The first time it was proposed—
Michelle’s glaring at him.
“Of all places!” His hands are thrown up in the air. “The—why? There’s like no privacy! It’s exposure! It’s—you can’t get any with this!”
“Not with all your yelling we can’t.”
It’s nearing 2AM and they’re waiting for an Uber home after a late night date; it’s a hot, humid, summer night and they’re far from downtown, but city and street lights still prevent the stars to be fully visible. The lighting was part of the problem, yes, but it isn’t the only thing.
Peter swallows. Rubs his arm when Michelle snarks that for a superhero who’s so high up the ground all the time, he’s surely nervous about this.
The part that catches his attention is the part that she’s so chill about it. In his mind, a flashing neon sign warns about the dangers of being caught exposed the entire time the car jerks to a stop at the curb, and they slide inside, and remain quiet for ten straight minutes. It’s Michelle who breaks it, Peter looking like he’s contemplating before a final exam.
Her hand slides over his knee and whispers that he doesn’t have to do it if he’s that uncomfortable. But he tries to reassure her that it’s fine, that he can go through with it.
“Just drop it,” she sighs.
This incident is what she brings up when he’s standing at her open window later that very night. He has one foot on the window ledge, the other on her bedroom floor, hand outstretched for her to take, and she thinks he looks like a cheesy modern-day fairytale retelling—and tells him as such, frowning.
Michelle does get her fantasy though—though it’s at the expense of Peter admitting that he’s had the very asme fantasy several times over. They’re in a lesser lit part of town near he outskirts, and one of MJ’s hand is gripping the brick edge of structure she had been sitting atop, her head tossed back and she’s mewling, eyes screwed shut, her other is tight around Peter’s hair that’s disappeared beneath her skirt. Her thighs squeeze in reflex, taletelling that she’s approaching her end, and she cries out a high pitched noise that makes him work in earnest.
“Peter,” she sighs
He hums but doesn’t stop. So, she calls again, this time more urgent and tugs his head up from under her skirt.
“Not yet.” Her chest is heaving.
Below, they can hear someone walking a dog that begins barking at a passing car.
In the dim street lighting, Michelle can easily distinguish his wide eyes, his mouth parted and slick wet from her. His tongue darts out, licks his lips before they attach to her throat. She’s still sitting atop the brick structure atop a random high roof. He mouths against her, hands hook beneath her knees.
“Tell me what you want, MJ,” he breaths.
She groans at him, and wants to glare, knowing he’s feeling cocky of himself. Instead, her back arches when he bites hard enough to leave a light red mark on her brown skin.
“I want you inside me,” she moans, and he paws at her breasts, hot breath blowing across her collar bone and he goes still. She reaches for his belt, gives a tug, before teasing the buckle. She coaches him closer for a kiss. “God, so bad. Peter, now!” She tugs at his lower lip and he hisses.
Her hands slides across his stomach, his shirt unbuttoned. Feels his muscles move in reflex. She leans forward to press open mouthed kisses down his stomach to the top of his pants, smiles when his muscles contract and hears his breath catch. She cups him and rubs him through his slacks.
There’s a condom slid from his back pocket that Michelle eagerly tears open.
He takes a brief look around before bunching her skirt further up her waist and taking the condom from her.
And he’ll hold her waist against him as she’s siting in his lap, bouncing, moaning, crying aloud. And below a cat screeches; someone yells about the noise, but all that Michelle’s focused on is Peter and shouting his name into the night and his forehead against her shoulder as he’s panting,his jaw clenched, and the slight echoing noise of their skin and his hands on her narrow hips and—