In more ways than one, Peter is floored by Drew.

Literally, he's rutting up against the man while his back scrapes against the carpet. Figuratively, everything out of Drew's mouth surprises him. He finds himself gaping wildly most of the time, mouth open and closing like a fish, unsure if he's being toyed with. Drew wears sincerity like it offends him and keeps that same aloof expression that forced Peter out of the bar those few weeks ago on his face most of the time. The few times the mask breaks, they both seem equally surprised—though Drew’s is definitely tinged with more disgust than Peter thinks is strictly necessary.

Peter rolls his hips up, his breath torn from his lungs when their bodies hit against one another.

Drew lets out a low groan and it's enough to fill Peter with confidence.

He hooks a leg between Drew's, twisting his body until he's rolled on top of Drew. Drew's hair splays out around his head, a halo of dark curls, and he's looks so good that Peter just sits back on his heels and watches him.

Breathing heavily, Drew lets him.

Peter likes the slope of his nose and the way his lips look when they're swollen. He likes his eyes, the way the amber burns lightly against the dark, growing pupils. He likes the way he laughs when it catches him off guard and the way he doesn't mind taking what he wants but always stops and makes sure Peter wants it, too.

With a start, Peter realizes that he likes Drew.

Like, truly, genuinely likes him. It steals his breath and Peter can't stop staring at him, feeling his own eyes widen and his body still with the sharpness of the realization.

He knew he was attracted to him and he knew that he enjoyed Drew being around him, but suddenly, Peter knows that he doesn't just like this part. He wants to bake with Drew and tell him bad jokes and teach him the importance of breakfast.

He thinks his mom would've really liked him.

"What?" Drew asks, pushing himself up on his elbows. "You've gone quiet. Was—is this too much?"

Peter stops short of running his fingers through Drew's hair. "No," he answers. "This is great.”

He feels his chest constrict, his muscles desperately fighting against the urge to reach out and touch Drew in a way he’s not allowed.

He’s never been in a position like this: able to kiss and touch the person he wants to, but not able to hold his hand. Drew’s not sure he’s ever really wanted to hold someone’s hand.

He’s pretty sure he already held Drew’s hand. He wants to do it again with such a purpose that it’s almost funny.

But then, he’s not allowed to do it, so it really isn’t that funny. Because Peter knows that Drew might be okay with him as—what? a friend? a fuck buddy?—he might be okay with whatever they are now, but that doesn’t mean he’d be okay with what Peter realizes with such a painful start he wants.

Drew’s a drifter, right. That’s what Nick called him. He goes from town to town and he doesn’t give a shit and Peter doesn’t care because that’s half the reason Peter was drawn to him in the first place. What was it that Peter thought about him that night in the parking lot?

A wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am attitude.

Peter decidedly wants this to not have that kind of attitude and the disappointment that that’s what they are hits him so heavily, he rolls off of Drew and lays next to him on the carpet.

It’s not very comfortable and he thinks about how his bed is only a room away. It wouldn’t be that difficult for them to go in there.

But the idea of Drew rolling in his sheets, his hair splayed on his pillows, his whole bed smelling like him—it makes Peter’s heart ache in a way he’s never felt before.

He blinks at the ceiling.

When he finally stops and looks over, Drew’s doing the same thing.

“Well,” Drew says, eyes still focused on the popcorn material of the ceiling. Peter knows it’s ugly but his mom picked it out, so who cares?

“Well,” Peter agrees.

“I want to learn how to make your burger,” Drew says.

Peter turns and frowns at him. “Oh, okay.”

“It seems fair,” he says quickly. “I taught you how to make my brownies.”

“I could never recreate that. You just threw things in while talking about understanding the batter. It was gibberish.”

Drew’s cheeks turn noticeably red and Peter feels vindictively pleased with it.

“Yeah, well, that’s on you. That’s how I make them.”

Peter shifts so he’s laying on his side, propping his head up with one hand, his elbow digging into the carpet. “I’ll teach you,” he says. “It’s pretty simple.”

“Good,” Drew nods and then mimics Peter’s position. “I really liked it.”

“I tried being vegetarian for a month,” Peter blurts it out and immediately regrets it. What a dumb story, there was literally no reason for him to have done that—

But Drew grins. “Oh, how did that go?”

Peter clears this throat. “Terribly. Mom was such an amazing cook. I missed her chicken salad by hour three.”

Drew laughs, head falling in his hand just a little bit and his neck exposed. His Adam’s apple bobs as he shakes. “Yeah, your menu isn’t necessarily veggie friendly.”

“Hey, I make a great veggie lasagna. And our veggie quiche—to-die-for.”

Drew nods. “Sure, sure. I’ve never seen it on there.”

“We do it on Saturdays, usually. That’s when one of our customers comes in and likes it.”

Drew lets out another chuckling breath. “Small towns, man.”

“Small towns,” Peter agrees. He shifts a little, their bodies pressed a little closer. “Do you like small towns or cities?”

“Small towns,” Drew answers quickly. His ears turn red and Peter makes a note to keep Drew’s long hair tucked behind his ears more often so he can see the sign of embarrassment more easily.

“Breakfast or dinner?”

“I think it’s only safe if I answer breakfast,” Drew says, raising an eyebrow.

Peter grins. “Smart.”

“My turn,” Drew taps a finger against his lips. “Movies or TV?”

“Movies,” Peter answers easily. “There’s never enough time for TV.”

“Good point, I approve.” Drew makes a motion of a checkmark with his hand.

Peter racks his brain for another question. He feels eager, his palms sweating a little. He can’t believe how much information he’s dragging out of Drew tonight and he wants to keep it going for as long as possible.

“Coffee or tea?”

Drew scoffs. “Coffee, obviously.”

Peter laughs. “Me, too.”

“Obviously,” Drew repeats, winking. He scoots a little closer, lips just a centimeter away, and then breathes out his question. “Giving or receiving?”

Peter’s mouth dries instantly. “Like—gifts?”

“Some people would call it that,” Drew says in an agreeable tone. He lets his eyes drop to Peter’s mouth and doesn’t raise his gaze again. “I would.”

“I—what about you?”

Drew makes a humming sound low in his throat and Peter is so close, he thinks he can almost feel it. His pulse responds to the phantom feeling, speeding up almost dangerously.

He can’t look away from Drew’s lips any easier than Drew is looking away from his. It’s intoxicating in the fullest way and Peter decides that he doesn’t need the game to go on any longer.

Drew licks his lips. “I like both. But let’s see if I can spin that a different way.”

He stands up and offers Peter a hand. Peter accepts it quickly and lets himself be pulled to his feet.

When Drew leads him to the bedroom, Peter stumbles in after him.

Drew’s already taken off his shirt and is unbuckling his belt when Peter closes the door behind them. He’s facing away from Peter, towards the bed, and his curly hair hangs beneath his shoulders just a little, wild and messy from the back in a new, exciting way. He can see the lines of Drew’s back muscles, the way they move and twist as he does. Peter’s mouth dries and Drew, as if he can tell, turns his head just slightly.

“Get on the bed, Jacobs,” Drew says lowly.

Peter can’t do anything but comply.

He shucks off his jeans and flannel, laying in the middle of the bed in just his t-shirt and boxers.

When Drew’s own jeans clatter to the floor, he climbs onto the bed and throws one leg over Peter’s, straddling his hips on his knees.

“Now,” Drew says, looking down at him. He looks incredible at this angle. The heavy heat inside his stomach is so much more pronounced with the hammering of the affection in his chest; he wants so much and it burns inside him.

Drew hasn’t even touched him and Peter feels close to being undone.

Peter puts his hands on Drew’s hips, his thumbs dipping below the waistline of Drew’s boxers. He can feel the sharp jutting of Drew’s hip bones and he runs his thumbs against them, only just stopping himself from rocking up.

“I owe you something,” Drew leans lower and places his mouth just above Peter’s. “And now I’m going to give it to you.”

Peter lurches up for the kiss and Drew slides down, ignoring it. Peter just misses his mouth and his whole body lights up a little at the near-kiss.

Drew stops at Peter’s neck first, tasting the skin there with his tongue and rolling the skin between his teeth and lips. Then he sucks hard enough that Peter’s hands dig into Drew’s hips, a groan torn from his lips.

He pulls away after lavishing the bruise with his tongue, soothing away any of the remaining sharp pain. Peter’s hips are rocking but Drew’s body is too far away and there’s nothing there for him to press against. Instead, Drew moves a little lower, again and again, repeating the bright kisses until a trail of bruises can be traced down his throat and chest, ending at the juncture between his hip and waist.

Peter hasn’t been touched yet but he’s a writhing mess, his thoughts incoherent as he tries desperately to follow Drew’s ministrations across his body. He feels empirically ruined and Drew hasn’t even touched the part of him aching the most.

Peter doesn’t even realize he’s begging until Drew looks up, eyes hooded and framed with lashes, to smile. “Okay,” he says, answering something Peter doesn’t remember saying.

Slowly, he peels Peter’s boxers off of him and Peter nearly cries in relief as the material is pulled away. The air is cold when it hits him but then Drew’s hand is closing around him and he’s one good twist of his wrist away from blacking out.

His cock is already leaking and Peter can’t look away as Drew pulls his hand away and up to his mouth, licking a long strip across his own palm, before swiping at the precome on his tip and then sliding slowly and roughly up and down. It’s an impossible tightness and heat, the pace so languid that Peter can feel tears of frustration prickle at the corner of his eyes. His hands are knotted in Drew’s hair and his hips are rolling again and again without his own volition. He can’t do anything but gently thrust into his hand and he wants to scream and then—

Drew’s hand slides down as low as it can, gripping tightly at the base, and then his mouth is covering the rest of it.

Drew’s tongue slides against the top and the side, swirling and soft as his mouth descends. His hand falls away when his lips reach the fist. Peter can practically feel his throat relaxing as he swallows him all the way down.

He moves just as slowly as he did before, hollowing his cheeks and pulling almost all the way off before sliding back down, so smooth and careful. Drew’s tongue and lips work together as if they’re working of their own accord with no mind to the way that Peter is thrusting and groaning and writhing beneath them.

He can’t breathe, his lungs gasping and searching for air while words he can’t even hear fall out of his mouth in a string of incomprehensible, desperate syllables.

Drew uses one hand to grip at Peter’s hip, not stopping him from thrusting but instead encouraging it, pushing him harder and deeper and his throat lets out a low hum that Peter feels.

“Shit, shit, shit, oh my god, Drew, oh, fuck,” Peter forces his eyes open and the image of Drew, smirking around his cock as he bobs up and down, eyes completely black and watching him, is enough that he clenches them closed again. “Shit, please, Drew, please.”

Peter doesn’t know exactly what he's begging for, but Drew seems to.

Drew pulls off of him, the feeling so instantly miserable that Peter lets out a croaked plea.

Drew licks his lips and reaches up, pressing a short kiss to the hollow of his throat. “It’s okay,” he says, shifting so they’re laying next to each other. Peter grabs at him, a little hard, nails scraping and teeth bumping as he kisses Drew as hard as he can and rips his boxers from his body.

When the boxers are thrown to the floor, Peter slides his leg between Drew’s and starts rotating his hips, too far gone to be practiced or fluid with his motions. Drew doesn’t seem to mind, their kiss getting messier and slower, tongues languishing against one another while their cocks slide.

The feeling is nearly painful, it’s so good, and Peter wants more.

He pulls away abruptly, throwing his body as far away from Drew as possible, and closing his eyes. It takes him a few long, unbearable seconds to fight off the wave of his impending orgasm, but when he finally does, he can hear Drew calling his name, the concern thick enough that he thinks he might have been saying it for a while.

“Sorry,” he gets out, surprised by how wrecked his voice sounds. “I—I just—”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain,” Drew is reaching around for the blankets and Peter’s hand shoots out, wrapping around his wrist to stop. him.

“No, I don’t want to stop,” Peter tugs him closer and his cock jumps, even though it’s untouched. Any amount of contact with Drew seems to jolt through him like red hot electricity. “I want you.”

“What?” Drew furrows his brows and Peter stares at him, waiting. When it clicks, Drew’s eyes dilate so fast, Peter almost comments on it. “Are you sure?”

His tone has fallen a full octave and Peter would be damn sure now if he wasn’t before. “Yes,” he says emphatically. Then he tacks on, “Please.”

Drew lets out a shaky breath. “Holy shit, yes.”

He moves them gently, laying so that he’s beneath Peter.

Peter shifts so he can reach the nightstand, grabbing the lube out of the top drawer and a loose condom. He lays them both on the bed and looks down at Drew.

He looks so, so good like that, mouth open and eyes blown wide, his chest heaving, and Peter’s sure there’s never been anyone half as beautiful as Drew.

“You’re sure?” Peter realizes he didn’t exactly ask.

Drew rolls his eyes and tugs at Peter’s hips. “Yes, shit, hurry.”

It’s all the encouragement he needs and Peter grins. He grabs the lube and pours a generous amount on his fingers, rubbing it between his two fingers to warm it. When it’s not quite as cold, Peter leans down. He captures Drew’s lips between his, kissing him slow and deep, lightly running his tongue against Drew’s, then the top of his mouth, urging the little sounds and gasps out of Drew’s throat.

After a few minutes, Peter runs his fingers down Drew’s cock, smiling into the kiss when he feels it jump and Drew’s hips lift absently, chasing the light feeling.

Peter lets his fingers keep running down until he’s at Drew’s ass. As slowly and gently as he’s able, he inserts one finger, trying not to move and let Drew get used to the feeling. When Drew’s body relaxes and he starts moving, just a little, against him, Peter takes the hint. He moves his finger, small circular motions as he stretches Drew. Their kiss becomes more of another open-mouthed press, both of them breathing too heavily to manage kissing. They suck in each other’s air and Peter inserts a second finger.

He pumps into Drew, resting his head in the crook of Drew’s neck. The sounds he’s making are so deep and guttural and Peter feels them inside his own gut as if he's the one making them. His cock hurts, straining against his belly, desperate for attention. He pinches the base of it to stop himself from coming as he inserts a third finger.

When Drew is good and stretched and Peter thinks his orgasm is staved off for now, he kisses Drew again, only gently moving his fingers.

“How do you feel?”

Drew just lets out a long groan, grinding down on Peter’s fingers. His eyes are clenched shut and his cock is red and swollen between them. Peter feels drunk.

“Drew,” he kisses him again. “I need you to tell me how you feel.”

“Good,” he drawls, the word so long Peter thinks he must feel drunk, too. “Good, ready.”

Peter might cry. Thank god.

He pulls his fingers out and with trembling hands, slides on the condom. Then he pours out more lube in his hands, rubbing it together, and pumping his cock with it a few times until the condom is coated.

Drew’s eyes have flown open and he watches, mouth agape, as Peter lines himself up.

He moves slowly in light, shallow thrusts until he’s fully seated inside of Drew. They both make matching, guttural noises and Peter’s entire body shakes with the effort to wait for Drew to adjust.

When Drew raises his own shaking hands to Peter’s hair, grabbing purchase there, and telling him to move, Peter doesn’t waste any more time.

Nothing has ever felt this good. Peter knows that, he knows that this is the best he’s ever felt. Drew is tight and hot and writhing beneath him, low encouragements being breathed out between pinched moans and shuddering gasps.

Drew is a thousand times hotter beneath him than anything that Peter could’ve imagined and he has to use all of his control to not just fuck wildly and roughly into him.

“Jesus, fuck, Peter, please, more.” Drew strings the words together, tugging at Peter’s hair until their lips are crashing together and Peter’s hips are jacking into Drew hard and fast.

He can feel his vision start to tunnel and his stomach clenches. Peter pulls away from the kiss and wraps his hand around Drew’s cock, pumping him nice and slow, a total contrast to the hard fucking he’s giving him.

When Drew’s body tightens, muscles locking and his head thrown back, mouth wide open in a silent scream, Peter comes.

He juts his hips through his orgasm, tightening his grip on Drew’s cock accidentally. He can feel Drew’s cock spasm, feel the warmth coating his hand and their stomachs, while stars light up his vision and his whole body shakes with the intensity of the explosion inside of him.

When he’s done, he collapses, only just stopping himself from falling directly on top of Drew. One arm is thrown out, catching him in the nick of time.

With the last bit of energy he manages to muster, he pulls out and rolls over to his side of the bed. He takes off the condom and ties it, dropping it into the bedside bin. Then he collapses against the pillows, exhaustion taking over his body.

He wants to turn to Drew, say something, anything, because he’s never felt quite so good as he does. He wants to kiss Drew and tell him that he thinks maybe he likes him more than he’s said.

He falls asleep before he can do any of it and if he wakes a little when Drew is pulling him to him, spooning him from behind, Peter’s not at fault for snuggling a little closer.