𝜗𝜚rhy

the walk to the hangar was a drag. the x-jet was already idling, sending a low hum through the floorboards that made your teeth ache. up ahead, charles was debriefing raven and hank about some kid in jersey who’d accidentally leveled a suburban block, and the rest of the group was huddled around them, nodding solemnly.

you hung back, trying to keep enough distance from peter that you wouldn't catch his restless energy by osmosis. he was doing that thing with the silver coin again- flipping it, catching it, flipping it. the rhythmic clink only fueled your frustration, you’ve already told him to quit it once—no, twice.

"sooo, jersey," he started. "you actually gonna do something this time?, orrr are you just there to y’know ..take up space," he murmured the last part, as if you literally weren’t right beside him.

you furrowed your brow a bit, sending a small glare his way. “i’m there so the mission actually gets finished. you’re only there because charles needs someone to fetch him a soda in under three seconds."

the coin flip stopped. "ouch. original. really cut deep with that one." he stepped closer as you two walked, his shoulder nearly brushing yours. "look—honestly, if you're gonna be this cranky, maybe just stay on the plane. i’ll tell everyone you got airsick. it’ll be our little secret." he muttered.

you finally looked at him, letting a slow, mean smirk pull at your mouth. "rich, coming from the guy who spent a decade hiding in a basement because he couldn't handle a conversation that didn't involve a high score. if you grew up, maybe you wouldn't be such a massive liability."

that hit a nerve. you saw his jaw tighten, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at you. the coin stayed tucked in his palm. he went dead silent.

you felt a genuine surge of pride. usually, he had a comeback before you even finished your sentence, but you’d finally found the off switch. you turned your head back toward the group, feeling like you’d actually won for once.

beside you, peter’s stride shifted. he slowed down just enough to fall half a step behind, his head tilting down. you didn't notice, but his eyes were locked on your right ankle, tracking the rhythm of your walk with predatory precision. eyes flicking up to the back of your head for a split second to make sure you weren't paying attention.

then, your right foot hit nothing but air.

it happened in a millisecond. a sudden, heavy hook behind your heel that sent your center of gravity screaming toward the floor. as you plummeted, a faint, muffled "pfft" hissed right past your ear. the sound of him barely holding back a laugh.

you hit the ground hard. your palms stung as they scraped the grit, and the sound of your knees hitting the floor echoed like a gunshot.

"holy—are you alright?" peter’s voice was suddenly frantic, way too loud. he was on the ground next to you before you could even process the pain, his hands hovering over your shoulders with fake, wide-eyed alarm. "you reallyy gotta start watchin’ where your going, man."

the rest of the team paused on the ramp. charles looked back, his brows furrowed, "everything good?"

"uh, yeah, fine," peter called out, giving him a quick thumbs-up. he looked at you with “worried” eyes, playing the perfect teammate. but when your eyes met his, you saw it, the tiny, sharp glint of "gotcha" hidden behind the act. god, how much you fucking hated this man was surreal.

“all good!" you choked out, your face burning. you shoved his hands off your arm, probably a little harder than you should have, but you kept your voice level. you couldn't blow up. not after the lecture charles gave you both about "professionalism" last week. if you told them he tripped you, it would just look like you were starting another fight.

you scrambled up, your knees throbbing as you straightened out. as you brushed the grit off your palms, you leaned in just enough for the words to hit him and nobody else.

"okay—that was fucking childish. and you know it, pete."

the comment caught him off guard. the quick-witted response he usually had ready stayed trapped behind his teeth. he stood there, hands half-out of his pockets, watching you turn your back on him without another word.

he didn't follow you immediately. instead, he just stayed rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on the way you were walking a little stiffer than usual, your hands still red from the impact.

he looked down at the floor where you'd hit, then back at your retreating figure, his jaw shifting as if he wanted to call out but realized he’d already blown it. the restless energy that usually kept him moving at a thousand miles an hour felt sluggish, weighed down by a sudden, prick of guilt he hadn't planned for.

it was only when raven called his name from the ramp that he blinked, shaking the fog out of his head. he let out a short, quiet breath, his hands sliding back into his silver jacket as he finally started moving toward the jet much slower than usual.

it took nearly an hour of him pouting and promising you whatever fried food you wanted to get you to agree to the county fair. usually, you’d rather spend your saturday night anywhere else, but colin had been pulling double shifts for two weeks straight. seeing him look that hopeful was your weakness.

the real motivator, though, was the change of clothes. seeing him swap the stiff detective slacks for a dark flannel and beat-up jeans was enough to make you say yes. It was a simple fit, yes—but fuck—you were already mentally counting down the hours until you could get him home and out of them.

the fair was loud and smelled like grease, but colin was in his element. you stood by a milk bottle knockdown stand, watching him focus with an intensity he usually reserved for a crime scene. he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and it was a little embarrassing how much the sight of his forearms was doing for you.

"you gonna stare 'em down or throw the ball, colin?" you teased, watching.

he didn't even look at you, his eyes locked on the target. "hush. m’busy, verrryyy focused right now..”

he wound up, threw the ball, and watched the last bottle tumble.

"fuck yeah! woo!" he shouted, throwing both hands in the air with a huge, dorky grin. “did you see that? holy shit, that was like—“ he was mid-celebration when he caught the wide-eyed look of a little girl and her mom standing right next to him.

"oh, god. m’sorry. so sorry. excuse my mouth, ma'am." he mumbled, shrinking back and clearing his throat as he turned to you, his gaze going to the wall of stuffed toys, then returning. "uh. pick a prize. any of 'em. i'm on a roll."

you laughed, pointing at a giant, slightly ugly stuffed sloth hanging from the top rack. "that one, definitely."

colin thanked the carnie as they handed it over, and you tucked the oversized plush under your arm. "i can carry that for you, y’know." colin offered, reaching for it.

"nope," you popped the 'p', hugging the sloth tighter. "I’ve got it, this is my trophy," you teased, stepping out of reach. "it stays with me." colin didn't argue, instead his shoulders finally looking a bit less tense as he watched you struggle with the bulk of the toy. his eyes already drifting toward a nearby stand with “funnel cakes” painted in bright, block letters across the top.

as the sun went down, the midway got darker and the neon lights started buzzing. colin led you toward the edge of the fairgrounds, away from the screaming kids and the smell of manure. he instinctively had to stoop down a bit as you wrapped your arms around his neck to kiss him, his hands resting on your waist.

his kisses were sweet, literally, tasting like the powdered sugar from the funnel cake you’d shared, but they were too polite. you broke the kiss, huffing a little. "colin."

"mm?" he hummed, sounding a little dazed. "your hands." you say as you grabbed his wrists and dragged them down, planting his palms firmly over the curve of your ass. "put—keep them here. and squeeze, please." your internal monologue a mess of frustration that he was still being so careful with you.

he let out a shaky breath, his eyes darting toward the crowds a few yards away, "colin," you laughed, catching the quick reaction. "we’ve been married for two years. i promise the operator doesn't care if you touch your wife."

he let out a embarrassed laugh, finally relaxing his grip and pulling you flush against his chest. "right. sorry. just... you look really good tonight," he whispered, his voice dropping into that lower, more vulnerable register you loved. "like, really good."

“thank you," you murmured, a small, tight-lipped smile playing on your face as you looked up at him. the heat in your chest was getting harder to ignore, especially with the way he was looking at you now.

colin leaned in, giving you one last quick peck on the lips and another on your cheek, the scruff of his jaw grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver. he pulled back just an inch, a playful glint in his eyes that usually only came out when he’d had enough sleep.

"c'mon," he murmured, "let's go on the zipper."

your stomach dropped—not in the good way. you felt your eyes widen, your entire face going flat with immediate, genuine dread as you looked at the neon-lit cages flipping people upside down in the distance.

colin caught your expression and his composure broke instantly. he let out a surprised huff of breath that turned into a full-on laugh. "i'm kidding— i'm kidding," he wheezed, "your face—god, i wish i had a camera. ‘not trying to die tonight either, i promise."

he was still laughing, a genuine, breathless sound that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, those tired lines finally looking soft instead of stressed. he shoved his hands back into his jeans pockets, his head ducked a little as he tried to catch his breath.

you pinched the bridge of your nose, letting out a long, dramatic sigh as the laughter finally started to die down in his chest. "i hate you so much," you mumbled, though the small smile still tugging at your mouth gave you away.

Instead, he steered you toward the much slower, much safer glow of the ferris wheel instead, still chuckling under his breath. "let's just do the wheel. nice and easyyy..”

you’re barely two steps into the hallway when the air shifts. a sudden gust of wind kicks up the mail on the table, and before you can even drop your bag, peter is just there.

he doesn't say anything at first, just hooks his chin over your shoulder from behind, his arms wrapping around your waist like iron bands. he’s warm, way warmer than a normal person and you can feel the restless thrum of his heart beating double-time against your back.

"you're late," he mumbles into your hair. "uh, forty minutes late to be exact."

you sigh, leaning back into him, letting your eyes close for a second. "bianca happened, pete. she spent the last hour losing her shit over some missing files and then dumped all her reports on my desk before leaving early. i'm exhausted."

peter huffs, his nose brushing against the shell of your ear. his hands move constantly, his thumbs rubbing restless circles into your hips. "mm, that sucks," he says, his tone shifting. he pulls back just enough to turn you around in his arms, "she sounds like a nightmare."

"she is," you mutter, looking up at him. "i just want to sit down and not think for like, three years."

he stares at you for a beat, his dark eyes scanning your face with that intense, focused look he gets when he’s actually paying attention. he looks like he’s thinking ten miles a minute. "exactly," he says.

you blink, a little thrown off by the sudden shift. "...exactly what?"

"that’s ‘exactly’ why you should let me eat you out," he says, as casual as if he’s suggesting what to have for dinner.

you can't help it; a loud, startled laugh bursts out of you. "not happening, buddy. i'm gross and i need a shower."

his brows furrow, his forehead crinkling in genuine confusion. he looks almost offended. "woah—wait, why?"

"i just told you," you say, still grinning. "i'm tired. I smell like work. i just wanna rot on the couch."

"so rot," he counters, giving a small shrug. "i'll do all the work. you just lay there. it’s a win-win, really. i get my reward for bein’ a patient awesome boyfriend, and you get to, y'know... vibrate into another dimension for a bit, forget alll about work."

you roll your eyes, trying to sidestep him, he quickly maneuvered infront of you. "pete, c’mon, i’m literally covered in office germs," you groan, though your heart isn't really in the protest anymore.

"don't care. i've eaten worse things. i found a three-week-old twinkie behind the dresser yesterday," he chirps, then immediately winces. "okay, actually, ignore i said that.”

he reaches out, his hands sliding back to your waist, pulling you in until your thighs hit his. the restless energy is radiating off him in waves now, his fingers drumming a frantic rhythm against your skin. he’s been waiting for this all day, and the desperation is starting to leak through his usual smugness.

"hey, pretty please?" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, losing the joke for a second. his eyes darting over your face. "i’ve been sitting in this house alone for like, a hundred years. i cleaned the kitchen. i even folded the laundry. well, most of it. i got bored halfway through, but the effort was there."

“plus, you did say once you got back..” he added as if he had just now remembered.

you look at him, at the way his hair is sticking up in every direction and the genuine, twitchy need in his eyes, and you feel your resolve crumbling. "five minutes?" you ask, echoing his words from the morning.

a massive, triumphant grin breaks across his face. "five minutes is like a feature-length film. anddd.. i'm gonna give you the extended director's cut."

before you could even reply with how corny that was, the world blurs. there’s a sharp whoosh of air, a split second of weightlessness, and suddenly you aren't standing in the hallway anymore. you’re flat on your back on the bed, your shoes already gone—god knows where he threw those—and peter is already hovering over you, his hands busy tugging at the button of your jeans.

"see?" he says, breathless and beaming. "ahead of schedule already."

his mouth crashes against yours, tasting like the soda he’s been sipping all day and pure, restless hunger. it’s a messy, open-mouthed kiss that steals the air right out of your lungs, his tongue sliding against yours with a frantic rhythm.

his hands are everywhere at once, his fingers working with that terrifyingly fast speed until he’s stripped you bare. (well, pants–wise..)

he doesn't wait for you to catch your breath. he slides two fingers into your underwear and deep inside your cunt, and the friction is immediate and white-hot. he’s moving them at a pace a normal human shouldn't be able to sustain, a blur of motion that has you crying out into his mouth, your hips jerking up to meet him as he hits your g-spot over and over.

"pete—" you gasp, your head tossing back against the pillow as the friction turns into a frantic, driving ache.

he pulls back just enough to see your face, his eyes dark and dilated, reflecting the silver mess of his hair. he’s breathing hard, —definitely getting off just by hearing your noises, his chest heaving against yours. "jeez," he rasps, his fingers never slowing down, keeping you right on the edge. "we should do this wayyy more often, dont’cha think babe?,"

he stops abruptly, the sudden lack of motion making your head spin for a second. before you can even get a word out to complain about the shift in pace, he’s moving down your body. his mouth leaves searing, wet marks along your throat, lingering over the peaks of your breasts through the fabric of your shirt until you're arching off the mattress.

his hands slide down, certain and heavy, hooking under your knees to hike your legs up. he pauses there, his thumbs hooking into the elastic of your underwear. he doesn't rip them away, of course not. why ruin a perfectly good pair he could use for later?, instead, he just tugs the fabric down a few inches.

"legs up for me, babe" he murmurs, his voice a low, raspy friction against the quiet of the room. he helps you kick them off, tossing the lace aside. "yeah, there we go... let's get these babies off." he stares at you for a heartbeat, his chest heaving, looking at how soaking wet your pussy is for him.

"fuck, you look so good," he mutters, his voice cracking. pete doesn’t waste another second. he leans in, his breath hot against your inner thigh, pressing a quick peck to it before his tongue finally makes contact, slicking over you in one long, agonizingly slow stroke from bottom to top, occasionally glancing up for your reaction.

you let out a broken gasp, your fingers tangling in his messy silver hair, pulling him closer. he groans into your skin, the sound muffled and vibrating through your entire lower half.

your breath hitches, your hips stuttering upward as the friction hits just right. it’s too much—the way he’s looking at you, the heat of his mouth, and the fact that he’s been wound up like a spring all day. before you can even wrap your head around it, the tension in your stomach snaps.

your back arches off the bed, a choked-off sound leaving your throat as you come. your thighs instinctively jerk inward, your muscles tensing and slightly closing around his head as you shake.

pete barely even seems to notice your legs pinning his ears; he’s too busy tracking the way your pulse is thrumming against his lips. he stays right there, his hands tightening on your hips to hold you steady while you ride out the waves.

when he finally pulls back just an inch, he looks up at you with wide, blown-out eyes, a stunned grin slowly spreading across his face. "whoa," he breathes, "already? holy, that was like.. ten.. fifteen seconds, tops.”

"sorry," you blurt out, the word coming out thin and broken. you try to shift, suddenly feeling a little flustered by how fast that just happened and how loud he was being about it. "i didn't—it’s been a long day. i didn't mean to just... go like that."

peter just blinks at you, his thumb tracing a lazy circle on the damp skin of your hip. he lets out a short, surprised huff of a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes your heart skip.

"what’re you apologizing for?" he asks, crawling up the mattress until he’s hovering over you, his arms bracketed on either side of your head. "i take that as a compliment, like... a five-star review. best meal of the day, easily."

you just stare at him for a second, your head thumping back against the pillow as you try to get your lungs to work again. "god, you're so full of yourself," you mutter.