Bedroom Hymns
Saturday can’t come quickly enough. Peter spends the days between his chat with Parker and their appointment (it’s not a date, it’s not a date he reminds himself) oscillating between being overjoyed at finally having a shot with his professor and being an anxious mess at the prospect of finally hooking up with him.
“You okay?” Gwen asks during their grocery run as she watches Peter spend 15 minutes picking out a wine bottle. She crosses her arms and shifts her weight to counterbalance the tote bag resting against her hip.
“What? Me? No, yeah, I’m great!” Peter lies as he picks up and puts down yet another rosé. Yeah, he’s totally not having a mini meltdown in a grocery store over choosing the perfect bottle for Parker. No, that would be ridiculous.
“Just get a pinot.” Gwen commands with a tired roll of her eyes as Peter googles the name and compares his current bottle to the two previous ones. She points to a bottle with a label full of rolling mountains and green hills. “Whoever you’re trying to impress better be worth all this.”
Peter gets the pinot and purposely avoids responding to Gwen’s comment, even as she gives him a sly smirk.
That same anxious energy clings to Peter as he makes his way to Parker’s apartment. He nervously rubs his sweaty palms on his pants, contemplates going back home more than once, and waits five minutes in front of the building’s call box before gathering the courage to buzz Parker’s apartment.
Peter tries to calm himself down (without much success) as he heads upstairs. He’s not sure what to expect. There’s a good chance that tonight will just be a repeat of the bathroom encounter and all Parker wants is a quick fuck. However, the hopeful little voice at the back of his mind reminds him of all the times he’s already spent with Parker at his place. Parker’s a gentleman, he reassures himself.
But the thing is — Peter’s not sure if he wants that prim and proper Parker right now. As he walks up the stairs, he thinks back to the Parker with the blown out pupils, heaving chest, and flushed cheeks. He’s still thinking about that Parker when he knocks on the door. No turning back now.
Parker opens the door less than two seconds later.
Peter’s instinct is to gently tease him, ask if he was waiting by the door, but he finds all words lost in his mouth as he takes in the man before him. Parker looks comfortable and inviting in a soft shirt that hugs his arms and chest just right and a pair of dark joggers. But the difference is all in his face — his blue eyes are wide with excitement and match an equally radiant smile. Even more adorably, his hair sticks up in odd spaces as if he’d been running his hand nervously through those spots.
“Hi! Sorry if I kept you waiting.” Peter rambles, completely caught off guard. He holds up the wine bottle triumphantly. “I got you this as a thanks — you know, for everything. I, um, don’t know what kind of wine you like, so I just guessed? I don’t know much about wine, to be really honest. But the label looked nice and I figured that would be okay, you know?”
Peter manages to cut himself off to catch a special look on Parker’s face. Parker is still standing at the door, silent, but with a curious expression that’s equal parts bemused, fond, and surprised. You came — the little lift in his eyebrows seem to say. Peter basks in that look as Parker finally steps out of his reverie.
“No, don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re here. Oh, and thank you!” He steps aside to let Peter in and takes the bottle into the kitchen.
“I don’t know if you’re hungry, but I ordered pizza!” Parker calls out. Peter can hear the glugs of wine as Parker pours out two glasses for them and feels a little tinge of pride. Parker likes his gift.
“I’ll have a slice!” Peter squats down to catch the small ball of fur running towards him. Sandwich eagerly jumps on him and the force of his greeting nearly topples him over. “Hi, Sandwich! I missed you so much, buddy!
Sandwich tries to lick his face in response.
Peter gives the little dog a round of scratches behind his ears and looks up to see Parker watching them with a gentle smile on his face. It causes his hands to shake. Don’t fuck this up, Peter.
“Should we go to the couch?” He asks awkwardly from the floor.
Parker gives him a small nod and carefully navigates over to the couch with their wine glasses. Peter can almost taste the tension in the apartment and it’s reflected in the way Parker moves. Gone is the confident Parker from the bathroom — there’s a skittishness and uncertainty to him now.
He watches Parker hesitate to set their drinks down, as if unsure if he should place his own wine glass on a coaster next to his. It’s a big step, Peter realizes, for them to sit next to each other.
He flashes Parker a reassuring smile as the older man herds Sandwich into his office for the night and then shuffles back to the kitchen to get their food. Peter takes off his jacket and sits on the couch patiently, taking in the entirety of Parker’s living room. He admires the books, puzzle boxes, and pictures on Parker’s shelves and tv console. He wishes he knew the stories behind each item, the way they came into Parker’s life. He’s greedy that way — he wants to soak in every tidbit about this enigmatic man.
“I hope you don’t mind, I got a veggie pizza.” Parker returns with two plates and carefully sets them down on the coffee table. “I’m vegetarian.” He admits sheepishly.
“That’s cool — I like vegetables!” Peter blurts out before immediately wincing at just how dorky and stupid that sounds.
Parker chuckles lightly and takes the seat next to him, far enough away that their knees don’t touch but still within arm’s reach. They sit in uneasy silence for a moment: Parker staring intently at the wood grain patterns on the coffee table and Peter watching him. He sees Parker’s fingers twitch nervously before grabbing his glass, just to have something to hold onto.
“We don’t have to do anything if you’re uncomfortable.” Peter reminds him gently. “I’m just happy to be here.”
Blue eyes flick up to him. Parker sighs, exasperated. “I’m sorry. I just think I’m out of practice.” He clears his throat and takes a pensive sip. “I don’t think I’ve been on a date with someone new in…over eight years?”
Oh, it’s a date.
Peter shrugs nonchalantly, hoping Parker doesn’t realize that his train of thought has been utterly derailed by that revelation. “That’s okay. I really am happy just being with you.” He reaches over to place his hand on Parker’s knee and gives him a smile that he hopes conveys everything he’s feeling: I don’t need anything else but you.
Parker breathes a deep sigh of relief and gives him a brilliant smile in return. Butterflies erupt in Peter’s stomach.
While that admonition isn’t totally enough to break the tension between them, it’s enough to make them both relax. They devour most of the pizza, finish off the wine bottle, and slowly but surely make their way closer together as they talk about growing up in New York.
Feeling a little fuzzy-headed from the good food and wine, Peter rests his head on the back of Parker’s couch and studies him for a second.
“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
Parker squirms uncomfortably, as if ready to immediately shut the question down, before sinking into the couch and mirroring his position. “No. Go right ahead.”
“Has there ever been anyone else? Other than MJ, I mean?”
Parker freezes.
“You don’t have to answer, but um… I guess I’m just curious.”
Parker is thoughtful for a moment — a thin crease forms between his eyebrows. “No, MJ’s been the only one for me since…forever it feels like.”
“Oh.” Peter watches Parker stiffen, as if scared that he’s said the wrong thing, and he immediately tries to set his mind at ease. “I think that’s sweet.”
A faint blush spreads across Parker’s fair face. “Yeah, I guess.” He grimaces quickly, uncomfortable, “I’ve never been good at the whole…relationship thing. Honestly, I’m surprised MJ even noticed me. I’m surprised you noticed me.”
Now it’s Peter’s turn to blush. He laughs quietly. “Man, are you kidding me? You are-.” He finds himself leaning in, spreading his palm over the delicate bone of Parker’s wrist. “absolutely amazing. You’ve got it all figured out, you’re ridiculously hot, and — I don’t know — I like spending time with you.”
Parker laughs in disbelief. “Thanks, I think you’re pretty amazing too.” He brings his hand up to Peter’s cheek, softly runs his thumb down his jawline, traces his bottom lip, and tugs down.
Peter finds that simple action bouying. He crosses the narrow space between them to kiss Parker, bolstered by those words. Parker lets him do it and moves so that they’re closer, their knees knocking together, teeth clicking, and Peter savoring the way Parker tastes. It’s silky and rich, just like the wine, and it’s absolutely intoxicating.
“Is this okay?” Peter asks, leaning their foreheads together, looking down his nose at the swell of Parker’s lips. “We don’t-we don’t have to do anything tonight. Not if you don’t want-”
Parker breathlessly nods and jerks his head to his room. “Yes. I want this. We should-”
“Okay.” Peter pushes himself off the couch and follows Parker closely, heart thundering. He closes the door to Parker’s room behind him but lingers as he admires the small but tidy space, unsure of how to proceed and not wanting to push Parker too much.
However, the tone between them shifts quickly. Almost instantly, Parker presses himself to Peter, brings his hand up behind his neck, and presses his fingernails in. “Tell me that you want this.” He whispers into Peter’s ear as he stands on tiptoe and his hot breath fills Peter’s mind with fog.
“I want you. I’ve wanted this for so long.”
Parker accepts that invitation and moves his lips toward that sensitive space behind Peter’s ear before trailing down his jaw, pressing lazy kisses. It’s not even a minute in and Peter already feels like he’s done for — he’s not sure he’ll even survive the night if Parker keeps kissing him like that.
He exposes his neck to provide Parker with more room to spread lavish kisses and tugs up at Parker’s shirt. He purposefully skims his fingernails against the planes of Parker’s (surprisingly toned, holy shit) stomach, relishing how his nails brush up against a spot that makes Parker’s breath hitch. He files that information away for later — right now, his focus is getting Parker out of that damn shirt. It’s a team effort, with Parker rolling it up and off with a grunt as he throws it somewhere near the bed.
“Wow.” It’s dim in Parker’s room, but even then Peter can make out the fine details of Parker’s body: the softness of his chest, the delicate pucker of his nipples in the cold, and the faint lines of muscle around his abs. He’s beautiful.
Parker brings his shoulders up and in, suddenly shy. “Your turn.” His voice is quiet, but Peter still follows his command.
He fumbles with the hem of his shirt but quickly takes it off, just as Parker’s splayed fingers land on his chest — right above his heart. He momentarily forgets how to breathe at the feeling of Parker’s warm hand on his bare skin. He looks down to see Parker staring up at him with a look of utter adoration.
Timidly, that hand moves up to his jaw before its owner eagerly reclaims his mouth. Their lips slot together perfectly and Peter wonders how he went so long without Parker’s lips on his own.
His body starts going on instinct as he slowly but firmly steers Parker towards the bed. Parker takes the hint and sits down, hands deftly moving toward Peter’s belt buckle, eagerly unbuttoning his pants, and shucking them down. Those long fingers trace the outline of his dick against the cloth and Peter lets out a breath that sounds like a hiss.
“Wait.” Peter reaches down and grasps those offending fingers. “Not yet.”
He keeps his eyes fixed on Parker’s face as he gives him a gentle push onto the bed, smiles at the way those blue eyes widen in anticipation. He enjoys seeing Parker scootch up and his mouth curl wrly as he kicks off his pants, follows him, and settles in between his legs.
He brackets Parker’s leg, one knee pressed at his juncture and another by his hip, as they continue kissing. Peter’s heart is hammering. This is a lot more than he had ever anticipated. Even in his wildest dreams, he had kind of just thought Parker might let him redo the whole blow job thing and let that be it.
But Parker has other ideas. He pulls Peter down more and grinds against his thigh. Peter gasps as he bucks downwards and feels Parker’s erection as the smaller man arches into him with desperate whine. It nearly melts every neuron in Peter’s brain, just as Parker’s enthusiastic hands begin roaming everywhere. It becomes even more overwhelming when Parker begins sucking at his jugular gently, one hand cradling where his neck and shoulder meet, and his fingers curl to press urgently into the skin.
Peter lets out an unintentional and whispered fuck as his hand shakily pushes at Parker’s boxers and the older man eagerly raises his hips to oblige. Parker whimpers as his hand wraps around his straining dick.
“Wait.” Peter reluctantly breaks away from Parker’s eager lips, but keeps his hand in its place. He knows Parker’s had sex and all, but he still needs to know if he's ready for this next step. “Have you ever-?”
Parker’s timid smile tells him everything he needs to know. “Not really? Mj and I-she tried once but that’s about it.”
Peter nods (no pressure, right?), “Got it.” He gulps as he takes a moment to admire Parker’s face — from the stray gray hair curling by his temple to the tiny mole underneath his left eye. It really feels like a dream.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, um, I just want to take all this in.” Peter’s aware of how corny that sounds, but it’s true. He’s still not quite sure if this is all real, if Parker actually wants him, and somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice is telling him that he doesn’t deserve this.
“Okay.” Parker looks up at him with such trust that it tugs at something deep within Peter’s heart. “Wait, hold on-” Parker strains to reach and motions toward a tube on the bed stand.
Peter feels his eyebrows fly up in surprise before letting out a bemused chuckle. It’s thrilling to see Parker’s enthusiasm and know that it’s all for him. “Is that–?”
“It’s lube, yeah. I figured we would need it?” Parker’s back to being shy and Peter gives him a tiny smile before reaching over to grab the white tube.
Peter hopes he looks somewhat confident as he fumbles with the lid before managing to squirt some lube into his palm. He wants (no, needs) this to be as good for Parker as it is for him. He drops the bottle somewhere between the sheets and yanks Parker’s boxers from where they’ve tangled around his ankles, climbs back over him, and takes him in hand slickly. Parker moans.
That sound spurs Peter on, encouraging him to rut at Parker’s hip wantonly. “That’s right,” He moans, “Tell me that you want–” Parker’s eyelids flutter shut, riding the feeling, and Peter marvels at the look of euphoria on his face.
“Wait,” Parker suddenly chokes out, blue eyes flying open. He wriggles and Peter is very sure his heart nearly stops. He braces himself for reality to come crashing down. “Wait-wait-wait-wait-”
Peter pulls his hips back, not totally off Parker, but still away enough to give him space. He can’t quite bring himself to leave behind the warmth and softness of Parker’s body beneath his, even if this all turns out to be a giant mistake.
Parker looks up at him, blue eyes round and soulful. “I just want to- you know, I owe you.”
“What do you mean?”
“The car. I want to-”
“Oh! Uh-“
“Just to start!” Parker reaches down tentatively, his hand tugging at Peter’s boxers. Peter takes the hint, shoves them down to his knees, and clumsily shakes them off. He inwardly curses his long, uncoordinated limbs and wishes he could be more put together, a better first time for Parker. Gingerly, he lays beside Parker and purposely avoids his gaze, feeling far too exposed.
“Peter, look at me.” He hears Parker whisper with awe, and slowly raises his eyes to meet his. “ You’re so beautiful.”
Peter lets out a trembling breath before kissing Parker sweetly and pressing himself into his body. Parker runs his fingers along the curve of his waist and drags his thumb against his skin with such gentleness that Peter feels he might just dissolve.
He goans, his lips chasing Parker’s as his professor pushes himself up to kneel between his legs. With a shuddering sigh, Peter settles on his back to admire the way Parker firmly plants his hands on either side of his hips possessively. Parker brings a finger up to Peter’s nipple with a devilish smirk and swirls around the hard nub. Peter lazily swats it away with a huffy laugh and Peter’s smirk grows wider before he leans down to replace his finger with his tongue. Peter lets out a moan he’ll forever deny.
He can feel Parker’s triumphant grin as he creeps down his chest, leaving little kisses and bites down his ribs and stomach, before stopping right below his belly button. What a fucking tease. Peter props himself on his elbows to spur him on and catches Parker staring up at him — those eyes almost inhumanly blue in the dark. He swallows as Parker slowly continues his way south, past the patch of coarse hair between his legs, never breaking eye contact. He feels Parker’s lips twitch as he passes by his already hardening dick without a second thought.
Instinctively, Peter raises his hips, not willing to be taunted by those pouty lips like that. But Parker quickly presses his hand down on his hip bone and keeps him pinned down. A whine escapes from Peter’s lips.
“I want to take my time with you.” Parker’s voice is low and husky, overriding every instinct in Peter’s body.
Peter nods, lets his head fall back on the pillows, and grips Parker's navy sheets. He feels Parker’s lips on his inner thighs before feeling a light graze of teeth. He sucks in through his teeth, hissing and gasping at the hickies.
Parker is slow and methodical as he returns up toward Peter’s straining dick, his hand still keeping Peter firmly in place.
He licks a thick stripe from base to tip, slowing down tortuously to circle the velvety head with his tongue. He places a cool hand to the base and strokes. Peter feels goosebumps erupt on his skin and he chokes back a deep groan. Parker licks up his length again before fully taking in Peter and-
Holy shit, there’s no way Parker’s never sucked a dick before.
Peter knows that’s probably not the right thought to have at the moment, but still. Parker is uncannily good in the way he knows how to stroke just right, keep a steady (but not boring) rhythm, and hum at the perfect moment when Peter is so deep down his throat that can feel himself ascend with those vibrations. And then Parker moves to his balls and Peter’s mind goes blank.
Somewhere between the light tugging and soft kisses, Peter finds his voice again. “If you don’t stop, ah, I’m gonna,” He can’t even finish his sentence with Parker’s tongue and hand working in a smooth tandem. “I’m… not gonna last ahh.”
Parker suddenly stops and looks up at him with those stupidly blue eyes. “Sorry, did you say something?”
Peter groans half embarrassed, his mind still unable to fully form sentences, as he pulls Parker up impatiently and tastes himself on those lips. Parker keeps his hand curled around him and elicits another gasp out of him.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, teeth grazing Parker’s clavicle as that skilled hand does quick work of whatever tenuous grap he still has on his self control. “Parker, I need-”
“Yeah — anything,” Parker pants back, still maintaining that rhythm.
“… to fuck you,” Peter finds himself saying, just how he’s fantisized before. “Please.”
Parker’s hand stills for a moment and Peter stops breathing — the air returning to his lungs the second he feels Parker’s head nod enthusiastically into his shoulder. Peter reaches for the lube again, feeling blindly around the rumple of sheets, and pushing Parker’s shoulder to roll him onto his stomach.
“Is… is this okay?” he asks, settling between Parker’s legs and tenderly tracing the long line of his spine. Parker stiffens for a second against the sensation before melting into the bed with a quiet moan as Peter’s finger continues up and over the swell of his ass. Peter’s finger pauses on the smooth skin of a cheek and he presses a quick kiss into the soft flesh, still half in shock that this is actually happening. Parker squirms briefly, obviously ticklish, and Peter squirts the lube into his right hand, spreading it liberally over his fingers with his left.
Parker presses his face into the sheets, his voice coming back muffled. “Yes.”
He makes a desperate little noise but suddenly quiets in anticipation when Peter’s forefinger finds his hole, begins circling it. By the time Peter is pushing in, thrusting gently, slowly, adding another finger, moving faster, Parker is whining underneath him. He adds another finger and any worries he has are silenced with Parker’s whispered pleas and the way he rocks his hips, eager for more.
“Please, Peter.”
The dam on his self restraint feels ready to break at any moment, but he still takes a second to admire how beautiful Parker looks beneath him — panting while writhing against his hand, fingers grasping at the bed sheets, his back shimmering with a soft sheen of sweat. Peter savors the sight, knowing he won’t last long before taking Parker’s hips roughly and flipping him over with some effort.
Peter thrills a bit at the excited gasp that elicits. “I want to see you,” he adds fresh lube to his dick, pulling Parker’s hips up and rucking the comforter beneath him to help with the angle. He leans into his ear. “I want to watch your face while I fuck you.”
Parker’s responding keen is enthusiastic, but gets more so by the time Peter is actually pushing in, forehead pressed to Parker’s shoulder. It’s tight and hot, and better than he could have ever possibly imagined. “Tell me-tell me if I’m hurting you,” he whispers, fingertips digging into Parker’s muscled outer thigh. Parker manages only a moan in response, but brings his hand up to Peter’s shoulder and grips.
“Can I?” Peter tentatively moves his hips a bit, pulling back, and Parker nods hurriedly, eyes squeezed shut. He wants it to feel good for Parker, so he restrains himself as best he can, starting with a few controlled and shallow thrusts. “Fuck, you feel–so good.” He runs a hand up past his hip, to his rib, and to his chest, sensing goosebumps erupt in his wake.
Parker murmurs something in response, something he can’t quite make out, but then he opens his eyes to look at Peter — a sliver of blue peeking out through his lashes — and Peter feels something slam into his chest. That’s it, he’s done for.
“Okay, okay,” he gasps. Then he thrusts steady and hard, more and more, unable to restrain himself any longer, his nose and mouth buried in Parker’s neck. He moves his hand to Parker’s dick, stroking to hear the whimpers it produces and devouring those in a kiss.
It goes like that, Peter focused hard on not coming, on absorbing all of Parker’s whines and moans, the wet slap of skin. But before long he feels it. “I’m fuck-I’m going to-”
He tries to stop. He tries to withdraw and wait, but Parker squeezes his thighs tighter around him, digs a heel into his lower back, and pushes back against him, nodding.
So he comes — groaning unintelligibly, closing his eyes against it, and hips stuttering raggedly like he’s emptying out from his chest to his toes. Through the haze, he manages to keep stroking Parker, kissing weakly at his shoulder, before making use of a memory from the previous weekend. “Come on, Professor Parker….”
He feels Parker seize beneath him and spill with a strangled moan, eyes squeezed shut, and face turned into the pillow.
Peter’s not too sure how long they lay there — he’s too overstimulated to move and perfectly content to absorb Parker’s warmth to care about much else. But then he hears a groan and feels a half hearted slap on his back.
“Peter, my arm.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, sorry.” Peter manages, rolling off with an apologetic grunt.
They lay on their respective halves of the bed. Peter waits for his heart rate to slow down while he wonders if it would be okay to cuddle up to Parker, and is ultimately deterred by the little voice in his head that reminds him that this isn’t the time for feelings. He’s still working up the courage to talk to Parker when the older man rolls out of bed and wordlessly makes his way over to the ensuite.
Peter doesn’t breathe. He hears Parker turn on a faucet and waits with bated breath for Parker to ask him to leave or to simply brush over what’s just happened.
“Do you want a towel?”
He squints against the bright light from the bathroom as he sits up and blindly holds up his hand to catch a fluffy yellow hand towel. Parker turns off the light and settles back into bed, but not beneath the sheets. He simply throws an arm over his face and lets out a deep sigh.
Peter wipes himself down shyly, uncertain of what to do next. He clears his throat. “That was…” He doesn’t dare finish that sentence (not that he can totally form cohesive thoughts just yet) as he’s terribly afraid that he’ll overstep the boundaries of this situation.
“Yeah. Wow.” Parker breathes out. “Did you plan on staying over or…?”
Peter thinks about it — weighs if he should risk falling down that slippery slope — but decides to do the right thing. “I should go home. I don’t want Gwen to wonder where I am.”
“Oh. Do you need me to give you a ride?”
It’s a simple gesture, but it hits Peter’s heart all the same. Parker is too good, too kind for him. “As tempting as that is, maybe not tonight? I mean, remember last time you drove me home?”
“Right.”
Peter can hear Parker’s embarrassed blush. “I’ll see you soon though.” He presses a trail of chaste kisses along Parker’s neck, hoping that counts as a promise. He dresses quickly under Parker’s sleepy yet watchful gaze, and his heart swoops when Parker sits up to kiss him one last time.
Peter’s walk home is cold. But, while he doesn’t have Parker’s jacket around him this time, his professor’s warmth and smell keep him company like they did all those months ago.