Writen for a friend.
Disclaimer: Lance and Pietro do not belong to me
Fast beating pulse. Sweat running down the small of their naked backs. Skin pressed to skin. Tongues to tongues. Their hearts beating against each other. Chest to chest. Two beasts struggling to break loose and meet each other.
Pietro was fast in every thing he did, even the way he spoke. Pulsing, heated. Not like Lance. Lance was slower, stronger. Pietro was a hummingbird, darting, beating. And Lance was a hawk; he glided, propelling forward with great strokes. He'd raise and dive, grasping Pietro, and Pietro would gasp, his little pulse racing forward.
But, sometimes, a hummingbird flies above a hawk. Its wings beat at a wild pace. The momentum taking them faster, harder than all of Lance's strength could manage.
His stomach flipped, once, twice. Pietro had lost all control. He rose faster and faster, till Lance thought he would surely be broken in two. And, finally, he climaxed, peaked, and with a gasp, collapsed into Lance.
They lay there deep into the night. No words other than the coded messages each heart beat to the other. Lance's stomach still quivered in its place, his head still dizzy and swimming. Too lost in the wonderful sickness of the moment.