Small story! Just wanted to write a smutty little quickie over Marvel Rivals.
NOTES:
WARNING: somnophilia, non con, aka if you don't like it don't read!
Peter is the bagman skin.
Iron fist is default skin. (or the swordmaster one if that's hotter to you)
Mantis sleep bomb has to be disabled by another teammate in this universe, it doesn't fade away on its own.
--
“That’s the last of ’em!” Peter Parker shouted, his voice muffled by the ridiculous paper bag over his head. He spun around the neon-drenched cyberpunk map, scanning for stragglers.
“Obviously,” Lin replied, flexing his hands after a flurry of punches. “These fists don’t just talk; they scream.” He playfully shadowboxed, smirking as he rewrapped his knuckles.
Peter chuckled, his heart doing an Olympic vault at the sight of Lin’s grin. He forced himself to look away before he got caught staring.
But something green and shifty caught his eye. A familiar figure stepped out of a shadowed doorway—Mantis.
“Shit, we missed one!” Peter swung into action, his webbing zipping across the battlefield. One swift kick later, Mantis was down for the count.
“Nowww that’s the last of ’em!” he said, landing dramatically. Purple smoke curled around his feet, making his spidey senses buzz.
“Lin!” Doctor Strange’s voice cut through the comms. Peter whipped around to see his teammate slumped in a standing position, surrounded by swirling purple spores.
“Mantis got him before you took her out,” Strange explained, already moving with the rest of the team. “Peter, handle it. We’ll regroup at the next point.”
Peter froze, his heart racing. “Uh, yeah! Sure thing, Doc.”
As the rest of the team disappeared around the corner, Peter turned back to Lin, whose head drooped slightly. The purple spores shimmered faintly against the sleek gold-and-green of his Iron Fist uniform.
“Okay, no big deal,” Peter muttered, approaching. “Just pull out the spore and—”
His voice faltered. Lin’s bicep caught his attention as his chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. Peter’s eyes lingered.
Why does he have to look so good even like this?
The faint scent of Lin’s cologne hit him, mixed with sweat from the battle. Peter’s knees almost buckled.
“It wouldn’t hurt…” he whispered to himself, justifying what he knew was a terrible idea. “We’re already winning. They’ll be fine without us for a minute.”
He circled Lin, his hands twitching at his sides. Lin’s broad shoulders, his chiseled back, even the curve of his— Nope, stop. Peter forced himself to focus, but it was like trying to look away from the sun.
“Just one thing,” he murmured, lifting Lin’s arm. The weight of it, the warmth of his skin—Peter’s breath hitched. “God, you’re perfect.”
His fingers traced the contours of Lin’s hand before he impulsively brought it to his lips. He tasted the salty tang of sweat. The lack of reaction from Lin despite Peter essentially deepthroating his fingers turned him on even more. His fingers floated around, the limp movements pushed around by Peter's tongue.
“Focus, Parker. Focus,” he scolded himself, setting Lin’s arm back down.
Peter lifted Lin's face up by pulling on his Jet Black spiked hair.
Lin's face was in a neutral state, no expression whatsoever. Despite Peter's best efforts, Iron Fist's face kept flopping and lolling over, falling behind and forward.
— This isn't working. Peter thought, his eyes looking up to a streetlamp above. One could easily imagine a cartoon lightbulb appearing above Peter's head, his expression doing no efforts to hide an idea spawning.
Peter shot a web at a nearby streetlamp, using it to rig Lin’s head upright. The mask-covered face now stared straight at him, giving Peter the illusion of eye contact.
“Perfect,” he muttered, stepping closer.
The distant shouts of Galacta echoed through the city—“Keep pushing!”—but Peter ignored them. He cupped Lin’s face in his hands, the heat of his skin making his pulse race.
Peter couldn’t help but chuckle at himself, stepping back to admire his makeshift handiwork. Lin stood frozen in place, his body at rest like a soldier awaiting orders, head suspended by Peter’s improvised webbing.
“Well,” Peter muttered to no one, “if this isn’t my best idea yet.”
He reached forward, fingers brushing against Lin’s jaw. Gently, he pulled down on Lin’s chin, opening his mouth. The movement was easy, his lips parting smoothly, revealing the soft pink of his tongue and a glimpse of teeth.
Peter grinned, his playful side kicking in. “Hi, I’m Lin, and I think Peter is soooo hot,” he said in a bad imitation of Lin’s voice, moving Lin’s mouth like a ventriloquist’s dummy.
It was silly—ridiculous, even—but Peter was having too much fun to care.
That was, until his eyes caught the faint shimmer of saliva pooling on Lin’s tongue, glistening under the neon lights.
Peter froze.
His playful smirk faded, replaced by something heavier, deeper. He was face-to-face with the mouth he’d been imagining for what felt like forever.
He leaned in closer, his breath hitching as the heat of Lin’s skin radiated against his own. His gaze flicked from Lin’s soft, slightly parted lips to the curve of his jaw, and back again.
“I’ve waited so long for this.”
Peter kissed him, his lips pressing against Lin’s with fervor. He deepened it, his tongue exploring the unresponsive warmth of Lin’s mouth. The faint taste of mint lingered, mixed with something subtly savory.
When he finally pulled back, Lin’s limp tongue lolled slightly. Peter laughed breathlessly, shaking his head at himself.
“You’re gonna kill me one day, Lin.”
With a reluctant sigh, he yanked the spore from Lin’s neck. The glowing purple dimmed instantly, and Lin stirred.
“Spidey?” Lin’s voice was groggy as he blinked back into awareness. He spotted the spore in Peter’s hand. “Damn, Mantis got me?”
“Yeah, uh, just barely,” Peter stammered, quickly pulling the paper bag back over his head to hide his flushed face.
Lin glanced at his hand, frowning. “What’s this sticky crap?” He wiped it on his uniform without a second thought.
“Nothing! Let’s go help the others!” Peter swung off before Lin could ask any more questions, a sheepish grin spreading beneath the bag.
Totally worth it, he thought as he soared through the neon skyline.