You dunno. I might have.

[ His voice is still rough, a little dark, but he still maintains that teasing lilt.

(And maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. Maybe eventually Peter's eagerness to see Poe come would have gotten the best of him, and he would've stroked Poe off until Poe forgot his own name.

It's too bad they won't find out.)

He pumps his fingers in and out, thrusting deep and hard, switching up when he presses against that sensitive bundle of nerves, listening to how Poe practically sings with it, how he twists and writhes, how his cock jumps with his pulse and leaks with precum.

This isn't what Poe had in mind, probably. When he asked for "ungentle" – which Peter maintains is not a real descriptor – he probably imagined being manhandled, imagined Peter fucking him hard enough that Poe would be covered in bruises and have trouble walking later.

But, well, in Peter's defense, leaving the guy teetering on the edge for a seemingly endless amount of time, wound up with nowhere to fall—

That's pretty fucking rough, right? ]

I still could. We've got hours before I've gotta leave.

You've got a safeword, Dameron. Don't forget you can use it.