It's not even close to what Peter had expected and for a brief moment, Peter contemplates the benefits of shouting that it's just not fair, that he can't take the maddening slowing of the moment, not when it so obviously magnifies his own frantic behavior. For only a few seconds, he's frozen under the watch, not sure how he should be reacting when moments before it was Adam who was owning each breath of his. Peter didn't want to steal the limelight, but now he has no choice, and he's sweating under the strain.
If bearing witness to Peter's need was what Adam wanted, then it's what he'll get. Peter tries to hold himself back, he really does, but denying his wants is like removing a part of himself, and he has so few left. Head snapping back in a display of abject frustration, Peter nearly cries out, the sound laced with everything he wants. Peter didn't want to be the one to take the lead, but now here he is, dropping his face back down and nosing back in against the warmth of Adam's neck, attempting to ignore the desperate sounds he's making, frantic whimpers dragged from the depths of his lungs, splayed across Adam's skin where his fingers can't be.
From his position, Peter can't do much but try to shove offending fabric out of the way, though if he was more ambitious, he'd be fighting for all the more. Except it's obvious that Peter's fingers are avoiding too much, touches regulated, even now. All he wants at this very second is the last few layers gone between them, the fabric impossible to bear as it's driving them apart and Peter can't take it. "Adam," His name is sharp on Peter's tongue, a plea for help, for the other man not to leave him like this, an exhibit of his unbridled desire. He can feel Adam's muscles twitching beneath his fingers and it drives him even further down, muttering a litany of curse words against Adam's hot skin as Peter works only Adam's boxers, only further evidence to provide Adam that Peter's need is enough to split him open.
no subject
If bearing witness to Peter's need was what Adam wanted, then it's what he'll get. Peter tries to hold himself back, he really does, but denying his wants is like removing a part of himself, and he has so few left. Head snapping back in a display of abject frustration, Peter nearly cries out, the sound laced with everything he wants. Peter didn't want to be the one to take the lead, but now here he is, dropping his face back down and nosing back in against the warmth of Adam's neck, attempting to ignore the desperate sounds he's making, frantic whimpers dragged from the depths of his lungs, splayed across Adam's skin where his fingers can't be.
From his position, Peter can't do much but try to shove offending fabric out of the way, though if he was more ambitious, he'd be fighting for all the more. Except it's obvious that Peter's fingers are avoiding too much, touches regulated, even now. All he wants at this very second is the last few layers gone between them, the fabric impossible to bear as it's driving them apart and Peter can't take it. "Adam," His name is sharp on Peter's tongue, a plea for help, for the other man not to leave him like this, an exhibit of his unbridled desire. He can feel Adam's muscles twitching beneath his fingers and it drives him even further down, muttering a litany of curse words against Adam's hot skin as Peter works only Adam's boxers, only further evidence to provide Adam that Peter's need is enough to split him open.