"Well, I mean, you're a big guy. It was one of the first things I noticed about you… y'know. Aside from being a total dork." It's a hot summer day, and an ice cream date sounded like the perfect plan. You take another lick of your cone, trying to catch the creamy, white drips before they happen. It's erotic in nature, but you aren't paying attention to that. Peter watches you, his eyes flitting to your skilled mouth every few seconds. He'd finished his, and unlike you, didn't take his time with it. 

You aren't sure how you two got on the topic of size, but your boyfriend seems immediately invested in the conversation.The way he straightens up and locks his attention on you catches you off guard. You give him a funny look, your brow quirked, and mouth pulled to one side. "What're you lookin' at me like that for?" 

Peter smirks and steps in front of you, stopping you from walking any further. He looks down at you, reaching for your hand, his fingertips ghosting the edge of it. "Say that again, would ya?" 

"What…?" You look up at him with your big wide eyes, and take another lick of the ice cream. "Say what?" 

He squints at you, trying to decipher if you're being purposefully naive or if you truly don't know. "The first part." 

You pause to think over what you just said. "That you're a…big guy?"

He rolls his eyes back and lets out the lowest groan. 

"It's not my fault… you're just so…" 

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He intentionally straightens his posture, rolling his shoulders back to widen the breadth of his frame. That's how he was—painfully dorky, but somehow full of cocky energy. "Small." 

You furrow your brows and scrunch up your face. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Naaah, c'mon babe, I didn't mean it in a bad way… I just…" Peter runs his hand along the side of your left arm, down to your hand. He quickly interlaces his fingers with yours, and lifts it to eye level. Though the feeling is already completely enveloping, you take it a step further, and extend your fingers, stretching your palm in mid-air. Peter's lips twist into another smirk, knowingly, and he brings his palm up, pressing it flush against yours. The tips of your fingers meet the middle joint of his—enough that he can bend the tips of his fingers over the tops of yours. Their size dwarfs yours entirely. 

He lets out another deep groan, and tilts his head back, his silver strands shimmering in the bright, afternoon sun. "…drives me crazy." 

Suddenly hyperaware of your surroundings again, you slap at his t-shirt-clad chest. "Peter! Are you insane!? We're in public." 

"Easy fix." 

And just like that, your feet are off the ground, his arms are around you, and your world is nothing but streaks. Blurry visuals pass you by, moving at speeds that your brain can't even comprehend. The ice cream isn't in your hand anymore, and you feel bad for the person who is inevitably going to step in it, wherever it lies on the sidewalk. Moving at Mach speed is normal for him, but for you it's jarring. He knows this, and always supports your neck, either from behind or by tucking it into the crook of his neck. This time, you're nestled against his neck, inhaling the boyish smell of him. You close your eyes to avoid getting nauseous, and just let him carry you wherever he wants—as you always do. Your sundress flutters helplessly in the breeze, and before you know it, you hear a door open. He took you home. 

Compared to you, he really was big. He was big, and he was strong, and you were so tiny and easy to maneuver. You feel weightless, zipping through the air, until a few seconds later, your back hits Peter's mattress with a bounce. The springs squeak under your combined weight. You blink, and he's in nothing, towering over you with a hand on either side of your head. Inevitably, your gaze wanders, sweeping over him. His broad frame hovers over yours, and you can see the lean muscle that riddles his body. His cock bobs heavily between your bodies, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. 

"Hey."

The inside of your stomach is currently being battered by butterflies, and you answer in a very controlled squeak. "Hi." 

Peter's brain moves at one hundred miles a minute, always. You know that, and that's why when his mouth envelops yours, his hands snap to your hips, gathering your sundress up at the waist so he can feel your skin, you don't protest. He always moved fast. You let his hands rove your body with a hungry sense of urgency while his tongue explores your mouth heatedly. He's pouring it all into that kiss, and you can't help but moan into his open lips. 

He always tasted like adrenaline—you aren't sure what that tasted like, but if there was a taste to it, Peter would be it. Sometimes, the taste was mixed with whatever soda he was drinking, but it was always like licking a battery. 

You focus on the individual feelings: his body pressing into yours, slotted between your thighs, his hips rutting against your center, his cockhead catching on the cotton fabric of your underwear with each thrust. Peter loved to hump you, furiously grinding his boner against you like two teenagers in the backseat.

After a few minutes, you break away from the kiss, breathless, and look into his dark eyes. 

Your hand trails over the curve of his shoulder and the lines of his bicep before they dip down between your bodies. On the next upward thrust of his hips, you close your fingers around his cock. He chokes out a breath, both ragged and shocked. He lifts himself up on his hands, and looks down between your bodies, locked on what you're doing. 

You know what Peter's seeing. What his coal-dark eyes are focusing so hard on. The visual of his swollen cock slipping in and out of your tiny fist, pre-cum leaking from the flushed, velvet-soft tip, dribbling down over your delicate fingers with each pass. It makes his cock look even bigger. Slack-jawed as he watches, he lets out a pathetic sounding whimper. 

Something that he only does when he's really turned on. Oh boy. 

You tighten your grip on his shaft, and he does it again. This time, it's louder. He grips the side of the mattress until his knuckles turn white. You feel the dip next to your head, and bite your lip.

"Peeeeter," you murmur, excitedly. 

It takes him a second to answer, to unlock his gaze from the lewd sight happening below him. "Yeah-huh?" 

You draw circles on his naked chest with your free hand, trailing down the middle line of his abdomen. "…um, you're really worked up today." 

He exhales hard, the air vibrating his lips. "Well, yeah! You talkin' about how big I am. You do it all the time, too, when we're… y'know… doin' it." 

"I do?" 

"Yeah, watch."

In a flash, your underwear are off and resting on his dresser. He presses the head of his dick against your entrance, breaching it just enough to get a reaction. The hot sting of his girth makes you back your hips into the mattress, and press both your hands on his pecs. 

"Peter, Peter, wait—"

A cocky little grin splits his face, like already knows that answer, but he wants to hear you say it. "Why?" 

"…mmmf, too big, you can't just—" 

Just what he wanted to hear. He grins. Leans down, the head still nestled between your folds, and peppers a few knowing kisses against your open, panicked mouth. "Too big, huh?" 

You blink, realizing what he's done and why. Maybe you did bring up his size a lot, which explains why he's got such a thing for it. You kiss him back, biting down on his bottom lip until he hisses.

"You know I love how big you are… but…" You pause, spreading your legs wider on the mattress, exposing your glistening cunt to him. "…take it easy, speedster." 

Like a good boy, he does. He grips himself in his hand, and rubs the head against your folds for a minute or so, bumping it against your sensitive clit. When he slides against your entrance, you brace for impact by gripping him around his neck. The dull ache of his cock as it slides in; the way his head quite literally pops inside makes you bite down on the cushion of your bottom lip. 

He's careful with you, but you can tell he's painfully eager to bottom out. He's practically vibrating above you with anticipation, with need. Buried about three-fourths of the way, he adjusts his position so he can take hold of your hips, anchoring you to the bed. 

You can feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it presses against your slick walls. The burn turns into a want, and you fight against his grip to buck your hips up, taking the rest of him in. Peter forcibly bottoms out with a whine, and you gasp out a string of expletives. He hovers there for a minute, revelling in the way your insides hug him, before he withdraws slowly. The pull of you is intoxicating, and makes his dark eyes roll back in his head. "Fuck, wow…" 

"…so big, so big…. f-fuck me, please…" 

That pulls another whine from his mouth. You felt his cock twitch inside you at the praise, and you consciously clenched around him. 

"Heh. Hooo, babe. Your wish is my command." 

He begins to roll his hips into you over and over again, finding a dizzying rhythm very quickly. Bless him; he always tries to take things slow, but it's damn near impossible for him, every time. It takes him a nanosecond to speed up to a nearly incomprehensible pace, hammering his hips against yours. The bedroom is filled with a slick, slapping of your bodies, and the combined melody of your wanton cries and his grunts and whines. He's close. 

Peter splays his fingers out over your abdomen, pressing down on it gently. You know what he feels. His muscles lift, tightening at the feeling of himself beneath his palm. That's all him. 

"Shit-shit, I'm gonna'…. fuck, I'm so sorry, I'm totally lame, I—" 

"No, it's okay…" you shake your head, reassuring him. "Right there, Peter, fuck me… fuck me…" 

He doubles down on his efforts, drilling his cock into you as deep as he can. Sweat coats your bodies, and you wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him further into you as you feel your muscles go rigid with a telling tightness. 

The coil inside you snaps abruptly, and you see stars, the edge of your vision going blurry. Your back arches up, and Peter slides an arm underneath you, pressing you against his body in a fluid motion. He follows your orgasm with his own, and pumps the hot, white ropes of his release into you. You hear him cry out through gritted teeth, and you watch, enraptured, as he bucks himself into you, milking himself to get every last drop out. 

His hips slow to a stop, but he stays buried inside you for a moment before finally pulling out, and rolling over onto his side. He supports his head with one hand, looking at you with the most casual, playful expression—like he wasn't just fucking your brains out.

"That was radical, babe." 

"Yeah, big guy. Radical."