[ he's still got one hand on his gun as they kiss, absently aiming it at the screen, but when both hands grasp his face, prompto drops it and pushes back against him, lips parting to accept that slower, deeper kiss. it's strangely intimate, wrapping himself around peter and holding tight, and prompto doesn't know why he wants this so much. why he can't let it go. maybe he's terrified of being alone. maybe he's grateful that peter had been nice to him.
so many things swim in his head, and still, nothing comes of it, squeezing himself as close as possible to the other. ]
What if neither of us win? [ it's a hot whisper against peter's mouth. ]
no subject
so many things swim in his head, and still, nothing comes of it, squeezing himself as close as possible to the other. ]
What if neither of us win? [ it's a hot whisper against peter's mouth. ]