Fic: Blanket Hog (Peter/Claire)
Title: Blanket Hog (Or, How Peter Petrelli Got Some with the Help of Primal Urges)
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Rating: NC-17 (sex, language)
Warnings: Incest, although you can easily pretend it isn’t
Spoilers: Just to be safe, all through S1
Feedback: Um, do I even have to say it?
Timeline: Sometime in a few years - they live together, see?!
Genre: Porn, humor, slight crack, warning for fluff
Many, many thanks to
gidget_zb- who not only makes me look good with her quick beta job but also posesses the stunning ability to convince me that, no, this is not shit. Any mistakes here are my own, hee!
Dedication: For frellingblonde, who wanted fluffy porn for her birthday - I can only hope this gives her a little bit of glee.
Teaser: Claire’s awake, Peter’s exhausted - blankets are stolen, and evolution helps out.
Notes: My first real attempt to write straight porn without any kind of angst at all in, like, months and I finally realize that, yes, several of my friends were completely right - it is literally impossible for me to write smut that doesn't double as an excercise in using too many words and sentences that are way too fucking long. So, honestly, I have no real idea how this came out - it was fun, though, so I'm glad I forced myself to finish - feel free to tell me how I did, ;-)
Peter Petrelli was a blanket hog.
He was possibly the most wonderful man to ever exist, loyal and caring, devoted to those he cared about.
She’d seen him willingly do things that would cause most sane people to run home and hide under their beds, not just to save people he loved but to save ones he didn’t even know, people who sometimes wanted to kill him and really make it stick. He was impossibly sincere, quietly courageous and honestly sensitive, had the knack of being able to handle people that Claire herself would push off a roof.
None of that, however, changed the fact that he was a blanket hog.
Claire Bennet had known this for a while (out of every flaw he could possess, she still couldn’t completely comprehend that it would be blanket stealing, of all things) but when she woke up at a little past midnight, she still cursed him for stealing her covers. Scowling, she twisted to stare at him only to find him completely bundled up under the stolen blanket and sheets. All she could see were a few locks of dark hair, and she only barely resisted the urge to yank it in retribution.
Not only had he come home and fallen into bed without paying any attention to her, he’d also stolen her covers!
“It’s not my fault you have, like, zero body fat,” she hissed furiously, and tried to snatch a handful back.
Peter promptly rolled away from her, jerking the covers up over his head like some kind of really skinny emo turtle that couldn’t hold any stupid body heat to save his life because he didn’t have any stupid body fat.
Claire didn’t have this problem-she was small, petite, but she’d always been well-built, well-proportioned.
Peter insisted on keeping the apartment chilly even though he was always the first to get cold.
Much like his hair, it made no rational sense.
Tucking her legs up, she pulled her long shirt down and then withdrew her arms in with her, seething quietly as she tried to conserve her body heat. “Not my fault you’re skinny and don’t have any fat of your own,” she mumbled, and thought absently about how easy it would be torture him, steal his favorite DVDs and not give them back until he gave her a long weekend of sex with a side of food offerings.
Possibly Häagen-Dazs-that stuff was absolutely incredible, especially after sex… or before sex… and during sex…
Claire paused in her silent venting, glanced over her shoulder at his shape- “I want Mocha Chip,” she told him bluntly, and then perked up, grinning. “And maybe you can have a pint of that Cherry Vanilla thing you like.” She paused again, longer this time, remembering the last time he’d brought it for himself. He’d never admitted that he brought it for himself (he insisted that she asked for it even though she never did) but he had what might have been a disturbing obsession with the stuff.
Peter, wrapped up tight in the blankets, still and silent and completely out cold, didn’t respond.
Warmer than before, Claire straightened her legs and shifted a few times before adding more slowly, “But you have to eat it off me again, that was fun.”
Yes.
Yes, that had been fun.
Claire shifted again, and then again-and then again, lips quirking in annoyance as she tried to get comfortable. She was aware of her hand on her stomach and the feel of the shirt against her skin, aware of how suddenly heated she felt, her entire body somehow tight and loose at the same time-
Shifting again, biting her lip when her arm brushed her breast, she twisted, glared at the skinny emo turtle that was her boyfriend so hard that, by sheer level of irritation alone she should have been able to burn a hole straight through his skull. “Get up,” she snapped, and shoved him hard, “get up, I’m horny!”
And somehow, in the face of an eager and ready woman, Peter showed how bad he would be at ensuring the survival of the human race in case of the apocalypse-he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘not now, too tired’ and rolled over even more, leaving her and her sudden rampant lust to gape at him in open-mouthed astonishment, entire body laid flat out on the bed in a state of shock that she had never felt before.
“Un-freaking-believable!” she exploded in a squeak, and gave him a short kick with one slightly trembling leg.
They’d both been horribly busy lately, dealing with stupid people and stupid things that stupid people did, and while they’d managed to have quickies when they could (the time in the limo on the ride to one of Nathan’s gala events had been extremely fun) it had sadly been a few weeks since they’d really been able to enjoy themselves. She’d lost count of how many times, just in the last week, that they’d been forced to leave the apartment without even a quickie-which was a hideous thought all on its own, wasn’t it?
He was choosing sleep over sex-Sleep, over sex with her, the woman he had died for multiple times!
The anger only left her feeling more heated, something like a quiet buzzing filling her head.
“Un-freaking-believable,” she repeated breathlessly, and shifted against the bed, making a mental note to make Peter suffer later as she skimmed the flat of her palm down her shirt, slowing herself down half-way through the movement. She had a habit of stealing his clothes for sleeping (he sometimes tried to complain but he always ended up grinning like a big idiot and gave himself away so he had finally given up on that) and it was no different tonight, wrapped up in one of his older white tees and nothing else.
“Un-freaking-believable,” she whispered under her breath, and bit the inside of her cheek the smallest bit as she tried to get her mind off her fury and back on herself, on how the shirt felt against increasingly sensitive skin and how much it smelled like Peter and the fact that this was how he touched her, dipping his fingers in just that-
“Un-freaking-believable!” she whimpered, and finally stopped thinking.
One very tiny, almost inaudible whimper finally reached Peter through all the covers in a way that swearing and brute force hadn’t been able to. It pierced his consciousness, twisted and knotted and flexed and then sank deeper, past his day-to-day perception and connected on some primal level with an unnamable something deep within his psyche.
That primal unnamable something stirred in response.
It had once been intense and uncontrollable but now lay deep within the human mind, buried among memories of large birds that had preyed upon their ancestors and hungry wolves the size of small horses that had hunted them when the birds were busy building their big damn nests. It was very small, had faded slowly over the centuries into a quiet murmur and yet, despite everything, it had remained.
And when the tiny noise came again, a bit louder and with a slow movement of the bed beneath him, that something deep within Peter Petrelli’s psyche did the evolutionary equivalent of bitch-slapping him.
He jerked awake with a tiny shudder, eyes snapping open with complete and total awareness of only one thing.
Sex-with Claire-sex with Claire!
Primal awareness shifted into proper consciousness, leaving him in a body already reacting to the small noises she made, the ones he could hear impossibly well because they were her noises, those noises she made with him, the ones no other woman’s ever made-
There was another noise (it hit him like a blow to the middle but in a good way) and the bed moved again (almost a rocking movement but not quite) and he pulled the covers back to find Claire laid out just a few feet away. Her head had fallen back and her eyes were closed and her whole body seemed to move against itself, with itself, in a way that completely burned away any last lingering feelings of sleep he was feeling.
“Claire,” he started, and had just managed to kick off the stupid covers (Claire must have thrown them on him because he had no idea where the stupid things had come from anyway because he hated being hot when he was trying to sleep) when she kicked him hard, so hard he would have bruised if he was normal. “Claire-” and she suddenly twisted, hooked the same leg around his side and tugged hard.
It only took two seconds for Peter to understand exactly what she needed, what she wanted.
Claire was already shaking, had been shaking for a while, but she shuddered outright when he twisted the shirt she was wearing up and off with one hand, sliding his other arm beneath her to pull her up and make it easier to reach her the way he wanted, easier to get her completely naked. She felt his palm flat against her back before he finally pushed her back onto the bed, left her to sprawl there desperately as he slid his hands across her skin in a way that made it impossible to think about anything other than how it felt.
This was hurried and rushed, something desperate and needy, but it didn’t matter as she arched up with the tiniest whimper, tried to wrap her legs around him even as he curled his fingers into her thighs and tugged her down and open all at the same time. She had a single heartbeat to catch her breath, fill her lungs, but only that before he slanted his mouth over her, a hand sliding up her side and across her ribs to stroke a slightly calloused thumb across an already hard nipple, knead a breast with a warm palm.
Later, she decided as she struggled to press herself as close to him as humanly possible, struggled to arch her hips up against his and tilted her head back, twisted fingers into his hair to keep him close-she’d kill him later.
When he wasn’t being a fucking blanket hog, he was really incredible.
He drew back suddenly, pausing long enough to drag his mouth along her jaw and down her neck before pulling away completely, and Claire twisted her body a bit more, managed to shove furiously at his boxer shorts with a foot even though the angle made her hip ache. “Pushy,” he laughed, but his voice was hoarse, desperate in a way she understood, and he somehow rolled his bottom half to the side just enough to kick them off and away. “Forgot I was wearing those-” he muttered, looking almost embarrassed as he moved back up her form and she couldn’t help it, she gave a snort of hysterical laughter.
“Don’t laugh at me-” he started, but she cut him off, knotted fingers in his hair harder than before and pulled his mouth down again, and the hint of laughter faded into a long groan when he returned the treatment. The feel of his skin against hers was enough to make the last fragment of her self-control finally crumble with a shudder and a gasp, dropping her head back with a ragged whimper when his fingers slid into her, slid deep and stroked once and then twice and then repeatedly, falling into a swift rhythm that he was almost too good at.
This was right, the way Peter pulled her out of herself and somehow righted her at the same time, left her feeling like she was going to burn away until there was nothing but this, nothing but what he did to her, what he caused as she shuddered and seemed to whine, as her vision blurred and her body began to lock from the force of the sensations working through her. She felt a palm slide across her face, felt him lean her head back to kiss her again, brutally soft as she gripped whatever part of him she could find.
Claire had lost the ability to breathe but she didn’t need it because she just needed this, what he was doing to her-
“Oh, god,” and she had just enough time to lock her fingers into his skin and get a good grip on him before she came apart, splintered into pieces as he held her tightly enough that she felt secure she wouldn’t simply fade away after it was over. He’d keep her anchored, put her back together when it was over, when she could breathe again and it was beginning to ease, beginning to fade as she became aware of him again, not just where he held her but of what she wanted before it was over-
“I need-” Claire couldn’t finish but she didn’t have to because his hands were at her hips, shifting her with a shaky steadiness even as she began to claw at him, searched for any kind of purchase she could find. She finally found it just as he pushed into her, left her to drop her head back and focus on the feel of it, of him, digging nails deep into his shoulders. “I need-” but he was already moving because he already knew what she wanted, what she needed, what she was waiting for.
This would never feel wrong and it was the only thing she was completely sure of in her life, that this was right and would never be wrong but it was enough. She felt his breath against her neck, right where her head met her shoulder, and it assured her more than anything else could that he was there, that he would ground her. She was close again, felt it in the way her heartbeat thundered under skin and the way she felt herself loosening and tightening at the same time-
She jerked, gasped, bucked when he slid a hand down between them and searched, found what he was looking for. “That’s- there,” and she dug her fingers in deeper, wishing that he would bruise for just a few minutes, wishing she could leave her mark on him even though that was probably a twisted thing to want. “There- I’m about to-”
And it was harder than before but just as sudden, the way it hit her, rocked her, caused her to simply come apart at the seams, not as desperate as she been before to wait for anything because this is what she was waiting for, clenching around him, dragging him hard after her. The sound he made was almost painful but not quite as she felt him splinter apart, spill into her with a last hard thrust and a short noise that could only be her name as she closed her eyes and simply enjoyed it.
Savored it as she fell back into herself, felt feeling slowly return to her body the way it always did, felt him press a shaky kiss to the place where her pulse beat in her neck and then relax again, the only sound she could hear his breathing near her ear. She felt sated, lazy and languid; felt pleased in ways she couldn’t describe and had long since stopped trying to over the last few years. Felt him shift just enough not to crush her before going still again, settling comfortably against her side with a long sigh.
This would never get old, feeling his heartbeat slow down and his breathing calm as he pressed quick soft kisses wherever he could reach, smoothed hair from her face and fingers across her skin. But she was awake now and so was he, as lazy as they both felt at the moment. “Peter?”
A quiet sound was his only answer, muffled into her shoulder, and she grinned like an idiot, sliding fingers through his hair with a content noise in her throat. “That was nice,” she sighed softly, and he nodded against her skin, shaky but sincere. Thoughtfully, she smoothed fingers across his shoulder, brushed her lips against where the marks from her nails should have been. She felt the tiny shiver that went through him at the contact and continued it, grinning.
Finally, though-
“Did I kill you?” she asked in amusement a long moment later and he gave a sudden laugh against her skin, making her shake the smallest bit as he slowly eased off her, rolling to the side and laying there staring at her with a big happy grin on his face. He’d looked like nothing so much as a puppy, and she dropped her head back to the bed with a snicker at the mental image, amused in ways that defied rational explanation.
“I’m that bad in bed?”
“No, no,” and she shook her head as well as she could, giggling harder because he was suddenly staring at her like she was a crazy lady. “No, it’s not that,” she assured him, but couldn’t get anything else out because she was almost hysterical. Shakily, she eased off the bed, carefully getting to her feet as she tried to stop laughing. She had actually gotten close to it when she looked back and caught the look he was giving her, eyes wide and mouth quirked into a wounded frown.
It took every drop of self-control she had not to scratch him behind the ears.
Gesturing weakly in the vague direction of the kitchen, she grabbed up the shirt beside the bed and pulled it on, extremely proud of herself when she made it all the way across the room without crashing into a wall and falling flat on her face. She was almost out the door when be babbled something, forcing her to grab onto the knob and turn back, cocking an eyebrow.
“I brought you some of that Cherry Vanilla stuff you like,” he chirped happily, and he nodded so excitedly that it made his hair flop around his face.
“The ice cream I like?” Peter nodded again, looking downright giddy. “You want me to bring it up?” she asked slowly, face beginning to hurt as she struggled against the giggles.
“Only if you want to,” he said with such pleasantness that she almost believed him. But, even as she watched, he was dragging the covers across the bed, wrapping himself up in them like the blanket hog he was and looking downright rabid at the thought of her bringing ice cream back with her. There was a faintly fanatical look in his eyes as he kept nodding, seemingly completely certain that she didn’t know about his obsession.
Should she be worried that he would leave her for a pint of Häagen-Dazs?
Claire paused, watched him hesitate in the middle of his blanket stealing to pull one free and set it to the side for her.
No, she decided as she headed out to get the ice cream, she was stuck with him for good now.
Claire owned the blankets he came home to every night.
Pairing: Peter/Claire
Rating: NC-17 (sex, language)
Warnings: Incest, although you can easily pretend it isn’t
Spoilers: Just to be safe, all through S1
Feedback: Um, do I even have to say it?
Timeline: Sometime in a few years - they live together, see?!
Genre: Porn, humor, slight crack, warning for fluff
Many, many thanks to
gidget_zb- who not only makes me look good with her quick beta job but also posesses the stunning ability to convince me that, no, this is not shit. Any mistakes here are my own, hee!
Dedication: For frellingblonde, who wanted fluffy porn for her birthday - I can only hope this gives her a little bit of glee.
Teaser: Claire’s awake, Peter’s exhausted - blankets are stolen, and evolution helps out.
Notes: My first real attempt to write straight porn without any kind of angst at all in, like, months and I finally realize that, yes, several of my friends were completely right - it is literally impossible for me to write smut that doesn't double as an excercise in using too many words and sentences that are way too fucking long. So, honestly, I have no real idea how this came out - it was fun, though, so I'm glad I forced myself to finish - feel free to tell me how I did, ;-)
Peter Petrelli was a blanket hog.
He was possibly the most wonderful man to ever exist, loyal and caring, devoted to those he cared about.
She’d seen him willingly do things that would cause most sane people to run home and hide under their beds, not just to save people he loved but to save ones he didn’t even know, people who sometimes wanted to kill him and really make it stick. He was impossibly sincere, quietly courageous and honestly sensitive, had the knack of being able to handle people that Claire herself would push off a roof.
None of that, however, changed the fact that he was a blanket hog.
Claire Bennet had known this for a while (out of every flaw he could possess, she still couldn’t completely comprehend that it would be blanket stealing, of all things) but when she woke up at a little past midnight, she still cursed him for stealing her covers. Scowling, she twisted to stare at him only to find him completely bundled up under the stolen blanket and sheets. All she could see were a few locks of dark hair, and she only barely resisted the urge to yank it in retribution.
Not only had he come home and fallen into bed without paying any attention to her, he’d also stolen her covers!
“It’s not my fault you have, like, zero body fat,” she hissed furiously, and tried to snatch a handful back.
Peter promptly rolled away from her, jerking the covers up over his head like some kind of really skinny emo turtle that couldn’t hold any stupid body heat to save his life because he didn’t have any stupid body fat.
Claire didn’t have this problem-she was small, petite, but she’d always been well-built, well-proportioned.
Peter insisted on keeping the apartment chilly even though he was always the first to get cold.
Much like his hair, it made no rational sense.
Tucking her legs up, she pulled her long shirt down and then withdrew her arms in with her, seething quietly as she tried to conserve her body heat. “Not my fault you’re skinny and don’t have any fat of your own,” she mumbled, and thought absently about how easy it would be torture him, steal his favorite DVDs and not give them back until he gave her a long weekend of sex with a side of food offerings.
Possibly Häagen-Dazs-that stuff was absolutely incredible, especially after sex… or before sex… and during sex…
Claire paused in her silent venting, glanced over her shoulder at his shape- “I want Mocha Chip,” she told him bluntly, and then perked up, grinning. “And maybe you can have a pint of that Cherry Vanilla thing you like.” She paused again, longer this time, remembering the last time he’d brought it for himself. He’d never admitted that he brought it for himself (he insisted that she asked for it even though she never did) but he had what might have been a disturbing obsession with the stuff.
Peter, wrapped up tight in the blankets, still and silent and completely out cold, didn’t respond.
Warmer than before, Claire straightened her legs and shifted a few times before adding more slowly, “But you have to eat it off me again, that was fun.”
Yes.
Yes, that had been fun.
Claire shifted again, and then again-and then again, lips quirking in annoyance as she tried to get comfortable. She was aware of her hand on her stomach and the feel of the shirt against her skin, aware of how suddenly heated she felt, her entire body somehow tight and loose at the same time-
Shifting again, biting her lip when her arm brushed her breast, she twisted, glared at the skinny emo turtle that was her boyfriend so hard that, by sheer level of irritation alone she should have been able to burn a hole straight through his skull. “Get up,” she snapped, and shoved him hard, “get up, I’m horny!”
And somehow, in the face of an eager and ready woman, Peter showed how bad he would be at ensuring the survival of the human race in case of the apocalypse-he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘not now, too tired’ and rolled over even more, leaving her and her sudden rampant lust to gape at him in open-mouthed astonishment, entire body laid flat out on the bed in a state of shock that she had never felt before.
“Un-freaking-believable!” she exploded in a squeak, and gave him a short kick with one slightly trembling leg.
They’d both been horribly busy lately, dealing with stupid people and stupid things that stupid people did, and while they’d managed to have quickies when they could (the time in the limo on the ride to one of Nathan’s gala events had been extremely fun) it had sadly been a few weeks since they’d really been able to enjoy themselves. She’d lost count of how many times, just in the last week, that they’d been forced to leave the apartment without even a quickie-which was a hideous thought all on its own, wasn’t it?
He was choosing sleep over sex-Sleep, over sex with her, the woman he had died for multiple times!
The anger only left her feeling more heated, something like a quiet buzzing filling her head.
“Un-freaking-believable,” she repeated breathlessly, and shifted against the bed, making a mental note to make Peter suffer later as she skimmed the flat of her palm down her shirt, slowing herself down half-way through the movement. She had a habit of stealing his clothes for sleeping (he sometimes tried to complain but he always ended up grinning like a big idiot and gave himself away so he had finally given up on that) and it was no different tonight, wrapped up in one of his older white tees and nothing else.
“Un-freaking-believable,” she whispered under her breath, and bit the inside of her cheek the smallest bit as she tried to get her mind off her fury and back on herself, on how the shirt felt against increasingly sensitive skin and how much it smelled like Peter and the fact that this was how he touched her, dipping his fingers in just that-
“Un-freaking-believable!” she whimpered, and finally stopped thinking.
One very tiny, almost inaudible whimper finally reached Peter through all the covers in a way that swearing and brute force hadn’t been able to. It pierced his consciousness, twisted and knotted and flexed and then sank deeper, past his day-to-day perception and connected on some primal level with an unnamable something deep within his psyche.
That primal unnamable something stirred in response.
It had once been intense and uncontrollable but now lay deep within the human mind, buried among memories of large birds that had preyed upon their ancestors and hungry wolves the size of small horses that had hunted them when the birds were busy building their big damn nests. It was very small, had faded slowly over the centuries into a quiet murmur and yet, despite everything, it had remained.
And when the tiny noise came again, a bit louder and with a slow movement of the bed beneath him, that something deep within Peter Petrelli’s psyche did the evolutionary equivalent of bitch-slapping him.
He jerked awake with a tiny shudder, eyes snapping open with complete and total awareness of only one thing.
Sex-with Claire-sex with Claire!
Primal awareness shifted into proper consciousness, leaving him in a body already reacting to the small noises she made, the ones he could hear impossibly well because they were her noises, those noises she made with him, the ones no other woman’s ever made-
There was another noise (it hit him like a blow to the middle but in a good way) and the bed moved again (almost a rocking movement but not quite) and he pulled the covers back to find Claire laid out just a few feet away. Her head had fallen back and her eyes were closed and her whole body seemed to move against itself, with itself, in a way that completely burned away any last lingering feelings of sleep he was feeling.
“Claire,” he started, and had just managed to kick off the stupid covers (Claire must have thrown them on him because he had no idea where the stupid things had come from anyway because he hated being hot when he was trying to sleep) when she kicked him hard, so hard he would have bruised if he was normal. “Claire-” and she suddenly twisted, hooked the same leg around his side and tugged hard.
It only took two seconds for Peter to understand exactly what she needed, what she wanted.
Claire was already shaking, had been shaking for a while, but she shuddered outright when he twisted the shirt she was wearing up and off with one hand, sliding his other arm beneath her to pull her up and make it easier to reach her the way he wanted, easier to get her completely naked. She felt his palm flat against her back before he finally pushed her back onto the bed, left her to sprawl there desperately as he slid his hands across her skin in a way that made it impossible to think about anything other than how it felt.
This was hurried and rushed, something desperate and needy, but it didn’t matter as she arched up with the tiniest whimper, tried to wrap her legs around him even as he curled his fingers into her thighs and tugged her down and open all at the same time. She had a single heartbeat to catch her breath, fill her lungs, but only that before he slanted his mouth over her, a hand sliding up her side and across her ribs to stroke a slightly calloused thumb across an already hard nipple, knead a breast with a warm palm.
Later, she decided as she struggled to press herself as close to him as humanly possible, struggled to arch her hips up against his and tilted her head back, twisted fingers into his hair to keep him close-she’d kill him later.
When he wasn’t being a fucking blanket hog, he was really incredible.
He drew back suddenly, pausing long enough to drag his mouth along her jaw and down her neck before pulling away completely, and Claire twisted her body a bit more, managed to shove furiously at his boxer shorts with a foot even though the angle made her hip ache. “Pushy,” he laughed, but his voice was hoarse, desperate in a way she understood, and he somehow rolled his bottom half to the side just enough to kick them off and away. “Forgot I was wearing those-” he muttered, looking almost embarrassed as he moved back up her form and she couldn’t help it, she gave a snort of hysterical laughter.
“Don’t laugh at me-” he started, but she cut him off, knotted fingers in his hair harder than before and pulled his mouth down again, and the hint of laughter faded into a long groan when he returned the treatment. The feel of his skin against hers was enough to make the last fragment of her self-control finally crumble with a shudder and a gasp, dropping her head back with a ragged whimper when his fingers slid into her, slid deep and stroked once and then twice and then repeatedly, falling into a swift rhythm that he was almost too good at.
This was right, the way Peter pulled her out of herself and somehow righted her at the same time, left her feeling like she was going to burn away until there was nothing but this, nothing but what he did to her, what he caused as she shuddered and seemed to whine, as her vision blurred and her body began to lock from the force of the sensations working through her. She felt a palm slide across her face, felt him lean her head back to kiss her again, brutally soft as she gripped whatever part of him she could find.
Claire had lost the ability to breathe but she didn’t need it because she just needed this, what he was doing to her-
“Oh, god,” and she had just enough time to lock her fingers into his skin and get a good grip on him before she came apart, splintered into pieces as he held her tightly enough that she felt secure she wouldn’t simply fade away after it was over. He’d keep her anchored, put her back together when it was over, when she could breathe again and it was beginning to ease, beginning to fade as she became aware of him again, not just where he held her but of what she wanted before it was over-
“I need-” Claire couldn’t finish but she didn’t have to because his hands were at her hips, shifting her with a shaky steadiness even as she began to claw at him, searched for any kind of purchase she could find. She finally found it just as he pushed into her, left her to drop her head back and focus on the feel of it, of him, digging nails deep into his shoulders. “I need-” but he was already moving because he already knew what she wanted, what she needed, what she was waiting for.
This would never feel wrong and it was the only thing she was completely sure of in her life, that this was right and would never be wrong but it was enough. She felt his breath against her neck, right where her head met her shoulder, and it assured her more than anything else could that he was there, that he would ground her. She was close again, felt it in the way her heartbeat thundered under skin and the way she felt herself loosening and tightening at the same time-
She jerked, gasped, bucked when he slid a hand down between them and searched, found what he was looking for. “That’s- there,” and she dug her fingers in deeper, wishing that he would bruise for just a few minutes, wishing she could leave her mark on him even though that was probably a twisted thing to want. “There- I’m about to-”
And it was harder than before but just as sudden, the way it hit her, rocked her, caused her to simply come apart at the seams, not as desperate as she been before to wait for anything because this is what she was waiting for, clenching around him, dragging him hard after her. The sound he made was almost painful but not quite as she felt him splinter apart, spill into her with a last hard thrust and a short noise that could only be her name as she closed her eyes and simply enjoyed it.
Savored it as she fell back into herself, felt feeling slowly return to her body the way it always did, felt him press a shaky kiss to the place where her pulse beat in her neck and then relax again, the only sound she could hear his breathing near her ear. She felt sated, lazy and languid; felt pleased in ways she couldn’t describe and had long since stopped trying to over the last few years. Felt him shift just enough not to crush her before going still again, settling comfortably against her side with a long sigh.
This would never get old, feeling his heartbeat slow down and his breathing calm as he pressed quick soft kisses wherever he could reach, smoothed hair from her face and fingers across her skin. But she was awake now and so was he, as lazy as they both felt at the moment. “Peter?”
A quiet sound was his only answer, muffled into her shoulder, and she grinned like an idiot, sliding fingers through his hair with a content noise in her throat. “That was nice,” she sighed softly, and he nodded against her skin, shaky but sincere. Thoughtfully, she smoothed fingers across his shoulder, brushed her lips against where the marks from her nails should have been. She felt the tiny shiver that went through him at the contact and continued it, grinning.
Finally, though-
“Did I kill you?” she asked in amusement a long moment later and he gave a sudden laugh against her skin, making her shake the smallest bit as he slowly eased off her, rolling to the side and laying there staring at her with a big happy grin on his face. He’d looked like nothing so much as a puppy, and she dropped her head back to the bed with a snicker at the mental image, amused in ways that defied rational explanation.
“I’m that bad in bed?”
“No, no,” and she shook her head as well as she could, giggling harder because he was suddenly staring at her like she was a crazy lady. “No, it’s not that,” she assured him, but couldn’t get anything else out because she was almost hysterical. Shakily, she eased off the bed, carefully getting to her feet as she tried to stop laughing. She had actually gotten close to it when she looked back and caught the look he was giving her, eyes wide and mouth quirked into a wounded frown.
It took every drop of self-control she had not to scratch him behind the ears.
Gesturing weakly in the vague direction of the kitchen, she grabbed up the shirt beside the bed and pulled it on, extremely proud of herself when she made it all the way across the room without crashing into a wall and falling flat on her face. She was almost out the door when be babbled something, forcing her to grab onto the knob and turn back, cocking an eyebrow.
“I brought you some of that Cherry Vanilla stuff you like,” he chirped happily, and he nodded so excitedly that it made his hair flop around his face.
“The ice cream I like?” Peter nodded again, looking downright giddy. “You want me to bring it up?” she asked slowly, face beginning to hurt as she struggled against the giggles.
“Only if you want to,” he said with such pleasantness that she almost believed him. But, even as she watched, he was dragging the covers across the bed, wrapping himself up in them like the blanket hog he was and looking downright rabid at the thought of her bringing ice cream back with her. There was a faintly fanatical look in his eyes as he kept nodding, seemingly completely certain that she didn’t know about his obsession.
Should she be worried that he would leave her for a pint of Häagen-Dazs?
Claire paused, watched him hesitate in the middle of his blanket stealing to pull one free and set it to the side for her.
No, she decided as she headed out to get the ice cream, she was stuck with him for good now.
Claire owned the blankets he came home to every night.