He would not admit even under torture to the warmth that curls in his chest for how fast that response comes through. It's maybe just a little gratifying to think that he isn't the only one who can't stop coming back to this in quieter moments, finding himself getting distracted by memories at inopportune times. That maybe he isn't the only one thinking about a world where things played out just different enought that he wouldn't be falling asleep alone.

Even before that last trip, it'd already felt wrong to not have Peter here with them. It's worse now. He doesn't regret it, but damn, they really do have the worst fucking timing.

He snorts at the follow-up message, rolling his eyes. Maybe it's reassuring in a way to know that if Peter ever passes up an opportunity for a dumb innuendo, he can just go ahead and shoot the guy, because there's no way that doesn't mean he's been replaced by some kind of shapeshifter. He's in the middle of typing out a reply along the lines of you'd think anything looks good if you're involved when the picture comes through and his brain abruptly stops working.

Wild to think that just a few short weeks ago that picture wouldn't have had much of an effect on him. After everything, it has him muttering a low, heartfelt curse, lazily palming his dick as a flush of heat washes over him for the memory of Peter on his knees, smirking up at him, lips glistening—

>>your mouth should be fucking illegal

>>wouldn't mind seein that shower either though