Malevolent prompt fic for pachydermsupernova

The prompt: Tender wholesome bottom John with John describing things

Explicit

Peter/John/Arthur

Tags & warnings: What it says on the tin. Fluff, sexy, pwp

***

“Fuck,” John growls, his eyes squeezed shut. “That’s…fuck.”

“Yeah?” Peter asks with a pleased, cockeyed smile. There’s something about John. Something so…earnest. Unabashedly enthusiastic about the way he experiences pleasure. He’s got no hangups, no sense of shame or reluctance to express himself. It makes a man feel like a bit of a sex god, frankly.

In the time Peter’s been fucking John, Arthur hasn’t said a word. Simply sat there, with John’s head in his lap, stroking his increasingly sweaty hair back from his temples. “Ask him to describe it for you,” he suggests softly now.

Peter’s eyes flick up to him, and then back down as John groans and roses his head back. The movement shakes off Arthur’s hands and incidentally thumps him in the stomach, but Arthur makes no further sound. It isn’t his turn.

“Yeah?” Peter breathes. “Yeah. Describe it for me, John. What do I feel like?”

“God…fuck.” He growls again. When he starts, he sounds furious. “Everywhere I turn, you’re there. I never knew skin was so… How do you protect yourself? There’s no end to it.” 

There’s a plaintive note to his deep voice, and for a second Peter wonders if he needs to stop. Is this too much? He’d never thought of it, John is still getting used to having a body— 

Arthur doesn’t look up from where he’s hunched, eyes locked on John’s face, but he gives a minute shake of his head. Peter trusts him. These two always seem to know.

“The touching,” John continues, as if he hadn’t noticed the exchange over him, though Peter knows damn well he didn’t miss a trick. “The feeling. Peter, you’re all over me and I want…” He has thick, heavy thighs. He’s the biggest of the three of them, and when he wraps them tight around Peter’s hips, his grip is demanding. “I want more. How can I feel like I’m dying of denial when you’re everywhere?”

“And inside you?” Peter asks, enthralled. Fuck, Arthur was right to suggest this. 

“Inside me?” His hips surge so hard he’d throw Peter off if he weren’t holding him there. “I want to swallow you whole! I want…” Peter grunts as he’s squeezed. “If I had my old body, I would pull you into me and drown you in me, savoring your every twitch and gasp for breath—” He breaks off with a snarl. “Goddammit, Peter, don’t fucking stop.”

Peter chokes—on horror or laughter or arousal, he’s not sure which of them has cut off his air—but. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah, can’t stop now.” 

John shouts as Peter starts to fucking pound him.