Peter wakes up to the sound of retching. He’s lying on his other side now, his belly and cheek pressed against the mattress as his eyes slowly open to stare at the dresser in front of him. It’s darker in the room, and he’s not sure what time it is. There’s a sob and more retching, and Peter turns his head. His eyes squint and close as he notices the bathroom light is on, and the door is wide open. He sees you’re not in bed and only then does his muzzy brain process the fact that the retching sounds are coming from you. You’re throwing up. He flings the covers aside and gets out of bed, hurriedly making his way to the bathroom. When he gets to the door he sees you sitting before the toilet, expelling the rejected matter from your stomach. He quickly kneels down beside you and pulls your hair back, holding the strands in his palm like a makeshift ponytail. His other hand rubs circles on your back.

“Hey, hey…it’s alright, get it out,” he says soothingly, and when you sniffle, that’s when he tilts his head and notices the tears under your eyes. He catches sight of your wet eyelashes and scrunched-up face right before you bend over the toilet again, throwing up some more. He caresses your back more vigorously. 

Once the spew is out of your mouth, you cry, “I’m sorry.”

“What? What are you sorry for?” You don’t answer, but he didn’t really expect you to. You sniffle and sit back down on the ground, letting your body fall against the tile behind you, leaning your head against it. “You okay? You done?” Peter’s hand caresses the side of your face, pushing your hair away from your face. You nod, your eyes are still tightly shut and you look even more miserable than usual.

“I really hate being sick,” you say, finally looking at Peter, almost as a plea.

He chuckles softly, “I know, sweetheart,” He’s never called you that before, but considering your current situation you don’t think it as absurd.

“I didn’t wanna wake you up, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m glad I was able to be here for you.”

“I know, but…you shouldn’t have to deal with this, this is so nasty.”

“Oh, it’s not nasty,” he shakes his head, looking down. You tilt your head at him. “Alright, maybe it’s a liiiittle nasty.” You smile and let out a chuckle, he does the same. “C’mere,” he says, reaching out and wrapping his arms around you. You rest your cheek on his chest, keeping your lips away from his shirt. He strokes the back of your head again.

“You’re the best flu buddy anyone could ever ask for,” you state and he laughs.

“I don’t think so. I mean…at least your partners could make you soup.”

“Oh, who cares about that? You do this for me instead. And you’re the only one who does it well.” 

Peter’s heart inexplicably jumps, and he’s forced to take in a deep breath. For reasons he doesn’t understand, he fully relaxes into your arms.

“Well…good, ‘cause I’m not letting go.”

You chuckle. He makes you feel safe, but he doesn’t think you know you do the exact same for him. Sure, he’s being the lifeboat you need tonight but you’ve been that for him the whole month. In fact, you’ve been that for him for as long as he could remember. So if he had to hold your hair back as you threw up or rub your back or give you medicine or learn how to make some goddamn chicken soup for you, he would. He would do it a hundred times over if it made you feel even a little bit better.

He continues to rub your back and you two remain seated on the bathroom floor. It’s not the prettiest situation, but still, Peter doesn’t feel the need to close his eyes and listen closely for a laugh track. Right now is just perfect.

You keep your head on his chest for a while, before finally lifting it up and looking to the toilet, your hand raising to close the seat and flush.

“Oh, would you look at that?” you say.

“What?”

late night dinner in the park is your favourite though, sitting outside under the stars as you eat and share a dessert with him. he's looking at you so sweetly, eyes all soft and his smile doesn't fade from his face. he gently swings your hand as you walk back to the hotel, talking to you about the next day and what stuff you haven't done yet.

he lets you go for a shower, cooling off for the day while he gets into bed, scrolling on his phone. when you come out the shower, you've dried off but you don't even bother putting anything on, the room running hot so even underwear would make you sweat. you left the ears on however, after peter mentioned how much he liked them on you.

you crawl on top of him and he smiles at you, putting his phone down and giving you a soft kiss on your lips.

"you have fun today, baby?"

"mmhm.. thank you for today.."

you just sat like that for a moment, laying into his chest and straddling his lap before he shifted underneath you, almost grinding against you. it wasn't long before he had shoved his shorts off and moved behind you, pushing you down into the mattress. he was filling you up so good, you had to bite your pillow to hide any noises you made—not wanting to disturb the family on the other side of the wall.

he bent down, his head resting on your shoulder as he rocked into you, stretching you out and making you feel everything. the ears were almost falling off your head but you readjusted them, whining into the pillow.

he rocked into you again, but held himself against you, grunting as he felt your legs shake. you both came at the same time and he just sighed when he pulled out, watching it drip down your legs. he leant down to kiss your shoulder before he went to grab a towel and clean you up. he was so kind with his aftercare, being so soft and gentle with you.

There were two things known about your mother: her cooking and her follow through. She was the delegate for church and community event meals; oftentimes in the kitchen doing the work herself alongside people that respected her and her cooking.

Your mother prided herself in her cooking and it kept her going in times of hurt for you both. She was the one baking casseroles to give to neighbors when dad passed. It was you who had to sit her down to eat something most days.

If God had anything to do with her getting better, it was in giving her that ability to provide in a way some overlooked. She buzzed while she worked her talents in the church’s kitchen now. The previously mentioned follow through evident in her meticulous manner of cleaning right behind herself as she cooked.

That follow through was especially true now as she was making sure you followed the rules she had set in place regarding church and attendance. Not only were you going this Sunday since you missed the last service, but you were also helping with the Wednesday church dinner.

You know she wants the best for you. It took you a long time (and a lot of space) to see that she showed it in the ways she knew how, the ways she was raised. You try to sprinkle the amount of salt she showed you earlier onto the massive amount of rolls. Despite your physical presence where she asked, you know your hearts and values don’t lie within the boundaries of shared faith.

You didn’t mind the service aspect of religion though. In fact, you enjoyed assisting your mother when she helped others in the community. You only pretended to follow the ‘good book’ and ‘walk the righteous path’ to spare her. What you had issues with was the institution of religion itself and some probably never-to-be-resolved personal qualms with the man upstairs. First, why did god have to be a man?

You’d never admit these questions and doubts to her, it would devastate her.

You did, however, admit it to someone.

Your confession last Thursday and the fact that Reverend Miguel was on the receiving end of all your revelations had you waking up suddenly in the night this past week - jolting from the bed, a quickening pulse, and sweat dampening the sheets. The concern in his deep, dark-eyed stare from that day stuck with you. You felt shame, guilt, maybe both, or something else unnamed and it kept you from indulging in the pleasure he had so easily made you feel without even being in the room. You still felt tense knots in your shoulders as you worked.

It was easy to feign sickness when you actually felt feverish and drained after you’d let those inner thoughts become spoken truths.. Your mother worried when you wouldn’t come out of your room. When you missed (skipped) church, she showed her concern and care with homemade chicken noodle soup. Moping, unbothered lasted only another day before she was yanking covers off you and having you run errands around town. ‘Getting back on your feet is the first step to feeling better,’ she retorted to your groans early that Monday morning. No more laying out of church…

You had to think of another way to avoid him. A way to steer clear of any sort of confrontation

You thought about moving away, dramatic, yes, but maybe into the city. Not too far from mom, because she needed help more than she admitted. Tonight was a prime example as her usual kitchen hands said they weren’t feeling well. This was helpful in negating any suspicions your mom had of you lying about being ill. Moving wouldn’t be running away, you were an adult.

You had literally run away though. As soon as the reality of who had taken your confession set in, you ran right out of that booth, back into the bustling city, onto the bumpy bus, and curled up into yourself at home. As you’re thinking about the many help wanted signs and rent postings you saw in the city, you hear chatter that interrupts the flow you two had created in the kitchen.

Mom is being pulled away by another member of the church and she instructs you to make two plates for the people who weren’t able to help her with cooking this evening. You’re pulling the last of the vegetables out of the oven and she hovers a moment, uncomfortable leaving you to the important final preparations.

It’s hard not to feel offended. Five years ago you would have rolled your eyes and commented on how if she didn't trust you, you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.

“It’s okay,” you assure her as you wash your hands before preparing their plates, “I’ve got this.” You smile gently at her for you know you both need reassurance at times. She pinches her lips together but nods and leaves you alone.

Styrofoam to-go plates were open on the counter, waiting to receive their fill. You eyed the dinner and patted yourself on the back. Mom thought up the meal and did most of the actual ingredient brain power and temperature controls, but you’d done your part as well. It did feel good to do for others even if you still felt down.

A wide pan of meatloaf with a perfect caramelized sauce on top sat as the main course. Alongside it was some cabbage slaw and a broccoli cheddar bake. You make the to-go plates with equal portions and top them each with a roll. Your favorite part were the green onion rolls and you couldn't help but sneak one as the hours of prep and cooking left you famished.

You placed foil over the containers of your mom’s truly famous strawberry cobbler for it to cool when everyone ate. Most of the produce has come from the local farms. You savored the first bite of the fresh roll and marinated on the flavors of home, wondering if you could really leave this behind again.

You’re setting out the plates and silverware for the church members when you hear footsteps behind you. You turn to tell your mom that you’d made the plates, but it’s not her that now joined you in the kitchen.

Tense shoulders, little sleep… you were as tight as a coil ready to spring so you jumped a little when you saw the towering figure as you turned.

Reverend O’Hara’s eyes showed the same concern from last week, but softer. His feet shuffled slightly and he put his hands up as if he had approached an animal in the wild. He had a hesitant, more nervous aura than the suave confidence he usually eluded.

He opened his mouth to speak and you heard him say your name again in that sweet voice…

______________________________________

Standing before you now, Deacon Miguel found himself reflecting on the unexpected confession he heard last week. It was a confession that had stirred within him a mix of emotions and conflicting thoughts.

Miguel had contemplated how to address this delicate situation for it simply couldn’t go ignored. You matter. Your feelings matter. The deacon knew it was crucial that he approach this with compassion and understanding. Faith was a deeply personal journey, and each individual had their own struggles and doubts. Lord knew he’d faced his own in the past and that even if his current standings were solid, they were shaky.

His mind had been consumed by the weight of what he had learned. He couldn't help but feel a profound connection to you when he first placed the communion wafer on your tongue, the tongue that had inadvertently confessed impure thoughts to him. Though your honesty and vulnerability struck a chord within him.

Unbeknownst to you, the deacon struggled with similar doubts and desires. When he heard your confession, his heart weighed heavily with empathy and understanding. Though he couldn’t help the mix of relief in his emotions as well. It was comforting to know he wasn’t alone in grappling with faith, the temptation, and the forbidden attraction that he felt towards you.

Denying his own attraction to you was impossible.

Despite his commitment to his faith and role within the church, he too has found himself captivated by your presence and constantly battled his own desires. Since he’d laid eyes on you that faithful Sunday morning, he’d felt an invisible force bind himself to you. Much like he had bound himself to the service of God Almighty, he found himself wanting to serve you.

Miguel O’Hara couldn’t get that mental image out of his mind. Serving you… The more he tried to control his urges, the harder they became to ignore. He’d been doing what he was told all these many years in the church, abstaining from giving in too much. But no matter how much he tried to uphold the image of chaste, he is merely flesh.

The views of his brothers in Christ were archaic. They forget that the sacrifice of the only Son was done in love, despite our sins. He truly believed that it is natural, God-given even, to experience attraction to fellow flesh. It’s natural to seek a partner in life. He’s human. He’s prone to straying from the path. He is only human. He just hopes that God understands when he asks for forgiveness and repentance.

He struggles with the guilt of falling into temptation when he feels he’ll come undone if he doesn’t allow himself release. He isn’t able to hold back now as much as times prior. Not when you had captivated his spirit.

He also felt guilty for viewing you in the explicit ways that he thought of you. Focusing on the way clothes hugged your body and needing to know what hid in the heaven of your thighs. While Matthew says not to judge others, he also mentions in the Good Book that, “whoever looks […] to lust at someone, has already committed adultery with them in his heart.” If he were to really follow the written word, Miguel would have to pluck out his eyes for his transgressions against you in his mind.

His flesh weakens when he remembers how soft your lips were under the pad of his thumb. The way your eyes looked into his as he cupped your chin.

Cold showers are his usual go-to when it comes to trying to avoid the temptation of touch. His large shoulders hunched slightly when the frigid water fell onto his skin. It’s in vain though each time because his body still radiates heat of passion from thoughts of you. When he looks down at himself, he curses his body’s reaction to thoughts of your mouth. His painfully hard cock begs for your touch. It’s always too much to bear. The tip of him screaming red and leaking despite the cold temperatures.

When he gives in, it’s always too fast. Finally gripping himself the way he’d liked, imagining showing that way to you, he pumped himself with his hand. His grunts steamed the shower even further as he envisioned you with him. Oh, how he longed to feel you and learn you like scripture. His wanton movements force him to brace himself on the shower wall as an image that always brings over the edge flashes his in mind: your legs spread in offering of your own communion. It’s enough to make him see stars as your name echoes in his shower like hallelujahs.

He wishes it wasn’t shame that he felt after. He wishes his comedown was met with comfort from you. He allows the evidence of his shame to wash from himself down the drain, but the feeling is still there. You were more than someone to be lusted over.

While the sexual attraction was strong, he also yearned to know more about you. You’d only revealed little bits of yourself in the confession booth but he was intrigued, nonetheless. He wanted to know more about your conflict with faith, wondered what your childhood was like and what foods you enjoyed, interested in learning your outlook on life. Miguel wanted to learn your personal philosophies as if it were doctrine.

Not seeing you at the previous Sunday service hurt. He understood, given your beliefs, that he couldn’t expect you at church. It wasn’t an attendance issue, which he would not enforce on anyone, but the empty aisle seat in the middle pew made him feel equally as vacant. It didn’t matter to him if you were conflicted or steadfast on Christian values. Matthew 7 held his strongest position on the matter of judgment: it wasn’t his place. He was simply a figurehead of spiritual guidance.

In fact, he had geared his sermon slightly towards you for that Sunday. He couldn’t help the itch to address the issue in a way he was comfortable, through scripture. He didn’t want to convert your faith to Jesus Christ. He wanted to help you restore faith in yourself.

You conjured in him quotes from Corinthians: a book in the Bible that speaks of faith, hope, and love. He carefully highlighted 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 the night of your confession as he crafted his sermon. “[…], our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light, momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” Yes… the Bible is literally referencing heaven as the eternal glory, but it’s all metaphorical. “Unseen” was the key word in this theological message. He knew the congregation visualized pearly gates and mansions of clouds as a reward for the pain they experienced on this terrain. What he had hoped you would have gotten to hear was that there were so many possibilities when one had faith in themselves. He wanted to show you the unlocked potential housed within yourself.

He had a lot to say as he stood before you now. There’s so much you need to know, need to hear.

First, you needed to know that you were wrong.

He said your name to get your attention.

But, there wasn’t a sound after that for a moment, until your mother and a few other members of the church came through the double doors.

________________________________________

You snapped out of the trance Miguel had you locked in with the song of your name on his lips when your mom burst into the kitchen with some of her friends.

You reach to get the cups out of a cabinet and simply ignore the deacon for a moment despite the flush in your cheeks. Easily explainable by the heat of the kitchen.

“Everything is ready! Mom, I’ve got two plates ready to go for later. Come on and eat, everyone!” Your mother’s friends all compliment her on her well behaved child and you catch her eyes. There’s no strictness in her expression. She simply beams at you, her child.

Members of the church start calling out, ‘Let’s eat!’, ‘Smells good!’, and mentioning how they knew they were in for a good meal as it was your mom that did the cooking.

As people pour into the serving area and line up, you hear Reverend Miguel’s voice above the hustle of hungry people.

“Before we enjoy this delicious looking food, let us first thank the cooks and then I suppose we should bless the meal, yes?” He was smiling as he said this, as if prayer before a meal was only a formality. It seemed as though the appreciation for you two was what he was after as you watched the church thank your mother and you for your cooking. You shrugged off the bits of praise you received as it really was your mom who did the majority of the work.

An elder member is selected to lead the church in prayer and everyone bows their head. You’re still riding a buzz from the work, not to mention seeing Miguel again after almost a week. You can’t seem to bring your eyes down.

You scanned the room of bowed heads and smiling faces and found the deacon’s gaze on you again. This time, you smiled at him and nodded in appreciation. The prayer concludes and your mother’s smile at the praise makes your heart feel warm. Due to the spotlight on her cooking she was forced to be first to get her plate of food, something she usually didn’t do until after everyone had gotten their own plate. Sometimes after they’d gotten seconds. She had found her a community of support and love.

As the church members started scooping portions onto plates, you saw Reverend Miguel approach you again. He stands by your side and you watch as the congregation gets their food and he leans to his side a little toward you. He speaks in a hushed tone as he asks,

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” You swallow dryly, but his next word nearly knocks you off your feet.

After ordering some pizza and playing some mario kart in his living room you eventually passed out on his bed– in his old empire state university t-shirt. He admitted it was a creepy move on his part, but Peter sat down on the bed next to you just admiring how absolutely beautiful you looked. You were always stunning, even when you weren’t aware of it yourself. He gathered his blanket, gently pulling it over your sleeping form. Peter gave you a kiss on the head, letting himself exhale as he exited the room.

You drove him crazy, constantly. 

He felt bad for the complete happiness he felt when you told him that you had nowhere to go because of the incident in your house. He immediately rushed at the opportunity to tell you to stay with him instead of a hotel. Any man would be stupid to pass up an opportunity to spend time with you. He could barely focus on the race when you guys played mario kart; getting too caught up in the competitive look you had in your eyes– the one you always had when you really wanted to win something. 

You looked absolutely adorable. 

Peter just thought if he ignored his feelings for you that they’d just disappear but they didn’t and if anything they only worsened. He felt like he was going crazy. The more time you two would spend time together the more he found himself thinking of you when you were apart. He’d find himself sitting on his couch and suddenly  wondering what you were doing at that moment, or he’d be listening to a song and somehow be able to find traces of you within it. 

The only problem was that you didn’t love him back.

And he knew. He knew from the very start. From the way that you looked at him. The way he’d catch you staring at him with longing in your eyes, like he had you under some sort of spell. And Peter knew it was love;

Because it was the same way he’d look at you. 

That’s the exact reason why Peter was sitting outside on a bench in his garden at eleven o’clock at night while you were asleep in his bed. He was stupid for inviting you but he just couldn’t help himself, at first it seemed like a good idea but seeing you there– sleeping. He wished he would get to be the man lucky enough to slide in next to you and hold you close and never let you go. But he couldn’t take it, he needed to go. To go anywhere else besides that room. Because he knew one day Miguel would be the one to lay down with you at your side, sliding his hands onto your waist– give you a kiss goodnight as he fell asleep in complete bliss with you by his side and his at yours. 

Because only an idiot wouldn’t fall for you. 

Peter looked at all the flowers surrounding him. Most, you actually grew yourself after he asked you for your help in actually starting a garden. You were more than happy to lend a hand, and you took it upon yourself to plant all sorts of things: tomatoes, daisies, marigolds, anything you could get your hands on. Peter would just sit on the bench and offer you a hand if you needed but most of the time you declined so he would just sit on the bench and watch from afar. He loved the cute look you had whenever you were concentrating. After you were done he would make the two of you some iced tea to enjoy out in the sun as you talked for hours on end. 

“Peter…?” Your voice called out, snapping him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at you not even feeling himself smile. You stood there, bare legs on display with his shirt hugging your body. Rubbing the sleepiness out of your eyes you spoke again, “What’re you doing out here? it’s late.” 

“Nothing, just thinking.” He responded, gingerly taking your hand so you could take a seat on the bench with him. You waddled over in your half asleep state, bare footed and took a seat next to Peter with a yawn. He grabbed your legs pulling them over his lap so your feet wouldn’t get dirty from the ground. 

“What’s on your mind?” You asked, peering up at him, feeling yourself to become more awake. 

You, always you. 

“Nothing important.” He waved it off, looking down at the ground. Tracing patterns onto your shin, watching as the gears turned in your head. Probably debating on whether to probe more or let it be. 

You chose the latter, “You know I think I should’ve charged you for my good work out here, it looks beautiful.” 

“Yea, you did an amazing job.” He smiled, and you laughed but he was completely serious. Maybe he was biased but the garden really did look beautiful and he wasn’t just saying that. 

The two of you sat in complete silence for a few minutes after that, you looked around at the garden and stars in the sky but Peter was too busy looking at you. When you weren't looking he grabbed your hand and kissed it, earning a giggle from you in return but when the sound abruptly stopped he began to worry.

“I'm sorry I didn't-” He tried, before you scooted in closer to whisper in his ear. 

“Peter?” You squeaked out his name as if you were going to tell him a secret that you wanted nobody else to hear, “Can I ask you for something– a favor?”

“Anything.” He quickly breathed out, you being so close had this effect on him. He felt his heartbeat quicken and his breaths became short. 

“Can you teach me how to make love?” You asked quietly, anticipating an answer back. 

Peter choked on his spit at that, “What?”

“I asked Miguel out on a date and I’ve just never– I just want to be ready I don't know anything.” You explained, stumbling over your words scared of what his answer would be. After a few minutes went by without a response you tried again, “Please Peter there's no one else I trust more than you.” 

And he saw it; 

The glimmer in your eye when you said his name. This really meant alot to you. 

“Okay.” He said simply, lips pressing into a line.

“Really?” You beamed, wrapping your arms around him on the bench. Peter awkwardly hugged back not really believing this was actually happening. You wanted him to show you how to make love for another guy that wasn’t him. He felt selfish but part of him just wanted to have you anyway he could get. 

“Let’s go back to the room.” Peter gave a slightly strained smile. He should’ve been ecstatic that you asked him to help you with this. You trusted him enough but he couldn’t shake off the real reason behind it. He exhaled through his nose and turned to you with a playful smile, hooking his hand under your legs with the other on your back. 

You squealed as Peter picked you up, beginning to carry you up to his room. You were beyond grateful to have someone like Peter willing to do this for you. At first you were scared to ask in fear that he would’ve been disgusted with you but he wasn’t. That’s why you loved Peter. He was your best friend and you wouldn’t know what to do without him.  

Peter pushed open his bedroom door with his back, walking over to his bed. He gently placed you down so you could sit on the mattress. 

“What do you want to know first?” he asked, looking into your eyes. His hand slowly moved to rest on your bare thigh as he awaited your response. 

“Can I kiss you?” You timidly asked. Peter’s hand went up to hold your face, bringing his face closer to yours, enough so that his lips could ghost over yours. He waited until he heard your breath quicken, and he decided to press his lips against your own. Internally groaning, your lips were so soft against him. He started off with small pecks, before easing into slipping his tongue into your mouth. You caught on quickly, both of your tongues mingling together in a sort of dance. Peter’s hand found its way into your hair and he pulled you even closer to himself, biting your bottom lip and then pulling away.

Your breath was heavy, after the kiss broke. Peter softly groaned at the feeling of his erection causing the material of his sweats to tent outward. This seemed to catch your attention because you slowly brought your hand down, gently grazing him with your fingertips. Peter moaned lowly.

“Can I?” You were too shy to actually say the words out loud, but Peter knew exactly what you meant and nodded furiously. 

“Get on your knees for me sweet girl, right here.” He gestured to the spot in between his legs. He held your hand as he watched you stand up and slowly sink to your knees in front of him. You rested your hands on his thighs, and Peter was delirious from the heavenly sight in front of him. 

You were just so damn perfect.

“Take off my pants.” He instructed, stroking your face as you looked up at him with your big eyes. You nodded, fingers hooking around the waistband of his gray sweatpant and boxers. You slowly guided them off of his hips, watching as his cock sprang out in front of  you. He was big, and you didn’t know how well that would work out for you. 

“Don’t worry, let’s take this slow hm?” He asked brushing some of your hair behind your ear, “Grab it gently and lick me at the tip.” 

You brought your hand and wrapped it around Peter’s cock, feeling your touch cause him to twitch in your hand. You gingerly pulled it towards you, watching precum ooze out of his tip. Sticking your tongue out you gave him small licks, feeling the small grove of his slit brushing under you. Peter’s grip in your hair tightened as he let out low breathy moans, his other hand gripping the sheets on his bed. 

You flicked your tongue over his slit, causing Peter’s moans to fall freely now. His sounds caused you to squeeze your thighs together beneath him, the feeling of want evident in your cunt. You traced the outline on his head, and the veins up his length with your tongue. Looking up at Peter he was looking directly at you when you decided to stick the entirety of his length down your throat. Peter gasped at the change in contact, and you felt the velvety flesh of him deep in your throat causing you to gag. 

“F-fuck doing so good for me.” Peter inhaled, untangling his fingers from your hair so he could stroke your face, “Look so beautiful like this—with your mouth around me.”

You ignored the stinging at your eyes, as you hollowed out your cheeks more trying to relax the muscles in your throat. You moved up and down his length, gagging on it from time to time which made Peter absolutely crazy, he never once pushed your head down instead he would look down at you with a lazy smile and comfort you by caressing your face muttering praises. When he started to twitch in your mouth, he halted your movements. 

“Stand up for me.” Peter said and you let go of him with a pop. He grabbed your waist and pulled you down onto his lap. You couldn’t help but focus on the way his cock was dangerously near your sex, “You’re such a good girl, did you know that? You did so well.” 

You swooned at his praise nonetheless but your still couldn’t help but frown, “You didn’t finish.” 

“Hey, I was.” he reassured you, smiling. He placed a kiss on top of your head. You began to unconsciously grind your hips against his thigh, trying to get some sort of friction. The combination of his sounds and praise made you wet, but you didn’t know how to ask him to help. You were embarrassed, arms finding purchase around his neck, your head down avoiding his gaze. 

“Can I take care of you?” He asked, lifting your chin up to meet his gaze which was full of adoration for you, “Let me make you feel good.” 

You nodded, just wanting anything he’d be willing to give you. Peter picked you up and gently laid your back down against his bed. He settled himself in between your thighs massaging the smooth skin of your legs. 

“Just relax and let me do all the work okay?” He encouraged you and you listened. You exhaled, the muscles in your body losing all of the tension it held previously. Peter smiled to himself upon seeing this, “Can you spread your legs for me?” 

You did as he instructed you, spreading yourself for him. Peter could’ve came right then and there, the beauty that was you strewn out on his sheets like a dirty magazine. He swooped his head down until he was face to face with your heat. Your breath hitched in your throat, feeling his breath hot on your clothed pussy. 

He used his tongue to lick you through your panties, feeling the wet patch that stained the material, “God, you’re so beautiful.” He whispered, nudging you a bit with his nose, and your hands immediately went to his hair. Your hips chasing release by rubbing yourself against his nose. 

“Peter, please I need it.” you whined. He groaned, hearing the apparent need in your voice. He sighed in content, maybe if he believed hard enough you’d want him in the same way he wanted you. 

Peter pulled your panties down enough so that he could see your cunt, using two fingers to spread your folds open for him so he could run his tongue along your sex. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending pleasure throughout your entire body. 

He ate you out like a man starved, tongue lapping at your juices sucking up all of your slick, “Taste so good baby, love your pussy.” His mouth wrapped around your clit and flattening his tongue to get more coverage while eating you. 

“Oh my god.” You moaned, feeling his tongue dive as deep as he could into your hole, swirling his tongue around, “P-peter.” 

He wanted to cherish this moment forever, watching the way your eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. He couldn’t stand the fact that someday Miguel would soon be in his place, he knew he should’ve been happy for you but he just couldn’t. You would be with someone you loved and that someone wasn’t him.

He hummed around your clit, loving the feeling of your hand coming to stroke his face like he had done to you earlier. You copied the same things he’d done for you, praising him in between moans while caressing his face as he ate you out. Peter basked in your soft touch, rutting against the bed desperate for some friction of his own, your praise going straight to his head making him dizzy. 

A foreign feeling began to creep up on you, “Peter— I don’t something’s wrong.” Your breathing quickened, Peter knew exactly what was happening, you were close. But he decided to say nothing and kept licking at your cunt, “Peter—“

He wrapped his arms around both of your thighs, holding you in place so you couldn’t squirm around. He used your body, grinding your pussy against his mouth while he continued to lick and suck you. 

“Let go for me, sweetheart.” He moaned against your clit, and that was enough to push you over edge. Your muscles seized up, and you cried out loud, tears staining your puffy cheeks. You felt light headed as you came, looking down through watery eyes and white staining your vision seeing Peter lick up every single drop of your cum. You let yourself soak in the feeling, closing your eyes while Peter cleaned you up entirely with his tongue.

“You’re okay.” He assured you, you opened your eyes at his question to find him pumping his cock with his right hand. You nodded limply trying to wrap your hands around his neck, craving Peter’s touch. He fought the urge to smile like a dope, he never wanted this to end. He would’ve loved to feel the way he did in this moment everyday.

He used his hand to prop himself up so that he could hover over you. He grabbed your hand, placing it over his heart before covering yours with his much bigger one. He secretly hoped that you would get the hint from the way his heart was beating fast, hoping it would say what he was too afraid to in the first place. While you looked up at him, Peter took his cock in his other hand lining it up with your entrance. 

“It’s gonna hurt at first but i’m going to need you to be good for me okay? Can you do that for me, sweet girl?” he asked, ducking his head down to place a soft kiss on your lips, “I’m gonna make you feel so good.” 

“I trust you.” You said meekly, urging him to keep going. 

With your hand still on his chest, Peter pushed into you slowly. You both gasp simultaneously at the feeling, he was finally inside of you. Peter just let himself enjoy the feeling of you around him. His eyes never left yours, trying to read your face. 

“At any time just tell me and I'll stop.” he told you, watching you stare up at him with complete want. The sound of you calling his name pulled him back to reality which is how he knew this was real— you were real. He was taking your virginity. This wasn’t just some fantasy he had in his head; this was really happening. 

“More Peter—  please.” You begged under him a squirming mess. 

“F-fuck sweetheart are you sure?” You asked, and you nodded furiously needing to feel more of him. As he pushed further into you his mouth hung open with his head lolled to the side from the pleasure. You were so tight around him, walls squeezing him— swallowing him whole, “Look at that you’re doing so good taking all of me.” 

You felt your eyes begin to water once more, at the pain of his stretching you out on his cock. He thrusted into you, with small movements careful to not push your body over its limit. Your hands gripped his back, nails digging into his skin making Peter groan at the pain, “Do you feel me honey? Feel me inside you, the first one to ever be inside you like this?” 

“Yes, Peter, I feel you.” You gasped at him pulling his cock out only leaving his head in, before sinking into you fully, “ Oh “

“Look at it baby, look how well your pussy takes my cock.” He urged you, and you looked down to see him thrusting in and out of you. You moaned at the sight of your hole taking all of him inside of you. Peter caught you by surprise when he kissed your lips, biting on your bottom lip as he fucked into you with a quicker but not too intense pace, “Tell me who’s making you feel this good.” 

“You.” You hiccuped, crying more freely now. Your cheeks were red and your eyes were glossy. Peter thought you looked absolutely beautiful. He loved this— loved you. Even though he shouldn’t. The only reason why you were letting him do this was for Miguel. Not because you had actual feelings for him. He couldn’t push the feeling away knowing that you would never look at him the way he looked at you. 

His hand went to your clit, rubbing it as he fucked into you with fervor, “Tell me you’re mine.” 

You were close and he could tell. 

The sound of his skin slapping against yours combined with your cries was enough to make you delirious. You didn’t fully process what Peter asked of you, not really thinking much of it. You decided to blame it on the heat of the moment as the pleasure he was feeling was probably making him say things he didn’t mean. 

“Please ,” He begged, the desperation in his voice made you clench around him, “I-i need to hear you say it sweetheart.” 

You didn’t know what to do. His hand came to wipe the tears from your eyes, fucking you harder, making sure you felt him and every roll of his hips. Your legs wrapped around him in an effort to get him impossibly closer to you than he was already. This new angle allowed him to get even deeper inside of you. Overwhelmed with pleasure, you looked into his eyes and for whatever reason you said, “I’m yours Peter.” 

That was all he needed to hear. Upon hearing your admission, it didn’t take much before Peter found himself cumming inside you, which you did as well. Your walls tended around him squeezing him— milking his cock of all of his cum. His body slumped down against yours, his head resting in the crook of your neck. He breathed you in with a groan, wrapping his arms around you as you both came down from your highs. He never wanted to let go. 

Peter didn’t know why he gave in as easily as he did but he knew one thing for sure;