You know what I mean? I believe that this is going to be near to the last of them for now. TTSS and SP that is. This one is a little…raunchier than the rest, though not really explicit.

I must say, if Peter and Toby were ever in any sort of relationship (which really, the run in they had on fifth floor in TTSS speaks of -something- happening) it would be very angry and bitter. I’m sure of it. They would have angry sex in several langauges over someone’s desk and Toby would complain about bruised hips. Saying something about Mara noticing and Peter would reply “since when have you cared about Mara noticing?” to which Toby would tsk and say something along the lines of “this is different, Peter, you know what I mean?”. And then they would vow to never let it happen again which means they’ll be meeting up next Tuesday at three.

Peter was quite sure that Toby was going to suddenly push him back, pull up his trousers and dismiss him with half a sentence in that stilted accent of his, with black eyes over his left shoulder.

But he didn’t. Instead, he pulled him closer, legs clamping around his waist as he pushed into him, shirt tails up and tie dangling between their bodies. Toby was biting his lip, forcing himself into silence, face pinching, reminding Peter of everything he didn’t like about the man. Ned’s words, there are times when I wouldn’t entertain Toby in a wood shack jarring out in his mind.
A gasp, a stifled whimper, and their kisses were wet, messy, missing half the time and leaving saliva on the cheek, neck, chin. Hands were carefully cleaning and fixing clothes, not in hair, or under shirts, or down thighs – Toby frowned, pushing the thoughts from his mind.

“Good day, Peter,” he muttered as he turned around, studiously tidying his desk. The books were fixed three times.

“Good day, Toby.” Peter waited for a second before slipping from the room as Toby raised the blinds, missing the bitten fist and shaking shoulders once the door had closed.

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