[ His mouth drops open when Peter bears down. Shouldn't have blown it in the shower, he fully and violently regrets, feeling the tightness around his knuckles and down his shoulder where Peter's thigh rests. Quentin wets his mouth, nods along silently as he adjusts his grip to skim easy from tip to root, squeeze on the drag back up. The length of his thumb spiders under the head of Peter's cock on the upward strokes. ]
I'll fuck you next time. [ His fingers slip out, thrust back in sharply with a third. He's not hard, but Quentin rocks into Peter's open hips anyway. His breath shudders from the effort of spreading those fingers inside him. ] I wanna be all over you.
[ He can trail bruises from Peter's thighs to his stomach to the dark pool around his ribs and up to his jaw, just above a racing pulse that Quentin only wishes he could put his mouth on. His lips fold against the inside of Peter's knee in lieu of that. His fingers pinch together on the next thrust for depth and discovery, groping for his prostate. ]
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I'll fuck you next time. [ His fingers slip out, thrust back in sharply with a third. He's not hard, but Quentin rocks into Peter's open hips anyway. His breath shudders from the effort of spreading those fingers inside him. ] I wanna be all over you.
[ He can trail bruises from Peter's thighs to his stomach to the dark pool around his ribs and up to his jaw, just above a racing pulse that Quentin only wishes he could put his mouth on. His lips fold against the inside of Peter's knee in lieu of that. His fingers pinch together on the next thrust for depth and discovery, groping for his prostate. ]