idk man

Your feet quickly hit the wooden floor, the sheets on your bed becoming a tangled mess as you threw them away from your body. 

Peter's arms quickly found you, wrapping themselves around your waist. As the faint smell of cinnamon began to engulf you, your lips found its way to his neck. 

"Hey bug, it's like ya missed me or somethin'." In Peter's head, it sounded way smoother. But the truth was, no matter how many years you two had been dating, once your lips had found that spot where his neck and jawline connected, words were tough to get out. 

"Missed you. Rough night?" Your fingers traced over Peter's suit, looking for tears. The fact there were hardly any was a good sign. 

"Tonight wasn't too bad. Not the best, but not the worst." You simply nodded as you inspected the cut on his right shoulder. 

"You hungry? I have leftover pasta in the fridge." Peter smiled at your suggestion. Whether it was inspecting him for injuries or cooking, you always tried to take care of him. 

You always made him feel loved. 

Peter didn't think that feeling would ever return. You wish you had met him earlier. 

"Just wanna be with you," His voice was soft, his lips against your forehead. You melted into him as he pressed gentle kisses to the top of your head. 

"Just wanna be with you too," you murmured. 

The two of you made your way back to the bed, sitting up as you helped him strip down to his boxers. 

"Come'ere," Peter's hands find their way back to your hips, gently gripping the soft flesh as he pulls you into his lap. 

You don't complain. How could you, when it allowed you to be closer to him, allowed you to be wrapped in him? 

So instead of complaining, instead of cracking a joke, your lips find his, closing the space in-between. 

Friends joke that you and Peter could set a world record for how often you two kiss one another. Surely at least several thousands kisses have occurred since your first. At least. 

And yet, no matter how many times, warmth spreads through your body when his lips capture yours. No matter how many times, your stomach always flutters, your knees weaken, when you feel his hands cup your face, keeping you in place. 

His tongue only has to swipe across your bottom lip once before you grant him access, parting your mouth. Your breath hitches as he uses one hand to tilt your head up, deepening the kiss that was becoming more desperate and frantic by the second. 

Peter's other hand trails down your shirt, until it reaches the hem. Long fingers ghost the barrier between fabric and bare skin several times. A small whine leaves your lips. 

He chuckles, "Something you want bug?" 

Two can play that game. His chuckles quickly die, a strangled groan replacing it when your hips rock against his, your clothed core brushing against him. 

"Fucking hell, bug," His hands move to your hips once more, gripping as he stands on his knees. 

The way Peter is able to lay you down on the bed in one fluid motion has your head spinning. Out of instinct, your arms stretch up, assisting him in removing your Tshirt. 

His mouth is back on yours, his hands quickly pulling down the thin pair of panties you had on. Why you felt the need to wear them, knowing Peter would be back later and it had been several days since you two had fucked, was beyond him. 

His lips leave yours, now making contact with your bare chest. Your fingers tangle themselves into his dark hair as his mouth finds one of your nipples, sucking on the hardening bud. 

All you can do is whine and cant your hips towards him, desperate for any kind of friction. 

"Peter," the desperation in your voice goes straight to his cock, which was currently straining against the fabric of his boxers.

Peter moves his body down, down to where he personally believes is pure heaven. 

In between your thighs. 

Prior to meeting Peter, you were used to your partners going down on you with the mindset of it being an obligatory act, simply a step that they could get over with quickly before pulling down their pants. 

But then you met Peter, who could spend all day between your thighs if you allowed it. Peter, who takes his time with his tongue, tasting every inch of your wet cunt. 

Your back arches in pleasure upon his tongue thrusting past your slicked folds. His nose brushes against your clit, sending electricity through your body. One of your hands finds its way back to his now ruffled hair, tugging on the thick, dark locks to guide him to where you need his mouth the most. 

Peter enjoys teasing you. He loves to see how far he can push you. But when it comes to tasting you, when it comes to making you fall apart on his tongue, he can't find it in himself to do it. 

He enjoys it too damn much. 

The words leaving your mouth are barely coherent, your urge to hold onto a sense of control disappearing as soon as he thrusts a finger into your core. 

Peter loses himself in the all too familiar taste of you. A second finger joins the first, the delicious stretch causing you to throw your head back. The moan he lets out against your cunt sends vibrations throughout your body. 

"Feel s'good, s'tight," his voice is muffled, his words only pushing you closer and closer to that pleasurable peak. 

Your body withers against the sheets, his fingers zeroing in on the spot that made your vision blurry. All you can say is his name, over and over again. All you can focus on is him. 

"P-Peter. I-Peter!"

He nods frantically, able to understand what you need. His laps wrap around your clit, mouth sucking ever so slightly as his fingers continue their ministrations. 

Your whole body seizes up and goes rigid as the first wave of pleasure washes over you. The grip on his hair tightens, as if it's your anchor. 

When you open your eyes, Peter's face is hovering over yours. His pupils are so overblown with lust, you can barely see that beautiful amber hue. 

A finger gently traces your cheeks as he studies your face. 

"You wanna keep going? We can stop tonight."

"N-no," you weakly shake your head, "W-want-need you." 

His lips brush against yours, the gesture grounding you. 

"I got you. We can stop anytime, okay?" 

"Okay," your voice is weak, but that didn't stop your hands from reaching towards the boxers he still had on. 

"Someone's impatient." 

An adorable pout forms on your face, "Says the guy who lasted not even five minutes before eating me out." 

Peter laughs, the corners of his eyes creasing as a smile overtakes his face. 

It's a beautiful sight. It's your favorite sight. 

"Look, it's been several days since we last had sex. Can ya blame me, bug?" He leaned his forehead against yours, moving his head ever so slightly back and forth to make your noses brush. 

"No, I can't," you say with the giggle that Peter absolutely adores. The one that he would do anything to be able to hear for the rest of his life. 

His hands brush yours away, making quick work of removing his boxers. Your thighs clench at the sight of his hardened cock that was now lying against his toned stomach. 

You reach out, desperate to feel him in your hand. 

"Later," you raise an eyebrow at his abruptness, "I-sorry, I just really wanna be inside ya." 

The sheepish look on his face made your heart flutter. Had he not rub his cock between your soaked folds, you would have reached out to ruffle his hair, maybe even sit up to kiss him on the cheek. 

But you can't, not when the head of his cock brushes against your swollen clit. All you can do is grip his broad shoulders and bury your head into his kiss-bitten neck. 

Peter eases into you, knowing you need time to adjust to the stretch. 

"How the hell do you do that?" He grits through his teeth. 

"D-do what?" 

"Be s'tight." Without even thinking, you clench around his cock, which is only halfway inside of you. 

"Fuck bug." Peter's mouth finds itself on your jawline, nipping at your warm skin. His hips move away from yours, his cock nearly leaving you. 

A whine falls from your lips, your legs wrapping themselves around his waist, desperate for him to stay. 

"Hey," he says softly, "Hey."

You open your eyes to find him looking at you, his lips captured in a soft smile. 

"I'm not going anywhere," He assures you before capturing your lips once more. 

Peter's hips rock forwards, finally filling you to the hilt. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, sure to leave crescent shaped marks. Not that he would complain. 

Peter never did. It wasn't because the marks would fade away by dawn, but rather that he loved the physical reminders of your love, that it was you who had marked his body, leaving evidence of your affection towards him. 

"Doing s'good. Feel fuckin' amazing," His Queens accent always came out during times like these; when he was trying to keep it together, trying to keep himself from increasing the pace of his thrusts. 

Your ankles lock around one another, keep his hips flushed against yours. 

"More," you whined, "Please." 

"Ya sure?" You simply nodded, desperate to be consumed by him. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin increased, as did his pace. You were still reeling with sensitivity from your first orgasm, jolts of pleasure sparking throughout your body with each thrust. 

Peter knew you were close from your thighs shaking, your cunt clenching around his cock. 

"One more. Be an angel and gimme one more," His voice was shaking, his mind trying to focus on making you cum again. Which Peter personally thought he deserved some kind of medal for being able to focus on anything other than being engulfed in your warm, soaked cunt. 

His fingers trailed down to where your bodies connected, quickly finding your clit. A near scream erupted from your lungs as he drew circles on the swollen bundle of nerves. 

Your body shakes with pleasure as you fall over the edge, so lost in pure rapture that you don't even notice his thrusts becoming erratic. 

A deep, guttural moan falls from Peter's lips, his hips stuttering as he begins to come inside of you. The sensation prolongs your high, your hips desperately trying to meet his. 

The sounds he's making are heavenly to your ears. Your teeth sink into his shoulder, nipping and sucking a purple bruise into his pale skin. 

His hips stutter one last time before stilling, the only sounds in the bedroom now the ceiling fan and your heavy breathing. 

"Fuck," was all you could get out after several minutes had passed. 

"Yeah," Peter chuckled, "That was….yeah. Fuck." 

"Alright," you chuckled, "Where's the towel?" 

"The towel?" Peter lifts his head from your chest, a confused expression taking over his face. 

"Did….did you not grab a towel?" 

"No, I….I was focused on other things," He said sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. 

"Peter!" 

"What? We pay extra in rent to have our own washer and dryer for a reason, bug." 

--------------------------------------------------------------------