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2:13 AM. The number blinking on the clock couldn’t be brighter. This night couldn’t be going slower.
It had been two minutes since Peter had checked it last. About the fifth time he had checked it this hour alone. It was mocking him.
Peter sat on the couch, a single lamp’s warm glow cascading through the living room and lighting the brown cushions. His girlfriend said the lamp was art deco. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but seeing her smile was all the convincing he needed to buy it when she moved in. And it was great for late nights like this. Nights when the ceiling lights felt too harsh, when his senses just needed time to breathe.
Peter looked around the room. Scattered with her things, the way the apartment had slowly become theirs instead of just his. She’d taken over the space in small, beautiful ways. Her mugs in his dishwasher. Her socks on his floor. Her future entwined with his. It was all theirs, now. The thought usually made him happy, a little queasy, but happy. Right now, it just made him anxious.
He wasn’t even watching the TV anymore. He had stopped pretending to care about the baking contest about four episodes ago. But if he was honest with himself, Peter’s thoughts could never stray far from his girl when she was out for the night. He rubbed his hand down his face and yawned.
It’s not like he wasn’t used to being tired- he was Spiderman. He could spend all day at lectures and be out all night in a suit defending the city if he had to. Exhaustion wasn’t new to Peter Parker. But this was something different. Being worried about a person, a long term girlfriend turned roommate, had lended itself to making him on edge until she was in his sights again. Safe. No matter how long they were together, he didn’t think he’d get used to being so aware of someone being gone, taking part of him with her.
He checked his phone again. No new messages. He sighed, opening their last text chain. 'be back soon petey. miss u.' Sent twenty-four minutes ago. She should have been home already- should he suit up? Track her location? Call her just to be sure?
No, Peter wasn’t that kind of boyfriend. She was fine, she could handle herself. She’d call if something was wrong. He knew that.
As his anxiety steadily increased, his head whipped toward a noise that momentarily distracted him from his worry. The apartment door creaked open, light from the hallway spilling into the dim entryway of their shared space.
In stumbled a very messy, very flushed, very drunk version of his girlfriend. He knew the signs as well as he knew his own hands. The way she giggled at nothing as she closed the door. The way she padded halfway across the room without noticing him. The slow realization on her face when she did. And the unreserved smile that overtook it- God, he was gonna marry this girl.
“Petey!” she said, tumbling over to where he sat on the corner of the couch.
“Hi baby,” Peter said, turning off the TV. “Did you have a good night?”
He stood and walked to the kitchen, waiting for a response. Instead, as he padded back in with a bottle of water from the fridge, he saw her flopping herself onto the armchair next to the couch, nearly knocking over the coffee table on the way.
Peter knelt in front of her, handing her the bottle. He brushed her hair from her flushed face. She took a sip and smiled at him with glassy eyes. God, she was pretty.
“Hi, baby,” he repeated.
“Hi.”
“How was girl’s night?”
“I had fun. Missed you the whole time,” she said with a soft smile.
Peter chuckled. “Yeah? Where’d you guys go?” His hand brushed over her knee, making shapes that meant nothing.
She took another sip from the bottle. “Some bar in Queens. Think it was called the Pink Palace or s’mthing. I dunno.” A small hiccup. “I drank a lot.”
“I see that, sweetheart.”
She looked into his eyes and leaned forward a little. “I was thinking ‘bout you,” she echoed.
“You said so, baby,” Peter chuckled, studying her face. He grabbed the bottle from her and put it on the coffee table. “You tired?”
She shook her head almost immediately. Smiled at him with that way she always did. Tender and real and just for him. She leaned forward, ungracefully, and he caught her. Hands brushed gingerly through his hair while she searched his eyes. “Wanna do something fun?”
Peter’s brow creased until she leaned forward even more. Her lips met his own in a chaste kiss and his brain shut off. Lips moved to kiss cheek, to his jaw, and landed on the side of his neck, testing. His hands tightened ever so slightly around her waist as her tongue darted out onto his skin.
“Whatch’a doin’, baby?” he asked as she came up to look into his eyes.
Hands moved more purposefully through his hair, tugging a little as she went in to kiss him again. “Been thinking ‘bout you all day,” she said after another kiss, deeper this time. “Saw you earlier, swinging through the city. Saving the city ‘n shit.” Another kiss. “You looked good.”
To her chagrin and against his instinct, Peter pulled back slightly. She whined and leaned in once more before he lightly grabbed her hands away from his face. “Baby, you’re drunk.”
Without her hands, she dipped her head and kissed him again. “S’what? I’m a consenting adult. I can want my boyfriend to touch me.”
Their lips moved softly against each other. But before he could pull away, urge her to watch a show with him, or let him make her a snack, or anything, her lips leaned towards his ear, speaking lightly. “Wanna feel your hands all over, Pete.”
Yeah, he wasn’t equipped to handle this. Angry drunk? He’s been there more than once. Stupid drunk and wants to dance herself off a building? No problem, he’s got webs. But his beautiful, sweet, lovely girlfriend being horny drunk? Throwing herself at him when he couldn’t in any good conscience give her what she wanted? Peter wasn’t sure he’d survive the night. His pants tightened despite himself. He tried to think of work, or patrol, or any boring lecture that could distract him in this moment and help him retain his morality.
Slowly, with what little rational thought he had in this moment, Peter moved away from her and sat on the couch, hand still ghosting her knee. Willpower be damned, he loved feeling his girl, knowing she was there. She was flushed. Eyes glassy and distant. Her body rocked here and there, dancing to a tune no one could hear. Obviously in no mind to be making moves like she was.
Peter spoke softly, a false air of calm. “We should go to bed.”
“Pete-“ her voice whined. Needy girl. His drunk, needy girl.
He felt a twinge of sympathy. “We can do whatever you want in the morning, baby. If you’re still up for it.” His hand squeezed in her knee. That was Peter, always the good guy. She jerked away from his touch. Lip pouted. He wished that didn’t make his dick twitch. Fuck.
No, the good guy wouldn’t take her right here. The good guy would carry her to bed and tuck her in and wouldn’t betray her trust like that. Peter swallowed hard. He was supposed to be the good guy.
“You’re mean,” she said.
“You’re drunk,” he countered. She rolled her eyes, like that wasn’t a good enough reason to not be all over her right now.
She leaned forward in the chair, elbows on knees, eyes boring into his. Just for a second, his eyes darted to her cleavage pressed together in her thin tank top. Only for a second. But she noticed. “You’re horny.”
Peter’s throat bobbed. She smirked.
She leaned back into the chair, still staring into his eyes. Slowly, her hand moved. It reached the top of her jeans. He could hear the button unclasp, the sound of the zipper coming undone. Her hand reached in and time stopped. He shouldn’t look.
But when he heard the soft, almost angelic breath of relief that came out of her when her fingers got to where she needed them most, Peter just couldn’t help himself.
And what he saw made him light headed- either from awe or from the sudden rush of blood from his brain to somewhere South.
“Baby,” Peter all but whined, trying desperately to keep his composure. “What’re you doing?”
“If you won’t help me, I’ll take care of it myself.” Her eyes were all steel. Peter could see the lace from her panties poking out from her waistband as her hand started to move. Slowly, hungrily, in small tight circles on her bundle of nerves. Her head tilted back as she got to work. “C’mon Petey,” she urged. “You save the city all day but won’t help y’girlfriend out?”
Peter was certain that if he opened his mouth, he wouldn’t be able to form any sort of coherent sentence. His eyes were locked on her hand, moving faster now under the denim. The way her tits puffed up and down with each breath. His dick twitched in his sweats. Hands locked at his sides. Peter was absolutely, positively certain that he couldn’t get any harder than he was right now when-
A moan, slow and building escaped from her pink lips. Her body rocked towards her hand, grinding into herself on the soft chair.
“Stop it, c’mon, let’s go to bed,” Peter pleaded, while his mind screamed for her to continue.
She slowed, momentarily. “Am I not allowed to touch myself, Parker?”
Her eyes starred daggers straight through him before her gaze lingered down. To the sizable bulge in his pants. She but her lip and started moving her fingers faster again, traveling up and down her slit ever so often to collect more wetness. Peter was sure that there was a very clear patch of wetness that has accumulated on her panties now. Fuck.
His hand moved to adjust himself. Just to settle down, but when she let out another sound, a whining mewl, he had begun to palm himself through his sweatpants. She could see his hands moving, his huge dick print, and the outline of everything she desired on display through the light gray fabric.
She let out a long breath before speaking again. “After I saw you today… I couldn’t stop thinking about how you looked swingin’ up there. Your arms looked so good, Pete. Looked so… big. So… strong.”
His hand moved faster through the material, breathes rapidly increasing to match the pace.
“Then I was thinking ‘bout your mouth… ‘bout your lips. The way y’feel kissing me.” Her fingers moved faster, back arching just so. “The way that pretty mouth feels on my…”
She looked so fucking good sitting there. Illuminated by that stupid lamp. His lamp, his apartment. And his girl touching herself to the thought of him on his chair.
“Y’know what I really couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout? At the bar? Even when MJ was telling me some story ‘bout class.”
Peter let out a grunt, the only sound he could really manage while he palmed himself steadily. “What’s that, baby?”
“Couldn’t stop thinking how you’d feel pressed up on me. Hold in’ me down on the mattress. Kissing my neck, holding me under you. Couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout your cock pressing into me so deep. Fuckin’ me until I forget where you end and I start.”
Fuck it. Peter pulled his rock hard dick from the waistband of his pants, no boxers to give him resistance. She smiled wickedly. He spread a bead of precum over the thick head with his thumb. Started pumping it up and down, grip of iron as his mouth fell open and his head fell back on the cushions.
He closed his eyes and tried not to look at her. Certain he’d come undone at the sight.
“What’re you thinking about now?” Peter asked thickly.
She answered right away, cute little sounds falling out as she did. “Your hands. I wish these were yours. Touching’ me, holdin’ me. Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout your hand with a ring on it. Being y’wife. You’d like that, hm?”
Peter was taken out of his own pleasure by the words and another sound that passed her lips. His girl, arching her back as she filled herself with two fingers, pumping in and out in her jeans. Her other hand had replaced the one on her clit, fingers now circling the bud that he was certain was all puffy and red by now. Fuckfuckfuck. He wanted to replace those fingers more than anything.
He imagined his cock was deep inside her. That she was riding him, hands gripped on his shoulders, nails biting through his skin. How tight his hands would hold her thighs, how hot and warm she would feel inside. Nursing him further and further as their bodies met with each rocking of his hips, thrusting up into her so deep.
The room was filled with the sounds of their quickening breath. They were locked in eye contact, less than ten feet away, both longing for the other more than anything. She watched him through her drunk, glassy eyes as he pumped himself faster and faster. Her hands moved to match the pace. She was so wet, he could hear it across the room.
Her lips fell apart in ecstasy. “Pete… Pete, I’m so close.”
“Me too, baby. Me too. Keep going, alright. Just keep going f’me, baby. Just like that, in and out.”
She nodded, wound too tight for words, breath hitching as she reached her peak. Her body stopped its harsh thrashing and grinding for a second, back arching off the chair.
“Petey!”
Watching her come to, her lips all red from biting, hair riddled from the wind chill of the city, eyes falling back as her things clenched together around her hands. She buried her face into the blanket thrown over the back of the chair, breathing heavy.
Peter wasn’t far behind. His grip got impossibly tighter along his dick as he imagined himself deep inside her. Thick ropes of cum shot out with a low and long groan. “Baby… Baby, fuck!” His eyes shut tight, pumping himself through it, ruining his shirt.
Shallow breaths filled the heavy space between them. The low light of the apartment felt comforting as they came down from their highs.
Peter’s eyes fell on her again. Tucked up on the chair, nearly asleep.
He smiled and walked over to her, reaching down and pulling her up and into his arms. She whined but curled into him as he carried her. “C’mon, let’s get you ready for bed.”
Peter carried her to the bathroom, setting her tired body down on top of the closed toilet seat. He closed the door halfway behind him and headed to their bedroom.
He discarded his, now very dirty, pajamas into the hamper and put on fresh ones, grabbing hers from the drawer.
With the sound of her washing her hands as permission, Peter entered the bathroom again. He hugged her from behind and savored the way she instinctively leaned back into him with a low hum. He helped her change into her jammies with reverence. He smirked privately. Yeah, her panties were soaked.
But how could he care about that, when she was leaning on him like this, head against his chest as he went through her hair with a brush, just the way she liked? When she was humming a song that had been stuck in her head all week? When she was all cute and all domestic and all, entirely, completely his?
He picked her up again as she giggled and carried her to bed. Peter settled her against the pillows and adjusted the covers, making sure she was alright before sliding in behind her. His arms made their way around her middle, head tucked against her soft hair, spooned together like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Missed me, hm?” he said. Voice teasing, with the low gravel of sleep.
Her answer came with a softness that tore straight through him. “I always miss you, Petey.”
Yeah, he was the luckiest guy in the world.