Glass
Title: Glass
Author: Afiawri
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Peter
Warnings: explicit sex
Word Count: 665
Thanks: to photoash for the prompt (well, I lost a bet, actually.)
Hundreds of feet below, there are lights. But not in the hotel room. The light catches the curve of Neal’s knees, interrupted by the shadows of snowflakes swirling down. The fluttering, quiet light illuminates the heels of his palms flat against the glass and his chest where his breath hitches and the shifting light plays against the base of his cock, pressed hard up against the glass.
Peter’s breath on his neck stirs a stand of sweat-dampened hair curling at his neck. He takes his time inside Neal, just gently rocking into him, pausing every so often to make sure Neal remains pressed against the glass. He pushes Neal’s chest forward, rubbing his one nipple into the gaps of his fingers, the other against the smooth glass that grips him whenever he moves. His cock leaks a small trail of precum against the window as it rubs ever so slightly with the movement of his hips. The glass was cold against his hot cock when they began, made him jerk away from it at the first touch, but now it’s heated, doesn’t cloud with each hitched breath.
Peter traces a hand down the curve of his back and then settles his hands on Neal’s hips, not gripping, just there. He continues his calm, lulling pace, gentle, shallow strokes. With a hand on the back of Neal’s thigh, he presses Neal forward, reminding him he’s leaned against Peter and that shouldn’t happen. Neal shuffles forward again, until cock is properly pressed into the glass, rubbing small streaks that add to the translucent shadows on their skin.
Neal lazily drops his head back against Peter’s shoulder. Peter kisses his temple. His hips never still, but for a long time never quicken. Just enough to keep Neal from evening out his breath, from catching it properly. Neither of them are rushed, no matter that Neal’s heart still keeps skipping a beat at the idea of pressing up against the window, the idea that the only thing between him and whoever wants to stare is several stories, poor lighting and a snowy night. No matter that he’s sweating, that’s he’s been hard for what could be hours.
After long minutes, Peter speeds up, just a little, just enough. And Neal’s cock throbs against the slick glass. He nearly kisses the glass with every light thrust. Nothing but the glass ever touches his cock, but he’s soon shuddering on the brink, held there by Peter’s insistently mild pace. He rides out the pleasure, trying to keep his hips still against the glass.
Peter keeps his hips circling smoothly even when his pace gets frantic. Neal’s cock bumps up the glass again and again, each time Peter’s cock brushes that spot inside him. He comes with a restrained groan, shooting all over the glass, a shadow lighter than the snowflakes’ that slides down the glass. Peter takes another moment, quaking against Neal’s limp form against the glass before he comes, warm, inside Neal.
Neal crawls into bed and lets Peter clean him up and then mop up the window. And he falls asleep in Peter’s arms, grateful Peter got this hotel, made the effort to carve this small space of gentle calm in the middle of being a criminal no one trusted in love with a man already happily married.
And here he is with Peter, a reprieve from all that, from having to ask Elizabeth to step out of the house because she gets jealous and creeped out if she can hear them. From having to be careful to go over only when they have an active, difficult case. From lonely nights.
He falls asleep in Peter’s arms, finally able to relax. Finally feeling the knot of tension in his gut release. He wraps his hands around Peter’s arms on his chest and whispers, “Thank you.” It means more than he can say, but somehow he gets the feeling Peter understands when he tightens his arms and pulls Neal closer.
Author: Afiawri
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Peter
Warnings: explicit sex
Word Count: 665
Thanks: to photoash for the prompt (well, I lost a bet, actually.)
Hundreds of feet below, there are lights. But not in the hotel room. The light catches the curve of Neal’s knees, interrupted by the shadows of snowflakes swirling down. The fluttering, quiet light illuminates the heels of his palms flat against the glass and his chest where his breath hitches and the shifting light plays against the base of his cock, pressed hard up against the glass.
Peter’s breath on his neck stirs a stand of sweat-dampened hair curling at his neck. He takes his time inside Neal, just gently rocking into him, pausing every so often to make sure Neal remains pressed against the glass. He pushes Neal’s chest forward, rubbing his one nipple into the gaps of his fingers, the other against the smooth glass that grips him whenever he moves. His cock leaks a small trail of precum against the window as it rubs ever so slightly with the movement of his hips. The glass was cold against his hot cock when they began, made him jerk away from it at the first touch, but now it’s heated, doesn’t cloud with each hitched breath.
Peter traces a hand down the curve of his back and then settles his hands on Neal’s hips, not gripping, just there. He continues his calm, lulling pace, gentle, shallow strokes. With a hand on the back of Neal’s thigh, he presses Neal forward, reminding him he’s leaned against Peter and that shouldn’t happen. Neal shuffles forward again, until cock is properly pressed into the glass, rubbing small streaks that add to the translucent shadows on their skin.
Neal lazily drops his head back against Peter’s shoulder. Peter kisses his temple. His hips never still, but for a long time never quicken. Just enough to keep Neal from evening out his breath, from catching it properly. Neither of them are rushed, no matter that Neal’s heart still keeps skipping a beat at the idea of pressing up against the window, the idea that the only thing between him and whoever wants to stare is several stories, poor lighting and a snowy night. No matter that he’s sweating, that’s he’s been hard for what could be hours.
After long minutes, Peter speeds up, just a little, just enough. And Neal’s cock throbs against the slick glass. He nearly kisses the glass with every light thrust. Nothing but the glass ever touches his cock, but he’s soon shuddering on the brink, held there by Peter’s insistently mild pace. He rides out the pleasure, trying to keep his hips still against the glass.
Peter keeps his hips circling smoothly even when his pace gets frantic. Neal’s cock bumps up the glass again and again, each time Peter’s cock brushes that spot inside him. He comes with a restrained groan, shooting all over the glass, a shadow lighter than the snowflakes’ that slides down the glass. Peter takes another moment, quaking against Neal’s limp form against the glass before he comes, warm, inside Neal.
Neal crawls into bed and lets Peter clean him up and then mop up the window. And he falls asleep in Peter’s arms, grateful Peter got this hotel, made the effort to carve this small space of gentle calm in the middle of being a criminal no one trusted in love with a man already happily married.
And here he is with Peter, a reprieve from all that, from having to ask Elizabeth to step out of the house because she gets jealous and creeped out if she can hear them. From having to be careful to go over only when they have an active, difficult case. From lonely nights.
He falls asleep in Peter’s arms, finally able to relax. Finally feeling the knot of tension in his gut release. He wraps his hands around Peter’s arms on his chest and whispers, “Thank you.” It means more than he can say, but somehow he gets the feeling Peter understands when he tightens his arms and pulls Neal closer.