--A Question of Morality--
"This is not something we should be talking about."
In response to her uncle's terse tone, Claire shot him a sour look, turning on her heel to put some distance between them. "Maybe you shouldn't have brought it up."
His jaw clenched and he turned away. Admittedly, maybe reminiscing on the meeting with a beautiful girl who turned out to be your long-lost-niece, and confessing mutual little crushes that developed after said meeting with said niece was not a good idea.
"Peter…"
Even at the beckoning tone in her voice, Peter still refused to look at her, and Claire sighed, glaring at the back facing her with exasperation. "Stupid, stubborn man," she murmured under her breath.
"You know I'd do anything to protect you, right?" He was staring into space, his expression resolute and set in a way she knew all too well. She attempted to lighten things, knowing he was on the cusp of one of his self-imposed "missions."
She grinned, responding cheekily, "Yeah, I know…my hero, remember?"
His face didn't change and little alarm bells went off in her head. "I mean it, Claire…anything…even from me."
So that would be his self-proclaimed mission objective.
She rolled her eyes and casually leaned back against the stairs railing, meeting his moralized eyes pointblank. "What if I don't want to be protected from you?"
He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably at the unapologetic critique in her gaze as it swept over him. "Claire…"
Her eyes trailed over him, "If you're going to protect me from yourself, St. Peter, maybe you can help me out on another level," she stepped closer and he didn't stop her as she nonchalantly traced a hand down his chest, "Save me from myself. From wanting you so badly."
Her hand continued to idly caress him, the other resting dangerously at his hip now, thumb brushing against a stretch of skin at his side where his shirt had ridden up. His Adam's apple bobbed and he groaned softly, "I can't save you from something I can't control myself."
"There you go then." She stepped back in time just as the doors leading outside opened up to reveal Angela, her expression inscrutable as usual as she looked from one to another. "The brunch has been served. You two are late."
Peter forced a smile, "Thanks, ma."
"It's fine, darling. Your family is just looking forward to your company."
Without commenting, Claire brushed passed both of them, ignoring Angela's disapproving glower. Peter moved to do the same, his eyes directed at the floor so not to meet hers, but froze in place in the doorway as a familiar voice filled his mind.
His head whipped up to meet her gaze, blonde curls dancing along the golden shoulders bared by her sundress, full, pink lips stretched into a lazy, sensual smile. Green eyes were twinkling with mischief and dark with passions he couldn't quite decipher, though everything in him screamed at him to go and find out. With a slow wave, she disappeared around the corner leading to the breakfast nook, swinging hips and wisps of sheer blue fabric playing along long, slender legs the last thing he saw.
His mouth went dry.
A promise is a promise, Peter. Don't make ones you can't keep.
Ignoring his mother's inquiries as to why he had stopped, Peter banged his head against the closest wall he could find.
He was royally, royally fucked.