[ Somehow, inexplicably, Peter's reassurance soothes the desperation edging into Poe's voice. Part of him is terrified Peter is going to push him even closer to that edge and stop again, and that would be beyond fucking torture.
(Would he like it? Would it be too much? Poe has no idea.)
But Poe relaxes (as much as he can), and he just tightens his fingers around his own wrist, keeping himself in check as Peter steadily picks up the pace, fucking Poe harder, deeper, effortlessly slamming into his prostate again and again, and Poe is losing track of everything except Peter's voice and how fucking incredible he feels. He concentrates on the heat of Peter's cock, his hand slicked with Poe's own precum, those fucking words filling his senses and dragging him even deeper. Poe would say any number of those things about himself on any given day, but Peter—
Fuck, it's so stupid.
But for a heartbeat, he's barely shaken out of his own haze by the moment Peter's orgasm slams into him. Poe feels Peter throbbing inside of him, and something undoubtedly filthy accompanies Poe's groan (fucking give it to me, god, yes, fuck, i wanna feel you—), until all of the tension slides out of Peter, and Poe is still left hard and pulsing with need. As great as feeling Peter come might be, Poe's been suffering for a while.
A low noise in his throat, concern that's quickly cut off when Peter's hand resumes that level pace – not too fast, not too much friction, but just fucking right. And now that Peter's come, now that Poe has that encouragement, he lets himself focus, wholly and utterly, on the rising crest of climax. He's been waiting way too fucking long, driven absolutely insane by the torment Peter enjoyed way too fucking much, and the only thing that matters right now is finally getting off.
It's stupidly hard for Poe to writhe and buck as much as he usually would, but he still arches into Peter, his head pressing back on the taller man's shoulder, his mouth fallen open as he drags in breath after desperate breath, letting loose words and pleas and curses that would make the galaxy's crudest pirate blush. He's going to pieces and he doesn't give a fuck, as long as he gets to come.
Finally, with sweat slicking his curls to his face, with his cheeks a brilliant red, Poe finally hits that peak.
If he hadn't been waiting for so long, he might be embarrassed by how hard he comes. His orgasm slams into him, and cum spurts over Peter's hand, painting Poe's stomach, up his chest, and Poe just strains and bucks against Peter with a guttural shout, until he's finally slumping back, completely boneless. Whatever weight he was supporting on his own is immediately surrendered as his knees give out, and he sinks almost entirely into Peter. ]
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(Would he like it? Would it be too much? Poe has no idea.)
But Poe relaxes (as much as he can), and he just tightens his fingers around his own wrist, keeping himself in check as Peter steadily picks up the pace, fucking Poe harder, deeper, effortlessly slamming into his prostate again and again, and Poe is losing track of everything except Peter's voice and how fucking incredible he feels. He concentrates on the heat of Peter's cock, his hand slicked with Poe's own precum, those fucking words filling his senses and dragging him even deeper. Poe would say any number of those things about himself on any given day, but Peter—
Fuck, it's so stupid.
But for a heartbeat, he's barely shaken out of his own haze by the moment Peter's orgasm slams into him. Poe feels Peter throbbing inside of him, and something undoubtedly filthy accompanies Poe's groan (fucking give it to me, god, yes, fuck, i wanna feel you—), until all of the tension slides out of Peter, and Poe is still left hard and pulsing with need. As great as feeling Peter come might be, Poe's been suffering for a while.
A low noise in his throat, concern that's quickly cut off when Peter's hand resumes that level pace – not too fast, not too much friction, but just fucking right. And now that Peter's come, now that Poe has that encouragement, he lets himself focus, wholly and utterly, on the rising crest of climax. He's been waiting way too fucking long, driven absolutely insane by the torment Peter enjoyed way too fucking much, and the only thing that matters right now is finally getting off.
It's stupidly hard for Poe to writhe and buck as much as he usually would, but he still arches into Peter, his head pressing back on the taller man's shoulder, his mouth fallen open as he drags in breath after desperate breath, letting loose words and pleas and curses that would make the galaxy's crudest pirate blush. He's going to pieces and he doesn't give a fuck, as long as he gets to come.
Finally, with sweat slicking his curls to his face, with his cheeks a brilliant red, Poe finally hits that peak.
If he hadn't been waiting for so long, he might be embarrassed by how hard he comes. His orgasm slams into him, and cum spurts over Peter's hand, painting Poe's stomach, up his chest, and Poe just strains and bucks against Peter with a guttural shout, until he's finally slumping back, completely boneless. Whatever weight he was supporting on his own is immediately surrendered as his knees give out, and he sinks almost entirely into Peter. ]