Rooftops
He was three blocks from home when she landed on him.
Peter had been swinging through Queens on Friday patrol, the new suit moving with him, and Felicia dropped out of the sky and caught his web-line and redirected his swing toward a rooftop on 34th and he rolled with it because arguing with Felicia's momentum was a losing proposition.
They landed on a flat roof with a water tank and an access door. She was in the catsuit. Full Black Cat. Mask, claws, white fur collar.
She walked him backward. Both hands on his chest, pushing, and his back hit the roof-access door with a metal bang that echoed off the water tank. The door was steel and cold through the new suit.
"Don't talk," she said.
Her mouth was on his neck before he could answer. She bit down. Same spot as three nights ago, the bruise that had barely started to fade, and the pain bloomed fresh and his hands grabbed the door frame behind him and his hips jerked forward.
She bit harder. Her teeth ground into the muscle and her hands were pulling his mask up to his nose, just enough to expose his jaw and his neck, and her mouth moved from the bite to his jaw and her tongue was hot on his skin in the cold air.
"Felicia-"
"I said don't talk."
She kissed him. Hard. Her tongue in his mouth and her body pressed against his and the leather of her catsuit was cold from the rooftop wind and warming fast where it touched him. Her hands were on his face, holding his jaw, and the kiss tasted like coffee and her lipstick and the cold and underneath all of it the faint copper of the bite.
His hands found the zipper at her throat. Pulled it down. The catsuit opened and underneath was skin and a sports bra and the zipper kept going and her stomach was warm and taut and his fingers traced her ribs and she made a sound into his mouth that was almost a growl.
She pulled back. Reached down. Found him through the suit. He was hard and the new fabric didn't hide it and her hand wrapped around him through the mesh and squeezed and his vision narrowed.
"Where's the-"
"Panel. Left hip."
She found it. Pulled the panel open and her hand was inside and her fingers were on him and cold from the night air and he hissed.
"Cold."
"Deal with it."
Her hand warmed fast. She stroked him twice, her grip firm, and his hands went to her hips and pulled her closer. Her catsuit was open to her navel and her bra was black and her skin was goosebumped from the cold and flushed underneath and he could feel her heartbeat through her ribs when he put his hand on her side.
She shoved her catsuit down past her hips. Kicked one leg free. Left the suit bunched around the other thigh. She was already wet. He could feel it when she pressed against him. Hot and slick on his cock where she'd lined herself up.
"Lift me."
He lifted her. Spider-strength. One arm under her thigh, the other braced against the door. She wrapped both legs around his waist, the leather bunched between them, and her arms went around his neck and she shifted and he was at her entrance and she was hot and wet and the cold air bit everywhere they weren't touching.
She sank down.
One motion. Gravity and her hips and she took all of him and the sound that came out of her was a breath punched loose. Her fingers dug into his shoulders through the suit. Her face was in his neck. Tight and hot and wet and the angle was steep because he was holding her up and gravity was doing half the work. Neither of them moved for two seconds.
His cock throbbed inside her. The heat was overwhelming after the cold air. He could feel her heartbeat through her walls. Or maybe that was his.
Then she moved.
She used his shoulders for leverage, pulling herself up and dropping back down, and each drop was hard and deep and her breath hit his neck in sharp bursts. Her hips rolled and snapped and the wet sound between them was loud on the empty rooftop and the door rattled behind his back with each impact.
His hands tightened on her thighs. The muscle under his fingers was dense and the leather of her catsuit was bunched between his knuckles and her skin was hot where the leather wasn't.
She bit his ear. Her teeth closed on the lobe and tugged.
"Harder."
He drove into her. Up, from underneath, meeting her drops, and the force pinned her against his chest and her breath broke into a sound she didn't bother muffling. The rooftop was empty and the sky was dark and she wasn't trying to be quiet.
"Ah-"
His back was going to have marks from the door. He could feel the handle pressing into his lower back and the cold steel and none of it mattered because she was riding him with her legs locked around his waist and every time she dropped the angle pushed him deep enough that his vision shortened.
He shifted. Tilted his hips. The change hit her and her whole body tightened and her fingers went from gripping his shoulders to clawing the back of his neck.
"There- fuck- right-"
Short, bitten words between impacts. Her legs tightened and she was pulling him deeper with every drop and the friction was wet and constant. The cold air was hitting the sweat on his neck, on her chest where the catsuit gaped open.
He was close. He could feel it building at the base of his spine and in his thighs and he was holding it because she wasn't done yet. His arms were shaking.
She went quiet.
Cindy got loud. Felicia went silent. Her mouth was open against his neck and no sound came out and her body was vibrating and her hands moved from his neck to the door frame behind his head. Palms flat. Fingers spread. Pressing against the metal.
He drove into her. Harder. The door shook. She was silent and shaking and her pussy was clenching around him in waves and her back arched.
"Felicia."
Her eyes opened. Green, blown wide, the mask half-displaced. She looked at him and her mouth was open and she was silent and she came.
Her body locked. Every muscle. Her legs crushed his waist and her hands dug into the door frame and the metal screamed under her claws. Five lines carved into the steel. Her pussy clenched around him so hard his vision went white and he came a second after her, buried deep, his forehead against her collarbone and his hands shaking on her thighs.
She held on. Her body shook in waves. Her claws were still in the door and small curls of metal had peeled up around her fingertips. She was breathing in short catches against his hair and her legs were locked and he was still inside her and the cold air was hitting the sweat on his neck and on her chest.
He held her up. One arm. His other hand was on her back, between her shoulder blades, and her heartbeat was slamming against his palm. His own legs were unsteady and his back was bruised from the door handle.
She let go of the door frame. Put her hands on his face. Looked at him. Her mouth was swollen and her eyes were wet and she was breathing hard and her mascara had smudged under the mask.
She kissed him. Slow this time. Her hands on his jaw, her thumbs on his cheekbones. Her mouth soft. Her fingers gentle. Her breathing still shaking.
She pulled back. Swallowed.
"Put me down."
He lowered her. Her feet hit the rooftop and her legs wobbled once and she caught herself on the door frame. He slid out of her and the cold air hit. One of the claw marks was right next to her hand. She looked at it. Looked at the other four.
"I ruined your door."
"It's not my door."
"I ruined a door."
She pulled the catsuit back up. The zipper went fast. Her hands were steady. By the time the zipper hit her throat she was pushing her hair back and adjusting the mask and her breathing was almost even.
He closed the access panel on his suit. Adjusted the mask. His legs were still unsteady. The bite on his neck was throbbing. The door handle had left a bruise he could feel forming on his lower back. She was standing three feet away looking like none of it had happened except for the smudged mascara under her left eye.
"Did you talk to her?" Felicia said.
"Tomorrow."
"You said that yesterday."
"I know. Tomorrow. For real."
She looked at him. The mask hid everything above her cheekbones but her mouth was a flat line.
"One day, Peter."
"One day."
She walked to the edge of the roof. Looked at the claw marks on the door one more time. Her mouth pulled.
She jumped.
He stood on the rooftop. The door had five claw marks and the metal was still warm from her hands. The wind was cold on the bite on his neck. The bite was deep. Directly over the spot where the old one had been fading. She'd bitten the same place every time. Layering.
He should probably bring snacks to Cindy's hockey game too.
He swung home. The new suit moved with him in the cold.