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moonlettuceTitle: Icarus
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,553
Summary: In which Chris buys Peter the best presents
Icarus
The machine is there when Peter gets to Chris' apartment, set up next to the bed.
"Why, Christopher," Peter comments, running his hand along the thick dildo protruding from the frame, "you buy me the nicest presents."
Chris closes the distance between them, his hand wrapping around the back of Peter's neck, solid and warm. "I heard what you said, pup."
"And what was that?" Peter asks, soft shivers running through him as Chris' thumb rubs over his skin. Because he's said a lot of things when Chris is driving into him. Has pleaded and begged, with words dropping from him, forced out by Chris pressing into his body.
Breath ghosts over Peter's ear as Chris leans into him, his voice low as he speaks. "About how you wanted me to stay in you, to just keep fucking you until you couldn't take it anymore."
Oh, that. Peter has flashes of memory, of shaking in Chris' arms as he came, of begging the other man to stay in him. Flashes of wanting so badly to have Chris just keep fucking him through it, fucking him until Peter couldn't even remember his own name, could remember nothing but the feel of Chris, thick and hot inside him. Remembers whining when Chris pulled out, when Chris pulled Peter into his arms, running his fingers through Peter's hair. Remembers "Wish I could stay in you, pup."
"I can't wait to see you, Peter," Chris continues. "Spread out and opened." He presses against Peter's back, the fingers of one hand curling around Peter's hip, as his other hand moves to Peter's crotch, presses against the hardness straining behind the denim. "I want to hear every noise you make as that cock fucks into you."
Peter's head falls back to rest on Chris' shoulder, as Chris snaps open Peter's jeans and works his hand inside, gently tugging denim and cotton down until Peter is fully exposed. Chris' fingers wrap around Peter's cock, stroking it slowly.
"You're going to beg, Peter." The words are a murmur, so low Peter wouldn't be able to pick up on them if he wasn't a wolf. "You're going to beg me to stop the machine, but I won't. I'll only stop it if you safeword out, but you're too stubborn for that, aren't you, pup."
Peter knows Chris is right. Knows that they've gone into everything with that one out that Peter has always refused to take. Because he wants to take everything that Chris gives him, trusts that Chris will never push him past what he can handle.
And Peter never thought he'd be in this position. Trusting a hunter, trusting an Argent. But maybe it's not the fact that Chris is a hunter or an Argent. Maybe it's just that he's Chris. Maybe it's that, deep down, Peter's always trusted Chris, ever since Chris looked into the eyes of a fourteen year old wolf, cowering next to a tree and yelled back to his father that there was nothing there.
There's a whine of loss from Peter's throat, one that he's unable to stop from escaping, as Chris steps back, giving Peter's cock a final stroke before he releases it.
"Strip," Chris orders, a slap to Peter's ass accompanying the word.
Peter moves away from Chris, stripping his clothes off and folding them neatly before placing them on Chris' dresser.
Chris has the lube in his hand by the time Peter turns his attention back to him. "Come here, pup."
Peter pads over to him, cock gently bouncing with each step.
Chris flicks open the lube, slicking up two of his fingers before tossing the tube onto the end table next to the bed. Reaching out, he wraps a hand around Peter's arm, pulling him against Chris' body. The soft cotton of Chris' t-shirt brushes against Peter's nipples as Chris' hand moves from Peter's arm to the small of his back, moves further to slide down over his ass, squeezing roughly at one of Peter's ass cheeks before fingers dig in and pull.
Peter can feel the air brush over his asshole for a brief second before slick fingers push into him, spreading inside and stretching him. His cock is hard against Chris, rough denim pressing into him. Chris' hand feels like a brand against him, fingers digging into his flesh, both pulling his ass cheek and pressing him closer to Chris.
"Can't wait to get that cock into you, pup," Chris says, words accompanied by a twist of the fingers inside Peter. "Do I need to tie you down, or are you going to be good and take it for me?"
It takes Peter a couple of attempts to get the words out, takes him a couple of attempts to be able to talk around the ball of heat sitting low in his throat, the one that grows bigger each time Chris' fingers move in him. "Going to be good--"
The smile on Chris' face is worth the effort it takes to get the words out. The fingers pull out of Peter and there's a sharp slap to his ass that flares bright before muting to a dull dissipating warmth. "Over the end of the bed, Peter."
There's a pillow next to the bed, and Peter knows Chris put it there, knows Chris had no doubt Peter would be kneeling tonight. Peter kneels down, resting his upper body on the bed, his arms outstretched to either side.
"Legs apart." Chris' hand runs over Peter's thighs, nudging his legs further apart until there's a soft sound of satisfaction from the hunter.
Fingers trail over Peter's asshole, dipping inside quickly before pulling out again, before Peter can hear the soft sounds of Chris' feet on the carpet moving away from him. Seconds pass before Chris is back, before the machine is settled behind Peter and the wolf can feel the press of slick silicone against his ass.
The fake cock presses into him slowly, Peter's ass opening to accept it until the head pops inside him. It sits just inside him, asshole stretched around it, as Chris rubs a hand over Peter's back.
"I'm going to start it slowly, pup," Chris says. "And it's not going to stop. Even if you beg, even if you plead."
Chris keeps his hand on Peter as the machine starts, the thickness moving into him in an inexorable crawl. The speed is maddeningly slow, and Peter whines as the cock pushes in, opening him up bit by bit until finally, finally, he can feel the press of fake balls against his skin.
Chris stops the machine, its cock fully inside Peter. "You feel that?" he asks, his fingers stroking over Peter's back. "Feel how deep it is in you?"
"Yes--" The word breaks in the middle, broken by heat and want and desire. Broken by the press of silicon against his prostate, by the throbbing pulse in his own hard cock.
The machine starts up again, the cock dragging out of Peter until just the head remains inside him. There's no pause as it moves back into him, faster this time, but still slower than Peter wants, slower than he needs.
"Chris, please--"
The words break off into a whine, and Peter hears the jump in Chris' heartbeat as he begs, hears the hitch in the hunter's breath. The hand resting on Peter's back moves, and fingers start to run through his hair.
"Ssh, pup. I'll get you there."
The machine starts to move quicker, pushing in and sliding out, slipping over Peter's prostate with each movement. It fucks into him, once, twice, before it speeds up again. The jump in speed this time is considerable, and the breath is forced out of Peter as the fake cock pushes up him, only to pull away again.
Each punch into Peter steals his breath, gasps and whines the only noises he can make. The silicone is rubbing across his prostate without pause and Peter can feel the heat build low in the pit of his stomach. Feel it sitting there, hot and heavy, expanding outward with each second.
"Come on, pup," Chris murmurs.
Pre-come is dripping onto the floor, Peter's cock hard and wanting as shudders run through his body.
Chris' fingers tangle in the strands of his hair and he tugs Peter's head up, tugs until Peter can't do anything but look at him. Until he can't do anything but meet Chris' gaze, sharp blue eyes watching him as he shivers, spitted on a fake cock.
The grip on his hair tightens as Chris' other hand moves to Peter's neck, wrapping loosely around his throat, thumb rubbing lightly over his skin.
It's there inside him, tight and ready. And Peter doesn't know if it's Chris' hand around his throat or the cock hammering into his ass, doesn't know if it's the heat in Chris' eyes as he looks at him or the soft "Come for me, Peter--" that does it, but he's falling. The ball of need in his belly explodes outwards, cock spurting untouched against the bed and his ass clenching around the dildo still moving within him.
Peter blanks out for just a second, with Chris' hand gone from his throat when he's able to focus again and, instead, stroking over his shoulder. He can't stop shaking, the machine still going, still fucking into his twitching ass. It slides over his prostate, and he can feel his cock react, can feel it start to harden again.
The bed shifts slightly as Chris moves, shifts as he arranges himself to sit with a leg either side of Peter. Chris is barely settled before Peter rests his head on his thigh, the scent of Chris' precome strong in Peter's nose, even from behind the denim currently trapping Chris' hard cock. The shivering won't stop, running through Peter with each movement of the machine behind him.
Peter closes his eyes briefly, opening them as the rasp of a zipper being lowered joins the sounds currently surrounding him. Joins the whirring of the machine and the slick sound of it fucking into him. Joins the sound of Chris' heartbeat, soft and steady and anchoring Peter with each beat.
Chris is pulling his cock out of his jeans when Peter looks at him, the scent of precome and musk and Chris increasing without the layers of fabric between them. He edges forward slightly, holding Peter under the chin and lifting Peter's head as he moves, until his cock is nudging at Peter's lips.
Opening his lips is automatic, when he feels Chris' cock against them. There's a sweep of precome against Peter's lower lip, and then the head of Chris' cock is in his mouth. Peter lets his body be pushed forward slightly by the machine fucking into him, lets Chris' cock slip in further into his mouth until Chris is resting on Peter's tongue, heavy and solid.
Peter sucks and laps, his tongue trying to work over the flesh in his mouth. He knows the blowjob he's giving is sloppy, his lips are too loose and there's saliva and precome running down his chin. But he can't seem to make his mouth co-operate fully, not with the dildo rubbing near constantly over his prostate, not with his own cock throbbing hard and needy for a second time.
And maybe Chris can see it, can see Peter struggling to suck him, because both his hands are holding Peter's head, guiding him gently. Chris' hips lift carefully, fucking into Peter's mouth with small thrusts.
Chris' cockhead is running over Peter's tongue, leaving trails of precome, sharp and perfect.
"Tighten your lips, pup," Chris murmurs.
But Peter's lips don't want to work, don't want to do anything except stay slack around the hardness between them.
"Come on, Peter--"
And it takes a minute, but Peter's lips finally close fully around Chris' cock.
"Good boy." The words are soft, careful. Accompanied by Chris' thumb running over Peter's cheek where he's holding Peter's head.
Chris' hips are hitching up, fucking his cock into Peter's mouth in short thrusts. And Peter can feel Chris getting close. Can feel it in the way Chris' breath stutters and the rushing of his heartbeat. Peter laps at Chris' cock with his tongue, but it's nowhere near as co-ordinated as he wants it to be. So he settles for brushing his tongue over the hard flesh in his mouth in any way he can.
Chris' cock hits the back of Peter's mouth once, twice, before Chris is coming, spilling himself down Peter's throat. And maybe it's the feel of Chris' come on his tongue as Chris drags his cock out of Peter's mouth, or maybe it's the scent, sharp and there and filling Peter's senses. Or maybe it's the way Chris' hands tighten slightly, the way he groans out Peter's name as he comes. Either way, it triggers something in Peter, and he follows Chris over the edge, his ass fluttering around the silicone fucking into him.
Peter drops his head to Chris' thigh, shuddering as the fake cock continues to fuck his sensitive ass. He hasn't even softened fully, the angle of the dildo meaning it's rubbing over his prostate with each thrust.
Chris' fingers are trailing through his hair, trailing through the sweat-lick strands as he talks to Peter. "Ready for another one, Peter? We've only just started, you know."
Peter's only response is a whine, because he can't get the words out of him. They've been stolen by the cock plowing into him.
He's hard again, and he can't stop shivering. And Chris just keeps talking.
"Look so perfect, pup. I should keep you like this, fucked out and fucked open. Just leave you tied in here, with that fat, fake cock fucking you whenever I'm not."
Peter can't stop the moan at the thought of it. At the thought of being kept here, for nothing more than Chris' pleasure, the fucking machine keeping him open and ready Chris' cock.
There's an amused snort for Chris. "I take it you like the sound of that, Peter? Like the sound of being here, just for me?"
Peter does like the sound of it. And his cock definitely likes the sound of it. His dick is jerking with each thrust, a hint of pain starting to edge around the heat pooling in his gut. He can't stop the whimpers coming from his throat each time the dildo moves into him, each time it pulls back, leaving Peter empty for only that brief moment before it pushes back into him.
"Come on, pup," Chris murmurs. "Give it up for me." Shifting slightly, Chris lifts a leg, rubbing his boot against Peter's cock.
It's enough to push Peter over, for the pleasure to rush through him, heavy and thick and almost painful. And all Peter feels is his cock starting to spurt out another load of come as the blackness hits him.
Peter doesn't know how long he's been out for when he comes around, his head still pillowed on Chris' thigh. Chris is petting him gently, and the dildo is still fucking him, his ass a white blaze of sensation that somewhere between agony and perfection.
His mouth feels like it's filled with cotton, and the only sounds he can make are shuddering gasps of air.
"Welcome back, pup," Chris says quietly.
Peter tries to lick his lips, but his tongue is too thick, too heavy. "H- how--" It takes him a few tries to get the word out, to work around the rock in his throat and the stuffing in his mouth.
"How long were you out for?" Chris asks.
Peter nods against Chris' thigh, not wanting to move beyond the rocking of his body with each thrust into his ass.
"Long enough," Chris replies, not giving Peter an answer at all. "Enough to come twice more."
Oh. Which explains why his ass feels like it's on fire and his cock like someone's stripped it raw.
"I figure we're nearly done," Chris comments. "But I know you've got one more in you."
The whimper is escaping from Peter's throat before Chris even finishes speaking. Because he can't. His balls feel like they've been drained and he can feel his eyes getting wetter with every movement in his ass.
Cupping his face, Chris lifts Peter's head. "You can do this, pup. Once more."
Chris looks at him, and Peter knows what's he's waiting for. Knows that if Peter just says the word, if he safewords out, then Chris will stop the machine.
"P-- please--"
Chris smiles widely. "I think we'll turn it all the way up for this one." He lowers Peter's head to his thigh, letting Peter's face bury itself in the denim.
Peter's fingers grip Chris' thighs as Chris takes the remote out of his pocket.
"You ready, pup?"
But Chris doesn't wait for an answer, doesn't wait as he flicks the remote. Peter grunts out half a scream into Chris' thigh, feels his claws popping out, pricking tiny holes in Chris' jeans. Peter's ass is aching and swollen, and each rapid-fire thrust of the dildo is shooting sparks up his spine.
Chris' hands cup Peter's face again, lifting Peter off his thigh as the room fills with babbled out pleading. Fills with Oh god-- and Too much-- and Please--, fills with slurred out words all running together that Peter barely recognises as coming from himself.
"Just one more, Peter," Chris is saying, and the words feel like they're not there, like they're floating in the ether just out of Peter's understanding.
He can't see Chris through the tears in his eyes, through the way his body is shaking each time the silicone fucks into him. Peter thinks he's whining, thinks the high keening sound is coming from him, but he can't be sure.
"Let me help, pup," Chris says, as his boot presses back at Peter's cock.
And Peter tries to jerk away, because it's too much, but his body won't obey him. Won't let him move away from Chris' hands, won't let him move away from the cock invading his ass.
Chris' boot is rubbing against Peter's cock, and Peter's so hard it hurts. Every part of him feels electrified, feels like he's been flayed open and taken apart. He doesn't have words any more, just panted out whines and gasps.
Chris' fingers are digging into Peter's cheeks, tilting Peter's head up. Leaning down, Chris presses his forehead to Peter's, his breath brushing over Peter's lips as he exhales.
Peter can feel the tension in Chris' grip, can feel the touch of Chris' boot get surer, harder.
Chris wipes a thumb over Peter's cheek, and there's wetness slicking across his face. And he knows it's coming, can feel it running through both him and Chris, can feel it when Chris presses his lips to Peter's. Chris inhales, and then his boot flicks against Peter's cockhead, the softly ordered Come-- murmured against Peter's lips.
And Peter's tumbling without end, his cock jerking dryly as comes and his asshole spasming wildly around the still fucking cock. It's pain and want and sensation, all wrapped in delicious agony, and the blue of Chris' eyes is the thing Peter holds on to as the abyss claims him again.
The first thing Peter notices when he swims back to consciousness is that he's on the bed, lying half on the mattress and half on Chris.
"Ssh," murmurs Chris, when Peter tries to talk, tries to get a word, any word, around the thickness of his tongue and the dry rocks in his throat.
Chris shifts slightly, hand reaching out and coming back with a juice box. He holds the straw to Peter's lips. "Drink," he says, Peter's lips opening at the softly spoken command. "Slowly."
The juice is room temperature, smooth and perfect as Peter takes small sips. Chris' hand is rubbing soothing circles on Peter's back as Peter empties the juice box.
Chris drops the empty box over the side of the bed, his hand coming back to card through Peter's hair. "How are you feeling?"
Peter closes his eyes. His ass is throbbing with each breath, and he feels broken open and used, like his entire body has been taken apart and is only slowly being put back together.
"Peter?"
And Peter can hear the concern in Chris' voice, only Peter doesn't know how to answer, doesn't have the words to explain the way Chris has just laid him bare. Only, maybe he doesn't need them. "Green," he murmurs, his answer partly muffled against the shirt Chris is still wearing.
Chris' arm tightens around him, even as some of the tension drains out of Chris' body, and Peter know he's been understood.
The throbbing in his body is lessening with each second, the steady touch of Chris' hand, the calming of Chris' scent putting him back together just as much as his wolf's healing is.
There's a soft kiss on the top of his head, as Chris murmurs "Happy birthday, Peter," into his hair.
Peter doesn't reply, he doesn't have to. He just lets the soft cadence of Chris' heartbeat carry him. It's all he needs.
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,553
Summary: In which Chris buys Peter the best presents
Icarus
The machine is there when Peter gets to Chris' apartment, set up next to the bed.
"Why, Christopher," Peter comments, running his hand along the thick dildo protruding from the frame, "you buy me the nicest presents."
Chris closes the distance between them, his hand wrapping around the back of Peter's neck, solid and warm. "I heard what you said, pup."
"And what was that?" Peter asks, soft shivers running through him as Chris' thumb rubs over his skin. Because he's said a lot of things when Chris is driving into him. Has pleaded and begged, with words dropping from him, forced out by Chris pressing into his body.
Breath ghosts over Peter's ear as Chris leans into him, his voice low as he speaks. "About how you wanted me to stay in you, to just keep fucking you until you couldn't take it anymore."
Oh, that. Peter has flashes of memory, of shaking in Chris' arms as he came, of begging the other man to stay in him. Flashes of wanting so badly to have Chris just keep fucking him through it, fucking him until Peter couldn't even remember his own name, could remember nothing but the feel of Chris, thick and hot inside him. Remembers whining when Chris pulled out, when Chris pulled Peter into his arms, running his fingers through Peter's hair. Remembers "Wish I could stay in you, pup."
"I can't wait to see you, Peter," Chris continues. "Spread out and opened." He presses against Peter's back, the fingers of one hand curling around Peter's hip, as his other hand moves to Peter's crotch, presses against the hardness straining behind the denim. "I want to hear every noise you make as that cock fucks into you."
Peter's head falls back to rest on Chris' shoulder, as Chris snaps open Peter's jeans and works his hand inside, gently tugging denim and cotton down until Peter is fully exposed. Chris' fingers wrap around Peter's cock, stroking it slowly.
"You're going to beg, Peter." The words are a murmur, so low Peter wouldn't be able to pick up on them if he wasn't a wolf. "You're going to beg me to stop the machine, but I won't. I'll only stop it if you safeword out, but you're too stubborn for that, aren't you, pup."
Peter knows Chris is right. Knows that they've gone into everything with that one out that Peter has always refused to take. Because he wants to take everything that Chris gives him, trusts that Chris will never push him past what he can handle.
And Peter never thought he'd be in this position. Trusting a hunter, trusting an Argent. But maybe it's not the fact that Chris is a hunter or an Argent. Maybe it's just that he's Chris. Maybe it's that, deep down, Peter's always trusted Chris, ever since Chris looked into the eyes of a fourteen year old wolf, cowering next to a tree and yelled back to his father that there was nothing there.
There's a whine of loss from Peter's throat, one that he's unable to stop from escaping, as Chris steps back, giving Peter's cock a final stroke before he releases it.
"Strip," Chris orders, a slap to Peter's ass accompanying the word.
Peter moves away from Chris, stripping his clothes off and folding them neatly before placing them on Chris' dresser.
Chris has the lube in his hand by the time Peter turns his attention back to him. "Come here, pup."
Peter pads over to him, cock gently bouncing with each step.
Chris flicks open the lube, slicking up two of his fingers before tossing the tube onto the end table next to the bed. Reaching out, he wraps a hand around Peter's arm, pulling him against Chris' body. The soft cotton of Chris' t-shirt brushes against Peter's nipples as Chris' hand moves from Peter's arm to the small of his back, moves further to slide down over his ass, squeezing roughly at one of Peter's ass cheeks before fingers dig in and pull.
Peter can feel the air brush over his asshole for a brief second before slick fingers push into him, spreading inside and stretching him. His cock is hard against Chris, rough denim pressing into him. Chris' hand feels like a brand against him, fingers digging into his flesh, both pulling his ass cheek and pressing him closer to Chris.
"Can't wait to get that cock into you, pup," Chris says, words accompanied by a twist of the fingers inside Peter. "Do I need to tie you down, or are you going to be good and take it for me?"
It takes Peter a couple of attempts to get the words out, takes him a couple of attempts to be able to talk around the ball of heat sitting low in his throat, the one that grows bigger each time Chris' fingers move in him. "Going to be good--"
The smile on Chris' face is worth the effort it takes to get the words out. The fingers pull out of Peter and there's a sharp slap to his ass that flares bright before muting to a dull dissipating warmth. "Over the end of the bed, Peter."
There's a pillow next to the bed, and Peter knows Chris put it there, knows Chris had no doubt Peter would be kneeling tonight. Peter kneels down, resting his upper body on the bed, his arms outstretched to either side.
"Legs apart." Chris' hand runs over Peter's thighs, nudging his legs further apart until there's a soft sound of satisfaction from the hunter.
Fingers trail over Peter's asshole, dipping inside quickly before pulling out again, before Peter can hear the soft sounds of Chris' feet on the carpet moving away from him. Seconds pass before Chris is back, before the machine is settled behind Peter and the wolf can feel the press of slick silicone against his ass.
The fake cock presses into him slowly, Peter's ass opening to accept it until the head pops inside him. It sits just inside him, asshole stretched around it, as Chris rubs a hand over Peter's back.
"I'm going to start it slowly, pup," Chris says. "And it's not going to stop. Even if you beg, even if you plead."
Chris keeps his hand on Peter as the machine starts, the thickness moving into him in an inexorable crawl. The speed is maddeningly slow, and Peter whines as the cock pushes in, opening him up bit by bit until finally, finally, he can feel the press of fake balls against his skin.
Chris stops the machine, its cock fully inside Peter. "You feel that?" he asks, his fingers stroking over Peter's back. "Feel how deep it is in you?"
"Yes--" The word breaks in the middle, broken by heat and want and desire. Broken by the press of silicon against his prostate, by the throbbing pulse in his own hard cock.
The machine starts up again, the cock dragging out of Peter until just the head remains inside him. There's no pause as it moves back into him, faster this time, but still slower than Peter wants, slower than he needs.
"Chris, please--"
The words break off into a whine, and Peter hears the jump in Chris' heartbeat as he begs, hears the hitch in the hunter's breath. The hand resting on Peter's back moves, and fingers start to run through his hair.
"Ssh, pup. I'll get you there."
The machine starts to move quicker, pushing in and sliding out, slipping over Peter's prostate with each movement. It fucks into him, once, twice, before it speeds up again. The jump in speed this time is considerable, and the breath is forced out of Peter as the fake cock pushes up him, only to pull away again.
Each punch into Peter steals his breath, gasps and whines the only noises he can make. The silicone is rubbing across his prostate without pause and Peter can feel the heat build low in the pit of his stomach. Feel it sitting there, hot and heavy, expanding outward with each second.
"Come on, pup," Chris murmurs.
Pre-come is dripping onto the floor, Peter's cock hard and wanting as shudders run through his body.
Chris' fingers tangle in the strands of his hair and he tugs Peter's head up, tugs until Peter can't do anything but look at him. Until he can't do anything but meet Chris' gaze, sharp blue eyes watching him as he shivers, spitted on a fake cock.
The grip on his hair tightens as Chris' other hand moves to Peter's neck, wrapping loosely around his throat, thumb rubbing lightly over his skin.
It's there inside him, tight and ready. And Peter doesn't know if it's Chris' hand around his throat or the cock hammering into his ass, doesn't know if it's the heat in Chris' eyes as he looks at him or the soft "Come for me, Peter--" that does it, but he's falling. The ball of need in his belly explodes outwards, cock spurting untouched against the bed and his ass clenching around the dildo still moving within him.
Peter blanks out for just a second, with Chris' hand gone from his throat when he's able to focus again and, instead, stroking over his shoulder. He can't stop shaking, the machine still going, still fucking into his twitching ass. It slides over his prostate, and he can feel his cock react, can feel it start to harden again.
The bed shifts slightly as Chris moves, shifts as he arranges himself to sit with a leg either side of Peter. Chris is barely settled before Peter rests his head on his thigh, the scent of Chris' precome strong in Peter's nose, even from behind the denim currently trapping Chris' hard cock. The shivering won't stop, running through Peter with each movement of the machine behind him.
Peter closes his eyes briefly, opening them as the rasp of a zipper being lowered joins the sounds currently surrounding him. Joins the whirring of the machine and the slick sound of it fucking into him. Joins the sound of Chris' heartbeat, soft and steady and anchoring Peter with each beat.
Chris is pulling his cock out of his jeans when Peter looks at him, the scent of precome and musk and Chris increasing without the layers of fabric between them. He edges forward slightly, holding Peter under the chin and lifting Peter's head as he moves, until his cock is nudging at Peter's lips.
Opening his lips is automatic, when he feels Chris' cock against them. There's a sweep of precome against Peter's lower lip, and then the head of Chris' cock is in his mouth. Peter lets his body be pushed forward slightly by the machine fucking into him, lets Chris' cock slip in further into his mouth until Chris is resting on Peter's tongue, heavy and solid.
Peter sucks and laps, his tongue trying to work over the flesh in his mouth. He knows the blowjob he's giving is sloppy, his lips are too loose and there's saliva and precome running down his chin. But he can't seem to make his mouth co-operate fully, not with the dildo rubbing near constantly over his prostate, not with his own cock throbbing hard and needy for a second time.
And maybe Chris can see it, can see Peter struggling to suck him, because both his hands are holding Peter's head, guiding him gently. Chris' hips lift carefully, fucking into Peter's mouth with small thrusts.
Chris' cockhead is running over Peter's tongue, leaving trails of precome, sharp and perfect.
"Tighten your lips, pup," Chris murmurs.
But Peter's lips don't want to work, don't want to do anything except stay slack around the hardness between them.
"Come on, Peter--"
And it takes a minute, but Peter's lips finally close fully around Chris' cock.
"Good boy." The words are soft, careful. Accompanied by Chris' thumb running over Peter's cheek where he's holding Peter's head.
Chris' hips are hitching up, fucking his cock into Peter's mouth in short thrusts. And Peter can feel Chris getting close. Can feel it in the way Chris' breath stutters and the rushing of his heartbeat. Peter laps at Chris' cock with his tongue, but it's nowhere near as co-ordinated as he wants it to be. So he settles for brushing his tongue over the hard flesh in his mouth in any way he can.
Chris' cock hits the back of Peter's mouth once, twice, before Chris is coming, spilling himself down Peter's throat. And maybe it's the feel of Chris' come on his tongue as Chris drags his cock out of Peter's mouth, or maybe it's the scent, sharp and there and filling Peter's senses. Or maybe it's the way Chris' hands tighten slightly, the way he groans out Peter's name as he comes. Either way, it triggers something in Peter, and he follows Chris over the edge, his ass fluttering around the silicone fucking into him.
Peter drops his head to Chris' thigh, shuddering as the fake cock continues to fuck his sensitive ass. He hasn't even softened fully, the angle of the dildo meaning it's rubbing over his prostate with each thrust.
Chris' fingers are trailing through his hair, trailing through the sweat-lick strands as he talks to Peter. "Ready for another one, Peter? We've only just started, you know."
Peter's only response is a whine, because he can't get the words out of him. They've been stolen by the cock plowing into him.
He's hard again, and he can't stop shivering. And Chris just keeps talking.
"Look so perfect, pup. I should keep you like this, fucked out and fucked open. Just leave you tied in here, with that fat, fake cock fucking you whenever I'm not."
Peter can't stop the moan at the thought of it. At the thought of being kept here, for nothing more than Chris' pleasure, the fucking machine keeping him open and ready Chris' cock.
There's an amused snort for Chris. "I take it you like the sound of that, Peter? Like the sound of being here, just for me?"
Peter does like the sound of it. And his cock definitely likes the sound of it. His dick is jerking with each thrust, a hint of pain starting to edge around the heat pooling in his gut. He can't stop the whimpers coming from his throat each time the dildo moves into him, each time it pulls back, leaving Peter empty for only that brief moment before it pushes back into him.
"Come on, pup," Chris murmurs. "Give it up for me." Shifting slightly, Chris lifts a leg, rubbing his boot against Peter's cock.
It's enough to push Peter over, for the pleasure to rush through him, heavy and thick and almost painful. And all Peter feels is his cock starting to spurt out another load of come as the blackness hits him.
Peter doesn't know how long he's been out for when he comes around, his head still pillowed on Chris' thigh. Chris is petting him gently, and the dildo is still fucking him, his ass a white blaze of sensation that somewhere between agony and perfection.
His mouth feels like it's filled with cotton, and the only sounds he can make are shuddering gasps of air.
"Welcome back, pup," Chris says quietly.
Peter tries to lick his lips, but his tongue is too thick, too heavy. "H- how--" It takes him a few tries to get the word out, to work around the rock in his throat and the stuffing in his mouth.
"How long were you out for?" Chris asks.
Peter nods against Chris' thigh, not wanting to move beyond the rocking of his body with each thrust into his ass.
"Long enough," Chris replies, not giving Peter an answer at all. "Enough to come twice more."
Oh. Which explains why his ass feels like it's on fire and his cock like someone's stripped it raw.
"I figure we're nearly done," Chris comments. "But I know you've got one more in you."
The whimper is escaping from Peter's throat before Chris even finishes speaking. Because he can't. His balls feel like they've been drained and he can feel his eyes getting wetter with every movement in his ass.
Cupping his face, Chris lifts Peter's head. "You can do this, pup. Once more."
Chris looks at him, and Peter knows what's he's waiting for. Knows that if Peter just says the word, if he safewords out, then Chris will stop the machine.
"P-- please--"
Chris smiles widely. "I think we'll turn it all the way up for this one." He lowers Peter's head to his thigh, letting Peter's face bury itself in the denim.
Peter's fingers grip Chris' thighs as Chris takes the remote out of his pocket.
"You ready, pup?"
But Chris doesn't wait for an answer, doesn't wait as he flicks the remote. Peter grunts out half a scream into Chris' thigh, feels his claws popping out, pricking tiny holes in Chris' jeans. Peter's ass is aching and swollen, and each rapid-fire thrust of the dildo is shooting sparks up his spine.
Chris' hands cup Peter's face again, lifting Peter off his thigh as the room fills with babbled out pleading. Fills with Oh god-- and Too much-- and Please--, fills with slurred out words all running together that Peter barely recognises as coming from himself.
"Just one more, Peter," Chris is saying, and the words feel like they're not there, like they're floating in the ether just out of Peter's understanding.
He can't see Chris through the tears in his eyes, through the way his body is shaking each time the silicone fucks into him. Peter thinks he's whining, thinks the high keening sound is coming from him, but he can't be sure.
"Let me help, pup," Chris says, as his boot presses back at Peter's cock.
And Peter tries to jerk away, because it's too much, but his body won't obey him. Won't let him move away from Chris' hands, won't let him move away from the cock invading his ass.
Chris' boot is rubbing against Peter's cock, and Peter's so hard it hurts. Every part of him feels electrified, feels like he's been flayed open and taken apart. He doesn't have words any more, just panted out whines and gasps.
Chris' fingers are digging into Peter's cheeks, tilting Peter's head up. Leaning down, Chris presses his forehead to Peter's, his breath brushing over Peter's lips as he exhales.
Peter can feel the tension in Chris' grip, can feel the touch of Chris' boot get surer, harder.
Chris wipes a thumb over Peter's cheek, and there's wetness slicking across his face. And he knows it's coming, can feel it running through both him and Chris, can feel it when Chris presses his lips to Peter's. Chris inhales, and then his boot flicks against Peter's cockhead, the softly ordered Come-- murmured against Peter's lips.
And Peter's tumbling without end, his cock jerking dryly as comes and his asshole spasming wildly around the still fucking cock. It's pain and want and sensation, all wrapped in delicious agony, and the blue of Chris' eyes is the thing Peter holds on to as the abyss claims him again.
The first thing Peter notices when he swims back to consciousness is that he's on the bed, lying half on the mattress and half on Chris.
"Ssh," murmurs Chris, when Peter tries to talk, tries to get a word, any word, around the thickness of his tongue and the dry rocks in his throat.
Chris shifts slightly, hand reaching out and coming back with a juice box. He holds the straw to Peter's lips. "Drink," he says, Peter's lips opening at the softly spoken command. "Slowly."
The juice is room temperature, smooth and perfect as Peter takes small sips. Chris' hand is rubbing soothing circles on Peter's back as Peter empties the juice box.
Chris drops the empty box over the side of the bed, his hand coming back to card through Peter's hair. "How are you feeling?"
Peter closes his eyes. His ass is throbbing with each breath, and he feels broken open and used, like his entire body has been taken apart and is only slowly being put back together.
"Peter?"
And Peter can hear the concern in Chris' voice, only Peter doesn't know how to answer, doesn't have the words to explain the way Chris has just laid him bare. Only, maybe he doesn't need them. "Green," he murmurs, his answer partly muffled against the shirt Chris is still wearing.
Chris' arm tightens around him, even as some of the tension drains out of Chris' body, and Peter know he's been understood.
The throbbing in his body is lessening with each second, the steady touch of Chris' hand, the calming of Chris' scent putting him back together just as much as his wolf's healing is.
There's a soft kiss on the top of his head, as Chris murmurs "Happy birthday, Peter," into his hair.
Peter doesn't reply, he doesn't have to. He just lets the soft cadence of Chris' heartbeat carry him. It's all he needs.
