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“Is this really necessary?” Peter said, spreading plastic wrap out over the floor and bed of the upstairs master bedroom.
“Do you really think it’s a smart move to leave DNA evidence behind?” said Paul.
“We could always just torch the house,” said Peter, “Like in Florida. That was fun, wasn't it?”
“That house belonged to a guy who admitted he’d been short-sighted enough not to write a will. Torching future government property is one thing, but these nice people probably left it to a nephew or a sister or something,” Paul said, “It just wouldn't be polite after how accommodating they've been.”
“It’s not very romantic,” Peter said.
“How about we go downstairs with all the blood and make it look like some strange murder orgy took place here? Would that be romantic?” Paul said.
“Actually yes,” Peter said with a cheeky grin as Paul shoved him on the shoulder.
“I’d agree but we don’t know what kind of biohazards we’d be exposing ourselves to. They kind of looked like swingers,” Paul said.
“They were not swingers!” Peter said.
“Are you clairvoyant now? Did you deduce that from the contents of their refrigerator?” Paul said.
“I had one sandwich and an ice cream bar!” Peter said.
“Yeah, plus all the stuff you put in the car for the drive home,” Paul said, “You've hardly started a diet, Tubby.”
“It’s a really long drive. And you don’t have to tease me so much when nobody’s watching, you know,” Peter said.
Paul’s constant bullying was part of their act, somewhat. He got the idea when Peter showed him he could cry on command – he took acting lessons as a teenager, apparently, and that was his one big specialty, which didn't gain him much in the way of popularity points. What it did do was fool people into thinking he was some poor, manipulated pawn in Paul’s game, someone who just might release them if they appealed to his sympathies enough. He wouldn't, of course, but giving them those brief glimmers of hope and then taking them away was just another part of the game.
Paul, of course, continued to tease him well after the game was over because despite his polite demeanor he could be quite the asshole. If Peter ever brought that up, Paul would just remind him that he was the one with the itchy trigger finger when it came to certain games, so he didn't exactly have the right to criticize anyone else from a moral standpoint. Sure, Paul was unquestionably the leader, but Peter wouldn't love him so much if he didn't love what they did together, every bit of it.
“Are you almost done?” Paul sighed, leaning back against the desk.
“It’d be faster if you helped,” Peter said, pushing the last bit of plastic over the bed.
“You know I have a bad back,” said Paul.
“Bullshit,” said Peter.
“Hey, no swearing, you’re ruining the mood,” Paul said, “Anyways, you’re also the one that’s going to be making a big mess everywhere. I know exactly where mine’s going.”
“We could have just waited, you know,” Peter said.
“I could have waited. It’s a six-hour drive. I know you, two hours in you’d be whining about blue balls and begging me to pull over so we could get it on behind a tree or in some filthy gas station like uncivilized pigs,” Paul said, “And then when I didn't I’d have had to listen to you cry about it for the next four hours.”
“Would not! I’m not that impatient. Besides, you haven’t exactly done a great job of getting me into the mood yet,” Peter said.
Paul growled, grabbing Peter by the jaw with one gloved hand and wrenching him into a deep kiss. Peter tried to say something, his voice muffled, but Paul didn't let him break away, instead snaking one hand down Peter’s shorts, fondling him just enough to get him hard before pushing him back onto the bed.
“I changed my mind, let’s wait until we get back,” Paul said with a laugh.
“Well not now,” Peter said, breathing heavily, stuffing his own hand down his shorts before Paul smacked it away.
“You think I had you do all this work so I could watch you jerk off? Nah,” Paul said, gripping Peter’s hands in his, “But you’re going to have to motivate me before I give you anything.”
“Can’t you ever just give me anything?” Peter whined.
“Not for nothing. You’ll enjoy it more if I make you work, trust me, I took a class on human sexuality once,” Paul said.
Peter had nothing to say in return aside from a slight whimper. He removed his gloves, tossing them aside and reaching for his partner’s gloves as well, only for Paul to pull his hands away.
“Come on, don’t be stupid, you know you have to work much harder for that,” Paul said.
Peter nodded, snaking both arms underneath Paul’s shirt as he got off of the bed and down onto his knees. He hugged Paul tightly to him, his cheek nuzzled up against Paul’s shorts in his current position. He didn't need to ask permission to pull Paul’s shorts and underwear down, although he was very slow and careful. Paul could be an absolute maniac in bed (which Peter loved, even if he didn't always act like it) but when it came to foreplay he liked it delicate, meticulous. Like he had to be the perfect proper gentleman up until all his clothes were off.
Paul stepped out of his shorts and underwear as they fell down to the ground, one foot at a time before lightly kicking them aside. Without hesitation, Peter took Paul’s cock into his mouth. Paul’s back arched and he grabbed a handful of Peter’s hair tightly, but he didn't moan. He never gave Peter that satisfaction right until the very end when he had done his job well and good.
Peter was quite skilled at this by now. He knew if he was too rough or if he accidentally used his teeth, Paul would let him know about his displeasure and he wouldn't be gentle about it. He could feel Paul’s grip on his hair loosen and he knew that he had done enough there. By the time he stood up, Paul was already lifting his shirt up over his head, carefully so that he wouldn't mess his hair up, casting it aside with all the other discarded articles of clothing. Peter quickly undressed as well, knowing Paul wouldn't be patient enough at this point to watch him strip with the same level of finesse.
Peter stuck his hand out and Paul squirted some lube into it – god, Peter thought, Paul didn't even let them bring their own weapons because that would be cheating, but somehow he never forgot the lube. It was fortunate, though, at this point if they had no lube Paul was the type to go in dry.
“Alright,” Paul said, holding up one gloved hand, “You may proceed.”
Peter didn't dare touch Paul’s glove with his lube-covered hand. He’d get a slap for that, and not the kind he enjoyed getting. Instead, he pulled the glove off by the tip of the pointer finger with his teeth, and then did the same for the other.
“Turn around, get down,” Paul said, and Peter obeyed, bending over so that his elbows rested on the bed.
Paul saw fit to reward his performance so far by grasping one hand – one soft, ungloved hand – around his cock. Peter moaned sharply. Unlike Paul, he was rather vocal in bed, and Paul’s hands were just so nice, so skilled. He told everyone he wore those gloves because of his eczema, and he did wear them almost all the time (Peter would swear he wore them in the shower if he hadn't seen otherwise himself) but he didn't have eczema, no. His hands were god-like, as if untouched by the dirt and grime of the mortal world, and sex was the only time Peter ever got to be touched by them. He’d kill in honor of these hands, maybe even die for them. The first time Paul touched Peter’s cock with his bare hands he came embarrassingly fast, something Paul would never ever let him forget.
“Try not to squirm too much,” Paul said jokingly; he knew Peter would squirm and he’d damn well enjoy it, too.
Paul wasn't a gentle lover. He wasn't the kind to stick a finger or two in Peter’s asshole first to get him nice and relaxed and ready. No, those fingers of his weren't getting anywhere near there, he just dove right in, and he wasn't slow about it either. Unsurprisingly, Paul didn't mind a bit of blood – blood made everything more entertaining, really.
“Paul, sh-shit-“ Peter said, and Paul clamped the hand that wasn't around Peter’s cock over his mouth.
“Shh, I told you that kind of language ruins the mood,” Paul said, Peter’s whimpers and moans escaping like bursts of air between his fingers as he thrust in harder until he finally released his grasp over his partner’s mouth.
Peter breathed heavily, white marks from Paul’s fingers on his cheeks and chin. Paul was rough, so rough, and he still hadn't quite adjusted to the size of Paul’s cock as he began to go faster. Peter wasn't so verbal about it anymore, though, instead letting his whines and moans do the talking.
Paul was always so controlled in every other aspect of their lived. Calculating, stoic, almost no emotion save the odd laughter at an insulting joke or someone’s pain. But despite all that violence and bloodlust lurking beneath his surface, Paul almost never showed it. He was expressionless, monotone when he killed someone, as if loss of life was as common and uneventful to him as brushing his teeth after a meal. He didn't even bother to run after his victims if any of them ever escaped, he just followed at a leisurely pace until they inevitably backed themselves into a corner. He was so calm, and that’s why he did so well at making people afraid of him. Peter always introduced himself first, because he was shy, he was bashful, he was normal, or at least he seemed to be. Most people started to suspect something was wrong when they met Paul, but by that time it was too late.
The first time Peter made love to Paul he knew where he expressed all that violence, all that latent aggression. Peter only had one other partner in his life – just a hookup, a guy Paul despised for being the one to take his beloved Peter’s virginity before they met – but even he could tell that Paul was truly something else in the bedroom. An unrestrained, vicious lover.
Paul grabbed him by the hair again, this time closer to the more sensitive hairs right on the back of his neck, and forced his head right down into the blankets so he could barely breathe, the plastic covering squeaking underneath him. Peter could hear Paul breathing heavily now, but he wasn't tired yet. Not even close. Paul could go for a long time.
Peter choked back a sob, his hair being pulled, his ass hurting, his elbows almost caving in from how rough Paul was thrusting him down on the bed.
“You crying already?” Paul asked.
“Nuhh,” was all Peter managed to get out, talking as if he had just bitten his tongue.
Paul knew he was lying. Paul could see him, from the way his head was positioned, tears streaming down his face.
“You’re such a crybaby. You’re the only guy I know who needs to use tissues for their actual intended purpose during a time like this,” Paul said, “Do you want me to stop? You want to go cry it out?”
“Nuhh,” Peter squeaked out again, “K-keep going.”
Peter was delicate. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and he cried when Paul teased him too much or at the slightest bit of pain. But damn, he loved Paul, and he loved it when Paul made love to him in all his ferocious glory. The thought of a normal, gentle lover seemed so boring to him. Paul’s love was cruel but so intense, and deep in his heart he knew this display of aggression, this level of passion was reserved only for him.
“Paul, I’m,” Peter said, moving into a better position to talk, “I’m close.”
“Good for you,” Paul said, but although he didn't seem to care he put the extra effort into teasing Peter’s cock with his nimble fingers.
Peter let out a loud moan – loud enough that Paul was thankful for the fact that this particular house was rather secluded – and spilled his cum all over the plastic wrap. He fell limp, his muscles finally relaxing enough for him to lay down and enjoy taking Paul’s girth without the added pain.
Paul let go of his hair and cock, patting him on the head as if he were a dog before grabbing him by the hips, thrusting faster as he neared his climax. He shivered, finally letting out that moan as Peter felt the hot rush of Paul’s seed in his ass, moaning along with him.
Paul stood still for a few more seconds, letting out a few controlled, cool-down breaths before pulling out and stepping back.
Peter practically slid off the bed, too weak to do much else, cum dripping from his ass onto the plastic lining the floor.
“That was – that was - god,” he said, “Yeah. I’m glad we didn't wait for that.”
“Good,” Paul said, putting his gloved back on, “Now get dressed and clean up this mess so we can leave. I want to be far away from here by sunset.”