( playing with fire is exciting for the thrill alone — the fear, the spike of dopamine, the fall. he's usually throwing himself at danger in other ways, like leaping into the fray against something the police can't handle (as if that somehow indicates he's qualified), but egging wade on with his teeth and some dirty talk isn't all that dissimilar. there's a very real threat of full-body exhaustion and soreness on the other side of this encounter, too. the cheeky, victorious grin is short-lived, breaks the second wade's hips snap forward hard and pound against him, transforming his sharp breath for a laugh into a strangled moan that catches roughly in his throat. he'd have some colorful language if he could catch his breath but since he can't, all he has between quick, stilted inhales are progressively more hoarse grunts.
his nails bite into the back of wade's neck harsher than he means for them to. they're blunt, bitten down, but he's not checking his strength anymore. he can apologize for the four scratch lines going down his shoulder later.
the relentless pace, how full wade feels inside him (jesus, this is his limit here) makes him fist his cock in his hand with more determination, quickening the pace to match (only pulling off a second to spit into his palm) and thumping his head back against the bricks because he can't fucking take any of it for much longer. his legs twitch around wade, protesting, like his thighs would be raising a little if they could, hips bucking, and he can't stop the way his muscles tense again. this time, not on purpose, and peter's eyes shoot open, he opens his mouth to warn wade but the only sound that carries over the noise of their bodies is an overstimulated but relieved sob as he comes between them, coating his knuckles and part of wade's stomach and while he doesn't go dead weight, his shoulders sag like the orgasm was ripped out of him.
he'll pant through it, letting wade ride his own orgasm out, even if it isn't instantaneous. let it not come as any surprise if all he has energy for are tiny wrung out noises into wade's ear while he vaguely brushes his lips there. )
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his nails bite into the back of wade's neck harsher than he means for them to. they're blunt, bitten down, but he's not checking his strength anymore. he can apologize for the four scratch lines going down his shoulder later.
the relentless pace, how full wade feels inside him (jesus, this is his limit here) makes him fist his cock in his hand with more determination, quickening the pace to match (only pulling off a second to spit into his palm) and thumping his head back against the bricks because he can't fucking take any of it for much longer. his legs twitch around wade, protesting, like his thighs would be raising a little if they could, hips bucking, and he can't stop the way his muscles tense again. this time, not on purpose, and peter's eyes shoot open, he opens his mouth to warn wade but the only sound that carries over the noise of their bodies is an overstimulated but relieved sob as he comes between them, coating his knuckles and part of wade's stomach and while he doesn't go dead weight, his shoulders sag like the orgasm was ripped out of him.
he'll pant through it, letting wade ride his own orgasm out, even if it isn't instantaneous. let it not come as any surprise if all he has energy for are tiny wrung out noises into wade's ear while he vaguely brushes his lips there. )