Godammit! I can't believe this is happening. Those things are making me nuts, or I never would have done anything this stupid.

The sound of my fist slamming into the door at the bottom of our staircase for a third time brings Peter running down.

"Shit, man, I thought we'd missed something and it was comin' up."

Laughing like a maniac, I just look at him, wiping at my eyes. "Oh no, nothing as simple as that." I'm gasping, but I still can't stop laughing.

He looks at me like he's scared I've cracked. And maybe I have. Because before all of this, I would have just waited it out - what's the big deal with a headache, right? But no, having every shop you can imagine at your disposal is clearly too much for a man to cope with, so you run down for a little thing like an aspirin and... except it wasn't an aspirin I took... And apparently, I've been babbling out loud, too.

"What the hell did you take, Roger?" Peter is grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. "Did you throw up? We gotta make you throw up. No wait, that might make it worse. Where's the package?"

He looks real scared now, more so when I start snorting again, and I know I gotta put him out of his misery. "I didn't take poison, Peter, calm down."

He looks to be relaxing a bit, but there's still a deep groove between his eyebrows, and damn, but he has beautiful eyebrows! I hear giggles bubbling up inside me, because could this get more embarassing?

Yup. It could.

When Peter pulls me into a hug like he thinks it'll save me going... well, wherever I'm going, I get an instant, rock solid, just-no-way-to-explain-this-away hard-on.

He hisses in a breath, but he doesn't loosen his grip for another minute, and by then, I don't feel like giggling anymore, but like something altogether different.

"Lemme go, man," I croak, pushing myself away from him with my hands on his chest like the outraged virgin in some trashy romance.

He lets me go, and he still looks worried. Freaked out, maybe. Not that I blame him. My hands are still on his chest.

"Look, I'm sorry. I can explain that." I clear my throat. "I picked up this white box at the chemist's, and I thought it said 'Aspirin', but turns out it said Aspirians, and..."

"What's it do, man?" he asks. "What is it?"

"Uh. That's... oh shit." My hands must be glued to his chest, they still haven't moved. I drop them. "Apparently, it's an aphrodisiac."

There's some kind of croak deep in his throat, and it might be funny enough to crack me up laughing if I wasn't embarrassed as hell.

"Aphrodisiac." He doesn't say it like a question, so I don't answer. "Shit, man. You must be... I mean, damn." Don't think I've seen Peter completely flustered 'til now, but yeah, this qualifies as flustered.

"You're telling me." I try to laugh.

"Can you do anything about it?"

"Funny, Peter."

He glares at me. "You know what I mean, Rog. Can't you take care of it?"

"Sure. And if Stephen minds me borrowing Fran, I'll just go downstairs and find myself some pretty undead chick, and..."

The expression on his face stops me in my tracks.

"What?" I know it wasn't much of a joke, but he looks seriously disturbed.

"You have no idea what I'm talkin' about, do you?" he asks.

Now I do laugh. Like a fucking nutcase. Can't stop. "I got a pretty good idea, Peter."

"Huh. Don't know about that."

Leaning back against the solid door, I put a bit more distance between us, because to be honest, talking about sex in my state isn't too comfortable. Especially talking about it with Peter. "Look. I know about sex. I've had the talk, and a fair bit of practice, if you must know."

Peter sighs, and I shut up. "I was talking about getting yourself off, Roger." He realizes I still don't know what he's getting at and explains, "By yourself. With your own hand. Shit, man, don't tell me you've never..."

"Um... no," I say, not looking at him. "Never had to, I'm happy to say." That last bit might come out a bit like gloating, but to be honest, I'm way too nervous to gloat.

Peter swipes the back of his hand over his forehead. "You haven't," he says. Then, after a moment. "But you do know how it's done, right?"

I put my hands behind my back and cross my forefingers with my middle fingers. "I haven't a clue, man."

It takes Peter a full couple of minutes of staring at me - and I'm about ready to fess up by then - before he says, "How bad is it?"

"It's bad, man. Real bad." I hope I'm not looking at him as hungry as I think I am.

"Damn, Roger." He paces back and forth for a bit, then comes to stand in front of me again. "I'm sorry."

Don't know what to say to that. "Yeah."

"Look, I can help you. I think. I mean, I'm obviously not gonna... well..."

Lowering my eyes, I say, "No, 'course not."

"Don't wanna embarrass you or nothin'. And we don't really need to be in the same room to do this."

"Huh?" Okay, this is getting more bizarre by the minute. Does this guy ever stop springing surprises? "We don't?"

"No." He tilts his head at me. "We got walkie talkies."

"Okay," I say, like that makes any kind of sense at all.

"Look, Roger. We'll go upstairs, I get one of them and bring it back down here with me. You stay up there and... uh, get comfortable, I guess."

"What about Stephen and Fran?"

Peter grins, and that alone relaxes me a little, because I'm wound up real tight by now, to be honest. "They're up there now. But she talked him into going downstairs with her to get some maternity clothes. Flyboy wasn't crazy about the idea, but I'm guessing they'll be a while."

As if on cue, the door upstairs opens and footsteps are coming down, accompanied by Stephen muttering and Fran calmly explaining that she has no intention of carrying all her stuff back herself. It isn't often she takes advantage of her condition, but she's got a point. Stephen has shut up by the time they get to the landing.

"What's goin' on?" Stephen asks, looking half edgy and half happy at the diversion provided by Peter and me.

"Just having a chat." Peter looks pretty composed, all things considered. "You off shopping then?"

Stephen nods, looking like the lamb to the slaughter.

"Do you two wanna come?" Fran asks a lot more cheerfully than she sounded with Stephen a minute ago.

I snort. "You've no i..."

"No, thanks," Peter jumps in, thankfully, giving me a funny look. "Another time."

"Yeah, sure." Fran shrugs and with a look at Stephen, who opens the door for her, they're off.

Peter waits until the heavy door slams shut. "Come on, man. Let's move."

We run up the stairs - which is pretty uncomfortable in my state - and to our room.

Peter picks up his walkie talkie and turns to leave. "I'll be at the bottom of the stairs then. Just say somethin' when you're ready."

"What exactly is it we're gonna do here, man?" I ask.

"I'm gonna talk you through it."

"Talk me through it." I boggle at him.

"Yeah. You know. Tell you what to do. How to do it."

At this point, I don't think it's gonna take much. The idea of listening to Peter telling me how to... damn! "Get goin'," I croak.

"Don't worry, Rog." He's halfway out the door. "You'll be feeling better soon."

I stare after him for a second, then collapse on my mattress and stare at the walkie talkie in my hand. I don't know if I should be freaked out by this, turned on, or embarrassed; I'm a bit of all of them, but looking down at myself, apparently turned on is in the lead.

Sighing, I pull up my legs with a pained grunt and put my head down on my knees. Then I hit the button. "Peter?"

"Yeah, Rog. You okay? You sound muffled."

Grinning, I say. "Sorry, I'm okay. Sort of. But you're taking care of that, aren't you?"

"Sure am."

You gotta love Peter. Any other guy would run in the other direction in disgust. He just gets right in there like it's just another task to be done like putting up a fake wall or nailing together kit furniture and bringing up groceries. I'm sulking at the walkie talkie at that thought. Is it? Just another task? Well, what did you expect, Roger - chocolates and flowers?

"Roger? You still there?"

"Where would I go?" I say. I can almost hear him frowning.

"No need to be embarrassed, you know," he tells me. "Any one of us might have made that mistake."

"Yeah, except Fran could have gone to Stephen for help, and Stephen to Fran, and you..."

"I'd have come to you," Peter says. "Obviously."

I can't say a thing to that. Obviously. I'm just glad he can't see me grinning wide enough to split my face.

"Let's get it on, shall we?" he says with a chuckle that has me shivering.

"Damn right, baby," I manage.

"Alright. Comfortable?"

"Not remotely. What do I do?" I ask, reminding myself to not overplay the dumb act.

Somehow, Peter manages to slip right into sleaze mode. Probably because really, we don't know how much time we have here. Or because that deep, velvet voice is just made for it. "Unzip, push your jeans past your hips and spread your legs, baby."

It's through pure act of will that I don't come right then. "Okay," I croak, about to obey without question when he goes on.

"How do you want to play this?" Peter asks softly. "Do you want me to tell you what to do, or d'you want me to pretend I'm doing it to you?"

I feel heat rushing up my neck and over my face, and I'm actually glad Peter had the foresight to be... elsewhere. "Do you mind either way?" I ask shakily.

"No, it's fine with me, however you want to do this," he says without a hint of hesitation.

I clear my throat, lowering the walkie talkie for a moment. Then I take a deep breath and say, "Can we... um, pretend?"

"Sure, Rog," he says, so smoothly I'm almost tempted to think he's glad I picked that option.

"Thanks, Peter."

"Just relax, Rog. I wanna do this for you."

I swallow hard, thinking he can probably hear that.

"Come on, lie back. Get comfortable. Tell me where you are," Peter says in that smooth, even tone.

"On my mattress. Lying propped up on a couple of pillows."

"Push the blanket away so I can see you."

I grin and shove at the blanket, getting it tangled in my legs. "Shit!"

"Relax, baby," he chuckles.

"Caught up in the blanket," I say, kicking at it.

"Best get you caught up in something else then," Peter says. "Forget the blanket, Rog. Just lie back and close your eyes."

"Okay." I do as he tells me, and one little kick later, my legs are free enough to move and I spread them further. My jeans are cutting into me too tight, and I grit my teeth, realizing I never did unzip them. "Hang on," I tell Peter, pulling down the zip and pushing my jeans past my hips. I sigh with relief, 'cause by comparison, my boxers aren't any restriction at all.

Peter laughs softly. "Ready for me now?"

I bite my bottom lip, nodding furiously. Then I roll my eyes and speak into the walkie talkie. "Yeah, Peter. Go on."

"Good," he purrs in that silky, drawn-out way he has.

I close my eyes with a stupid smile on my face, and when Peter starts talking again, I just let his voice wash over me.

"I'm gonna tell you what I would do if I was up there right now, Rog. I'd just look at you from the doorway for a bit, watch your chest rise and fall and your hand creeping closer and closer to where you need it." His voice drops further when he says, "You need it, don't you, Roger?"

"Oh yeah," I whisper.

"Mmm... I know you do, baby. You need to be touched so bad. Lay your hand on yourself, Rog, and imagine it's my hand."

"Your hand," I say dreamily, and I have no trouble at all feeling that big, warm hand right... there. Covering me completely, even hard as I am, and it's so real I can feel it right through the checked cotton of my boxers. And because my hands are nothing like Peter's, I don't touch myself at all, just imagine him touching me. Turns out I have a brilliant imagination when I need to.

"You're so hard against my palm, Rog. So hot and hard. I can feel you twitching against my hand."

And I do twitch, and I just push my boxers down far enough so I can pop out of them. And damn, but it must be hot in the room, because it feels like I pop right into Peter's hand. "Can you..." I start, all croaky.

"Sure," he purrs. "I've got you, Roger. Let's just get your boxers out of the way..."

I raise an eyebrow at that in surprise. How does he...?

"I want to feel *you*, Roger, skin on skin."

I barely suppress a moan at that. Who cares how he knows. "Yes, Peter," I whisper, not trusting myself to speak out loud. "Touch me." And I hope that last bit didn't come out too heartfelt.

"That's right, baby. Let me take care of you." His voice sounds different, even deeper now, and I'm shaking like a leaf. "And I'll take *real* good care of you."

My dick slaps up against my stomach, hard as it can get, and I can't hold back a groan of "Peter!"

"I've got you, baby. Right here in my hand. You feel so good, you know that? Hard and warm and throbbing. Can't wait to see you start leaking, baby. Some of that sweet cream of yours spilling over, running over my hand."

I pull in a sharp breath, both hands clutching at the sheets next to me now, and I think I'm thrusting up into the air. No, not into the air. Into Peter's hand. And for a second it's so real, I do feel moisture beading on the tip. Holy shit!

"Do you know what I want to do to you?" Peter is almost whispering, caressing each word as he says it.

"No," I gasp. "Tell me."

"I want to kneel between your legs, one hand tight around you - don't you worry now, I won't let go - and the other stroking your stomach, your hips, the insides of your thighs..."

"Oh..."

"And when you're all wound up tight..."

"Yes?" I'm ready to beg at this point. For anything.

"And about ready to come..."

"Oh, I'm ready, Peter. I really am." I think I hear the sheet tearing under my left hand.

"You really are, huh?"

His breathing is faster, I realize, but I don't trust myself on this. I'm probably just hearing it like that 'cause I want to. But I wanna know if this affects him at all. "I'm so ready for you, Peter," I whisper like I mean it. I do mean it. And right now, I want him to know that.

"Damn, Roger!" Is that a growl?

"You growling at me?" I can't help but ask.

"Want me to?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Will it help make you come?" He's definitely breathing hard. Real hard.

"Knowing I can make you growl will, Peter."

There's a pause during which he's just panting. And I am too. "There's a better way," he says, and there's more than a bit of mischief in his voice now.

"Tell me!"

"I wanna go down on you, Roger." While my breath is still stuck in my throat, he goes on, mercilessly, "I want to take that beautiful hard cock of yours in my mouth and suck you right down into my throat."

A shiver runs all the way up and down my body, and I'm thrusting up into thin air in earnest now. "Peter!"

"Yeah, Roger. Come on, baby. Push in hard. I can take it. I can take whatever you can give me. I want it, baby. Want you."

"God, I'm gonna... Peter... so... so close..."

"Don't hold back from me now. Give me everything, Rog. Give me all you got. Let me taste you."

I groan like I'm wounded when the first wave hits me and I start coming. It's like nothing I've ever felt. It's like I've been hard for weeks. Maybe I have. Hard for Peter. God, Peter. "Peter!"

"Keep comin', baby. Can't get enough of you. Oh, that's good, isn't it?"

I grunt some kind of reply, 'cause I've never come this long and this hard. And no one has laid a hand on me. Or on Peter. I'm still coming down from the high, still half blind with it, when I start scrambling out of the sheets, pulling up my boxers and jeans with a wince, reaching for the wall and getting to my feet. The walkie talkie hits the floor by my mattress, but I don't go back to pick it up. When I rip the door to the upper landing open, I hear Peter's voice downstairs.

"Roger? Roger, you alright?" Then a pause, followed by a few muttered curses. "Damn! Shit, what the fuck did I do?" There's almost a panic in his voice now, and I hurry down, holding onto the rail, running and stumbling down the several flights of stairs, and I know he can finally hear me.

"Roger?" he calls up.

I don't answer, just grin like a loon, and keep running down, skipping a few steps here and there, 'til I get to the bottom. And there he stands, right at the first step, looking up at me with his big, soft brown eyes wide and almost... scared.

"Peter," I say, still grinning.

"Roger." Slowly, really slowly, he starts grinning too. And now I realize he's flustered and his eyes are feverish looking and he looks hot. So damn hot.

"Peter." Like an idiot. But I don't care. Considering what he just did to me, it's amazing I can use my tongue at all. Hm, there's a thought. I get down to that last step, and we're almost the same height like this, and when I grab the front of his red sweater and pull him in, he doesn't resist.

It's like I've never kissed anyone before in my life. This is so new, so amazing. Those lips of his - the same ones I imagined on my cock, making me come, minutes ago - are soft and wet and perfect against mine, and I can swear I'm tasting myself there. And his tongue is perfect too, playing with mine, licking at the roof of my mouth while I groan into his throat.

His arms come up around me, squeezing the breath from me, and I hang on to him with my arms around his neck, and we stumble into the wall sideways, before he turns me and pushes me hard up against it with my back. And then he presses into me, and I feel him as hard as I was before... before he... I tear my mouth away from his. "I need you to fuck me, Peter!"

"Roger!" he gasps, before his mouth latches onto the side of my throat, and my head slams back against the wall with a thud.

Might need more Aspirins. Or Aspirians. Or maybe not. I think Peter will do the trick just fine.

"Sorry, baby." His hand cups the back of my head, rubs a little until I'm whimpering.

"Please. Never mind the head, Peter. Just..."

He chuckles against the base of my neck, nuzzles the edge of my sweater with his perfect mouth. "You need me to fuck you?" he purrs.

"Oh yeah."

"Right here?"

"Anywhere. As long as it's now."

And as if on cue, the door creaks open and I stare at it slowly moving inwards. Peter freezes against me. He's about to pull away when my eyes meet Fran's over his shoulder.

She's staring at me just as wide-eyed as I probably am at this stage. I don't think anything along the lines of, 'it's not what it looks like' is gonna cut it, and really, it's exactly what it looks like.

"Stephen," she says calmly and to my surprise.

Stephen mutters something back, and he sounds as if he's loaded down like a pack-horse.

"Stephen, let's just leave the bags right here by the door. I think we'll go back down and look for a cradle."

"Dammit, Fran." I hear Stephen drop some stuff on the floor, and by now, Peter's turned his head, and he's staring at Fran too, but he's only slowly letting go off me.

Stephen keeps complaining, "We've got five more months?"

"Well," she says, and I can tell she's thinking fast. I'm almost ready to crack up laughing by now, because as frustrating as this is, it's also funny as hell.

Stephen must be trying to push inside past her, because she steps in the middle of the doorway, keeps holding it open. "I might get too fat soon to get down the steps and ladders, and then I can't help pick out anything."

"I'll just get the most expensive one, alright?" Stephen says. "Now, will you let me put this stuff down?"

Fran squeaks, I gasp, and Peter just straightens up, one arm still around my waist, when Stephen pushes his way in past Fran and drops all his bags at once when he sees us. "Uh."

"Had a good shopping trip?" Peter asks, and he sounds almost even. Think I might need to rev him up again once they're off.

"Yes," Fran says, all bright and perky and smiling. "Stephen?"

Stephen stares some more at me, then all but glares at Peter like he thinks he might break me, and then looks at Fran. "Let's go look for a cradle."

Fran nods, and Stephen hurries out the door. She turns back to us and grins from ear to ear.

"Bye, Fran," I say. "Be long."

"Don't worry," she says. "Picking out a cradle is going to take ages." And with a wink, she's gone.

Peter starts chuckling, then deep, rumbling laughter bubbles up in him, and I can't help but join in. Until he looks at me again, and I look back at him, and without another word, he grabs my hand and we start running up the stairs.