That grip of his hair -along with the way Peter's body tightened against him- caused the steady rhythm he'd built to falter, his hips juddering forward more firmly against Peter's once more, though it was also enough to draw a quiet, equally-rough-edged laugh from him, shaking his head just a little as he drew one knee up closer so he could settle into shorter, shallower thrusts, hips rolling easily against the other man's.

The hand at Peter's hip slid down his thigh before running back up again, settling at his ribs, just feeling the play of muscle and the steady rise and fall of breath beneath his hand. That was one of the things he liked most, knowing that he was responsible for the way someone's breathing changed, the way their pulse raced, it meant he was doing something right.