Sweet, 1 of 2
anonymous
September 25 2011, 15:38:20 UTC
It's not always crazy, alcohol-fueled, thank-God-we-didn't-die sex with Peter. Sometimes it's just...well, sweet.
These times, he'll wake in Peter's arms, tangled in a heap on the floor because they probably never even made it to the bed the night before. There's something both possessive and achingly vulnerable about the way Peter enfolds him while they sleep and hangs on like grim death, as though he's afraid Charley's going to be stolen in the middle of the night or, worse, just up and leave.
These mornings, these sweet times that Charley treasures more than he'll ever say, almost always begin with lazy, mostly-asleep kisses along the back of his shoulder - sometimes he thinks Peter doesn't even realize he's doing it, because it's much more gentle and, well, mushy than the way the other man usually kisses him when he's fully awake. But then, this is going to sound a little weird, but Peter bites. Maybe it's left over from when he was briefly almost a vampire, but he has this biting thing: he never draws blood, and it's (usually)
( ... )
Sweet, 2 of 2
anonymous
September 25 2011, 15:39:42 UTC
He'll only let Peter suck him for a few seconds, a minute at the most. The older man is way too good at it - Charley tries not to think about why, because it sort-of weirds him out to think of how many other guys he's probably been with - and he knows what Peter wants, what they both want. “Stop,” he'll say, and when Peter crawls back up his body and kisses him one more time he'll taste himself. To him the flavor of his own skin is musky and salty, but the magician tells him he tastes sweet.
Peter will turn over, facing away from him, and Charley will roll the condom onto his dick and somehow now the bottle of lubricant will be in his hand so he'll use it, because that's what you do. It will be slippery and smell funny, like chemicals, but he won't be thinking about that as he lays down, scoots up behind Peter, who will probably say something at this point like “What the fuck are you waiting for, an invitation
( ... )
These times, he'll wake in Peter's arms, tangled in a heap on the floor because they probably never even made it to the bed the night before. There's something both possessive and achingly vulnerable about the way Peter enfolds him while they sleep and hangs on like grim death, as though he's afraid Charley's going to be stolen in the middle of the night or, worse, just up and leave.
These mornings, these sweet times that Charley treasures more than he'll ever say, almost always begin with lazy, mostly-asleep kisses along the back of his shoulder - sometimes he thinks Peter doesn't even realize he's doing it, because it's much more gentle and, well, mushy than the way the other man usually kisses him when he's fully awake. But then, this is going to sound a little weird, but Peter bites. Maybe it's left over from when he was briefly almost a vampire, but he has this biting thing: he never draws blood, and it's (usually) ( ... )
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Peter will turn over, facing away from him, and Charley will roll the condom onto his dick and somehow now the bottle of lubricant will be in his hand so he'll use it, because that's what you do. It will be slippery and smell funny, like chemicals, but he won't be thinking about that as he lays down, scoots up behind Peter, who will probably say something at this point like “What the fuck are you waiting for, an invitation ( ... )
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lol but seriously, anon, thank you so much for the lovely fill! Just what I was looking for!
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