#evan peter

You haunted his mind; every thought, every moment, every crevice of his being was yours. Yours, eternally yours. His heart, his soul, his cock-

It throbbed in his hand, tip weeping with pearlescent arousal. Peter groaned softly, imagining how you'd toy with it, play with it, tease him into obliteration.

It wasn't fair. He didn't deserve this, this… distance.

The night was lonely and cold. Hank had advised them against flying back to the mansion overnight, back to you. 

He'd run it himself, he knew he could. 

Alaska wasn't that far from New York, right? Just a, what? Five minute dash across the country? 

He'd run back in a heartbeat, run back to you. He knew he could, he would-

…but then Scott would yell at him for hours at a time. And then Hank would be pissed, and the professor would have a stern talk with him, when all he wanted was to bury himself deep inside of you and fuck you until he cried.

Hours he could've spent buried between your thighs, grabbing your hips, pumping you full, full of him until no distinction could be made between who was who.

Peter's body was slick; sweat dripping down his toned, built figure. A few years of fighting on the X-Men, and already he looked phenomenal.

The clear liquid pooled particularly in the v of his hips, and god, he wished you were there to clean it up, to lick him full and tease him until he-

“-Oh god-” the speedster groaned, white falling across his vision. His body tensed, molten lust spilling over his fingers.

Peter panted, his chest heaving.

For a brief moment, he could swear - you were right there, right beside him, just in his reach…

…and then it all faded, and he was alone.