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Peter stumbled into the rusty boat's cabin, coughing behind his mask as he almost tripped on the stairs. With his vision blurry and head spinning, he had to squint hard to see where he was going.
He hadn't really even realized he'd come to Frank's place until he was already there. His feet had just taken him where they wanted, and that happened to be Frank's residence, if you could even call it that.
"Kid, what the hell?" Frank's voice startled his senses, way too loud and way too sudden. Peter took a step back, ready to flee, but he was in no condition to run off now. Making it here had taken so much out of him that—after realizing the man pointing a gun at him was Frank—he just fell to the floor with a groan.
"Jesus, are you alright?" Frank's tone softened a little, and he dropped his gun on the desk before moving over to Peter. Peter just let out a groan and shook his head, pointing at his side where blood was seeping through his ripped suit.
"You really can't keep yourself out of trouble, huh?" Frank sighed as he slipped a hand under Peter's to help him up and to the bed. Peter stumbled to his feet, groaning at the sharp pain on his side and in his muscles. He'd run the whole way here, which he wasn't used to doing, so his legs hurt like hell. He was so tired.
Frank had to basically drag him to the bed, and as soon as Peter's back hit the mattress, his eyes fluttered shut too. He wanted to sleep so badly. But before he could do that, there was a sudden pain on his cheek; Frank had slapped him.
"Stay awake, and take that mask off so I can make sure you stay conscious."
Peter shook his head. "Can't."
"For fuck's sake," Frank groaned, and even though Peter wasn't looking at him, he was sure he'd rolled his eyes. "I've seen your face already."
"I know, but what if someone comes over?"
"Kid, who the fuck would be coming over? You're the only one who keeps showing up uninvited."
Frank was right, probably. Peter had never seen anyone else at Frank's place. The guy could really use more friends, but so did Peter. He sighed and hesitantly pulled his mask off, grimacing at the sudden cold air on his face. His face felt a little wet.
"You've been coughing up blood, and you were going to just keep all of that in your mask? Fucking hell, kid," Frank shook his head as he studied Peter's face, his gaze lingering for just a beat too long. Peter noticed, but he wasn't in the condition to bring it up.
They both fell silent after that as Frank gathered up some medical supplies and started treating Peter's wounds. At one point, Peter's suit had to come off down to his hips, since Frank insisted he couldn't work on the wound on his side with the suit in the way. Peter didn't really put up a fight about it, even though he wasn't thrilled to be half-naked in front of Frank.
Frank was oddly gentle with him as he worked, more so than usual. He'd patched Peter up plenty of times, and he was always quite rough with it, but today, it was almost as if he was being careful. Peter didn't mind it, though; even if it was odd, his hands felt nice and warm against Peter's skin.
"D'you lose your web bullshit or something?" Frank said while bandaging Peter's torso. His eyes had landed on the sleeves of Peter's suit, which were missing the web-shooters that were usually there.
Peter sighed and shook his head. He didn't really want to talk about it, and he knew Frank wasn't particularly interested either; he was just making conversation so that Peter would stay conscious.
"You were fighting without them?" Frank raised an eyebrow. It sounded like a joke, the way he said it; probably was. Peter would be a dumbass to fight without his web-shooters.
"Yeah."
Frank blinked at him once, twice. "You trying to get yourself killed? Why the hell would you do that?"
He was being loud again; it really fucking hurt Peter's head. His senses had been on high alert the whole day, but that wasn't his biggest problem today. He thought he'd gotten the hang of using his own webs by now. There had been no problems for months until today; it was like his spinnerets had just suddenly decided not to listen to him.
That was why he didn't have his web-shooters with him, because he hadn't needed them in months. They were lying in a box under his desk at home, probably covered in dust.
"Are you done with the bandage? I'm getting a bit cold here, man," Peter asked, avoiding Frank's questions entirely. Frank stood up from the bed, which was response enough for Peter. He pulled his suit back on, but decided to keep his face exposed. There was no need to hide it from Frank now.
"Seriously, kid, you can't be out there without those things," Frank continued the topic as he began cleaning up the supplies he'd scattered around while patching Peter up.
"I was fine until these stopped working," Peter said with a frustrated sigh, showing Frank the little holes in his suit right above where the holes on his wrists were.
Frank moved closer, squinting to see better. His face went through a multitude of emotions, but the one that stayed was confusion. Peter knew that feeling all too well.
"What the hell are those?"
"They're where I shoot my webs from now. Well, were until they decided not to do it anymore, I guess."
"You get more freaky every time I see you." Frank straightened up and shook his head, mumbling something to himself about not knowing a single normal human. It wasn't meant for Peter to hear, but of course he did.
"Can I sleep now? I'm really fucking tired," Peter asked then, dropping his head back against the pillow. Frank glared at him and then sighed, apparently deciding that shooing Peter out of his home wasn't worth his energy.
"Don't expect there to be breakfast when you wake up. This ain't a hotel," Frank said and then walked out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.
Peter smiled to himself and then closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh. He'd figure out what was wrong with his spinnerets when he woke up, but now all he wanted to do was rest.
Peter stirred awake to the sound of a heavy door closing somewhere nearby. He hadn't sensed any danger, so he took his time opening his eyes. Panic rose in his chest as a sharp pain suddenly shot up his body, but before he could spring up and prepare himself to fight, he remembered the wound on his side.
Right, he was still healing, at Frank's place. There was no danger here, apart from Frank's low temper. Peter sighed in relief and relaxed again, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"G'morning, sleepyhead," Frank's voice came from somewhere behind Peter. He turned around in bed and quickly found Frank, sat at the desk that was directly behind the head of the bed.
"How long was I asleep?" Peter asked with a yawn, still a little tired.
"A few hours, maybe. There's beans in the kitchen if you're hungry," Frank said without diverting his gaze from whatever he was looking at on the computer.
"Thought there wouldn't be breakfast?" Peter grinned as he got out of bed, grimacing at the pain that seemed to worsen every time he moved.
"It's just my leftovers." Frank seemed annoyed that Peter was distracting him, so Peter just smiled to himself and slipped into the kitchen.
He glared at the can of beans on the table, along with an empty plate that Frank had seemingly used to eat his portion. Peter had never seen him use a plate unless he was planning to share his food.
"Not a hotel he says," Peter mumbled to himself with a smile while grabbing a spoon and plate from the cabinets. He wasn't the biggest fan of beans, especially the kind that had already gotten a bit cold, but he was starving.
Frank's kitchen was a mess like the rest of his place, but it was oddly comforting. Peter wasn't a neat freak either, but his own mess only stressed him out at home. Here, none of the scattered items felt out of place, no matter how messily they seemed to be placed.
Somehow the place was in perfect order while also looking like a bomb had gone off in it. It was impressive how Frank seemingly knew where everything was without having to think about it twice. Peter, on the other hand, would end up looking for something he needed for hours in his mess of an apartment.
Peter ran a hand through his hair as he grimaced at the taste of cold beans in his mouth. He glared at the holes on his wrists, cursing at them internally. He aimed at an empty wall and tried to shoot some web at it, but nothing came out. It just felt like a dull pressure in his wrists.
"Fuck me," Peter sighed, defeated. He'd have to go back to using his web-shooters, but then if his spinnerets began working again, it could cause issues in the middle of a fight. No, he wouldn't give up on his own body again so soon. Not when he'd finally accepted all the changes.
He'd go back home, research possible causes, do some tests, and figure out a way to get his body to produce silk again.
The door next to him opened, snapping him out of his thoughts. Frank stepped out and glanced at Peter before grabbing his plate off the table and bringing it to the sink.
"How you feeling, kid?" He asked while searching one of the upper cabinets for something. Maybe he didn't know where everything was after all.
"Fine, hurts a bit, but it's nothing I haven't gone through before," Peter replied before shoving the last spoonful of beans into his mouth. He was still hungry, and the beans weren't good, but at least his stomach wasn't yelling at him anymore.
"What about your…," Frank was clearly lost on the word. He closed the cabinet door and mimicked the way Peter would shoot his webs.
"Oh, my spinnerets? Still nothing," Peter frowned, looking down at his wrists.
Frank walked over and sat in his chair, grabbing Peter's hand without warning. Peter reflexively pulled away, but when Frank glared up at him, he just sighed and offered his hand back to him.
"Looks weird," Frank stated as he studied the unnatural protrusion on Peter's wrist. This was weird; Frank was being weird. Peter swallowed and tried to convince himself that nothing out of the ordinary was happening right now.
"Why are you—," Peter began asking, but never finished his sentence. He didn't know what he was going to say. Why are you so interested? That was stupid. Frank was a human like everyone else; of course, he was interested. Why are you touching me? That was weird, really fucking weird, weirder than Frank touching him.
Frank glanced up at him and shrugged, as if he knew exactly what Peter was asking. Which he couldn't, obviously, since Peter didn't know either.
"Maybe they're like, clogged?" Frank said then, running a thumb over the spinneret. Peter froze, a shiver running up his spine. He pulled his arm away from Frank quickly, holding it with his other hand like it was hurt.
"Don't do that," Peter mumbled, biting his lip as he ran his own thumb over his wrist. It didn't feel like anything, just a small pressure like always. But when Frank had touched it… jesus, Peter was going insane.
"Shit, didn't know they were that sensitive." Frank raised his hands up like he was surrendering to a cop or something. It made Peter snort out a laugh. He shook his head and sighed right after.
"They're not… sensitive, or, like, it didn't hurt, but it just," Peter stumbled over his words embarrassingly. He could feel his cheeks redden; damn, he really should've pulled his mask back on.
Frank stared at him for a moment, confusion clear on his face, and then he brought his hand up to his face. He was scratching his beard stubble, but it almost seemed like he was trying to hide something, the way his hand was perfectly covering his mouth.
It was a shame the guy was impossible to read from his eyes alone.
Peter looked down at his wrists again, and then remembered what Frank had said just before Peter had freaked out. Maybe they're clogged. Peter hadn't even considered that; he didn't know that could happen. But maybe that was exactly what was going on. He didn't have many other ideas.
"You might be right." Peter nodded, looking back up at Frank, who was now donning the same emotionless look on his face as always.
"About?"
"Them being clogged. I think I sorta remember reading about it somewhere once, before I got these, that the spinnerets sometimes get clogged."
Frank perked up at that, lifting his gaze from the table to Peter. "Yeah?"
Peter nodded again. "Can I use your computer for a sec?"
"Go ahead." Frank motioned to the bedroom. Peter immediately sprang up and headed to the computer, opening a new tab without even glancing at what Frank had been doing before.
He typed swiftly, a fire lit in him at the realization that he might be close to solving his issue. He looked through articles, blogs, forums, and noted down each bit of knowledge mentally.
"You find anything?" Frank's voice startled Peter, almost knocking him off the chair. He gathered himself and then pointed at the screen filled with text.
"Yea! Says it's actually pretty normal, apparently. Usually, if it's a pet spider, the owner would massage the spinneret with a Q-tip or something soft until the clog clears!"
"So, you just gotta, what, massage them until the web shit starts coming out again?"
"Think so, worth a shot anyway. Do you mind if I do it here? Easier to get home if I can swing again."
Frank groaned and shrugged, "Just don't get that shit all over my place. Now let me back on the computer."
Peter shot up and moved over to the bed, sitting at the edge with one hand holding his other wrist. He heard Frank sit back down in the chair, but he had better things to do than wonder what was so important that he had to shoo Peter away.
Peter brought his thumb over the spinneret and began massaging slowly. He was gentle at first, not sure how much pressure it could take before it broke. He felt the same pressure as always, no matter how hard or soft he pressed down. It didn't really feel like anything was changing.
He switched to his other wrist, but it felt the exact same.
"How long is this supposed to take?" He groaned, flopping down on the bed.
"Maybe you should try a Q-tip," Frank joked dryly from where he was sitting, still focused on the computer screen.
"Ha. Ha." Peter rolled his eyes. He thought back to what he'd read, but the only other option he'd seen was to use tweezers to pull out whatever was clogging them. Hell no, that was not happening. Peter was not poking his insides with a pair of tweezers unless it was to take a bullet out.
He looked over at Frank, and to his surprise, was met with a pair of eyes staring right back at him. Peter raised an eyebrow, but Frank just shook his head, mumbled a never mind, and went back to staring at the screen.
"What?" Peter turned so he was lying on his stomach, looking at Frank quizzically.
"Nothing, forget it."
"No, you came up with something, didn't you? C'mon, Frank, help me out here." Peter knew insisting rarely gave results when it came to Frank, but he was getting desperate, and if Frank really had an idea, then Peter wanted to try it.
"You'll hate it, and so will I."
Peter groaned and got off the bed. He walked the short distance to Frank and leaned against the table so he could partially block Frank's view of the monitor he seemed so infatuated with.
Frank leaned back in his chair and glared up at Peter, his brows furrowed and arms crossed.
"Tell me."
"No."
Peter squinted at Frank, determined. What the hell was Frank thinking? Why was he suddenly so against helping Peter with this?
"You're not going to give up, are you, kid?" Frank asked with a sigh after a moment of them just staring at each other. Peter shook his head and watched as Frank closed his eyes for a moment before opening his mouth again.
"Fine, but you don't get to back out this time," Frank said before pushing his chair far enough away that he could get up without Peter in his way. He walked into the kitchen without another word and sat down in his chair.
Peter stood still for a moment. What did he mean by this time? Whatever, Frank was going to tell him his idea. Peter had won; that's what mattered. He moved into the kitchen and sat on the bench opposite Frank.
"Gimme your hands." Frank put his own down on the table, an inviting gesture. Peter looked down at them, hesitant, and then stretched his hands outward to Frank. He was still wearing his suit, of course, but the holes in the fabric had stretched out while he was trying to massage the silk out, so his spinnerets were fairly exposed.
"So what's your pla—," Peter's own gasp cut him off as Frank took hold of his wrists and placed his thumbs over the spinnerets. He pulled away at first, but Frank tugged hard at his arms and glared up at him.
"I told you, no backing out, kid."
Peter swallowed hard and bit down on his lip as Frank began moving his thumbs in slow circles, similar to the way he'd been working them himself. But Frank's touch felt entirely different.
It wasn't painful, but it wasn't pleasure either, not really. It just felt sensitive, a little ticklish, and entirely too intimate. That familiar shiver ran up his spine again, freezing him in place as Frank pressed down a little harder.
"I don't," Peter choked on his own spit, "I don't think… this is gonna work."
"No? So it felt like this when you were doing it yourself?" Frank asked, his eyes never leaving Peter's wrists. It was a blessing in disguise; Peter wasn't sure if he could look the guy in his eye right now.
"N-no," Peter admitted, feeling his cheeks begin to heat up again. This was so embarrassing, but he'd be lying if he said he was a hundred percent sure this would not work. It definitely felt like something was happening in his wrists. But whether that was going to bring his silk back or not was still unclear.
"Then quit your whining, and let me help you," Frank groaned, changing up the speed of his movements and the angle of his thumbs. Peter's fingers twitched involuntarily, the way they did whenever he sensed danger. But this wasn't that; Frank wasn't hurting him, there was nothing to fear, and yet, Peter felt terrified.
Frank's thumbs worked almost expertly, putting down just enough pressure that Peter could really feel it, but never too much for it to hurt. Peter wondered if Frank was observing his reactions, if he even could do that as well as he'd have to in order to know just what to do.
"You're sweating," Frank said without looking up, and when Peter looked down at his hands, he realized they were all clammy, and so were his back and forehead. Maybe they should stop this.
"Maybe we should–"
"Shush, I can feel something happening."
"You can?" Whatever Frank was feeling hadn't reached Peter's senses yet. It still felt like that odd pressure that bordered between pain and pleasure but wasn't quite either.
Frank simply nodded and moved his thumbs again, pressing down on something in Peter's wrists. He wasn't the most trustworthy person, but Peter was going to trust him anyway, because he was kind of out of options.
"I can't feel anything different; it's just… weird pressure. Never felt like this before," Peter mumbled, biting his lip again as another jolt of shivers ran up his body. He felt like he was high, or something, like nothing around him was real apart from the pressure in his wrists.
"Hm," Frank hummed, and then pressed down harder than before. Peter couldn't stop the moan before it slipped through his lips. It just felt so… good. It felt good; the more pressure Frank put on, the better it felt. And Peter wanted more, so badly.
His more sensible thoughts took control, though, and he quickly pulled one hand away to slap it over his mouth, head hanging down to hide his blush and avoid Frank's gaze. He pulled his other hand away too, holding it to his chest.
Frank had gone quiet, which Peter hated. Why couldn't he just say something? This was way too awkward. Peter should leave. Why wasn't he getting up? What the fuck was wrong with him?
"I should–," Peter began, but the last word didn't come out. Something was stirring in his gut, something he prayed he could just ignore, but fate had never been all that kind to him. That stirring inside kept Peter firmly in place, and slowly, he dropped his hands back on the table, gaze still on the floor.
"You want it that bad, huh?" Peter wasn't looking at him, but he could hear Frank's grin. It made his head a little dizzy. He knew logically what was happening in his body, but he didn't know why. Never mind how different it felt from his usual arousal.
This was different, so, so very different. A craving, perhaps. That was the best way he could describe it. Maybe it was some spider-hormone thing again; maybe it was something entirely unrelated. Whatever the cause was, this level of need was dangerous. He couldn't cross this line with Frank, and yet, he made no attempt to pull his hands away as Frank's fingers took hold of them again.
Peter had assumed, ever since they'd met, that Frank would never want something like this. That was why he'd never let himself entertain the greedy, lustful thoughts that would sometimes pop up when he thought of Frank. He'd always just chalked it up to some hormonal spider reaction to Frank's presence, or something. Neither of them should want this, and yet, here they were.
Frank pressed his thumbs back on Peter's wrists, massaging the spinnerets with a lot more force now. Peter dropped his head back, eyes fluttering shut as the waves of pleasure coursed through his body. He felt it in his fingers first, then his arms, then his chest, then it rushed down to his crotch, and right back up into his head. It was fucking insane.
"F-Frank… I don't think I can…," Peter tried to speak through the gasps and held back moans. He wanted to warn Frank that whatever craving was spooling up inside him would be difficult to control. He had to warn him.
Frank, maybe sensing Peter's anxiety, gently lifted his thumbs off Peter's wrists, giving him a chance to catch his breath and gather his words.
"Too much?"
"No, I just… don't think I can control myself if we keep going," Peter said very, very quietly. This was so humiliating. He really should just leave while he still could.
"And you think I can't handle one spider boy?" Frank cocked his head to the side, a playful tone in his voice. He really needed to stop calling Peter those things. Kid, boy, etcetera. It wasn't helping.
"I didn't think you'd wanna do any of this."
Frank sighed and leaned back in his chair, shrugging. "That's just what I wanted you to think, kid."
"Well," Peter gathered up all the bravery he had left, "I want you to handle me, Frank."
"Careful what you wish for, daffodil," Frank winked, his gaze falling to where Peter was hugging his arms against his body. Peter got the hint and slowly lowered his shaky hands back on the table. It felt a little silly to do it like this, a bit too medical, but Frank's house, Frank's rules, he supposed.
The moment Frank's thumbs brushed over Peter's wrists again, a small moan slipped past his lips. He let it this time, allowing whatever urges were stirring in his gut to slowly surface. Frank was okay with this, and knowing that freed Peter from most of the doubts that had been plaguing him.
Peter squirmed in his seat as Frank pressed down harder, the electric pleasure filling up his whole body. Whatever heaven felt like, this had to be miles better. He let the moans spill out, high-pitched and embarrassing, but Peter didn't want to think about that anymore.
"You gonna come for me like this, kiddo?" Frank asked, punctuating his question with a harder press right against the seemingly most sensitive spot on Peter's wrist.
"Fuck, shut up, don't say that," Peter huffed through heavy breaths, his face burning with how red it must've been. He was really close, and pretty sure he could come like this, but Frank didn't have to talk about it.
"Say what? Kiddo?" Frank laughed when Peter nodded. "See, I think you like it, though. You're pretty easy to read, kid."
Peter shivered at the way Frank's voice lowered. He felt like he was on fire with how turned on he was. His dick throbbed in the confines of his suit, embarrassingly hard and sensitive. And Peter just craved more.
"Harder, Frank, please," he whined, pushing his wrists up, chasing the nauseating pleasure.
"Hm," Frank hummed, and instead of listening to Peter's wishes, he did the exact opposite and lifted his thumbs fully off of Peter's spinnerets.
"You close, sunshine?" Frank asked with a small smirk at the edge of his lips. Peter groaned and nodded; he was so close it hurt. The hunger in his body was growing by the second, and it was becoming a lot harder to resist. But Peter would not hurt Frank.
"Please, I can't- please, Frank." Peter looked up into Frank's eyes for the first time since they started whatever this was. Frank was staring right back, his pupils dilated and entirely focused on Peter.
Frank wordlessly placed his thumbs back on Peter's wrists, pressing down lightly. Not nearly as hard as Peter needed it right now. This was so fucked, Peter was aware of that, but he was so close, and his consciousness was dangerously close to slipping, so this being fucked was the least of his worries.
"You're beautiful when you beg for it, but we really need to do something about that attitude of yours," Frank said as he pressed down hard, so hard that it teetered on painful.
The pleasure coursed through Peter's whole body, sending shockwave after shockwave through it as he came inside his suit. His head fell back as his eyes fluttered shut, laboured breaths leaving his mouth.
There was something else too, a weird, new heat where his spinnerets were, but he wasn't quite ready to open his eyes and meet Frank's face yet.
"Jesus," Frank laughed a little. He sounded surprised, which was a little odd. Was he expecting Peter not to come? Did he make some weird sound he hadn't registered?
Curiosity got the better of him, and so Peter opened his eyes and looked over at Frank. A quiet gasp came out of his mouth when he saw what Frank had most likely been so surprised about.
There was webbing everywhere. Most of it was all over Frank's hands, some on the table, some even on Frank's clothes. And it was all still attached to Peter's wrists, tiny bursts of it still coming out like aftershocks.
This was way more embarrassing than having Frank make him come.
And so, so fucking hot. Peter's dick twitched, spent but apparently ready for round two already. The sight of Frank covered in his webs was… intoxicating. He was stretching his fingers experimentally, watching with such intrigue how the silk moved and wrapped around his hands. Peter wanted to devour him.
"We should-," Frank paused when he looked up from his hands. "Kid, you alright?"
"Want you," Peter bit his lip, eyes tracing Frank's frame. His wrists twitched as the silk finally stopped pooling out, but Peter had forgotten about his spinneret problem a while ago.
"Listen, kid," Frank laughed awkwardly. "Maybe we should take this slow."
Peter shook his head and wrapped his fingers around some of the webbing that was tangled between them. He pulled on it, a smile forming on his lips as Frank was tugged forward, a surprised gasp leaving him.
"Enough." Frank's tone lowered, and he yanked back, pulling Peter's unprepared body over the table until his chest was against it and his face dangerously close to Frank.
Frank grabbed a tight hold of Peter's jaw, squeezing until it hurt. The pain sent waves of pleasure down to his crotch. Everything just felt so good; Peter had never experienced something like this before.
He just stared at Peter, studying his face. Peter gazed up into Frank's eyes, hungry and desperate. His senses were wholly locked in on Frank; not a single noise outside of the ones Frank was making was reaching his ears now. All he could smell was Frank's sweat and whatever shampoo he used.
And all he wanted was to touch Frank. His chest, his arms, face, hair, fingers, thighs, and his cock. God, Peter was fully hard again already. It hurt a little, but that didn't matter; he'd get Frank to make him come again as many times as he needed.
"Please, Frank, please fuck me," Peter mumbled through his squished cheeks. He kept his eyes firmly on Frank's now, all the previous embarrassment gone to make way for the all-consuming desperation.
"Kid," Frank sighed, looking up at the ceiling, "That isn't happening. Not yet, anyway."
"Please, it hurts, Frank," Peter pouted. Frank was being an idiot. It was clear they both wanted it, so what the hell was his problem?
"Could be actually killing you, and it's still a no. You look drugged, man; your eyes look fucking crazy right now." Frank paused, seemingly considering if he wanted to go on. "And as hot as that is, I don't think you're all there, and I'm not going to take advantage of that, alright?"
"You're not doing that," Peter groaned. "I want this, please. And… and if I decide after that I didn't, then it isn't your fault, and I won't blame you."
Frank shook his head and pushed himself away from Peter, shaking the webbing off of his hands. "Go home, kid. We fixed your web bullshit for a reason."
Peter straightened up, got off the bench, and stood still with his arms crossed, pouting at Frank, who'd also gotten up now.
"Seriously. We can discuss doing this when you're… when your eyes don't fucking look like that, but right now you gotta go home."
"I thought you were gonna handle me, Frank. What happened to that?" Peter took a step closer, smirking at the way Frank stiffened. He was scared; Peter was scaring him. It was oddly arousing to think about.
"Don't tell me you didn't get hard from doing that to me; at least let me return the favor," Peter continued as he slowly approached Frank's frozen frame. He dropped his eyes to Frank's crotch, an obvious outline of an erection staring back at him.
"I can take care of myself just fine. Kid, you have to go home."
"No." Peter stopped dead in his tracks, eyes intense as he stared Frank down. He knew Frank wanted this; really, he was just holding back because he didn't want to hurt Peter. All Peter had to do was convince him that he wanted this too. Even if he felt a little out of it and distant, he still wanted Frank.
Frank sighed and looked down at his feet. He was finally giving up. Peter grinned and took another step closer, and another, until he could reach out to touch Frank's arm.
"Sorry, kid. Don't really have a choice here." Frank's words made no sense. What was he sorry for? Peter was going to ask, but before he got the words out, something heavy and blunt hit his head, and his vision blurred as his legs began to give out. He clung to Frank's shirt as the rest of his vision blacked out, and with it, so did his consciousness.
Frank sighed heavily as he laid the kid's body down on his bed. He sat down at the end of it, scanning the apartment he very rarely set foot in. For a superhero, the guy's apartment was awfully regular. And messy.
"This fucking guy," Frank muttered to himself and stood up, deciding to wait around for the kid to wake up. He probably shouldn't, and hadn't intended to at first, but maybe it was time to stop running away from this. Whatever this was between them.
It was fucked, but they'd crossed a line. Frank had crossed a line. A line that they couldn't just ignore. He'd just had enough of holding back, and seemingly so had Peter. Frank had noticed the lingering touches and gazes a while back, but he hadn't said anything.
Peter probably had noticed Frank's change in behaviour too; it wasn't like he was exactly trying to hide it. Well, he was, but not from Peter. Frank had been hiding it from himself, convincing himself that they were normal, because, well, he had to.
But now none of that mattered, because they'd crossed the one line Frank had promised himself that he would not cross. It was fun, sure, watching Peter come from so little was fucking intoxicating, but it was also wrong.
And then he'd begged Frank to fuck him right after, with these impossibly black eyes that were, honestly, terrifying. Also kind of hot, but mostly terrifying. Frank had seen a lot of terrifying shit in his life, but those void-like eyes gazing up at him with so much desire in them were close to taking the cake.
Frank had wanted to give in more than anything, to just give Peter what he was begging for, but he couldn't. He wasn't like that; he wouldn't have their first time be clouded by whatever arachnid bullshit was going on with Peter. Both of them had to be sober and aware, and then Frank would give the kid anything he asked for and more.
He watched as Peter stirred in bed, still asleep but clearly agitated. Frank pulled the red mask out of his pocket and placed it on the small desk next to the bed. Why did every masked vigilante in New York have to wind up in his hands? And why did all of them have to look so infuriatingly beautiful?
He looked down at the sleeping boy. He seemed so soft like this, so innocent. Frank shook his head and looked away. The thoughts that ran through his mind when he saw Peter like this were wrong, far too wrong, but his dick twitched at them nonetheless. If Peter let him, Frank would devour him whole, but it had to be Peter's decision no matter how much Frank wanted to give in.
He sighed and sat down in Peter's office chair, leaning against the backrest. He really should just leave, but he wouldn't, not this time. They had a lot of talking to do.