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Mar 8

❖ As Time Ticks Down Ⅱ

(Peter Ballard/Henry Creel x Reader)

Tags: Smut, Experiments, Failed Telepathy, Sub!Peter if you squint Warnings: Fingering, handjob, piv, praise kink Length: 6.8k Series: Part Ⅳ of Forsworn

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A/N: Everyone say thank you Theo.

Taglist: @frolickingbimbo @spooky-artist0 @ravencrow1995 @missmaggieb @toogaytofunctiondangit @naevisringring @upsiderdown @puppyminnnie @senatorpadmeamidala @ilovedinosauds @yoruesruins @lcvelyth @twixox1 Credit: Dividers by saradika *Let me know if you want to be added to Forsworn's taglist!

Henry Creel Master List | Also on Ao3! | Forsworn Playlist🌹 Writing Master Lists

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All he knew was that you were offering, and he was starving. In short, Peter begs.

When was it that long gazes and lingering touches had stopped being enough?

When he'd found himself stirring each time he'd caught the scent of the warm, earthy notes that he'd long since attributed to you, the once gentle brushing of hands turning into the weight of your body against his, pressing close as you whispered in his ear, voice low and suggestive as you sent pleasant shivers down his spine.

Getting involved with you, he thinks, had been an inherently bad idea. And it didn't help that it had been days since he'd last crossed paths with you, having been caught up in one experiment or the other.

Not that he regretted it, of course. He knew that you were as willing as he was when he'd stopped you, but Peter had unwittingly stoked the fires he'd been trying to quench, and it'd backfired. Spectacularly, if the questioning gaze of the man seated before him was anything to go by— hawk-like in nature, reading his every move.

A sharp beep sounded, piercing the air, accompanied by an exasperated sigh from the occupant of the chair across the table he was seated at. The rapid scratching of a pen against paper, now a dull sound against the constant hum in the background, came to a noticeable halt.

"You're distracted, Peter. Focus."

"Sorry." The habitual apology, long ingrained into him, slipped from his lips as he shook his head, willing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Dr. Brenner was sharp, in ways that he never knew possible. Perhaps it had been a skill, honed and culminated from all the experiments he'd spearheaded in this facility; or maybe it was because he was more familiar with Peter than the man himself would like— An unfortunate drawback of his extended residency here.

Peter was hooked up to a monitoring machine, a complex system of wires attached to the crown of his head. The twin connection points attached to his temples buzzed with each and every beep that seemed insistent to make itself known.

The pen tapped against the clipboard with a dull clack as the doctor observed the readings on the machine.

"Have you been experiencing any symptoms recently?" Dr. Brenner asked, a contemplative look forming on his face as the needle of the electroencephalograph jittered once more with a loud beep of protest.

Peter paused, hesitating as he wondered if the sharp spike in the electrogram being drawn was supposed to mean something. He was no scientist, but he'd observed enough of such tests being carried out that even he knew that the constant beeping he was setting off was probably not a good thing.

Could Brenner tell that the inhibitor of his own creation was failing? That he was starting to regain his lost abilities, albeit at a painfully slow rate?

The notion of using his abilities came to him as easily as breathing, but tapping into the source and drawing enough of it back up to the surface to make any substantial impact had been a much harder hurdle than he'd thought. Peter had been trying. And failing, as he tentatively tested the limits of this newfound loophole. And with it came new discoveries— he'd had to get creative with what little he had to work with. And problems— migraines were a dime a dozen whenever he forced it.

Still, at least it was progress.

"No, just the occasional headache. As usual." He'd replied.

An answer that wouldn't raise any unnecessary suspicions. The constant headaches that plagued him weren't news to the doctor— a side-effect of his withheld telekinetic powers, he'd assumed. Though there wasn't much information to base it on either, considering how Peter was the first person to have ever received the Soteria implant, made especially for him.

Brenner set down the pen, clasping his hands before him as he regarded Peter. "How about now?"

"Now?" Peter echoed in question.

Another resounding beep cut through the air, more insistent than the last.

"Are you having one now?"

Peter shifted his gaze away from the bobbing needle of the device, turning to face Brenner. "Would that affect anything?"

Brenner smiled, kindly in nature, but Peter could see that it didn't quite reach his eyes despite his play to be amicable. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing." He bit out, shooting an annoyed look at the machine when it gave another loud beep, trying to make itself known to the world at large.

It wasn't like him to slip, especially in the presence of scientists, but it was hard when his thoughts were being intentionally unhelpful right now. He wanted to be anywhere but here, stuck in a room with Brenner. And between the constant droning in the air, Brenner's probing questions, and the insistent beeping that he couldn't seem to stop despite his best efforts, Peter's attention was starting to strain.

He thinks that if it beeps any longer, perhaps it would get on Brenner's nerves the same way it was starting to gnaw at him, effectively driving the head scientist out of the room and putting an end to this terribly dull session he was being forced to sit through. The man would be getting nothing out of him— only the same readings as the ones in the past couple of years, as usual. All he had to do was keep himself in check well enough not to betray anything. Nothing was amiss, and he would be sent on his merry way, alone with his own thoughts and the gaggle of children he was forced to chaperone.

Brenner tracked his gaze to the machine, noting the way he seemed to tense each time the graph peaked. Peter was high-strung and restless, and it was anyone's guess why that would be the case.

Knowing that he wasn't going to get any straight answers from him, he decided to change tactics. He leaned back into his chair, setting the clipboard down after a quick check of the logged data, and setting his legs atop the table in a laid-back manner. He regarded Peter in a way that one would a long-lost friend instead of someone to be observed or studied.

Peter recognized it as an act of familiarity accredited to their shared past. How had things between them degraded this much?

"Something on your mind, then? It isn't like you to drift."

His thoughts immediately went to you, as it always seemed to default to as of late. He hated how it did— barely caught himself before the flicker of surprise that went through him had a chance to show— played it off by narrowing his eyes, gaze sharp as he observed Brenner.

This wasn't the scientist; this was the man of days past that Peter had grown to trust. The one who sang sweet promises, only to spit them back in his face years after the fact.

It was a charade, a lie that he knew better than most.

When he spoke again, his voice was level, quiet, like the controlled calm before a storm. "My thoughts are my own to govern, or have you forgotten?"

Peter then inclined his head towards the entrance of the room. "Shall we talk about the soldier standing guard behind this door instead?"

Fully armed and ready to take lethal action, no less.

He was still being regarded as a threat, despite the limiter in him. As if he were a rabid dog, ready to turn on his handler at any moment.

Brenner's jaw tightened, but he knew when not to push his prized subject, especially when he was being testy. "Careful, Peter. Everything I do is for your own best interest."

He scoffed. As if he hadn't heard that before.

"Your readings seem normal enough. Everything falls well within the expected range, given your… condition."

Peter's smile thinned at the way Brenner seemed to place emphasis on the word, as if he wasn't the one who'd placed that invisible shackle on him in the first place.

"Condition? And whose fault is that?" He asked wryly.

"You know full well what you did. It was a necessity."

"A necessity?" He laughed, softly; derisively, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

They'd been afraid, acting out of fear when they'd muzzled him and stripped him of his abilities at the first opportunity they got.

Peter had hated it; the way they'd treated him— a silenced lamb to the slaughter, his will and strength wrested from him in an act of ‘salvation'. A better end than being disposed of, he supposed. But to what end?

"You were an active risk, and you had to be subdued before you caused more damage." Brenner merely stated, as if it were nothing more than an off-handed remark.

"Damage? To who? Those scientists had it coming. They knew full well what they were getting into when they carried out that experiment."

"Some of those people had families; people waiting for them to return home."

"And since when did you care about your little pawns anyway?" He smiled a smile full of hidden teeth, knowing that it would strike the scientist where it'd hurt despite his cold demeanor.

After all, Peter had learned from the best when it came to mental gymnastics, and Brenner was the epitome of Machiavellianism. He was calculated, detached, understanding, when it served him, and above all, unpredictable— all in a day's work for the head scientist who ran this joint.

"Enough, Henry," Brenner spoke warningly, his steely gaze turning sharp, enough to tell him that this matter was to be discussed no more.

Peter's smile widened a fraction at seeing a crack in his usually well-presented front. There it was, the scientist with the thinly veiled threats. Yet, a smaller part of him twisted almost painfully at the use of his name.

When was the last time anyone ever called him that?

Gone was the understanding tone Brenner used to employ when it came to him, now so filled with vitriol that it made him wonder— what would it sound like falling from your lips?

Pleasant, perhaps. Wait, what?

No.

Peter caught himself then, promptly burying that thought six feet under in the deepest recesses of his mind, where even the most skilled lab-grown telepath would not be able to penetrate.

You would never learn about Henry Creel, the boy he once was, beneath all the horrors that he'd lived.

That day, that experiment— They'd pushed too far, and they'd paid that price in blood.

His memories of the day were hazy, but he vaguely remembered the bodies that littered the floor of the room, decimated in a fit of anger when he'd lost himself to the perpetual haze and whispers that had formerly plagued his mind.

It wouldn't do to linger too long on the past, he'd learned. But, speaking of more present matters…

"The machine has been going off for a while now; should I be concerned?" He asked in a level voice, shifting the conversation.

"No." Brenner waved him off, a furrow indented in his brow.

If he'd suspected anything, he certainly didn't show it. Instead, he stood up, rounding the table to switch the machine off and remove the mesh of monitoring wires attached to Peter.

"The last person we had in here was Two. He may have shorted the circuitry."

Peter made sure that his face remained impassive. It was no news to either of them that the oldest boy was the strongest among his peers. Two could've most certainly overloaded the system, but it didn't quite rule out the possibility that it was picking up on the latent traces of his own abilities, either.

Brenner then dismissed him with a curt nod and a wave of his hand. "That will be all for today. You're free to go now."

Peter stood up from the creaky plastic chair, but made it no further than two steps before an unknown force slammed into him point-blank; enough to make him crumple, had he not shot a hand out to grab the edge of the table for support. He staggered backward, inhaling sharply as his vision swam.

He clutched a hand to his head as something sharp zinged through him, cold and malevolent. It made his skin prickle, raising goosebumps despite the warm internal heating of the lab. He could feel the sweat begin to form at his nape as mental hackles were raised. Whatever it was had left him feeling so dizzy that he could retch. And when his vision finally cleared, and his world stopped feeling like it was turning on its own axis, he had a distinct feeling that he was unwittingly being subjected to a test of sorts.

"Are you alright?" Brenner asked, but instead of reaching out to help him in any way, he simply stood to the side, observing him in a callous manner.

"Yes." Peter lied as he straightened back up, releasing his hold on the chair.

No. He wasn't. He felt like he had just been hit by a solid block of concrete, except there was no one else but him and Brenner in the otherwise empty white cell-like room.

"Just feeling a little under the weather. Nothing to worry about, I'm sure." He muttered as he shuffled towards the door with a wince.

Brenner gave a small understanding smile as he glanced at his watch, but uncannily enough, that it made him pause in doubt. The scientist clearly knew more than he was letting on.

"Eleven should be about done with her tests. Send her up, will you?"

Peter watched as Brenner opened the door for him, motioning for the guard to let him through.

"Oh, and—" Brenner backpedaled, retrieved one of the manila folders from the stack atop the table, and extended it towards him. "Bring this to the archives. It's along the way to the infirmary; you can't miss it."

The archives?

Concern sparked within him, but Peter nodded all the same as he took the item under Brenner's expectant gaze. If Brenner wanted him to play errand boy, then errand boy he shall be.

"Of course, papa."

It was a coincidence, that's all.

It had to be.

He had no reason to suspect anything. Peter had covered his tracks, and the archives' camera was dead. He'd made sure of it himself, checking up on it so often that it had become a habit. Brenner couldn't have known about the things he'd been up to, away from the watchful eye of surveillance. And even then, surely he was much too busy to bother himself with trivialities like where Peter decided to spend his free time.

But no matter how much he tried to convince himself that you were both in the clear, it didn't stop the niggling suspicions that had started to arise within him.

Whoever was behind the sudden mental assault had not managed to get anywhere close to breaching his thoughts, and hadn't tried again after the initial attempt, but he was no fool.

Best not push his luck by ruminating here.

He made sure to put a good distance between himself and the testing rooms before he let his stream of thoughts continue.

Brenner had obviously stationed someone in an adjacent room somewhere nearby, he gathered. Someone who had been tasked with getting a glimpse into his head under the guise of undertaking a test, no doubt. The question was, who?

The attempt had been sloppy, at best; a sad mimicry of the feats he used to be able to achieve. Brusque, impatient, too eager to prove, like a child aiming for recognition— Brenner's brightest, perhaps.

Still, the entity that resided within him was having none of it, and he supposed whoever was stupid enough to try was now learning why they shouldn't have tried. And despite the Soteria having dampened the connection that had formed between them over the years, Peter had the feeling that it did not like being disturbed. His powers might have been subdued, but the presence in him was still very much alive, even if he couldn't draw as directly from it as before.

Perhaps he had it to thank for keeping unwanted visitors out of his head and his thoughts safe from prying eyes and ears alike. Especially the one that started to take shape as he headed down his intended path.

It was a harmless little experiment, he told himself. But if such methods were being employed… How long would it be till he was found out? Till someone finally managed to get past his defenses— to witness the little palpitations that fluttered to life in his heart at your presence, guarded closely alongside what little embers were left of his humanity?

The experiment room he had previously been holed up in hadn't been terribly far, so it wasn't long before he was greeted by the familiar sight of the archive room.

‘It was late; Had you already clocked out for the day?' He thought as he raised a hand to knock at the door.

A moment passed in silence as he waited for you to fetch it. And another, before the fact that you weren't in finally kicked in.

He drew out his access card, bringing it up to the scanner, the door latch opening with an easy click as he carded himself through.

The lights were out, and the air was still. Even in the darkness, the first thing that hit him, as always, was the unmistakable scent of old books and leather bindings, accompanied by the faint earthy notes of coffee.

The same one that haunted him in his dreams.

But the trail was faint enough to tell him that you'd been long gone hours before he'd set foot in here.

Pity. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of you before he started his nightly rounds, but it looks like Lady Luck had turned his back on him today.

Not that she ever favored him much anyway, given everything, he thought wryly.

Entering the room had been easy enough, but he hadn't been prepared for what he saw next as he approached the table.

There were already new files starting to pile, he noted, pausing as he placed Brenner's newest addition atop the stack.

Was this what you were working on?

A file sat lying open before your seat, its edges dog-eared, marked with smaller slips of paper peaking through the pages. But what caught his eye hadn't been the colorful notes with your handwriting on them, no. It had been the photograph that had been pinned to the page with a paperclip, frayed at the edges and clearly worn with time.

Even with the fading, he could still recognize the person reflected in the now blurry grains.

It had been one of the older test subjects from when the experiments first took off; from the time before they'd used him as the catalyst to further their research into the other dimension that Brenner seemed so preoccupied with.

A simple sweep of the open pages told him all that was needed to know, his breath stilling as his eyes passed across the words before him. The names had been blacked out, but he'd been here long enough to know just what these files were about. Records of experiments long past, their details and…

No, it can't be…

Something settled uneasily inside him as he took hold of the file, flipping it to the front.

—Classified.

The big, bold, red letters stamped on the cover stared back at him mockingly, as if reminding him of his open powerlessness.

What would you do, once you learned of everything? And what would they do once they deemed you a liability?

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Suffice to say, that hadn't been the end of it all; For it wasn't long till you got another batch of files from the ever jolly scientist, who'd essentially become the token bearer of classified files in your books in the recent weeks.

"Hello, again." Chimed a voice at the door as it creaked open.

"Dr. Owens? What a surprise to see you here so soon."

Except this time, he'd brought what seemed to be a box. Brimming full of it, judging from the sheaf of papers peaking through the flaps.

"Sorry to dump these on you, but things are a little hectic right now." He gave you a mildly apologetic look as he stepped in to unload the files onto the table.

"What's the occasion?" You asked as you eyed the new stack of bound documents.

It wasn't every day that you had files delivered to your doorstep, much less by Dr. Owens himself. And from what you could see, some of them were fairly old, with yellowing already present at the edges.

"We're opening a new wing of operations, so the department's clearing out." He answered, fishing out a smaller box from within.

He held it up to the light, squinting at the tiny print on the label before clicking his tongue. "Hmm, you'll need a player for this one. Do you think you can make a trip up to the tech department for one? Normally, I'd get an intern to do it, but our hands are a little full now."

"Yeah, sure thing." You replied, eyes flicking up to see him standing over a box of neatly arranged cassette tapes.

"Thanks. A standard issue one should do fine." He nodded, handing them over to you.

"That's quite a collection you have here..."

Picking one up, you flipped it front to back in an attempt to discern what it was about, only to find nothing else on it other than a date, written in marker pen.

May 7th, 1959.

Huh.

You pulled the next one out of the box.

May 8th, 1959.

And another.

May 9th, 1959.

Did these run daily? …Curious.

A quick flip through the rest of the tapes told you that the records lasted till the early days of June. Somehow, you suspected that this wasn't the only box.

"What are these supposed to be?" You asked.

He shrugged, looking every bit as clueless as you felt. "Those were Martin's. Voicelogs, I'm guessing. He had a habit of keeping them; probably thought these were relevant enough to keep."

"You mentioned him before, but who's Martin?"

An odd look crossed his face at the question. "Dr. Brenner. Surely, you've seen him around."

Brenner?

As in, the same Dr. Brenner that had been denoted in the reports you'd been working with as of late?

You were starting to think that he was more myth than legend with how he was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, always seeming to have a finger in every pie.

"Only in written reports, unfortunately. Though it sounds like you hold him in rather high regard."

"We're old acquaintances, he and I. We may not see eye to eye on many things, but he is the Director."

"Well, I wouldn't worry too much about it. He's a busy man, so it's no wonder that you've never seen him, but enough idle banter. I have to get going, so I'll see myself out," He said, patting your shoulder with a good-natured smile before exiting the room.

Silence fell across the room as you gathered the papers you were working on, arranging them into a neat stack to file away into a separate pile, when your gaze fell back upon a noticeably empty seat.

Where was Peter, anyway?

For someone who'd made it almost routine with how often he dropped by the archives, he had been strangely absent in the last couple of days.

An absence that you were starting to feel. Acutely, accompanied by a small sliver of worry.

Was he busy with his duties, or did something happen?

And as you mulled the question, came evening when you were on your way back from the computer room after putting in a request for a cassette tape player.

You'd just stepped out, barely making it a few doors down when a hand had shot out of nowhere, pulling you into an obscure nook by the arm. A startled yelp left you, but it was quickly muffled by a pair of lips sealing over yours, delicate and soft.

It was as if the world had finally answered your prayers when you recognized the piercing blue gaze that greeted you. Peter's tall form loomed over you, partially obscured in shadows as you relaxed in his hold, tension seeping out of tense muscles once poised to flee.

A honeyed warmth spread through his chest as he felt the slow, luscious slide of your lips against his. Sensual, in a way that made his breath hitch; urging, as you reached up to pull him closer.

He hadn't forgotten where you'd last left off— of the promise he'd made you, echoing brilliantly in his mind. But a small voice in his head told him that it wouldn't be wise to stay if he intended to chase that thought— a bold one, even for him.

A thought that was getting increasingly harder to ignore, and one that he fully intended on realizing when you broke away for air.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, voice low in a whisper.

"Does it matter?" He breathed. "I'm here now."

He turned to glance out at the corridor, and after hearing no activity, he turned back to you.

"Are you needed anywhere right now?" He asked.

"No, why?"

"Good. Follow me, but stay quiet." He said, motioning for you to follow as he led you away from the nifty little blind spot he'd found.

It was risky, sure. But few things came without risk, and it was just one that he would have to take.

He glanced up at the hallway cameras as he moved away from the shadows and down a series of unfamiliar hallways, an odd look of focus on his face. You followed, matching his long strides as you passed doors of similar build, unmarked, with no plaques to determine their purpose before he carded both of you through one, the access port flashing green.

It wasn't until the door clicked shut and the mechanical lock slid into place that he released you, breath coming out a little uneven.

Disrupting the cameras had taken more out of him than he cared to admit, but he'd done it, hadn't he? Now, he had you. And that was all that mattered.

"We should be fine here." He said, taking a moment to swipe at the blood that was starting to drip.

"Where are we?" You asked, glancing around at the room.

With all the shelving present, it seemed oddly reminiscent of a storage room, yet not quite.

"Somewhere where we won't be disturbed." He answered, turning around to face you. "Thought you'd like to collect your debt."

"In a storage room. Really?"

"You have a better suggestion?"

"Your room?"

"In case you forgot, sweetheart, there's a camera in there. So, unless you'd like to put on a show for everyone in surveillance…"

Right. You'd forgotten about that.

"Mine then?" You helpfully suggested.

"Don't know where that is." He grumbled, though he made a mental note to find out afterward.

It would require a little finagling through the system, no doubt, but who was he if not resourceful?

"I could bring you there?"

You made to move away, but he dragged you back before him by the shoulder.

"Too late." His fingers moved to grasp at your jaw, tilting your chin upwards as he kissed you hard to keep you in place.

There was nothing gentle in the way he'd come onto you, all teeth and tongue as he backed you into the nearest wall.

The taste of you, sweet and earthy, only served to fuel his need as you slipped your tongue into his mouth to deepen the kiss, the wet heat of it brushing against his, and along with it, all rational thought.

When he finally pulled away, it was to slide a free hand underneath your blouse to trail his fingers across your stomach, letting it run up your side in a featherlight caress as he leaned his body closer into you.

"You… have been on my mind. Like a stubborn pest that I cannot seem to rid myself of." He murmured, breath fanning out against your skin. "And I don't think I want to."

You shivered, feeling yourself warm at his touch as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses against the side of your neck, the ends of his hair tickling at your skin. He let his tongue carve a fiery path in his wake, feeling the blood rush straight to his groin at the soft, breathy gasp that left you when he sucked softly at the tender spot beneath your ear, teeth tugging gently at the reddening skin before his tongue darted out to soothe it.

"You can do anything you want to me, sweetheart. Wouldn't you like that?" He whispered silkily, relishing the way you shuddered as he let his hand wander higher, fingers tracing your curves before he unclasped your bra to slip a hand through, fondling the supple flesh beneath.

You moaned as he kneaded at you, pinching and rubbing at the nipple between his fingers until it stood at attention, sending tingles down your spine as you arched into his touch. Your fingers curled into his shirt as you yanked him down for another kiss, feeling the heat in your stomach start to pool as he eagerly responded to the hungry chase of your lips.

A strangled sound left him when your hand brushed against the bulge pressing against you, making his hips subconsciously jerk in response. He watched you, eyes dark as your nimble hands moved to undo his belt, letting it fall to the ground with a clatter.

A pleasurable shiver shot through him as you unzipped his trousers, tugging them down as you reached in to palm him through his boxers, where a wet stain had already formed on the tented fabric.

"Someone's eager." You mused, reaching in to pull him free of his constraints.

He sat hot and heavy in your hand, head flushed and leaking as he trembled in your grasp. He was hard, painfully so, judging from the prominent vein that ran along the side.

The warmth of your hand against him was enough to elicit a groan from his throat as you swirled circles around his sensitive head.

"Be careful with that, sweetheart." He breathed, breath hitching as you brushed a thumb over the weeping head.

It was clear that he was unused to such sensations. And with the way he was shaking just from being held, something told you that this wasn't the first time he'd gotten hard in your presence.

"How long have you wanted this?" You asked, peering up at him through your lashes as you rubbed your fingers teasingly over the satiny smooth skin of his length, observing the way his brows seemed to knit, breath coming out in sharp pants as he leaned into your touch.

"A while." He said, swallowing thickly.

"Then we'll just have to remedy that, won’t we?" You said sweetly, closing your fingers around his rigid shaft.

You pressed your palm to the underside of it, making him whimper at the sensation as you gave him a few slow pumps. Your arousal grew as he swelled in your hand with each pass, hips bucking involuntarily as he sought more of the delicious friction.

His hands fell to your hips as you picked up the pace, squeezing with gentle pressure. Sweat started to bead at his temple, a muted curse falling from his lips as you pumped him. He could feel his mind growing fuzzy at the edges as he throbbed, pinpricks of pleasure crawling up his spine.

Fire seared through his veins as the tension in his stomach coiled, skin prickling at the waves of pleasure threatening to wash him asunder as it built higher and higher.

He let his head fall against the crook of your shoulder, muffling the sounds that escaped him as he pressed closer, wanting nothing more than to melt into you; to forget where he started and you began as he rutted into your hold.

Until you came to a stuttering halt, drawing him right out of the pleasure-filled haze.

A frustrated whine left his lips as he lifted his head from your shoulder, a dazed, almost pleading look on his face.

Why did you stop? Had he done something wrong?

"Down." You instructed, more of a suggestion than a command, as you splayed a hand across his chest.

The lights flickered.

You weren't sure if he would comply. —He did.

Something in the air trembled, stilled, and faded as he sank to his knees.

For you, he would be good.

Gone was the polite veneer of a smile you'd always associated him with, and in its place was something slighter, something raw.

"What will you have me do?" He asked, voice laced with desperation.

You felt yourself throb at the sight of him, all flushed cheeks and swollen lips as he looked up at you with wide eyes.

"You want to finish, don't you?"

He saw it then, in the soft tremble of your legs as you slipped a hand between your thighs to push your panties aside, fingers sliding through your folds to soothe the dull ache that had started to form from watching him take his pleasure, where each slide of him against your skin had felt akin to a brush against your own heated core.

"I want to feel you inside me as you come undone." You said as you pressed a finger in, biting your lips to stifle the moan that escaped you as you worked it in and out of yourself before adding another.

"And you're going to sit there and take it."

His Adam's apple bobbed a few times as he watched you hungrily, eyes transfixed at the way your fingers disappeared into yourself as you pumped them in and out, wondering what you'd feel like against his own fingers, against him.

The thought of being buried within your velvety warmth was enough to make him drip with desire. And when you eventually slid down to join him below, he pounced, hungry for more as you moved to straddle his legs.

He immediately moved to grasp at you the moment you entered his range, pawing at every inch of you he could reach, voice rough with need.

"Let me." He breathed, hand brushing against yours as he reached down, pressing his own digits against your wet folds.

He hadn't done this before, not quite. But Henry was a terrifyingly fast learner when he put his mind to it, as you’d soon come to know.

You felt his fingers replace your own as you drew away, pressing tentatively at your entrance before sliding smoothly into your heat. You gripped onto his shoulders, back arching at the feel of his long digits pressing against your walls, stroking curiously before he mimicked your prior actions with newfound vigor.

You mewled, grabbing at his arm and grinding down against his hand, each spark of pleasure making the heat pooling in your abdomen surge and the hollow ache in you grow.

He could feel you throbbing around his fingers, drinking in your reactions as he curled them against you with every thrust, reaching deeper until his fingers brushed against the spongy spot that made you see stars.

The reaction was instantaneous; your fingers digging into him as you keened, writhing in his grasp as he continued, now angling his fingers with a new target in mind.

An indescribable feeling that left you quivering welled up within you with surprising speed as he brushed against the sweet spot over and over, making you quickly grab at his wrist to stop him before he unknowingly sent you over the edge.

"Wait, Peter— I'm going to put you in, alright?" You breathed as he withdrew his fingers, closing your hand around his length once more.

You rose up slightly to line him up with your entrance, watching as something in him crumbled when you rubbed him against your slick folds to coat him in your juices.

"Please." He breathed, a plea falling from his lips, so soft that you nearly missed it, had it not been the glazed over look in his eye.

You stroked him tantalizingly with your fingers, relishing in the way he jolted when the tip slipped in. And then, you sank down. He groaned at the sweet slide of you against him, fingers digging into you as he held you close, feeling every quiver and every shake of your body as you fed his length into yourself.

You hissed, breath stuttering at the initial burn of him as you bottomed out.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" You asked, giving him an experimental roll of your hips before you moved, slowly grinding yourself against him.

A small whimper leaves him at the feeling of being nestled in your softness, so deliciously wet and warm that he almost came just from the feeling alone.

"I'm not going to last if you do that." He gasped as your walls fluttered around him, squeezing tightly as if trying to keep him in place even as you moved to draw yourself up, leaving only the tip of him inside before you sank down again.

You moaned at the feeling, clenching down on him as you grasped his shoulders for balance, as you continued.

"That's the point of it, Peter." You laughed, pressing a kiss to his jaw as you started up a steady rhythm, feeling every drag of him against your walls with each slide. "I'm going to drag every last drop out of you."

"You'll be my undoing." He panted, eyes fluttering shut from the overwhelmingly tactile feeling of you that threatened to consume him.

He was drowning, sinking, fingers scrabbling for purchase as he pawed at every inch of you he could reach, fingers kneading into the flesh to ground himself as a needy whine tore itself from his throat. He bucked helplessly into your heat, feeling the tension building up again— stronger, faster, a roiling wave that even he was powerless to stop when you reached up to tug at the hairs at the base of his neck.

“Cum for me, Peter.” You whispered, lips brushing hotly against the shell of his ear as he shuddered.

He tensed, clinging tightly onto you as his hips moved frantically, thrusting up into you in an attempt to bury himself deeper with each slide, hips snapping up a final time before he cried out with a wrecked whimper, tears pricking at his eyes as he spilled hotly into you.

“Good boy.” You praised, breath hitching at the surge of heat flooding your insides.

You continued to bounce on him, riding it out with a wet noise before you, too, came with a full-bodied shiver. He twitched, moaning softly at the way your walls pulsated around him, milking every last drop he had to offer as you melted into him, trembling from the aftershocks of your own climax.

It took you both a while to catch your breath, but Peter gathered himself first, letting his fingers trace up and down your spine, enjoying the small moment as you slowly came back to yourself.

"You alright there?" He asked, pressing a tender kiss to your temple as you sat back up, blinking the haze out of your eyes as you gave him a small sound of affirmation.

"We've been gone for a while now, so we should get going lest people start asking questions." He said, pulling out to tuck himself back into his trousers.

You let out a soft whine at the loss, though the warmth in your belly remained, making you feel all warm and fuzzy even as he pulled you up together with him as he stood. You felt the wetness of your shared release starting to drip out as you straightened your skirt and slid your panties back into place.

"Remember, nothing happened here." He murmured as he helped smooth out the wrinkles on your clothes before doing the same to his own, fixing himself back into a presentable state.

He bent back down, reaching behind you to pick up the belt you'd previously discarded and securing it back around himself with a click. And as he looked back up at you again, hair mussed and eyes glinting with something unspoken, you saw it then, in the satisfied smile on his face— something tender, something soft.

"Wouldn't want to give anything away, do we?"

#Stranger Things #Peter Ballard #Henry Creel #Peter Ballard x Reader #Henry Creel x Reader #001 x Reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #Stranger Things Reader Insert #Forsworn

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