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“Matt,” Peter whispers, running a hand through his sleeping lover’s hair. “Wake up.”
Matt groans, but doesn’t open his eyes. “It’s early.”
Peter makes a quiet noise of agreement as he shifts closer, close enough to press his lips to Matt’s neck. Fuck, he’s missed this. It feels so stupidly good to be warm in bed, cuddled up against another man. Peter’s been so used to being alone—no friends, no family, and hardly any Matt these days either. He’s really missed his not-boyfriend.
“Matt,” Peter whispers again, and he’s finally rewarded with movement—Matt shifts the both of them, and suddenly Peter is on his back, and Matt is smiling down at him, stubbled and sleep-mussed and beautiful, like something out of a dream.
“Your ribs are better, huh?” Matt asks as he smooths a warm, calloused hand down Peter’s side, coming to rest on Peter’s waist.
“Practically all healed up,” Peter confirms eagerly, barely resisting the urge to squirm impatiently under Matt’s touch. “You said, in the morning—”
Matt cuts Peter off with a kiss, slow and honey sweet, heat building with each press of their lips together, and Peter is nearly breathless when Matt pulls back.
“Matt,” Peter whines, and Matt just chuckles.
“I did make some promises about this morning,” Matt concedes, sliding his fingers into Peter’s short hair to get just enough of a grip to tug Peter’s head to the side, and Peter lets out a breathy moan as Matt sets his teeth to Peter’s neck, leaving marks that will fade all too fast. There’s a part of Peter that doesn’t want to get caught up rolling around in bed when there are still so many unknowns, still so many questions, but—well, he was the one who woke Matt up with a desperate need for his touch.
Later. They’ll talk again later.
Matt kisses down Peter’s neck to his chest, laving over each nipple in turn, and Peter is already so fucking hard. It’s been ages and he’s been lonely, and he needs this, needs Matt, needs them to be good, to be stable, to be together.
“I’m gonna die if you don’t fuck me,” Peter gasps out, and Matt muffles a low chuckle against Peter’s skin.
“You’re still bruised,” Matt whispers, ghosting gentle kisses across Peter’s ribs, and the pain of it is hardly more than a memory now. “But you’re strong, aren’t you? Stronger than I knew.”
Peter swallows thickly. “Yeah, I am.”
“You get hit by a bus and you just walk away,” Matt murmurs, something like awe in his voice, and Peter’s heart jumps in his chest when Matt’s fingers curl into the waistband of his boxers. Now doesn’t seem like a good time to mention that he’s survived getting hit by a train too—Peter doesn’t want to risk distracting Matt from the situation at hand. “I can’t think of anything you can’t take.”
Matt tugs Peter’s boxers down and off, and Peter moans when Matt grabs him by the hips and flips him over. Matt knows now, how strong Peter is; he must know that Peter could overpower him easily, and yet. Peter lets Matt manhandle him anyway, and he likes it more than just a little bit. Face shoved into the pillow, heart racing, Peter spreads his legs, and it’s only seconds before a lube-slick finger is pressing slowly inside him.
“You can take me, can’t you, baby?” Matt asks softly, and Peter moans around a yes. “I could push inside you, no prep needed, and you’d just take me, wouldn’t you?”
“Please,” Peter groans, hips shifting restlessly on the bed, desperate for more. He’d let Matt take him any way Matt wants. If Matt wants it, Peter wants it too. “Please, more.”
A second finger presses inside, before Peter’s even gotten used to the stretch of the first, and then Matt’s fingers are moving, thrusting deep inside at a punishing pace, and Peter can only moan as he takes it. It’s not like Matt’s never fucked him rough before, but it’s always felt a little bit like Matt was holding himself back from just how rough he could go. It’s so surprisingly satisfying that Matt knows the truth about him now—Matt can see him as more than just the teenage virgin who cried after their first time.
Matt fucks Peter hard, nailing his prostate with every thrust of his thick fingers, and then Matt is shifting closer, pressing his chest along Peter’s back, hard cock against Peter’s thigh. God, Peter wants him, needs him, needs to be fucked right fucking now—but Matt puts a hand on Peter’s hip, stilling Peter’s eager humping against the bed, and Matt’s fingers still inside him, still pressed deep, but not moving now, and Peter whines.
“Breathe,” Matt instructs softly, then kisses Peter’s sweaty back. “I think I owe you some answers.”
“You—now?” Peter sputters, craning his neck to glare back at Matt, but he can’t even see the man’s face from this angle. “Come on, man.”
“Just humor me for a minute,” Matt insists and Peter huffs a heavy sigh in answer. “Last night… you asked me if I could love you.”
Peter freezes, clenching uncomfortably tight around Matt’s fingers, as he grimaces into the pillow, bracing himself for the most poorly timed rejection ever. There’s a beat where all Peter can hear is the pounding of his own heart, and he wants to know, he does, but he can’t take it if the answer is no. God, couldn’t Matt have at least waited ‘til after they fucked to crush Peter’s hopes?
“Relax,” Matt whispers, another kiss pressed between Peter’s shoulder blades. “I need you to know, I do see you as my equal. I do want this to be real.”
It’s—it’s not a rejection. But it’s not the three words Peter wanted to hear.
“Matt, we don’t have to talk about it,” Peter whispers back, closing his eyes tight. “You don’t have to love me back.”
“Peter,” Matt murmurs. “Baby, I do love you.”
Heart thumping, mind racing, Peter hardly has a second to process Matt’s words, Matt’s feelings, Matt’s love, before Matt is urging him to roll over once more, and then Matt is kissing him all slow and sweet again, and Matt loves him, and Peter could cry. It’s been a while now since the spell, since losing May, since losing everything, and—and it’s overwhelming, all of a sudden, to be loved again. Anyone else who ever loved Peter is either dead or doesn’t remember it, but Matt loves him, Spider-Man and GED and all, and fuck, Peter can’t help but let a few tears fall as Matt kisses him and holds him and loves him.
“I need you,” Matt whispers against Peter’s lips, fingers moving inside him once more, but then he’s pulling away, and Peter whines into the kiss. “I just need to grab a condom—”
“Don’t,” Peter interrupts, then immediately turns red as Matt’s eyebrows raise and Peter realizes what he said.
“Don’t?” Matt parrots, seemingly dumbstruck.
“Don’t,” Peter confirms softly, and Matt groans into the next heated kiss. Matt doesn’t break the kiss as he reaches for the lube, groaning as he slicks up his cock, and Peter’s head falls back, mouth falling open, as Matt presses the head of his cock to Peter’s hole. It’s—it’s—fuck. Matt’s cock is hot and slick and dripping, and Peter trembles as Matt just rubs the tip against Peter’s hole, back and forth, and then—they both moan as Matt presses inside.
Matt hardly gives Peter a second to adjust before thrusting all the way inside, and Peter groans as he’s filled. Matt was right, of course—Peter can take it.
It’s easy as anything for Matt to fold Peter nearly in half, pushing Peter’s knees up to his ears, and their next kiss is messy, desperate, wet. Peter loses himself in it, in Matt’s lips and Matt’s hands and the thick, hard press of Matt inside him. His bruised ribs are long forgotten—there’s no pain here.
“Fuck,” Peter moans as Matt fucks him harder and harder, jolting Peter’s body farther up the bed with every thrust. Peter reaches for the headboard behind him to anchor himself, fingers digging into the wood as he hangs on for dear life. Matt is relentless, groaning into Peter’s neck as he thrusts, the loud noises of their bodies moving together filling up the room. It feels so good, so impossibly good, and Peter can’t help but shout as he suddenly comes, cock spurting between their sweaty bodies, making a mess.
Matt doesn’t slow for a second, grunting against Peter’s lips, balls slapping against Peter’s ass, and Peter lies there, and Peter takes it, and Peter is loved. Peter lets out a breathless laugh in delight, abandoning the splintering headboard to wrap his arms around Matt, keeping him close.
“I’m yours,” Peter declares, breathless, still on the cusp of laughter. “I love you. Fuck, I love you.”
“Peter,” Matt moans, panting into Peter’s neck as he thrusts again and again and again, and then—fuck. They both moan as Matt comes, hot and slick inside Peter, and the feeling of it is new and strange and good. It’s a different sort of fullness than Peter’s used to, and it just about sets his blood on fire. It feels right to keep Matt’s come inside him, where it belongs, and Peter lets out a whine as Matt pulls back and his come follows suit, dripping out of Peter.
“Oh my god,” Peter breathes out, clenching around nothing, feeling so wet. “Do that again.”
Matt laughs as he flops down next to Peter, pulling Peter into his embrace with the ease of familiarity. “You’re gonna need to give me a few minutes.”
“Fine,” Peter huffs, and then he laughs too, and for a moment he can’t stop laughing, and neither can Matt, and it’s the lightest Peter’s felt since his world went to shit. When their laughter dies down, they’re both quiet for a moment, and Matt presses a kiss to the top of Peter’s head. It feels so good to be held.
“I meant everything I said,” Matt says softly, nuzzling into Peter’s sweaty hair. “We can be together. Really together.”
Peter almost wants to bring up some of the other things Matt said yesterday, about Peter’s age, about whether he still thinks this is wrong—but he knows enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth. What does any of that matter in the face of love? Maybe Matt still thinks this is wrong, and maybe Matt will never forget the fact that he’s twice Peter’s age, but Matt still wants him.
Matt still…
“You love me?” Peter asks softly, and Matt holds him tighter.
“Yeah, baby,” Matt whispers back. “Yeah, I do.”