[He follows the movements, allows himself to be moved between Petre's legs and on top of him, even more sore when he has to prop himself up like this but ignoring it. Feeding off it, imagining a knife wound from some fight for his life that Max has stitched up as part of their odd, feral foreplay. But this isn't Max, Max is dead, and this is Petre, and Petre is a man, and the world has never been more upside-down but he needs chaos right now. Any kind he can get.
His kisses are fierce, bruisingly rough, and he starts to grind down on Petre before he's even begun to get hard. It doesn't take long, of course, but he wants this fast and hard. He wants to fuck. It's the best way to get them both ready when they're pressed together with no room for hands, just rubbing together like idiot teenagers. When Petre's mouth won't satisfy him anymore, he moves back down to the neck he barely got to explore earlier, leaving prominent bite marks that won't even last until he's come all over his throat.]
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His kisses are fierce, bruisingly rough, and he starts to grind down on Petre before he's even begun to get hard. It doesn't take long, of course, but he wants this fast and hard. He wants to fuck. It's the best way to get them both ready when they're pressed together with no room for hands, just rubbing together like idiot teenagers. When Petre's mouth won't satisfy him anymore, he moves back down to the neck he barely got to explore earlier, leaving prominent bite marks that won't even last until he's come all over his throat.]