You kiss so sweetly / Under the mistletoe we are now

[velveteenwolf]

When; Mistletoe curse
Rating; PG-13?
Characters; Peter and Roman
Summary; There's Mistletoe in the living room, and a festive spirit in the air...
Log; Peter would never have openly admitted to liking Christmas. It was a bunch of different Pagan holidays that got superglued onto the Christian holiday for the birth of their zombie god. It was a bunch of bullshit, make no mistake. But, despite the ridiculousness if it all, the whole holiday season thing was annoyingly infectious. Christmas trees and ornaments and bright flashing lights and garishly adorned packages. Gingerbread and eggnog and candy canes and cider and rumcake and cookies frosted in the trademark red and green. He might be a gypsy, but he was far from immune to the pull of the season. He liked the glitz and the lights and how for a couple week, people tried their best to not be total assholes.

Of course, between discovering that the mysterious donations of money had stopped, and the height of the ceilings in their apartment, the tree they'd come home with the night before was decidedly on the malnourished and diminutive side. He was armed with far more lights and ornaments and tinsel than their waif of a tree could ever hope to withstand, but Peter wasn't about to let such details bother him. He wasn't sure their tree could hold any of it, but, they had their apartment.

He came in with a number of bags, and snow dusted on his coat, in his hair and his eyelashes and the scruff on his jaw. He wasn't particularly affected by the cold, but it was enough to flush his cheeks rosy. It was, of course, easy enough to ignore the mistletoe as just another piece of Christmas decoration.

"Roman?"

Comments

[saturniapavonia]

What person does not like Christmas? There is plenty of bullshit. That is universally part of the holiday season as much as holly and garland hanging just around the corner. One cannot have Christmas without baggage. Whatever it may be. Dubious religious implications to annoying obligations to traditions that hardly hold any meaning at all...it is worth it for the taste of peppermint, the smell of pine and the satisfaction that a gaudy decoration collection can bring.

The tree is perfect. It just needs a little...something. Love is what the football headed Charlie Brown called it. Roman called it work.

"What?"

He's trying to finish coiling the lights. There's too much for the tree so it has to go somewhere. Spooky green eyes (hardly festive) move up from the lights and they stay at Peter's face. For a second he thinks there's a trick because the expression is quite humorous. That cannot be blush from this perverted bastard. Maybe he's drinking.

A huff of frustration before he asks again "What?"

[velveteenwolf]

"Did you put up the mistletoe?"

It's an innocent question, a lift of an eyebrow, a hint of amusement as he looks up at it, bags of eggnog and brandy and other festive items safely in the kitchen. It's not like he'd put it past Roman, either in the sense of being flirtatious, or just for the full Christmas Spirit thing. Which Peter was about equally complicit in, to be fair, but the green bush with it's white flowers, attached to the doorway with a festive red velvet bow couldn't help but make him smile.

Of course, there was also that compulsion coming across him, made his fingers flex and curl back into his palms as he looked over at the taller teen. Their small apartment is almost literally awash in a rainbow of Christmas lights and Roman looks even more attractive wreathed in the middle of them. He swallows, tries to fight off the urge to just kiss him, in the middle of coiling the lights and everything.]

[saturniapavonia]

"What kind of a question is that? No."

For a few reasons. One being that means that Roman feels that he has to find a reason to do what he wants, and for another put up something before they could try to take a crack at this decorating thing on their own. Just for a split second he attempts to unwind a bit more of the length of lights before he can't shake the oddness of the question.

"Why would you think that I-?"

There it is then. The little plant hanging up pretty high. With his head tilted up his Adam's apple is pretty prominent as it bobs with the swallow. That is most certainly mistletoe alright.

Roman drops the lights and pulls at the front of Peter's shirt.

[velveteenwolf]

That's a troubling answer, of course. Because it means either one of them doesn't remember putting it up, or it's another one of the City's weird hijinks. And on that note, Peter really intends to step back, move away, get out from under the fucking festive little plant hanging in the doorway. But his blue eyes catch on Roman's greens, on those stupid full lips of his, and for a moment he forgets how fucking spooky it is.

He just wants to kiss him.

Roman moves in close, those festively colored lights dropping to the ground, and Peter's reaching up, curling fingers in Roman's hair before he can even really think about it. It's overwhelming, ridiculously so. Maybe it's the moment, the lights, their stupid little tree, but Peter's tugging Roman down, their faces closer.

"Kiss me," he voices in between them. He's not usually the demanding one, but right now, it's like a compulsion that rises up and curls tight in his chest. Unnatural, sure, but he'll worry about that later. After. Way after.

[saturniapavonia]

One breath in and another out. He's breathing in the words and the smell of the holiday spirit right from Peter's mouth. Roman doesn't bother to say anything. Spooky green eyes half lid as he smears his mouth against the other boys.

Kissing isn't difficult. No rocket science or special tutorial needed. Sometimes the pretense to come to it is like a hurdle. Right now it is easy. Very, very easy. Roman's fists stay curled into the front of Peter's shirt like he's a bully in the midst of a shakedown. That's not all that far off.

[velveteenwolf]

He asked for it, demanded it, but it still catches his breath when Roman's mouth presses down over his. There's something about kissing Roman that always sends a thrill through him, something electric, whether it's because of how they fit together or that he's been trying to tell himself that this is a bad idea since they met. It never sticks of course, to where he can't even really make himself believe it anymore.

His eyelashes flutter and his hands tighten in the fabric of the other teen's shirt, a low gasp lost between their lips. Fingers of his other hand sliding up and carding through the strands of Roman's hair. It's nothing he has a problem with, but the mistletoe makes it easy. No uncertainty of timing or reason. Just heat and touch and taste against each other's lips.