"Not yet," Quentin says, a growl of it, because Peter's not there yet, still a little smart-mouthed, still a little demanding instead of pleading, a little glib. Quentin likes all those things, adores them, and especially in Peter. Sometimes Peter is really stupid, for such a smart kid. He's got no filter. Quentin likes when that lack of filter just gets to absolute desperation.
He scrapes his teeth on him, finds good places to leave filthy red marks on his skin where they'll rest under clothes for the next couple of days. He's really all the way hard now. At least hard enough to get off once, though maybe not quite enough to knot. He'll get there. They will. He knows Peter will get him there, and wants to give him that, and the two of them combined have stamina enough to make some of the filthier porn stars jealous, he thinks.
"Put your hands on the arm of the sofa," he says. "Let me see you all stretched out."
He grabs his ankles and pulls his legs back slightly, changing the angle, getting in deeper. Groaning as he sinks into him. "Christ, baby. You take me so good."
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He scrapes his teeth on him, finds good places to leave filthy red marks on his skin where they'll rest under clothes for the next couple of days. He's really all the way hard now. At least hard enough to get off once, though maybe not quite enough to knot. He'll get there. They will. He knows Peter will get him there, and wants to give him that, and the two of them combined have stamina enough to make some of the filthier porn stars jealous, he thinks.
"Put your hands on the arm of the sofa," he says. "Let me see you all stretched out."
He grabs his ankles and pulls his legs back slightly, changing the angle, getting in deeper. Groaning as he sinks into him. "Christ, baby. You take me so good."