Marvel – I am Spiderman

The compass went from two to six before he heard the window.

Peter was lying on his bed in the dark, still dressed, sneakers on, thinking about Felicia Hardy firing a grappling hook the instant he said "father." He'd been home an hour. The night wasn't done.

The window slid up. Cold October air, and then Cindy after it, feet first, landing on his carpet without a sound. She'd been doing this for weeks and her landings were better than his. The access-panel suit, the one that looked like athletic wear until you knew it was woven from her own silk. Hair down. Leaf stuck to her shoulder.

The compass jumped to seven.

She pulled the leaf off, looked at it, dropped it on his desk. Sat on the edge of the bed. The expression she wore when she'd already decided how this was going.

"You've been somewhere else this week."

"I've been right here."

"Your body's been here. The rest of you's been on a rooftop looking for a girl with white hair."

Peter opened his mouth.

"Don't." Her voice was flat. "I'm not asking. I don't want to know her name and I don't want to know what she looks like and I definitely don't want to know if she's prettier than me because that question has no right answer and I will web your mouth shut."

"I wasn't going to-"

She kissed him.

Her hand went to the back of his neck and her mouth was on his and she tasted like the green tea her mother kept in the kitchen and her lips were cold from the wind and the compass spiked to eight. Her tongue found his. Her fingers curled in the hair at the back of his head and pulled, a little, staking a claim.

He kissed her back. His hand found her waist. She was warm under the suit, the silk thin enough that the heat came through, and she swung a leg over and settled into his lap. Her weight pressed down against him. The compass hit nine. His cock was hard against her and she rocked forward once and made a sound in her throat that was the first warning.

She reached for the hem of her suit. He caught her wrist.

"Wait."

She stopped. Dark eyes, wet mouth, hips that had been moving and now weren't. The room got quiet.

"Why?"

"Because I want to see you want it."

She blinked. The compass was at nine, both of them flooded, and Peter was sitting under her with his hand around her wrist and his other hand on her hip, holding her still. The effort of not moving was in his arms.

"I want it. The bond is at-"

"I know what the bond is doing."

She stared at him.

He kept his hand on her hip.

"Take the suit off. Slow."

She pulled the suit over her head. Slower than she wanted to. Her fingers were already producing thin threads of silk at the tips, the involuntary webbing that meant her body was ahead of her brain. The suit came off and she was bare from the waist up and her skin was gold-brown in the dark and her nipples were hard and he looked at her and didn't move.

He touched her collarbone. One finger. Tracing down from the hollow of her throat to her shoulder and down her arm. She shivered. The compass was past nine and his finger was on her arm and the gap between what the bond wanted and what his hand was doing made her jaw clench.

"Peter."

"Yeah?"

"If you're going to touch me, touch me."

"I am touching you."

"You're touching me like I'm a library book."

"You've never been in a library."

"I have an eidetic memory. I remember the library."

He kissed her neck. Slow, open-mouthed, his breath on her skin. She tilted her head and her hips tried to rock and he held them still. His mouth found the spot below her ear and stayed there. Tongue. Teeth, barely. She gripped his shoulders and the silk threads from her fingertips stuck to his shirt.

"Okay," she said. "Okay, you're- that's-"

His right hand slid down her stomach. Past the waistband. Down. She was wet. Had been since the window. His fingers found her clit and pressed and she jerked and the sound she made was halfway between his name and a Korean word he didn't catch.

He circled. Slow. Deliberate. Each circle slow enough that the start and the finish of it were separate events. She gripped his shoulders hard enough that a normal person would have bruised.

"Geu-" Her forehead against his. Breath hot on his mouth. "Faster."

"No."

He pushed two fingers inside her. Curled them. Found the spot that made her back arch and held pressure there and she clenched around his fingers and her mouth opened and the silk on his shoulders thickened.

Then he pulled out.

"What- why did you-"

"Because I want to see you want it."

"I WANT it, you-"

He kissed her. Put his fingers back. Found the spot again, slower, building the pressure in increments that were designed to be felt individually. She was shaking. The compass was past ten and his cock ached and the bond was telling him to flip her over and bury himself inside her and he didn't.

He built her up. Thumb on her clit, fingers curled, and she was getting close. Her thighs tightened on his hips. Breathing ragged. The silk threads on his shoulders were thicker now, her body producing them faster than she could control. The Korean was starting to leak between the English.

"Jjebal-" Into his neck. Half-Korean, half-nothing, the words dissolving as she got closer. Her hips were moving against his hand now, chasing the pressure, grinding down, and the wet sound of his fingers inside her was loud in the quiet room and she was past the point where she could pretend she hadn't heard it. "Peter, jjebal, I'm- ah- I'm going to-"

He stopped. Pulled his fingers out. Held her hips.

The sound she made could have stripped wallpaper.

"You-" Breathing too hard to finish. Silk running from her fingertips in threads that stuck to his shirt, his arms, the headboard behind him. Her eyes were wet at the edges. "You did that on purpose."

"Yeah."

"I'm going to kill you."

"After."

"After WHAT?"

He put his fingers back. Third time. She was swollen and slick and so sensitive that the first touch made her whole body twitch. Her clit was hard under his thumb and when he pressed she sucked in a breath through her teeth and her hands went white on the headboard slats.

He built her up again. Patient. Thumb in circles she was chasing with her hips. Two fingers inside her, curling, finding the spot, and her pussy was clenching around his fingers in pulses she couldn't control. She grabbed the headboard behind his head with both hands. Forehead against his. Her breath coming in small broken sounds.

Korean coming out in fragments that had stopped being words: "Geu- ah- geuman- jjebal-" Her thighs were shaking. The silk threads on the headboard were thick enough to see in the dark. Her body was close, the clenching rhythmic, her breathing a stutter.

He stopped.

Her right hand came off the headboard. A line of webbing shot from her fingertip and caught his left wrist and yanked it against the headboard slat. The silk hardened in two seconds. His hand was stuck.

"Enough."

Peter looked at his webbed wrist. Looked at her. Grinned.

"You webbed my writing hand."

"I'll web the other one."

She straddled higher, positioning herself over him, and he caught her hip with his free hand. Held her there. An inch from where she wanted to be.

"Say please."

"I'm going to kill you."

"You said that already. Say please."

She was shaking. Silk threads had stuck to his chest, his shoulders, the headboard, the sheets. Her pupils were blown. Her hair was stuck to her neck with sweat and the suit was around her hips and she was wet enough that it was wet on his stomach where she'd been grinding.

"Please." Quiet. Into his mouth. Her lips barely on his. "Please, Peter."

He let go of her hip.

She sank down onto his cock. All of him. One movement. The sound she made was loud enough that he hoped Ben and May were heavy sleepers.

She was tight. Swollen from the edging, clenching, wet enough that the first thrust was slick and the sound of it joined her voice in the quiet room. She was hot inside, hotter than his fingers, and the relief of being full after three denials made her shudder from her hips to her shoulders.

She moved. Fast. Urgent. Everything she'd been holding back coming out at once. Her hands on the headboard, back arched, riding him hard, and the silk threads were snapping one by one as her body rocked. The headboard hit the wall. Once. Twice. A rhythm she was setting and he was letting her set because she'd earned it.

"Ah- Peter- ah-"

Her voice was loud and getting louder and the wet sounds were loud and his free hand was on her thigh and she was close already because three edges had built the wave and this was the wave finally breaking. Her pussy clenched around him in pulses and her face was gone, eyes shut, mouth open, the Korean coming out and the English underneath it collapsing.

She came with her teeth in his shoulder and Korean pouring out of her that he couldn't understand and his wrist was webbed to the headboard and the webbing dissolved when she finished and his hand came free and he caught her waist and held her while she shook.

She collapsed against his chest. Breathing hard. Face in his neck. Her fingers twitching, producing tiny threads that dissolved as fast as they formed. Her heartbeat was fast against his chest. Slowing.

He was still inside her. Still hard.

She shifted. Felt it. Looked up.

"You didn't-"

"No."

"Why?"

"Later."

"Later when?"

He kissed her forehead. Her hair was damp against his lips.

"When you're not expecting it."

Cindy pulled back enough to see his face. Dark eyes, flushed cheeks, silk residue on her fingertips and on every surface within arm's reach. Breathing through her mouth.

"You planned this."

"Some of it."

"The stopping."

"Yeah."

"The 'say please.'"

"That was improvised."

She stared at him. Then she climbed off and pulled her suit on, which took longer than usual because silk kept sticking to her fingers. She stood by the window with her hair wrecked and her legs doing the unsteady thing and looked at him.

"You're a terrible person."

"You said please."

"I'm going to remember that."

"I'm counting on it."

She put one leg over the windowsill. Stopped. Pointed at him. "When you're not expecting it goes both ways."

Then she was gone. The window stayed open and the October air came in and Peter lay on his bed with his jeans still on and the compass dropping back toward four. The silk on the headboard was dissolving. The sheets had a wet spot that was going to require laundry. His left wrist had a faint red line where the webbing had been.

He was grinning. His cock ached and he didn't do anything about it.

The shirt had silk threads on it. He pulled one off. It dissolved between his fingers.

He closed the window. Pulled off the shirt. Got into bed.

Didn't close his eyes for a long time.