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moonlettuceTitle: Take me by the tongue (and I'll know you)
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1135
Summary: In which there is rimming and feelings
Additional Notes: Not beta'ed. Which means Temaris will be wincing at the amount of sentences that start with 'And' ::grin::
Title taken from Maroon 5's Moves Like Jagger.
Take me by the tongue (and I'll know you)
A growl works its way through Peter as he feels Chris' breath across his skin. "Damn it, Argent, will you fucking do something."
There's a huff of laughter, sending another gust of air across his ass. "And what would you like me to do, Hale?" Chris asks, amusement colouring his tone.
"Any-- fuck--" Peter's words are cut off by the feel of Chris' tongue laving across his asshole. Chris' stubble is rubbing on his skin, a rough constant against him as the tongue laps over him again and again.
Chris' hands on are his thighs, holding Peter open and branding Chris' name onto his skin like a tattoo. He's being gripped so tightly that Peter can feel the bruises form and fade before blooming again under Chris' fingertips. And he knows it's because he can't stay still, knows it's because each wet stripe over his ass is making him push back onto Chris' face.
There's a sharp slap to his thigh as Chris murmurs, "Patience, pup--" against Peter's flesh. And Peter's trying, he is, but his cock is dripping and his head is swimming and every part of his body is craving Chris' touch.
"Please, Christopher--" Because Peter's beyond holding himself back now, beyond anything except needing Chris inside him. And the tiny part of him that baulks at begging a hunter for anything is consumed by the desire running through him. Because he's not begging a hunter, he's begging Chris, and he's begged Chris before, knows he'll beg Chris again.
Chris doesn't answer Peter's plea with words, doesn't answer with anything except his tongue stabbing into Peter's body. And, fuck. Peter can feel his body opening for Chris, can feel Chris' tongue working its way inside him. There's a tearing sound, and it takes Peter a minute to realise his claws are out and ripping into the sheet under him.
But he'll rip a thousand sheets on a thousand beds, if only it keeps Chris inside him. He feels loose and wet, sloppy and used, and Chris' tongue is perfect, but it's still not enough.
"Please, Chris. Pleasepleasepleaseplease--"
The words are coming from him without thought, dropping from his lips more easily than anything else ever has. Because he doesn't need to hold himself back, not here, not with Chris.
Peter moans as Chris pulls back, blowing cool air across his asshole and chuckling as Peter shivers.
"Touch yourself, Peter," Chris orders.
And even though the words are careful, low and soft in their cadence, there's no thought in Peter to disobey. He moves a hand under him, his shoulders on the bed and his hips hitched high. It's the first time his cock has been touched since they started, and the jolt that runs through him as he wraps his fingers around the hard, straining flesh has Peter thinking that he's going to come before Chris' words have even faded from the air.
"Jerk yourself for me, pup."
Peter arches as two of Chris' fingers slide inside him, slide inside on nothing more than a spit-slick push.
"That's it, Peter," Chris coos, as Peter moves his hand over his cock, slowly jerking himself.
His cock twitches with each movement, because he's been hard since Chris first laid him out on the bed, been hard since Chris settled between his thighs.
Peter closes his eyes as the words wash over him, each slow thrust of Chris' fingers into Peter's ass accompanied by a Yes-- and a Beautiful-- and a Mine--
He's jerking himself at the same speed Chris' fingers are thrusting into him, matching Chris automatically.
And all the way through, the words keep coming. Chris telling Peter how perfect he is, how he was made to take Chris' fingers, Chris' cock.
The world narrows itself to Chris' fingers, Chris' voice. Narrows itself to Chris, to a place where nothing else matters except the stretch of his body and the words in his ears.
It's as if Peter's floating, carried on a wave of Chris' low tones, the ebb and swell of the tide in him no longer controlled by the moon, but by the man behind him. And he can feel the sensations starting to crest, can feel the dull thunder of pleasure rumbling through him as Chris' fingers skirt over that place inside him.
Chris' fingers are moving faster now, and Peter speeds up his own hand to match. His cock is throbbing with each pass of his fist, the scent of precome flooding the air as it leaks from his cock to soak into the bed under him.
And, still, Chris' words are reaching him. Words in honey-smooth tones meant only for him, Chris' lips wrapping around Do it-- and That's it-- and Come for me, Peter--
And Peter does. His orgasm rolls through him, red hot and perfect, his cock twitching in his grip as it pulses out ribbons of white.
He can't keep himself up anymore, has no more strength in his body to do anything except slump to the bed.
There's a bitten-off laugh as Chris follows him down, Chris' fingers still in his ass, still fucking Peter slowly.
"Beautiful--"
Peter can't reply, can't do anything except whine as the fingers inside him continue to brush against his prostate.
"Please--"
Because he's too sensitive, too keyed up. It's too soon for him to do anything beyond roll his hips against the sheet he's lying on, his spent cock dragging through the sticky wet patch already under him.
Chris pumps his fingers in and out a few more times, a slow, lethargic movement that has Peter shivering. And the Chris-- has barely left Peter's lips, quiet and hardly discernable, before Chris' fingers are pulling away, leaving Peter empty.
Chris moves, and there's the sound of skin against skin, low grunts, and a groaned out Peter--
The sharp smell of Chris' come hits Peter only a second before the warmth splatters over his ass. And Peter's wolf purrs inside him at the way Chris has marked him, at the way Chris' scent is on him. Purrs at the way Chris rubs the come into Peter's skin before lying next to him and pulling Peter into his arms.
Peter goes easily, his head against Chris' chest. There are fingers running through his hair, and Chris telling him to sleep, telling him to stay. Because Peter is normally gone by now, out of Chris' apartment and ignoring the howling wolf inside him screaming at him to go back.
But this feels right, it feels like his wolf settling in contentment. It feels like home and mate and stay. So Peter reaches across Chris' stomach, his fingers finding Chris' and tangling them together, and lets Chris' heartbeat carry him.
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1135
Summary: In which there is rimming and feelings
Additional Notes: Not beta'ed. Which means Temaris will be wincing at the amount of sentences that start with 'And' ::grin::
Title taken from Maroon 5's Moves Like Jagger.
Take me by the tongue (and I'll know you)
A growl works its way through Peter as he feels Chris' breath across his skin. "Damn it, Argent, will you fucking do something."
There's a huff of laughter, sending another gust of air across his ass. "And what would you like me to do, Hale?" Chris asks, amusement colouring his tone.
"Any-- fuck--" Peter's words are cut off by the feel of Chris' tongue laving across his asshole. Chris' stubble is rubbing on his skin, a rough constant against him as the tongue laps over him again and again.
Chris' hands on are his thighs, holding Peter open and branding Chris' name onto his skin like a tattoo. He's being gripped so tightly that Peter can feel the bruises form and fade before blooming again under Chris' fingertips. And he knows it's because he can't stay still, knows it's because each wet stripe over his ass is making him push back onto Chris' face.
There's a sharp slap to his thigh as Chris murmurs, "Patience, pup--" against Peter's flesh. And Peter's trying, he is, but his cock is dripping and his head is swimming and every part of his body is craving Chris' touch.
"Please, Christopher--" Because Peter's beyond holding himself back now, beyond anything except needing Chris inside him. And the tiny part of him that baulks at begging a hunter for anything is consumed by the desire running through him. Because he's not begging a hunter, he's begging Chris, and he's begged Chris before, knows he'll beg Chris again.
Chris doesn't answer Peter's plea with words, doesn't answer with anything except his tongue stabbing into Peter's body. And, fuck. Peter can feel his body opening for Chris, can feel Chris' tongue working its way inside him. There's a tearing sound, and it takes Peter a minute to realise his claws are out and ripping into the sheet under him.
But he'll rip a thousand sheets on a thousand beds, if only it keeps Chris inside him. He feels loose and wet, sloppy and used, and Chris' tongue is perfect, but it's still not enough.
"Please, Chris. Pleasepleasepleaseplease--"
The words are coming from him without thought, dropping from his lips more easily than anything else ever has. Because he doesn't need to hold himself back, not here, not with Chris.
Peter moans as Chris pulls back, blowing cool air across his asshole and chuckling as Peter shivers.
"Touch yourself, Peter," Chris orders.
And even though the words are careful, low and soft in their cadence, there's no thought in Peter to disobey. He moves a hand under him, his shoulders on the bed and his hips hitched high. It's the first time his cock has been touched since they started, and the jolt that runs through him as he wraps his fingers around the hard, straining flesh has Peter thinking that he's going to come before Chris' words have even faded from the air.
"Jerk yourself for me, pup."
Peter arches as two of Chris' fingers slide inside him, slide inside on nothing more than a spit-slick push.
"That's it, Peter," Chris coos, as Peter moves his hand over his cock, slowly jerking himself.
His cock twitches with each movement, because he's been hard since Chris first laid him out on the bed, been hard since Chris settled between his thighs.
Peter closes his eyes as the words wash over him, each slow thrust of Chris' fingers into Peter's ass accompanied by a Yes-- and a Beautiful-- and a Mine--
He's jerking himself at the same speed Chris' fingers are thrusting into him, matching Chris automatically.
And all the way through, the words keep coming. Chris telling Peter how perfect he is, how he was made to take Chris' fingers, Chris' cock.
The world narrows itself to Chris' fingers, Chris' voice. Narrows itself to Chris, to a place where nothing else matters except the stretch of his body and the words in his ears.
It's as if Peter's floating, carried on a wave of Chris' low tones, the ebb and swell of the tide in him no longer controlled by the moon, but by the man behind him. And he can feel the sensations starting to crest, can feel the dull thunder of pleasure rumbling through him as Chris' fingers skirt over that place inside him.
Chris' fingers are moving faster now, and Peter speeds up his own hand to match. His cock is throbbing with each pass of his fist, the scent of precome flooding the air as it leaks from his cock to soak into the bed under him.
And, still, Chris' words are reaching him. Words in honey-smooth tones meant only for him, Chris' lips wrapping around Do it-- and That's it-- and Come for me, Peter--
And Peter does. His orgasm rolls through him, red hot and perfect, his cock twitching in his grip as it pulses out ribbons of white.
He can't keep himself up anymore, has no more strength in his body to do anything except slump to the bed.
There's a bitten-off laugh as Chris follows him down, Chris' fingers still in his ass, still fucking Peter slowly.
"Beautiful--"
Peter can't reply, can't do anything except whine as the fingers inside him continue to brush against his prostate.
"Please--"
Because he's too sensitive, too keyed up. It's too soon for him to do anything beyond roll his hips against the sheet he's lying on, his spent cock dragging through the sticky wet patch already under him.
Chris pumps his fingers in and out a few more times, a slow, lethargic movement that has Peter shivering. And the Chris-- has barely left Peter's lips, quiet and hardly discernable, before Chris' fingers are pulling away, leaving Peter empty.
Chris moves, and there's the sound of skin against skin, low grunts, and a groaned out Peter--
The sharp smell of Chris' come hits Peter only a second before the warmth splatters over his ass. And Peter's wolf purrs inside him at the way Chris has marked him, at the way Chris' scent is on him. Purrs at the way Chris rubs the come into Peter's skin before lying next to him and pulling Peter into his arms.
Peter goes easily, his head against Chris' chest. There are fingers running through his hair, and Chris telling him to sleep, telling him to stay. Because Peter is normally gone by now, out of Chris' apartment and ignoring the howling wolf inside him screaming at him to go back.
But this feels right, it feels like his wolf settling in contentment. It feels like home and mate and stay. So Peter reaches across Chris' stomach, his fingers finding Chris' and tangling them together, and lets Chris' heartbeat carry him.
