[ The fact that Poe is letting Peter pull him apart, leave him this raw and vulnerable—
Well, it’s partially by accident. He didn’t think Peter could blast through his barriers, could push him far enough to feel this out of control. He’d held to that stubborn defiance through almost everything, thought he would (because he always has), but Peter’s thrown him for a loop. He expected to just get fucked until he was a bruised, sore, blissed out puddle on Peter’s bed. He thought that was all Peter had in store for him.
This is more than that.
(And somewhere, he remembers his safeword exists, but it doesn’t occur to him for a second to use it.)
His breathing catches as Peter’s hand closes around his throat, but he quickly realizes that Peter is just holding him there. The pressure isn’t daunting or frightening, and it doesn’t shake Poe out of the moment.
If anything, it drives him a little farther down.
He can feel Peter’s breath behind his ear, hear the rumble in his voice, and it’s so fucking good. So fucking good.
And then—
Ask for it.
Peter doesn’t demand he beg, and maybe that’s why the urge to rebel doesn’t kick in; he doesn’t feel like he has to shrug Peter off or toss back a sarcastic quip. Instead, the promise of finally coming is too alluring. ]
Touch me.
[ He sounds so far gone, his deep voice hoarse on the noises that have spilled from him like water. ]
no subject
Well, it’s partially by accident. He didn’t think Peter could blast through his barriers, could push him far enough to feel this out of control. He’d held to that stubborn defiance through almost everything, thought he would (because he always has), but Peter’s thrown him for a loop. He expected to just get fucked until he was a bruised, sore, blissed out puddle on Peter’s bed. He thought that was all Peter had in store for him.
This is more than that.
(And somewhere, he remembers his safeword exists, but it doesn’t occur to him for a second to use it.)
His breathing catches as Peter’s hand closes around his throat, but he quickly realizes that Peter is just holding him there. The pressure isn’t daunting or frightening, and it doesn’t shake Poe out of the moment.
If anything, it drives him a little farther down.
He can feel Peter’s breath behind his ear, hear the rumble in his voice, and it’s so fucking good. So fucking good.
And then—
Ask for it.
Peter doesn’t demand he beg, and maybe that’s why the urge to rebel doesn’t kick in; he doesn’t feel like he has to shrug Peter off or toss back a sarcastic quip. Instead, the promise of finally coming is too alluring. ]
Touch me.
[ He sounds so far gone, his deep voice hoarse on the noises that have spilled from him like water. ]
Touch me, I can’t— I need to come, Peter, so bad—
[ Poe chokes on another sob. ]
Please.