"You can keep my mouth busy however you want," he counters, voice warm and a lazily fond grin on his lips. "You know I'm still gonna be laughin' at you on the inside." If he's honest with himself, some of his favorite memories from those few days they'd had to spend together were just like that; a muffled laugh lost between their lips as Peter made a doomed attempt to cut the mockery off at the source.
He hears that disgruntled mutter over the sounds of movement, and for a moment he does consider how easy it would be to set up some kind of video feed. Might as well commit to it after all if he's trying to make Peter's brain melt out of his ears. But the answer, unfortunately, is not so easy that it wouldn't mean having to stop what he's doing for longer than he's willing to. Ah well. Next time. He can get it set up then ambush Peter with a show when he's least expecting it.
He snorts another laugh, squeezing some of the lube out onto his fingertips and tossing the bottle aside. "Babe, I never expect coherency from you at the best of times," he replies.
There's the faint creak of the mattress and a shifting of sheets in the background of the call as he spreads his legs, drawing one knee up and tilting his shoulders to give himself better reach. He gives a shuddering groan, as much for those words as for the feel of slick fingers sliding slow and deliberate over the cleft of his ass. "Fuck yeah," he breathes. He can picture it so fucking clearly: Peter smirking up at him from between his thighs, eyes dark and hungry, greedy for what comes next. Fuck, this is gonna be good.
His breath catches as he presses in a little more firmly with the pads of his fingers, a steady pressure that's not quite enough to dip inside yet, rubbing slowly back and forth. His other hand is still working on his dick, his eyes closed and lower lip caught between his teeth as the sensation washes over him. "Still tryna convince me your mouth has its uses, huh?" he murmurs, low and ragged. "Maybe I wanna hear you talk dirty to me while I ride your fingers. Tell me all about how good you're gonna fuck me."
no subject
He hears that disgruntled mutter over the sounds of movement, and for a moment he does consider how easy it would be to set up some kind of video feed. Might as well commit to it after all if he's trying to make Peter's brain melt out of his ears. But the answer, unfortunately, is not so easy that it wouldn't mean having to stop what he's doing for longer than he's willing to. Ah well. Next time. He can get it set up then ambush Peter with a show when he's least expecting it.
He snorts another laugh, squeezing some of the lube out onto his fingertips and tossing the bottle aside. "Babe, I never expect coherency from you at the best of times," he replies.
There's the faint creak of the mattress and a shifting of sheets in the background of the call as he spreads his legs, drawing one knee up and tilting his shoulders to give himself better reach. He gives a shuddering groan, as much for those words as for the feel of slick fingers sliding slow and deliberate over the cleft of his ass. "Fuck yeah," he breathes. He can picture it so fucking clearly: Peter smirking up at him from between his thighs, eyes dark and hungry, greedy for what comes next. Fuck, this is gonna be good.
His breath catches as he presses in a little more firmly with the pads of his fingers, a steady pressure that's not quite enough to dip inside yet, rubbing slowly back and forth. His other hand is still working on his dick, his eyes closed and lower lip caught between his teeth as the sensation washes over him. "Still tryna convince me your mouth has its uses, huh?" he murmurs, low and ragged. "Maybe I wanna hear you talk dirty to me while I ride your fingers. Tell me all about how good you're gonna fuck me."