He wouldn't have heard it anyway, his body and mind on a singular purpose. His fingers spread into Peter's hair, keeping him still as he rocks gently forward. Any faster and he'll lose it, but the pace is driving him insane either way. Without knowing which sounds are his, and which are Peter's, he opens his mouth against Peter's skin, unable to keep his own reaction quiet. Each centimeter he takes feels like a mile, unending and tortuous in its keeping them apart. He's never held anything so tightly as he holds Peter now, not stopping until he's fully buried in the other man.
Long seconds pass just like that, quiet eternities lit only by their heartbeats. His own sounds are pathetic, but he muffles them in Peter's flesh, hips twitching to move but he can't just yet. Slowly, he raises his face to meet Peter's, only lurching forward to cover his lips. The movement drags his body with him and his mouth opens up into a cry against Peter's, wanting nothing more than to end them both. But he's determined to drag this out, waiting for ages on end to feel what it is to fill Peter; to see it reflected on the other man's face.
It's intoxicating in itself, the waiting, and he finds he mind be undone by simply this. It's almost perfect, and moving means pulling further away. It seems almost heartbreakingly cruel, and the physics of it hang him up. For a beat, he even entertains the thought of staying like this until morning, but even he doesn't have that resolve, or that cruelty.
Grabbing Peter's face roughly in his hands, he pushes back with a shattered exhale of the abandoned. The sound that follows is broken and high, and he's moving quickly to cover it up; the snap of his hips brutal in comparison to his earlier rhythm. His eyes light with something then, a bit of himself pushing past the fog, and he's pressing into Peter's lips, needing them to ground him before he's gone for good.
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Long seconds pass just like that, quiet eternities lit only by their heartbeats. His own sounds are pathetic, but he muffles them in Peter's flesh, hips twitching to move but he can't just yet. Slowly, he raises his face to meet Peter's, only lurching forward to cover his lips. The movement drags his body with him and his mouth opens up into a cry against Peter's, wanting nothing more than to end them both. But he's determined to drag this out, waiting for ages on end to feel what it is to fill Peter; to see it reflected on the other man's face.
It's intoxicating in itself, the waiting, and he finds he mind be undone by simply this. It's almost perfect, and moving means pulling further away. It seems almost heartbreakingly cruel, and the physics of it hang him up. For a beat, he even entertains the thought of staying like this until morning, but even he doesn't have that resolve, or that cruelty.
Grabbing Peter's face roughly in his hands, he pushes back with a shattered exhale of the abandoned. The sound that follows is broken and high, and he's moving quickly to cover it up; the snap of his hips brutal in comparison to his earlier rhythm. His eyes light with something then, a bit of himself pushing past the fog, and he's pressing into Peter's lips, needing them to ground him before he's gone for good.