>> we both know if your mouth's gettin you in trouble its cuz you don't know when to shut it
To be fair, he does have more positive things to say about Peter's mouth than he used to. A lot of those things were along the lines of fuck and yes and more, moaned toward the ceiling of the bunk with his fingers twined into Peter's hair.
He's always been more comfortable on ships and stations himself; weather's a fun novelty for about ten minutes, and then it settles firmly into being a pain in the ass. But there's something weirdly appealing about the thought of frost riming the windows of Peter's poky little apartment back on Earth, snow drifting to the ground outside maybe, and the two of them in an island of warmth in the bed with all the time in the fucking world to make the most of it. He's not normally much for ideas like peace and holding still, but maybe that few days of spectacular sex fried something in his brain a little, because the moment the idea's put to him he's suddenly struck by how fiercely he wants it.
Or much as he wants to blame his dick for this one, maybe it's just...Peter. He could count on his fingers how many people in the universe he trusts completely, how many he'd do fucking anything for, and Peter's one of them. Maybe he should have seen this coming. If they were ever going to find themselves here, obviously it wasn't gonna be a one and done kind of deal.
He closes his eyes and pictures the scene, feeding the lazy heat humming in his veins as he rocks his hips slowly into the warm pressure of his palm. The steamy haze filling the air, rivulets of water tracing the lines of Peter's body, a flush on his skin from the heat. He gives a slow, shuddering breath and reaches for the comm again.
no subject
To be fair, he does have more positive things to say about Peter's mouth than he used to. A lot of those things were along the lines of fuck and yes and more, moaned toward the ceiling of the bunk with his fingers twined into Peter's hair.
He's always been more comfortable on ships and stations himself; weather's a fun novelty for about ten minutes, and then it settles firmly into being a pain in the ass. But there's something weirdly appealing about the thought of frost riming the windows of Peter's poky little apartment back on Earth, snow drifting to the ground outside maybe, and the two of them in an island of warmth in the bed with all the time in the fucking world to make the most of it. He's not normally much for ideas like peace and holding still, but maybe that few days of spectacular sex fried something in his brain a little, because the moment the idea's put to him he's suddenly struck by how fiercely he wants it.
Or much as he wants to blame his dick for this one, maybe it's just...Peter. He could count on his fingers how many people in the universe he trusts completely, how many he'd do fucking anything for, and Peter's one of them. Maybe he should have seen this coming. If they were ever going to find themselves here, obviously it wasn't gonna be a one and done kind of deal.
He closes his eyes and pictures the scene, feeding the lazy heat humming in his veins as he rocks his hips slowly into the warm pressure of his palm. The steamy haze filling the air, rivulets of water tracing the lines of Peter's body, a flush on his skin from the heat. He gives a slow, shuddering breath and reaches for the comm again.
>> i'd taste every fucking inch of you
>> drive you crazy teasing