"When aren't you? Don't give me ideas. I wouldn't know what to do with that much power. Actually...no, scratch that. I know EXACTLY where I wish your mouth were right now."
He likes hearing Rocket laugh, provided he's not doing one of those fake ones that he uses to purposely grate on Peter's nerves. But even then, it's all part of their usual banter. It's when they both get serious that people start worrying. Peter's favorite noises from Rocket sometimes are the quieter ones, the cadence that his friend's voice takes when they're in bed catching their breaths after a round of mind-blowing sex, when they feel both exhausted and lighter from their high. Rocket's voice gets somewhat rougher, a little bit warmer. It's nice. The memory comforts Peter during his lonely nights away from his lover and his friends.
If the next time they talk it's still not in person, then Peter might be the one to set up a video call. he can even try to make it properly good, leaving the comlink on the dresser or bedside table, angled just right to give Rocket a nicer view of what he will be doing while thinking of him.
He's utterly amused that he managed to get Rocket used to calling him babe, even if the word is dripping with sarcasm and it's used to mock him 70% of the time. Peter likes it still.
"Good. Fewer standards to worry about then." After that, to get back at Rocket, he lets out a drawn-out moan, the kind Rocket is used to hearing when he's the one causing Peter to groan and shiver while impaled on his cock. It's not just for show; listening to the sounds Rocket is making makes Peter's imagination run wild.
It's so unfair to know Rocket got a hand on his cock while they're thousands of miles away from each other —okay, much more than that, but Peter's not about to think of numbers now— when he should be stretched out for Peter to see and kiss and taste.
There's a sharp exhale through the line in response to Rocket's breathless voice.
"Do you, now? Well, good, because I had plans. You love my plans. I'm the best at plans...I was going to eat you out first, long and slowly, until you were nothing but a quivering mess of pleasure asking for more. So gorgeous, opening up for me. And I'd give you anything you asked." Peter tries to keep the humor in his voice even as he strokes himself, rolling his hips in insistent jerks, fucking into the loose ring of his fist. "Maybe I'd make you beg for it a little first."
Not much; he knows it's not Rocket's style, but he would love to drag the man to the brink of orgasm and then keep him there, edging him for a while. He's sure Rocket would make lovely sounds.
"I wish I could see you. bet you look real nice right now, hard cock standing to attention, just asking to be sucked, fingers buried inside you. And an extra one or a couple if you're thinking of me, for realism..." Peter almost laughs a that least bit, boasting simply to get a rise out of Rocket.
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He likes hearing Rocket laugh, provided he's not doing one of those fake ones that he uses to purposely grate on Peter's nerves. But even then, it's all part of their usual banter. It's when they both get serious that people start worrying. Peter's favorite noises from Rocket sometimes are the quieter ones, the cadence that his friend's voice takes when they're in bed catching their breaths after a round of mind-blowing sex, when they feel both exhausted and lighter from their high. Rocket's voice gets somewhat rougher, a little bit warmer. It's nice. The memory comforts Peter during his lonely nights away from his lover and his friends.
If the next time they talk it's still not in person, then Peter might be the one to set up a video call. he can even try to make it properly good, leaving the comlink on the dresser or bedside table, angled just right to give Rocket a nicer view of what he will be doing while thinking of him.
He's utterly amused that he managed to get Rocket used to calling him babe, even if the word is dripping with sarcasm and it's used to mock him 70% of the time. Peter likes it still.
"Good. Fewer standards to worry about then." After that, to get back at Rocket, he lets out a drawn-out moan, the kind Rocket is used to hearing when he's the one causing Peter to groan and shiver while impaled on his cock. It's not just for show; listening to the sounds Rocket is making makes Peter's imagination run wild.
It's so unfair to know Rocket got a hand on his cock while they're thousands of miles away from each other —okay, much more than that, but Peter's not about to think of numbers now— when he should be stretched out for Peter to see and kiss and taste.
There's a sharp exhale through the line in response to Rocket's breathless voice.
"Do you, now? Well, good, because I had plans. You love my plans. I'm the best at plans...I was going to eat you out first, long and slowly, until you were nothing but a quivering mess of pleasure asking for more. So gorgeous, opening up for me. And I'd give you anything you asked." Peter tries to keep the humor in his voice even as he strokes himself, rolling his hips in insistent jerks, fucking into the loose ring of his fist. "Maybe I'd make you beg for it a little first."
Not much; he knows it's not Rocket's style, but he would love to drag the man to the brink of orgasm and then keep him there, edging him for a while. He's sure Rocket would make lovely sounds.
"I wish I could see you. bet you look real nice right now, hard cock standing to attention, just asking to be sucked, fingers buried inside you. And an extra one or a couple if you're thinking of me, for realism..." Peter almost laughs a that least bit, boasting simply to get a rise out of Rocket.