nostalgiabomb: (091)
Peter Quill ([personal profile] nostalgiabomb) wrote 2018-01-17 08:17 pm (UTC)

[ His breath catches with each drag of her teeth, each press of her lips, each twist of her wrist, and as she whispers against his ear, he—

Okay. That’s. That’s a good fucking promise, apparently, because he lets out a sound that’s very nearly a whine, and he thrusts into her hand desperately, almost frantically. And when the tempo changes, when her hand pauses at the tip of his cock, he stops breathing entirely, hips rocking to urge her back into the same rhythm.

Yeah, he wants to say, definitely on board with that, but coherent thought has escaped him, now. He thinks his voice might have spilled from him at some point, spiraling down the drain with the rest of the water, and all he’s left with is this – the feeling of her hand, her body, her lips and teeth and tongue and breath on him. His grip tightens in her hair, as much to keep her in place as a way to anchor himself.

All he can really manage is another strained, needy noise, and a quick nod. Yep. Yeah. Sounds fucking awesome. ]

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