He's thinking about their last encounter too. Not only is the bed a nice addition, but the quiet of empty streets is deafening, and yet still quieter than rain on a roof. Where everything them had seemed hurried and urgent, this is something more substantial. It makes his chest tighten, but not in fear, and it's all he can do to pull Peter deeper into his arms, if such a place exists.

"Peter," he breathes, burying his fingers along the man's side. He desperately needs to be inside, but letting go is as unpleasant a prospect as it is infeasible.

Still, he can't go on forever like this, each press of Peter's hips pulling out a low, guttural sound. His fingers dip between them at long last, holding his breath from where his face is buried in Peter's neck. Slowly, they travel down, giving little warning before pressing in.