he’d been so close.

so fucking close.

the wet sounds, the way your eyes stayed on his face like you were admiring every twitch— he groaned and shoved the heel of his hand against his eyes.

great. fantastic, even.

now he was awake, alone, and painfully hard with your name stuck in his throat.

peter rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, breathing through it. the rational part of his brain tried to think of something else. the rest of him was still replaying the part where you’d hollowed your cheeks and taken him deeper.

he glanced down. his cock was straining hard against the front of his boxers, the thick outline clear through the fabric, twitching with every pulse. the head was already pushing up near the waistband, a dark, damp spot spreading where he was leaking.

his hand slid under the waistband of his boxers before he could talk himself out of it. the first stroke was smooth, almost too much, and his hips jerked up into it like they had a mind of their own. he kept his eyes shut and let the dream come back.

your mouth.

the way you’d looked so focused, like getting him off was the only thing that mattered. in the dream you’d hummed around him when he got louder, and the vibration had shot straight up his spine. he tried to recreate that with his hand, twisting a little on the upstroke the way he imagined your tongue would, thumb sweeping over the head on every pass.

“fuck,” he whispered, voice rough. the apartment was quiet except for the soft, wet sounds of his first working himself and the occasional hitch is his breathing.

he sped up. tighter grip, short strokes. in the dream you’d pulled off just long enough to say something low and filthy about how good he tasted, then taken him back in like you were starving for it. peter’s free hand fisted in the sheets, and his thighs tensed. the pressure build fast, coiling low and mean, and he chased it without thinking, hips snapping up into his fist.

when he came it was your name half-formed on his tongue, spilling hot over his knuckles and onto his stomach. he kept stroking himself through it, slower now.

when he came it was with your name half-formed on his tongue, spilling cum over his knuckles and onto his stomach. he kept stroking through it, slower now.

peter lay there afterward, chest raising and falling. his heart was still going too fast. he exhaled through his nose, and muttered to the empty room, “...i’m so screwed.”

tonight he’s still in the suit pants, the top half of the suit peeled down to his waist, hair a disaster from the mask. there’s a faint smear of blood on his cheekbone, his eyes darker.

you barely get the door locked before he’s crowding you against it, mouth already on yours. the kiss is messy from the start, a little desperate. peter always kisses like he’s afraid you’re going to change your mind halfway through. his hands find your waist, fingers digging in just shy of too tight, and when you tug at his bottom lip with your teeth he makes this soft, broken sound that goes straight between your legs.

“fuck,” he breathes against your mouth, already grinding forward. you can feel him half-hard through the material of the suit, the heat of him pressing against your stomach. “been thinking about this all day. been thinking about you all day.”

you smirk, sliding your hands up his bare chest. “poor baby.”

he whines at the teasing tone, hips stuttering against yours. you push him backward toward the couch without breaking the kiss, and he goes easily, letting you manhandle him until he’s sitting and you’re climbing into his lap. the second your weight settles over him he groans, head tipping back against the cushions.

you roll your hips once, slow, and his hands fly to your thighs like he needs something to hold onto.

“shit—okay, wait—” his voice cracks. “you’re already—”

“already what?” you grind down harder, feeling the exact shape of him through the layers of fabric. the friction is perfect and not enough at the same time. peter’s breathing goes shallow almost immediately, eyes glassy.

“og god—,” he manages, hips jerking up to meet you. “fuck, you’re gonna—”

you lean in and kiss him again, deeper this time, swallowing the little sounds he keeps making. your hands are in his hair, tugging just enough to make him whimper into your mouth. every time you rock against him he gets louder—soft, needy noises that he clearly can’t control. is almost embarrassing how aroused he is already. you can feel how hard he is, the way he twitches every time your clothed pussy drags over the head of his cock.

“pete,” you murmur against his lips. “look at you.”

his eyes were half-lidded, cheeks flushed, lips shiny. “i can’t help it. you feel so—god, please—”

you keep moving, finding a rhythm that has him trembling underneath you. his fingers are leaving little bruises on your thighs. every roll of your hips punches another broken sound out of him. he’s so oversensitive like this it’s almost unfair. you’ve barely been going for a few minutes and he’s already panting like he’s about to come in his pants.

“gonna come just from this?” you tease, slowing down on purpose.

he shakes his head frantically, but his hips keep chasing your movements. “no—no, i wanna—inside. please. i need to be inside you.”

it takes almost no time to get the rest of your clothes off, and even less for him to shove the suit pants down far enough. the second his cock springs free he’s already leaking, the tip shiny and flushed. you wrap a hand around him just to watch the way his whole body jolts.

“fuck—don’t, i’m—” his voice is pure desperation now. “please, just—get on me. please.”

you straddle him again, this time with nothing between you. the first drag of your wet cunt along his length has him throwing his head back with a wrecked little moan. you line him up and sink down slowly, watching every expression that crosses his face. he’s so tight-jawed and wide-eyed it looks like it hurts, but the way his hands scramble at your hips says otherwise.

“holy shit,” he chokes out once you’re fully seated. “you’re—so warm. fuck. don’t move yet. just—give me a second.”

you stay still for exactly three seconds before rolling your hips experimentally. peter’s reaction is immediate. a high, broken sound, fingers digging hard enough to bruise.

“too much,” he gasps, but he’s already thrusting up into you. “it’s too much, i can’t—you feel too good—”

you start riding him properly, hands braced on his chest, taking what you want. peter is a mess underneath you. every bounce has him making these pathetic whiny, desperate noises, like he’s right on the edge and trying so hard not to cum.

“please,” he keeps saying, voice cracking. “please, i’m so close already—don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop—”

you lean down and kiss him through it, swallowing every broken sound. the angle changes and suddenly he’s hitting deeper, and the way he whimpers into your mouth is filthy. his cock is throbbing inside you, so hard it almost hurts, and you can feel how close he is in the way his hips keep stuttering.

“gonna come?” you ask, grinding down hard.

he nods frantically, eyes wet. “yes—yes, please, can i? please let me—”

you don’t answer with words. you just ride him faster, chasing your own high, and peter completely falls apart. his orgasm hits him like a truck, his whole body locking up as he spills inside you with a broken moan of your name. the feeling of him pulsing, the heat of it, is enough to tip you over too. you clench around him and ride it out, watching the way his face contorts like the pleasure is almost too much.

he keeps twitching even after, oversensitive and shaky, still buried deep. his hands are gentle now where they stroke up your back, but his breathing is still wrecked.

“fuck,” he whispers eventually, sounding dazed. “that was… yeah.”

you stay draped over him for a while, both of you catching your breath. the mess between you is going to be annoying later, but neither of you moves to clean up just yet.

friends with benefits, you remind yourself.

peter’s arms tighten around you anyway.