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Most nights, it’s easy to stay awake for Peter to swing home to you.
You can usually keep yourself busy with studying or chores around the apartment to pass the time, and if the hour starts getting late, you allow yourself to ask E.V. to check on his suit’s biometrics just in case - both to let Peter know you’re looking for him and to reassure yourself that he’s alive and safe, even if he’s not with you. He never keeps you waiting long after a biometrics ping, either, always slipping through the window or sneaking in from the rooftop access door within the hour.
On rarer nights, you drift off before he can come home, either sprawled on the couch or with your head pillowed on your folded arms at his workstation, and only wake when you feel his spandex-covered arms winding around you to bundle you carefully up against his chest.
“Are you hurt?” you always demand, no matter how drowsy you are, and if he hesitates before answering, you squirm out of his hold and head for the first-aid kit despite his feeble protests behind you.
“I don’t know why you bother trying to carry me to bed when you’re hurt like this,” you grouse one day as you dab antiseptic over a deep laceration that’s already knitting itself closed with each swipe of the cotton swab against Peter’s forearm.
“I don’t mind,” Peter dismisses, but his eyes fix guiltily away from your face when you scowl back at him, and then realization strikes.
“You know I don’t mind waiting up for you, either, right?”
Peter’s lips press together in a firm line, though you don’t know whether it’s because he’s embarrassed or because the antiseptic still stings against the angry red line that had been a weeping gash only moments earlier. You set the used cotton swab aside to throw out later, shuffling closer until your knees can slot between his.
“Peter, look at me.” Reluctantly, Peter drags his gaze back to yours when you reach out to nudge his chin up. “I want to wait for you. I really don’t see the problem here.”
“I hate that I keep you waiting,” he says bleakly at last. “I hate seeing you sleeping on the couch or at the desk just ‘cause I don’t come home to you fast enough.”
“If you’re not coming home to me fast enough, it’s because someone out there clearly needs you more,” you remind him. “And that’s okay. I know what I signed up for. The only thing I’ve always asked for is that you come home eventually and check in if you can’t - you’re getting better at that, by the way.”
“Not nearly enough,” Peter mutters ruefully.
“E.V.,” you address his AI. “How often has Peter failed to keep me posted on his whereabouts lately? Compare against last month’s texts.”
“Failure to communicate has decreased by twenty-seven percent,” E.V. supplies, and Peter rolls his eyes, but to your relief, a smile has finally begun to tug at his lips.
“This feels like a misuse of what I built that AI for.”
“Well, you clearly need the numbers for proof since you won’t believe me otherwise,” you retort.
“At least go to bed next time,” he says quietly instead of acknowledging you. “Please.”
You decide you can meet him halfway in that, at the very least, and that’s how you find yourself now, drifting hazily between sleep and wakefulness on the mattress as the uncomfortably muggy summer heat keeps you from curling up beneath the covers. The central air conditioning in the entire building had given out days ago, with a work order scheduled only for the following Monday, and the rising heat in the meantime means that yours and Peter’s attic apartment is the most stifling of all.
You had pinged Peter’s suit for a health update over two hours earlier, and when he hadn’t responded, you’d trusted E.V.’s diagnosis that he was healthy and retreated to bed.
But he’s later than usual.
You sigh as you roll over, grimacing as the back of your shirt - technically Peter’s, but you’ve stolen it and it’s therefore yours now - sticks to your skin with sweat, and squint wearily at the dim light of the workstation, debating the merits of pinging him again as your mind struggles to cling to consciousness; you don’t want to bother him if he’s caught up in something important, or worse, life-threatening, but at the same time…
The window slides open, and Peter slips inside in such a smooth, soundless motion that you wouldn’t have noticed his return if you hadn’t been looking for him already.
“Hey.” Relief colors your voice even as you stifle a yawn. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.” Peter sounds off, though - frustrated and upset in a way that makes you sit up on the mattress.
“Peter, are you-?”
“I said I’m fine,” he snaps over his shoulder, and when you jolt back, startled, he catches himself, letting a breath hiss out through his teeth. “Sorry. I’m not mad at you.”
“Rough night out there?” you guess, and he doesn’t acknowledge you at first, kicking off his boots one at a time and watching as they skitter away into some dark corner of the apartment for him to deal with later before he lets out another heavy sigh.
“Just long. Must be the heat getting to me - sorry.”
“I’m going to start charging for apologies if I hear another one,” you threaten half-heartedly, and at last, you catch the faint, familiar sound of a huffed laugh beneath his mask. “Come here?”
Peter obediently climbs onto the bed, shuffling toward you until you can reach out and peel his mask off for him.
“Hi,” you murmur fondly, kissing the tip of his nose the moment it’s exposed, and watch as his mouth softens into a helpless, tiny smile.
“Hi,” he whispers back. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“One dollar for the apology fund,” you tease. “Choose your next words carefully - the price only goes up exponentially from here.”
“That’s extortion,” Peter accuses, his smile widening as he buries his face into your shoulder the moment you set his mask aside. “I meant to text, but then there was a huge warehouse fire I had to help out with in Brooklyn, then a literal train wreck over in the Bronx, and I barely even had time to swing between the two and-”
“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” You brush your fingers slowly down the webbed lines on the back of his suit as he relaxes slowly beneath your touch. “I’m just glad you’re home now.”
“Yeah.” He exhales softly, his breath warm against your neck. “So am I.” He’s quiet for a beat. “I wish I didn’t have to keep you waiting so often.”
“That sounds dangerously close to another apology,” you warn.
“I didn’t say the words,” Peter protests half-heartedly, and you decide to let it go for now.
“You can’t be everywhere at once.”
“I can try,” Peter mutters ruefully, and you smooth back his hair, thumbing at a stray bead of sweat at his temple as his mouth finds your collarbone to press a lazy, open-mouthed kiss there. “Been thinking about you all night.”
“Yeah?” You press a kiss to his temple.
“Yeah.” His gloved fingers come to rest on your hips, tracing absent patterns through the thin cotton of your stolen shirt as his gaze rakes appreciatively over you. “Especially how you’ve started wearing my shirts to bed these days.”
“They’re comfy,” you retort, flustered; you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice, as sleep-deprived as you both have been lately. “And the A/C’s not going to work for another three days.”
“Did you hear me complaining?” Peter teases back. “You look good in my clothes.”
“Take that off and come to bed.” You swat half-heartedly at his suit, ignoring how his flattery makes your face warm in a way that has nothing to do with the stuffy apartment air. “There is no way you’re not about to suffer a heatstroke in there.”
“I’m fine,” he dismisses, but obediently climbs off the bed again to peel off his suit - first the top half, then the bottom - and flushes when he catches you shamelessly watching him undress. “Do you mind?”
“No,” you answer sweetly just to make him turn even redder before breaking your innocent façade with a laugh as you lie back on the mattress to avoid making direct eye contact. “Okay, Victorian maiden, your virtue’s safe. God, it’s like you weren’t just ogling my bare legs a second ago-”
Peter promptly flops on top of you - thankfully only in his underwear now - and kisses you firmly to muffle your instinctive shriek of laughter before you’re forced to nudge him back enough to snag your water bottle from the nightstand and pass it over.
“You’re still too warm - take a few sips.”
“You worry too much.” Still, Peter accepts the bottle with a good-natured smile, taking a couple of long swigs from it before setting it back down beside the bed.
“Somebody has to.” You kiss his too-warm cheek. “It’s true, though, you are burning up. You’re lucky I love you, or I’d have banished you to the fire escape to sleep there by now.”
“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?” Peter’s eyes double in size, mock-wounded.
“Of course not, I missed you too much.” Rolling your eyes affectionately, you tug him down into another kiss to soothe his imaginary wounds.
He readily nips at your lower lip the moment your mouth seals over his, earning a shiver from you despite the overwhelming heat of his body against yours.
“Missed you, too,” he whispers into the kiss.
His hands find their way to the hem of his shirt where it falls against your thighs, tugging it up automatically so that he has more access to you, and you tip your head back to give him room when he ducks down and begins to mouth enthusiastically messy kisses along the side of your neck.
“God, you’re so pretty,” he murmurs fervently into your skin.
“Peter,” you sigh contentedly when his lips find your pulse point, sparks of pleasure skittering down your spine at the first brush there, and he makes a soft, needy sound against your neck.
“Say my name like that again, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”
“Who said anything about stopping?” you demand, incredulously offended.
“You were the one threatening to kick me out of our bed for running too warm,” Peter retorts, grinning as he pulls back, and you promptly shift beneath him to roll you both over until his back hits the mattress, his eyes widening in surprise; you always love when you can get one over on him without his spider-reflexes kicking in.
“Does it feel like I want you out of our bed?” You roll your hips down against his, and he shudders as his eyes fall shut, his head falling back against the pillows.
“Nope, absolutely not. Keep doing that, please.” His voice has turned just a little breathier, his hands blindly finding your hips to guide you as you rock down against him again. “Fuck.”
When his eyes flutter back open, they are entirely pitch-black, including the sclerae.
“Pete?” You falter briefly, taken aback, and his fingers curl more tightly into your hips to squeeze you close.
“Still me,” he rasps, and you lean down experimentally, watching as, even without irises or pupils to track, his intense gaze somehow softens the moment you press your forehead to his. “Hi, beautiful,” he murmurs so warmly that you can’t mistake the man beneath you for anything but your partner; just as he said, it’s still him, void-black eyes and huskier cadence aside.
“Hi, handsome.” You kiss him tenderly, and he deepens the kiss without hesitation, licking his way into your mouth so eagerly that your hips involuntarily jerk against his as he groans into your mouth like he’s been stabbed.
“Baby.”
“Mm-hmm?” You break the kiss just enough to peck the tip of his nose sweetly, and his frustrated scowl softens into a helpless little smile that doesn’t nearly match the raw hunger in those black eyes.
“I love you.”
“Love you, too.” You let him yank his own shirt off you and toss it somewhere over your shoulder as his gaze roams appreciatively and slowly over you. “You don’t have to look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Peter’s still smiling, but it’s taken on an amused tilt now.
“Like it’s the first time you’re seeing me,” you point out. “It’s not like you’re not used to it.”
“You want me to be used to this?” Peter’s eyebrows arch on his forehead as he sits up with you, one arm winding firmly around your waist to hold you in place as his free hand slides up to palm one breast, squeezing and kneading gently until you’re trembling in his hold. “You want me to take you for granted?”
“It’s better than you looking at me like you’re scared I’m going to disappear.”
You immediately regret your flat retort as Peter’s smile vanishes entirely, his hand stilling on your breast as his dark eyes flit over your face repeatedly as if memorizing it.
“But I am.” The confession leaves him almost involuntarily, like it’s been punched out of him. “Every single day.”
Your spine meets the mattress as he flips you both over in the same smooth maneuver you’d used on him less than a minute earlier, pinning you beneath him as he drags the hard line of his arousal over the damp fabric of your underwear until you’re gasping beneath him.
“I keep wondering when I’m gonna wake up and find you gone,” he breathes as he presses a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss against your shoulder, clearly not caring how slick with sweat your skin already is. “Whether it’s because I dreamed you up in the first place, because I lost you, or because you walked away after I didn’t give you enough reasons to stay.”
“Peter-” You don’t get the chance to protest as he crushes his mouth against yours so desperately that you’re sure your lips will be bruised and swollen by morning.
“Every time I look at you like it’s the first time,” he rasps into the kiss, “I get to remind myself you’re still real, and you’re still here. So don’t you ever tell me to take you for granted again.”
He breaks the kiss to lean down and seal his mouth over your pulse point, sucking so harshly on it that a shaky moan tears out of your throat before you can stamp it down; you’re going to have a spectacular mark on your neck for at least a few days, and you pray it fades by your next work shift so you don’t have to explain why you’re wearing a high-collared shirt in the peak of summer.
“Sweetheart,” you manage to get out, “I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
Peter stills against you, his nose tucked just beneath your jawline and his lips still pressed to the hammering heartbeat of your carotid artery.
“I’m right here.” You reach up, your fingers trembling as they thread into his sweat-dampened hair. “As long as you want me to be.”
At last, Peter’s mouth twitches into a weak, relieved smile against your skin.
“What if that’s forever?”
“I’m good with that.” You can’t help but smile despite yourself even as he nips another mark just beneath the deeper one he must have made on your neck and shifts further down until his mouth finds a new home at the top of your sternum. “Pete?”
“Mm?” Peter doesn’t bother lifting his head, too focused on sucking another mark into your chest, and it’s all you can do to form words.
“I’ve never needed you to give me reasons to stay.”
Peter falters again, his fingers hitching in surprise where they’ve slid down to hook into the elastic band of your underwear, before he presses a silent kiss of acknowledgment into the valley between your breasts and then slips down the rest of the length of your body to settle between your legs.
You obediently lift your hips without needing him to ask, and he tugs off your underwear, the fabric clinging to you briefly and giving away just how desperately soaked you are already.
“All this for me?” His voice has roughened again, his eyes impossibly darker as they flick up amusedly to your rapidly warming face.
“Who else?” you bite back half-heartedly, embarrassed, and Peter’s smile only widens teasingly.
“Aww, baby,” he croons, and you think you’d be offended if he didn’t say it so sweetly as your fingers instinctively tighten in his hair.
“Peter, please-”
“Shh.” He kisses the inside of your thigh so tenderly that your eyes threaten to sting at the corners. “I know. I’ll take care of you.”
The first slow, measured lap of his tongue through your slick folds makes you arch into his mouth, your head falling back against the pillows.
“Fuck, there you are, sweet thing,” he groans at his first taste of you. “Been thinking about this all night.”
He tugs gently at your legs to guide them over his shoulders, allowing him to press even closer as his lips close over your swollen, aching clit to suck on it as a low whine tears out of your throat.
“Peter-”
The sound of his name on your lips breaks the last of his composure, and he delves down to eat you out like a man starved, moaning into your pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted as your fingers twist into his hair so tightly that you’re sure you’re hurting him, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“That’s it,” he murmurs instead, pulling back just enough to catch his breath before mouthing a messy kiss against your inner thigh. “Take what you want, baby, I’ve got you.”
You guide his mouth back onto you, grinding against his tongue desperately as heat coils in the pit of your stomach and keeps building until you come apart, shuddering as your legs tremble against either side of his head.
“There you go,” he rasps, sounding so blissfully satisfied that he may as well have come himself as he lifts his head just enough for you to see how slick his lips and chin are with your release. “Told you I’d take care of you.”
“C’mere.” You reach for him, flexing your fingers uselessly until he shifts onto his knees and nudges your jelly-like legs off his shoulders before obediently sprawling on top of you again to kiss you roughly, his tongue shoving the taste of yourself into your mouth.
He’s so hard against the curve of your thigh that it must be painful, his cock still trapped in his briefs, so you reach for his underwear to tug the waistband down.
“You want this off?” he teases when he notices what you’re doing, grinning against your lips. “You really want me that bad?”
You can’t bring yourself to pull away enough to nod, so you only kiss him harder, nipping at his lower lip as he groans into the kiss and shifts his hips just enough to kick his underwear off without pulling away from you. You let your legs wrap around his waist, digging your heels into the base of his spine to tug him down against you, and he breaks the kiss to bury his face into your shoulder and exhale harshly.
“Condom?” he grits out as if it’s taking every bit of his remaining willpower not to bury himself in you right now.
“Not yet.” Your breathless admission makes him look up at you again, his expression faltering slightly in surprise. “I want to feel you first.”
You feel a little stupid for suggesting it, but the way Peter’s entire body relaxes a little makes it entirely worth it as a tiny smile spreads across his face.
“Okay.” You nearly come on the spot a second time the moment the weeping head of his cock swipes over your cunt and catches briefly on your clit. “Like this?”
“Yeah.” You rock down just as Peter strokes himself through your slick folds again, grinding back against him. “Just like that.”
You reach down impulsively between both of you, working your clit in sharp, tight circles, and Peter’s free hand catches your wrist, squeezing it in a brief warning.
“Slow,” he insists. “We’ve got all night.”
Obediently, you slow down once he releases your wrist again, your eyes fluttering shut automatically as you trace over the delicate bundle of nerves at a practically glacial pace and memorize the sensation of Peter’s blunt cock sweeping over your pussy with each stroke of his hand.
“God, look at you,” he whispers, and when you open your eyes, you realize he’s watching you intently, his pitch-black eyes fixed on where he could so easily push into your dripping cunt right now. “So fucking pretty.” His breath hitches in his throat. “I’m so close, baby, please-”
“Me, too,” you gasp, and his free hand finds the side of your neck, cradling it delicately as his thumb traces over your jawline.
“Then come,” he orders, and you do with a broken moan, your orgasm crashing over you as your fingers slip clumsily over your own clit and your eyes squeeze shut again at the sensation. “Fuck,” Peter groans, and his release spurts over your slick fingers and pussy, trickling down your damp skin.
You only come back to yourself from the floaty haze you’re drifting in when you feel Peter’s thumb stroking the bruise he’s left on your pulse point, careful enough that it doesn’t hurt.
“You okay?” When you blink, his familiar deep brown eyes are looking back at you where black voids had been a heartbeat earlier, his eyebrows knitted together with concern; whatever spike of arachnid DNA had taken over him before seems to have ebbed now.
“Mm-hmm.” You tip your head up expectantly, and Peter takes the hint to duck down without hesitation, kissing you tenderly. “Condom now, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He pulls back, grinning, and reaches for the nightstand to fish out a foil packet and tear it open with his teeth. With credit to his enhanced stamina, he’s still hard as he rolls the condom on before guiding himself to where you’re waiting for him. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” You shift until your legs can wrap around his waist again, and he slowly presses inside, one agonizingly slow inch at a time, until he bottoms out, his forehead meeting your shoulder as he lets out a slow, measured breath through his nose.
“Fuck,” he says again weakly. “I could come just like this.”
You press your lips against his sweaty temple as his arms wind around your back, tugging you up and off the mattress so that you’re cradled firmly against him.
“Love you,” he murmurs fervently into your skin. “So much.”
“I love you, too.” You nudge his chin up to kiss him again deeply, your arms sliding around his neck as he begins to move, barely shifting his hips against yours at first as the drag of his cock through your walls threatens to overwhelm both of you before you tighten your legs around him to pull him deeper inside and his resolve breaks.
He starts to fuck you in earnest, crushing his mouth against yours desperately as one hand slides up to tangle in the hair at the back of your head loosely, his other arm vice-like around your waist as he clutches you close.
“Fuck, fuck, I love you,” he pants as he pulls away and peppers open-mouthed kisses over every inch of your face that he can reach - your forehead, your cheeks, the curve of your jaw, even the spots just below each of your ears.
“Love you, too,” you manage to get out again between each thrust of his cock back into you, twisting your head just enough to find his wrist and press your lips clumsily to the ridge of his spinneret. “I love you so much, Peter.”
He groans your name into your skin, and the familiar heat of an impending orgasm begins to pool in the pit of your stomach, twisting and building until you can barely stand it.
“Say my name again.” He thrusts into you so hard that you see stars as his cock hits a spot inside you that sends a jolt of pleasure up your spine, the mattress underneath jolting enough to knock against the wall behind you. “Baby, please, say it again.”
“Peter,” you gasp, clenching around him, and he buries his face into your neck, shuddering with a half-swallowed noise and a hitching breath as his release floods you, pleasantly warm even through the condom he’s wearing.
“Sorry,” he mumbles shakily against your skin, his chest heaving against yours. “‘M sorry, I couldn’t hold out.”
“‘S okay.” You find his temple with your mouth, kissing him there tenderly, but he’s already reaching between you to where you’re both still joined, his fingers circling your clit as his hips continue to shift against yours in unsteady, arrhythmic thrusts in the aftermath of his orgasm.
“Come on,” he urges breathlessly. “Come for me just like this. Let me get you there.”
You tip over the precipice before you even realize you’ve been brought to it, stifling a moan into his shoulder as your eyes squeeze shut.
“Oh, fuck, Peter-!”
“I know. I know, baby.” Peter’s voice has softened again as his lips press against the crook of your neck. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”
He continues to work your clit in slow, careful circles, intent on wringing your pleasure out for as long as you can stand until oversensitivity wins out, at which point you manage to regain control of your trembling hands enough to cradle his cheeks and nudge his head up to kiss him clumsily.
His face feels damp beneath your fingers, not just with sweat, and when you pull back, alarmed, you find his eyes mistier than usual.
“Sorry.” His voice comes out distinctly watery, and he clears his throat awkwardly to muffle the obvious sniffle he’s trying to hide from you as his lips twitch into a tiny, embarrassed smile. “Didn’t mean to get weepy on you.”
“Don’t apologize.” You smooth your thumbs over the obvious tear tracks on his cheeks. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” His smile softens with relief that you’re not teasing him as he tilts his head to kiss one of your palms first and then the other. “Yeah, I’m okay - just really happy. Are you okay?”
“I’ve never been happier.” You lean up to kiss him again tenderly before tipping your head up just a little further to kiss the bridge of his nose next. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Peter kisses your chin briefly before pulling back just enough to carefully ease himself out of you as you wince instinctively at the loss of him. “Sorry, sorry.” He kisses your shoulder guiltily before removing his used condom, tying it off, and throwing it into the trash can by his workstation. “We should probably clean up a little.”
“Later. C’mere.” You catch his hand and tug until he obediently flops back at your side and hauls you closer. “So I’m not great at quick math even when you haven’t scrambled my brain with amazing sex, but I’m pretty sure your apology balance is over sixty bucks by now.”
Peter huffs a wobbly laugh as he buries his face in your hair.
“Really shaking me down, aren’t you?”
“Serves you right,” you tease back, nestling your cheek against his warm shoulder.
He’s still breathing hard, as are you, and you let yourself simply lean against him, your eyes drifting shut as you match each inhale and exhale to the slowing beat of his heart.
“Hey,” he says quietly at last, breaking the comfortable, sated silence. “Did you mean what you said?”
“I said a lot of things I meant,” you mumble back as heavy drowsiness overtakes the instinctive discomfort of the stickiness between your legs. “Which part, specifically?”
“The part about not needing to give you reasons to stay.” You feel Peter press a kiss against the crown of your head.
“Mm-hmm.” You shift just enough to kiss the hollow of his throat. “I’m in it for the long haul with you, Pete. I’ll wait for you every night that I have to, no matter how late it gets.” You find the divot of his hip, tracing a circle there. “And I’m not going to leave. You don’t ever have to be scared of that.”
Peter lets out a soft breath, tightening his hold to squeeze you close as if he’s still afraid of it all the same.
“Okay,” he murmurs, and you know that one conversation isn’t enough to chase away those ghosts in his head, but it’s at least a start. “Quick cold shower before we sleep?”
“That requires moving,” you complain good-naturedly. “And my legs don’t work anymore - your fault.”
“Yeah?” Peter sounds far too pleased with himself, and you pinch his hip in retaliation, making him laugh as he gathers you close and sits up with you. “Okay, okay.” He kisses your forehead fondly. “What if I carried you?”
“I could be convinced,” you relent, grinning broadly when he seals his mouth over yours and scoops you up in one smooth movement to carry you across the apartment to get cleaned up.