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om_mainShinobi snags Pietro for The Most Exorbitant Gift Giving Ever. Pietro snags Shinobi for a dance and, oddly enough, evidence that brats have feelings, too.
Pietro had no fucking idea what time it was, but he was pretty sure it was late. He was also pretty sure he'd seen, like, everyone he wanted to see here. Not that he thought any of his friends would ditch on their birthday, because even his friends who didn't like to party and/or dance weren't assholes, but still. It pleased him.
Almost as much as the pomegranate and vodka pleased him. Pietro headed over to the tiny secret cooler to get another one, bouncing and singing along to "Eros and Apollo". (Hee, this song always reminded him of Remy. Because Remy.) The music had gotten progressively more Hindi or Romani since his little announcement, but the occasional English and/or Eurotrashy techno never went amiss with him, god knew. "Girrrrls with a boy like that it's seriousssss..."
Humming along happily with the current track (which he didn't recognize, exactly, but which was more familiar than much of the other music that had characterized the evening), Shinobi zeroed in on one half the birthday duo. They'd spoken in passing previously, of course, and shared little nods and looks throughout the night, but hadn't yet had anything like a conversation. Not for a while, actually. It was certainly time to rectify that little oversight.
Naturally, it didn't hurt that his intake of cocktails was sufficient to make virtually anything seem a good idea, short of glazing himself in honey and napping on an anthill.
"Pi-eeeee-trooooo, darling," he singsonged, draping himself lightly over the other boy's stooped back in a gesture of pure affection. "Konbonwa. Bon anniversaire. Look at you, sliding gracefully into old age. You don't look it at all, my sweet. You're as young and as fresh as the day we met."
Pietro stood, new pomegranate juice in hand, and kicked the cooler close. The faster to slide an arm around Shinobi's waist. In spite of having every idea that Shinobi was sincere--well, as sincere as Shinobi ever got, Pietro said, "Ah-ha! Come to heckle me for being old--and semi-retired now, too." Pietro flicked his gaze around for Eros/Apollo and spotted him talking to Damon--and, of course, looking cool. As was Remy's primary function in public. He smirked. "I guess I had that coming."
"You most certainly did," Shinobi agreed, wrapping an arm around Pietro's shoulders. "Even if we Shaws weren't the kind to carry petty grudges over minor slanders to the grave." Grinning, he leaned in to kiss the birthday boy noisily on the cheek. "Seriously, though. Tanjoubi omedetou. You throw a fantastic party, and I trust you enjoyed yourself obscenely." Or, at least, had plans to at some point before the night came to an end.
Pietro kissed right back, just as noisily, still hanging on Shinobi gladly though his head bobbed with the music. "I always do. I mean, like I'd be semi-retired otherwise?
"But thaaaaank you. It's nothing to your party, but you know, we're simple folk. We just wanted to shake our asses. And see you shake yours."
"Pshaw," Shinobi scoffed, giving little indication he intended to let Pietro out of his personal space anytime soon. "Extravagance is just a kind of fun. This is all quite brilliant, and I'm having a perfectly ecstatic time." His dark brows rose. "And of course you wanted to see that. My ass is rather magnificent, after all. I think I even made Tony's top ten--which, believe me, is a rare and exalted privilege."
He gave the speedster a curious look. "I was a little bit thrown by the announcement earlier in the party, though. Were you serious, or was that just an excuse to use Remy as the world's sexiest soapbox?"
Pietro was giggling a touch about Shinobi's ass--which was definitely on his top ten too, as a matter of fact, but not like Shinobi needed to hear that to know it. But he sobered (metaphorically speaking, seeing as he took a gigantic swig of vodka and juice to ward off potential incoming angry) at the question a little. "Maybe setting a world record for shortest amount of time I've ever had my legs wrapped around Remy's head," he offered with just a twitch of his usual wicked grin.
But then he admitted, "Dead serious, though. Some Roma like the word, some don't, but it's our slur to reclaim. Best for y'all gadje to just keep your mouths far away from it."
"Sou ka," said Shinobi, after a thoughtful hum. He didn't really understand--concepts like culture or race tended to afforded the same negligible significance as social class, in his isolated and often solipsistic worldview. But obviously this was something important to Pietro, so for his sake he supposed he would comply. Particularly since it cost him nothing but a word he couldn't recall having used any time in the recent past, anyway. He shrugged. "All right, then.
He leaned in again, then bent slightly to brush his fingers over the cooler, as though contemplating fetching something for himself. Then, "I haven't given you your present yet, have I?"
There was a very short list of students to whom Pietro was willing to explain the way a foreign word forced upon an oppressed people inevitably became evocative of stereotypes that were used to justify enslavement and genocide. In spite of their being a relatively simple and more commonly known one that would make the point, it really wasn't worth his time. Gadje and their indignation that there were words people didn't like to be called for goddamn good reasons. Gasp! You're threatening my white rights!
In spite of being so very not-white, Shinobi had the depth of a mud puddle on a hot day when it came to these things; he was not on that particular short list. "Seriously, you can google it," he said, though he knew Shinobi would not. Pietro did not require understanding to befriend someone, only compliance. "I would muuuuuch prefer discussion of this present concept, yes. Have a drink! There's orange, cranberry--might even be one pom left, but I keep drinking it..."
Shinobi grinned. "I fail at depth and serious conversation, it's true. But! I am very good at presents." He flipped open the cooler and pulled out the first beverage that came to hand--damn! Cranberry!--helping himself to a hearty, if mildly reluctant swig before continuing. "Presents, yes," he sighed, feeling around his coat pockets with his free hand. Sadly, that involved disentangling from Pietro for a moment, but what could he do? He only had two arms.
Dreadful genetic oversight, that.
His face brightened as he suddenly produced three sets of keys, on three rings he'd bound together beforehand to keep them from becoming separated. "Happy birthdays!" he announced cheerily.
Pietro paused with his own bottle of pom still at his lips. Almost involuntarily, he held out his hand to accept... Whatever. "I might be more drunk than I think I am, because I am not sure what this is."
But having noted Shinobi's distaste about the cranberry, he held out his bottle in the other hand, offering a trade. Cranberry was good, too; like a cosmo in a bottle.
Shinobi handed the mass of metal and plastic and rubber over, but withheld his cranberry vodka. "It's your birthday, love," he said, with another peck on the cheek. "You drink the good stuff. Don't mind me; I'm a giant brat." But once the speedster had keys in hand, the Shaw scion positively beamed. "And those are keys, of course," he said gleefully. "To your new cars."
For about three seconds, Pietro didn't understand. He stared at the keys and held out the pom to Shinobi's free hand--the one that had just transferred the, uh, gift. Gifts. "It's okay, I like cranberry," he said distractedly.
"I just. I don't. Sorry, cars?" Pietro met Shinobi's dark gaze with his own pale, curious one. His mouth was twitching into a smile. On the one hand he felt like he was missing something here, because no way; on the other hand, this was Shinobi fucking Shaw, so of course.
The half-Japanese mutant's grin only intensified, at that point, and he completely ignored the attempt to exchange drinks. "Well, I suppose I should clarify," he went on, giggling only a little. "Only one car is for you. The other two are for your sisters. I think it will be fairly easy to determine which belongs to who once you get down to the garage to have a look at them."
And Pietro had given up on the drinks because--shiny what the fuck! The door openers on the keys identified them as chevrolet of some kind--and the little dealer tags... "You legit just bought me and my sisters all Camaros?"
His voice betrayed more excitement than anything else. Yeah yeah okay, it was like way beyond too much. Way way beyond too much. But 1. he was happily tipsy and 2. "Your complete and utter disregard for your father's money is so goddamn beautiful--I swear to god if we weren't both attached to really fabulous others I would put you against a wall right now."
Laughing, Shinobi threw his arms around Pietro's shoulders. "That is just the reaction I was going for, and I knew you wouldn't disappoint. Enjoy this little token of my affection, Pietro, and my compliments to your sisters." He kissed the silver-haired speedster again soundly--on the cheek, the safest possible place he could think of. Because, yes, that last statement of Pietro's, combined with Shinobi's intake of alcohol for the evening, made for a perilous combination. "And no matter how attached either of us happen to be, I still love you."
The pangs of not being morally able to jump Shinobi were well known to Pietro by then, but he was feeling them right then, too. Not in a bad way--really there was something perversely pleasant in it that he was too gleefully tipsy to want to examine anyhow. He planted a return kiss on Shinobi's pretty face, then superspeed ducked to settle the keys in a safe, dark place behind the little cooler.
When he stood again, he grabbed Shinobi around the waist and tugged him into the mass of bouncing kids. "Celebratory dance! Then we'll go find Wanda and Lorna and have a look at these magical cars."
Drinks still in hand, clearly.
"How could I possibly refuse an offer like that?" said Shinobi, still obviously quite pleased his gift had gone over so well. He draped his arms over Pietro's shoulders and followed him into the proverbial fray, letting his hips and shoulders get a feel for the music as they moved. But always mindful of the dink in his hand, and careful not to spill it down his partner's back.
"You are like the most lovable lovely," Pietro assured him, falling into the rhythm of Shinobi's body with practiced ease and familiarity. He slipped an arm around his waist and let it rest at the pretty dip in the small of his back. Totally legal! "In retrospect it almost seems like I should've expected something like that out of you, but then, where's the fun in that?"
"We thrive on defying expectation," Shinobi agreed. This was nice. As near to normal as he could imagine, really. His own party had been fun, but in a somewhat predictable way; at least here he could still offer a few surprises. "So," he said suddenly, "you and our lovely Cajun friend appear to be getting along beautifully." Which was a match so perfect he wouldn't have dared to hope it might someday exist, really. Now that it had, it was simply beyond words. "I can't tell you how pleased I am to welcome you to the ranks of the declawed."
"Only metaphorically speaking," Pietro said, raising his eyebrows and smirking evilly. "Remy likes my claws.
"But yes, I am honestly--shut up, but I'm kinda relieved to be domesticated, if you want the truth." Normally not a thing Pietro would admit to, but yay vodka. Okay so Shinobi wasn't good for depth, but Shinobi, weird as it was, knew Pietro's recent weird romantic history and that it had not been all roses. He didn't know the depth of Pietro's issues with Laura, but he knew they were a thing... And he was the only one who had any idea that he'd taken the Eames thing hard at all. Even more than Eames, in some ways. "I mean, like, that ass. Seriously, it'd take a stronger man than me to resist."
... Okay it wasn't the ass so much as the sweetness that had done it. Which was why the idea of potentially losing him to the swamp was driving Pietro crazy right now in spite of all Remy's assurances, but--nooooope not going there tonight.
"Always better to submit to temptation," said Shinobi sagely. "Certainly when confronted with an ass that magnificent."
He canted his head slightly to one side as Pietro's demeanor shifted--swiftly, subtly, as it often did--into something a touch more pensive. At another time, he might have tried to avoid calling attention to it, but ... this was the speedster's night. So Shinobi could at least attempt to overcome his natural aversion to all things remotely serious. "Something troubling you, pet? You seem distracted."
Pietro considered for a few beats of the trashy dance track, hips, shoulders, torso moving with Shinobi's, just dirty enough to be called such but not enough to get Shinobi into trouble if Paige happened to be nearby. (Like Remy gave a fuck--bless him.)
"The trouble with caring about people is that you worry about them." Like reconnecting with controlling weirdo families, was the part Pietro obviously wasn't saying. "And the trouble with the holidays is people like to go home to their undeserving redneck relatives.
He bent his knees so one of Shinobi's was between his, but the purpose was to put his forehead to his. "You staying, at least?"
Because yeah, he'd totally worry about Shinobi, too. Different reasons. Reasons he knew better than to bring up directly, but still.
Despite the relatively serious nature of their discussion, Shinobi laughed. "You hardly need be concerned, sweet. Daddy and I are plutocrats first and anything else we might happen to be second; the only rites we honor are the ones sacred to Mammon. But even if we were inclined to observe the usual holidays, we'd both have far more pleasant ways to spend them than in each other's company. The aversion is agreeably mutual, in this case."
Pietro kissed Shinobi's forehead (seemed relatively safe, right?) and smiled. It was by no means a satisfactory reply, but nothing short of 'I plan to make sure Daddy drops dead within the week' could've been. Pietro knew Shinobi could defend himself, and yet, like so many others, he sometimes chose not to.
And some of course, Pietro felt a burning desire to do it for them.
But Shinobi didn't want to talk a it it, and really neither did he. It was good enough to know that Shinobi would be elsewhere and safe rather than feeling a need to subject himself to Sebastian Shaw for the holidays. "Oh good," he said, still cheery. "I hate sharing. More for me is better. I assume that's why you bought three cars instead of the one for all of us."
"Sharing is both overrated and unnatural, it's true," Shinobi replied easily, quick to embrace the change in topic. His father was not precisely a favorite topic of discussion, particularly during otherwise pleasurable events like this one. "But in this case, I was motivated more by my love of grandiose gestures than any capacity to anticipate the feelings of others I might possess. I think you'll be able to find it in your heart to forgive me, though."
"Depends what color my car is," Pietro said with a bright grin. Ha, yeah right! He took a quick sip of his drink without moving the least extra bit away from Shinobi. He was totally not interested in pushing the topic, not now or ever. Just wanted to know Shinobi would be safe.
"As I said, I'm confident you'll know it when you see it," said Shinobi placidly. "And at least reasonably sure you'll be pleased." He tilted his head. "And what about you? Any big holiday plans, other than being primed and on standby in the event of any holiday-related disaster? Because that sounds absolutely exhausting."
"I expect it will be," Pietro admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle. "I think Wanda and I will maybe go upstate for a while one day or the other. Definitely for Christmas. And hey, now we don't need to take the bus!"
"Just try not to get too bored plodding down the highway at a sluggish ninety miles per hour," Shinobi laughed. "And that reminds me: come find me when we've both sobered up so we can get you and your sisters properly insured. I know a guy," in fact, he knew a virtual legion of them, but that sounded immodest, even to him, "who should be able to get you something easily affordable, even on a stipend."
Oh right, insurance! Pietro chuckled. "You thought of everything." One more kiss on the cheek, a little lingery. And a bite down on his bottom lip after to avoid making a crack about how this time he hadn't even gotten naked for it.
"You have no idea how it pains me to be so pragmatic in my extravagance," Shinobi said with a grin, his cheek warm and flushed beneath Pietro's lips. "But it would hardly do to give a toy without batteries, would it? Whatever one's personal preferences, it's attention to detail that makes or breaks one's gift." He rested his chin on the speedster's shoulder for a moment, mostly so Pietro wouldn't be able to see his face as he asked. "So. Going home to visit your okaa-san, hmm? That sounds lovely."
“Probably for a few days around Christmas,” Pietro said, sliding one if his hands up to tangle briefly in the hair at the nape of Shinobi’s neck. “Last year I got to visit Wanda for Thanksgiving and our birthdays, but we didn’t get to see Mom for Christmas, so. You know. I imagine we’ll make use of your excellent attention to detail in getting there.”
"Hmm, sou ka," he hummed. Shinobi was sure he must be acting perfectly the fool--and not in the way he preferred. No, this was bordering on something genuine and honest and all sorts of other things he generally never allowed within fifty feet of his freewheeling, mischief-filled person. But he couldn't deny it seemed a charming proposition, those few stolen days with ... Well. What was the point dwelling, really? Even without the usual trimmings, he supposed he had more than enough already to make his incipient gloom a ridiculous proposition.
Yare yare, he was going to become a absolute sentimentalist, at this rate.
"Then I am pleased to have contributed in this small way to your holiday cheer," he concluded with a soft, teasing laugh.
Pietro threaded fingers through Shinobi's hair one more time before sliding his hand down to the small of his back again. "You always contribute to my cheer. You have dance parties with me and feed me sushi and look perpetually adorable."
The other teen laughed again. "That last one is more a passive trait than a result of voluntary action on my part," Shinobi protested mildly. "Still, it is always nice to hear. Arigatou.”
“Dou itashi mashite,” Pietro murmured, a few months of Japanese were already coming in handy--though his mind was racing. Actually… against all odds Shinobi really did always contribute to his cheer. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so remarkable if the shallow, privileged brat was truly all there was to Shinobi, but knowing what Pietro did of the Shaws, not to mention of Shinobi’s affection for Paige and the Guthries in general, he wasn’t precisely fooled.
He pulled back enough to smile and look Shinobi in the eye when he said, sincerely, but brightly rather than sentimentally, “Iroiro to arigatou.” And he really did mean for everything.
Something odd and uncertain flashed across Shinobi's face, there and gone in a breath, a heartbeat, something he would not really have been inclined to define, no matter how important it may have been. Instead, the sly, lazy grin returned, and he patted Pietro affectionately on the cheek. Though the playful irony was still very much there, he was ... not quite as surprised as he might have been by his own sincerity as he said, "Anytime, darling."
Ah, but for Pietro that flash lasted quite some time, and he saw. What, he wasn't completely sure. But it was real enough that it seemed to back up his conclusions. He pulled the (much) smaller boy hard against him and smiled into his hair. Intending to keep him for at least the next song. Or two.
Pietro had no fucking idea what time it was, but he was pretty sure it was late. He was also pretty sure he'd seen, like, everyone he wanted to see here. Not that he thought any of his friends would ditch on their birthday, because even his friends who didn't like to party and/or dance weren't assholes, but still. It pleased him.
Almost as much as the pomegranate and vodka pleased him. Pietro headed over to the tiny secret cooler to get another one, bouncing and singing along to "Eros and Apollo". (Hee, this song always reminded him of Remy. Because Remy.) The music had gotten progressively more Hindi or Romani since his little announcement, but the occasional English and/or Eurotrashy techno never went amiss with him, god knew. "Girrrrls with a boy like that it's seriousssss..."
Humming along happily with the current track (which he didn't recognize, exactly, but which was more familiar than much of the other music that had characterized the evening), Shinobi zeroed in on one half the birthday duo. They'd spoken in passing previously, of course, and shared little nods and looks throughout the night, but hadn't yet had anything like a conversation. Not for a while, actually. It was certainly time to rectify that little oversight.
Naturally, it didn't hurt that his intake of cocktails was sufficient to make virtually anything seem a good idea, short of glazing himself in honey and napping on an anthill.
"Pi-eeeee-trooooo, darling," he singsonged, draping himself lightly over the other boy's stooped back in a gesture of pure affection. "Konbonwa. Bon anniversaire. Look at you, sliding gracefully into old age. You don't look it at all, my sweet. You're as young and as fresh as the day we met."
Pietro stood, new pomegranate juice in hand, and kicked the cooler close. The faster to slide an arm around Shinobi's waist. In spite of having every idea that Shinobi was sincere--well, as sincere as Shinobi ever got, Pietro said, "Ah-ha! Come to heckle me for being old--and semi-retired now, too." Pietro flicked his gaze around for Eros/Apollo and spotted him talking to Damon--and, of course, looking cool. As was Remy's primary function in public. He smirked. "I guess I had that coming."
"You most certainly did," Shinobi agreed, wrapping an arm around Pietro's shoulders. "Even if we Shaws weren't the kind to carry petty grudges over minor slanders to the grave." Grinning, he leaned in to kiss the birthday boy noisily on the cheek. "Seriously, though. Tanjoubi omedetou. You throw a fantastic party, and I trust you enjoyed yourself obscenely." Or, at least, had plans to at some point before the night came to an end.
Pietro kissed right back, just as noisily, still hanging on Shinobi gladly though his head bobbed with the music. "I always do. I mean, like I'd be semi-retired otherwise?
"But thaaaaank you. It's nothing to your party, but you know, we're simple folk. We just wanted to shake our asses. And see you shake yours."
"Pshaw," Shinobi scoffed, giving little indication he intended to let Pietro out of his personal space anytime soon. "Extravagance is just a kind of fun. This is all quite brilliant, and I'm having a perfectly ecstatic time." His dark brows rose. "And of course you wanted to see that. My ass is rather magnificent, after all. I think I even made Tony's top ten--which, believe me, is a rare and exalted privilege."
He gave the speedster a curious look. "I was a little bit thrown by the announcement earlier in the party, though. Were you serious, or was that just an excuse to use Remy as the world's sexiest soapbox?"
Pietro was giggling a touch about Shinobi's ass--which was definitely on his top ten too, as a matter of fact, but not like Shinobi needed to hear that to know it. But he sobered (metaphorically speaking, seeing as he took a gigantic swig of vodka and juice to ward off potential incoming angry) at the question a little. "Maybe setting a world record for shortest amount of time I've ever had my legs wrapped around Remy's head," he offered with just a twitch of his usual wicked grin.
But then he admitted, "Dead serious, though. Some Roma like the word, some don't, but it's our slur to reclaim. Best for y'all gadje to just keep your mouths far away from it."
"Sou ka," said Shinobi, after a thoughtful hum. He didn't really understand--concepts like culture or race tended to afforded the same negligible significance as social class, in his isolated and often solipsistic worldview. But obviously this was something important to Pietro, so for his sake he supposed he would comply. Particularly since it cost him nothing but a word he couldn't recall having used any time in the recent past, anyway. He shrugged. "All right, then.
He leaned in again, then bent slightly to brush his fingers over the cooler, as though contemplating fetching something for himself. Then, "I haven't given you your present yet, have I?"
There was a very short list of students to whom Pietro was willing to explain the way a foreign word forced upon an oppressed people inevitably became evocative of stereotypes that were used to justify enslavement and genocide. In spite of their being a relatively simple and more commonly known one that would make the point, it really wasn't worth his time. Gadje and their indignation that there were words people didn't like to be called for goddamn good reasons. Gasp! You're threatening my white rights!
In spite of being so very not-white, Shinobi had the depth of a mud puddle on a hot day when it came to these things; he was not on that particular short list. "Seriously, you can google it," he said, though he knew Shinobi would not. Pietro did not require understanding to befriend someone, only compliance. "I would muuuuuch prefer discussion of this present concept, yes. Have a drink! There's orange, cranberry--might even be one pom left, but I keep drinking it..."
Shinobi grinned. "I fail at depth and serious conversation, it's true. But! I am very good at presents." He flipped open the cooler and pulled out the first beverage that came to hand--damn! Cranberry!--helping himself to a hearty, if mildly reluctant swig before continuing. "Presents, yes," he sighed, feeling around his coat pockets with his free hand. Sadly, that involved disentangling from Pietro for a moment, but what could he do? He only had two arms.
Dreadful genetic oversight, that.
His face brightened as he suddenly produced three sets of keys, on three rings he'd bound together beforehand to keep them from becoming separated. "Happy birthdays!" he announced cheerily.
Pietro paused with his own bottle of pom still at his lips. Almost involuntarily, he held out his hand to accept... Whatever. "I might be more drunk than I think I am, because I am not sure what this is."
But having noted Shinobi's distaste about the cranberry, he held out his bottle in the other hand, offering a trade. Cranberry was good, too; like a cosmo in a bottle.
Shinobi handed the mass of metal and plastic and rubber over, but withheld his cranberry vodka. "It's your birthday, love," he said, with another peck on the cheek. "You drink the good stuff. Don't mind me; I'm a giant brat." But once the speedster had keys in hand, the Shaw scion positively beamed. "And those are keys, of course," he said gleefully. "To your new cars."
For about three seconds, Pietro didn't understand. He stared at the keys and held out the pom to Shinobi's free hand--the one that had just transferred the, uh, gift. Gifts. "It's okay, I like cranberry," he said distractedly.
"I just. I don't. Sorry, cars?" Pietro met Shinobi's dark gaze with his own pale, curious one. His mouth was twitching into a smile. On the one hand he felt like he was missing something here, because no way; on the other hand, this was Shinobi fucking Shaw, so of course.
The half-Japanese mutant's grin only intensified, at that point, and he completely ignored the attempt to exchange drinks. "Well, I suppose I should clarify," he went on, giggling only a little. "Only one car is for you. The other two are for your sisters. I think it will be fairly easy to determine which belongs to who once you get down to the garage to have a look at them."
And Pietro had given up on the drinks because--shiny what the fuck! The door openers on the keys identified them as chevrolet of some kind--and the little dealer tags... "You legit just bought me and my sisters all Camaros?"
His voice betrayed more excitement than anything else. Yeah yeah okay, it was like way beyond too much. Way way beyond too much. But 1. he was happily tipsy and 2. "Your complete and utter disregard for your father's money is so goddamn beautiful--I swear to god if we weren't both attached to really fabulous others I would put you against a wall right now."
Laughing, Shinobi threw his arms around Pietro's shoulders. "That is just the reaction I was going for, and I knew you wouldn't disappoint. Enjoy this little token of my affection, Pietro, and my compliments to your sisters." He kissed the silver-haired speedster again soundly--on the cheek, the safest possible place he could think of. Because, yes, that last statement of Pietro's, combined with Shinobi's intake of alcohol for the evening, made for a perilous combination. "And no matter how attached either of us happen to be, I still love you."
The pangs of not being morally able to jump Shinobi were well known to Pietro by then, but he was feeling them right then, too. Not in a bad way--really there was something perversely pleasant in it that he was too gleefully tipsy to want to examine anyhow. He planted a return kiss on Shinobi's pretty face, then superspeed ducked to settle the keys in a safe, dark place behind the little cooler.
When he stood again, he grabbed Shinobi around the waist and tugged him into the mass of bouncing kids. "Celebratory dance! Then we'll go find Wanda and Lorna and have a look at these magical cars."
Drinks still in hand, clearly.
"How could I possibly refuse an offer like that?" said Shinobi, still obviously quite pleased his gift had gone over so well. He draped his arms over Pietro's shoulders and followed him into the proverbial fray, letting his hips and shoulders get a feel for the music as they moved. But always mindful of the dink in his hand, and careful not to spill it down his partner's back.
"You are like the most lovable lovely," Pietro assured him, falling into the rhythm of Shinobi's body with practiced ease and familiarity. He slipped an arm around his waist and let it rest at the pretty dip in the small of his back. Totally legal! "In retrospect it almost seems like I should've expected something like that out of you, but then, where's the fun in that?"
"We thrive on defying expectation," Shinobi agreed. This was nice. As near to normal as he could imagine, really. His own party had been fun, but in a somewhat predictable way; at least here he could still offer a few surprises. "So," he said suddenly, "you and our lovely Cajun friend appear to be getting along beautifully." Which was a match so perfect he wouldn't have dared to hope it might someday exist, really. Now that it had, it was simply beyond words. "I can't tell you how pleased I am to welcome you to the ranks of the declawed."
"Only metaphorically speaking," Pietro said, raising his eyebrows and smirking evilly. "Remy likes my claws.
"But yes, I am honestly--shut up, but I'm kinda relieved to be domesticated, if you want the truth." Normally not a thing Pietro would admit to, but yay vodka. Okay so Shinobi wasn't good for depth, but Shinobi, weird as it was, knew Pietro's recent weird romantic history and that it had not been all roses. He didn't know the depth of Pietro's issues with Laura, but he knew they were a thing... And he was the only one who had any idea that he'd taken the Eames thing hard at all. Even more than Eames, in some ways. "I mean, like, that ass. Seriously, it'd take a stronger man than me to resist."
... Okay it wasn't the ass so much as the sweetness that had done it. Which was why the idea of potentially losing him to the swamp was driving Pietro crazy right now in spite of all Remy's assurances, but--nooooope not going there tonight.
"Always better to submit to temptation," said Shinobi sagely. "Certainly when confronted with an ass that magnificent."
He canted his head slightly to one side as Pietro's demeanor shifted--swiftly, subtly, as it often did--into something a touch more pensive. At another time, he might have tried to avoid calling attention to it, but ... this was the speedster's night. So Shinobi could at least attempt to overcome his natural aversion to all things remotely serious. "Something troubling you, pet? You seem distracted."
Pietro considered for a few beats of the trashy dance track, hips, shoulders, torso moving with Shinobi's, just dirty enough to be called such but not enough to get Shinobi into trouble if Paige happened to be nearby. (Like Remy gave a fuck--bless him.)
"The trouble with caring about people is that you worry about them." Like reconnecting with controlling weirdo families, was the part Pietro obviously wasn't saying. "And the trouble with the holidays is people like to go home to their undeserving redneck relatives.
He bent his knees so one of Shinobi's was between his, but the purpose was to put his forehead to his. "You staying, at least?"
Because yeah, he'd totally worry about Shinobi, too. Different reasons. Reasons he knew better than to bring up directly, but still.
Despite the relatively serious nature of their discussion, Shinobi laughed. "You hardly need be concerned, sweet. Daddy and I are plutocrats first and anything else we might happen to be second; the only rites we honor are the ones sacred to Mammon. But even if we were inclined to observe the usual holidays, we'd both have far more pleasant ways to spend them than in each other's company. The aversion is agreeably mutual, in this case."
Pietro kissed Shinobi's forehead (seemed relatively safe, right?) and smiled. It was by no means a satisfactory reply, but nothing short of 'I plan to make sure Daddy drops dead within the week' could've been. Pietro knew Shinobi could defend himself, and yet, like so many others, he sometimes chose not to.
And some of course, Pietro felt a burning desire to do it for them.
But Shinobi didn't want to talk a it it, and really neither did he. It was good enough to know that Shinobi would be elsewhere and safe rather than feeling a need to subject himself to Sebastian Shaw for the holidays. "Oh good," he said, still cheery. "I hate sharing. More for me is better. I assume that's why you bought three cars instead of the one for all of us."
"Sharing is both overrated and unnatural, it's true," Shinobi replied easily, quick to embrace the change in topic. His father was not precisely a favorite topic of discussion, particularly during otherwise pleasurable events like this one. "But in this case, I was motivated more by my love of grandiose gestures than any capacity to anticipate the feelings of others I might possess. I think you'll be able to find it in your heart to forgive me, though."
"Depends what color my car is," Pietro said with a bright grin. Ha, yeah right! He took a quick sip of his drink without moving the least extra bit away from Shinobi. He was totally not interested in pushing the topic, not now or ever. Just wanted to know Shinobi would be safe.
"As I said, I'm confident you'll know it when you see it," said Shinobi placidly. "And at least reasonably sure you'll be pleased." He tilted his head. "And what about you? Any big holiday plans, other than being primed and on standby in the event of any holiday-related disaster? Because that sounds absolutely exhausting."
"I expect it will be," Pietro admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle. "I think Wanda and I will maybe go upstate for a while one day or the other. Definitely for Christmas. And hey, now we don't need to take the bus!"
"Just try not to get too bored plodding down the highway at a sluggish ninety miles per hour," Shinobi laughed. "And that reminds me: come find me when we've both sobered up so we can get you and your sisters properly insured. I know a guy," in fact, he knew a virtual legion of them, but that sounded immodest, even to him, "who should be able to get you something easily affordable, even on a stipend."
Oh right, insurance! Pietro chuckled. "You thought of everything." One more kiss on the cheek, a little lingery. And a bite down on his bottom lip after to avoid making a crack about how this time he hadn't even gotten naked for it.
"You have no idea how it pains me to be so pragmatic in my extravagance," Shinobi said with a grin, his cheek warm and flushed beneath Pietro's lips. "But it would hardly do to give a toy without batteries, would it? Whatever one's personal preferences, it's attention to detail that makes or breaks one's gift." He rested his chin on the speedster's shoulder for a moment, mostly so Pietro wouldn't be able to see his face as he asked. "So. Going home to visit your okaa-san, hmm? That sounds lovely."
“Probably for a few days around Christmas,” Pietro said, sliding one if his hands up to tangle briefly in the hair at the nape of Shinobi’s neck. “Last year I got to visit Wanda for Thanksgiving and our birthdays, but we didn’t get to see Mom for Christmas, so. You know. I imagine we’ll make use of your excellent attention to detail in getting there.”
"Hmm, sou ka," he hummed. Shinobi was sure he must be acting perfectly the fool--and not in the way he preferred. No, this was bordering on something genuine and honest and all sorts of other things he generally never allowed within fifty feet of his freewheeling, mischief-filled person. But he couldn't deny it seemed a charming proposition, those few stolen days with ... Well. What was the point dwelling, really? Even without the usual trimmings, he supposed he had more than enough already to make his incipient gloom a ridiculous proposition.
Yare yare, he was going to become a absolute sentimentalist, at this rate.
"Then I am pleased to have contributed in this small way to your holiday cheer," he concluded with a soft, teasing laugh.
Pietro threaded fingers through Shinobi's hair one more time before sliding his hand down to the small of his back again. "You always contribute to my cheer. You have dance parties with me and feed me sushi and look perpetually adorable."
The other teen laughed again. "That last one is more a passive trait than a result of voluntary action on my part," Shinobi protested mildly. "Still, it is always nice to hear. Arigatou.”
“Dou itashi mashite,” Pietro murmured, a few months of Japanese were already coming in handy--though his mind was racing. Actually… against all odds Shinobi really did always contribute to his cheer. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so remarkable if the shallow, privileged brat was truly all there was to Shinobi, but knowing what Pietro did of the Shaws, not to mention of Shinobi’s affection for Paige and the Guthries in general, he wasn’t precisely fooled.
He pulled back enough to smile and look Shinobi in the eye when he said, sincerely, but brightly rather than sentimentally, “Iroiro to arigatou.” And he really did mean for everything.
Something odd and uncertain flashed across Shinobi's face, there and gone in a breath, a heartbeat, something he would not really have been inclined to define, no matter how important it may have been. Instead, the sly, lazy grin returned, and he patted Pietro affectionately on the cheek. Though the playful irony was still very much there, he was ... not quite as surprised as he might have been by his own sincerity as he said, "Anytime, darling."
Ah, but for Pietro that flash lasted quite some time, and he saw. What, he wasn't completely sure. But it was real enough that it seemed to back up his conclusions. He pulled the (much) smaller boy hard against him and smiled into his hair. Intending to keep him for at least the next song. Or two.
