Peter knows Stiles' answer way before he retorts. He always know his answer and yet such relief and pride fills him when the boy tells him.
He snaps his hips sharply against him as he comes, his knees trembling from the effort to meet Stiles' hips. He closes his eyes, only feeling the boy with his lips, his nose and with his fingertips. He doesn't want to let go, he never wants to let go. He feels the grip of Stiles but doesn't pay too much attention, thinking it would fade soon.
Peter repeats Stiles' name like a prayer, like it's the only thing keeping him in this world, in his right mind and in a way it is.
When he feels he filled Stiles nice and well, he has the sense to reach out for the faucets and turn off the ice cold water.
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He snaps his hips sharply against him as he comes, his knees trembling from the effort to meet Stiles' hips. He closes his eyes, only feeling the boy with his lips, his nose and with his fingertips. He doesn't want to let go, he never wants to let go. He feels the grip of Stiles but doesn't pay too much attention, thinking it would fade soon.
Peter repeats Stiles' name like a prayer, like it's the only thing keeping him in this world, in his right mind and in a way it is.
When he feels he filled Stiles nice and well, he has the sense to reach out for the faucets and turn off the ice cold water.