#forsworn

It was during a night shift one day, deep into the night, when Peter had done the unexpected. 

One so spontaneously done that if anyone had told him years ago that he'd one day be complicit in rule-breaking, he'd have scoffed in their face and deemed them insane. 

Why would he? When he had more to lose and absolutely nothing to gain?

That would be a lie, though. He had broken far more rules than he cared to keep tally of, despite knowing of the consequences that would befall him if he were caught. In fact, he was doing it right now as he passed a bend in the white-walled corridor. 

Unapologetically, even.

Was this even a rule? He didn't know. But it sure felt like one as he entered the room with you in his arms. 

It hadn't been explicitly stated, but it was more of an unspoken understanding that he was to return to his assigned room every night, after his duties for the day were completed. What he chose to do after his shifts, however, was entirely up to him. He'd been granted that one luxury, at least.

Of course, you'd also been provided with staff accommodations in the building when you'd initially signed on, but he hadn’t known which room you’d been assigned to, and neither did he want to wake you when you were so pleasantly asleep. Hence, he decided to do the next best thing— to bring you down to his room down in the staff wing.

After all, you hadn’t exactly fallen asleep in a comfortable position, what with the furrow that had been indented between your brows as you dozed. And considering all that you’d done to accommodate him when he’d taken his little naps in the file room, even having brought him a blanket from storage once, he figured that giving you a proper bed to rest in wouldn’t be too much to ask for. 

That, and he didn’t want to hear your complaints about the crick in your neck you'd surely have come morning, once you’d awoken from the unfortunate angle you were sleeping in. Although that really should have been the least of his problems… 

Somewhere deep down, he knew that he was crossing an irrevocable line in doing so.

He glanced down at you as he came to a stop before the only bed in the room, wondering just what he'd gotten himself into as he slowly tucked you in under the covers. 

Somehow, he hadn't really thought twice about letting you into the little space he'd carved out for himself. Which was a surprise, considering how his modus operandi was always to keep his cards close to his chest and everyone at arm's length. Well, almost everyone. 

Since when did you both get this comfortable in each other's presence? So much that even he was willing to skirt the line by sneaking you into his room despite the skeletal crew on night duty?

He looked up at the camera sitting innocuously in a corner of the ceiling, its cylindrical head lowered from inactivity. Though it wouldn’t be entirely accurate to call it a risk, for he had known for a fact that the cameras on this end of the compound would be out of commission today, including the camera in his room. 

It was something that he'd delightfully figured out after his first few years bunking in his new room. 

The surveillance around the area would be powered down on the last day of every third month as maintenance on the staff wing was conducted, which was why he'd carded you through anyway. Plus, even if he did get caught by another passing orderly, he supposed he could always use the excuse that he was merely helping a fellow member of the staff. 

Out of goodwill, of course. No harm, no foul.

Goodwill, that threatened to fly out of the window as soon as you started to shift, unconsciously seeking out the nearest source of warmth— Him.

Peter stilled, his gaze cautious as you nuzzled close with a small sound of contentment, fingers curling into his shirt. 

Had he accidentally woken you?

The silvery moonlight that filtered through the humble room's sole window illuminated the dark space, blanketing everything in a pale ethereal glow. He watched as you moved, soft light falling upon your features.

It took a while before his muscles uncoiled from the tension, and another beat before he finally remembered to breathe again. He hadn’t accounted for the possibility of you waking up; he didn’t know what to do if you did, tired as you were when you’d rested your head against his shoulder, mumbling something along the lines of wanting to rest your eyes for a few minutes. Except, soft snores filled the air moments after, leaving him to blink helplessly at the realization that you’d promptly fallen asleep against him.

But now that you were here together, lying atop the same bed, he took pleasure in seeing the way your eyelashes fluttered as you lapsed deeper into peaceful slumber. A faint mumble fell from your lips, indistinct, yet sounding vaguely like his name.

‘What were you dreaming of?’ He wondered.

He could feel the heat radiating off you from the proximity. Something that he hadn’t quite had the chance to indulge in over the years. Not often enough, and never without strings attached. You were warm, comfortably so. And it felt… nice, like a piece to an unnamed puzzle he hadn’t quite found.

It elicited a certain fondness, rising from the deepest recesses of his heart. And as the feeling slowly bloomed into something more tangible, it gave rise to a desire. One that he never thought he’d ever harbor within these enclosed walls. He wanted, no, he needed you close. To crawl under your skin and make his home there.

He caught himself, hand hovering hesitantly by your waist.

Would you react poorly to his presence, so close at hand, once the sun rose above the horizon?

‘Perhaps,’ he thought.

Did he care? No. Not really— Maybe.

He’d seen the way you looked at him with a soft look on your face when you thought he wasn’t looking. The way your eyes lingered, as if you'd wanted to capture every line of his countenance; Felt the entirely ‘coincidental’ way you would brush against him in an impossibly wide hallway every so often. And with the way you'd taken to scheduling your shifts to coincide with his in the recent weeks, Peter was almost certain. 

The bond you shared, while profound, had long evolved beyond his initial expectations. He recognized it for what it was, the corners of his mouth curling in a faint and almost imperceptible smile as he tucked his head and pulled you closer.

Just this once, he decided, he would let himself feed into his selfish whims. And, with you in his arms, perhaps he, too, could share in your sweet dreams. 

Lulled by your shared warmth and the soft cadence of your heartbeat, Peter's breathing slowly evened out as he fell into a dreamless sleep.

⊹ ━━━ ✥ ━━━ ⊹

The rays of sunlight felt pleasant against your skin as you stirred, their golden light caressing your eyelids and gently drawing you back to the land of the waking. Unwilling to wake just so soon, you turned, burrowing deeper under the covers and relishing in the toasty warmth that seemed to wrap snugly around you in the serenity of the morning. 

It wouldn’t hurt to have another stolen moment of rest, right?

You blindly reached out to fluff your pillow back out, content to doze off again, only for your hand to hit something solid. 

The grunt that followed soon after made awareness finally catch up to you. 

Cracking an eye open, you were greeted by the sight of yet another white-tiled room, painted in the soft hues of the morning sun.

Huh, looks like you were still in the lab then, though you didn't really know what you'd been expecting to find.

It wasn’t like you could be anywhere else these days. But even in your sleep-addled state, you couldn't seem to recall ever making it back to your room last night, or even getting to bed, for that matter. 

Your brows furrowed as you tried to recall the happenings of last night, drawing up a blank despite your best efforts. 

It was hazy, at best. 

All you remembered was how sore your eyes had felt after finally finishing the last stack of files that had been entrusted to your care, with an awfully sensitive deadline attached to it in bold red ink.

Funny, had you been so tired that you'd accidentally wiped the last couple of hours from your memory? Or maybe you just weren't awake enough for the task yet? 

You inwardly sighed. The insane schedule you'd been holding recently certainly wasn't doing you any favors.

It was then that your eyes finally passed over something different, something that shouldn't have been there— A side table where a radio sat alongside a pile of haphazardly stacked papers, held down by what you recognized as a communication device serving as a makeshift paperweight. You don’t remember ever owning a radio, much less a walkie-talkie.

You instantly shot up, more awake than ever. 

This room, while fundamentally similar to your own, wasn't your room at all. Which then begged the question, where were you? 

“Mngh…” A small groan sounded alongside the rustle of sheets as a weight shifted against you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

It hits you then that you weren’t alone. Pillows weren't exactly capable of moving or speaking, were they?

Glancing down, you found an arm that had somehow ended up curled loosely around your middle sometime during the night. Your eyes trailed along the length of it, eventually landing on a familiar face— Peter. And while you'd rather not face the implications of the whys and hows you'd ended up waking up next to him in what you rightfully assumed to be his room, you found yourself staring, a single thought swirling in your mind. 

How in the world did you end up here?

It was the most unguarded you'd ever seen him, and you weren't quite sure how to feel about that revelation. For someone who always looked so put together on the daily, it felt almost taboo to see him all rumpled up from sleep.

One could say that it was almost… cute.

Peter’s hair was mussed, his face half-buried into the pillow, and his nose crinkling at the disturbance. 

It was endearing, in its own special way, that made you want to stay in the moment forever. But the man was undeniably starting to rouse, eyes shifting beneath his lids. And when those hazy blue eyes eventually fluttered open and locked onto yours, you panicked, scrambling as you darted towards the other end of the bed.

However, you hadn't realized that your legs had been tangled up in the sheets in your haste, causing you to trip. You let out a startled yelp as you lurched over the edge in a flurry of limbs. 

Scrunching your eyes shut, you prepared to faceplant onto the tiled floor. But the impact you braced yourself for never came. Instead, a fleeting feeling of weightlessness overcame you before you felt a firm grip around your arm, hauling you back up to safety.

A sigh sounded overhead as a low voice, still gravelly from sleep, filled your ears. “Come now, really?”

Peter had somehow managed to catch you with surprisingly quick reflexes, but it hadn't been without its own drawbacks. One of your flailing limbs had managed to score a hit on his face in the process, evident from the rapidly reddening skin, knocking whatever remnants of sleep he had out of him. 

“I didn't exactly put you on a bed after you fell asleep just so you could throw yourself off it in the morning.” He mumbled, stifling a yawn as he rubbed at the spot you’d accidentally struck in the midst of your ungraceful tumble.

However, his fingers came away red, startling both of you in the process. 

You winced. Had you seriously hit him that hard?

You both exchanged a glance, but while you were absolutely flummoxed by his sudden nosebleed, Peter's brow had creased, almost as if he couldn’t quite fathom the fact that he was bleeding. 

Which was odd, because all humans bled red, didn’t they? 

But the way he was looking at it seemed to belie the fact that there was more to it.

Peter made a thoughtful sound, staring at the blood on his fingers with a perplexed expression.

“Don’t worry about it.” He reassured you, reaching over to the bedside table for tissues to wipe it off.  “My nose is just having a bad day.”

Ah, the consequences of his actions. 

Both literally and figuratively.

He’d felt it just as you'd slipped from his fingers, a second too late, unconsciously reaching out towards his once abundant well of power. He had attempted to draw from it again— a reflex that he hadn't quite killed despite knowing that nothing would come out of it ever since the Soteria incident. 

But this time, it responded. A spark had ignited. While nothing like the electrifying surges of power he used to experience when he was at his prime, the faintest buzz of it had flared to life for just a fraction of a second before flickering out of existence. Then, he'd caught you, much to his surprise. 

He'd managed to levitate you back within his reach. Barely; by mere millimeters.

His first act of successful telekinesis in years.

Was the device starting to fail? Or was he getting stronger, enough to overpower the infernal nuisance of a device?

It was then that you apologized, drawing his attention back to you, looking almost apologetic despite it being an accident. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

The nosebleed had been entirely Peter's own doing, however. But he couldn't tell you about it. Not if he wanted to keep things under wraps like he'd sworn to do. To his best efforts.

So he played along, shaking his head lightly while he cleaned the blood away and disposed of it in the bin. “Don't be. I was the one who brought you here.”

“Though I wasn't aware that you hated me that much.” He joked.

Hate was a strong word, but the truth was far from it, and you both knew that. After all, you wouldn't be here if that had been the case. 

Peter wasn't the charitable sort when it came to his personal space. And the fact that he'd let you into it meant something even if he hadn't quite put it into words. Still, the evident guilt on your face was palpable enough that even he was starting to feel bad. 

None of this would have happened if he hadn't brought you here in the first place. Perhaps he should let you out of here now that you were awake, unscathed, and understandably wary.

A moment lapsed in silence before you spoke up again, tugging at his sleeve. “I have an idea.”

“Hm?” He turned back towards you, only for all thought to fizzle out of existence when you'd promptly reached up, pressing a chaste kiss to the bridge of his nose.

“Better?”

A beat passed in silence as he stared at you, an inexplicable expression on his face.

“Peter?” You blinked, calling out his name when you got no response; only a blank stare. 

“Hey.” You snapped your fingers in front of him. “Earth to Peter?”

Did his brain short-circuit? Because it sure felt like it. It wasn't until you saw the red starting to creep up his ears that it clicked.

Oh, you got him. You got him good.

“Yes? wait, no— I mean— what?” He started, tripping over his words as he went, voice trailing off in uncertainty. “You, uh… What are you doing?”

Now, where was his carefully pieced facade when he needed it?

You tilted your head in the same manner he always did. “Kissing it better?”

He knew what you were doing. Of course, he did. It was something he used to placate the children, especially the younger ones, when they accidentally hurt themselves. But for it to be used on him? Astounding, startling. Absolutely unheard of. It evoked something within him that bordered on surprise. No, there was something else, occluded behind the initial surprise he felt. Perhaps a part of him that he'd sealed away.

His cheeks were red now. A sight you never thought you'd see— The ever-composed orderly, fumbling.

It was almost funny, the way he dropped his head to hide his face, arms winding around you to keep you in place. Almost as if he didn't want you to see how flustered the single act had made him. But you could tell with the way his heated skin felt against yours that it'd affected him, perhaps in more ways than you were aware.

“Aw.” You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, his hair tickling your skin. 

Melodious, tinkling. A bright thing to be cherished.

He should let you go. He should. But he had the inexplicable urge to squirrel you away, here, in the small place he had to himself. Away from the one too many prying eyes. A balm to the everlasting winter, even though winter was still well a ways away.

You felt the minute shudder that ran through him as your breath fluttered past his ear, his fingers braced against your back. And then, a whisper.

“Will you stay?” If only for a moment longer? 

You hummed thoughtfully, but as tempting as it was, you did have a shift scheduled for today, and you didn't know what time it was. Your searching eyes eventually landed on the clock by the table, finding it to be just a little past seven in the morning.

Brilliant, you had the time to spare. And you were just about to agree when a glint of metal caught your eye.

Was that a surveillance camera in the corner? 

It made your eyebrows raise. As far as you were aware, living spaces were surveillance-free areas, affording the staff here some level of privacy in an establishment so heavily armed. Or, at least, that had been what you'd heard from one of the junior scientists you'd crossed paths with in the break room.

So why was Peter living under surveillance?

You knew that he had access to other places in the lab that you didn't. Was this the price of holding a higher security clearance?

“I will, if you tell me why there's a camera in your room.”

Peter shifted slightly at the question, answering you with a muted sigh. “It was an arrangement. I… have nightly terrors.” 

“Nightmares?” You certainly weren't expecting the answer he’d given you. 

Somehow, you hadn’t pegged Peter to be someone who was often plagued by such things. But they must have been pretty severe if they'd gone through the trouble of installing a device like that in his room.

“It's so the nurse can come in when they get bad.” He explained, the lie slipping cleanly through his teeth.

Well, that hadn't been a total lie. 

Dr. Brenner had taught him in the early years that the best told lies were always those wrapped in a modicum of truth, no matter how mishapen, and he'd found it to be true.

Peter did suffer from nightmares once. Plagued by them, even. Horrors bad enough that he’d avoided sleep entirely for days on end, though he hadn't had them ever since he grew out of his teenage years. Gone were the monsters under his bed, now replaced by the numerous skeletons in his closet. Skeletons he hoped you’d never find.

“Now, will you let me have this?” He said, changing the topic before you had the chance to prod further.

You shrugged, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing him tight. “All yours.” 

You felt the warmth permeating through the thin layer of his clothes as he repositioned his hold on you, arms encircling gently around your torso, firm yet yielding as he leaned into the embrace. Both of you remained there for a long time in comfortable silence. And Peter, to his credit, acquiesces easily without complaint when your hand eventually roamed upward, reaching for his hair as you were always prone to do whenever he got close enough. 

A soft snort left him as you started carding your fingers through it, scratching gently at his scalp. “If I hadn't known better, I'd say you had other motives.”

“Says the one who brought me to his room.” You pointed out.

“Touché.” He laughed, courteously accommodating you for a scant few moments before lifting his head to face you properly.

Only to see it again. There it was, that look on your face.

“Satisfied?”

“Very.” He replied, catching your wandering hand in his as it slipped down the back of his neck. Too close. He glanced at it for a moment, as if in contemplation, before letting go.

“But…?” You probed, sensing that there was something more to the monosyllabic answer he’d given.

There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes at having been caught. A wry smile curving at the edge of his mouth, knowing that he could get himself out of it if he phrased his next words right.

“But you look like you want more,” he continued, tilting his head slightly to the side in question. “Don’t you?”

“Wouldn't you?” You'd asked then, the words slipping out before you could stop them. 

You felt your cheeks heat, realizing that you'd practically admitted to his deductions without much thought. With him this close, and the way he was leaning into your every touch. Yeah, you were thinking about it… Perhaps a little too hard.

Peter blinked, not having expected you to answer with a counter-question.

Wouldn't he, indeed.

He would be a fool not to notice, for he, too, shared the same notion. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted it or how much he was being incentivized by the thought. 

Would he inevitably seal your spot on the good doctor’s radar by acting on his desires and drawing you permanently into his orbit? Consequences weighted heavily on the scale, and he would hate to see you gone due to his carelessness.

You could see the thoughts warring in his eyes as he gave you a long, scrutinizing look, and was just about to take his silence as hesitation when he finally let out a small huff. “Perhaps.”

He really shouldn't. But you had already given him a taste of softness. What was a little more?

‘If only we’d met in better circumstances,’  he thought. Craved it so badly that it was a dull ache.

“Is this what you want?” He asked, voice low, barely a whisper, with a small, titillating smirk on his face and a gaze so intense that you inadvertently swallowed, looking away.

You could feel the warmth of his breath fanning out against your skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. 

What were you to do in a situation like this?

“Eyes up here, sweetheart." He chided, hand reaching out to catch your jaw, tracing his thumb over the line of it as he directed your gaze back up towards him— To pools of blue that seemed to suck you in, intoxicating and inescapable.

Your heart stuttered, and you’d barely gotten the word “yes” out before he'd surged forward, crashing into you like a tidal wave, lips searching and hungry. A surprised gasp left you, not having expected the intensity that he’d come at you with, so far removed from the usual poised manner he'd presented himself. Your eyes fluttered shut, pleasant shivers running down your spine as he jump-started you into action with a teasing flick of his tongue.

Peter smiled into the kiss when he'd felt you reciprocate a beat later with fervor that mirrored his own, words falling apart into a sigh. After all, what more needed to be said when he could just show you how he felt? Actions prevailed where words failed, and your lips, he'd found, were just as soft as he'd imagined. 

He wanted to savor this moment, so long-awaited. To sate a little more of the gnawing hunger that stirred within him in your presence, a warm buzz in his veins. 

Did he know what he was doing? No. Not really. It had been ages since he'd last done anything of this nature, but he could feel your pulse racing, and the dizzying way you made his skin crawl with heat as you pressed back into him, insistent and wanting.

Just a taste, he'd told himself. But it was addicting, sweet, and nowhere near enough with how easily you fed into his greed. So much so that he eventually found himself having to reluctantly pull away before he got swept away by the honeyed warmth.

A flicker of regret coursed through him when he saw the way you'd followed; face flushed, lips parted, breath coming out in little pants, unconsciously chasing after the shadow of his lips as he'd parted from you. 

Your eyes blinked open with a dazed look, confusion forming within their depths. You hadn't wanted him to stop. And neither did he, if the bruising grip he had on your hip had anything to say about it. But he gave you a small apologetic look, nevertheless, brushing his thumb over your cheek soothingly just as a series of sharp beeps cut through the air, snapping you both out of the shared reverie.

Time’s up. 

His alarm had gone off. The one that he'd set the night prior to circumvent the surveillance loophole. Ten minutes before the camera came back online. He needed to get you out of here.

Peter watched the clarity return to your eyes as you turned to look at the clock, glaring at it in such a baleful manner that he almost pitted the damned thing. 

“Revenge is sweet, but we've both got jobs to do, hm?” 

He let out a breathy laugh as he released you, an odd sense of satisfaction washing over him when he noted the still visible flush on your cheeks, knowing that it was he who'd caused it. But in his eyes was a soft smile, gentle and blooming. A stark contrast from the intensity he'd shown just moments before.

He took a second to gather himself, and a full minute for his composure to snap back like a rubber band. Not quite whole, but passable to the uninitiated. Then, he took a step back from the bed and inclined his head towards the door. “Come on, I'll see you out.”

You breathed a sigh as you stepped down from the bed, following towards the door. You knew he was right— you both had shifts to attend to, but still, you found yourself faltering at the threshold between his door and the corridor that led to the main wing.

You lingered, wondering if you should say something before you left. Something. Anything. 

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, a thought occurred to you then. And just as he did, you’d simply acted, hand clasping firmly onto his open palm. You heard Peter take in a sharp intake of breath as you tugged him down by the hand. He goes surprisingly easily, letting you bring him down a couple of inches before you planted a fleeting kiss on his jaw.

“Will you come by later?”

“Of course.” He’d blinked, willing the heat threatening to creep back up down before giving you a small nod. “If you’ll have me.”

“My door's always open.”

As if he would have it any other way. 

However, all good things had to come to an end. And as the door swung shut upon the visage of your retreating back, Peter felt a strange pang at the loss of your presence. What mere few hours he'd just spent with you had felt like eternity.

The softness of your skin under his touch; the warmth you brought and evoked within him like the gentle beat of a butterfly's wings, fluttering in the wind. The feelings lingered, plaguing him with unrest.

He remembered the first time he'd looked at your hand in the break room. Uncertain, like he'd forgotten what warmth felt like for the longest time. And now, as he glanced at the empty palm of his hand where he felt the lingering ghost of your touch, flexing his fingers in vague wonder, he realized that he had it now, firmly in his grasp. And what he wouldn’t give to keep it.

“Oh, sweetheart. The things you do to me.” He muttered softly under his breath as he turned from the door. 

He let his countenance slide into place as he pattered around the room, knowing that he only had a few sparse moments left to get himself into working order.

Then, as if perfectly timed, the unmistakable crackle of static entered his ears, followed by a final whirring click. The red light flickered back on, accompanied by a dull hum. 

And when he looked up, the camera focusing on his face, he’d appeared no different than ever before— neutral, unassuming; the picture-perfect embodiment of obedience.

As if nothing ever happened.

Peter smiled, catching the reflection of himself in the reflection of the glass lens as he rightened his collar.

He had a shift to get to.

⊹ ━━━ ✥ ━━━ ⊹

Your thoughts swam as you'd left the corridor that housed Peter's room, your feet carrying you forward as you aimlessly wandered the halls, the events of everything that had transpired just moments prior fresh in your mind. The encounter had left you feeling floaty, replaying like a broken record to an audience of one.

Peter clouded your thoughts, but could you really blame him? Sweet, sweet, Peter. His kiss had been all-consuming— seeking to taste, to devour; as if it were his first and his last all at once. The image of him, all flushed skin and swollen lips, lingered in your mind.

Now, who knew he had that in him? It made you wonder what else he was hiding behind that portrayed calmness. And then he'd bidden you goodbye with a smile, a wave, and a promise on his tongue.

One that you hoped he saw through.

Shaking your head, you let the thoughts sink back into the background. No, whatever you wanted to do with the realization, you could do it later. You had more important problems on hand now, like finding your way back to your own room, for starters. It wouldn't do for you to turn up your shift looking as rumpled as you were right now, even if no one actually visited the archive, save for one.

Where were you anyway?

Looking up, you found yourself at a crossroads. You stood, blinking owlishly at the white expanse of… Great. More corridors. You'd walked right into a Y-Junction.

You glanced around, only to find no signs in sight. Nothing to tell you where the diverging paths led to. And of course, both corridors looked identical to each other, as if trying to pinpoint your current location wasn’t already a hard enough challenge.

Your brow lowered, a flicker of annoyance tugging at the edge of it. Would it kill to have some color in this place? Sometimes, you wondered if you'd made the right choices in your tenure here. 

How did people even navigate their way around here?

You continued leftward, breathing a sigh of relief once you finally spotted a sign to point you in the right direction. Turns out, you weren't too far off. As luck would have it, Peter’s room was located quite close to your own. Well, close enough, considering the fact that you had trekked quite the distance from where you’d initially started, lost in the bending hallways. On the bright side, at least you were both located on the same floor.

You followed the direction it pointed in, heading down another set of white halls and taking a couple more turns before you were greeted by a familiar mahogany door with your room number inscribed on the plaque. 810A. 

Turning the handle, you popped into your room to freshen up and change into a new set of clothes before stepping back out into the corridor, heading towards your next destination as you mentally braced yourself for what would no doubt be another busy day. 

Things seemed to be ramping up for you, ever since you’d started getting files of increasing importance handed to you for processing, for better or for worse. Your days were less dull now, that was for sure. Although there was only so much you could do with a personnel of one, even if you did take sleep and rest out of the equation. But regardless of whatever trials and tribulations awaited you, you knew that a hit of your daily cup of joe would set you right. Now, to procure it before your day officially started…

⊹ ━━━ ✥ ━━━ ⊹

You were well on your way to the break room when you were stopped by a sudden call of your name. 

“Oh, there you are! Thank goodness, I was looking for you!” 

You turned, only to see a portly man running up to you, pens clacking noisily in his pocket. Not recognizing him, you regarded him with a look of confusion when he’d promptly pushed a small stack of files into your otherwise empty hands. You opened your mouth in question, but he was already rattling off before you could ask, firing off at a mile per minute.

“Good thing I found you when I did. I went by the archive room, but you weren't in, and…” 

You blinked, trying to process all the information he was hurling at you with all the tactfulness of a freight truck. And by the third paragraph of his speech, it was starting to sound more like a soliloquy than anything important.

Your brow creased. It was way too early for this, and you could feel yourself starting to partially zone out, mind-numbingly giving him a few nods every once in a while to show that you were still listening until he'd finally clasped a friendly hand to your shoulder in a show of good faith.

“—So we need these papers here to be in the system by the end of the week. Nothing too terribly sensitive. I'll leave you to it then. Best get a head start on those documents… But you seem capable enough. Here's to hoping Martin keeps you around.” He said, patting your back before promptly turning and leaving in the direction he came from, whistling a merry tune.

You glanced down at the files you’d just received, flipping through the unadorned manila folders until one caught your eye. A big red stamp denoted the cover: CLASSIFIED.

Perhaps it should have alarmed you then that you were finally starting to get your hands on the more important files, but you had written them off as little more than documents containing trade secrets of some sort. After all, what could go wrong in an establishment supposedly erected to research illnesses? 

Then, a thought struck you, a beat too late.

He’d mentioned a name, hadn’t he?

“Wait, who’s Martin?” You looked back up, but he was already gone.

You’d caught a glance at the ID he had pinned to his knitted vest before he left, identifying him as a senior scientist from the US Department of Energy named Sam Owens. A high-ranking official.

Well, at least he seemed friendly enough and meant no harm. You couldn’t help wondering if the higher echelons were all like that, though you supposed that would be wishful thinking.

That being said, the deadline for this set of files was still cutting awfully close, considering the fact that it was currently mid-week. You had no idea what the contents within entailed, but he was right, you should really get a headstart on these documents.

Shrugging, you went about your original plan of procuring yourself a cup of coffee from the break room before clocking yourself into your office.

Time to get cracking.

⊹ ━━━ ✥ ━━━ ⊹

Hours later— No, scratch that. You glanced wearily at the clock as you placed another completed sheet of paper onto the forming pile nearby. It was near evening by now, you realized.

A day had passed in the blink of an eye, with no blond orderly in sight. Your thoughts, traitorous as they were, never failed to wander back to Peter, even as you focused your attention on the spread of papers sitting between you and the keyboard. 

He hadn’t turned up, and you were starting to wonder if he ever would as you set your eyes back onto the text, mechanically prepping the next set of files. Annual reports and financial ledgers, it seemed, were your recent flavor of the day. And with the state it was in, with looping handwriting and jagged margins, you wondered how many extra shifts it would take before you were free from the endless computation of numbers and values.

You lifted the top sheet, trying to gauge the amount of work that needed to be put into this. It was a good 30 pages at least. It would be a while before you were done, you surmised.

Did you have it in you for another night shift, though? You pulled a face. You didn’t really want to. Would it be wise? Definitely not. But if Peter came into the equation... Maybe. Just maybe, you would be more inclined to join him for a shift.

Still, a simple sweep of the data made you pause. These were some staggering numbers, easily broaching tens of thousands. Was this the annual budget? No, monthly? It was certainly much higher than the last financial ledger you vaguely remembered keying into the system just last month. You wondered where they got all their funding, and whatever for.

Your hand brushed over the classified file then, wondering if it’d shed light on the matter. After all, Dr. Owens had to have given you this stack of files together for a reason, right?

You pried the manila folder open for a cursory glimpse, eyes scanning the page with curiosity. Perhaps Peter would appear by the time you were done perusing the file.

It was an untitled lab report, simply denoted by a number. Experiment 57, supervised by… a Dr.Brenner. Dr. Owens' name was listed under the margin as a collaborator. Detailing… Your eyes travelled downward, catching a few keywords as you flipped through a few more pages. 

Sensory deprivation… Prescribed LSD volume? You paused. You may not have a background in science, but even you knew that it was a hallucinogen. Were they running drug tests here? 

The date was blacked out, and the subjects were… numbers?

It struck you as odd, but you continued reading anyway. This was probably the most interesting file you'd seen in days aside from the occasional research paper. Granted, it wasn’t every day that you had a classified file dropped into your lap.

You grabbed your usual cup by the table and brought it to your mouth for a sip, only to find it empty after giving it a light shake. Pity. You’d run out.

You glanced at the other cup you'd set aside on the table hours before, sitting unclaimed by its intended recipient, wondering whether you should step out of the office for more when you heard the sound of shuffling outside the door.

It opened with a soft click as Peter stepped in, access card in hand. 

“Your door’s unlocked…?” He said, sounding genuinely surprised. 

He glanced at it and back to the door in slight confusion. He’d been trying to card himself through, wondering why it hadn’t beeped as it should’ve, only to find that it’d given way with a light push.

“Why, would you rather riddle me three for entry?” You quipped, eliciting a chuckle from him as he approached, greeting you with a gentle hand.

“And let you devour me, should I fail?”

“You think me a Sphinx?” You glanced up at him, amused.

He huffed out a small laugh. As if. 

“A Sphinx is treacherous and merciless, and you're anything but.”

“Hmm… you never know. Maybe I should devour you for your tardiness instead.” You’d remarked, inclining your head slightly towards the clock.

The insinuation of it made him smile as he made his way across the table. His gaze then fell upon the cup that sat in his usual spot, alongside the small pile of books he’d accrued over time.

He didn’t need to touch the cup to know that it had gone cold long before he’d arrived.

“Late, am I?” He asked, more of a statement than a question. “Will a riddle placate you, or should I start pleading my case for mercy?”

You paused. “And what makes you think I'll be merciful?”

“I'm not above asking nicely.” He'd simply smiled, as if it were a challenge. Daring you, as if he wanted it to happen.

“Or would you rather have me beg?” He smirked, having caught the nonplussed look you were giving him, knowing full well that he'd successfully planted the thought in your head.

“You… what?” Your brows soared upward at the bombshell he'd just dropped, disguised as an off-handed remark.

Was that an open invitation?

Forget the file that had been holding your interest just moments prior; he’d just single-handedly set off a melody of thoughts in your head, none too tame. You wondered how much it would take for his composure to slip; to wipe that aggravating smirk off his face. Not much, you think, but you would take pleasure in doing so.

Peter was playing with fire, and two could play that game.

“So, what will it be?” He asked, holding your gaze steady and unblinking. 

You snapped the file shut, taking a while to think of a good riddle to stump him. 

But, what? You needed something small, something new. Your gaze gravitated away, searching for a spark of inspiration before it fell upon the pressed lavender bookmark you’d given him, peeking out from between the pages of a recent read. Something… adjacent? 

Bingo.

“Riddle me this…” You started, letting the sound fade into the air before you continued once more. “What is adorned by a blooming crown of red, white, and yellow, yet wreathed in needles, thistle, and green?”

“A cactus?” He hazarded a guess.

“A rose.” You corrected, smiling like a cat that got the cream.

You could see the way his smirk faltered, the sides of his lips twitching downwards before it fell altogether. Surprise flashed through his eyes, like he hadn’t expected to be wrong. 

A rose, like the one that had been on the ornate door of his family home; the only thing that still remained starkly in his memories, like a crown of thorns.

“What was it again you said about devouring?” You asked sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him, a wicked glint in your eye as you slid your chair backwards, getting up and prowling closer to where he stood. “After what you pulled this morning?”

You hadn't forgotten the way he'd pulled away, and the unsatisfied ache he'd left you with. 

Peter eyed you warily. He didn't like the way you were smiling, even though he knew by now that he was safe around you. In here; in this room. 

Perhaps he should've known better than to tempt fate a second time. 

Shit. His breath hitched as you all but crawled into his lap, effectively pinning him in place. Something rippled in the air, like the gentle rush of fingertips as you closed in with purpose.

“Wait—” He hastily stopped you, clasping a hand over your mouth, a faint red staining his cheeks as your lips pressed into his palm. “Not now.”

His hand was warm against your skin, firm and pleasant in a way that sparked heat in your gut. It made you shift, and his grip tightened warningly. Until it'd sprung away almost immediately after you'd tilted your head and given him a wet lick.

You stifled a laugh at how he looked almost offended by the action, eyes darting between you and the wet spot on his palm. It was clear that he hadn't seen it coming.

“It was your suggestion, Peter.” You reminded him.

“I wasn’t expecting you to take it literally.” He breathed, painfully aware of the way your hands were starting to wander.

“Well, we could be quick about it?” You suggested.

Except Peter knew himself well enough to know that it would be a bad idea on multiple fronts. Especially since his composure seemed to be doing nothing but crumble around you these days.

“No.” He shook his head. “You and I both know that's a bad idea. I'm only popping by for a short visit.”

He didn't know whether he was convincing you or himself, but it seemed you weren't taking no for an answer with the way you were starting to paw at him. He swallowed when you’d shifted again, pressing against him in all the wrong angles that made him wish you were both back in his room, in the dead of the night.

What he would give to be able to convey how much your presence affected him; to return your touches with his own. Except, he couldn't. Not now, not today, and definitely not when he had to report to Brenner at the end of the day. 

For now, he would work with what little wiggle room he had.

The rippling grew into a faint intangible hum as Peter inhaled sharply. His hand shot out, grabbing onto your hand as it wandered lower.

“Behave.” He said firmly, giving you a sharp look that he usually reserved for unbecoming subjects.

The authority in his voice made you still, skin prickling from the sudden charge in the air. 

Was this the orderly you'd heard so much about, the permanent fixture in the lives of the children of the lab? A facet of Peter, crafted from his years as an orderly in the rainbow room, no doubt. 

Something glinted in his eyes in unspoken warning— Intensity, burning bright in devilish blue. But the embers vanished the moment you blinked, as if it were nothing more than a trick of the flickering fluorescent light. Still, it was intimidating enough to make you bite back your words even when he'd let you go, patting your leg in a signal to let him up. You’d simply acquiesced, sliding off his lap without so much as another peep. 

The wide-eyed look you were giving him made him pause as he got out of the chair, his demeanor softening as he reached out to brush a hand across your cheek. “Don't look at me like that. I have to head back to my post before people start asking questions.”

He might have to go, but he wasn’t cruel, no. 

“How about a compromise?” He said, slanting his lips against yours in a featherlight kiss before drawing away. “Just keep the thought in mind. I said not today, I didn't say never. You'll get your chance to shine.”

“And when will that be?” You asked.

But he'd only given you a cryptic answer before he'd slipped through the door with a click of finality.

“You'll find out.”

Will you? How?

He'd just left you high and dry. Again.

You sighed as you sank back down into your own seat, pressing the heel of your palms to your eyes.

Peter had you eating right out of his hand, and you think he knows it too. And as you remained there, reasonably puzzled about everything that seemed to concern one Peter Ballard, a thought occurred to you then. 

You’d caught a glimpse of something in your peripheral vision just before he'd pulled away, peeking out from beneath his cuff— a mark on the inside of Peter’s wrist. A tattoo so small that you would have missed it, if it hadn't been for your close proximity.

You couldn't quite make it out, but it looked vaguely like… a number. 001.

From his Toyhouse:

Hailing from the Wildspear Clan in the Reach, Faolahn dedicates his time to The Hunt -- often found travelling between the Druadach Mountains and the Whiterun plains in the name of Hircine's art. He is semi-nomadic, often settling in temporary camps while focusing on his hunting endeavors. Faolahn is Hircine's son, after all.

Faolahn sees his lycanthropy as not only a blessing, but his most genuine form of self. Transforming into his human body -- which has the very wolfish traits of the Man-Beast he is -- is a foreign experience, a disguise to‎ ‎him more than anything, yet a form he will take if deemed necessary. Faolahn associates his human counterparts with any other form of prey; they are worthy game in the eyes of his Clan.

Other passions of his includes leatherwork, scrimshaw, woodworking, foraging, Conjuration magick, and‎ playing his buckskin drum or hand-carved flute. He also has a great love for fire magick and rituals.

Some more tidbits...

Faolahn is named after Faolan Red Eagle, an important figure in his culture's history.

Is a "lesser" Demiprince of Hircine, having been conceived by two human parents, yet born as a physical manifestation of the Prince

Also worships Namira and Peryite.

Is non-monogamous; has more than one mate.

Has full control over his lycanthropy; he does not transform against his will like other werewolves.

Hunts with a spear; fights with his teeth, claws, and fire magick.

Resembles Cervynus, the main Demiprince of Hircine.

Smells of leather, musky pine, and iron.

Heavily dislikes remaining in his "human" / Man-Beast form for too long, as well as being perceived as human; it sounds like an insult for others to consider Faolahn consuming humans as "cannibalism."

bonus art from August 25' of Fao with his werebear mate, Kag, who belongs to @bonestrewncrest 🖤