Needing to break the not kiss before he drowns, Peter's not the only one shaking. Adam can barely stay upright, lost to the feeling, nails scraping down Peter's side as if that could get him closer. It isn't enough, and it isn't possible, his hips slowing their cant all the more. Opening his eyes as wide as they'll go, he takes Peter one delicate inch by delicate inch until he's there; and he's as deep as their bodies will allow, but he can't scratch the itch that something is missing. That he could do more.
Adam lets out a desperate cry of his own, fingers darting out to curl around Peter's hand. He squeezes until his knuckles go white, sliding back just enough to catch and it almost tips him over but he's holding to that ledge like he's holding to Peter's fingers, with an almost bruising force. His head falls back and he's gone, every hint of movement threatening to break him.
Coming back from the brink with not a second to spare, his free hand digs into Peter's hip as he lifts off the other man to gain a new angle. He's pressing forward, achingly and impossibly slower, needing Peter's name to breathe as surely as oxygen. He stays again, feeling closer and further away, all at maddening once. Almost afraid to move this time, his fingers take root in Peter's flesh, watching him with a hawk-like expression.
There's nothing left to take and yet he takes it, needing this slow burn like nothing he's ever felt. Peter is hot and real and overwhelmingly there, and it makes him jerk his hips without moving back at all. Even breathing is too much moving and he tries to stop, to no avail; the allure of release scratching just under his skin.
no subject
Adam lets out a desperate cry of his own, fingers darting out to curl around Peter's hand. He squeezes until his knuckles go white, sliding back just enough to catch and it almost tips him over but he's holding to that ledge like he's holding to Peter's fingers, with an almost bruising force. His head falls back and he's gone, every hint of movement threatening to break him.
Coming back from the brink with not a second to spare, his free hand digs into Peter's hip as he lifts off the other man to gain a new angle. He's pressing forward, achingly and impossibly slower, needing Peter's name to breathe as surely as oxygen. He stays again, feeling closer and further away, all at maddening once. Almost afraid to move this time, his fingers take root in Peter's flesh, watching him with a hawk-like expression.
There's nothing left to take and yet he takes it, needing this slow burn like nothing he's ever felt. Peter is hot and real and overwhelmingly there, and it makes him jerk his hips without moving back at all. Even breathing is too much moving and he tries to stop, to no avail; the allure of release scratching just under his skin.