marchingjaybird (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} marchingjaybird) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} porn_battle, |
“She was flirting with you,” he’d said.
“She wasn’t,” Peter had protested.
“She was.”
“I’m married!”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Well, I’m not interested.”
And that had been the last word on the matter, but Neal was never content to let something drop. She had been beautiful, that rare pairing of dark hair and pale eyes, and the vulnerability that spoke to Peter’s masculine need to protect. He’d hovered over her, reassured her, touched her hand and Neal had felt that familiar curdling in his stomach.
That was then. This is now.
Hard tile digs up into his knees, sending aching pain up his thighs and through his hips, and when he shifts to get a more comfortable position, Peter’s hand tightens in his hair, holds him still, pulls him down further until he gags a little and shakes his head. Peter’s prick is heavy and thick in his mouth, fever-hot, and he hollows his cheeks to hold it tighter. His tongue strokes up the bottom of the shaft, curls around the head as he gently pulls back, and Peter’s fingers tremble against his cheek.
He raises his hand and turns his face, lazily stroking as he licks each finger in turn, gently wetting the pads and ending each caress with a kiss from swollen, aching lips. Peter stares down at him raptly. Moisture drags across his flushed cheekbones and he obeys the silent instruction, wrapping his lips around the head of Peter’s cock again.
One hand cups the back of his head. The other grips him by the chin. Peter’s hips move, shifting and rolling, in and out, and Neal braces his hands on Peter’s thighs and moans softly as Peter fucks his willing mouth, in and out, faster and harder until he’s sure that there will be bruises. His manicured nails dig desperately into Peter’s skin, urging him to finish.
A twitch, a jerk, a sigh. Peter’s come floods Neal’s mouth and he swallows by reflex, fingers relaxing, smoothing their way down Peter’s legs. He sucks and nuzzles until Peter’s prick is exhausted, then falls back to stare up at Peter with a dazed smile on his face. Peter pulls his pants up, buckles his belt, then strong hands slip beneath Neal’s arms and pull him to his feet. He rests against Peter’s chest and listens to his heart slow down.
“That was good,” Peter murmurs. “What the hell was it?”
“Just a little something to remember me by,” Neal answers. Rough fingers stroke his lips and he sighs against them, vulnerable again.