[ Poe almost chases after Peter's lips when the kiss breaks, leaning up with a disappointed sound that catches in his throat. But when it's clear he's not getting close enough to get at Peter's mouth again, he flops back against the bed, trying to catch his breath as his pulse thunders under Peter's palm. Every word sends his heart skipping, and his dick is riding a traitorous line as the provided image just makes him throb. ]
Kriff, you're a sadist sometimes.
[ He laughs hoarsely as he wets his lips, his fingers flexing and tightening, again testing the way Peter holds him down. ]
Talkin' like you don't already take your damn time.
[ He asks, while he's pointedly keeping away from Poe's dick – but he catches the way it twitches as Poe undoubtedly imagines exactly what Peter's saying. ]
I'm an absolute angel.
[ His sharp, crooked grin quickly betrays him, though, and Peter reaches for the bottle of lube again. One handed, he flicks open the cap, spinning the bottle around to pour a generous amount onto his palm. He clicks the cap shut against the base of his thumb and tosses the bottle away.
(He's had a lot of practice, apparently.)
He spread the lube onto his fingers before teasing Poe's entrance with quick, shallow thrusts. ]
'Sides, I don't think you can say you don't like it.
[ Considering Poe's hard-on is very clearly showing his hand. ]
[ The laugh Poe barks out is much less effective in its overall air of skeptical sarcasm, and he opens his mouth to tell Peter how completely full of bullshit he is, but he's distracted by the dextrous way Peter finds the lube one-handed.
Again, Poe might have commented if he wasn't immediately focusing on the reintroduction of Peter's fingers. He's still reasonably stretched from earlier, still slick with Peter's cum and what was left of the lube, so there's no real burn that accompanies the quick, teasing way Peter starts to fuck him. But that's probably why it gets to Poe so quickly, because he's already prepped, already handled more, so this is just winding him up.
He groans through his teeth as he bites down on his bottom lip, drawing up a leg and folding at the knee to give Peter better access. ]
[ Peter's had a lot of fucking awful experiences before which, is why he's careful. He's not a patient guy by any stretch of the imagination, but he can at least manage it in cases like this.
It won't kill them if he uses some extra lube. It won't kill them if he takes his time to ensure Poe is prepped and ready.
And it definitely won't kill them if Peter slides in three fingers, curling them to seek out that oh so familiar bundle of nerves. ]
[ Any snarky commentary on the tip of Poe's tongue flies right out the window as Peter goes from zero to sixty fast enough to make Poe's head spin. Admittedly, it's what Poe was asking for, but when Peter drops it in his lap so suddenly, it's hard to recover.
Especially when Peter so expertly presses right up against his prostate.
He shouts and strains against Peter's hand on his wrists, and this time, it's far less an attempt to test Peter's grip, and more because Poe is a loud, squirmy son of a bitch. His arms shake a little when they meet resistance, and he gasps for breath, his eyes wide as he presses his head back against the bed. ]
[ Peter's hardly surprised when Poe bucks, when he squirms and writhes. He presses down more firmly, more pointedly, maintaining his grip to keep Poe from freeing himself too soon. ]
What, first I'm a tease, now I'm going too fast?
[ Peter heaves out a dramatic sigh, but that feral grin stays on his face. He doesn't let up, keeping his fingers exactly where they are, circling Poe's prostate.
He's used to falling into a more dominant role when he falls into bed with someone. He likes making people feel good, and given all the shit Poe gets up to, Peter doesn't doubt for a second that the guy needs some stress relief, that he needs someone else to take the reins for a little while. ]
[ Poe's hips keep futilely bucking against Peter's hand, his whole body tense as heat rockets up his spine, filling every nerve down to his fingertips. It's hard to focus on whatever Peter's saying now, impossible to summon up anything to contribute that isn't a babbled string of curses and growls as his heel kicks and slips over Peter's sheets in effort to find purchase – either to lessen the intensity of the stimulation or push towards it; it's hard to tell. ]
Peter.
[ That's one of the more coherent things Poe manages as he pulls at his wrists, groaning and clenching his teeth so tight his jaw practically creaks. One thing he will never try to deny about Peter, even teasingly, is that he's definitely good at this. Maybe infuriatingly so, sometimes, but he knows what the hell he's doing. Poe can appreciate that there's something more comfortably familiar about fucking another human, but that doesn't usually change much about how Poe picks his partners; species is all well and good, but Peter at least knows how his body works.
[ Peter can't help the way he grins, the way something curls in his chest with satisfaction. After a few more heartbeats, though, he eases up the pressure, slipping his fingers away from that bundle of nerves. He starts fucking Poe with his fingers in earnest, abandoning that teasing pace from earlier. ]
You sound amazing.
[ And there's a rougher edge to his voice. His own cock throbs with how Poe sounds, how he looks, how he feels. Peter's body thrums with want, but for once, he keeps it in check. ]
Probably a good thing for you that I'm not staying longer. Imagine how fucking desperate you'd be if I kept you just like this till you absolutely had to leave.
[ 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. ]
[ 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.
He groans through his clenched teeth, his fingers curling into tightened fists. Normally, he might bark out a laugh at the reminder of his safeword, but now it's just a broken moan. ]
Fu—ck you.
[ There's a defiant little grin that manages to make its way to his face, though it's almost immediately banished with another rough thrust of Peter's fingers, another mind-numbing flash of pressure against his prostate. ]
[ And Peter flashes Poe a similar grin, something a little dark and—
Maybe a little sadistic, like Poe mentioned earlier. Maybe. A little.
It certainly doesn't help that Poe isn't exactly fighting him on this – not in obvious ways, anyway. Nothing about Poe screams submission, but he's still apparently game for this, still letting Peter string him along. And— fuck, he looks amazing, his skin flushed red and dark curls sweat-damp and wild and eyes dark and chest heaving with every ragged breath and—
God, Peter wants him.
His grip loosens on Poe's wrists, and his fingers slip out of him.
His voice is rough and low when he speaks again. ]
[ Poe is so absorbed in how Peter fucks him, so completely tuned into the unrelenting thrust of his fingers, until suddenly—
Peter stops.
Poe’s caught by surprise, a ragged, certainly embarrassing whine rising in his throat for the loss. Fuck, he feels empty, but his whole body is thrumming with pleasure (edging on too much too much without getting to come), and with Peter’s instruction, it’s hard to resist.
Mostly because the more conscious part of him is pretty sure that tone of voice promises Poe won’t be missing Peter for long.
It takes him a second to get his body into gear, and he brings his arms down, still heaving for breath like he just ran a mile in under seven. His legs feel like jelly, but he manages to shift onto his side, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. He takes the moment of pause to adjust his weight, to find a more comfortable spacing for his hands, making sure his legs feel braced under him. He’s good, he’s great, he’s fine, except his abandoned dick is throbbing with the kind of urgency that demands attention. He just— needs something to saw off the edge, something to ground him a little more.
He rests his weight on a forearm, reaching back and down to palm his cock, shuddering immediately with the acuteness of the contact. Peter had been touching him a lot, sure, but his dick has gone thoroughly unattended, as much as Poe is writhing with need. ]
[ He waits with the patience of a goddamn saint as Poe turns himself over, as he situates himself on his hands and knees. Once he's up, Peter brackets Poe's hips with his hands, smoothing his palms up over his sides.
He frowns briefly at the dark bruises over Poe's left shoulder blade. He has to remind himself that they look worse than they are, considering Poe hasn't had any real trouble with moving all night, but he still feels that strange, cold sense of—
—of worry, he thinks. Concern. That familiar and unfamiliar dread that this could be over too soon—
He snaps back into reality at the change in Poe's breathing, at the shuddering sound that escapes him as he touches himself, and Peter clicks his tongue in disapproval. He grabs hold of Poe's wrist, tugging and pinning it to the small of Poe's back. ]
[ Peter breathes out a laugh, his grip tightening minutely on Poe's wrist. ]
Well, you do now.
[ He leans forward, taking hold of Poe's other wrist and tugging it pointedly. Peter, apparently, means to keep Poe from using his hands, as he had earlier, which means the guy would be up on his knees, bent over with his face pressed down into the mattress while Peter fucks him from behind.
It's an awkward position, admittedly, which is why Peter doesn't immediately force Poe into it. He's giving the guy a moment to assess, a moment to figure out if he wants to tell Peter to well and truly fuck off again. ]
Poe gets the message quickly when Peter tugs on his other arm, and he lets his head drop forward with a groan of frustration.
Again, under his breath, ]
Sadist.
[ Fortunately, he realizes the time Peter is giving him to sort out this difficult position, and Poe broadens his stance, adjusts his weight, and then dutifully folds his arm back to give Peter his other wrist.
Thank god he’s got a pretty decent core, so he can just lean forward without falling flat on his face. He turns to rest on one cheek, and he can already feel his heavy breathing catching on the sheets. ]
[ Which absolutely has to be true, because if Poe didn't, he would have stormed out of here in a huff five minutes after he started getting the idea of how Peter wanted the night to go.
—Honestly, five minutes is probably being generous. Both of them combined couldn't even fill a thimble with how much patience they have.
But here Poe is, letting Peter pin his wrists behind his back, letting Peter do as he likes, within reason. ]
And let me point out again – you were the one who wanted it rough.
[ Peter bends over Poe, bracing his weight with one hand to keep from smothering the guy. He mouths at the nape of Poe's neck, biting and sucking a bright mark to the surface of Poe's skin. He rocks himself against Poe's ass for a bit of relief, letting out a shuddering moan against Poe's skin. ]
Plus— [ Still breathless, though he's turning on the smart-ass again. ] —you said I could fuck you into the bed, so.
[ All signs point to this being Poe's own fault. ]
[ Poe isn't so wrapped up in his own frustration that he misses the moan vibrating against his skin, and it's a strange relief to know he's not the only one affected by this. Peter's done a damn good job of keeping up that aloof, smug tone, broken by those low commands, so it seemed almost like Poe was the only one falling apart.
And. Well. He still is, but he kind of loves knowing that Peter is getting off on this just as much as he is.
Poe tries to grind back, but this position is distinctly awkward, incredibly limiting, and the bend of his hips doesn't quite give the leverage he wants. He struggles under Peter, but it's almost more into his hold than away. ]
Yeah. [ Ragged, breathless agreement. ] Still— waiting on that part.
[ His grin breaks through the haze of arousal, curving at the corner of his lips. ]
[ Peter pushes himself back up just in time to hear Poe speak, just in time to catch that smile.
(God. Poe's always had an attractive smile, but that one, bright and defiant in spite of the obvious desire slamming through the guy's system—
Peter hopes he gets to see it more.)
Peter breathes out another laugh of his own, rocking himself against Poe's ass again for a bit more relief. ]
You know, the more you talk back, the more I'm tempted to keep drawing this out.
[ But it's a joke more than a threat. As much as he keeps saying he means to draw this out, Peter's pretty sure they're both going to hit a limit where their need to fuck with one another will be greatly overshadowed by their need to just plain fuck one another.
He bends down again, propping himself up with one hand, and he kisses, licks, sucks, and bites a path from Poe's bruised shoulder to the other. His other hand tightens its grip on Poe's wrists, keeping them just where he wants them, and he grinds himself against Poe's ass, falling into a slow rhythm – nowhere near hard or fast enough to get himself off, but more than enough to start sanding away at that ragged edge of need. ]
[ Poe snorts out a short, amused sound, but miraculously, he doesn't snipe back. It helps that having Peter pressed against him, hovering over him, satisfies something he can't name, but it sits warmly in his chest, beneath the blinding need that Peter's been stoking for what already feels like forever.
(Poe's impatience really makes it hard to tell how long Peter's been messing with him already, but if asked, Poe would absolutely say it was ages.)
He's distracted by the return of Peter's mouth, and he tenses with every dig of Peter's teeth, every hot drag of his tongue that he knows promises marks galore. He's not going to complain about whatever bruises and hickeys he comes away with – and he'll probably privately enjoy looking at them later.
... Weird that there's some sort of sentimentality when he thinks about any reminders he's taking with him. Poe's never really felt like that before.
He has even less leverage with the persistent angle Peter is holding Poe's arms, keeping them in a place that practically makes it annoyingly impossible for him to rock back without straining his shoulders – but that doesn't mean he won't keep trying. The growl catching in his throat is far more a whine than he'd like to admit, and again, he flexes and tests Peter's hold, his body instinctively trying to squirm. ]
I can tell— [ As he pants, his voice still wrecked. ] I can tell how much you want it.
[ He can feel how hard Peter is. ]
Just— c'mon.
[ The whine is a proper one this time as he bites down on his bottom lip. ]
[ This is one hell of a power trip, and Peter is doing his damnedest to not let it go straight to his head.
... Either head, if he's honest. Though his cock still throbs with each smug thrill that races through him.
When they started the night, he had a mind to tease Poe to fucking hell, sure, which wasn't anything new. This is a new facet to their hook-ups, and one that Peter is still in slight shock over – deep, deep, deep down – but is still thoroughly enjoying, nonetheless. Thankfully, he's been in this position enough in some form or another to realize how vital it is that he keeps his wits about him.
Poe fights against him, tries to rock back against Peter's cock – which just forces his wrists more firmly into Peter's grip. Positioned as he is, Peter can't see it for himself, but he can almost imagine that the the muscles of Poe's back and shoulders strain in a way that's almost hypnotic. And every sound that doggedly refuses to be a whimper goes straight to Peter's cock, punching the breath from his lungs.
And finally Poe just lets himself— not quite beg, but something dangerously close, and Peter lets out a shuddering breath when his cock aches with it. He buries his face against Poe's hair for a second, taking in the faint scent of oil and sweat, before he allows himself a low, quiet laugh. ]
And people call me impatient.
[ Granted, if their positions were switched, Peter would be nowhere near as composed as Poe is managing to be. Peter's definitely impressed at how well Poe is holding it together.
Not that he'd encourage the guy by admitting it aloud.
Instead, pushes himself up again, lining up the head of his cock with Poe's entrance. The guy is already stretched out and slicked up enough that sliding in takes hardly any effort, and when Peter's hips meet Poe's ass, he pauses to catch his breath. He curls his hand around Poe's hip to keep him from moving – not that he could manage much in his current position, but still – and lets himself use the second to catch his breath.
He slides out slowly, but his thrust is sharper, rougher, pulling Poe back to meet him. ]
[ Poe's skin feels like he's buzzing with need, need to be touched everywhere, need to be fucked, to finally get off. It's electric, even as Peter's hands are like heated brands on his wrists, on his hip, impossible to ignore and perfect for him to revel in it. Poe's soaking up the touch as much as he's straining into it, against it, and it just emphasizes the constant demand of his nerves for more more more.
And then Peter is straightening up, and something like relief swamps Poe. He's too eager to consider Peter might be gearing up to continue teasing him, and his expectation is met beautifully as the heavy weight of Peter's cock presses against him. Poe moans with it, shuddering under Peter and no longer trying to demandingly rock against the other man as he's given exactly what he's been wanting. Peter fills him in one smooth slide, and rather than pleading and practically whimpering, Poe sounds content – for the moment, for that second of breathing room Peter takes.
A whine dies on his lips when Peter pulls out (worried Peter might just keep taunting him, just keep fucking with him—), and it's cut short by a shout as Peter drags Poe back onto his cock, the snap of Peter's hips against Poe's own catching him off-guard. Peter has been winding him up, still only giving him a taste when Poe wants the whole damn dinner, but the new pace is fucking perfect. ]
Fuck— [ The word is strangled on a groan, and this time, he doesn't pull or strain against Peter; he lets himself relax, because it's easier to move him, easier for Peter to use that handhold to use Poe exactly the way he wants. ]
[ Every sound that falls from Poe's lips sends molten heat down Peter's spine, makes prickly sparks collect low in his gut, and it takes everything in him to not go fucking wild.
It would be easy – it would be so fucking easy – to just take and take and take with the freedom Poe has given him, but Peter holds off, hanging onto that sense off calm at the center of his chest. ]
God, you should hear yourself. You sound so fucking good—
[ Still, he's a selfish creature, and he fucks Poe in the same way, hard and deep, sliding out slowly and yanking Poe back to meet each snap of Peter's hips. He feels amazing, hot and tight around Peter's cock, and he looks even better, needing and wanting and almost blissed-out from the intensity of it all.
(Peter desperately hopes they'll get another shot at this. He would fucking kill to be able to do this again.)
Once he's sated, Peter spends a second to readjust, to aim the head of his cock for Poe's prostate. And once he finds it, he hits it with almost unerring accuracy. ]
[ Peter takes his time at first, but the way he fucks Poe – slow and then sudden and hard – is clearly enough for the pilot. Poe will happily take Peter's dick over his fingers any day, because it's fucking more, and because the sensation of Peter pressed up against him, close and hot and never too much, is far more enthralling. Much more of the taunting, and he probably would have been near begging Peter for it, begging instead of goading, but mercifully, Peter has cut that torment short.
Maybe later.
Every snap of Peter's hips draws a short, gasping groan from Poe, makes his toes curl, his eyes squeeze shut, but it's not until Peter pauses, readjusts, that Poe actually shouts for him. Peter doesn't just continue to brush against his prostate, but every slide home hits that bundle of nerves over and over. Poe's breathless noises melt into shameless moans, cries startled out of him in between stuttered out praises and curses. ]
Peter— fuck, I need, fucking god, Peter, Peter—
[ His name is almost a sob from Poe, and he's painfully aware of his heavy cock, throbbing and practically dripping precum, demanding attention Poe can't give. His arms pull at Peter's grip on his wrist, his writhing kicking up again, wholly unintentionally with nowhere to go, as the need to come starts to supersede his willingness to submit to Peter, in what ways he has. He just wants to touch his cock, just needs to so badly, and he presses his forehead to the sheets with another wrecked moan, unselfconsciously loud. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Kriff, you're a sadist sometimes.
[ He laughs hoarsely as he wets his lips, his fingers flexing and tightening, again testing the way Peter holds him down. ]
Talkin' like you don't already take your damn time.
no subject
What could you possibly mean?
[ He asks, while he's pointedly keeping away from Poe's dick – but he catches the way it twitches as Poe undoubtedly imagines exactly what Peter's saying. ]
I'm an absolute angel.
[ His sharp, crooked grin quickly betrays him, though, and Peter reaches for the bottle of lube again. One handed, he flicks open the cap, spinning the bottle around to pour a generous amount onto his palm. He clicks the cap shut against the base of his thumb and tosses the bottle away.
(He's had a lot of practice, apparently.)
He spread the lube onto his fingers before teasing Poe's entrance with quick, shallow thrusts. ]
'Sides, I don't think you can say you don't like it.
[ Considering Poe's hard-on is very clearly showing his hand. ]
no subject
Again, Poe might have commented if he wasn't immediately focusing on the reintroduction of Peter's fingers. He's still reasonably stretched from earlier, still slick with Peter's cum and what was left of the lube, so there's no real burn that accompanies the quick, teasing way Peter starts to fuck him. But that's probably why it gets to Poe so quickly, because he's already prepped, already handled more, so this is just winding him up.
He groans through his teeth as he bites down on his bottom lip, drawing up a leg and folding at the knee to give Peter better access. ]
I mean, I'm not really— much for exaggerating.
[ tell a bigger lie, poe. ]
Unlike the fuckin' tease I'm in bed with.
no subject
It won't kill them if he uses some extra lube. It won't kill them if he takes his time to ensure Poe is prepped and ready.
And it definitely won't kill them if Peter slides in three fingers, curling them to seek out that oh so familiar bundle of nerves. ]
I've still got no idea what you're talking about.
no subject
[ Any snarky commentary on the tip of Poe's tongue flies right out the window as Peter goes from zero to sixty fast enough to make Poe's head spin. Admittedly, it's what Poe was asking for, but when Peter drops it in his lap so suddenly, it's hard to recover.
Especially when Peter so expertly presses right up against his prostate.
He shouts and strains against Peter's hand on his wrists, and this time, it's far less an attempt to test Peter's grip, and more because Poe is a loud, squirmy son of a bitch. His arms shake a little when they meet resistance, and he gasps for breath, his eyes wide as he presses his head back against the bed. ]
Fuck, y-you're trying to kill me.
no subject
What, first I'm a tease, now I'm going too fast?
[ Peter heaves out a dramatic sigh, but that feral grin stays on his face. He doesn't let up, keeping his fingers exactly where they are, circling Poe's prostate.
He's used to falling into a more dominant role when he falls into bed with someone. He likes making people feel good, and given all the shit Poe gets up to, Peter doesn't doubt for a second that the guy needs some stress relief, that he needs someone else to take the reins for a little while. ]
You're really sending mixed signals tonight.
no subject
Peter.
[ That's one of the more coherent things Poe manages as he pulls at his wrists, groaning and clenching his teeth so tight his jaw practically creaks. One thing he will never try to deny about Peter, even teasingly, is that he's definitely good at this. Maybe infuriatingly so, sometimes, but he knows what the hell he's doing. Poe can appreciate that there's something more comfortably familiar about fucking another human, but that doesn't usually change much about how Poe picks his partners; species is all well and good, but Peter at least knows how his body works.
And he completely knows how to exploit it, too. ]
no subject
You sound amazing.
[ And there's a rougher edge to his voice. His own cock throbs with how Poe sounds, how he looks, how he feels. Peter's body thrums with want, but for once, he keeps it in check. ]
Probably a good thing for you that I'm not staying longer. Imagine how fucking desperate you'd be if I kept you just like this till you absolutely had to leave.
no subject
F-fuck— you wouldn't—
[ Words? Full sentences? Not on the table right now. ]
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
Cool.
He groans through his clenched teeth, his fingers curling into tightened fists. Normally, he might bark out a laugh at the reminder of his safeword, but now it's just a broken moan. ]
Fu—ck you.
[ There's a defiant little grin that manages to make its way to his face, though it's almost immediately banished with another rough thrust of Peter's fingers, another mind-numbing flash of pressure against his prostate. ]
no subject
[ And Peter flashes Poe a similar grin, something a little dark and—
Maybe a little sadistic, like Poe mentioned earlier. Maybe. A little.
It certainly doesn't help that Poe isn't exactly fighting him on this – not in obvious ways, anyway. Nothing about Poe screams submission, but he's still apparently game for this, still letting Peter string him along. And— fuck, he looks amazing, his skin flushed red and dark curls sweat-damp and wild and eyes dark and chest heaving with every ragged breath and—
God, Peter wants him.
His grip loosens on Poe's wrists, and his fingers slip out of him.
His voice is rough and low when he speaks again. ]
Turn over for me.
no subject
Peter stops.
Poe’s caught by surprise, a ragged, certainly embarrassing whine rising in his throat for the loss. Fuck, he feels empty, but his whole body is thrumming with pleasure (edging on too much too much without getting to come), and with Peter’s instruction, it’s hard to resist.
Mostly because the more conscious part of him is pretty sure that tone of voice promises Poe won’t be missing Peter for long.
It takes him a second to get his body into gear, and he brings his arms down, still heaving for breath like he just ran a mile in under seven. His legs feel like jelly, but he manages to shift onto his side, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. He takes the moment of pause to adjust his weight, to find a more comfortable spacing for his hands, making sure his legs feel braced under him. He’s good, he’s great, he’s fine, except his abandoned dick is throbbing with the kind of urgency that demands attention. He just— needs something to saw off the edge, something to ground him a little more.
He rests his weight on a forearm, reaching back and down to palm his cock, shuddering immediately with the acuteness of the contact. Peter had been touching him a lot, sure, but his dick has gone thoroughly unattended, as much as Poe is writhing with need. ]
no subject
He frowns briefly at the dark bruises over Poe's left shoulder blade. He has to remind himself that they look worse than they are, considering Poe hasn't had any real trouble with moving all night, but he still feels that strange, cold sense of—
—of worry, he thinks. Concern. That familiar and unfamiliar dread that this could be over too soon—
He snaps back into reality at the change in Poe's breathing, at the shuddering sound that escapes him as he touches himself, and Peter clicks his tongue in disapproval. He grabs hold of Poe's wrist, tugging and pinning it to the small of Poe's back. ]
Now, who said you could do that?
no subject
Poe makes a protesting sound (absolutely not even close to a whimper, absolutely not), instinctively tugging at the arm pinned behind him. ]
You didn’t— say I needed permission.
[ Poe deserves an award for managing a proper sentence right now, but it’s slightly easier when Peter isn’t driving him up the goddamn wall. ]
no subject
Well, you do now.
[ He leans forward, taking hold of Poe's other wrist and tugging it pointedly. Peter, apparently, means to keep Poe from using his hands, as he had earlier, which means the guy would be up on his knees, bent over with his face pressed down into the mattress while Peter fucks him from behind.
It's an awkward position, admittedly, which is why Peter doesn't immediately force Poe into it. He's giving the guy a moment to assess, a moment to figure out if he wants to tell Peter to well and truly fuck off again. ]
no subject
Poe gets the message quickly when Peter tugs on his other arm, and he lets his head drop forward with a groan of frustration.
Again, under his breath, ]
Sadist.
[ Fortunately, he realizes the time Peter is giving him to sort out this difficult position, and Poe broadens his stance, adjusts his weight, and then dutifully folds his arm back to give Peter his other wrist.
Thank god he’s got a pretty decent core, so he can just lean forward without falling flat on his face. He turns to rest on one cheek, and he can already feel his heavy breathing catching on the sheets. ]
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[ Which absolutely has to be true, because if Poe didn't, he would have stormed out of here in a huff five minutes after he started getting the idea of how Peter wanted the night to go.
—Honestly, five minutes is probably being generous. Both of them combined couldn't even fill a thimble with how much patience they have.
But here Poe is, letting Peter pin his wrists behind his back, letting Peter do as he likes, within reason. ]
And let me point out again – you were the one who wanted it rough.
[ Peter bends over Poe, bracing his weight with one hand to keep from smothering the guy. He mouths at the nape of Poe's neck, biting and sucking a bright mark to the surface of Poe's skin. He rocks himself against Poe's ass for a bit of relief, letting out a shuddering moan against Poe's skin. ]
Plus— [ Still breathless, though he's turning on the smart-ass again. ] —you said I could fuck you into the bed, so.
[ All signs point to this being Poe's own fault. ]
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And. Well. He still is, but he kind of loves knowing that Peter is getting off on this just as much as he is.
Poe tries to grind back, but this position is distinctly awkward, incredibly limiting, and the bend of his hips doesn't quite give the leverage he wants. He struggles under Peter, but it's almost more into his hold than away. ]
Yeah. [ Ragged, breathless agreement. ] Still— waiting on that part.
[ His grin breaks through the haze of arousal, curving at the corner of his lips. ]
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(God. Poe's always had an attractive smile, but that one, bright and defiant in spite of the obvious desire slamming through the guy's system—
Peter hopes he gets to see it more.)
Peter breathes out another laugh of his own, rocking himself against Poe's ass again for a bit more relief. ]
You know, the more you talk back, the more I'm tempted to keep drawing this out.
[ But it's a joke more than a threat. As much as he keeps saying he means to draw this out, Peter's pretty sure they're both going to hit a limit where their need to fuck with one another will be greatly overshadowed by their need to just plain fuck one another.
He bends down again, propping himself up with one hand, and he kisses, licks, sucks, and bites a path from Poe's bruised shoulder to the other. His other hand tightens its grip on Poe's wrists, keeping them just where he wants them, and he grinds himself against Poe's ass, falling into a slow rhythm – nowhere near hard or fast enough to get himself off, but more than enough to start sanding away at that ragged edge of need. ]
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(Poe's impatience really makes it hard to tell how long Peter's been messing with him already, but if asked, Poe would absolutely say it was ages.)
He's distracted by the return of Peter's mouth, and he tenses with every dig of Peter's teeth, every hot drag of his tongue that he knows promises marks galore. He's not going to complain about whatever bruises and hickeys he comes away with – and he'll probably privately enjoy looking at them later.
... Weird that there's some sort of sentimentality when he thinks about any reminders he's taking with him. Poe's never really felt like that before.
He has even less leverage with the persistent angle Peter is holding Poe's arms, keeping them in a place that practically makes it annoyingly impossible for him to rock back without straining his shoulders – but that doesn't mean he won't keep trying. The growl catching in his throat is far more a whine than he'd like to admit, and again, he flexes and tests Peter's hold, his body instinctively trying to squirm. ]
I can tell— [ As he pants, his voice still wrecked. ] I can tell how much you want it.
[ He can feel how hard Peter is. ]
Just— c'mon.
[ The whine is a proper one this time as he bites down on his bottom lip. ]
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... Either head, if he's honest. Though his cock still throbs with each smug thrill that races through him.
When they started the night, he had a mind to tease Poe to fucking hell, sure, which wasn't anything new. This is a new facet to their hook-ups, and one that Peter is still in slight shock over – deep, deep, deep down – but is still thoroughly enjoying, nonetheless. Thankfully, he's been in this position enough in some form or another to realize how vital it is that he keeps his wits about him.
Poe fights against him, tries to rock back against Peter's cock – which just forces his wrists more firmly into Peter's grip. Positioned as he is, Peter can't see it for himself, but he can almost imagine that the the muscles of Poe's back and shoulders strain in a way that's almost hypnotic. And every sound that doggedly refuses to be a whimper goes straight to Peter's cock, punching the breath from his lungs.
And finally Poe just lets himself— not quite beg, but something dangerously close, and Peter lets out a shuddering breath when his cock aches with it. He buries his face against Poe's hair for a second, taking in the faint scent of oil and sweat, before he allows himself a low, quiet laugh. ]
And people call me impatient.
[ Granted, if their positions were switched, Peter would be nowhere near as composed as Poe is managing to be. Peter's definitely impressed at how well Poe is holding it together.
Not that he'd encourage the guy by admitting it aloud.
Instead, pushes himself up again, lining up the head of his cock with Poe's entrance. The guy is already stretched out and slicked up enough that sliding in takes hardly any effort, and when Peter's hips meet Poe's ass, he pauses to catch his breath. He curls his hand around Poe's hip to keep him from moving – not that he could manage much in his current position, but still – and lets himself use the second to catch his breath.
He slides out slowly, but his thrust is sharper, rougher, pulling Poe back to meet him. ]
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And then Peter is straightening up, and something like relief swamps Poe. He's too eager to consider Peter might be gearing up to continue teasing him, and his expectation is met beautifully as the heavy weight of Peter's cock presses against him. Poe moans with it, shuddering under Peter and no longer trying to demandingly rock against the other man as he's given exactly what he's been wanting. Peter fills him in one smooth slide, and rather than pleading and practically whimpering, Poe sounds content – for the moment, for that second of breathing room Peter takes.
A whine dies on his lips when Peter pulls out (worried Peter might just keep taunting him, just keep fucking with him—), and it's cut short by a shout as Peter drags Poe back onto his cock, the snap of Peter's hips against Poe's own catching him off-guard. Peter has been winding him up, still only giving him a taste when Poe wants the whole damn dinner, but the new pace is fucking perfect. ]
Fuck— [ The word is strangled on a groan, and this time, he doesn't pull or strain against Peter; he lets himself relax, because it's easier to move him, easier for Peter to use that handhold to use Poe exactly the way he wants. ]
Fucking— Kriff, like that, like fucking that—
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It would be easy – it would be so fucking easy – to just take and take and take with the freedom Poe has given him, but Peter holds off, hanging onto that sense off calm at the center of his chest. ]
God, you should hear yourself. You sound so fucking good—
[ Still, he's a selfish creature, and he fucks Poe in the same way, hard and deep, sliding out slowly and yanking Poe back to meet each snap of Peter's hips. He feels amazing, hot and tight around Peter's cock, and he looks even better, needing and wanting and almost blissed-out from the intensity of it all.
(Peter desperately hopes they'll get another shot at this. He would fucking kill to be able to do this again.)
Once he's sated, Peter spends a second to readjust, to aim the head of his cock for Poe's prostate. And once he finds it, he hits it with almost unerring accuracy. ]
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Maybe later.
Every snap of Peter's hips draws a short, gasping groan from Poe, makes his toes curl, his eyes squeeze shut, but it's not until Peter pauses, readjusts, that Poe actually shouts for him. Peter doesn't just continue to brush against his prostate, but every slide home hits that bundle of nerves over and over. Poe's breathless noises melt into shameless moans, cries startled out of him in between stuttered out praises and curses. ]
Peter— fuck, I need, fucking god, Peter, Peter—
[ His name is almost a sob from Poe, and he's painfully aware of his heavy cock, throbbing and practically dripping precum, demanding attention Poe can't give. His arms pull at Peter's grip on his wrist, his writhing kicking up again, wholly unintentionally with nowhere to go, as the need to come starts to supersede his willingness to submit to Peter, in what ways he has. He just wants to touch his cock, just needs to so badly, and he presses his forehead to the sheets with another wrecked moan, unselfconsciously loud. ]
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