onepassingnight | volume 4

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volume 4

There's something eerie about walking through an empty New York, a place that's supposed to be the opposite of a cowboy ghost town. At least there aren't any tumbleweeds. But it always leaves Peter feeling hallowed out in all the wrong ways, lost with nothing left to find. He doesn't even bother looking into the windows of empty buildings; he's done this too many times to know that there's nothing there to see, that there won't be anyone else looking back.

The sound of his footsteps echo far too loudly and Peter sighs, trying to ignore the part of him that keeps getting its hopes up at the turn of every corner. There's not going to be anyone there waiting. Not at this street or the next, and yet Peter peers around each street, down every alley, still searching for the remnants of people that might have passed by. Maybe if he listens hard enough he'll hear something outside of the thoughts inside his own head.

He's already done all his shouting, he always tries it, seeing if the sound of his voice might bring any wanderers out from hiding. But he always stops just before going hoarse, there's no point. Turning at another street corner, Peter will never enjoy feeling as if he's the last person left on earth.

[ ooc; feel free to hit up this post however you'd like to -- be it prose or actionspam/brackets. i'll respond accordingly ]

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Letting his shirt fall to the floor with a swish, he's still working at getting Peter's over his head without having to pull away. It's an impossible task, but he can't tear himself away, not as long as Peter's soft lips yield to his. He feels the same sense of rightness, bare skin prickling against the fabric as he does his best to slide closer.

Peter's roving fingers send a shudder up his side, tightening his hold around his waist. He's not sure what more they could have to say, but it doesn't stop him from slipping muffled words in against Peter's mouth, some which sound like vague apologies, or renditions of the other's name. Not that the words matter, anymore.

When he finally has to draw back for a breath, Peter's shirt joins his on the floor, hands moving over exposed flesh with freshly awoken hunger. It isn't about sex as much as it is about getting close; about covering Peter with every inch he has to offer.

Catching his breath against Peter's ear, his hip bumps the other man's, pushing him further back from the edge. "Don't cry," he manages, gently, lips dragging across Peter's jaw. "I'm here." Each short sentence means less and less, but he still feels like he's failed Peter somehow, and he's not sure how to make up for it.

Curling a hand around Adam's neck, Peter's other is still holding fast to his back, Adam's words dragging a harried breath from his throat. Peter's not sure how he's even breathing anymore when he feels like his throat closed shut hours ago, but he keeps managing it, chest aching with the effort. He'd been trying to lay waste to his own needs and he's certain the effort only made them grow double fold and now he's almost embarrassed that Adam has to deal with the repercussions. Peter's nudging himself carefully into each and every one of Adam's touches, searching for every ounce of comfort from things most would find next to nothing.

"I know," is the best Peter can come up with in response, and it's a breath as much as it is words. But it's an acknowledgement none the less, his fingers hooking at the waist of Adam's trousers in a firm attempt to try to drag Adam flush against himself.

Peter's still twitching from overly frayed emotions, sensitive to even Adam's grazing fingers. The way Peter's digging his heels into the bed betrays his attempts at relaxing, but he's trying, muscles tense as he presses his lips breathlessly to Adam's shoulder, his neck, trying to find his pulse not a moment later. Peter's well aware of his own racing heartbeat, but he wants to find the steady rhythm in Adam's, just one more thing to ground himself in.

"Adam..." He has to say his name, has to form the word against his skin, and it sounds more like a question than anything. Peter's pleading against Adam's ear and it's obvious why. But instead of coming up with even more words, his mouth once again finds Adam's, letting himself swallow any of his other desperate words as he tries to open himself completely if only so that Adam can help him hide it all.

The sound of his own name leaves him fragile, answering Peter's question with the seal of their mouths. He presses Peter gently back, the mattress sighing under them, slipping a gasp in against Peter's lips. Every mapping touch is reassuring and almost tormentingly soft, his heart betraying him with its quick beat.

A few tears track his own face, unnoticed as he puts more of himself behind the kiss, until all of him moves back into Peter's advances, chest tight and hot with anticipation. Soothing hands run over Peter's side, trying to calm with brutal gentility. It would be immeasurably more successful if his own hands weren't shaking.

He's supposed to be Peter's rock, be solid for him while everything else fades, and the pressure it builds is nearly too much, though he's already working at the zip of Peter's jeans. The more they touch, the more Adam can forget where they are; can make Peter forget. "I'm right here," he's reminding Peter between raggedly drawn breaths, digging his fingers in to demonstrate his corporeality.

It's tempting to leave his eyes open just so Peter can keep even better track of Adam, though that's not to say that his fingers aren't enough. But he keeps slipping, lost between emotions and the way Adam's touches are more dissembling than anything twice as aggressive might be. His eyes are falling half lidded as he noses against Adam's cheek, lips finding the last remnants of tears. He might want Adam to be strong enough for the both of them right now, but that doesn't mean it doesn't own him completely to know that Adam also has his limits.

With a near desperate sound, Peter's trying to keep himself grounded by memorizing all that he can of the other man. Tracing ribs, Peter's palm spanning the distance between his shoulder blades, his fingers timing the seconds it takes to draw down Adam's lower back. All of it, and still Peter wants to say but, but what if something happens, but what if there's no more next time's. It's still hanging there, the word still taunting him at the back of his mind.

Bringing his knees up along both of Adam's sides, Peter buries his face in against the taller man's neck, mumbling things he's certain he's not strong enough to say loudly. "I don't want you to go," and words filled to the brim with need and loneliness and all the 'but's' he wishes he could ignore on his own. He's not going to cry anymore, he can't, he won't let himself; there's no more left, but Peter's breaking down all the same. Lifting himself into every touch, only giving further proof to how badly he needs every demonstration Adam is willing to offer, Peter's touch is just as possessive, claiming the other man for the safe-hold he so badly needs.

Eyelashes fluttering against the feel of Peter's lips on his cheek, he can only pull him closer, willing his own tears to stop. It isn't as easy a task as it should be, with Peter's crumpling imminent; with those pleading words dropping from crooked lips. Adam latches onto Peter's throat, needing to feel his pulse as surely as his own.

"I won't go," he's insisting, believing the words and yet unable to promise them. He would be lost without Peter; without these dreams, and so he attempts to find himself in the other man, mouth colliding with his again.

Though a promise would reassure them both, it would bring a reality to the dreaming world it wasn't meant to uphold. He knows, as Peter does, that one day their dream paths may no longer cross, and nothing Adam says now will change it. A few more salty remnants hit Peter's collarbone and he wants to deny them, like he wants to deny the truth.

His lips shiver against Peter's and he pulls back just an inch, not sure why he's chosen now to start crying, but now he isn't sure how to stop. Pulling close to Peter's ear, he speaks, trying to explain with quaking voice. "I will find you, Peter." The conditionals linger, but he goes on. "You won't be rid of me so easily."

The last thing Peter wants is promises that he knows neither of them are able to keep, to no fault of their own; he's already been on the receiving end of too much false hope and he's grown more than tired of it. But he'll take whatever he can get, grappling with himself to believe things Adam's working to make him hear.

But it isn't fair that Adam had expected him to stop crying only moments after he started himself and Peter abandons his favored task of touching every inch of skin available to him and cupping the other man's face in his hands, capturing tears against his palms. He's not sure he can do it for very long, maintain eye contact, his eyes nearly as wet as Adam's and instinct demands he try to hide his face. Adam's already been putting forth the effort, so he can try to do the same, even if it makes his chest ache, shaking from the brunt of immeasurable emotions.

"How can I get rid of you when the only thing that's real here is us." Pushing his lips up against Adam's, Peter doesn't care that this is a dream. He's done this before, lived in false realities, existed in places that should have never been. But that hardly takes away their meaning, and in a way, he's convinced they might mean even more. To try to wave them off as something less would be ridiculous, and he's only pulling Adam that much closer, trying to make up the falsehoods of their landscape with the reality of touch.

Pulling back but only far enough to speak, lips brushing ghostly kisses against Adam's, he lets his fingertips travel along the line of his jaw, spanning the distance nearly all the way down to his hip, trying to bring them flush together. Ignoring the sliding of tears down his face, entirely unaware of their his own or Adam's and beyond the point of caring, Peter once again fumbles for quiet words. "You're only here because of me-- I can't do this without you."

He can't help the shiver Peter's fingers draw through him, but the words are his undoing. Though he knows it to be futile, he still pushes his face in against Peter's to hide the tears, frame racking with silent sobs, he's desperately clinging to every bit of the other man he can reach. Adam can't remember the last time he cried in front of another person in the waking world, but here it's Peter who always gets the brunt of his tears. He knows just how unfair it is, but it doesn't stop them; the catharsis begun.

It doesn't stop him though from kissing back, even as his lungs burn from the effort. Only a very few times in his long life could Adam ever say he had truly been loved, but even that was nothing compared to now; to Peter. Peter is so much different from anyone he's ever met, which seems silly for a four hundred year old man to say. But he isn't disputing its silliness, only marking its truth with each brush of his mouth and touch of his fingers.

"I am only here because of you," he's repeating, voice hushed and strained from holding himself back, hand burying itself in Peter's hair as he speaks again into his ear. "And you won't have to."

Pressing his lips against whatever he can get to, Peter's mouth settles in against the line of Adam's jaw while he tries to convince himself he's capable of continuing to breathe. But he's not sure he is, his chest wound tight with sentiments he's trying to hold as close as Adam himself. Peter's barely holding himself together, squeezing his eyes shut to subdue the blurring of the rest of the world, waiting for it all to fall away and leave only them.

"Adam-" Peter's voice is shaky at best, not even as firm as the touches he's scattering at the other man's back. Lips catching just beneath Adam's ear, Peter forces himself to find his voice again, before he loses any other words that might be worth saying. "I love you," is all that he has left, but even saying it makes him shake, the sentiment driving him to try to find Adam's mouth with his own.

Trying to catch the tears at Adam's cheek with the pad of his thumb, Peter can only do his best to soften his touch, but it's edged with his still raging desperation for comfort. The other man's release of emotions is mixing with his own, until Peter's not sure if he's scrambling because of himself or because of Adam, trying to pull him in to fix them both. Dampening Adam's tears means ignoring his own, but he can barely care when all that matters is tangling himself in all that the other man is.

He lets out something like a whimper against Peter's lips, fingers winding in the sheets to try to gain some sort of leverage. He can't respond in words, but he can show Peter how he feels; working at removing the layers between them. It's all he can do not to fall apart, needing to get as close to Peter as he can. Adam can only hope he doesn't have to say the words, his frame racking more violently than the one beneath him.

The sound his trousers make when they hit the floor is deafening, but he can barely hear it over his own breathing. He's given up on trying to stop the tears, letting them fall and mingle in with Peter's. They seem inconsequential now compared to crawling under Peter's skin, biting into his lips as he forgets himself. His need for slow and close and hot and tight is being quickly surpassed by desperation as it builds under his skin, lips breaking from Peter's mouth to trace the line of his jaw.

With still quaking hands, he pins Peter to the bed, fingers digging into the man's hip. "I know," he's choking out, not sure where the ability to speak sprang up from. Tasting saline as he mouths back up to Peter's ear, it's still unmistakably Peter and he can't stop himself from tearing back in, leg making its way between Peter's.

All Peter wants is to forget himself against Adam, needy sounds catching at the back at his throat before he can even try to keep them from escaping. Long past is the time for trying to hold himself back, even when that means putting on display exactly how badly he wants Adam, how badly he wants the other man to be able to take the control that Peter never wanted in the first place. With everyone else gone, it's been handed to him like some sort of apologetic keepsake to make up for all that he's lost, and it's the last thing he ever wanted; even now, all he wants is to be taken.

Peter doesn't know whether to use his hands for trying to get out of his jeans or for getting at Adam's newly exposed skin, but trying to solve that problem alone is enough to overly frustrate him, his breathing strangled as his fingers catch at Adam's boxers. Palming Adam's hips with firm touches, Peter's every muscle is winding tighter, tipping his face away so he press his mouth to the crook of Adam's neck, his shoulder, the edge of his collarbone. Laying claim to the bare skin pressed against his own is nearly impossible when he wants to be owned wholly so badly but Peter doesn't care about the contradiction.

Under Adam's hold, Peter's squirming, hips unable to work against Adam's thigh, though he's trying his best to seek friction. Instead, he's sliding his legs along the length of Adam's, heel hooking with his, tangling himself up in Adam any way he can think to. Peter is past the point of words, whimpers chasing his every breath as his fingers work up beneath the thin fabric of Adam's boxers, pulling him in closer.

Owning every inch of Peter is exactly what he's set about to do, though he's distracted by the man's roaming mouth, opening his mouth in a sharp intake of breath. The heel of his hand digs into the front of Peter's jeans, the other man's squirming taking him apart. Adam gives way to a possessive cry, teeth ripping into Peter's earlobe. All his carefully acquired control is gone in an instant, but Peter still looks to him for guidance, and it isn't long before denim joins the pile of clothing on the floor.

"Peter," it's not so much a word as it is a gasp for breath; a proclamation, Adam's mouth seeking the hot flesh of Peter's neck in triumph. He's still holding the other man fast to the mattress, as if he were a true flight risk. He sucks in on the hollow of Peter's throat, finding his steady pulse, lips going numb from the heavy beat.

He needs all of Peter, and it's an all-senses-consuming need. But he's practically thrumming with the terror of running out of time. It spurs him on, ramping up the pace when he wants nothing more than the slow, deliberate exploring of a man with exactly eternity. But here there's a limit and he feels inexplicably as though he's racing himself, raw lips finding Peter's again, thumb slipping over his pulse to take their place.

As much as Peter would give for all of this to be taken slowly, to let Adam take him apart in slow, unending increments, he's not sure he could stand the sheer torture of it. Or maybe he could, he's getting enough of a taste of it by being held against the mattress, the perfect ache that he can't do away with settling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe if he had half a mind he'd tell Adam that he set his alarm just a little bit later, but he doesn't have the breath to spare, wet lips sliding in against the other man's, tongue seeking his.

Peter's hand abandons it's grip at Adam's thigh and tightens back into blonde hair, muffling a groan against his mouth. Eyes squeezed shut, before he even runs out of air, Peter pulls back enough to let go of a strangled whimper from the back of his throat, the release necessary since he can't lift his hips and find what he's looking for. "Adam..." He won't beg, not yet, though it can almost be found in the lilt of his voice if Adam was looking hard enough. But he won't say it, if only because he's starting to enjoy the build up far too much, his tears gone and replaced by forced breaths.

Nosing in against Adam's cheek while he tries to stifle any more sounds, Peter's other hand finds purchase at the other's hip, thumb pressing in to the angle Adam's body provides. His fingers are teasing at the elastic of one of the two layers left between them, but Peter can't bring himself to go any further just yet. If it's to drive both of them mad, he's not entirely sure; maybe it's out of some desire to show Adam they have a hint of extra time, but he's doing it all the same, lips pressing in to the corner of Adam's mouth in a fumbled attempt at a kiss.

His hips jerk before he can hold himself back, falling forward into Peter's, and he has to press twice as hard into the kiss to muffle the sound. Closing his fingers around Peter's throat sends a jolt through him, as if he can feel his own power in the gesture, heady with the control it brings. Peter is his and suddenly the fast or slow doesn't seem to matter half as much.

"Peter," he hisses, swallowing his own word with Peter's tongue, hips seeking friction of their own. He stops just short, madness surely forthcoming, taking the opportunity to bite down on Peter's lip. The walls are closing in, and if they had to be the last people on Earth, the least they could do is enjoy each other.

Letting up his grip on Peter's windpipe, Adam's kiss only gains cruelty, tearing Peter's mouth open and claiming it for his own. His leg slides against Peter's, catching with hitched breath, but it's with all his strength that he bears down, keeping Peter exactly where he needs to be.

If Peter had been putting up a fight before, it's nothing compared to now, though if anything it's a struggle for more. Lost to his own submission, digging his heels into the mattress does nothing to earn him the leverage he's trying to find, and Peter would be crying out if he could drag himself away from Adam's mouth long enough to do so. Regaining the ability to breathe only makes his mind spin faster, and he tightens his hold on Adam, keeping himself locked in close.

He's trying to pull breaths from the depths of Adam's lungs and he's still ending up with nothing, lungs burning sharply as the rest of him. But it doesn't matter as long as he can spurn Adam on, fingers biting into skin, providing the only encouragement he can think to offer apart from frantic whimpers. But everything he's offering is for Adam to take, every sound, every inch, every twitch of muscle is up for Adam's taking.

There's nothing left but them, and it's all Peter wants. Though trying to grind against Adam's is still proving futile, it's enough to pull another maddened sound from him, and it only takes a few more seconds before Peter's tugging sharply down on Adam's elastic waistband, almost sparing a thought to wonder if Adam will put up with it or drag his hands away. Every action is measured to Adam's possession and it's all Peter wants, kiss leaving him raw.

Adam has no issue taking, every touch engineered to take a piece of Peter for his own. But no one part is enough, and even as they add up, he's driving himself to drink with the build-up. Soon none of it will be enough, and he rides dangerously along that edge, fingers tugging sharply through Peter's hair. He tears his mouth away to breathe, pupils blown out as they focus in on Peter's mania. Each squirm and lurch of the man beneath him makes Adam want it, and he has to reach out and grab the man's thigh roughly to keep himself from reacting.

He doesn't need Peter's encouragement, but he's not turning down the noise. The louder Peter is, the louder Adam wants him to be, brushing his fingers against crooked lips. Each touch is a demand, a possession in its own right, thumb sliding against Peter's mouth as he entertains thoughts of another bruising kiss. Not wanting to part with the sound of Peter's giving, Adam's lips ghost over instead, tongue tracing the crease of Peter's mouth until it's almost too much for him to continue.

Pulling back, he watches. Instead of pushing Peter's questing fingers away, hs eyes encourage them, tongue darting out to wet dry lips as he waits on the lid of madness for what happens next. His gaze is trained, and the warning is clear, but for now he wants Peter to take the lead. Not truly in practice, but so that he can feel Peter's need, muscles jumping in his stomach to meet hot fingers. Soon enough he'll take charge again, but this is a challenge as much for Peter as it is himself; to see how long they both might last.

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.

He would laugh if he were able, but Peter's stolen his voice, each tortured sound making him want all the more. If he could bear it himself, he would let Peter go on like this, his frantic yet calculating fingers driving Adam closer to an end not yet in sight. His own fingers tighten in the man's hair, tugging enough to hurt until their lips collide again. He drinks in every sound, almost hating to silence Peter's neediness. If only this moment could go on, and wrap around eternity, but Adam knows it's his move now, carelessly tearing into Peter's mouth.

Intercepting the man's fingers, he drags them away, pinning his wrist back against the sheet as he travels. Starting at Peter's throat, his other hand moves, dragging heavily down his side until he hooks in the elastic of the offending garment. If he could have found his voice, he might have asked Peter to beg, but he doesn't need it; not with the man struggling so obviously toward the same end, his own name dropping from Peter's acid mouth.

He scrapes his teeth along Peter's throat as his hand makes contact, the touch almost hesitant as he works boxers off one leg at a time. Hanging back again to watch, his own fingers fingers build on a wandering dance, never being where they need to be, and grip always fleeting. His eyes are dark and wanting where they bore into Peter, needing to be there when the last of the man falls to pieces. Gentle strokes gain confidence the surer Peter is falling apart, a wanton moan slipping from Adam's lips before he's even realized it.

Flexing his fingers as if the act alone might allow him to reach, Peter can only drawl out a long whimper, encouraging Adam's slight touches to become something more, something heavier. Reddening under Adam's dark gaze, Peter brings his face closer to the other man's, lips brushing against his in an attempt to capture sounds he's making himself, wanting to feel the vibrations of Adam's breath. But he doesn't have the capacity for intoxicated kisses, head dropping back down against the mattress not a moment later, Adam's touches only enough to fuel his addiction.

With his free hand, Peter latches onto Adam's waist, using the tight hold to cant his hips up against the other man's in a twitchy movement better left for a man with more control. But Peter wants Adam pressed flush now that he can have it, trying to ignore the tight pull of his own muscles in favor of losing his mind to get every hint of skin against skin that he can, sweat making every movement frustratingly slick.

The torture is nearly as sweet as the goal itself, and in part, Peter thinks he might be willing to beg for this to go on for all of eternity. Nipping at Adam's jaw only makes Peter feel all the more submissive, all of his writhing the only thing he has to offer. But even Peter won't let the fingers of his free hand delve any further, caught at the impasse of Adam's hip, the hard muscle of the other man's thigh unrelenting to his tight hold, willing to wait out the tease of Adam's touches to make the ending that much better. Except he can tell himself this for as long as he wants, but that doesn't change his squirming. Pulling at his wrist to see exactly the extent of Adam's control, Peter's hunting for just how far Adam will go to ignore his own still unfurling desperation, only growing hotter as the seconds pass.

Not wanting to disappoint, he crushes Peter's wrist under his grip, the full force of his weight behind the action. He chases Peter's lips, hips settling against the slighter man as his hand dances away entirely, letting his body do the work his hand has abandoned. His fingers slide up and over Peter's side, and suddenly they're as flush as they both want, his mouth brushing incomplete kisses over and over again.

He traps Peter's other hand without warning, encircling his other wrist with just as much strength. They both want Peter to surrender himself completely, and working towards it only heats his flesh tenfold. Peter is his to manipulate and move to his will, and it's only a matter of time before it comes crashing down on them both.

"I love you," he hisses amidst another kiss, desperate to show Peter just how much. "You're mine." An afterthought he doesn't know he's more than thought, but even without expressing it aloud the intend is in every possessing touch and owning quiver.

Even with his jaw clenched, Peter can't reign in the groan that's torn from his lungs and at best he tries to press in for another kiss, trying to steal the rest of Adam's words before he can even say them. He's not sure he can take another outward admission of Adam's ownership, the words alone making him ache, heat coiling in his stomach. But all Peter manages is broken breaths against his lips, shaking under Adam's hold.

Peter's already given himself over completely, but that doesn't mean he isn't attempting the occasional unconscious tug to his wrists, though it's more out of the need to touch Adam than it is out of some further trial to test his limits. He can hardly stand it, all his writhing beneath only contributes to working his hips up against Adam's, though it's not as if he could actually stop that, unwilling as he is to try.

Nosing beneath the line of Adam's jaw, Peter's lost himself to Adam's whims and there's no use trying to catch his breath. "I'm yours," Peter forces out his reply against Adam's cheek, working his body against Adam's to meet every one of his advances, "Adam, please." At long last, Peter whimpers the word against the crook of Adam's neck. He doesn't even know what he's begging for, further completion maybe, but it's there and it's hot and needy and Peter can't stop the echoing of the word now the he's let it loose.

And Adam hears the echo himself, even seconds later as he tries to catch his breath against Peter's cheek. Though his tears are dry, his skin still feels tight in reminder, not that he could forget. Not with Peter the way he is, giving everything of himself and begging for the rest to be taken. It isn't fair, that Peter expects so much from him while Adam's crumbling just as much, but he still doesn't want it any other way.

Unbidden, a groan is pulled from his chest, only encouraging Peter's squirming as he grinds back against him. Suddenly he needs more, and those hot hands trailing over his back feels like all the more he could ever need. Hoping to feel them, he releases Peter's wrists, pressing in as close as he can to choke out one word. "Anything."

Anything for Peter; he would do anything. He can only try to make this moment enough for now, scrabbling to get in between Peter's legs, nudging his thighs apart with an uneven breath of the overwhelmed. He's scattering kisses against the side of Peter's face, newly-freed fingers tracking gently down his sides. He needs to show Peter that everything isn't lost; isn't broken, or at least make him believe it, if only for a second.

The very second he has the chance, Peter's hands are once again at Adam's back, clinging tight as if he hasn't had the opportunity to do so in years. Breath released sharply against Adam's ear, for a few seconds Peter simply enjoys the freedom of touching where he will, no restraint to his explorations. Fingers marking paths down the other man's skin, Peter's laying possessive claim in the only way he can.

Yet at the same time, he's simultaneously trying to open himself wider, drawing a knee up along Adam's side. Digging his heel into the bed gives Peter all the more incentive to arch his hips up against the other man's, but it takes a few seconds to stop himself from the act once he's started, parting his thighs further and shifting to allow Adam to settle in even closer.

Everything about this is different from their last encounter and Peter's blissfully thankful for the mattress at his back, but anticipation is tightening his every muscle. Curling a hand at Adam's neck, fingertips teasing at the damp hair curling at his nape, Peter buries his face in against Adam's neck, a breathy whimper the only indication that Peter's nerves are completely frayed. He's still considerably newer at this than he feels like he should be and with everything else worn away, that fact is once again showing through. But there's no covering it up and Peter's still holding tight, desperate for Adam to complete him, to be the final proof that he's not completely alone.

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.

Suddenly, Peter's trying his hardest to swallow sounds he doesn't want to let go of, nose pressed to Adams shoulder. Relaxing isn't something that comes easily to Peter anymore and at the invasion he tenses even further, the action tearing a pained whimper from his throat. Trying to duck his face down against Adam's collar, trying to distract himself with the sound of the other man's breathing, it's all Peter can to do fight with himself.

It's impossible to ignore the urge to beg Adam to give into it and tear into him, to get this part over with even if it hurts. And yet some part of him wants this slow burn, the ache that's setting his nerves on fire; it's one more piece of Adam owning him, taking him apart from the inside out. His own fingers are biting into Adam's back, leaving a trail of quickly disappearing marks, Peter's sign of existence against the man fleeting.

And maybe that's one small part of why Peter suddenly rolls his hips, sinking Adam's fingers in deeper, faster than he should. But he wants to feel Adam, to literally have him tearing him apart. Squeezing his eyes shut, feeling them watering behind his eyelids, all Peter can do is dig his fingers in harder and hope Adam understands.

Adam does understand, and it's why with a shuddering breath, he removes his fingers, already lining himself up as his teeth tear into Peter's throat. He releases a litany of nonsense words, carefulness forgotten with the bite of Peter's nails. He's cursing, proclaiming his ownership to the dark room as he watches Peter's body beg for it. He's biting into his own lip, trying to keep from crying out just from the sight.

Never has it been like this for Adam, not even last time. This slow ache of need building in his chest, threatening to tear him inside out. This is something different, and he wants it all at once, fighting with himself not to let it be over before it's begun.

With a high-pitched noise, he's pressing in, breathing harried and labored against Peter's cheek. He needs to capture every moment, to preserve it in time to revisit when they can afford the time. For now, there's only this, but it's almost enough to burst him open. His heartbeat is erratic, thundering loud in his ears and directing every action. He needs to pause, to take in Peter at this moment, hips slowing too much for himself to bear. But he pushes on, Peter's name mixing in with fragments of words getting caught in the man's hair.

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