Work Text:
Peter turns a page in his book, absent mindedly pushing his glasses up where they’ve slipped down his nose. He tries very hard to focus, but finds that he is simply reading the same sentence over and over, with not a single word of it entering his mind. One could say he’s a little distracted. And who could really blame him, in his position?
Out of the corner of his eye he can see the beautiful brown expanse of Juno’s back. His lover is on his hands and knees beside the squashy armchair where Peter sits, and he’s being so good that Peter has rather a difficult time keeping his breathing steady.
The low light of their bedroom makes Juno’s skin glow. Shadows pool in the dips of his back, exposing every curve of his body. Peter likes to imagine that he knows every inch of Juno by now. The subtle line of his spine, the blaster scar across his ribs, the contours of his ass which fit perfectly in Peter’s hands.
What’s new, however, is the tension.
He’s seen Juno tense before, of course. It constitutes a shockingly large part of his dear detective’s personality, and he’s massaged the knots out of Juno’s shoulders many a time.
This strain is something different. Juno’s working very hard not only to hold himself upright, but to stay as still as possible. After all, if he doesn’t, the glass of liqueur balanced oh so precariously in the centre of his back might just tip and spill.
So far he’s performed admirably. He’s breathing slow and even, in spite of his vulnerable position, completely bare but for the chilled glass and the ring around the base of his cock. Though Peter sees him flex his hands on occasion, for the most part Juno remains still, playing his part admirably – on the contrary to Peter himself, he realises, and he quickly clears his throat and turns another page without having read a single word. He ought to be fulfilling his role more seriously, he knows, but looking at a book is so boring in comparison to watching Juno, quiet and passive at his side.
Even as he looks, Peter spots a drop of condensation on the outside of the chilled glass (Juno had flinched when he first set it down on him, but quickly returned to stillness). Fascinated, he watches the drop roll in stops and starts down the side of the glass. Each time it catches Peter’s heart skips a beat. Then finally, it slips down the final stretch and falls onto Juno’s skin.
Juno shivers as the cool liquid spreads around the base of the glass, then he returns to that perfect, disciplined stillness.
Peter snaps. He slams the book shut just to watch Juno jump. At last the glass tilts to one side, spilling the creamy alcohol all over his back and making him sigh, still soft as anything. Peter’s on his feet in a heartbeat, hands scrabbling at his belt. Time to get more uses out of this most elegant piece of furniture.