“Yes! That’s a yes! That’s a please do it before you change your mind!”
Damian grinned and pulled back enough to look down and take Peter in, panting and flushed and with a few strands of his hair stuck to his temples. He looked fucking wrecked, and Damian hadn’t even gotten started yet.
“No worries there,” he growled, and slid down to kneel on the floor. Seriously, no worries. His mouth was watering. He’dgottena couple of blowjobs recently, both in bathroom stalls at a crowded, too-loud club, with Larry waiting outside and bitching at him afterward when it took too long. Blowjobs like that were fine, and everything.
But getting to work Peter over, taking his time, in a quiet room where he could hear every little moan and whimper? Heaven.
“Can you get your shirt off over the cast? I want to see you.”
“You sure about that? I mean, I’m not exactly ripped.” Peter sounded shy and uncertain, and Damian pushed his shirt up and mouthed over his abdomen in response. It quivered under his tongue, and Damian was so hard he couldn’t guarantee he’d last through blowing Peter the way he deserved. Peter’s stomach had a thin trail of hair leading down to his waistband, and the whole thing was so soft and smooth and perfect. Not ripped, no. But as delicious as Peter’s neck had been.
“Take it off,” Damian whispered against Peter’s skin.
Some movement from above suggested Peter was trying, but he never got there.
Because Damian couldn’t wait, and he pulled the zipper down on Peter’s jeans, mouthing at his cock as it sprang free; he tugged Peter’s boxer-briefs out of the way and swallowed him down in one go. Oh, God, so hot and sweet, and he had precisely enough to fill Damian’s mouth without choking him, and he went for it with all the enthusiasm he had and probably not as much skill as he could have had, but fuck it. Peter moaned and frantically ran his good hand through Damian’s hair, and his legs were shaking under Damian’s palms, and Damian hadn’t enjoyed anything this much inyears.
He was so much taller than Peter that he had to crouch instead of really kneeling, bending his head down at an awkward angle, but it didn’t matter. He sucked and licked and wrapped a hand around the base, and Peter’s cries rose to a high-pitched wail as he came in Damian’s mouth, long spurts that he swallowed down without pausing for a breath.
Fuck, fuck but that was good. Damian pulled off slowly, with one last lick to the head, and grinned as that earned him another soft whimper and a clench of Peter’s hand in his hair. He rested his forehead against Peter’s hip, breathing hard and simply—savoring the moment. It had been a long time since he’d been able to enjoy the afterglow without someone banging on the door of a bathroom stall, or the sounds of other people getting off a few feet away, or at best the awkwardness of knowing he needed to leave in the next five minutes.
Peter smelled so good, clean like soap and laundry detergent, musky like a man who’d just come his brains out, and sweet, like himself. Some neighbor called his dog in the distance, his voice carrying along with the ocean breeze drifting through the open windows. It was peaceful. Domestic. Damian wanted more of it.
The zipper on his jeans dug painfully into his dick, though, and his knees had started to hurt. The fact that it wasn’t perfect only made it better.
“Damian?” Peter’s soft voice pulled him out of his trance. “You okay? I mean, I’m not all that hung or anything, but I forgot to warn you when I was coming, and if I made you uncomfortable I’m really—”
Damian interrupted Peter’s rambling apology by pushing his shirt out of the way and pressing more kisses to the exposed skin, sucking a final hickey onto the flesh right above his hip.
Peter gasped and sucked in his stomach. Damian smiled, licked him, earned another sweet gasp, and silently promised himself that he’d get Peter out of the habit of apologizing, in word or action, for being himself.
“That was awesome,” Damian said, and meant it.
He looked up and smiled, petting Peter’s thighs, and his heart gave a little flip when Peter smiled back, soft and shy, with a glow in his eyes that told Damian he’d thought it was awesome too.
“I want to do that for you, too?”
Damian groaned. “Yes. Please. Now?” He didn’t want to sound pushy, but he was about to explode.
Peter gave him another of those smiles, the kind that Damian knew he’d try to see every day if he could, and reached down to give him a hand up. “Yeah. Come on, let’s get to the bedroom this time.”
Damian hopped up and yanked Peter into a kiss he felt all the way down to his toes. “We have plenty of time for that.”
And they did.
Epilogue
Five months later
Finding the corsetthe day before Valentine’s Day meant it had to be fate. After all, most people wouldn’t decide to clean out their closets on February thirteenth. Just, like, statistically speaking. And the timing of Peter’s burst of organizational enthusiasm, on one of Damian’s days off and the morning after he’d spent the night, did feel awfully suspicious, because the huge walk-in closet had a lot of old, heavy, dusty crap in the back of it that someone had to carry out to the trash while someone else was conveniently too busy sitting on the bed sorting clothes.
Anyway. Fate.
But Peter clearly disagreed. Strongly. And Damian hadn’t even suggested anything yet, damn it.
“I have no idea what that is,” he said, too quickly, cheeks rosy-pink and eyes darting anywhere but to meet Damian’s. “It’s not mine.” Damian raised an eyebrow, waiting him out. He’d learned that Peter simply couldn’t stop talking to fill a silence if you left him one. A beat passed. Another. Wait for it. And… “I mean, obviously it’s mine, or it wouldn’t be in my closet! But it’s not—or actually no, I think it’s Mar’s, it’s from Halloween!”
Ha! Damian grinned triumphantly and held the corset up higher. “Lies, Peter. Filthy lies. First of all, this wouldn’t fit Mary Jane, and secondly, she went to Larry’s party with us on Halloween. Dressed as Black Widow with the bodysuit and everything, remember? Not a corset in sight. And,” he went on, as Peter opened his mouth to start arguing again, “if your sister’s underwear ended up in your closet on Halloween night, we’d have bigger problems than you being a lying liar.”
