DON’T YOU DARE LET ANYBODY TAKE A PEEK!

“ that’s not even fai — oh my god, wow, that feels weird — ”

you giggle, lips still pressed in the little ‘o’ you’d used to blow cool air on his hole. pretty pink and so tight you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to fit a finger in, much less a strap, it twitches and clenches under the lightest pressure. you have to take a moment to swallow your own insane thoughts, your hands sliding down to keep his ass spread for you. wow.

“ you need to relax, peter. m’not gonna hurt you. ”

“ i don’t think you’re g’na hurt me, baby, i just never really thought we’d be doin’ thi — oh, wow. hi. ”

you slide up from your position on your knees to hover over him on the bed, legs still pressed up and around in what peter thinks is very, very embarrassing (and sexy) vulnerability. you give him a little smile to match the dopey one he always gets when he looks at you, unable to help it. then, you lean down to press one, two quick pecks on his lips. that’s never enough with peter, though, so soon enough you’re bearing your weight down onto him, lips moving together while your tongue licks into his mouth; you think the sound you two make showing each other your love is much more obscene than him splayed out and whining for you.

when you pull away he whines, eliciting another giggle from you, high and mean — peter makes a mental note to put you back in your place and get his revenge for this little power trip later. you shake your head when he chases your kisses, sadistic part of you loving how sweet he looks like this, flushed and reverent. you almost feel bad for pulling away, the sight of your baby already so broken from just a kiss near-heartbreaking. almost!

“you’re doing soooo good, i promise, baby — just stay like this for me, please? it’ll be sooo worth it, i swear!” your words are peppy and sweet in a way that peter finds sinfully inappropriate for the situation; he can’t form the words to say so when you’re kissing down his chest, his abs, his pelvis so softly, gently. he can only take what you think you should give.

lucky for him, you’d give him the greater milky way if you had the chance.

you dive in just about as gently as peter does when he eats you out — that’s to say, with all the restraint you can muster, which is very, very little. his whole body jerks under your touch, every nerve igniting with heightened sensitivity. you keep your tongue flat at first, licking one fat stripe against the pucker; it contracts and then relaxes against the assault, coinciding with when peter’s gasp turns into a filthy moan.

“ you sound like a pornstar. ”

“ why would you say that?” his voice cracks in the middle and the rest kind of blends into a whine; he’s very quickly reduced to just shutting up, unable to do more than squirm and whine at the way you’re working him open with your tongue.

and working him open you are, intent to see on how much you could stretch him with just your tongue (and maybe just in an effort to devour him). even the hypocrite in you would be willing to concede that the sounds you make are downright nasty, and you can’t say you’ve never been in peter’s position: pliant, wet, aching for a mouth against you to grind back on. you can tell he’s trying not to, actually, intentionally holding back. that won’t do.

you change your technique to focus on his rim, sweet little suckles while your tongue laps at it and letting one hand wander to gently take his balls in it — he lets out a choked noise, like all the wind got knocked out of him, and you have to stop a smile. that’s more like it.

your heart bursts into a billion little butterflies when you move your remaining hand and he doesn’t even shift his legs, keeping them up and apart. he could go against you easily with how strong he is, do what he wants instead of letting you defile him like this. but he won’t, ‘cause that’s not what you want. oh, your sweet boy. it’s something like a reward when a perfectly manicured hand wraps around the base of his neglected, throbbing cock and squeezes, before twisting up to gather his pre and use the ample amount as lube to aid in stroking him.

“ o-oh — oh, baby, holy shit, that’s — ” instinctively, peter’s hand shoots out to grip at your arm, not pulling you off, but getting as close to holding your hand as he could. “ — t-that’s amazing, you’re amazing, oh my god — ”

you smile against his asshole and you think maybe you are the most perverted person in the world, but it’s okay, because your boyfriend is equally perverted, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

the hand to your wrist makes you melt a little, and the ‘obsessed with peter parker’ part of your brain seems to be going a bit overdrive; you want him, every part of him, wrapped around your finger forever, and ever, and ever. you want to ruin him for anyone else so he’ll never even think of finding different.

silently, you move your hand from his balls to grip his wrist, gingerly moving it to wrap in your hair. you can tell peter feels bad about potentially hurting you from the noise he lets out, but then you’re wrapping both hands around his cock and pumping him like that; you alternate between tonguing his ass and sucking or licking at his balls and peter thinks he might not survive this, queens will have to get another hero because peter parker died via orgasm. each time you swirl your tongue around his balls or suck them between your lips to do so it makes his cock throb in your grasp, earning another squeeze from you — there’s so much sensation he doesn’t even know what to focus on. he doesn’t know how much longer he can last, but every time he tries to say it, there’s only tears and choked out groans.

you feel a bit dizzy from how horny you are, the urge to simply ravage him making you feel like a goddamn man. you pull back a little, then, eyes half-lidded in ecstasy when you meet his own doe-browns. slowly, you lick from his hole up, up, up to the tip of his cock, where you plant a little kiss, tongue peeking out to swipe over the slit.

“y-you’re — oh my god —“ praise dies on his lips and he’s almost angry that you’ve managed to break him down to his very atoms, unable to tell you how gorgeous you look like this below him. for him. his balls start to tighten and his cock starts throbbing in the way you know means he’s going to cum.

you push away the maniac in you that wants to swallow his cum like a succubus and travel down again, hands resuming their job of milking his cock while you tease along his rim and dip your tongue in, out, in, out.

“baby, baby, m’gonna — oh my god, i love you, i love you, my baby, gonna —” he hardly lasts 30 seconds; it’s embarrassing, because peter parker is no prejac, and his stamina is typically endless, but it feels so good, how was he ever meant to stand a chance? his grip in your hair tightens and he pushes your face closer when he spills, the moan you let out making his over-sensitive hole twitch. you feel his cum spill out and around your hands, but you don’t let up just yet, continuing to lick and suck and stroke with the slickness his cum provides (it’s stickier than normal, you wonder if it’s from his new hormone changes. you make your own mental note to ask him about that later and see how you can exploit it!) until he’s on the edge of overstimulation and he pushes your head back himself.

“t-too — too much, holy fuck, you evil, evil woman. ”

peter’s chest is heaving, trying to take in every breath he couldn’t while you were getting your fill. when his (now trembling) legs come down and he props himself up on his forearms to see you, you look almost comical. you’re kneeling on the ground below him, hair a mess from where he kept his hold, gloss and lipliner smeared across your mouth, lips puffy and red — to top it all off, you’re practically glistening with his cum, your spit, the wetness you two created. it’s all a stark contrast to the big, cheshire grin you sport, like a brat finally satisfied with getting her way.

his dick, spent and still leaking against his stomach, twitches. the look he gives you is somewhere between exasperation and pure wonder.