He ignored Neal during the drive. He had to - it was either ignore him, or crash. The sounds alone - Christ. He was jerking off frantically, eyes closed, and Peter had never been more grateful for the tinted windows in the new Taurus model.
But when they pulled up, Neal's cock - sticking out obscenely from the pants and boxers shoved down around his thigh, red and dripping - was still hard.
Peter leaned over and pulled some napkins out of the glove compartment. He wiped the sweat off Neal's forehead and then some of the precum off his dick. Neal thrust urgently against Peter's hand, whimpering when he pulled away.
Neal got out of the car quicker than he got in, which was good, because the valet was already looking at them funny. The waiter showed them to a corner booth, handed Peter the wine list, and left. Neal had obvious difficulty sitting down, and Peter hovered over him, holding his elbow and assisting him.
"How's your back?" He asked loudly in case any of the other diners were looking too closely before moving to his side of the booth. Neal just glared. "Oh, don't be like that. You're the one who said you wanted to go out to a nice restaurant!"
"Yes, but I didn't - " Peter slid the control up to the fifth level and Neal gasped. "Hate you," he moaned, and leaned back against the booth, hips undulating slowly, fucking himself on the plug. Peter let him go for a few seconds, but when his hand crept towards his groin, he clicked it off. "Pick out your appetizer, Neal. Something that would go well with a dry white - we'll get red with dessert. Or maybe a nice Australian Chardonnay - they've got a wonderful selection." He put the wine list to the side and opened up his menu. "Well, we'll have plenty of time to decide before then. We're in no hurry, after all." Neal just whimpered.
no subject
But when they pulled up, Neal's cock - sticking out obscenely from the pants and boxers shoved down around his thigh, red and dripping - was still hard.
Peter leaned over and pulled some napkins out of the glove compartment. He wiped the sweat off Neal's forehead and then some of the precum off his dick. Neal thrust urgently against Peter's hand, whimpering when he pulled away.
Neal got out of the car quicker than he got in, which was good, because the valet was already looking at them funny. The waiter showed them to a corner booth, handed Peter the wine list, and left. Neal had obvious difficulty sitting down, and Peter hovered over him, holding his elbow and assisting him.
"How's your back?" He asked loudly in case any of the other diners were looking too closely before moving to his side of the booth. Neal just glared. "Oh, don't be like that. You're the one who said you wanted to go out to a nice restaurant!"
"Yes, but I didn't - " Peter slid the control up to the fifth level and Neal gasped. "Hate you," he moaned, and leaned back against the booth, hips undulating slowly, fucking himself on the plug. Peter let him go for a few seconds, but when his hand crept towards his groin, he clicked it off. "Pick out your appetizer, Neal. Something that would go well with a dry white - we'll get red with dessert. Or maybe a nice Australian Chardonnay - they've got a wonderful selection." He put the wine list to the side and opened up his menu. "Well, we'll have plenty of time to decide before then. We're in no hurry, after all." Neal just whimpered.