Mars

—

You scowl as you check your grades on the school’s website. You had managed to pull up from the nose-dive you’d been in all semester long, but this  Statistics class is going to be the death of you. The dressing down you’d gotten from your father had been particularly rough, and you don’t think his threat to withdraw any and all financial support is just talk. 

But the numbers all just form gibberish on the page, and you understand the concepts about as well as you understand rocket science. Academic probation—that was what your advisor had called it. 

One more F and you’re out of here.

You can’t take that final exam—which is why you’re going to get Peter Parker to take it for you. 

Your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up. 

Hey, I’m here!

You grin. Showtime.

You’d arranged for Erin and Jerrica to be out, leaving the suite empty for your “study session” with Peter. They won’t be back until nearly ten—but you don’t think you’ll need five hours to break Peter Parker. There’s a knock at the door, and you take your time fixing your lipstick in the hall mirror before answering. He looks eager, his hair windswept from the bike ride, cheeks pink and eyes bright. 

“Come in, please,” you step aside to let him in, brushing your chest against his arm as he passes. You pretend you don’t notice the contact, smiling innocently up at him. “Thanks so much for coming to help me, I’m so lost.” 

“Let’s, um, let’s take care of that,” Peter replies, fiddling with the strap of his back-pack. “Um, where should I…” he trails off as you shut the door. 

“Oh, sorry,” you giggle, tapping your head with a finger like you’d forgotten. “My room. The girls might be back and I don’t want to bother them.” You grab his hand and the palm is only a little sweaty as you lead him towards your room. There’s nowhere for both of you sit but the bed, and you guide him down to it, the textbook open on the duvet between you. Peter begins pulling his own study materials out of his bag. 

“So let’s start with probability,” he flips through the textbook.

“Um, I was sort of hoping we could… get more basic.” You reply, schooling your expression into one of shame. “I’m sorry, I’m so stupid.”

“Y-you’re not stupid! There’s loads of things more important than, um, being good at statistics.” 

“Not for me.” You say, looking down at your hands. “Can I tell you something, Peter?” He looks at you eagerly. The same way all men look at you when they think you’re letting them in. Giving them a window, a doorway, any route to your heart. 

“Of course!” He answers quickly. “Anything!” 

“I… I think if I fail this class, I’ll fail out.” You look down at your hands to give your eyes time to water. “I’m doing my best—” You really, really haven’t been, unless being a regular at campus frat parties counted—“but it’s just so hard.” You sniffle. “It’s easy for you, you’re like, a genius.” You slather the flattery on thick as you lean against him. 

“I-I’m not—You’re—” Peter swallows thickly. “That’s really, um, sweet of you to s-say. B-but you have a lot going for you too.”

You wipe at a tear, offer in him a watery smile. “Really?” His face flushes pink. 

“Of course, you’re, um, you’re really beautiful, and um, I read your essay in our English class last year, it was really good—” He rambles, eyes flicking down to the place where your fingers are touching on the bedspread. You pretend not to notice.

“You really think so?” You curl a lock of your hair around your finger, biting your lip. His eyes follow the motion eagerly. “You think I’m beautiful?” 

“Y-yes.” Peter runs a nervous hand through his hair. “You’re a-amazing.” You look away coyly, a soft smile playing on your trembling lips. 

“If only that was enough to pass,” you reply, smile faltering. “I have so much riding on this,” you sniff, crocodile tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. “My dad would be so disappointed in me…” You trail off, wiping at your damp cheeks. “I’d do anything to keep that from happening.” You can hear Peter’s breath coming hard and fast as he stares at you with wide eyes. You push further, placing a hand lightly over his own.

He’s not bad looking when you really look at him. 

Behind the hoodies and books he’s actually pretty hot. 

“I, um, I want to help,” he stammers. “But I, um, I don’t really, uh, know how? To do that, I mean. Other than take the test for you, which is, you know, way out of the question, oh—” You draw your thumb slowly across the back of his hand, pressing closer. You aren’t wearing a bra, and you know he can feel your nipples through your shirt as you sigh.

“I know it’s asking a lot.” Your thigh is pressed against his, now, and when you squeeze his hand you can feel his pulse racing. You bat your eyelashes, raking your teeth along your full bottom lip. “But I really did mean it when I said I’d do anything.”

“A-anything?” You lean closer, one hand on his chest, the other resting on the comforter between his legs, less than a centimeter away from the half-hard outline you can see through his pants. 

“Anything.” 

—

“Open your mouth. Stick your tongue out.” Peter slaps the thick weight of his cock against your tongue with a wet thwack. He slides back and forth, pressing in until his tip bumps the back of your throat and then pulling out again. He grins when you gag, holding your head still as he ruts against your face. Drool leaks from the corners of your mouth, dripping down to where Peter’s heavy balls slap wetly against your chin. 

He pulls away after a moment, thin strands of your saliva running from your wet lips to the head of his cock. Dizzily you stare up at him, eyes glassy. 

How did I get here? 

You try to remember as you kneel naked on your bedroom floor with Peter towering over you, the head his thick cock only inches from your face. You’d been in control at the beginning, fielding Peter’s eager kisses as his hands played at the hem of your skirt. You aren’t sure when his gentle suggestions had become orders, ones that make your busy brain go blissfully blank when you follow them. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop.” 

His cock still tastes like you, and your pussy clenches down hard around nothing at the ghost of the feeling of him inside of you. You take him down to the base, ignoring your body’s protests at the intrusion as you peer up at him through your lashes. 

“That’s it,” he pants. “Good girl. Don’t think. Just do what I tell you, Sweetheart.” You nod dumbly, mumbling around his cock. You nurse him for a few minutes, tongue swirling around the throbbing head before he pushes you off. “I want to cum in your pussy again.” You scramble up to your feet, watching as Peter sits leisurely in your desk chair, legs spread. 

“Well?”

You scramble into his lap, whining as he lines himself up with your slick, swollen entrance. Peter grins against your throat as he lowers you down, savoring every inch. 

“Thought I was stupid, didn’t you, Sweetheart?” He asks, rolling his hips up into yours. “But that’s you, isn’t it? My sweet, stupid girl. S’why you’re failing.” He reaches down to flick at your clit with his thumb, and you practically convulse as you nod. 

There’s a knock at your bedroom door just as Peter drops you down again, stars bursting before your wide, unseeing eyes as you gasp and whine. Dimly, you are aware that the clock on your bedside table reads 10:30, and that your roommates are back from their self-imposed exile. 

”Hey, you alive in there?”

“Yeah, you said you wanted to grab dinner when you were done with Operation Nerd.” Peter slams you down on his cock again, and you let out a strangled moan. “Wait a minute—”