It took a bit for Bobby to come down from that high; he couldn't remember the last time he'd come so powerfully. In that time, everything was heat and feeling. He could feel Peter's arms around him, strong and comforting like a promise of safety. He could feel Peter's breath on his skin, on his mouth, and then the press of his lips. He knew the taste of himself (way too much experience in the safe, closeted privacy of his room), but the salt of it combined with the sweetness of Peter's mouth was something new to savor completely. And then there was the dull ache between his legs, the aftershock of so much pent-up arousal totally spent that went through his sensitive body like little tremors. And then there was the throbbing between his legs, lower and deeper that he never wanted to end.
He could feel Peter swell even wider inside of him and every man knew that almost panicked fervor that heralded his climax. Bobby held on to him like a port in the storm and let Peter wreck against him with abandon.
"Fuck, Peter, I can feel you filling me up," Bobby moaned, keenly aware of each spurt of his lover's seed jetting inside him and splashing against the walls of his ass. How many times had he fantasized about this feeling in the dark of night, in the secret safety of his dreams?
"I want it all, fuck, baby, I love it."
He clung to Peter's body and cradled him, coaxing him down off that high just like the other man had done for him. Bobby ran his hands across sweaty skin, his fingers through damp hair. He kissed Peter's neck and pressed a hand against his heart, just to feel the thrum of it. Just to feel close and connected to this other man.