hair is slicked back and glistening from dampness, and a wide grin hangs on his face. "Well, well, don't'ya look every inch the professional." he calls down the hallway, as he approaches towards Peter, winking teasingly. "Just get off'a work?" he asks, turning his neck from side to side to work the kinks out of it. Slinking probably only works moderately well when your quarry does not have ridiculously keen senses. Admittedly, it's not Shane the slinking is trying to /avoid/, thankfully, because the sharkboy is opening the door with a /bright/ toothy grin, having caught the scent of not one but two! of his favourite snacks. He's dressed from school, boring-bland most of the summer: black cargo shorts, a grey ribbed tank top. And his thick red collar, buckled around his neck. With the door open he /pounces/! First on Eric, tight squeeze of hug, quick NIP to the neck. Then on Peter, just as tight hug, plus a kiss to Peter's mouth. "-- Man /both/ of you and it's not even my birthday. -- you need water." This is said with a frown replacing his smile, observing Peter's panting. "Oh hey," (gasp) "Eric. I'm just taking," (wheeze) "a break," Peter tells him, his face darkening to an ever-extending violet, creeping through his features and threatening to spill down his throat. "Um." He tugs at that clip on tie self-consciously; it's on the threshold of falling off. He's also /quickly/ stuffing that mask and hoodie deeper into the bag. At Eric-pounce, Peter pauses, smiling (albeit still wheezing). When PETER-Pounce comes, though, Peter's a little more wide-eyed; also, /grinning/. He receives the pounce as well as he can, leaning on the wall for support and /hugging/ back with one arm, fiercely -- pressing into the kiss, for a moment. "--I just -- /man/ it is hot," Peter says, gasping a bit more, head just propping back up against the wall. "There's a bottle of water. In bag." GESTURE. Kind of exhaustedly. The bag slinking to the floor. "--I really can't wait. Till I get this. Thing working. Thermo -- thing. Will be." Gaaaasp. "/Really/ nice." Eric sweeps his eyes over Peter, a note of concern working its way into his expression. He reaches over and places a heavy hand on top of Peter's shoulder, turning to Shane. "Come on, Shane. Let's get him inside and sittin' down before he falls down," he says, and his hand drops to Peter's other side, tucking in underneath his far shoulder and supporting the younger man's weight. Even as Eric leads Peter towards the door, he grins and shakes his head at Shane. "He gets a kiss, and I get a bite? I see how t'is. You only like me for my meat." he drawls, voice playful. "Damn, Peter, what the fuck did'ya do to yourself? Did'ya run here from work or somethin'?" Shane stoops to pick up the bag when it sink to the floor, his other arm looping around Peter's waist. "C'mon. Inside. In front of a /fan/ and! I'll /spritz/ you. And you can have water." Tugtug? He is trying to steer Peter towards the door /too/. "Well, /yeah/," he adds this to Eric with a sharptoothed smile, his hand reaching to squeeze at Eric's crotch, "s'pretty good meat." He eyes Peter's wristthwippers suspiciously. "-- Don't think he /ran/. How's your thermoregulator coming along, anyway?" "Oh--oh I'm oo-kay," Peter says, still /gasping/ though he seems to be getting it a little under control, especially now that he isn't lugging around the extra weight and heat of his backpack, hoodie, and mask. "Ohjeez I'm okay," he insists, a little, as he finds himself both seized by an Eric /and/ a Shane -- but! He does not resist at all as he is lead toward that door. When Shane reaches for Eric-crotch, though, Peter's violet turns /indigo/. "--kind of. Walked into that one," he informs Eric, with a half-grin, tugged inside. "--oh, uh," and now Peter's hands with thwippy things are notably shoving their way /into/ his pockets, as if to hide them. "--yeah it's coming. Okay. Um Sebastian's helping a /lot/ um we're coiling the tubes beneath Peltier plates to create the coldness, um, it just means, the suit might end up having external /heat-sinks/, which will look weird and maybe get really hot and have to be cooled off via convection, but..." Peter pauses just long enough to catch his breath. Eric grins and thrusts his hips forward a little bit into Shane's hand, chuckling. "Yeah, I did. And, I hope, I will again." He helps lead the teenager into the room, his hand dropping to curl more securely around Peter's waist. It is still very much a supporting gesture, but it is also a more personable one. "You're not alri'. You're gonna pass out, and then what fun'll that be for anyone?" He shakes his head, guiding Peter over towards the couch. The police officer blinks several times, then lets out a low chuckle. "I hope ya understood some of that, Shane, since I don't think I got more'n a few words out of it. Sebastian - I know that one. Hot, cold. That's about it." A brief pause, grinning. "I ain't exactly no engineer." "No, yeah, I get it," Shane says, a little distractedly as he navigates Peter to COUCH and sits him down on it. "Thermoelectric isn't the most /efficient/ sort of system for cooling but it's solid-state so that's good for -- if you're putting it in a suit in all kinds of conditions you don't want a lot of moving parts to --" There's a slight flush in his cheeks, and he shakes his head quickly. He sets the backpack down at the foot of the couch, leaving Peter to drag a fan over and turn it on before heading to the kitchen. "-- Water for you too, Eric? You're sort of a gross sweaty mess." His tone is lighter, here. He has to stretch up onto toes to get glasses (or, really, brightly coloured plastic tumblers) out of the cabinet. WHUMP. Peter lands on the couch with very little fanfare. The clip-on is seized, YANKED free, and just /flung/ aside, toward the other end of the couch -- getouttahere. And then he's fumbling with the first two buttons of his shirt, popping them to get some air in there, before... /lounging/ on the couch. Grinning a little sluggishly as Shane starts talking, eyes drooping kind-of-lazily as the fan rushes wind across him. "Yeeeeah," Peter says, head plopping down on the back-end of the couch. "I mean, yeah, it won't be able to -- if you walk into a fire, you'll /probably/ still burn, but. It'll be able to give you relief from all of this /heat/. This'll be. The low-end model," he says, rubbing at his nose. "Solid state means, yeah. I want," he adds, kind-of-eagerly, "one that's strong enough to handle a /fire/." Eric eyes Peter for a moment after he drops him down on the couch before flicking his eyes up to Shane. "Hm? Oh, water? Yeah, sure, might be good." A brief pause, and he grins. "I thought you'd like it." A pause and he shrugs. "Just came off'a work, and gym besides. Did thirty five miles today. A good day." he says, nodding in a self-satisfied manner as he sinks down onto the couch next to Peter. A frown works his way onto his face as Eric regards Peter, and the other man's words slowly grind through his mind. "Fire? What're you gonna be runnin' into fires for?" He says, voice slightly sharp and his eyebrows raised. "I mean -- for that kind of extreme wouldn't you be served better with just -- /really/ good insulation rather than active cooling?" Shane fills up two tumblers from the tap, opening the freezer to grab some ice and drop it into the cups, too. He returns, offering one cup to Eric and the other to Peter. He's kept one ice cube in hand -- that one he just presses, dabdabdab, against his own forehead. Mmm cold. /He/ drops down to sprawl across /both/ of them on the couch, lounging with his legs draped over Eric's lap and his head on Peter's. "Thirty-five miles. Jegus. Why do you /need/ the gym after that?" His eyes are flicking over Eric, though, with lazy appreciation. "Thirty five -- oh, wow," Peter says, taking the water /rather/ quickly and just -- GULP GULP GULP. He finishes half of it in a single pull; after that, he's dipping his fingers into it and smeeeearing it across his own face. The question about fires manages to get him to bristle, violet creeeeping up again: "Oh--uh. It would be cool for -- like, firemen," Peter says, quickly. When Shane descends atop of the couch and drops his head in his lap -- Peter reaches! Bringing wet fingers down to smear across Shane's temple, too. More wet fingers smear down over Shane's cheeks! And just start, well, moistening him. Dabdab. "--yeah," he agrees with Shane, "the problem /there/ is -- I mean, I want it to be something you can wear under /normal/ conditions too, without -- suffocating. Maybe," Peter says, "the cooling system we're building will just do the job with a thick layer of insulation on top, and space for the heat sinks to vent out the internal heat." "Uh-huh." Eric says, giving Peter a disbelieving look, as his hands run gently over Shane's thigh, fingers sweeping up and down idly. With the other hand he sips from his water, slowly, making little swallows that are much more leisurely than Peter's desperate ones. "Different muscles," Eric adds, almost absent-mindedly, as he looks up across the room and stares off into space for a moment. The police officer falls silent for several moments before he blinks several times and looks back down at Shane. "What? Oh. Yeah, gotta work your upper body just as well, ya know? Got'ta keep these guns," he says, flexing water-cup arm and winking down at the younger man. Shane hears the words but misses the flexing; his eyes have drifted closed under the combination of fingers against him. A small smile curls up his lips; his face shifts slightly to nuzzle into Peter's fingers, his posture shifting, too, to press a leg up against Eric's touch. "You alright?" he cracks an eye open to ask Eric this. He lifts his hand, ice cube cupped in it as he presses! ICYTOUCH to Peter's forehead, dragging it down against the side of his face. "-- seems like with just an /adequate/ cooling system, enough insulation would be -- alright. Like, if the insulation is good enough to protect you against the /outside/, the /cooling/ will protect you from the insulation smothering you." Peter blinks! Wide-eyed! At Eric's /GUN-SHOW/. "--man does it work for like -- your power? With the healing -- I mean -- are you super-strong, too?" Peter lifts one of his own arms, /peering/ at it; he does not have Eric's MUSCLE MASS. But he squeezes it, as if to check. Then, Shane is dragging an ice-cube across his face and Peter is grinning, violet settling over his features as he dabs more moisture down into Shane-nuzzle. "--maybe yeah. Maybe they even have suits for this already," Peter comments to Shane, "like I should just see. If they use them for stunt stuff? I /kind/ of want it to also be able to /heat up/ in response to cold climates but that /might/ be a little much." Eric grins and reaches over to squeeze Peter's arm, grinning. "Not bad, not bad. Need more gym time. Why don't'ya come with me, sometime?" A brief pause. "Not ta my regular gym, of course, but to a neighborhood gym." The police officer grins and shrugs his shoulders. "I dunno. I ain't that much stronger than other people who are as strong as I am, ya know? But, maybe, I take muscles on more than other people? I dunno." A brief pause, and he grins down at Shane. "Certainly helps my ass not be sore after thirty-five miles on the bike, though, let me tell ya. Comes in handy other times, too, 'specially when you're fuckin' Shane." "Well -- Peltier coolers can be Peltier /heaters/, it just depends on the direction of the convection. It does seem like it'd make more sense to focus on doing it only /one/ way -- the times you'll be going from /extreme/ hot to /extreme/ cold are probably minimal and then you could switch out between --" Shane is easily distracted from geeky subjects by the continued touch, face turning to press happily into Peter's fingers. His hand slides down, a cold wet trickle tracing down against Peter's neck. "Do you know neighborhood gyms that don't suck? Cuz my pa's was awesome until they kicked him the fuck out just for saving the fucking mayor," Shane grumbles, looking down over Eric again. With a bright toothy grin at that /last/ sentence. "We're both stronger than him," he tells Peter, "but /man/ can he ever take a beating." "Yeah," Peter agrees, his tone a little lazier under icy face-strokes, "I'm trying to make them modular -- the units? So you can switch them out with -- ones for cooling, ones for heating, and..." The arm-squeeze gets him to blush violet again; he produces a little squeak. At the mention of going to the /gym/, though, Peter's eyebrows /shoot/ up: "Oh man I dunno, I get plenty of -- um. Exercise. Just, uh -- actually you know I don't even think -- I mean," and suddenly he /flexes/ his arm, fist clenching as he peers at it. "--I don't think they'd have anything I could actually. /Not/ lift." At the comment from Shane, Peter's violet turns /indigo/. "--well so can--" Whatever he was about to say, his mouth SNAPS shut. PEEEEEERING at his cup, instead. "Shane can't take it as well as I can," Eric drawls, grinning down at the boy on his lap. "I think even Shane's gotta admit that." He drawls, nudging the teenager with a hand in the stomach, then smooths down from his stomach to his thigh, and back up the inside of one of the two, slowly, teasing and light. "Well, that's alri'. There's plenty you can do to train, even ifya need to lift a lot of weight. Reps help." The police officer looks down at Shane once more and shrugs his shoulders. "There's a gym near me that won't care, cause they don't care about shit, but it's a piece of crap. Got a pool which's chemistry is probably all wrong, and weights, some of 'em half-damaged, but... it's a place to go." "/Fighting's/ good training." Shane shivers, first at Peter's aborted comment, then at Eric's touch. His hand curls around behind Peter's neck, rubbing the ice cube there but also just hooking Peter laaazily a little downwards toward him. "I don't gotta admit anything," he answers with a /bright/ grin, "maybe you should /try/ me." Peter's particular shade of indigo can't get much darker than this; so instead, he just /squirms/ a little, trying to make himself comfortable. "--oh, yeah," he responds, a little more quietly at Shane's comment about fighting; the hand that hooks behind him manages to tug his head down a bit, hovering over Shane's face. Before: "--oh you should ask him if. He wants." A flicker of eyes toward Eric, then back down to Shane. "--I mean, I dunno if -- it might make people nervous if -- nobody would have to /know/ he's, um," and now he just gestures to Eric silently. "--a cop," he adds, /much/ more quietly. Eric's eyebrows raise slightly, grinning at Shane. "Yeah, well, maybe I will." He drawls, his hands running up and down Shane's thigh and trickling up to his stomach, circling around his hips in a teasing manner. His eyes flick back and forth between Peter and Shane, and he blinks several times. "If I want... what?" he asks, curiously. "Somethin' that you don't want the cops to know about?" he teases, lightly. Shane tips his head up, when he pulls Peter's closer, lifting just slightly to press a light kiss to Peter's mouth. Brief, soft, and then he lets his head fall back down against the other boy's lap. "Oh! -- Oh, /that/, uh --" He glances over to Eric, brows knitting together. "/Yeah/, you -- definitely couldn't be a cop there, man, that'd freak people the fuck /out/ after the whole -- murdercamp thing." His brows crease deeper. "If we brought you somewhere, could you stop being a cop? Cuz, shit, /I/ wouldn't want cops there and I /know/ you." Peter mmnfs down into Shane's mouth as he kisses; the indigo shifts down to violet, his head tilting -- when Shane breaks, Peter's grinning. Just a little. He throws a tentative glance up to Eric, then back to Shane, and: "--/man/, you're like. A cat, sometimes." The violet threatens to stay. At the mention of not being a cop there, Peter /rapidly/ nods, and: "The lady there actually kind of got -- she didn't even want me wearing my /mask/," Peter says, grin slightly-quirking. "--actually I probably shouldn't have, it's got. Cameras in it. Would probably freak a lot of people out if they knew." He slings his gaze back up to Eric, a tension in his expression as he tells him: "Shane and Sebastian and some others -- they're doing. A fight club. Except, uh. Without the cages. Just -- people learning how to fight. With healers, to make sure nobody gets hurt /too/ bad." "As long as no one's bettin', I ain't got nothin' to report." Eric says, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Nothing illegal about a bunch of people gettin' together and beatin' the piss out of each other, as'long as no one's permanently hurt and everyone wants it." He grins, and winks down at Shane. "Might have'ta wear my club clothes, though. I ain't got all that many clothes that don't have the NYPD logo on it." He grins at Peter conspiratorily, winking. "They give it'ta us at a discount." Eric runs his hand up Shane's chest, then back down, so casually it looks almost like it was done unsconsciously. Almost. "Oh, shit, yeah, I forgot about the camera -- you should," Shane says with a grimace, "probably not bring that. Even if there's nothing /wrong/ with what we're doing people would -- /I/ would -- not want." The grimace smooths out, as Eric's hand runs up him, though he squirms slightly under the touch: "Careful," is a reflexive warning when Eric's hand moves the wrong way up his skin. The ice cube has all but melted in Shane's hand; his fingers trail against Peter's neck with no more ice but still a cool-wet touch. Tracing down the side of his throat, up against his jaw, absent-light. "It's all consensual," he assures Eric wryly. "Just -- practice. Cuz a lot of us --" He shrugs a shoulder. "A lot of us could do with -- help. Especially lately. But yeah, you show up in NYPD shit and you'll be locked the hell /out/." "--yeah man I'm just worried about--someone there--recognizing you?" Peter tells Eric. "And then freaking out? Because, suddenly, they just go -- 'oh crap, COPS'. Maybe," he says, glancing back down to Shane, "we should tell -- that lady? To make sure, uh. Nobody freaks. I mean, s'cool to /have/ a cop there, too, like, if another cop like stumbled on it you could. Maybe. De-escalate, um. I dunno." Peter stifles a giggle when Shane squirms, before /squeezing/ at the back of his neck with his hand, thumb sliding along the edge of the collar. "--yeah I guess I won't--I mean. I'd like to... record it, just because. Maybe someday I could show people and they'd be like 'oh that's awesome' but, uh. If somebody found it -- yeah," he says, a little wistfully, "--won't wear it there." Peter's head /tilts/ up into the pressure of Shane's fingertips; his jaw angles down to apply a counterpressure against it. "I'm just worried," he admits, "about, like. If somebody /does/ find out what's happening and call the cops -- it's not illegal but I dunno it kind of looks like -- we're preparing for /war/ or something." "I ain't say it'd be good for PR, and I'm sure we'd find somethin' to break it up for, but...." Eric trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He winces a little bit as blood wells up from his fingertips, and he quickly raises it and licks it clean. "I know. It hurts, a little, but I ain't mind." he drawls, hand dropping back down to run over Shane's chest. "Yeah. I could do my best, but, I dunno." Eric shrugs his shoulders. "Actually, I bet there're a lot of cops who'd like nothin' better than to watch mutants beat the snot out of each other, and maybe even get a chance in the ring with 'em." His frown is a FROWNYFACE, drawing deep lines in his forehead. "We are preparing for war," Shane answers, quieter. "At least to defend ourselves against the one they're already /waging/." His eyes close, body relaxing with that squeeze at his neck; his head tips forward slightly when Peter's fingers run against the collar. His fingers curl up along Peter's jaw, tracing back slowly to cup the back of his neck. "-- but," he accedes, "not like the kind /we/ fight. Just the kind where when people jump us in the streets we don't -- die." His eyes snap back open when Eric speaks, though: "No," comes immediately, quick-sharp in a sudden rise of almost-panic. It fades back down to a quieter, "-- no. Other cops. Nobody who's not -- one of us, it's not -- no." His words stutter-hitch, gills fluttering under his shirt. "--yeah I don't think. I'd make a very good /soldier/ um," Peter admits, with just a tiny-grin. The thumbtip at the back of that collar hooks inward, squeezing into that tiny space; he sighs warmly when Shane cups the back of his neck. "Mmnf. /I/ could take 'em," Peter says, lazily arrogant, in response to Eric's comment. But at Shane's response, Peter frowns; a hand reaches forward to press against one of those fluttering flank-gills, /squeezing/ along it in pulses; applying a slow, rhythmatic pressure. "--s'okay." Peter tells him, "it'll be safe." Eric grins at Peter, winking at him playfully. "I bet I could take ya." he says, drawl slightly darkened, and he looks down at Shane to share the grin with him. The grin fades, though, and his hand runs soothingly down Shane's side, bending his head down to place on Shane's stomach. "Ssh, Shane. I ain't gonna bring no one. I was just sayin' that... never mind, Shane. It's alri'." He squeezes the younger man a little bit, in his arms. "It -- /has/ to -- be safe." Shane's tone is emphatic even through his breathless hitching, head shifting to look up at Peter, now. Slowly, beneath the touches, his gills start to calm, his breathing evening out. "It has to," he insists again, "Peter, if I brought you somewhere and --" His jaw clamps shut, tight, his eyes squeezing closed. It takes a bit for him to open them again. One hand remains, squeezing Peter's neck gently; his other moves to rest lightly against the back of Eric's head. "Sorry," he says, quiet, "I just. Don't want -- mmph." His nose crinkles. "-- Can you /imagine/ what your folks would /do/ if I got you -- in trouble there oh /man/ they probably already want to fillet me." Peter responds to this concern by darting his head forward -- and pecking at Shane's mouth. Peck, peck. Followed by -- a brief, but slightly /longer/ kiss. When he pulls back, his cheeks are violet again: "--that won't happen," Peter tells Shane. "I won't let it. /I/," Peter adds with a quirking smile, "can stop /trains/ I sure as heck can stop a bunch of angry people from killing anybody." Then, as the grin drifts back: "You and Sebastian won't let it happen either. /Or/ Jax. Man the /real/ challenge would be making sure everybody who /doesn't/ belong there gets out alive." At the mention of Peter's folks, he wrinkles his nose, before adding: "Oh /man/ they grilled me the morning after dinner, like, it was /so/ awkward." Eric glances between the two teenagers for a moment and then looks up at the wall, spacing out. His eyes almost glaze over and he settles back against the couch, making himself a little bit more comfortable. He lets his head fall back, too, eyes turning to the ceiling, as his hand trails lazy patterns over Shane's side and stomach. It isn't for long - twenty, thirty seconds, before he leans forward and refocuses his attention on Shane. "And we won't let anything happen to you." The kiss relaxes Shane again, his gills finally calming entirely; when Peter pulls back, there's an easy smile on his face. "-- Yeah I guess the lot of us are /kind/ of. Formidable, I wouldn't want to -- fuck with everyone really. Oh my god did your folks give you the /sex/ talk?" This makes his grin curl wider. Eric's comment causes his brows to lift in surprise: "/Me/? Pfft, I don't care about /that/, man, I'd just fucking go postal on anyone who tried to fuck with B and Peter. So erm -- no other cops but. I guess /you/ could come fight." "--nngh," is Peter's response to Shane's question regarding the /sex talk/. Followed by one hand leaving Shane's gills to rub at his eye, and. "--I think. At this point. I know more about it than them /just/ from hanging out. With you." This admission prompts a sliiiight blush. Peter glances to Eric and grins a little: "--man, I'd feel /sorry/ for someone going after Shane. Dude can survive just about anything /anyway/, s'not like he'd ever..." The thought dwindles off; Peter turns, then, looking at Shane. The hand at the back of his neck squeezes much more /intensely/, much more suddenly; a frown settles over his face. But otherwise, he says nothing. Eric grins and looks down at Shane. "Excuse me, Peter," he says, not sounding particularly sorry at all, as he leans down half-into his lap to press his lips to Shane's. It is not a particularly hungry kiss, but it is a somewhat deep one, slow, and savored. He pulls back up and gives Peter an unapologetic look. "Maybe I will come fight, Shane, though you know me. I'm more'a a lover than a fighter." A beat, and he grins wider. "I'd feel bad too, goin' after Shane. His claws hurt; take it from me." Shane's eyes widen, at that harder squeeze; he draws in a soft breath, eyes fixing up on Peter's face with an abrupt /melting/ back down against the others' laps. Whatever he was going to /say/, though, is cut off by Eric's kiss, which he returns with -- perhaps a touch more hunger. "Mmph," he says afterwards, and, with a crooked smile at Eric: "You can take it." His eyes drift slowly more closed, head tipping to pull just slightly against Peter's grip. "-- I can take it," is softer; he looks back up through lazily half-lidded eyes to study Peter's face, his own brows faintly creasing at the other boy's frown. "..oh!" Peter says, eyes popping open wide as Eric -- leans forward to kiss Shane! He bobs his head back and blinks, hovering somewhere between violet and indigo -- his hand not moving from the nape of Shane's neck as Eric delivers the kiss. When Eric fixes him with that look and mentions his claws, Peter grins, /maybe/ a little shyly. "--oh yeah, I. Know what his claws feel like," he says, before glancing back down to Shane, and -- the grin doesn't vanish, but it slips, just a little bit. The squeeze at the back of Shane's neck tightens as he pulls away. "--not allowed. To die." The squeeze sharpens; to a point where, for just an /instant/, Shane might not be able to breathe. But a moment later, and the slack has eased up, back to just -- a firm, steady pressure. Eric grins and chuckles, a dark noise. "Yeah? You know what he feels like when he puts it /all/ the way in?" he asks, leaning forward slightly to let his breath ghost along the edge of Peter's cheek, cinnamon and peppermint. He winks down at Shane, lifting his hips up slightly underneath the other man's hips. "His claws, I mean." He adds, with just long enough of a pause to let the double-entendre sink in. Still, he is not blind enough to not comment, "Not die - that's an order, I believe." "Mmph --" It's a quiet squeak, as that grip tightens; there's a moment where Shane's gills flare wildly beneath his shirt, flutterflutterflutter as his breath is squeezed out of him. It relaxes slowly, though his eyes stay wide. "I --" he hesitates, flushing slightly, "-- don't have any /intention/ of dying, sir," finishes uncertainly softer. But he lifts a hand to /bap/ at Eric, light but insistent all the same, when he leans in close to Peter. A sort of /protective/ edge to his: "Eric, /behave/." For all the good that it will do. His protective flare ebbs back to just quiet, after, lazily draping back against both of the others, his head nestling into Peter's touch. "-- That goes for you both, too. If you die, I'll." His teeth flash for a moment on this threat. "Kill you."