He couldn't have said exactly what kind of response he was expecting, but for some reason that wasn't it. He might have dropped the commlink himself if he hadn't already — unlike some people — had the sense to put it on speaker and set it down on the bed beside him. As it is he bursts out laughing, that coiling heat momentarily forgotten. "Smooth," he teases, still snickering.

This, even more so than the rest of it, is wildly untested territory. But he's never backed down from a game of chicken in his life, and it's far too tempting to press the advantage when he's already got Peter so off balance. Fry Peter's brain is fast becoming one of his favourite games.

"Can't tell you stuff like that, huh?" He reaches for the optimistic bottle of lube he'd picked up, now sitting on the table by the bed, and makes damn sure it's close enough for the comm to pick up the sound of him popping the cap. "That mean you don't wanna listen in while I finger myself?"