>>You just hate hearing me be funnier than you'd ever wish to be. Tragic.
>>Didn't you have a pretty effective method to keep me quiet? And gagged. Wouldn't mind you getting a bit more rough the next time I have your cock down my throat. I don't have a gag reflex.
Possibly. Or at least, he's got a very controlled one. Rocket can see proof of that one of these days; for now, he can enjoy the mental image. God knows Peter enjoys hearing the man curse to the heavens and moan brokenly more than it's probably safe, but that's Peter for you. He never puts a limit on the stupid things he will do for the people he loves. Or the horny things. Those are more pleasant for everyone involved.
Peter likes to think that his apartment is on the side of cozy, not small, even if that's just a comfortable lie he tells himself. He doesn't have much money —or rather, the one he has is useless on Earth since it's a whole different currency— and he doesn't want to mooch off of his grandad even if he offered to help. So, Peter's working to get by all by himself and putting his money on the things that matter. Like getting himself a brand-new bed big enough to fit two muscular grown men comfortably. The rest of his furniture is second-hand, however, and it did come from Jason. But that's not mooching off his grandad, that's just...recycling. Giving things a second life and all that. Shut up.
Anyhow, Peter's really glad about the bed investment because maybe one day he will get Rocket here and comfy enough that he won't mind spending a few hours just doing nothing but existing together. The fact that Peter has two bedside tables and that the one by the side Rocket usually sleeps on happens to be empty, just in case the man wants to put trinkets or tools in the drawers one day, is just a happy coincidence.
He grins down at his comm link, easily imagining Rocket doing just that, and hell if it doesn't get Peter all hot and bothered. Warmth blooms in his chest and travels south, his dick twitching interest in his pants. He's down so bad it's almost ridiculous. Peter pulls his shirt over his head, leans forward holding the com on his lap but angled up, and takes a picture of his chest, the expanse of his neck, and the sharp curve of his jawline. His face is only visible from the upper lip down, and he's holding the round lollipop between his teeth and smirking.
>> You better. The bites you left them with are faded now; you'll need to try harder the next time so they last longer. I liked sucking a mark on your inner thigh; you made really amazing sounds. I think of them often when I feel lonely.
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>>Didn't you have a pretty effective method to keep me quiet? And gagged. Wouldn't mind you getting a bit more rough the next time I have your cock down my throat. I don't have a gag reflex.
Possibly. Or at least, he's got a very controlled one. Rocket can see proof of that one of these days; for now, he can enjoy the mental image. God knows Peter enjoys hearing the man curse to the heavens and moan brokenly more than it's probably safe, but that's Peter for you. He never puts a limit on the stupid things he will do for the people he loves. Or the horny things. Those are more pleasant for everyone involved.
Peter likes to think that his apartment is on the side of cozy, not small, even if that's just a comfortable lie he tells himself. He doesn't have much money —or rather, the one he has is useless on Earth since it's a whole different currency— and he doesn't want to mooch off of his grandad even if he offered to help. So, Peter's working to get by all by himself and putting his money on the things that matter. Like getting himself a brand-new bed big enough to fit two muscular grown men comfortably. The rest of his furniture is second-hand, however, and it did come from Jason. But that's not mooching off his grandad, that's just...recycling. Giving things a second life and all that. Shut up.
Anyhow, Peter's really glad about the bed investment because maybe one day he will get Rocket here and comfy enough that he won't mind spending a few hours just doing nothing but existing together. The fact that Peter has two bedside tables and that the one by the side Rocket usually sleeps on happens to be empty, just in case the man wants to put trinkets or tools in the drawers one day, is just a happy coincidence.
He grins down at his comm link, easily imagining Rocket doing just that, and hell if it doesn't get Peter all hot and bothered. Warmth blooms in his chest and travels south, his dick twitching interest in his pants. He's down so bad it's almost ridiculous. Peter pulls his shirt over his head, leans forward holding the com on his lap but angled up, and takes a picture of his chest, the expanse of his neck, and the sharp curve of his jawline. His face is only visible from the upper lip down, and he's holding the round lollipop between his teeth and smirking.
>> You better. The bites you left them with are faded now; you'll need to try harder the next time so they last longer. I liked sucking a mark on your inner thigh; you made really amazing sounds. I think of them often when I feel lonely.