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

La Petite Mort

**By steelfeather on tumblr**

SUMMARY: A second part to On The Edge. You break the rules, and there are consequences.

WARNINGS: Tons of smut, heavy BDSM elements, angst and fluff. Consent is key, sinners.

When Tom hands you your least favorite pair of underwear, you take them with a certain amount of weary resignation.

You know what the day will be like, but you and Tom have done this before and you've always managed to outlast his patience. Besides which, the reward tends to be worth the torture; if you can survive your boyfriend edging you nearly to death, you usually get five or six incredible orgasms out of the deal. So you're not sure what it is about this day that's different.

For the first couple of hours, it isn't so bad. But Tom is dressed in one of the shirts he has with sleeves rolled into a loose cuff over his bicep, and you just can't take it anymore. Staring at his arm, his face, his hands, you suddenly need release.

And by god, you're going to get it somehow.

When you go to the bathroom before lunch, you double check that the door is locked, then pull your jeans down as quickly as you can. Your fingers start rubbing circles on your clit and you imagine Tom, pushing you inexorably over the brink of orgasm. You curve one finger inside of yourself but want to sob in frustration because it isn't enough.

If it were Tom, he could reach your g-spot and have you coming in seconds, but it's not and you feel a short burst of irrational anger at that fact. After all, you could have refused to play today.

You use your free hand to brace yourself against the support rail by the toilet, upping the pressure and speed. Having been worked up for a couple of hours, your body responds quickly, and you feel yourself beginning to fall. Your breath comes in harsh gasps, echoing far too loudly around the tiled room, so you bite your lip in an attempt to stifle the noise.

When the orgasm takes you, it's violent and harsh and your teeth break the skin of your lip, tasting a little bit of blood. You've been in the bathroom for too long already, so you clean yourself cursorily and pull the underwear and jeans back into place before looking in the mirror.

Your eyes are a bit distant and your cheeks are flushed, lip bleeding sluggishly no matter how much you dab at it with a paper towel. You splash a bit of cold water on your face, then lick your lips again in hopes that nothing will be too obvious.

When you open the door, you come face to face with Tom, whose expression is terrifyingly blank. He looks... controlled. As if he's tightly leashing his reaction.

Carefully, he reaches with his thumb and rubs your bottom lip gently, where you cut yourself. You flinch.

"Are you alright, love?" he asks, voice soft and tender. You instantly feel more guilty than you have in a very long time.

"Tom–" you start to apologize, but he holds up a hand to forestall you and your breath catches in your throat.

"I would rather discuss this at home, darling," he says, and you nod wordlessly.

Your eyes stay on the floor as he goes and pays the bill quietly; the two of you haven't even eaten and you're already leaving. He walks beside you silently on the way back to the apartment, his demeanor calm and quiet. It scares you a bit.

You remember what he said the punishment would be, but surely he was exaggerating?

When the door closes with a quiet click, he speaks.

"On the bed, please."

You scramble to do as he says, willing to do anything to make him happier. When your back is on the sheets, you look up at him, spreading your legs a little in invitation. You think you see his mouth tick upwards in a smirk, but it disappears quickly, replaced by his neutral expression once more.