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The Wakandans knew how to party. Peter had to give it to them. Sure their taste in music wasn't as good as his, but definitely far more preferable to the shit the crawler boy or the suit-man called music. And they knew how to dance! Peter liked those moves. He was really getting into a mood. He even got Shuri to teach him some hip moves. He figured it would come in very handy if he ever wanted to seduce a doe-eyed girl. But of course, the lesson lasted only till he caught T’Challa’s eyes. He was then escorted to the other end of the room and practically deposited into Cap’s hand. Psh.
That wasn’t good. Of all the men in the team, and of course, women, animals, trees and other sentient beings - you get the idea - Mr. America was the prudest of them all. Peter would lose his coolness standing next to him. He wouldn’t be able to get laid, ever, if he were to be seen hanging out with Jesus Christ himself. Peter gave Cap a wary look and pulled a tight smile, which the other man returned with the same spirit. He guessed in Cap’s book he was worse than Tony.
Peter shrugged and scanned the dance floor, looking for an ass that he wouldn’t mind getting behind. There was the blond widow, who wasn't actually a widow but she was busy laughing at something that Banner had said to her. Then there was Wanda, but no - he would give her a wide berth. He knew his reality would be fucked if he messed with her, literally. Also, he liked Vision. He was a cool machine-dude. Okoye? Only if he wants his balls ripped off. There was always Gamora, but she had promised him a gory murder if he so much as even looked in her direction as anything other than as her captain. They had broken up six months after she had popped back into life. So much for being a hero and saving her ass
Speaking of asses, his eyes fell on one fine specimen. The thought of which he quickly scratched, burnt, tossed off into never-ending space, when he discovered it belonged to a not so attractive, definitely sub-par and ordinary, albeit sulking man.
Peter gave Captain a mock salute and waded through the throbbing crowd towards where the God of Sparkles was. (And yes, he had listened to that particular story with more glee than was warranted when Banner had narrated it to him). The God was getting settled on a high stool facing the bar, which was on the other end of the room. It was quite the effort for Peter to jam through the sea of shoulders and hips, but he told himself there was a good drink waiting for him on the other end. Just a drink, nothing else.
When he was near enough to the bar that he could see the sulking God’s back, he felt the air get heavy. Thor was moping and screwing the air conditioning in the process. How typically selfish of him. Peter had to make an intervention. It was for the benefit of all.
Thor's hair had grown long over the year. This evening, he had tied his hair back into a plait. Peter didn't know who had given him the idea that plaits were cool, but he thought it made him look girly. Peter told him so. “You look like a woman from behind,” he said, sliding next to the giant and putting on his best snarky face, “I was going to ask you for a dance.”
Thor who had been looking down at his pitcher of what smelled like rum, cast him a wary glance and grunted, “Quill.” He lifted the pitcher and chugged the whole fucking pitcher down in one go. Peter felt his jaw go slack as he watched his Adam's apple bob up and down - up and down. There was even a small rivulet that leaked from the side of his lips, formed a wet patch on his beard and slid down his throat. No one should be allowed to drink like that, thought Peter, not even a God. It was such a vulgar display. Who the fuck gave the barman permission to pour rum in a pitcher?
Thor put down the pitcher with more force than necessary, wiped his mouth roughly with the back of his hand and leveled his piercing eyes at Peter.
Peter felt his hackles rise, the way it always did when Thor got into his space. Those eyes held him, froze him to his place and he felt uncomfortable. His usual tactic at times like this was to say something smart, make the God understand how insignificant he was and feel better about himself. But this evening, he noticed the storm that was brewing in those eyes. The air was thick with precipitation.
Startling him from his thoughts, Thor roared, “More!” The waiter who was visibly shaken, fumbled over to them with three bottles of rum and poured it into God’s pitcher in a rush. “Keep it coming,” demanded Thor. Peter definitely heard a little thunder in his voice.
”Hey, you boor,” said Peter, placing a hand on Thor, “Easy on the poor guy. You are frightening him.”
Thor flinched and caught Peter’s hand, with a warning look. Peter felt a current pass through him that had nothing to do with metaphors. But for what it was worth, his grip on Peter’s hand was gentle.
“I’m in no mood to dance,” said Thor, placing Peter's hand forcibly on the countertop, “Maybe, some other time.”
Peter looked at Thor incredulously for a couple of seconds, while he downed the pitcher. Then he got it. “What no - I was insulting you! Do I have to explain my insults to you?”
Thor wasn’t in his right mind, Peter concluded. If he had been in his right mind, that would have been the queue for him to push into Peter’s personal space, threaten to smite him or dismember him or both. Instead, he got this: “In the name of Allfather! Leave me in peace.”
“No I'm not going to do that,” said Peter without a beat. Thor's dismissal irritated him. When the barman came forward to pour yet another fill, Peter stopped him with a wave.
Thor rolled his shoulders, and his muscles unnecessarily flexed. He turned and gave Peter a withering glare. “You want to feel my wrath,” said he, grasping Peter by the collar and bringing their faces together.
Peter felt his bottom drop to the floor. He could feel Thor's breath on his face, and there was no mistaking the electricity that was sizzling through him.
“You are moping,” said Peter, he found that he had a voice and it sounded firmer than he felt.
“I am not,” said Thor, jerking him a little closer. Peter struggled to keep his eyes up.
“Yes you are,” said he, trying to pry the God's fingers off of his collar, “You are wrecking the air-conditioning around you. It's quite obvious. If you don't keep your mope levels in check, it will start raining indoors.”
Thor let go of him and yelled for the barman, “You there! Bring me some more of that!”
“No. He has had enough,” quipped Peter.
“By the realm eternal, stop being a Picksquash!” Thor spat. He made as if to slam the countertop, but Peter placed his hand between and received most of the blow. Damn, that hurt, but better his half-celestial hand than the countertop. He didn't want to explain to T’Challa that he had aggravated Thor into destroying the bar counter.
“God, you are such a drama queen,” cursed Peter, cradling his arm. “And what the fuck is a Picksquash?”
Thor’s eyes were conflicted as he looked at Peter’s arm.
“The war is over man,” said Peter, “People are trying to have fun, trying to get laid here. Why are you being such a sourpuss?”
Thor slid his head on to his hands and sighed. “You won't understand.”
“Trust me,” said Peter, snidely, “You are a simpleton, in every sense of that word. Nothing you have to say could ever go above my head.”
Thor sighed again, not looking at him. “Enough with the mockery,” he said, without much heat. Peter wondered if anybody ever dared put down Thor the way he did. And more often than not, got away with it, too.
Peter shuffled closer. It felt like he was moving towards a burning furnace on a cold day. “You know I don’t always do this, and I’m not really one for heart-to-hearts, but I think if somebody doesn’t ask you this, you are just gonna turn this whole place into a fucking funeral with all the emotions you are letting out. What is bothering you?” Peter was close enough to see every protruding muscle on the God’s hand, and the way those leather bands were wrapped around his wrist, and the way his knuckles were tightly held in a fist. The sight of it did funny things to him. He tore his eyes away, looked up and noticed that the God was looking right back at him. Fuck those eyes. Why was he so perfect? It was so unfair! Blue eyes bore into his with tenderness, but there was also a deep sadness to them.
Peter cleared his throat and crossed his arms. He waited for the man to turn away, to dismiss him again. A couple of seconds passed, then -
“Loki is dead because of me,” said Thor, abruptly. He turned away and looked at his hands helplessly. His mind was clearly elsewhere.
“Loki is dead because of that fuckface we just destroyed,” said Peter soberly.
“No, he is dead because me,” Thor said adamantly, “And so is Heimdall, and Sif, the Warriors Three and my royal father.”
“Sheesh. Quite the hit list you have there,” said Peter. “You sure you aren't the reason the hundreds we lost on the battlefield are dead as well?
“Why do you trifle my feelings?” Damn, Thor sounded like he was really hurting. Peter felt his heart constrict in a way that surprised him.
Peter took a breath and chose his next words after much consideration. “I blame myself for Yondu’s death, too. Remember I told you how I had to kill my father, Ego. I regret none of that. Would do it a hundred times over if I had to. He was such an asshole - to me and my mother. But that day when we were trying to escape from the collapsing planet, Yondu was there. That selfish, thieving, conniving man who put food in my belly, courage in my heart had taught me everything I needed to survive. He saved me not only that day, but from the moment he had found me, and I let him die there. Alone. You know what eats at me even now? Had I accepted Yondu for what he was - the only father I ever needed - I wouldn't have been lured by the promises that jackass Ego made. Yondu died because I betrayed him.”
Thor looked lost. “What do we do?”, he said. Peter thought the thousand five hundred-year-old God, sounded like a little child.
“Hell if I know,” said Peter, shrugging. “I just choose to think of all the good times we shared and honor Yondu's memory in any way I could. I can't undo my actions. I can only choose to do the right thing now. I might have been the reason for Yondu's death, but he loved me like a son. I want to cherish that, and that is all I can do now without digging myself into a grave of self-pity.”
Thor sighed and clouds far above rumbled, promising a heavy shower. “Allfather would have had his Odinsleep one way or the other, my friends would have parted ways with me someday. But Loki, he was meant to be by my side until the end of the world. And he is gone, now. I'm alone.”
Peter placed a hand on Thor’s. It was like holding a rock “You are not alone,” he said, "and I'm probably gonna regret saying this, but if it's facing eternity alone that's bothering you, I’ll be around. Probably. You can knock on my door anytime.”
Thor looked surprised. As if by magic, the air cleared and became lighter. Peter felt his face heat up for no reason, but it probably had something to do with the way Thor was looking at him, then. He felt awkward in his tight pants. Thank the never-ending space, his lower half was in the dark because of the counter’s shadow.
“I had thought you loathed me,” said Thor, his voice was thicker than usual. Was that really necessary? Really?
He felt a little miffed by the effect Thor was having on him. He would rather deal with a sad, helpless Thor. He stood up, and said with snark “I do loathe you.”
Thor caught his hand and pulled him. Peter caught his foot on the stool. His heart leaped into his throat when he fell forward and Thor caught him in an embrace. Thor stood up and pulled him up. Peter tried to squirm free, but it was impossible.
“What are you doing?” Peter felt even more embarrassed when his voice came out as a squeal.
“You desire me,” Thor said, smiling triumphantly. His hand slipped down and cupped his ass, pulled him closer. Peter nearly fainted when he felt something hard against his pelvic bone.
“Let go of me,” said Peter, squealing some more. “Now! There are people here. Everywhere.”
Thor looked down at him, all traces of grief that had taken over him only moments before completely gone. There was even a twinkle in his blue eyes, now. He leaned close to Peter's ear and whispered, “I want to take you right here.”
Fucking hell. There was no blood left in his brain for him to think, but he thought, Thor taking him right then wouldn't be such a bad idea. Just imagining being under that body made him feel like he was going to jizz his pants.
“But you are right,” said Thor, with a sly smile. “There are people here. So let's just dance.” There was a promise in his voice, that Peter understood only too well.
Peter looked at him stunned, face draining of color. Not giving him any time to react, Thor pulled him away from the bar and towards the dance floor. Peter realized he was in so much trouble as he dumbly followed the God. Thor was eviler than he had given him credit for.