sofuckingchuffed:

whisperingvictory:

Its hot and humid, Sonny can feel the sweat beading on the back of his neck, the stale smell of too many bodies packed into too tight of space on a night that’s just a little too hot. The bass of the music reverberates in the room, deafening, Sonny can feel it in his stomach, in his toes, every inch of him. 

He’s so close to crossing a line, one he can’t come back from, and honestly he’s not sure if maybe he missed the sign, that he’s passed that line already, but Peter Stone is pressed against his back, hard and solid, and his heavy hands are resting on Sonny’s hips, pulling him closer, even as the crowd around them forces out any space between. 

They’re coworkers, colleagues, barely friends, and up until tonight, up until that feral grin of recognition across a crowded club, Sonny never considered the possibility of something more. Now the thought consumes him, licking white hot at his skin, every neuron lit with possibility. Sonny tips his head back, resting on Peter’s shoulder, and he can feel Peter’s breath against his neck, hot and sticky, the jarring graze of teeth against his skin, illusory but potential. 

Over the heavy thrum of the music, the crowd, Sonny doesn’t think he’d be able to make out a single word, but Peter’s hands tighten on his hips, bruising but addictive, and Sonny grinds his ass back against Peter, the feel of Peter’s length against him, hard, promising, an offer. Sonny’s sure Peter can’t hear the soft moan that escapes his lips, not over the noise, but Peter leans in again, lips brushing against Sonny’s ear. “I want to make you fall apart,” he whispers, and Sonny can feel himself already coming undone.

🔥🔥🔥