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Peter has been thrown into his fair share of bodies of water. Normally he has his phone tucked safely away into his suit if he plans on being near a shoreline. But he’s never thought to account for rooftop pools.
Probably because he hasn’t ever visited a rooftop pool.
Peter doesn’t have time to react to the tingle at the base of his skull because he fumbles to try and put his phone away. Another body collides with him before he can manage to tuck his phone in a safe space and Peter can hear a lot of screaming and splashing followed by the smack of water on his back, which…ouch.
There’s another body on top of him in the water and he pushes back against it before kicking his way to the surface. The other body rouses and grabs at his ankle, trying to drag him back down. Peter kicks as hard as he can, which isn't very hard since he’s underwater, but he manages to land a foot in the face of his attacker. He swims to the surface, his suit feeling distressingly tight as it clings to even more than usual with its now damp material. He’s reminded viscerally of the time he fell into the Hudson while fighting the Vulture. At least this time he wasn’t tangled up in a parachute he hadn’t even known existed, but was nevertheless grateful for. He climbs out of the pool and sees his phone laying in a small pool of water a few feet away by a lounge chair with a cracked screen.
Awesome. Perfect. There’s a tickle across his skin and he sighs and whips around just in time to dodge a fist flying in his direction.
Peter hates that MJ was right about texting and swinging, but he’ll have to pout about it later.
He hears a splash and a hand wraps around his ankle again, but the water isn’t on the attacker's side this time to help pull Peter down. He spins around and shoots a web right at the person’s face as he shouts, “Who even are you man?!”
“I am The Raven!” The guy screeches..
Peter takes in his black outfit and the black wings on his back and ok, that tracks, but seriously? The Raven. Also, what are the odds that both times Peter’s been dropped into a body of water it was because of a bird themed villain?
“For Lenore!” The Raven shouts again and jumps into the air, his wings flapping as he lunges at Peter. The rooftop was mostly empty now as everyone had disappeared inside to avoid getting knocked over or knocked off of the roof. It makes Peter’s job easier. He webs a nearby lounge chair from behind him and yanks it forward, lifting it high enough off the ground for it to collide dead on with The Raven. It smacks the villain in the chest and sends him backwards. The Raven lands on the ground and before he can get up Peter is on him, using his web shooters to web up the villain.
The Raven is struggling against the webs and the fake beak on his face has gone askew. Peter crouches down and looks at him, gestures to the costume. “Is this an Edgar Allan Poe thing?”
“Squawk!”
The lenses on Peter’s mask narrow in tandem with his eyes. “Did you just…squawk at me?”
“Squawk! For Lenore!”
Peter isn’t sure if this is some sort of elaborate joke or if this guy is serious, but he hears sirens in the distance so it's not his problem anymore anyway. He turns and webs his phone over to him, tucking it into his suit.
“Have fun in jail buddy!” He turns and takes a running leap off the building. He waves a police officer down on the street as he unleashes some webbing from the shooter on his right wrist. The material catches on the side of a nearby building and Peter wraps his hands around the other end, snapping the web to cut it off. He swings through the air, the setting sun in the distance creating a soft orange and pink glow in the sky.
Peter lands in his room with a soft thud. He pulls his mask and takes a deep breath of dry air. He yanks off his gloves and pulls his phone from his suit. The screen is cracked and there are droplets of water under the screen and on top of it. He turns around and grabs the edge of his bed sheet and dabs at the phone.
When he tries to open his messaging app, music starts playing. He sighs, chest and shoulders deflating in defeat. He tries to pause or stop the music but all he gets for his efforts is the music app skipping to the next song on the playlist. The button he needs to turn the phone off is missing so he settles for turning down the volume with the buttons on the side and is grateful when that’s a success. He sets the phone down on his night stand.
Peter stretches then shuffles to the bathroom for a quick shower so his hair will stop smelling like salt water from the rooftop pool. He turns the knob on the faucet until water starts spraying out of the shower head. While he waits for the water to warm up he peels off his spider suit.
He drops the wet suit on the floor with a thud before thinking better of it and tossing it over the empty towel rack in the bathroom and giving Karen to run the cleaning protocol. When he finally steps into the shower, the spray of water feels wonderful against his aching muscles and relieves the scent of salt and sweat. When he’s done, the bathroom mirror is fogged up and Peter feels like a new person. He wraps a towel around his waist and heads back to his bedroom. He closes the door behind him and pulls a pair of pajama pants from his dresser. He drops the towel, slips into the pants, and climbs into bed.
Peter tries to fall asleep but he can’t shake the adrenaline coursing through him. He looks down at the pants he pulled from his dresser. They’re the hello kitty pants that Mr. Stark gave him that time he took the spider suit away from Peter. That memory feels like it was forever ago, but Peter’s only just eighteen and 4 years, give or take, isn’t all that long. He slips his hand past the top of the pants and grips his cock. He bites his lip to suppress a moan as he lazily begins to stroke himself. Jerking off always helps him sleep so he might as well give it a try. Besides, he’s got Mr. Stark on the brain now and that always leads down a certain road anyway.
He pulls his favorite fantasy to the forefront of his mind.
Look at you kid, best thing I’ve ever seen.
“Mr. Stark,” Peter moans.
His eyes are closed as he strokes himself, thumb swiping over his cockhead with each upward stroke. He doesn’t see the flash of light on his cell phone as the phone registers a voice command and the screen shifts from lock screen to call screen.
He slips his pants off and digs around in his nightstand until he finds the lube bottle and pours a generous amount into his hand before returning it to his erection. The stroke is smoother and faster now and his hips leave the bed as they roll up, fucking himself into his grip.
He settles himself on his knees and lets his other hand slide across his body. With his eyes closed he can pretend it's Mr. Stark that is touching him, brushing fingers against Peter’s nipples and tender sides. His favorite fantasy comes next, the one where he imagines Mr. Stark’s hand traveling down between his legs and pressing the tip of a finger against Peter’s puckered rim.
Tell me what you want Peter.
“I want you to fuck me, Mr. Stark, please-I-” Peter once discovered that his orgasms are better when he lets himself really dive into the fantasy. With every word that falls from his own mouth he feels a jolt of pleasure vibrate under his skin.
Well, if you insist, kid.
He presses a finger past the outer muscle of his rim, up to his first knuckle and he lets out a moan.
“Yes! Just like that Mr. Stark.”
Peter fucks himself with his finger while his other hand moves along his cock. He’s not in any hurry, but thinking about Mr. Stark means he won’t last long anyway. So he does what he can to prolong the pleasure. All other sounds are overrun by the heavy panting of his own breaths and the sounds of his hands working to earn him an orgasm.
Peter moans, “Oh, Mr. Stark, you feel so good.”
Peter only makes it two fingers deep in his ass before his orgasm is punching him in the gut and he’s coming all over his sheets. He whimpers and massages against his prostate as he continues to stroke his erection which makes his orgasm feel like it's flooding his bloodstream with fire as his cock continues to drool. His whole body feels hot and loose.
He keeps touching himself until it's too much for his senses, until his body feels like a live wire, and the sheets beneath him feel like sandpaper. He pulls his hands away from his lower body, lets his back drop against the bed, and settles his hands on his chest
Peter takes a few moments to steady his breathing. His body feels like it's floating as he stares at the ceiling. Then he reaches over and grabs some tissues from his nightstand. He wipes his hands and chest off before tossing the tissues in his small trash can on the other side of his nightstand.
He rolls off his bed, slips back into the hello kitty pajama pants, and tugs the sheets off his bed, bundling them up into a ball in his hands. He turns to toss them in his laundry basket and his eyes catch the light on the screen of his broken phone. His stomach drops and rolls in on itself.
“Oh no, no, no, no-”
The screen shows an ongoing call with Mr. Stark. Peter slams his thumb down repeatedly on the end call button. On the fifth press of his thumb to the screen the call ends and his homescreen is looking back up at him.
Peter’s hand is shaking as he holds the phone in his hand. He shouts and jumps when the phone buzzes in his hand. His screen shows a text notification from Mr. Stark.
Hey kid, should we talk about what just happened?
Peter decides to ignore the text. His phone’s broken anyway and he’s not sure he’ll be able to respond even if he wanted to. Instead he drops the phone to the ground and stomps on it until it’s broken and the screen is black. He picks up the phone - pieces dangling by their connected wires- and tosses them in the top drawer of his nightstand.
He lays in bed after, the lights off and his eyes closed. He hopes that if he pretends hard enough, his body will be tricked into falling asleep.
Any chance of that is swept away when there’s a knock at his window.