[ If Poe had a little more presence of mind, he'd be able to appreciate how good Peter sounds like this, with that gruffer hint to his words, the easy cadence as he speaks. It still sends golden sparks arcing through Poe's body, even after Peter starts to ease off from the intense, constant pressure on his prostate. He's panting raggedly, toes curling, head thrown back and curls tossed messily across his face, and he looks so caught up in everything Peter's doing, the way he's fucking him, arguably simple as it is. But there's something about the restriction to his movement, that he can't just writhe as much as he wants, that makes Poe harder, that already has precum smearing over his cock and his belly as he keeps twisting under Peter. ]
F-fuck— you wouldn't—
[ Words? Full sentences? Not on the table right now. ]
no subject
F-fuck— you wouldn't—
[ Words? Full sentences? Not on the table right now. ]