Chapter Text
Peter didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't much. There was a reason Peter had already gone most of a semester without meeting the new dealer. The last guy had at some point been part of the student body he was now abetting; rumor had it he'd even graduated, but going by his career choices, that seemed unlikely. They'd only ever met him in parking garages. The guy before that had done the pickups at his apartment, mostly. He was fine, but like thirty-five with a kid and not very fun to hang out with. So extrapolating from two data points, Peter was guessing the new guy would be kind of dumpy, a little too chill, and not quite the kind of guy Peter wanted to hang out more with. But Ned insisted this one was fun, and that he'd smoke them out when they picked up, so here Peter was, hitched behind Ned like a trailer.
Beck was chill, but he could not have been less dumpy. Sure, there were beer bottles on the coffee table and cat hair in the carpet, but like, a normal amount. The guy was the complete opposite of dumpy. He looked like that hospital show guy May had a thing for, except he looked a little bit (a lot) more like bad news. Peter wasn't sure exactly how to quantify bad news, but his sleepy red eyes were a good place to start. His hair was a mess, in a way that seemed to suggest he had tried… two or three days ago. His beard looked like it had been left unattended for longer than that. And then there was the fact that he was slouching on the couch, lazily smoking a joint while playing video games.
His eyes flicked up briefly and he nodded distractedly at them. "What's up, Ned?" But just as Peter was starting to stare, he looked back at Peter and paused the game. There was something between a pleasantly mild smile and a smirk on his face. "A new face, huh?" When he took the joint out of his mouth, smoke slipped out of what was now a full-fledged smirk.
Ned didn't even notice. Sometimes Peter forgot he wasn't even a little bit gay. But geez, he thought Ned knew him well enough to warn him about this guy.
"Yeah, this is Peter. He's my roommate," Ned said. (He was loving the level up from regular old best friend.)
Beck's heavy-lidded eyes settled on him, and he grinned and nodded. "What's up, Peter?"
"What's up," Peter answered nonsensically, in complete shock. He was so hot. How was his drug dealer so hot? That wasn't even fair. He couldn't stop looking at those ice blue eyes, and he blushed when Beck just laughed good-naturedly.
"I'm Beck," he said, and Peter couldn't tell if he was stifling laughter or just trying to hold the smoke in a little longer.
"Peter," Peter said, and Ned snorted.
"Yeah, dude, I introduced you."
Peter's head turned toward Ned a second before his eyes followed. "What? Oh. Whoops, my bad, sorry."
Ned turned back to Beck and pointed his thumb jovially over his shoulder. "He's not even high yet," he laughed.
"Well, we can fix that," Beck said with a quiet huff of laughter. "I got a new piece I've been dying to break in."
"Oh hell yeah," Ned said. "Do you want to smoke here, Peter?"
Peter had only just recovered enough to respond. He nodded a little violently. "Sure!"
"Cool, cool," Beck said, and leaned in over the coffee table to pack a bowl.
Peter watched Ned, in social prey animal mode, but Ned just plopped onto the couch next to Beck—who was in the middle, so Peter was also going to be right next to him, oh god. Peter probably shouldn't be watching him pack the bowl this closely, but he probably shouldn't be buying weed! Fuck it.
He was surprised when Beck presented him with the bong. "First night at Fight Club," he chuckled, and his voice just made Peter shiver, raspy and soft and teasing.
"What?" Peter asked, but hit the bong without waiting for an answer.
Beck laughed out loud and rolled his eyes. "God, how old are you guys?"
Ned reached across Beck to take the bong from Peter, and Beck just smirked, letting Ned cut him in line.
"Seventeen," Peter said defensively, trying not to cough.
"Eighteen," Ned volunteered helpfully, and then coughed.
"Wait, you're just freshmen? Jesus, I'm old." He proceeded to take the bong from Ned, however, and take the most absolutely monstrous hit Peter had ever seen, and let it pour out of his mouth and nose without batting an eye.
"How old are you?" Peter asked curiously.
"Thirty-eight," Beck said easily, passing Peter the bong again.
Peter felt the first hit… hit him right as he exhaled the second in Beck's direction.
They smoked a lot. Peter wasn't the greatest at moderation himself, but before he got too blazed, he was worried that maybe Beck was trying to run them up a tab. (He wasn't; Ned wouldn't put up with that kind of shit—at least, not more than once.) He wasn't, but Peter got pretty fucking high. Ned was the kind of person who thought he could continue a conversation no matter how high he was, and usually he was right. Peter was under no such delusions, but he still tried to talk. He was a social stoner. If nothing else, he cuddled up to Ned and dozed with an ankle hooked around his, or with his toes wedged under Ned's legs.
Peter was, as always, the touchy-feely kind of high. For the first bowl, he didn't do anything about it, and just worked himself up more and more about asking Beck to move. It took until Beck was packing a second bowl for Peter to finally forget why this should make him anxious.
"Hey, Mr.—Beck?" Peter asked. He almost laughed at how ridiculous Mister and Beck sounded together like that. "Can I sit next to Ned?"
Ned wilted into the couch dramatically. "But Peter," he complained, "I'm so comfortable."
Beck looked at him, and Peter spooked backwards as he realized how far he'd leaned into Beck's space. Peter rocked back clumsily, apologizing under his breath.
"You alright, kid?" Beck asked, and his voice was just that much more rough and smokey.
"Peter's a cuddler," Ned confided, to Peter's horror.
"Ned!" he protested, and was caught off guard again when Beck grinned at him.
"Well, if you're not picky, I don't mind," he shrugged. "Once I get this bowl packed, anyway."
Peter was too sober to take him up on this for a few more hits, but by the time he had recovered from a vicious coughing spree, he had outsmoked the rest of his social anxiety. He edged closer to Beck, who raised his arm for Peter to settle under. Peter wedged himself between Beck's shoulder and the couch, burying his nose in Beck's shoulder. He smelled… well, like weed. But he smelled like a hot guy with good hygiene who smelled like weed.
Peter wiggled happily and sank further into Beck and the couch.
Beck shook with laughter. "He sure is, huh?" he said to Ned. He patted Peter's thigh, and nudged it a little so that Peter hitched it up over Beck's knee.
Ned leaned, smirking, into Peter's limited sight line behind Beck's neck. Peter's eyes popped open with understanding, and Ned winked.
Beck left his hand on Peter's thigh, petting his knee absently, pausing to hit the bong, and petting even more after passing it to Peter. Peter bungled the rip and coughed so hard Beck disentangled them enough to give Peter a good thump on the back.
"You two are probably good if you have anything to do," Beck laughed as Ned snatched the piece across his lap from Peter.
"Well, I have a date, so the higher the better," Ned confided, smoke hanging around his mouth like a beard for a few seconds.
"What about you, Peter?" Beck asked, lifting an arm for Peter to cuddle properly up to him. This time, Peter went where he was directed, and Beck put an arm around him. It could have just gone around his shoulders, but Beck's arm settled around his waist, his fingers finding bare, hot, sensitive skin where Peter's shirt was riding up a little.
"I don't have anywhere to be," Peter said quickly.
"Don't you?" Ned asked doubtfully.
Peter shook his head, and felt Beck laugh again. "We never figured out a time or place, so… later."
Ned shrugged. "Well, I have to head out in a few, and you're going the opposite way. Do you want to come with me or are you good?"
Peter blushed, trying to burrow into Beck's chest. "'m good," he mumbled.
"I think he's good," Beck chuckled. He gave Peter's shoulders a squeeze, and nope, Peter was never going anywhere.
A few minutes after Ned left, Beck patted Peter's knee in a way that felt horribly like a dismissal. "I hate to do this to you, sweetheart, but you gotta sit up. I'm gonna roll a blunt. You don't have to smoke any more," Beck reassured him with a smirk when Peter just gaped at him.
Peter was only kind of reacting to Beck smoking even more. Peter was already out of his mind, but he was a lightweight, and Beck did this for a living. The real reason he looked sideways at Beck and just like, didn't stop looking was the sweetheart, and he was pretty sure Beck knew it.
He was fast at rolling blunts. Peter leaned back against the arm of the couch, blinking slowly and watching Beck roll his blunt and flick his tongue obscenely down the length. (Shaft, insisted the larger-than-usual part of his brain acting in the interests of his dick.)
Beck finally lit it, took a nice luxurious puff off of it, and beckoned Peter back. "There. I'm done and you can keep me company again."
Peter blushed at this, and at the way the smoke puffed between his lips with every syllable, but he let Beck pull him even more snugly against his side than he had been before.
Peter watched as Beck took another hit. His heavy-lidded eyes wandered lazily between Peter and the rest of the room. "How come Ned's never brought you over before?" he asked. "You're not new friends."
Peter smiled, pleased that it was so obvious how close they were. "We've been best friends since third grade. And uh, I dunno," he hedged. "It didn't sound like fun. He just dragged me along." He grinned sheepishly up at Beck. "I didn't know you were actually cool."
Beck's eyes crinkled at the corners. He offered the blunt to Peter, and Peter stared at it for a long time, then took it. "You don't have to," he chuckled. "I'm just trying to be a good host."
But Peter did, and coughed gently as Beck took it back. Beck gave him a friendly thump on the back, and then ruffled his hair. "You're adorable."
Peter blushed, flattered or indignant but not sure which. "Give me that," he muttered, and swiped the blunt back. He didn't cough this time, but Beck still grinned at him.
"Still adorable, I'm afraid," he said apologetically. "Hey, wanna try something?" he asked in that tight, bottled-up voice.
Peter raised his eyebrows. "Sure?"
Before he could ask what, Beck leaned in and murmured, "Open your mouth."
Peter's mouth opened by coincidence out of pure shock, because Beck was… kissing him?
Shotgunning. Beck was trying to shotgun, Peter realized, thankfully before he tried to kiss him back. He inhaled all at once, but the clumsy pass left them both shrouded in even more smoke.
"Sorry, should have warned you," Beck said with a smirk, sitting back.
Peter laughed nervously. "Oh no, it's fine," he said. "We can try again."
Beck raised his eyebrows, and Peter almost had a panic attack, first because he thought he'd misread the situation, and then because Beck gave him a long, searching look that looked nothing like a joke.
"Let's try again," Beck agreed slyly, and this time Peter was ready. Or he thought he was, but then Beck took Peter by the chin. He let smoke pour delicately out of his mouth into Peter's, and Peter literally passed away and went to heaven when their bottom lips caught briefly against each other.
Peter inhaled unsteadily, and Beck broke the not-quite-kiss with a smile. "Much better," he said in a low voice.
Peter blinked furiously, suddenly feeling like he couldn't quite focus his eyes. This, among other things, was because he was catastrophically stoned. He was floating, extra tapped into his body and extra tapped out of his brain. He wasn't thinking about what a bad idea it would be to date your dealer, or to anything your dealer. He was thinking about how big and close and warm and hot Beck was.
He was thinking about the way Beck was watching him stare. And he just held Peter's gaze as he smoked, his cheeks hollowing obscenely, and smirked.
"C'mere," he rumbled softly. He hauled Peter's legs over his so that Peter was almost in his lap. "This good?" he asked. He was so close, holy shit.
"Yeah," Peter said breathlessly.
Beck tightened his arm around Peter's shoulders and tipped his head back by the chin as he leaned in to breathe into his mouth again.
Except this time, after Peter reeled in the wisp of smoke like a lifeline, Beck didn't pull back. He just stayed there, his breath hot on Peter's lips, and finally Peter couldn't stand it anymore. It was so little effort, barely any movement at all, to lean up and kiss him.
Beck just let him for a second, and then squeezed him tighter and kissed him back.
God. Beck didn't even kiss him that hard, but it was intense. He didn't flat out bite Peter, but he kept teasing it, raking his lip gently through his teeth. And then he licked into Peter's mouth, and Peter suddenly could barely breathe. He tasted like weed too.
Beck pulled back abruptly, and Peter blinked furiously, panting. Beck laughed softly. "Sorry, you're just so fucking cute."
"Sorry? For what?" Peter shook his head, his pulse roaring in his ears. "Please tell me you're gonna do that again," he said nervously.
Beck gave him a fond smile and took another pull off the blunt, and then tugged at one of Peter's ankles until Peter clambered awkwardly into his lap. Holy shit. He hadn't thought he could get any closer. Disoriented by the sudden height he had on Beck, Peter tried to behave as Beck leaned up, but Beck didn't. He licked at Peter's lip even as he poured smoke into his mouth.
"Holy shit," Peter said, his voice fried.
Beck ran his hand slowly, heavily down Peter's neck and chest and stomach, and Peter shivered as that simple touch rattled his spinal cord like a cymbal crash. Beck paused and raised his eyebrows. "You good? Is this good?"
Peter nodded, blushing. Beck smiled easily and leaned up for another several kisses, and Peter's brain stopped working when Beck's hands wandered up his thighs, edging inward. Too stoned to resist the baser urges that Beck was clearly aiming for anyway, Peter canted his hips into his hands.
"Oh, yeah?" Beck teased. He lifted and crowded Peter back against the arm of the couch, startling a gasp out of him. He cupped Peter's dick, embarrassingly hard already, and let Peter grind on him. "When did you get hard?" he asked, his voice soft and husky. "Were you hard when we started smoking? Was it the cuddling? Did I turn you on shotgunning you?"
Peter stopped humping Beck's hand, but instead of giving him a break to breathe or speak, Beck pressed closer and started rubbing him off. "Beck," he protested. "Shit, Beck, you're gonna make me come."
"When?" Beck insisted, grinning. Peter groaned as his cock throbbed in Beck's palm. "When did your cock give the first little twitch?"
"When you first hit the bong," Peter gasped finally.
"Really?" Beck said, fascinated. "Huh."
"You just," Peter said, and okay, apparently he was saying this out loud. "Blew out the smoke really cool, and your mouth—and—"
"And my mouth," Beck said with obvious delight. "What about it?"
"Beck," Peter gasped, "stop. Stop, or—"
Beck did not stop. He just pressed down on Peter's cock and rubbed harder, and—"Oh my god,"—Peter twitched violently and came, hot and sudden and devastating.
"Beck," he whined, flinching, and Beck finally let up.
"That was hot," Beck said, his voice low and gravelly. He took a hit off the blunt and bent to kiss Peter again, most of the smoke seeping out between them unless Peter's panting happened to catch it off guard. "You're hot."
Peter groaned involuntarily. "What?" he managed finally. He shook his head, or rather just turned it away from Beck. "No, I'm not. I'm—"
Beck turned his chin back toward him. "Yes," he breathed into Peter's mouth as he kissed him. "You are."
Peter's head was floating even more. He slung his arms around Beck's neck and pulled, and wrapped his legs around Beck's waist. "Show me," Peter said shyly.
"You show me," Beck countered with a smirk, and handed Peter the blunt. Peter took it, uncomprehending, and Beck got back up onto his knees. He unzipped Peter's pants, and Peter grabbed his wrist.
"But—"
"Aw, come on," Beck pouted. "How could you do that and then not show me?"
Peter thought he might pass out, his body reacted so fast to that. He blushed, but he was smiling despite himself. "I'm—you can't say that shit," he slurred. "I'm way too horny."
"Too horny, huh? And how horny is that, exactly?"
Peter just covered his face so he didn't have to watch Beck's expression as he peeled Peter's sticky underwear back from his already half-hard cock.
"Well, this seems like the opposite of a problem," Beck said, and Peter peeked at him between his fingers. He was smirking, and he smirked wider before bending down over Peter and licking up his messy cock.
Peter gasped in helplessly aroused horror. "Beck," he hissed, scandalized. But then Beck's lips closed around the head of his cock and anything but a moan died in his throat.
"Can I get you off again?" Beck asked slyly, licking maddeningly at the slit. His cock was fattening back up, but it was still floppy and hypersensitive. "Or should we just make out?"
Peter was still panting. "Both?" he asked dizzily. "Need a minute."
Beck laughed, and stroked his cock lazily, dipping his head to lick cum from down his shaft.
"Ugh," Peter mumbled.
Beck raised his eyebrows. "You want me to stop?"
Peter shook his head.
Beck smirked and proceeded to lick Peter clean, which was just about the hottest and the grossest thing anyone had ever done to him. That alone would have gotten him hard again, but Beck kept coming back to suckle insistently on the head, just long enough for it to pulse harder, until Peter was twitching in his mouth.
"Oh my god, Beck," Peter moaned. "Do you do this with Ned?"
Beck raised his eyebrows, but Peter's dick in his mouth took the edge off what might have been a tiny bit of contempt, or at least exasperation.
Peter clapped a hand over his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.
"I am not Ned's type," Beck said wryly. "Are you gonna smoke that?" he asked, and Peter realized he was still holding the smoking blunt. He took a hasty, embarrassed hit, and Beck's eyes raked down his body. He slid his hands up Peter's legs. "And he's not my type," he purred. Peter tried not to jump to any conclusions, but when Beck's eyes locked back on his, he knew exactly which conclusion he was supposed to jump to.
"Kiss me again?" Peter asked, and it came out more of a whine than he meant it to.
"Gladly." Beck grinned. "But I gotta finish something first."
"Oh my god," Peter said faintly. He could not keep up with the way Beck made him feel. Peter wasn't used to feeling hot, wasn't used to feeling so completely outclassed in every way. He wasn't used to being sucked off—at all, let alone like this. Beck had already fucked around for what felt like forever, and Peter let out a ragged groan of relief when Beck began to suck like he meant it. Not that he hadn't meant it before! But now he was trying to make Peter come, and he wasn't fucking around.
It didn't take long. Peter only remembered to hit the blunt one more time before he was tangling his free hand in Beck's hair (holy shit, it was so soft) with a panicked, rising, "Beck…"
Beck pulled back, and Peter opened his mouth to protest or plead, but before he could, Beck replaced his mouth with his hand. He stuck his tongue out and jerked Peter off into his open mouth.
"Fuck, holy shit, Beck," Peter moaned, watching his cum coat Beck's tongue. Mostly. A few spurts caught in his beard, and that was the new hottest, grossest thing Peter had ever seen.
Beck grinned again as Peter's orgasm trailed off. The sight of so many teeth so close to his dick should not have given Peter such a violent final aftershock, but Beck was just so fucking hot.
"Now will you kiss me?" Peter finally managed, way too stoned to be self-conscious about how whiny he was.
Beck grinned. He licked Peter's cock clean of the cum that hadn't landed on his tongue or in his beard, and tucked it neatly back into Peter's disgusting underwear. When he crawled up Peter's finely trembling body, Peter hooked a hand around the back of his neck and pulled. Beck leaned down to kiss him, but Peter licked up the cum left in his beard. The taste of his own cum and the rasp of beard under his tongue left him even more lightheaded than he already was.
Beck chuckled and rescued the blunt, which was drifting dangerously close to the couch in Peter's distracted grasp. He took a casual, devastating hit off of it and leaned down to smuggle yet more smoke into Peter's mouth via yet more kisses.
With the insistent animal need to get off momentarily knocked down the to-do list, Peter had more of his (still very divided) attention to appreciate just how fucking good Beck was with his mouth. When Beck laughed again, gentle and soft against his mouth, Peter realized he was making soft, petulant noises in the back of his throat as he knotted his fingers in Beck's hair and kissed him back like his life depended on it.
"Shut up," Peter huffed.
Beck sat back on his heels to grin at him and smoke, visibly at least half hard in his sweatpants. Or just big. Peter swallowed. Beck watched with heavy-lidded eyes as Peter cupped his dick and squeezed experimentally. He felt big. He felt like—like he wasn't wearing underwear, and Peter was going to pass out.
Peter tugged him closer by the waistband, and Beck chuckled as he hastily straddled Peter's chest before he lost his balance. Peter pulled his sweatpants slowly down his hips, revealing progressively more and more hair and then the base of his cock. "Shit, Beck," Peter muttered.
No underwear, and his cock was definitely interested but flopping heavily to the side. Peter's stomach swooped at the thought of sitting between Beck's legs, trying to fit as much of his cock in his mouth as he could, because all of it was just not happening.
"What do you think I do here between pickups?" Beck teased. Smoke spilled distractingly through his lips with every syllable. "I don't need underwear."
Peter's fingers found a wet spot inside the front of his sweatpants, and his fingers slipped around the head of Beck's cock. "You were hard for me," Peter said triumphantly.
Beck raised his eyebrows. "Very."
Peter startled them both by lunging at Beck's dick. He licked lightly, shyly, and Beck growled. Peter's heart swung into his throat and he took the head and sucked his pliant cock into his mouth.
"Yeah," Beck groaned, cupping the back of Peter's neck. He was definitely getting harder now; Peter could feel his dick throbbing fuller on his tongue, and he sucked a little harder.
"Seventeen, huh?" Beck said, and the taste of what Peter guessed was precum bloomed on his tongue. "Young for a freshman."
Peter just nodded with a blush, unsure if he was being mocked, because at this point gentle ridicule was his baseline expectation of adults.
Beck's cock bucked, and Peter's tongue felt disconcertingly light for a second before the comforting weight settled back against his tongue.
Beck pulled Peter off by the hair, and Peter shot a pleading look at his dick, now fully hard and obscenely slick with Peter's spit, and then up at his face. "Easy," Beck laughed. He took a few knee steps forward, and Peter let Beck lay him back on the couch and slip his dick into his mouth again. Peter gave a muffled moan and did his best to suck as hard as he could as Beck started to rock his hips.
Peter was so overwhelmed and so into Beck and so high that he just didn't do anything when Beck's cock hit the back of his throat. It sent parallel waves of heat and nausea through him that stirred everything around in his belly. Peter just drooled and panted around Beck's dick and let him do what he wanted, which was to brace his free hand against the arm of the couch and fuck his mouth.
Oh shit, it was too much. Peter could hardly remember how to breathe, he was so stoned; add Beck's considerable dick to the obstacle course and he was fucked. He pushed weakly back on Beck's thighs. For a long second, he was afraid Beck just wouldn't stop, but when Peter pushed a little harder, he withdrew, his cock slipping wetly out of Peter's mouth.
"You alright, sweetheart?" His voice was noticeably rougher, but he sounded genuinely concerned.
When Peter didn't immediately speak, Beck sat back to finish off the blunt. His dick was jutting ridiculously out of his sweatpants, and he gave the base of it an idle squeeze. Peter's mouth ran dry.
Beck grinned, watching Peter watch him, and started to jack himself off, lazy and unhurried. "Let me guess. You've never sucked dick." He squeezed out a drop of precum and slicked his palm with it, twisting his fist around the head of his dick. Holy shit, Peter wanted Beck to do that to him.
Peter shook his head. "No," he said in a tiny voice, unable to tear his eyes away from his cock.
"Sorry, kid, I should have asked." Beck chuckled. "This is, uh, not a beginner dick." He finally stubbed the blunt out and bent down to kiss Peter, all without letting go of his cock. Peter made a mortified and mortifying noise in the back of his throat, and kissed him back, obviously.
"Never been fucked either, huh?" Beck murmured before slipping him even more tongue.
Peter went lightheaded even before his imagination could get too far ahead of him. Beck, between his legs, easing his cock or even just his fingers inside him, kissing him, stroking him off—
Beck let out a chuckle that transformed into a groan half way through. His hand was picking up speed on his cock, and Peter wished he could handle sucking him off properly, because he wanted Beck's dick in his mouth yesterday.
"Can you—can you come in my mouth like you made me do?" Peter mumbled.
Beck gave a pleased hum from deep in his chest. "I can do that, yeah." He pushed himself up and just looked hungrily down at Peter for a long few seconds, pumping his cock. "God, you're something else, kid." He shuffled forward on his knees until his dick took up approximately 60% of Peter's field of vision.
Peter was a very big fan of this arrangement. He leaned in and licked shyly at the head as Beck jerked off right in his face.
"I can teach you how to take my cock," Beck promised, staring intensely down at Peter. "In your throat, in your ass, wherever you want it."
Peter nodded furiously, whining unintentionally, and Beck started fucking his fist with a growl. "I'm gonna come, Peter."
Peter stuck out his tongue like Beck had. Beck let out a groan and Peter squeezed his eyes shut on instinct, which was a good move, because Beck came all over his face. Most of it hit his tongue, but some of it definitely got on his cheeks and one spurt landed on his eyelid (gross).
It also tasted—weird. Not quite bad, but not like, good either. Peter wrinkled his nose involuntarily, and Beck gave a hoarse chuckle. Peter cracked one eye open and Beck was squeezing the last few milky drops of cum between his fingers into Peter's mouth.
"Jesus, kid," Beck panted, sitting back on his heels. Peter swallowed, grimaced, and then grinned, pretty sure that was a glowing review. "So fucking hot."
"You're hotter," Peter croaked in protest.
Beck rolled his eyes and pulled his sweatpants back up. "I'm not playing that game with you." He pulled Peter up and propped him up against the arm of the couch, moving him around with a comical lack of effort that left Peter out of breath.
Then Beck leaned in and kissed him again. When Peter couldn't keep up, Beck grabbed him by the nape of the neck and held him there while he kissed him, overwhelmingly deep and wet. Peter just let him, pleasantly drowning in the sensory overload of his beard scuffing his face, his tongue in Peter's mouth, and his fingers tangled in his hair and pulling lightly.
Beck didn't pull back until Peter was breathing heavily too, and even then only to lick up his chin, over his cheek, and—holy shit, it felt weird when Beck licked his eyelid. Good weird.
"Beck, oh my god," Peter said faintly.
Beck laughed softly, his breath warm against Peter's cheek. "You haven't done much kissing, have you, Peter?"
Peter turned his face away, blushing, but Beck turned his chin back. "You're very fun to kiss," he murmured, closing in for more.
Peter's stomach squirmed pleasantly even as he protested. "Me?"
Beck frowned. "Yeah, you. Why not?"
Peter spluttered, but Beck shut him up with his mouth. The kisses were softer this time, less urgent, and Peter found himself clinging to Beck's neck and making little noises whenever he did literally anything.
Peter was starting to think he might be able to get hard again when the doorbell rang. Peter jumped, but Beck didn't seem surprised.
"Come in," he yelled. He gave Peter one last apologetic kiss and pushed himself up off of Peter just as the door opened.
Peter remembered very suddenly that he had come in his pants extremely recently, and hastily dragged the nearest blanket over his lap as two kids his age or a little older meandered into the apartment. He shot a betrayed look at Beck, who just smirked and winked, slow and lazy.
Luckily, this pickup was more of a drive-by, and they didn't stay long. Peter was pretty sure he'd seen them before, but he couldn't remember where. Didn't matter. He just needed them to be gone. He sagged back against the couch arm with relief when the door shut behind them.
Or tried to. Beck was right there, leaning over the arm of the couch from the other side. He tipped Peter's head back and kissed him like that. Peter's mouth went slack with a soft noise of surprise, and Beck's tongue slid slowly, obscenely against his.
Peter reached for the back of his neck, but Beck pulled back, smirking. "I've got another pickup in ten, and they'll be around for at least twenty. Do you want to stick around?"
Peter's brain still didn't really work, but that wasn't likely to change anytime soon.
Beck meandered back to his seat in the middle of the couch and started to pack another bowl. "I'll suck you off again after," he said with a sidelong glance.
Peter could stay a little longer.