vivicidal | open rp / overflow

[ Arch. ]

...Like this. Open your mouth. [ His fingers push over Peter's to pump himself. Quentin breathes out intentionally, one thumb hooked in Peter's teeth to hold him slack. His head is still heavy on Peter's tongue, shifting with his strokes. As his breath goes low, his voice follows: ] Stop touching yourself.

[ peter keeps his eyes on quentin as his tongue moves in tandem with his strokes, his breath hot with every light pant, ghosting along the length of his cock. peter follows his direction with ease... he's good at that sort of thing, just as good as he is giving it when it suits his desires.

but right now... it's a far better look on quentin.

as much as he finds it intensely attractive, he can't help the soft whine of mild frustration that escapes him. ultimately, he does what he's told, lightly skimming shorn nails along quentin's leg instead. his hand rises higher and higher, following a path to wrap around his balls, gently tugging and massaging, adding to quentin's stimulation. ]

[ He was close enough without the hand, but it puts him over easily. His thumb hooks harder against Peter's teeth as he comes, moaning from his chest. It's slow, a couple deep waves, but holy shit, it's feels good to come to someone else. It feels insane to see his cum on the flat of Peter's tongue. Every nerve feels hooked on the orgasm, and he can only stand watching for a few seconds--a few pulses, before he has to pinch his eyes shut, tilt his head back. ]

Omigod. You look so good. Better than I imagined, you look-- [ Both hands loosen up when the worst (best?) of it passes, smoothing around his temples and palming warmly into his hair. There's an aspect of covering there--he's welcome to spit unobserved. ] --so good, c'mere. Come on, c'mere.

[ His thumbs massage into Peter's jaw, lips press firmly to his brow, next to his nose, the corner of his mouth before Quentin slips his tongue in. One hand fumbles back to turn off the shower. ]

[ peter swallows — always — makes a show of it like a greedy little bottom, humming lightly as he licks his lips. ]

That was fucking hot, [ a small coquettish grin curls into place at one side of his mouth, his own hands smoothing over quentin's hips to keep himself overstimulating him just to hear those sounds again. the touch to his jaw should have peter recoiling but... there's something so erotic about pain when he's aroused as fuck, the intensities commingling at its finest grind.

it makes him ache.

peter meets quentin's tongue with his own, remnants of his orgasm still left behind, his kiss intense, hungry and unbridled. he only breaks for a desperate plea as he pushes himself off the shower floor. ] Touch me, [ a breath, ] Please.

Mmhmm. [ Yeah, yeah, he'll get there. Quentin pulls Peter back to the kiss, smirking, then drops that hand around his waist to bring them snug together. It's easier to move like this, foregoing the towel on the rack completely as Quentin kisses him out of the shower stall and out of the little bathroom still soaking wet. Besides, he can feel Peter hard against his thigh better if they're pressed tight together. His free hand and memory of the apartment guide them clumsily.

[ It's not a long trip to the unmade bed at all; there's barely six steps into the bedroom to reach the foot of it. Quentin doesn't let up from his mouth until he's pressing Peter down to the mattress. He kisses over the hickey left from the shower, arms stretching out over Peter's head. ] I wanna be inside. Is that okay?

[ peter hits the bed with a gasp that sounds all too desperate, his hands quick to return to quentin's body, touching and stroking as much of him as he can for the sole purpose of slaking his own need. he indulges in the press of his lips, and when quentin gives a voice to that request, a soft, breathy moan crawls from the back of his throat.

his body reacts before he does, legs pulling apart, torso pressing up, ] Fuck yes— [ he says on a breath, turning his head to press a light kiss to quentin's temple.

as if he's in any mind to decline such an enticing offer. ]

More than okay, [ purring, one hand trailing up along quentin's back, the nape of his neck, then threading through damp hair. ] I want you inside me.

[ Peter sounds so good that it almost pisses Quentin off not to be able to get it up, even when the invitation honeys his nerves so heavily he can taste it in his mouth. He laughs as he gets his hands back under his shoulders, watches Peter from above for a few enraptured seconds. Even if he's not hard, his eyes and mouth are dark from arousal. ]

You're like a fucking drug, man. How do you do that? [ Laughed, at ends, as he rolls away for the bedstand and the bottle of lube stashed therein. He brings it back with him, into his lap. His hand spreads up the back of Peter's right leg, coaxing it up over his shoulder. Quentin shakes his head with another stupid chuckle. ] More importantly, how the hell are you single?

You are single, right? [ Maybe it's too late to ask when he's slicking up his fingers, blown eyes checking up for Peter's just before pushing two inside him. With the way he said he wants it, gotta assume two is okay. ] Please god tell me you're not married with a bunch of kids?

[ a laugh punches through peter as he drops his head back against the bed, running his fingers through his own hair to smooth it out— probably futile, all things considered. it's a fair question, though, peter doesn't exactly make a habit of talking about his romantic life, or lack thereof... for good reason, he thinks.

but before he can even think to give a proper answer, peter's breath hitches as those fingers ease into him, cock twitching in response to the stretch, to the sensation of being filled. ]

Oh my— Fuck— [ he let out a breathy laugh, and lifts his other knee, heel pressed into the mattress to spread himself wider for quentin. ] You really gonna— ah— [ he then pushes himself up to rest on his elbows, ] ask me that with your fingers inside me?

[ peter gently rocks his hips down in an attempt to plunge them deeper, biting lightly at the corner of his lip, ] I'm single, if it makes you feel better.

I figure it ups my chances of getting an honest answer. But yeah, [ His smile cocks sideways, eyes catch Peter's from below his brow as Quentin angles his wrist and sinks into him deep. His other arm slides around Peter's thigh, hugging it to his shoulder, and under his prick. Quentin spits in his open palm before wrapping around Peter snugly and crooking his fingers inside, pressing in with a long stroke. ] That makes me feel a lot better.

[ his hips stutter as quentin drives that desperate ache through him with a moan, his own hand winding into the sheets while he watches, gaze darkened with salacious detail. it feels— ]

Good. [ an affirmation that leaves him in something of a visceral groan. keep it up, and peter won't last very long. it's fairly easy to fall back into the rhythm, into the tension that had built up in the shower. ] Mm, so good. [ breathless this time, and he drops his head back before the rest of his body follows suit, focusing on squeezing his muscles around the fingers buried deep. ]

[ 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. ]

[ it surprises peter, the skill that quentin displays with his hands, urging him along effortlessly with every thrust of slick fingers, every squeeze and stroke— ] Fuck me like this? So you can watch how you drive me fucking crazy.

[ the tone of his voice is deep, rough around the edges as he draws closer and closer to his own climax. practically begging for it now with the way precome beads at the tip, and the way his thighs begin to lightly tremble. as quentin adds a third finger, peter almost chokes on an inhale, offering a very clear visual for those fantasies as he arches off the bed. ]

—Right there, Q. [ he gasps, dropping a hand to his own thigh, adding just a touch of pressure to one of the bruises there. ] Fuck, I'm so close.

[ He's focused, so focused on keeping up with Peter's pleasure--slicking his thumb along the slit, dropping his shoulder so that he can keep his fingers right there--that he doesn't bother keeping what's on his mind from just falling out of his mouth. ] Oh, pretty. Oh--

[ It's an ego boost, to say the least, for someone like this to be unwinding in his hands. His mind makes a fuzzy note of where Peter's hands travel, but Quentin is too fixated on the fact that he's doing that. ]

Lemme see. Peter, come on, lemme see you. [ Hoarse, demanded in a breath, working over his cock steady and quick, pulsing into him deep and precise. ] Lemme hear it. Show me. Come on.

[ it should go without saying that peter — like quentin — can be just as reactive, letting himself succumb to the heat that builds in the pit of his stomach, everything drawn tight and swollen. he breathes heavily, moaning his gratification as quentin hits his prostate again and again. ]

Shit, you're good with your hands— [ he lifts his head, watching as they work diligently, balls pulling taut at the mere sight, ] Fuck—ah, fuck.

[ his hips rock forward, time and again, meeting every thrust of those fingers. and that's all it takes to yank him over the precipice, gasping as his cock pulses in quentin's grip. long seconds that pull him apart at the seams, unspooling the tension that had been swelling long before he found himself on quentin's doorstep.

he watches for as long as he can, then drops his head back once more, gaze now set upon quentin's expressions, the intensity in his eyes slowly filtering out as he descends into post-orgasmic bliss. ]

[ When he looks to Quentin's face, Peter will find him gazing right back with a dull smile. ] ...Holy shit.

[ The smile stays, hazy and dazed as he stretches for a tissue off the nightstand. He makes quick work of what could be a mess, wiping Peter's stomach and hip clean, licking stray cum from between his knuckles without any fanfare. He's still glowing-warm from the shower, but softer, looser when he crawls back between Peter's legs, laying over him to catch his mouth in the kiss Quentin wanted to give him so badly just a few seconds ago. ]

Yeah...yeah, definitely. [ Whispered between firm presses of his lips, between sighs. ] Definitely wanna be up here next time.

[ His eyes catch Peter's half-lidded, lips twist up at the corners. ] Catch that? Mmm--set up for next time? Really smooth, right? You can say it. I'm intimidating.

[ He can always talk, but this gives the distinct impression of a child trying not to fall asleep. ]

[ peter greets quentin with a lazy, lopsided smile, still breathless as he encompasses him in his arms, returning every little kiss with a hum of contentment. the attention fills him with warm euphoria, spilling over in gentle, wandering hands, caressing the expanse of quentin's back.

he then brings both hands forward to smooth over quentin's temples, straight into his hair with a soft laugh, weightless, ] Mmm, so intimidating. [ he steals another kiss, ] It was awfully lonely up here—

[ the tips of his fingers stroke lightly, encouraging that call to sleep that so endearingly makes itself known. peter, himself, feels empty of energy, his muscles sated and sleepy, the pleasant sensation seeping through his limbs. ] Without your mouth to keep me company.

...You're drifting. [ Quentin smiles against his cheek. He's taking Quentin along, too; the ghosting touch, the alluring heat and calm in his muscles, and the powerful temptation to wrap arms around his waist and hang tight till they both drift off call Quentin like a siren song. Even as he shudders from the fingers in his hair, though, he knows better than to give in. His thumb brushes the bruise along Peter's jaw, forehead bumps into his temple. He keeps himself from curling around Peter the way he wants to. ] Think you can fall asleep?

I gotta have a smoke. Go ahead. I'll follow you down after.

Probably... [ peter hums lowly, the sound of it vibrating through his chest, almost like he's purring as he gradually surrenders himself to the lull of sleep.

truthfully, he'd much rather fall asleep like this, made evident by the way peter envelops quentin in his arms once more, holding the weight of him against his body. but if there's one thing he knows — confirmed by what's plastered all over quentin's walls — his relationship with sleep is rocky, at best.

with a deep, slow sigh, peter tips his head to press a chaste kiss to the corner of quentin's mouth, ] Go— I'm not going anywhere.

[ His mouth says he understands, but his arms feel like a really tempting trap. Quentin sighs along with Peter, body going lax against him for a few indulgent seconds. Just a few seconds of wishing he could shut his head off as easily as his body, stay like this, held like this.

[ Then, Quentin pushes up on his elbows and up to his knees before slipping off the bed. His hand skims Peter's leg, loops around his ankles for a last moment before going for Quentin's sweatpants on the floor. With a murmured apology, he tugs the coverlet out from under Peter and drops it over him. Soon after follows light drifts of smoke--marijuana and tobacco, spicy and warm and thick till the cool air snatches it up--from the window next to the bed where Quentin leans to smoke. He doesn't turn the radio off, but it's lower while he works through the spliff and the book in his lap. He doesn't follow Peter down for another two hours, but he sleeps close when he does, wakes when Peter stirs, settles deep when he settles.

[ He's not used to sleeping so heavily and safely in his own place. ]

open rp / overflow

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

tying a bow on this...