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Peter’s sat on the couch, watching some random program about bee rescues, when Michael comes home for the evening.
For the last two weeks, he’s been swamped with end-term assignments, often questioning whether he’s smart enough, or if he’s able to properly defend his thesis. Worries that have no business flitting around his mind while running on a concerning amount of Redbull and awful sleep. Peter’s found him curled into a ball on his side, squeezing himself impossibly close to him, seeking a sort of protection he finds he can’t offer. He’s able to protect the streets by donning his Spider Man suit, but can’t fire webs at the heart of his boyfriend’s stressor. He feels useless.
Grad school doesn’t pull its punches. Instead, he makes sure to have meals ready for him, especially dinner because he knows without a doubt that Michael will forget. Next thing you know, he’s hearing that he’s fainted from an amalgamation of poor nutrition and stress. Regardless of how built and otherwise healthy he looks to others, Peter will always know him best. After all, he’s committed himself to learning the language of his lover.
Thanks to a certain previously mentioned spider, he can hear Michael pause after putting his things down from his spot by the front door. He might go crazy if he has to endure another night of not being able to help Michael with his workload at the moment. Luckily, he’s graduating soon, and Peter’s been encouraging him and doing what he can. He still can’t help but feel so useless. It felt like no matter how many times he smoothed the furrow in his partner’s brow, he’d find a deeper one burrowed in the same spot the next day, it felt Sisyphean, but he wouldn’t ever stop soothing him. Michael trudges into the room with a stormcloud looming over him. He still has his shoes on, Peter notes. Normally, he can’t stand the idea of their soles on the carpet. That’s how Peter knows his baby’s energy reserves are nearing complete depletion.
Michael gives him a look of guttural, bone-deep exhaustion before throwing himself face first into Peter’s lap. He doesn’t move for a moment, which makes Peter worry if he’s fallen asleep or honestly… died. He rubs at the shoulder blades of the man below him, eliciting a sigh from deep within that served as a response. Silence, after the day Michael must have had, was golden, so Peter remained quiet. Not stilling the soothing motion of his hand along Michael’s back. It comes to settle on his nape, where Peter knows he loves the sensation. A noise pushes past Michael’s lips, shattering the silence. He turns himself to look up at Peter. The exhaustion on his face making Peter’s senses tingle. He brings his hand to Michael’s cheek, holding his face in his right palm while his thumb caresses his cheekbone. Poor thing, he thinks.
Michael closes his eyes, bringing his hand to lay over Peter’s, craving warmth. Peter waits patiently for him to speak. There’s got to be something he can do. He’s got lunch with Gwen on Wednesday… Maybe he could run something by her as well? He’ll use tonight and tomorrow to think of something. In the meantime, he’s got his baby to cater to.
—
The next two days actually pass quite swiftly. He’s got a skeleton of an idea, and had messaged Gwen about it. He’s currently waiting for her at the bistro near the university where he works as a research assistant. At the next chime of the restaurant’s door, Gwen walks in. Still as beautiful as before. Honestly, Gwen Stacy could never look bad to Peter. There’s a light smile dusting her features aimed at Peter. He stands to hug her in lieu of greeting. To Peter, it’s a blessing they’ve remained so close after high school. He remembers the navy blue silk of his gown rubbing at his neck weirdly, the tassel on his cap bothering him, and the humidity clinging to him as their graduating class waited to receive their diplomas. Gwen expressed a desire to study architecture, which fits her in Peter’s opinion. She easily excelled in her field too. He’s grateful to have been in her life, and to have her in his.
When she sits down, she wastes no time.
“I’d hope that MJ’s been getting a lot of back, foot, and neck rubs from you, Mr. Parker.” She teases. He told her about what’s been happening with his partner at home in depth, and how he feels useless against the enemy that is end-of-term stress.
“Of course he is. Are you nuts? He’s been wound up like a spring these last few weeks. I do all that I can, which he’s told me he appreciates, but I want to do more for him?” Peter says, worrying his lip in thought. His face tightens with concern.
“He’s the type to…” He interrupts himself to scratch his eyebrow, “…kind of go quiet and ruminate when overwhelmed. Partly because he thinks he has to endure.” Gwen nods, actively listening to him. Her face softens at this. She reaches across the table to grab Peter’s hand, squeezing to offer him comfort. Peter sighs.
“I just want to make him feel better. I was thinking of planning a day to do his favorite things. I want him to know that in this time, I see how hard he’s working and that I will do anything to support him through it.” He closes his eyes, sighing again. Gwen’s comfort isn’t forgotten, though. He makes sure to squeeze her hand back, grounding himself by focusing on the warmth radiating from her palm.
“For starters, I know you’re worried about him, but I do also know you, Peter Benjamin. We dated a lifetime ago, yes, but that doesn’t mean I forgot how much you put on yourself to be seen as competent. I know for a fact that MJ appreciates all that you do for him. You’re literally his home, dude.” Gwen fixes him with a gaze filled with warmth, compassion, and endearment, for Peter’s desire to help is something admirable. He’d do anything for anyone, sometimes dropping everything in the process. There’s also times where it’s at the expense of him. Regardless, she knows that the feeling is amplified when it comes to Michael.
She places a straw in one of the water cups placed down by their waiter, taking a sip. “You said you wanted to plan a special day for him? What do you have in mind aside from taking him to his favorite places?” She asks.
“Okay, it’s a little crazy, but… I want to bring him flowers, but I’m not sure a single bouquet would cut it…” He trails off. Gwen already knows where Peter’s going.
“I know that “too much” gene of yours is overfiring, so I’m going to offer before you try to avoid asking me. I know you’re going to get him a big arrangement, yes I will help set it up while you guys are out. I do not mind.”
He lets out a chuckle of surprise. It wasn’t exactly what he was thinking, but he finds himself liking the idea.
“Um… alright?” He runs his fingers along the light beard covering his jawline.
“You don’t have a choice. Besides, I love love, remember? Now, where’s your spare key? If you don’t place an order in the next ten minutes, I will. Does he have a favorite flower?” She flashes a dimpled smile at him, who is well aware that he is forever indebted to her.
“He likes orchids and peonies.”
“Alright, I’ll order those plus some roses.” When Peter goes to protest, she cuts him off with a wave of her manicured hand, an engagement ring settled comfortably on its designated finger, “I lied about ten minutes, actually. You took too long, boohoo. Time for me to lay my card down in the name of love! Don’t make that face.”
“What face?” Peter questions, subconsciously deepening the “face” she’s talking about.
“That one. Now, let me order my food and work on these flowers. When do you want to take him out?” Gwen’s got her phone in her hand to find a flower business that delivers. Peter’s eyes widen, but he knows once Gwen’s decided something, she rarely shifts her stance. He sags with a defeated sigh at his best friend’s antics. Unbelievable.
“Literally tomorrow.”
“Peter, are you fucking serious?” Gwen’s easy smile
quickly turns into a deadpan look. “It feels a little sudden, but you know his schedule better than I.”
“That is true… I also don’t want to put too much time between now and the weekend. Friday’s his first “do-nothing” day in two weeks. I kind of… don’t want to encroach on that. He may sleep like a log that day or something, I don’t know.” She tilts her head in agreement and quickly finalizes the flower order. Peter gives her the code to their building, plus the location of their spare key.
Their waiter returns to take their order, which they do quickly. Part of Peter’s mind is on his lunch with Gwen, while the remainder thinks of his Michael.
The food comes quickly, leaving a comfortable lull in the conversation for them to dig in. Once they conclude, both he and Gwen hug goodbye. She tells him what time she’ll be at their apartment after him and Michael leave. He nods, thanking her again, turning on his heel to trek back to the office. His walk being a calm one.
—
Michael’s on his way home for the day, thanking whatever deity responsible for both the shortness of it and his weekend starting early. As he finishes packing up his things, his phone buzzes with a text from Peter. He lets it linger for the second, taking time to look at the contact photo of him in his glasses. He can’t wait to kiss that face senseless when he gets home. When he opens it, his brows furrow at the content of the message. It’s an address paired with a message from Peter to meet him there at a certain time. He makes a pitstop at their home to relieve him of the stuffiness of his work clothes; a simple business casual look consisting of a black polo and some slacks. When he reemerges, he’s got a simple pair of medium wash jeans and a shirt stolen from Peter’s side of the closet.
The address takes him to a park. When he notifies Peter of his arrival, he receives directions where to find him. Michael parks the car, not seeing Peter anywhere. He’s confused, but still follows what he’s been told regardless.
When he does find the right area, he finds Peter sprawled out. He’s so confused that nothing registers for him immediately. Then his brain notices the blanket Peter’s lazing on. A second later, he registers the picnic basket. It’s… a proper wicker basket.
When the fuck did he get that?
“Don’t worry about that, my love. Come sit!”
He hadn’t meant to say that aloud. He’s had a long two weeks.
Michael makes his way to the checkered blanket contrasting with the vibrant green hues of the grass it sits upon, placing himself down next to Peter. He knows Peter is quite literally heaven sent, having told him many times. Still, he’s always shocked by how lovely and doting his man is. He hasn’t been the best partner recently due to school stress, and when he gets stressed, he subconsciously begins to isolate himself until he’s sure that the storm is over. It’s the antithesis of Peter’s visible signs of distress. Michael may stop eating or talking, but unless you knew him well, one would assume he’s fine.
However, Peter knows him like the back of his hand. He tugs Michael into his arms to plant a tender kiss to his temple, running his hand up his arm with the hand closest to Michael’s left side. He gives Michael another greeting kiss, this time to his lips, to which he receives a bashful look from his partner. Peter’s smiling so lovingly at him that his face could split in two. With a final squeeze, he lets his arm fall, gently rubbing lazy circles on his lower back.
“I take it that this is for me, right?” He asks dumbly. Peter nods. Michael feels a warm jolt in his stomach that could only be described as another arrow from Cupid lodging itself there. He’s not sure what Peter is out here for, though.
“Of course this is for you! You’ve been stressed out so much recently. I wanted to surprise you with a day of doing your favorite things.” Peter says easily. He hugs Michael again, the other man further melting into it. Like a putty in his hands, this one.
Michael just feels warm inside. He loves, loves, loves, and loves Peter so much, he doesn’t know what to do other than join their lips once more, this time more with more passion. He looks at Peter with shiny eyes. His heart swells for him, like the water at a wave. He’s doing everything he can to not throw himself on top of him and really express his gratitude in a language he knows Peter’s fluent in.
“Boy… Oh my god. Peter!” Michael’s hands fly to his cheeks, making his state of overwhelm even more endearing to Peter. A look he’d never grow tired of.
“You’re so… I love you so much. Did you know that?”
“I am familiar. And for the record, I love you too. You deserve to have an easy day like this, always.”
They disentangle themselves to look at the food Peter brought for their picnic. They were sat in a grassy area a little way from a playground, the squeals and giggles of the running children echoing through the air. To their left was a pond where ducks, geese, and the occasional swan came to wade through. Michael wishes that the blinking of his eyes were a camera that could seal this moment forever. His attention is broken when he realizes exactly what Peter brought with him for their first outing of the day. The fucker brought his favorite foods, a bottle of sparkling grape juice (we’ll for sure have the real thing later, Peter says holding the neck of the bottle plus two flutes in his moderately sized hand.) There’s mischief hidden just beneath his smile, not quite making it a smirk, but Michael can still feel it emanating from him. Zeal rushes through him. He can’t wait to see how the day could go.
Michael just feels so loved and serenity washes over him. He’s a little skeptical of how long the feeling of peace will last, since he’s to get right back to chaos and stress of his graduate work soon, but he’s made a silent vow to Peter that in this bubble he shares with him, he will remain as present as he can. He watches as Peter takes out a small platter of pinwheels, followed by celery sticks with ranch, and strawberries Peter appeared to have dipped in chocolate himself. There is also a container of fruits that are undoubtedly his favorites. Michael could cry. He feels a little bad, but he feels so seen.
To be loved is to be seen, he thinks.
“Pete….” He reaches a hand out to stall his movements. Immediately, he’s looking back into his favorite pair of brown eyes, rapt with attention. Sometimes he’d tease Peter about them, saying they’ve got a spell over him. He loves them, adores them even.
Peter’s still looking at him expectantly, Michael realizes belatedly. He looks down and swallows thickly.
“I… I know that you’re doing this for me, but I’m not gone lie, I feel a little guilty—“ He’s cut off by an indignant huff from Peter, which he finds cute. He feels Peter’s finger lift his gaze upward, grabbing his hands with both palms once their eyes meet.
“MJ, I am doing this because I love you, okay? I am doing this because I want you to know that you will always be celebrated by me no matter what.” Peter brings Michael’s knuckles to his lips, placing kisses on them.
“Let’s forget the outside world for the day. Today is both about you and for you.”
“I love you... So much.” Michael shakes his head, face flooded with endearment.
“And I love you too.” Peter says matter-of-factly.
He returns to finish arranging the components of their picnic, keeping light conversation with Michael. Their mealtime consists of many laughs, many loving touches, and Peter insisting he feed him the chocolate-covered strawberries he prepared. After finishing, they take a stroll on a pathway near the pond. There were a couple of ducks wading through the water as they passed by. Peter, of course, asks his stupid “would you love me if I was a duck?” question and Michael rolls his eyes and nods as laughter falls from his lips. His heart does another jolt while he’s walking with Peter’s hand in his. He finds himself once again in disbelief that he managed to bag someone so… amazing. Michael knew he was fine as all hell, but Peter was, in addition, genuinely so beautiful inside and out to the point that Michael was one hundred percent sure he’d never get tired of loving and admiring him. They finish their walk, Peter fishing the keys from Michael’s back pocket to put the basket away. Michael doesn’t even try to open the door, because Peter literally never lets him do so. It’s so silly, but Peter loves being of service for others, so he leaves him to it. It’s never done without a kiss to the cheek.
—-
When they arrive home, Michael’s face hurts from smiling so much. They’d gone to a pottery stop, making lopsided mugs and candles for each other, walked through a new exhibit at the art museum nearby, one of Michael’s favorite places to stroll through. The art is not only breathtaking, but his head is always clearer than it was when he arrived, due to the space demanding that its visitors remain present. After that, they ended their outing with a stop for ice cream. When they began their trip home, Peter’s hand never moved from Michael’s once. Unfortunately, Peter has to let his hand go to unlock their front door. Michael tries not to pout about it. Peter insisted that he carried everything, so he sucks it up and waits.
Suddenly, Peter spins around to face him, looking deeply into his eyes. “Wait right here. I have a surprise for you, but I want to set these gently somewhere to keep them from breaking.” Michael nods bemusedly. There’s more? He wonders.
Peter dips in and out of the apartment quickly, leaving Michael to wonder what he’s hiding. When he returns, Michael is instructed to close his eyes while Peter guides him. At least he’s got the warmth of his lover’s hand in his again. He’s brought to a gentle stop by Peter, who instructs him to keep his eyes closed. Despite the urge to peek, he remains patient until told to open them. When he does, a gasp is ripped from him. There are bouquets and flower arrangements everywhere. He looks at Peter in disbelief.
“Oh my god…” Tears prickle at the edges of his eyes, Peter gazing upon him with a fond look. The corners of his eyes crinkling at the sight of Michael, his MJ seeing just how adored he is by him.
Michael turns to Peter and walks straight into his chest to hug him. They share a kiss. When they pull apart, Michael realizes that he’s crying. He’s so overwhelmed. Peter wipes the tears from his cheeks with a chuckle, pressing another kiss to his lips. More tears fall from Michael’s eyes. All tears of joy, that is.
He wipes his eyes, a dazzling smile on display. Just when he didn’t think he could fall deeper in love with Peter, here he is. Jesus fucking Christ.
“Thank you so much, baby. Oh my god. Peter! What the fuck?!” Michael can’t stop fucking crying. He pulls Peter into another passionate kiss. When they break away, Peter’s kissing along his jawline. Michael feels like he could burst at the seams.
He brings their foreheads together. “I love you so fucking much. Oh my god, you fucking spoil me. Dude, what the fuck?!” Peter’s chest rumbles with a chuckle.
“And I love you too, MJ. Believe it or not, this isn’t the end of your surprise…” Michael’s already overwhelmed and isn’t sure how he’d handle more attention from Peter right now. He’s swooped into a bridal carry by Peter, eliciting warm laughter from Michael. They continue their kissing, somehow making it to their bedroom unscathed. There’s a warmth bubbling in his stomach as he’s set down by Peter, who pins him to the door, nibbling on his Adam’s apple before connecting their lips again, hands roaming the expanse of Michael’s body as if it were a map he needed to memorize. A map he has memorized countless times. When the bed is remembered by them, Peter, in a moment of unapologetic need, takes the hand he’s placed under Michael’s shirt to play with the sensitive skin of his nipples to push him onto it.
He’s a little rough, apologizing immediately. All Michael does is pull him back into a kiss. He doesn’t care how Peter handles him at the moment, or really ever. He just wants him. His body craves him. If he were thinking straight, it’d be a little scary, but right now? That’s not something he needs to sift through. Right now, he doesn’t think twice about Peter molding him however he wants in his hands. He just needs to feel the callouses littering the palms of Peter’s hands on his body, worshiping it.
Oh… He’s taking it. Michael thinks.
He wraps his legs around the cute boy hovering over him. He takes notice of the dogtags Peter wore, feeling the coolness of the metal settle on his skin. They keep kissing, Michael whimpering at the grinding Peter was doing above him.
“I’m turning us over, M.” Peter breaks away to whisper this in Michael’s ear. Michael unwraps his legs giddily. He felt like he was at a bottleneck and needed Peter to get on with it to get his release. He moans at the force Peter uses to flip him over. While he loves being manhandled, especially when it’s Peter doing it, he always forgets how strong the motherfucker can be. He’s reminded yet again when Peter shuffles them up towards the headboard, settling Michael in his lap. Peter makes eye contact with him, brown irises thin against dark pupils blown wide and adjusting to the dim lighting of their room. He reaches a hand to cup Michael’s cheek, gaze mixed with heavy arousal and an all-encompassing love for him. Michael doesn’t think he’s ever been loved adored by anyone like this before. Peter uses that same hand to join their lips together, the sound of smacking filling the room.
MJ needs him like yesterday. He needs out of these clothes. Why the fuck were they still clothed? Peter must’ve sucked that thought from his brain, because as soon as he thinks it, his arms are being lifted to free him of his clothing. He rips his own off, resettling himself to regard Michael once more. Running his hands up and down the firm muscles on his sides.
“Just beautiful. God you’re fuckin’ heaven on earth.” He drags his hands from Michael’s sides, sliding them over the bulk of ass straddling his lap. A hand slips past the band of Michael’s sweatpants to grab a handful. Michael settles a hand on Peter’s chest, dragging his nails down through the light dusting of hair there. He doesn’t stop until he’s at Peter’s happy trail.
“I’m glad you like it, I guess?” He says, which Peter chuckles at. Both of his hands kneading at Michael, ass through his pants now. Pervert.
“I love it, and will continue to love it and you for as long as you’ll have me.”
When did I get so lucky? Michael wonders. He might cry during the sex tonight. There’s a high probability. Peter loves him so openly, all of him. It’s crazy seeing him like this, especially since he was so nervous around Michael the first couple weeks of knowing him. He’s glad he gave the nervous white boy a chance. Good dick. Great dick, even. Superb dick. Not that that’s the only thing to Peter. Peter’s kind. He’s so, so kind. He gets every door for Michael, he’s always got flowers with him, he listens to any syllable that falls from Michael’s lips, coherent or not. If Michael didn’t know any better, he’d think Peter branded his name into his heart somehow. When this thought comes up, he feels the animalistic urge to live in Peter’s skin. To never separate. They needed to be melded into one. If he could, he’d genuinely would do it. He knows his friends would tease him for being so smitten, but he doesn’t care. He fucking loves Peter.
They kiss again. It’s full of tongue and Michael’s favorite taste— Peter Benjamin Goddamn Parker. His neatly kept beard scratching against Michael’s skin. He moves down to focus on the body of the man underneath him, tongue savoring the feel and taste of his simultaneously lean and muscular build. He stops to lick at his nipples, eliciting a beautiful response from Peter. Oh, he can’t wait until he’s opened up and ready to go. He’s nearly dizzy from his arousal, knowing there’s definitely a stain on his underwear from the precum leaking from his tip. He can’t wait for Peter to open him up with his deft fingers, stretching him open with his entry. He moans at the thought, pressing a kiss to the chestnut colored hair of his happy trail, having shuffled his way between Peter’s legs. His fingers hook into his waistband, pulling them down in a tantalizing fashion. He maintains eye contact, as he drags them down. A whine nearly escapes his lips when Peter’s dick is freed. He can’t wait to have it in him. It’s that serious for him.
A commandeering finger hooks itself underneath his lightly stubbled chin, bringing Michael’s attention upward. With what he knows about Peter, the veil separating his self-control from his arousal is not only thin, but it’s beginning to tear. Knowing that it will be completely split real soon turns Michael’s blood into a sea of magma and molten rock. He makes eye contact with Peter from underneath his lashes, the way he knows drives him insane. It doesn’t take a genius to see how this wreaks havoc on Peter’s fading resolve. The veil continues to tear.
“Baby, take those off.” He punctuates his sentence by reaching his arm into the drawer next to him, nearly ripping it from its place in the nightstand. Something that doesn’t happen often. Michael smirks at this. He knows the power he has over Peter. It doesn’t matter what position they’re in, Michael is always in control and Peter is there to pleasure. After a little shuffling, Peter finally closes the drawer, having grabbed the lube he sought out. Michael stands to remove his jeans, making a show of it for Peter. He chuckles quietly at the look on his face. Crazy thing is, he’s just as gone for Peter. Who made them this way? Were the fates responsible? Either way, he’s grateful to them.
When it comes to sex, Peter is incredibly vocal. He can’t help but praise Michael. He’s a charismatic boy, his charismatic boy, and this side of him for Michael’s eyes. All of this for Michael’s eyes only. He doesn’t give a fuck about anyone else. Michael was only loyal to Peter, and Peter has vowed his allegiance to Michael alone. Adoration and desire swirl in Michael’s gut. This shit is so crazy to him. He needs Peter’s dick in his mouth, or inside of him… He needs Peter to start prepping him.
Michael is beckoned over, instructed by Peter to kneel next to him instead of in front of him. Excitement has replaced the blood from his pumping heart, shooting through every vein, every capillary, every nerve, and every synapse. He loves this boy so much. God, he’s so fucking blessed to call him his. From the shit jokes he tells Michael (and gets earnest laughs from), to the rumble of light snoring reverberating through his chest, settling under Michael’s ear when they’ve cuddled up for the night. Michael does what he’s told. He knows what Peter is planning, but would rather be guided by the calloused hands of his lover. Also, he doesn’t want to look too eager. Not just yet.
Peter guides Michael’s head to his dick, trailing skilled fingers down his spine to toy with his ass once more as Michael noses at the hair at Peter’s base. There’s a light sting from Peter slapping his ass. He moans, to which he hears Peter let out an amused coo. Michael grabs his shaft, bypassing it to suckle at Peter’s balls.
“So beautiful.” Michael hums at this, the vibration eliciting another moan from Peter. More praises and affirmations fall from his lips. His ears perk up at the sounds of the lubricant being opened and closed by Peter. Shortly thereafter, he feels the cool sensation of a coated finger at his entrance. In lieu of thanks, he licks a stripe from Peter’s scrotum to his tip, taking him in his mouth. Simultaneously, he feels Peter ease his finger past the ring of his entrance and inside. Michael moans around him, to which he lets out an amused huff. It’s like he’s in some raunchy dream. The glide of Peter’s finger inside of him making more precum leak from his neglected dick. He returns to bobbing his head, eventually taking all of Peter until his nose was buried in the hair at his base, savoring the scent.
His eyes sting and to be honest, from the sensation of Peter adding in a second finger, opening him up at a moderate pace, to feeling the tears prickle in his eyes from deepthroating, he thinks he might not make it. If Peter doesn’t add a third finger and gets his dick in there soon, Michael could die. He could cum. Something was going to happen to him.
“There you go,” Peter mewls. “Look at the way you swallow all of that ease. You’re a natural.” A third finger is added as Peter showers Michael in praises. A louder moan falls from Michael, making him choke a little bit more on Peter’s head nestled deep in his throat. He resumes his bobbing motion, replacing what he can’t reach with his right hand and assigning his left to his scrotum. There are tears and snot from the abuse he’s inflicting on his throat. He’s starting to get a little annoyed because he knows Peter is avoiding his prostate to tease him.
Peter removes his finger, which makes Michael take his dick out of his mouth and look at him. On his face a look loudly saying Can this nigga get on with it? to Peter.
Peter snickers at it. “Greedy.”
“Well, duh?” Michael rolls his eyes. He thought that shit was fucking obvious. This man might just fucking kill him when in reality, he just needs the “fucking” part to happen. Peter sticks his tongue out at him in jest.
He goes to move, then his eyes catch on something in the room. He ponders for a second before smirking.
“Wait a second, boo. I have an idea…” Michael makes a show of emitting an exasperated sigh. Internally, he’s very intrigued. Peter’s strong… His cock twitching at the fact.
He lay back on the bed staring up at the ceiling. At the sound of shuffling, his head perks up to see what the hell Peter thought of. His eyes widen when he sees him maneuvering their full length mirror to face the bed.
Normally, Michael hates when the mirror faces the bed, as he was always taught not to let it do so growing up. Peter knows this, but Michael keeps his mouth shut. He just wants fucked… Peter always delivers, so there’s no reason to question him.
“Alright, face the mirror. Get on your stomach and arch for me, babe.” Michael tries to narrow his eyes at the mirror, but his gaze is a bit more… tinged with lust than he thought. When he obeys, he smirks at Peter’s reaction. He’d been idly stroking himself watching Michael get situated, pupils blown, lips red from Michael and bitten from his own arousal. He climbs on the bed, coating himself in lubricant before lining himself with Michael’s entrance. When he finally pushes past the initial ring of muscle, Michael lets out a long whine at the feeling. He’d been waiting this whole time for Peter to fill him.
“Took you long enough.”
“You are so impatient, bruh.” Chuckle rumbles through Peter’s chest as he kisses up Michael’s back, driving him crazy with the feel of his facial hair dragging along the expanse of it. He’s a caring lover, but Michael kind of doesn’t give a fuck… like at all right now. He needs this and badly.
“Youcanmoveyoucanmoveyoucanmove.” Michael says impatiently, thinly veiled desperation in his voice, lust clouding his eyesight. He genuinely can’t take it anymore. Peter waits just a little bit more, as he knows his tells and would never move prematurely. When he does that first thrust, Michael sees stars. God in heaven above, he thinks to himself. Thank you… thank you… thank you. Let’s fill the room with thank yous…
Peter continues with his movements, strokes slow and deep. He leans down to mouth at Michael’s neck the way he knows he can’t resist. This paired with a particular thrust gracing his prostate, incoherent words tumble out of Michael’s mouth and onto the floor. His hands wadding up the sheets like a paper ball.
“Oh my god,” pant, pant “Oh my god—“ is all he can get out. Peter feels so good inside of him, thrusting slowly and powerfully. He feels sososo good. Michael can barely think long enough between thrusts, as Peter hits his target head on. He feels his teeth along his shoulder, a hand placed by Michael’s head. Michael can feel the cool metal of his dogtags on his back. Peter switches from biting to place his mouth near Michael’s ear. He begins to pick up his speed.
“You see that, baby? Look at us,” Peter moans sweetly in Michael’s ear. Michael barely manages to look in the mirror from the amount of bliss he’s in. When he catches a glimpse at the reflection of their conjoined bodies, he begins to sob, overwhelmed with pleasure.
“Oh, Mj…” He says between thrusts, “my Mj. Do you see how beautiful you look like this? I only ever want to make you feel special,” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale through he nose, “You’re the only one I ever want to see like this. You and nobody else.” He leaves more marks on Michael’s neck, snaking a hand around and onto his dick, matching the speed of his strokes.
Michael’s words jumble further with Peter’s name being the most coherent one. He reaches behind him, not even sure what he’s grabbing at. He feels Peter seize his forearm, pressing it into the mattress. He uses it for stability while his hips piston his cock in and out of Michael.
Dear, god… Who knew this white boy got down like this? Who knew that not only was he capable of such warmth and a genuine beacon of love, he knew exactly how Michael wanted to be fucked, how he wanted to be touched and exploited it stategically. Who knew that someone could become so fluent in the language of Michael J. Watson so quickly. More tears fall from a mixture of this epiphany and the constant hammering his prostate was getting from the man above him. Just like Peter expressed not wanting anyone but him, he easily reciprocated the feeling. Peter’s thoughts were just for him, and his thoughts were only for Peter.
“Loveyouloveyouloveyou. I love you, Peter,” his sobs increase in volume, “Yes! Right there. Oh my—like that,”
“It’s all yours! Yesyesyes, just for you. Only you.” The reflection of them covered in sweat, melding as one in the mirror, making him dizzy. Underneath the light hair on Peter’s chest, one could make the deep flush of exertion spreading to his shoulders, up his neck, and settling on Peter’s cheeks, completely on display despite the light beard. They were nearing their orgasm, especially Michael. He needs Peter’s lips on him. He needs the sensation like he needs air.
“Turn me over. Want to see you. I-” Michael croons. He knows Peter heard him, confirmation coming from him pulling out and flipping him over, as requested. Peter throws both of his legs over his shoulder, leaning forward to push them as far as Michael’s flexibility would allow (which is quite a bit). His knees essentially touching his ears, the way that he knows Michael likes. They share a kiss full of tongue, full of spit, full of love, full of carnal desire for the other. He lines himself once more, slipping inside of Michael’s hole with ease. The room smells of sweat and sex. Their noises of pleasure filling it.
Michael feels his orgasm approaching and rapidly. Closing his eyes, waiting for it to fully wash over him. Peter’s hand returns to his cock, causing him to mewl into their kisses. He feels like he’s been baptized.
“God! Deeper! Fuck, bab-Peter!” his body goes rigid with his climax. A deep whine from within his chest rings throughout the room like a bell. Their poor neighbors. Shortly after, Peter’s thrusts begin to lose their rhythm, speeding up frantically as he nears his release.
“Look at me.” Michael growls with clenched teeth.
“Where do you want it, baby?”
“Inside. Don’t you dare look anywhere else but at me.”
Peter follows these exact instructions as he ejaculates. Brown eyes boring into brown eyes. He thrusts deeply into Michael with it, making sure to throughoutly fill him with his seed. A gasp wrings out of him, face scrunched up in pleasure. He’s an atheist, but Michael’s body was so otherworldly, he thinks he may have met the creator for a second.
When he finishes, they share one last kiss. A jumbled mess of limbs, sweaty foreheads laid on the other. He grins.
“How’s that for a special day, MJ?” A kiss is planted on Michael’s sweaty forehead. “You’re actually more freaked out than you think.” Michael rolls his eyes, fondness and serenity settling over his features.
“Nigga, did you not explicitly angle the mirror because you wanted to fuck me in it?” He fixes Peter with a look, then giggles.
“And?” Peter moves to pull out of him. Michael’s face contorts briefly from the sensitivity. “That’s supposed to mean something? I’m just doing what I know you’ll like and enjoy what you look like during it.” He punctuates his statement with a shrug and a cheeky smile on the side. The audacity.
“Man, whatever.” Comes Michael’s reply. Peter beams, leaning down once more to press kisses to the corner of his mouth. Michael turns his head to deepen the kiss, which Peter breaks to get a washrag to clean him. On his way to the bathroom, he stops. Turning to Michael, he tilts his head.
“Why not just take a shower. You might leak all over the sheets.” Peter muses.
“If I can tolerate the mirror facing the bed, you can handle a bit of your bust leaking from me while I catch my breath. You do know that you’re strong and fuck crazy, right?” Peter barks out laughter at this. He walks back to the bed to bring Michael with him to the shower.
“Come on. You’ll know I’ll pamper. It’s my treat.”
“Mind you, this is a shower we’re talking about.” Michael says while holding back his laughter. Peter could be so ridiculous, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He pauses, the reality of what his boyfriend had done for him today hitting him.
Post-nut clarity is a real thing… This gag? He laughs a little, head shaking in amusement at the thought.
“Laughing at me, now?” Peter teases. Michael shakes his head. Features conveying that he was responding earnestly.
“No. I’m thinking about how lucky— no, blessed I am to have you. Thank you so much for today.” Peter’s face softens, lines of amusement smoothing themselves out. He was so beautiful, especially in the dimmed lighting of their bedroom.
“Of course, my love.” He pecks Michael’s lips with his own. Suddenly, Michael can’t hide his smile any longer, gazing in open adoration at the man he loves. He was always cherished, always worshipped by him, and Michael reciprocated the treatment. He’d never stop.
“I love you.” He says quietly. Peter leans in for another peck.
“And I love you too. Now, let’s shower before you leak more cum than necessary on the sheets. It’s supposed to sit in there and make us some babies, remember?” Peter grabs his hand, interlacing their fingers. Michael rolls his eyes, giggling as he’s dragged into the bathroom. Tomorrow, he knew for a fact he wasn’t moving from Peter’s side. He didn’t want to.
He was half his soul, as the poets say.