[He wants to say "I don't want your voice tickling my insides" but he knows if he did, Petre'd fucking do it twice as hard. He just stares at Petre for a long moment, wanting nothing but the bite of a cigarette - and squeezes his lips a little more. Idiot. Fucker. Dipshit.]
[He could roll off him, get up and go home - the sock's not really worth jumping through a thousand hoops and yet here Finch is, still debating its worth. He walks the fingers of his other hand down Petre's chest, giving a tug to the waistband of his pants.]
You just want to be fucked? That's what all this is about?
[ Petre lowers his eyes but can't move his head. The touch isn't unwelcome when his lower stomach twitches, just ticklish. Finch gets a mental shrug. ]
And there's more laughter barely held back in his throat like this, smile reaching his eyes. Desperation, sure. They can call it that.
Finch doesn't have Petre's hands pinned, and he finally takes advantage of that: grabbing Finch's neck just under his jaw without pressing; some strange caress to keep him alert, while the other hand starts to tug at the hem of his shirt. ]
[Finch's fingers keep moving - they yank open the front of Petre's pants, tug them lower down his hips. He's got this flutter of his heart in his throat as he looks down at Petre, lips still held in a twisted smirk though he's very much aware of a sudden allure draping over him - makes his fingers grab another grip of Petre's pants, pulling them down hard, freeing his cock.]
[ Finch finally gets Petre to hitch his breath, thrill in his eyes as he watches him move without hesitation. Some people look at Petre and believe they'll never fall into his trap because he sets glaring neon arrows around it; Finch may not be the first or the last to step in it anyway, because curiosity gets the best of those same people. That's when their confidence pivots to thinking they'd never let Petre do anything worse. Whatever happens usually finds a way to linger after they've gone, though, with or without his contribution.
It's not something they're concerned with when sensitive skin is exposed, hips shifting with the brusque undressing. Either he can't or he won't take his eyes off the man above him — the hand on his neck does the exploring for him, joining the other in getting rid of Finch's shirt. Anything to feel his body, any muscle he has built back home or since he's been here. ]
[But he finally relents of his grip on Petre's face, so he can roll back his shoulders and let his shirt fall off. If Petre wants to see more, touch more, feel more? Finch'll let him have it. Just as he'll yank Petre's pants down to his ankles, before pushing his knees up toward his chest. All so he can duck down, get between Petre's thighs and have Petre's bound legs to his back, looped around Finch's sides.]
[ Finch is more direct than Petre imagined; as he takes care of clothes, Petre has his hands on anything he can touch, angling his head toward his own shoulder, squeezing his fingers around the other man's arm.
Naked, cock lightly rubbing against skin as Finch bends his body, Petre presses his knees a little tighter and grabs Finch by the hair, tugging him close. ]
[He sucks his teeth when he says it in reply, fingers tracing up along Petre's inner thigh, toying with his balls but otherwise dancing around his cock. He's pretty intent to try and make him squirm.]
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( Am I supposed to answer? I can do it like this if you want. )
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Yeah, sure. Proposition me, c'mon.
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( You'll fuck me harder if you're pissed off. )
[ And he arches his lower back, rolls his hips up. ]
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[He could roll off him, get up and go home - the sock's not really worth jumping through a thousand hoops and yet here Finch is, still debating its worth. He walks the fingers of his other hand down Petre's chest, giving a tug to the waistband of his pants.]
You just want to be fucked? That's what all this is about?
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( It's a nice bonus. )
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[He's oh-so-slowly using his thumb to unfasten Petre's pants, just to see if his stomach flexes again for him.]
Slut.
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And there's more laughter barely held back in his throat like this, smile reaching his eyes. Desperation, sure. They can call it that.
Finch doesn't have Petre's hands pinned, and he finally takes advantage of that: grabbing Finch's neck just under his jaw without pressing; some strange caress to keep him alert, while the other hand starts to tug at the hem of his shirt. ]
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Hello there.
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It's not something they're concerned with when sensitive skin is exposed, hips shifting with the brusque undressing. Either he can't or he won't take his eyes off the man above him — the hand on his neck does the exploring for him, joining the other in getting rid of Finch's shirt. Anything to feel his body, any muscle he has built back home or since he's been here. ]
Your pleasure, I'm sure.
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[But he finally relents of his grip on Petre's face, so he can roll back his shoulders and let his shirt fall off. If Petre wants to see more, touch more, feel more? Finch'll let him have it. Just as he'll yank Petre's pants down to his ankles, before pushing his knees up toward his chest. All so he can duck down, get between Petre's thighs and have Petre's bound legs to his back, looped around Finch's sides.]
C'mon and say please, and I'll touch ya.
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Naked, cock lightly rubbing against skin as Finch bends his body, Petre presses his knees a little tighter and grabs Finch by the hair, tugging him close. ]
I hate it when people tell me what to do.
[ Yet he's grinning as he says it. How weird. ]
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[He sucks his teeth when he says it in reply, fingers tracing up along Petre's inner thigh, toying with his balls but otherwise dancing around his cock. He's pretty intent to try and make him squirm.]
Try again.
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