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i trust you (to make my darkest dreams come true)

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Neal can barely even hold his head up anymore, but somehow he manages to keep on riding the dildo. It's big. Bigger than they usually play with, much bigger than anything they've ever used for so long. Peter's leg is starting to ache with the strain of it. The thigh strap-on may be one of the best investments he's ever made.

Sweat's pouring down Neal's neck, his thighs, the back of his knees. Every point of contact between them is unbearably hot - Neal's arms around his shoulders, his forehead pressed against Peter’s neck, his ass resting against Peter's leg for the briefest of seconds when he manages sits down all the way, shoving every last thick inch of cock into his fucked-out hole. When he takes it all in, it looks like there's no reason why his cock should be soaked with precum, or why he's shaking so badly, why he's been begging Peter to let him come for the last fifteen minutes.

And Peter - Peter just sits back, conserves his energy, and lets Neal ride.

"Can't anymore," Neal gasps, as his legs give out under him. He cries out when his full weight falls right on the dildo. Driving it inside of him with bruising force.

Peter bounces his foot up and down for a few seconds. Neal gasps and fumbles but he's just too wrecked to stand up, to say no, to do anything but take whatever Peter gives him.

When his foot gets tired Peter reaches down between them and takes the cockring off. Neal comes in an instant, his balls tight against Peter's thigh. Peter lifts his leg up as much as he can, and Neal screams, screams and comes - his body seizes, Peter can feel his muscles tighten - but he's already come so many times that only a small trickle of semen comes out of his dick.

He kisses Neal and waits until he goes completely limp. Then he unbuckles the strap-on from around his leg and moves Neal onto the bed. One hand on his hip and the other pressing the rubber cock deeper inside of him. Neal's exhausted, worn, used, but - but not quite enough. Not for what Peter has in mind.

"You getting close?" he asks, and Neal shudders, cups his limp cock protectively. But he doesn't turn away. Just bites his lip and takes stock of how he feels.

"Dunno. I think - I think maybe once more," he answers with a wince, and a pained, pleading glance that Peter ignores. "And then - and then, yes."

"How do you want it?" Peter asks, slowly pulling out the dildo, watching the rim of Neal's ass cling to it, tense and stretched. It doesn't close all the way once the dildo's out. It's one of the hottest things Peter's ever seen. Neal's tight little hole. Unable to close.

He teases the tip of his pinky inside – the sides of Neal’s hole barely brush against it. Neal gasps when a few seconds later he starts twisting his finger around, making its presence keenly felt.

"Fuck," Neal moans. "Peter..."

"You must be pretty sore by now," he muses, adding his ring finger and smiling as Neal automatically relaxes and lets him in. "Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?"

"Oh, Jesus. Yes," Neal says. "Like that, I want - I want to come like that," and Peter can hear the first trace of nerves creeping into his voice. He's already too tired to move himself further up the bed without Peter's help, his legs stay where Peter puts them, splayed out and open, his arms lie useless at his sides.

"You sure about this?" Peter asks. "Because we don't have to, you know we don't - "

"I want," Neal says, and he swallows and licks his lips and, fuck, he clamps down around Peter's fingers, hot and wet and swollen. "I want you to fuck me unconscious," he says, voice a choked whisper. "And then – then I want you to keep going."

It punches through his gut in an instant. Neal’s hunger. Neal’s willingness. His trust in Peter. He has to grab the root of his cock to keep from coming right then, with Neal tight around his fingers and waiting for more, his eyes already half-closed.

He doesn’t wait, though. Just pushes Neal up the mattress, spreads his cheeks wide, and licks at his hole.

Neal groans at the first touch of Peter’s tongue. Because rimming always straddles the wrong side of pain/pleasure for him - it drives him crazy – and usually, Peter takes it easy on him. Teases around his rim, slowly breeches him, gently thrusts – but not today.

Because he’s had Neal like this, before. Utterly worn out, and exhausted, and helpless. Neal tries to close his thighs but the attempt is pitiful, Peter doesn’t even have to spank his cock to get him to stop – his legs slide down the mattress on their own to bracket Peter’s shoulders, warm against his sides.

He’s had Neal like this before, yes. But before, this had been the endgame – having Neal entirely at his mercy. But this time – this time, he gets to take it further.

He fucks Neal’s hole with his tongue and slips his thumbs in to hold him open, strokes Neal’s sensitive flesh as roughly as he can. Neal’s whimpers sound pained and desperate, his hands flutter around Peter’s head, his hole spasms occasionally – but his protests are pathetic. Quiet. He’s completely useless.

Peter rims him until he’s hard, and only then does he touch Neal’s cock. And Neal sobs. Sobs when Peter wraps his hand around his sore shaft, louder when he starts to jerk it with tight, brisk strokes. “How many times is this, Neal?”

Neal doesn’t answer. So he moves his thumb up to Neal’s slit and digs his fingernail into it.

Neal’s hips come off the bed, at that, for a brief second wresting control of his body back from Peter. Just a second, though, and Peter’s thumb digs in harder and he shoves Neal back down with his other hand. “How many orgasms is this, Neal?”

“Don’t know,” Neal says, body twitching uncontrollably.

“Sure you do. First, I sucked you when we got home, remember? Count them off for me, Neal, like a good little boy.”

“That was the first one,” Neal says, and Peter takes the hand off of his hip to finger his hole again as a reward.

“And then I fucked you on the porch. You had to lick your come off the railing, Neal, you should remember that one.”

“Yeah, Peter. Two, that – that was two.”

“Good boy.” He scissors three of his fingers open inside of Neal’s hole. “Then I let you jerk off for me, didn’t I? Let you give me a little show.” Neal nods but doesn’t say anything. Peter teases his finger against the slit and Neal jumps.

“Three, sorry, that was three, please…”

“Then you rode your new toy, didn’t you? I had to put a ring on you for that one. You were ready to shoot before I even got it all the way into your greedy little hole.” Not so little, now, slick with Peter’s spit and spread wide on his fingers. But he knows Neal will be tight again tomorrow. He’ll get to work him open again, talk his boy through his nerves, finger him until he relaxes. Tonight, though, he’s far, far past that.

“Four,” Neal whispers. And Peter starts stroking his cock again.

“And this will be five.” He bends back down and fucks Neal’s hole with his tongue, teasing between his fingers which are still holding him wide open. He sits back up a few minutes later when Neal’s about to come. He likes to watch.

And he looks at his partner and he realizes that Neal’s already gone.

His eyes are closed, his head tipped back on the mattress, his breathing even – it hitches when Peter twists his hand around the head of his dick, but that’s the only indication that Neal’s at all aware of what Peter’s doing to his body. He whispers Neal’s name. Then says it again, and once more a bit louder. Neal doesn’t stir.

Peter’s mouth is dry with anticipation. His mouth dry, his throat tight, his dick a second away from coming untouched. He’s so turned on that he doesn’t actually know how to feel.

Neal - his beautiful friend, his adventurous partner, his obedient boy – is turning Peter’s darkest fantasy into a reality. He’s giving Peter a gift that he wants so badly he can barely believe that this – that it’s going to happen.

His hands shake as he brings Neal to his fifth orgasm of the night.

Neal wakes up when he comes. His eyes go wide with surprise and then quickly narrow with pain. He’s orgasming, hard, but – but his body has nothing left to give. His hole tightens like a vise around Peter’s fingers, his cock swells and twitches in Peter’s hand, his mouth opens on a silent scream – but he’s dry. He’s got nothing left.

Before Neal’s done coming Peter takes the head of his cock into his mouth and sucks as hard as he can. It’s cruel. Torturing Neal’s oversensitive cock like this. He really shouldn’t. But he does. He tongues the slit like he’s trying to shove his tongue down Neal’s urethra, scrapes his teeth over the bundle of nerves under his shaft – works his cock until Neal’s screams aren’t silent anymore.

He manages to work out a few drops of semen. It’s more precum than anything else – he still swallows it down, swallows until Neal’s cock is deep in his mouth, the head bumping against the back of this throat. He sucks like a vacuum until Neal’s cock is completely limp and he’s gone from screaming to trembling to whimpering Peter’s name.

“F – five,” Neal whispers, when Peter pulls off and kisses the head of his cock gently.

He’s asleep again within seconds. His eyelids flutter closed as Peter slowly starts to remove his fingers from his hole.

He turns Neal over onto his stomach before he starts. Puts some pillows under his hips. He knows exactly how he wants Neal. He goes slowly. As carefully as he can. He touches Neal as tenderly as his shaking hands can manage, sets the scene as patiently as he can with his cock dripping steadily and his whole body tight with anticipation.

Neal feels different. Peter feels different. So he touches his partner carefully.

He grabs the lube from and slicks his cock. Drips some of it into Neal’s open hole. It’s wide enough that the clear liquid drips right into his body.

Then he takes a few minutes and just looks at Neal. The slumped line of his sinuous back, the graceful fingers splayed open next to his head, his strong thighs spread open. He runs a hand down Neal’s shoulder, over his ribs, the small of his back, the pale skin of his ass. Neal doesn’t even twitch.

Then he presses his cock against Neal’s hole. As slowly as he can stand. Until he can feel the overworked muscles just beginning to stretch, the tip of his dick just barely in. Another gentle push and then – then the head of his cock is inside of Neal’s body.

He bites his fist to keep from crying or coming or waking Neal up, because he has to tell someone how beautiful Neal is, how grateful he feels, how impossible it is that Neal doesn’t wake up, doesn’t move, just takes.

Another inch and Neal shifts on the bed. The fingers of his right hand spread out, like he’s reaching for something. He wonders what Neal's dreaming about. He relaxes again when Peter pours more lube over his hole and then glides in easily, until half of his cock is sheathed in Neal’s body.

It’s not like he imagined it would be.

It’s better.

He watches for every shift and sigh and small tension, every minute change, every subsequent relaxation. He gets his entire cock inside Neal’s hole and it barely warrants a moan.

Neal’s dick is soft between his legs.

He’s just a hole for Peter to fuck. A body for him to use. To take his pleasure from.

He fucks Neal with long, even strokes. In and out, a consistent rhythm, in until his hips press gently against Neal’s ass and out until the head of his cock stretches Neal’s hole wide again. Neal’s looser than he normally is but it’s – it’s perfect. And he’s alone for it. No one to see his face tighten and moan, contorting with ecstasy and then with the strain of holding back.

No one to see the cruel curl of his lip when he thrusts in and grinds, pressing against the swollen flesh inside of Neal. Or when he traces the bruises he left on Neal’s hips and smiles, or when he stops moving and just – just feels. The swollen, wet, welcoming hole around his cock. The body spread before him like a toy. Like a doll. Like a whore.

He takes. He takes as much as he can, lasts as long as his body can stand, memorizes every inconsequential detail he never knew about to include in his fantasies before – and then he speeds up. Short, shallow strokes. He plants his hands on either side of Neal’s body and fucks him like an animal, urgently, purposefully, carelessly.

He comes. Deep inside Neal’s body. He hunches over Neal, presses his chest against the length of his back, and shoves his cock as far into his body as he can.

And Neal wakes up enough to murmur his name. Like a question. Peter? He’s asleep again before Peter even finishes coming. As if the mere sensation of Peter’s skin against his was an answer, enough to reassure him that he’s safe, nothing’s wrong – Peter’s there. He looks at the dark fan of eyelashes against Neal’s pale cheek and shoots what seems like an endless amount of semen deep into his body.

He can feel the wetness spreading around his cock. Neal came five times, but Peter – Peter had been waiting. For this. He doesn’t know how long he comes. Just that his dick and balls ache when he finishes, his sweat sticking him to Neal’s body.

He can see white streaks on his dick when he pulls out. See it begin to trickle out of Neal’s raw hole. He pushes it back in. Fingers Neal until he starts mumbling, swatting at the air near his head, like the four fingers Peter’s got inside of him are equivalent to a fly that he can just wave away.

If it were safe, he’d tease Neal’s mouth open and shove his cock in. Lay the soft length, covered in come, on Neal’s tongue. Wait until Neal washed his dick clean. Until he was hard again. But it isn’t.

So instead he wipes his soaked fingers on Neal’s lips. Slips them into his mouth. His come will be the first thing Neal tastes when he wakes up in the morning. Neal will wake up and feel a new soreness, feel Peter’s come dripping out of him, taste it on his lips. But he won’t remember what happened. He won’t know.

Peter will never forget.