ArchivedLogs:Pre-Afterparty

Pre-Afterparty
Dramatis Personae Peter, Shane	2013-05-31 warning, some kissy stuffs
Location <XS> Boathouse
Perpetually filled with the quiet background noise of the lapping tide, the boathouse is a cozy escape from the mansion proper. The few boats docked here are small, but suffice for sails around the lake (or, in the case of the one swift powerboat, a speedy motor around it) -- posted signs by them remind users of the regulations required for their use. Tucked away in the back half of the boathouse are living quarters, small and spartan and snug, with a kitchen, bathroom, small sitting area, and a bedroom fit for two. In the wake of the after-party, there is -- a Peter! And a Shane! Wandering toward the boathouse, walking along the edge of the lake toward the dock. Peter's clip-on tie has been removed; it's now stuffed firmly down a pocket, a bit of it hanging out like a wagging tongue. The very top of his white collared shirt has been unopened, letting in a bit of air; he's also very quick to curl an arm around Shane's shoulders while they walk. Peter's curls toe in those funny socks of his, sometimes squishing a bit of grass or mud beneath them; they're definitely going to need washing after tonight is done. Peter squeezes Shane more firmly as they get closer to the boats, the dock, the water. "...M'glad you -- I mean, it didn't go /well/ but, I know... it's a little," Peter pauses, nose wrinkling, trying to think of the right word. "--hard? For you. Around him. Kai, I mean. It would be hard for /me/, anyway, if..." He doesn't finish, not exactly sure where he's going with it. "I wouldn't be alive," Shane answers quietly, "if not for the friend he murdered. And have you /seen/ Flicker, he's pretty much covered in scars for life." Even more quietly, as if this is a terrible /secret/ he shouldn't betray: "-- My dad is, too. He just hides his." There is an afterafterparty in the boathouse, undoubtedly likely to be busted at some point by the teachers but Shane stops short of the party (PROBABLY all his dates are there) to curl his arms around Peter away from prying CHAPERONE eyes and give him a proper kiss. "-- I was a dick to him last time," he says, "but he." There is quiet. He wraps his arms around Peter. "I'm sorry he kicked you. I guess I shouldn't have asked him to be our date." At the mention of Shane's dead friend -- Flicker's scars -- Peter tenses, and frowns, and nods. At the mention of Jax, though, Peter almost /stops/ -- almost threatening to send them both tripping over one another! He /very/ quickly starts back up, though, his arm suddenly /squeezing/ very fiercely around Shane's shoulders. Head tilting down into the kiss. His fingers creep down to stroke the outline of one of Shane's flankgills as he wraps his arms around Peter. "...s'okay. You did. /Really/ good, Shane." Then, a little quieter. "...would you mind telling me about him sometime? The -- your friend. If not, I understand -- just. I wanna know, stuff. I guess. About you. Um, more stuff, I mean." The violet deepens. Another sudden kiss -- quick, impulsive. "Also Ivan talked to Sebastian." Shane shivers, exhaling quietly at that stroking. He turns in towards Peter, facing him now to nestle up against him. "I could tell you." It comes after a pause, quiet, his fingers pressing against the small of Peter's back. "There's -- I mean there's a lot to tell. I don't know. Most of it's not /good/, you know, I don't usually -- it's not really the kind of thing you bring /up/. At dances. Having fun." Here he tips his head back up, rising up onto his toes to steal another kiss. "-- Bastian told me," he says, a little uncomfortably. "Ivan asked if he was a serial killer. But I guess it ended OK. Maybe. I'm -- kind of bad at judging /OK/ and Ivan is -- hard. To read." Peter's one arm on Shane becomes two, and now he's, mmf, eyes swinging back and forth around the surrounding area, as if looking for some place to just, /lounge/ with him. He ends up moving toward the boathouse, with its dock, kind of clumsily, kind of awkwardly, just stumbling back toward it until he feels his shoulders pressed up against timber. And then, /squeeze/, as if Shane were one of those stress-balls. Maybe he is! He doesn't have any bones, after all. Peter's hand continues stroking down that flank gill, petting it through Shane's shirt, careful not to stroke /up/ against it. "I want to know," Peter admits, "I guess, everything. Even bad stuff. Um. But, tonight is, maybe. We can just focus on -- good things, maybe." He confesses this a bit /lazily/ as he squeezes Shane, punctuating it with another kiss. The mention of -- serial killer -- Peter makes a face. It's hard to tell if he's /amused/ or horrified. Maybe a little of both. He adds, softer: "I think you kinda, um. Scare him. Especially Sebastian. But," he adds, "I think he'll... he's good. He just, you know, I really worry sometimes. With the bugs." Shane pushes closer when Peter's shoulder bumps up against the wood, and he tugs Peter against the boathouse side, pressing the taller boy's back up against it with another stolen kiss. "... Bastian is pretty scary," he allows, "Maybe I am, too. But not -- in the way that he --" There's a soft stifled noise that sounds in his throat. "He acts like B is the monster for losing control and seems to /forget/ that /he/ was the one who -- if /Ivan/'d had control in the /first/ place and not attacked us with bees that wouldn't have /happened/ but everyone forgets that part." This doesn't seem /angry/ so much as /frustrated/. "We're /all/ kind of scary. But the way people /treat/ that is a whole world different if you're a pretty /human/ kid or if you have sharp teeth and claws. /All/ of us need -- kind of -- to. Mngh. Stay in control." His head bonks up against Peter's chest, weight settling in against Peter's to press him up against the side of the house. "... good things tonight," he echoes, like reminding himself. "We're all kind of scary," Peter says, and one hand moves up to squeeze at the back of Shane's skull, fingers slipping and weaving through his hair, palming the shape of it as he butts up against his chest. The other hand continues to trace down the gills on Shane's flank, his thumb pressing a little harder now, his fingers cradling the length of Shane's back on the way down. At the last bit, though, Peter's head descends -- placing a kiss against a firm hair-spike. Following it up with another, on the temple. He sliiiiides down toward the ground, down to sit -- dragging Shane with him. "Good things," Peter repeats, like he's trying to think of some. And then: "You don't scare /me/." The hand moving through Shane's hair moves, trying to hook up under his jaw, curve it up to lift Shane's face. "The teeth, the claws. I like them. They make you /look/ scary, but only if somebody doesn't get to know you. It's like -- a secret." Shane sinks down and he -- sits /on/ Peter after a small consideration of the ground, prooobably less solely for the sake of closeness and more for the sake of his immaculate white slacks against the ground. His head tips up, nuzzling against Peter's neck as Peter's fingers slip through his hair. "I don't want to be scary." Although he reconsiders this as his hand rests at Peter's waist, slowly tugging dress shirt up to free it from being tucked in to pants. "-- No. Sometimes I want to be scary. Sometimes I think we need to be. Just not to /you/. But it's hard to -- turn it off. And on. I don't know. /You're/ pretty terrifying -- I mean in /theory/, but you don't. You're just. /Good/." His head tips upwards, when it's lifted, black eyes meeting Peter's. "-- I don't think most people want to get to know me." Peter's hand smooths over said immaculate white slacks, as if to remind himself that they're there -- /right/. Shaneclothes. /Hard/ to replace. He scoots, spreading his legs out to give Shane more room to manuever in, a more comfortable perch to sit in, and mmfs as Shane tugs at his shirt, untucking it. Peter's posture shifts, becoming a little more aggressive -- the hand at Shane's jaw slides over to the nape of his neck, squeezing at it, the other hand drifting along Shane's back -- up, under the jacket, then down along the hem of those slacks. When Shane says those last words, Peter's head darts down -- forceful, sudden, /fierce/ -- kissing. Pulling the back of Shane's head up to his, the hand at the hemline sinking down, fingers wedging down toward his hindquarters. Mmf. For about six or seven seconds, all Peter does is kiss, heated and hungry, smothering any attempt at further words. When he finally breaks for air, he's breathing hard and heavy. "Fuck them," he whispers, voice hoarse. "You're--" There's a pause, here. A slight hitch in Peter's voice. "Your clothes, I don't want to--" Then, the trembling flees, replaced by something steely and hard as he /clenches/ the back of Shane's neck. "Get undressed." Shane settles in more comfortably when Peter adjusts; his hand slips beneath Peter's shirt once he has it untucked, fingers just resting against the other boy's side. He is just relaxing, lazy-comfortable, until that kiss; it puts a quiet happy hum in his throat and he returns it with equal intensity. His hand curls more snugly around Peter's waist. The cursing from Peter makes his eyes open a little bit wider, makes his lips twitch up into a small smile. But it's the hard clench at the back of his neck that does it; huge-eyed, gills flaring, but the soft breath he exhales and the quiet shiver against Peter marks this as definitely /good/ rather than panicked. "Oh," he breathes out, and -- no more than that. His eyes stay locked on Peter's, and he is /prompt/ about obeying.