Imagines//Tom Holland\Peter Parker//Short Storys

Unsubtle

warnings ✎ masturbation, dom/sub, nipple play, overstimulation, squirting, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, peter parker doesn't just have bde he has a big dick, handjob, voice kink, grinding, cowgirl, multiple orgasms

summary ✎ on a mission with the avengers, the team unexpectedly crashes at a motel and you get stuck sharing a bed with peter, who you can't stand. to make matters worse, you're ovulating and can't sleep without touching yourself.

You were in hell.

No, really. You weren't much of a religious woman but right now, you felt like there was some deity out there who had decided to curse you with the worst luck possible. Here you were, doing a good deed by helping free people being held hostage by a Hydra subdivision, and you were rewarded by Tong making you share a room in a dusty, cramped motel with another Avenger you couldn't stand. Just your luck, there was only one bed and, after almost killing each other to see who would take the floor, you both gave in.

And now you were lying next to the guy, sharing his body heat, whilst your own body was thrumming with arousal, at the height of ovulation. And Peter, deep asleep as he was, smelt fucking heavenly, like your very own personal temptation.

There was no chance of you sleeping. None. Not with your thighs rubbing together as you lay on your side. Not with the way Peter was shifting behind you. You closed your eyes and prayed. Whatever you had done, you would undo it. You didn't care. You would do whatever it took. Just take away the need, and you would serve soup at a homeless shelter for a month if it meant being able to get some rest.

You squeezed your eyes shut, taking deep breaths. A minute passed. Then another. Another. You listened to your heartbeat and Peter's even breathing.

Cursing silently, you shuffled away from him. "Peter," you whispered.

No response.

Spider boy was dead to the world.

You carefully slipped one hand down to unbutton your jeans, and made as little movement as possible to work your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties. Pausing, waiting. No response from your companion, so you pushed a little further, stretching your underwear. The noise of the slick between your thighs was audible and you winced, waiting for something, anything. Peter was still asleep, so you swiped your fingers up your slit. Shaking at the abrupt touch, you forced down a gasp, and drew your hand up just a little to stroke in minute circles against your clit.

Trying to keep yourself still was difficult. You needed more friction, more speed, but your arm shook and so did your hip, tugging at the blanket thrown over the both of you. Your other hand slipped over your mouth, pressing down hard to muffle the soft whining that tried to escape you. And when Peter shifted behind you with a soft noise, you ripped your hand out of your pants, swallowing.

You paused, listening, waiting, wondering if he was going to stir and catch you in the act. The sound of his breathing as it evened out seemed so loud in the otherwise silent room. It must have been several minutes before you dared to slip your fingers back to where they were. You bit down on your lip, rubbing gently again, keeping your arm so tight to your body that your muscles started to ache. But it was worth it – the pleasure was slowly growing between your thighs, and the fabric of your panties muffled what must have been an impressive wet noise.

Peter arched, groaning, and rolled onto his back. Freezing, you yanked your hand out again, placing it on your stomach. Other than a long, deep exhale, he didn't move, but now his arm was braced against your back, the warmth of his skin bleeding through your thin t-shirt. You pressed your lips together, and then you shuffled a little further away. The blanket slid up, just about covering part of you, and cool air wafted against you. Gritting your teeth against the sudden cold, you took a deep breath, then slid your hand back down once more. Just one orgasm. Just one. Then you could sleep.