"Furtive Fingering", Peter/Neal, El/Peter/Neal, R
Title: Furtive Fingering
Author: coffeethyme4me
Pairing: Peter/Neal, El/Peter/Neal
Rating: R
Prompts by hoosierbitch: Furtive, Fingering. Thank you!!! Hope you like! :-D
Words: 300
I’m watching them from a few feet away. No one else has this vantage point. I sip my champagne, watching my husband, standing just a little behind and to the side of Neal, talking to someone I don’t recognize. Peter is smiling, laughing. Neal is standing stock still, eyes a little too wide, because my husband’s hand has slipped down between his legs and he’s lightly massaging Neal’s balls through his dress pants as he talks. I watch Neal try to spread his legs a little. He makes a show of reaching for a cocktail weenie. I actually snort a laugh into my champagne flute even as my pussy gets wet.
Peter’s conversation is flawless, absolutely convincing, as he prods a finger deftly into Neal’s crack. He knows right where he’s going and just how to get there. Neal’s laugh is too loud. He takes a long, long drink. Peter strokes Neal’s asshole idly. I think I’m the only one who sees the shiver work its way through Neal’s taut body, sees his hand make a tight fist around his wine glass. Slick floods my panties.
I walk up behind my husband and in the pause in conversation whisper to him, “I see you’ve found a way to make these functions entertaining for yourself, dear.” My hand is on his ass now, too, cupping appreciatively. “Why don’t we take that to go, huh?”
He turns his head. He’s smiling. He’s still tickling Neal’s poor, clothed anus. “Oh, you have a headache, hun?” he says loud enough for Reese to overhear at the veggie tray. “Let’s get you home then.”
I kiss his cheek, let my lips linger. “You’d better, you indecent prick.”
“Love you,” he tells me.
“Love you, too,” I say back.
Neal just groans.
I love them both.
Author: coffeethyme4me
Pairing: Peter/Neal, El/Peter/Neal
Rating: R
Prompts by hoosierbitch: Furtive, Fingering. Thank you!!! Hope you like! :-D
Words: 300
I’m watching them from a few feet away. No one else has this vantage point. I sip my champagne, watching my husband, standing just a little behind and to the side of Neal, talking to someone I don’t recognize. Peter is smiling, laughing. Neal is standing stock still, eyes a little too wide, because my husband’s hand has slipped down between his legs and he’s lightly massaging Neal’s balls through his dress pants as he talks. I watch Neal try to spread his legs a little. He makes a show of reaching for a cocktail weenie. I actually snort a laugh into my champagne flute even as my pussy gets wet.
Peter’s conversation is flawless, absolutely convincing, as he prods a finger deftly into Neal’s crack. He knows right where he’s going and just how to get there. Neal’s laugh is too loud. He takes a long, long drink. Peter strokes Neal’s asshole idly. I think I’m the only one who sees the shiver work its way through Neal’s taut body, sees his hand make a tight fist around his wine glass. Slick floods my panties.
I walk up behind my husband and in the pause in conversation whisper to him, “I see you’ve found a way to make these functions entertaining for yourself, dear.” My hand is on his ass now, too, cupping appreciatively. “Why don’t we take that to go, huh?”
He turns his head. He’s smiling. He’s still tickling Neal’s poor, clothed anus. “Oh, you have a headache, hun?” he says loud enough for Reese to overhear at the veggie tray. “Let’s get you home then.”
I kiss his cheek, let my lips linger. “You’d better, you indecent prick.”
“Love you,” he tells me.
“Love you, too,” I say back.
Neal just groans.
I love them both.