uh. this is dirty sex for alestar.


in the midst of it all - like, seriously in the midst of it all, like, right while two slick fingers are going right and all nice up Bobby's ass - Pete asks him if he's leading a team.

"what?" Bobby croaks, and seriously, he can't even get any air into his mouth, because his lips are dry from panting into the pillow, but still Pete says again,

"Are you leading a bleedin' X-team, mate?"

Bobby grits his teeth, and opens his eyes. it's still Pete's pillow, or rather, the pillow in Pete's hotel room, and Bobby licks his lips and feels a bit of feeling rush back into his arms and legs from elsewhere. He stops pushing back, impatiently, because even though Pete's still got his fingers--


"Jesus," Bobby says, and tries to think. "Um, no?"

Pete's hand stills. "You aren't sure?"

Bobby wishes now he'd gone for the blow job, so he'd have something to hold onto right now. "No," he says, more firmly, and then, "fuck, man, hurry up."

a glance over his shoulder, and Bobby can see Pete smirking, like typical. "you got somewhere you have to be?"

Maybe if Bobby just doesn't answer, Pete will get to it. "Mm," Bobby says, and then risks another glance over his shoulder, and god, Pete's rolling the condom on, taking his own sweet time. Anyone would be faster than this. Rogue would be faster than this.

"Do you?"

Rogue would be quieter, too. Little by little, Bobby's brain comes back to the here and now instead of the elsewhere it was a second ago. "A plane," he tells Pete, "in five hours, yeah."

"Cutting it fine, there," and oh, there are Pete's fingers back at it again, and definitely faster, too. Maybe Pete's lost patience with whatever thing he's going at -- and then Bobby arches his back, because finally Pete's getting to it.

"yeah," Bobby says, and then his breath hitches, and - why he's competing to keep talking despite the sex, but whatever - "a little."

"Mmmmmm," Pete lets out, as he finally starts up a rhythm Bobby can feel properly. Bobby closes his eyes again, feels the pillow under him and Pete on him, and starts to let go of here and now and then-- "I thought you were leading a team."

fuck. Bobby feels himself start to shake with it, bites his lip to try and control himself long enough to say, "maybe."


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