tearing adoration
“what’d i say?"
you’re barely whispering to him as you break the silene. barely whispering to the man who just crawled in through his window.
the man still sitting on the ceiling, trying to hide that he’s been staring at you for the last several minutes. completely still, completely amusing.
you’ve been acting like you haven’t noticed. just to play along.
you don’t look up from the book you’re holding but your lips quirk, body elated at his presence.
he’s back, even if it is the middle of the night. the comfort of his aroma is enough to ease the worry written on your skin.
enough to erase the words that have become unbearably familiar.
"what’d i say?” you repeat, not attempting to hide the gentle smugness in your voice.
peter hums, crawling down the wall with perfect ease. not that you’re looking, of course.
“i don’t remember,” he says, voice muffled as he moves.
having played your part for the last couple of minutes while he snuck in, you put your book down now, no longer interested in pretending that he’s not there.
never interested in pretending that he isn’t there.
you lean over the bed, reaching to grab something, smile growing.
you don’t turn back in time to see peter staring, standing now, stretching, curious eyes hidden by his mask.
you turn back and hold the object behind your back, smile mischievous. you stare at him for a moment, patiently waiting.
peter takes off the mask, just so that he can roll his eyes at your insistence, quirk a brow at your smile.
“i mentioned a little something…” you hint, leaning back as you continue to hide the object peter is very obviously trying to peer at.
he walks over to his bed–which you’re laying in–and leans on the bed with his knees, head just low enough to block his view. you’re about to tease him for ruining the surprise, but then he crawls in right next to you.
you wince at him. “don’t get in bed with your suit-"
peter, ever so annoyingly, moves even closer to you, moves his head so that he can nuzzle your neck.
”-you’re all sweaty, peter,“ you complain, trying not to let the smile slip onto your face. that spot in your chest, void for only the hours he’s been gone, begins to fill again.
you can’t see his face, but his voice is nothing but an exhausted hum. his nose moves up your neck with gentle prodding. he’s teasing you with his presence, annoying you with his cuddles.
you sigh.
"we talked about getting take-out earlier. i don’t remember anything after that."
you scoff at him, crossing your arms.
"sorry,” he says, not very sheepishly. his hand teases around your waist, pulling you closer in a way he hopes you won’t notice.
you do. but you refuse to let his silent affection distract you. refuse to ruin your perfectly conducted plan with the fond feeling invading your brain.
not for long, at least.
you wait a moment, listening to his gentle exhales, appreciating the quiet peter provides, and then, with a burst of energy, you poke his forehead, getting him to look up at you.
he does, wonderful, exhausted smile on his face.
you begin again. “we were talking about the objectification of a certain superhero-"
peter groans, hiding his head in your neck once again, grumbling against your skin.
"the exploitation of the guardian of new york-” you continue, just teasing now.
“i forgot that conversation on purpose,” peter mumbles into your neck, trying and failing to cover your mouth with his hand.
you laugh. “or in simpler terms, spider-man merch."
peter groans again, this time with an exhale against your skin, the feeling making you giggle.
"now, i obviously think it’s a wonderful idea,” peter looks up at you with a glare, hair messy and falling against his head. “but remind me again of your thoughts on it."
your smile is nothing but malicious, adoring as you watch the man holding you roll his eyes.
the smile falls when peter drops his hold on your waist, choosing instead to fall against the mattress dramatically.
his voice is muffled, but you don’t fail to notice the exasperation behind it.
"what was that, peter? i can’t hear you."
his head turns toward you, his mouth and eyes very serious. "you didn’t,” he says, shaking his head as if he’s trying to convince you.
you lean down and kiss his cheek with a smile.
peter doesn’t react to that, but his eyes get wider. “you didn’t,” he repeats.
you scoff. “well what kind of girlfriend would i be if i didn’t support you in every way possible-"
peter’s head is thrown back, and his hands go to cover his eyes. he shakes his head insistently. "the best kind."
you laugh at him, finally letting the hand that’s been hiding behind your back drift towards him.
you present the backpack to him with a proud smile on your face. you look back and forth between him and it with the perfect face of unutterable disbelief.
peter stares at you, feeling a sort of disbelief himself.
"you know,” you say, nodding towards him, completely serious. “the resemblance is uncanny."
the picture of peter seems to smile back at you, masked eyes glistening under the light of his bedroom.
“it looks just like you,” you tell him, letting admiration fill your voice to the brim.
peter moans, rolling on to back as if he’s in pain.
staring at him for a moment, you appreciate the arm slung over his head, the slight smirk hidden on his lips. you appreciate the messiness of his hair, the hand he’s got limp in the air. you appreciate his irritation, the way he unconciously leans toward you.
and then, tossing the backpack onto the floor, you move closer to him, a different sort of smile on your face.
you kiss the forearm that’s hiding peter’s eyes from you, trailing your lips along his skin, asking him to move it without the words. you peck your way up to his hand, waiting.
peter listens, hand going to up to his head as his are brown eyes revealed to you within an instant. behind them, there’s an unbelievable warmth, a gentle amusement, a careful adoration he seems to have locked away.
you’ve been trying to find the key for weeks.
your eyes sneak down him, following the line of his neck to the tension in his shoulders. the red material of his suit flashes at your eyes, a sudden reminder that he’s only just come home.
that he was gone for such a long time.
you smile at him, poking and prodding at his face with curious eyes. "no knife attacks tonight?” you ask, attempting to keep your voice light.
peter smiles at you, a gentle exhale of breath against the bridge of your nose because of how close you are to him.
he seems to catch on to your double meaning. “oh you know,” he sighs. “with the knife shortage going around and everything…"
you’re the one that exhales this time, smile faltering for only a moment.
you’re happy to hear that.
you move so that you’re no longer straddling him, instead, letting your left arm wrap around his shoulder to his back, nuzzling your nose into his neck just as he had done to you earlier.
you breathe in, trying to comfort your heart with the feeling of his burning skin against yours.
peter pulls you in closer, resting his mouth against the top of your head.
"tired?” you ask, just loud enough for him to hear.
peter’s head shakes against yours. “no,” he whispers, but you can hear the hitch in his breath. you feel the tension in his hands, the weariness that tints his eyes whenever he comes home.
but you only hum, allowing him a moment of silence.
peter waits, breathing you in, and then you feel a smile against your head. “where did you even get that backpack?”
you laugh against his neck, kissing up to his jaw, just so you can look at him.
his eyes meet yours, content, warm, paitent, perfect.
“after you left i went to the kiosk i showed you before school the other day."
peter only looks away from you for a second, seeming to try to push the smile off of his face. "was that completely necessary?” he asks, shaking his head for you.
but you nod. “i’m never using another bag again."
peter scoffs. his hand moves across the bare skin on your back, tapping a pattern with his fingers. his face contrasts the gentle motions he makes against your skin. "we’ll have to stop being seen together in public, then."
you laugh, only vaguely disoritented at his touch, and shake your head. "you have to deal with it, it’s payback."
peter’s brow furrows, his smile disbelieving. "for what?” he asks, face so very close to yours.
and try as you might, put in all the effort you have, your voice still isn’t light enough when you say: “for leaving."
the smile on your face might’ve made it a joke, but peter knows you far too well.
his eyes pause on yours, staring for only a moment. and then his hand comes up to your cheek, and you allow his fingertips to trace the skin there.
you allow him a moment to stare, allow your words to sit in the air, the reality of them hitting you both in a punch strong enough to knock you down.
you shouldn’t have said it.
peter’s head tilts, and he watches, the same as you, waiting for a reaction.
"i’m sorry,” he says, voice full of so much more than moments before.
you see the hesitation in his eyes, the prison of adoration, and you curse yourself again for even letting the words slip.
you shake your head, smiling at him again, just a bit more sure. you try to promise him with your eyes, that it’s all okay.
that he’s fine. that you’re fine if he’s fine. that you’re okay with this.
you wish you had the words to convey it, wish there wasn’t a weight there, on your chest, keeping you from saying anything at all.
but peter shakes his head and his hand falls from your face.
instead, he uses it to push himself up, closer to you, and his lips, with the force of a feather, begin to trace your skin, starting exactly where his hand left off.
you can feel him more now when he’s this close. you can feel his other hand, sneaking its way up your skin. you can feel his heartbeat, just under your fingertips.
you’re tempted to move away, just so you can see his eyes again.
but you don’t. you give yourself this moment to enjoy the feeling of peter pecking your skin, of his gentle kisses, each leaving their own mark, each exhale of breath another “sorry” peter doesn’t have the words to say.
you let him trace the solidness of your skin, let him reassure you with his lips.
it’s working quite well.
you’re breathing is the only thing to remind you that this isn’t a dream, the drumming of your heart the only thing to keep you awake as peter lulls you closer to him.
peter’s lips pause right at the corner of yours, only slightly teasing before you finally push away from him, impaitent, only to pull him right back.
it only takes this moment to calm the stillness of your heart. to get your pulse racing with a certain exhilaration peter knows how to tease out of you.
when he pulls back, it’s with a smile.
it’s with his hands, holding you, his breath, sharing yours.
“you can keep the backpack,” he says, moving his eyes to the sides as if he’s relenting.
you roll your eyes. “are you going to change so that we can go to bed?"
peter hums, pulling you so that you’re half on top of him, face once again hidden in his neck.
"no,” he says, sighing with an exhaustion neither of you are unfamiliar with.
and, well, you don’t have enough energy to complain.