Narrative: Returning from patrol to withdraw back into the safety of his shared apartment with his girlfriend, an overworked Peter spots said girl, Michelle, wearing his favorite shirt. Teasing then ensues.
A/N: Enjoy this quick mini filler one-shot as I continue the rest of this book and my other stories. And I'm still throwing canon out the window because.
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As the evening shed its light so the night could reign on, a spandex clad figure swung high above through the tallest buildings within the city of Queens until he'd passed a lower area full of housing and corner stores.
The famed hero, Spider-Man, continued to swing from building to building before he swooped down to land on the fire escape of a certain red-bricked apartment building. Through the window of the level he landed on, the hero could spot the familiar sight of a curly haired girl that was his lover from the small opening of the curtains, singing and dancing as she paced around the room—seeming to be cleaning it as she stored and organized the items inside.
Inwardly, Peter smiled, seeing Michelle so immersed in her activity and hearing the music she'd been listening to as it seeped through the small open crack of the window that she would always leave for him. The song in question was Let Me Love You by Mario. One of her favorite songs. He listened to her continue to sing along with the lyrics, so mesmerized by the sound of her voice. He often praised her singing skills; though she'd just laugh it off and dismiss him of the remark, prompting him to pull her close and thoroughly explain (with kisses in pursuit) that he meant what he said then sew more compliments into her skin. His endeavors wouldn't cease until she would acknowledge his words and accept them, and then he'd make her sing his name during coital activities.
He tore his mind from the provocative thoughts and proceeded to knock on the glass of the window to signal his presence.
"Come in," she permitted in the following second, the music that was blasting previously lowered and her cleaning was put to a halt.
He opened the window wide and slid in, closing it behind him as well as the curtains so he could remove the mask on his head. The curls on his head bounced as the mask was pulled off and Peter then turned to face the expectant look of Michelle as she leaned slightly against the vacuum to her side.
"How was patrolling, Webhead?"
He rolled his eyes at the nickname, but answered in kind. "The same as usual, petty crimes and just as criminals."
"No ludicrous villain in an exaggerated getup?"
"Not today," he mocked a defeated sigh as he moved to lean against the wall beside the window, "What have you been up to?"
"Nothing much," she supplied, "Just cleaning and finishing some assignments for some classes yesterday. There's a project in Professor Modell's class due next Wednesday, which you would know if had been there." Her final sentence seemed pointed, but the teasing glint in her eyes told him otherwise.
He held up his arms in defense, arguing back, "It's not my fault some weirdo in a metallic rhino suit wants to chase me all over New York."
Michelle beamed with laughter, shaking her head at him. "No, I suppose not. Well, I have the list of instructions he has for us since he hasn't posted them online yet. I also convinced May to make that cherry pie you love so much."
"Attagirl!" He praised with glee, making her flash a wink in his direction. "How'd you manage that? She usually only makes it during holidays."
"Well—" She proceeded to relay the story as she wrapped the cord of the vacuum around its holder after unplugging it from the outlet and set the equipment back into the closet just across from the bedroom. With every step she took as she was setting aside all the cleaning equipment and organizing things to where they belonged, Peter watched her movements carefully, eyes trailing down her figure from head to toe.
When he glanced at her clothing—or lack thereof—he noticed a familiar shirt that belonged to him. It was his "I Survived My Trip To NYC" shirt and it draped her lean figure so well as the collar was slightly too wide and hung off her shoulder and the bottom barely passed the top of her thighs. It was a mix of too big but too short on her tall frame, but the sight of it on her was intoxicating.
"Is that my shirt," he rose a quizzical brow as a smirk formed on his lips after voicing the question.
Michelle paused in her tracks, turning back to face him before looking at her attire below. She tilted her head back up to meet the taunting expression on his face, but when she looked into his deep brown eyes of mirth, something else had sparkled in them. She knew the look in his eyes meant that he truly didn't mind the display nor her little act of thievery, so she hadn't either. Besides, what's his was hers after all.
"Maybe," she dragged out in a feigned tone of innocence, "You left it on the bed earlier this morning. So, I thought I could put it to good use. And it looks better on me, don't you think?" She did a little twirl in demonstration, a salacious grin playing at the corner of her lips when his eyes followed her carefully.
"While I don't disagree," he began as he stood straight from his leaning position on the wall, "I'm afraid I'm gonna need that back, Em."
She remained in the spot she was at with evident defiance as she made no further efforts to remove the shirt. "Sorry, tiger, but the only way you're getting this shirt back is if you pry it off of me." She brow arched as she waited for him to make a move.
He only stood and stared for a brief moment before holding out an arm and letting a web shoot out from his wrist, attaching it to the front of his shirt and tugging back the string so she was pulled into his arms. One arm curled around while his other hand cuffed behind the knee of one leg to motion for her to wrap her legs around his waist. When she was settled on his torso, she smiled down at him, arms instinctively around his neck and her fingers fiddling with the curls at the bottom of his head.
"That sounds like a challenge," he replied in a tone indicating he was more than willing to accept.
She lowered her head closer to his ear as she whispered, "Then maybe you should get started, lover boy."
With that, Peter swiveled them around so that her back met the wall and captured her lips in a fierce and firm kiss. Their lips molded together and Peter pressed their bodies closer together that not a breadth of space was between them. As his free hand traced up from the edge of her thigh to dip underneath the fabric of the shirt, he paused at the feeling of her bare skin beneath.
He broke off from the intense kiss with a gasp, eyes widening at the new discovery.
"You're not—" Peter was unable to finish the shocked statement when Michelle erupted into a proud laughter at seeing his astonishment. Playfulness was dancing in her eyes while Peter's reddish brown ones grew darker, lust and amusement swimming in synchrony. He seized her lips once more, still relishing in the feel of her nakedness, and their mouths moved with passionate control as they battled for an unnamed reward of love.
"Fuck," Peter groaned vulgarly as he trailed kisses down the length of her soft, honey toned neck.
"That's the intention," Michelle murmured in a slight giggle as she let herself get lost in his ministrations, submerging herself in the pool of their growing desires.
Not but a few minutes later, Peter made good on his side of the challenge and the article of clothing was peeled off from her body where it took its rightful place...
On the floor beneath them. Alongside with his own lacking amounts of clothing, and what little self-restraint Peter had left in him.
oOo
He would wake up the next day, in a comfortable daze on their bed, seeing Michelle gone and his shirt missing once more. When he got up and donned some briefs and a pair of joggers, he exited the bedroom and made his way down the hall and into the kitchen where he'd find said girl in said clothing yet again. She was immersed in her humming as she stood in front of the stove where a pan was being heated and a plate of pancakes were on the counter close by.
Peter remained still by the wall, admiring the view. There was something so domestic about her being in his clothes while she prepared them some breakfast. A familial feeling he's never really experienced before. He set aside his ruminating and moved forward to wrap his arms from behind her.
"This looks amazing," he whispered into her ear.
She beamed at his words and the warmth of his presence. "It's just breakfast," she tried to convey as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
"I meant you," he explained once more, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder to demonstrate his appreciation. "You, here, in my shirt. I want this all the time, forever."
She sighed happily, leaning back into him while a new batch of pancakes were being cooked. "And you have me," she responded in a hum, whirling around to face him, "Always and forever. You know that right?"
"I know," he murmured, drawing her into a soft and simple, yet just as passionate, kiss. Lips melding into one another to seal a promise of eternal bliss and formidable faithfulness. "We should probably stop while we're ahead," Peter groaned when she tried deepening the kiss to resume their activities from the night before, "Don't wanna burn the food and all."
"Right. The food," Michelle broke off with surprise having remembered her task.
Peter smiled, brushing his lips on her cheek once more before letting go of his hold on her. He noticed her unruly curls falling on her face and threatening to obscure her view. So, he motioned to the hair tie settled on her wrist to ask for her permission to utilize it. She let him do so, turning back to face the oven to resume her cooking and holding as steady for Peter to proceed. He combed all the pieces of her curls in his hand then tied it into a low bun—or as best of one as he could having little to no experience with hair styling.
Quiet words of gratitude fell from her lips and he hummed with satisfaction, soon moving to the dining table close by. He opened his laptop that laid on the table as usual and continued his work, but not without taking one last glance at the woman he loved who swayed once more as a tune played in her head and escaped through her voice. The shirt, his shirt, moving along with her.
He'd get that damned shirt back one day, but for now, he'll continue to admire it dressed on her figure as though it was meant for her.
After all, he didn't really mind so much if it meant he'd be the one to remove it from her body and worship her every time afterwards.
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A/N: Hope you liked that very domestic—and slightly erotic—fluff of what could've been had Marvel decided not to traumatize us all with more tragedy. Any recommendations are still open for anyone since I'm nearly running out of ideas.