For as long as they've known each other, even back when they were tenuous allies at best, he's always got a kick out of teasing Peter. It's got more good natured over the years, turning into a shared joke by the weight of time and familiarity. He is thrilled to have a whole new set of tools in his arsenal for getting under Peter's skin, even if he knows full well that it goes both ways, and that Peter's a hell of a lot more practiced at playing this game than he is.
He still likes his chances. He's always been a quick study. And he has plenty of motivation to learn when the reward is getting to hear Peter's voice go low and rough like that, drawing out a few moans of his own in return. With that familiar voice in his ear he can almost imagine that it's Peter's hand wrapped around his dick, stroking him off slow and easy as though they have all the time in the world, grinning like an asshole as he rocks his hips up to try and quicken the pace...
Caught up in the idle fantasy, he's not prepared for the way what comes next makes something tighten almost painfully in his throat. Come on man, you've gotta know there's no-one else he doesn't say, the words balancing on his lips for an endless moment before he manages to swallow them down again. There's just about no-one else in the fucking universe he trusts like he trusts Peter: enough to sleep deeply beside, enough to turn his undefended back on, enough to...fuck, to let Peter hold him down and know in his fucking bones that the hands moving over his skin will never turn to hurt. This is already so much more than he's ever even wanted to offer another living person.
What spills out instead is: "Next time, I want you to fuck me."
A strange thrill shivers over his skin, a sharp swoop in the pit of his stomach like the endless moment between stepping off of some high place and the aero-rig's thrusters kicking in. But there's a jolt of heat that comes with it too, rolling through him like a fever. That's out in the universe now; he's fucking committed.
no subject
He still likes his chances. He's always been a quick study. And he has plenty of motivation to learn when the reward is getting to hear Peter's voice go low and rough like that, drawing out a few moans of his own in return. With that familiar voice in his ear he can almost imagine that it's Peter's hand wrapped around his dick, stroking him off slow and easy as though they have all the time in the world, grinning like an asshole as he rocks his hips up to try and quicken the pace...
Caught up in the idle fantasy, he's not prepared for the way what comes next makes something tighten almost painfully in his throat. Come on man, you've gotta know there's no-one else he doesn't say, the words balancing on his lips for an endless moment before he manages to swallow them down again. There's just about no-one else in the fucking universe he trusts like he trusts Peter: enough to sleep deeply beside, enough to turn his undefended back on, enough to...fuck, to let Peter hold him down and know in his fucking bones that the hands moving over his skin will never turn to hurt. This is already so much more than he's ever even wanted to offer another living person.
What spills out instead is: "Next time, I want you to fuck me."
A strange thrill shivers over his skin, a sharp swoop in the pit of his stomach like the endless moment between stepping off of some high place and the aero-rig's thrusters kicking in. But there's a jolt of heat that comes with it too, rolling through him like a fever. That's out in the universe now; he's fucking committed.