God, the strength. Hawke missed that strength. Being held down so effortlessly by a small, slim boy and instantly made as helpless as a kitten is so thrilling that he very nearly loses his head over it and jacks himself off. As it is, it's a near miss- he barely remembers at the last second to stop, to squeeze his cock punishingly hard to choke back the orgasm that wants to rise at the rough treatment.

No, he contents himself with choking softly on that cock, body wracked with coughs that never leave his throat, and swallowing every last drop of cum that Peter gives him. Even when the cock in his throat stops pulsing and spilling inside him, Peter holds him down, so Hawke stays put (as if he has a choice). Shivering, cheeks damp with tears, cock throbbing softly from want. The moment lasts long enough that he gasps raggedly at the first chance to breathe, leaning against the bed with a death grip on the blankets for support.

"No-" Hawke's voice comes out as a hoarse croak, barely audible. He swallows, licks his swollen red lips, and simply shakes his head in answer.