Jupeter

"Oh, <em>princess</em>, that's a good look for you…"

Juno's ears burn red, flushed as the damp nub of Peter's cock as he takes it in his mouth again.

<em>Princess.</em> Princess, darling, <em>pretty little thing</em>; Peter sure knows how to make a lady feel special, even when she's on her knees in a shitty motel with a cock on her tongue.

Juno sets his lips and sucks, brows knitting as Peter finds his cheekbone and caresses it, reverent. Even slouched as he is against the wall, Peter feels like a gorgeous, lithe giant when Juno dares to look up at him.

"<em>Fuck</em>," Peter hisses, talkative even now, "just like that, sweetheart, I'm close-"

The hand by his cheek flies to his hair and tugs when Juno suckles again, tongue flat along the underside of him to catch the slick there. Juno moans, <em>whines</em> really, and underneath his dress he feels his dick pulse. Still. Can't bring himself to be selfish just yet. Regret and trepidation and-- Peter tugs a fistful of curls again, as if he knows Juno needs to be rattled out of his own head.

"<em>Oh</em>, Juno, I'm--"

Juno sucks <em>hard</em>, teeth whisper-grazing foreskin as Peter buckles, coming in pulsing waves against Juno's waiting face. He leans into it, like a plant to sunlight. He leans into Peter, a sweaty palm held against a toned thigh, in case he needs support.

Shaky though his legs appear, Peter stays successfully upright. "<em>Juno</em>," he repeats, voice threadbare and marvelling, "look at you."

Juno can't see, but he can imagine. Dick tenting against a flimsy satin slip. Deep red lipstick, barely a memory on Peter's own lips now, trailing down Juno's neck. The shine of cum on his cheeks and <em>want</em> in his blown-wide pupils.

Peter's lips part, he inhales a shaky  breath, and on the exhale; "You're such a good girl for me."

It's like he's being pulled back by a string under his ribs, the force of the new pet name crumpling him and stoking a fire in his gut. Juno slides his own palm up a bare inner thigh until he can take himself in hand and pump his cock, hips rising minutely to meet each motion.

His eyes stay closed, but he can tell when Peter kneels, balanced dancer-perfect on his toes as he brings his face close to Juno's, and fingers to the hem of his slip. Peter peels it back just enough to reveal him, and then it's, "<em>Good</em> girl," again, "such a pretty girl," in soft breaths against his temple, and Juno is gone.

Most of it catches in his hand, not that he finds himself caring too much when Peter swoops down to lick and kiss at his neck. His knees hurt, and he can't catch his breath, but Peter is close and home and Juno feels like maybe <em>good</em> isn't far from the truth.