Chapter Text
+I
In complete, absolute, 100% honesty, Michelle’s not sure whether or not this is the best idea she’s ever come up with.
Then again, she’s also not sure if it’s the worst, per se.
No, the answer lies somewhere in the uncomfortable middle.
It’s certainly an idea.
Things with Peter have been—to put it lightly— really fucking weird. What are you supposed to even do when you walk in on your hot roommate that you’ve seen naked multiple times, and that you coincidentally may or may not have feelings for, furiously masturbating while chanting your name in a prayer like you’re some sort of lustful deity?
Talk to them about it?
Absolutely not.
Truly, Michelle would rather take one of those razor scooters from when they were kids to the ankle than confront Peter about seeing him slap his meat—to completion —to her.
For one, she doesn’t want to be wrong in any of her assumptions. Yes, he was thinking about her and saying her name while he came, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he likes her like that.
It makes sense that his body was only reacting to the stimulus of seeing her boobs. Simple as that.
And besides, she’s pretty sure the last thing Peter wants is for her to ask about his typical masturbation habits and fantasies.
The problem here is a big one; one that can’t be fixed so easily with a mere conversation.
No, it would take more than that.
Much more.
Said idea comes to her— phrasing , MJ—two days later on a rainy afternoon, in her bed, a book once again forgotten in her hands. She can just barely hear Peter aimlessly rustling around in the kitchen after coming home from class, the random clinking of pots and pans, the refrigerator door opening and closing every minute or so.
It goes quiet, and for a moment, Michelle wonders if he’s finally gone to hide in his room—just as he’s done every night since the incident —if she’s going to see him do his weird fast walk down the hallway and his awkward, stiff salute-wave-thing as he passes her door.
Knock, knock.
“Hey, uh—MJ?”
Michelle is startled, her face warming exponentially as she drops the book she’d been pretending to read.
Peter’s standing in the open doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands shoved into his pockets. He’s not looking directly at her—a normal occurrence in the past few days—his gaze shifting between some spot on the wall and the lamp on her bedside table.
A beat passes before Michelle realizes that she hasn’t said a word.
“Uh, hi. What’s—what’s up?” An embarrassingly breathy chuckle pushes past her lips as she scratches the back of her neck, finding herself sitting straighter.
Peter clears his throat, the corners of his lips quirking upward into an uncomfortable grin. “I—” He coughs again when his voice still doesn’t come out smoothly. “I wanted to uh—”
Instantly, in a moment of betrayal, Michelle’s eyes are drawn to the way his forearms flex as he clenches and unclenches his pocketed hands.
“—apologize for…” He trails off, and for the first time, his eyes meet hers. It lasts for less than a second, the eye contact, before he’s back to his favorite spot on the wall. “I’m—” He huffs out a laugh. “Sorry. About that... Thing.”
“Pfft.”
Michelle waves him off, as if it’s no big deal. As if it’s not something she’s thought about every second of every day.
“It’s no big deal.”
Peter still doesn’t seem to relax, though he does smile as he turns his gaze to the floor, as if he’s now studying the intricacies of the wood grain.
“Sorry I didn’t knock,” she counters.
“It’s fine.” Peter shrugs, shoulders awkwardly raising before he’s folding his arms across his chest. “Don’t worry about it. Things like this—” He sniffs. “—they happen, uh, all the time.”
“They do?” Michelle asks, a teasing edge sneaking into her tone.
A light blush creeps up Peter’s face, dusting his cheeks in a soft pink that Michelle can’t help but want to draw.
He stammers a laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. “No no no—I didn’t mean—”
“—I know,” Michelle stops him, biting back a grin. “No, you’re—you’re right,” she nods slowly. “It’s like… a rite of passage or something…”
For the second time, he’s able to meet her gaze, his expression causing her stomach to flip; brows knit together, lips pursed, head tilted. “Seeing your roommate…?”
“Masturbate? Yeah.”
Peter snorts, running a hand over his face as he groans in embarrassment.
She’d, of course, conveniently left out the little detail of said roommate calling your name while masturbating. Peter’s seemed like he’s suffered enough.
Almost.
“A rite of passage—” Peter repeats, laughing to himself.
And there’s something about the way he’s standing in her doorway, leaning against it, in the way he’s able to look anywhere in the room but at her, the way the air crackles in the space between them; something apparently so strong that it takes that last ounce of good judgment she has and tosses it out of the six-story window.
“Hey, I mean at this point it’s only fair if you get to watch me.”
The words are out of her mouth before she can even think to stop them.
Peter nearly trips on his own feet. He sputters for a moment, his jaw dropped as his short-circuited brain scrambles for purchase.
“Um… What?”
It goes without being said that he’s no longer leaning on the doorframe.
“I—” Now, Michelle could say that she’s joking. She should say that she’s joking. Cause she is, right? This is all just a big ol’ inside joke between best buds. She’s not seriously offering to balance things out this way.
No, of course not.
She could so easily nip this in the bud— phrasing? —right here and now, but for some reason, the warmth pooling in her stomach makes it a little too difficult to get the words out.
But the silence is almost too much; it’s deathly quiet now, though she swears she can hear electricity popping and crackling.
“I mean—” She snorts lamely. “Like I said; tit for tat, right?”
Peter well and truly seems like he’s broken, or at least he’s blown a fuse in his head. “You’re not—” He chokes on a laugh. “—Are you serious?”
And seemingly struck with newfound courage she’s never known, Michelle meets his eyes.
“Do you want me to be?”
Peter balks, standing there with his mouth opening and closing, no words coming out. It’s gibberish, anything that does, masked behind strange, breathy laughs.
“I mean—” She clears her throat. Again. “We gotta even things out, right?”
And there’s something in Peter’s eyes when she speaks that makes her insides turn to goo.
“I guess, uh—I guess it’s only fair,” he huffs in amusement, brows raising as he cards a hand through his curls.
Yes, this is the perfect solution to their problem. This is completely normal friend behavior.
Before Michelle even knows what she’s doing, her book lands with a thud on her bedside table as she scoots to the edge of the mattress. It’s surprising how little thought this is taking her, keeping her eyes locked with his as she starts to undress.
“Uh—” She chuckles nervously after a beat, some inkling of sense flickering through the lust clouding her mind, fingers twisting the loose threads at the hem of her shorts. “Can you… turn around?”
It’s funny, asking that of him, when he’s already seen her without clothes on twice now, and Michelle can’t do anything to hold in the faint snort that escapes her at the ridiculousness of the situation.
“Oh yeah—yeah. Definitely.” The tips of Peter’s ears are an even deeper red than his Spidey suit, Michelle muses.
But even then, her movements hold no hesitation as she pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it to the side, and she feels a rush of anticipation at the way Peter stiffens— ha —at the sound. She stumbles slightly as she kicks her shorts and underwear off in one move, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears—and elsewhere . The thrill of it all nearly knocks the wind out of her as she sits back on the bed, her hands shaking in a concoction of nerves and excitement as she unhooks her bra.
Again, she finds herself smiling, holding in a burst of laughter at how familiar this is, her being naked in front of him—even if he can’t currently see her. Still, she can feel the difference. This is an entirely new situation. A new, uncharted territory—at least in one way.
There’s something in the way he’s waiting, the way he’s rocking back and forth on his heels, rolling his head from shoulder to shoulder, clearly trying to relax. All of it only makes her heart jump.
“You ready?” He asks, cutting the silence of the room, his voice holding a slight roughness that causes her face to burn hotter.
“Um—” She scoots back on the bed, fluffing out the pillows. “Hold on.” She huffs, suddenly finding herself the slightest bit self-conscious as to how she’s going to present herself.
Give her a break; she’s never done something like this before.
Platonic voyeurism isn’t really something she’s thought about trying, okay?
After what feels like an hour of flopping between lying flat on her back and leaning against the headboard—it’s really just a minute—she goes for the closest to what Peter had been doing.
She collapses back onto the mattress, nestled comfily into the pillows before just barely draping the comforter over her body.
“You can… uh—turn around now.”
Peter doesn’t move at first, and for a moment, she’s wondering if she needs to remind him to breathe, to crack some kind of joke, before he’s turning to face her.
“Hi,” she says, a shy grin tugging at the corner of her lips.
Peter laughs lightly, returning the expression, clearly struggling to keep his eyes on her face and his breath steady. “Hi.”
Michelle gestures vaguely to her desk, conveniently close to the foot of her bed. “You can sit… if you want.”
“Oh!” Peter nods quickly, swallowing as he makes his way to the chair. “Yeah. Yeah. Good idea.”
“Get ready for the show,” she lamely jokes, complete with finger guns, mentally kicking herself immediately after. “Sorry.”
Peter snorts, shaking his head.
She wonders if she should talk him through her process, let him in on what’s going on in her mind as she lays back against the pillows, if any casual conversation will somehow make the fact that he’s about to watch her practice her DJ-ing skills easier.
But then, she thinks, fuck it .
She tries not to put too much thought into what she’s doing as she closes her eyes, sighing shakily as she runs a hand down her body, resting her other on her breast. Her skin is alight, burning at the notion that he’s watching her, as she slowly pushes the blanket away from her lower half.
Over the roar of the blood rushing in her ears, she hears Peter suck in a breath as she parts her legs, as her hand just barely brushes over her center, smoothing over her thighs. A faint hum slips from her as she finally touches her clit, her touch gentle as she swirls her middle finger over the bundle of nerves.
And again, she’s reminded that Peter’s right there watching her when she hears the creak of her desk chair, the very idea causing the pooling heat within her overflow. Her sigh is cut off as she dips her finger down to her entrance, mouth parting at the feeling of how wet she already is.
Who knew?
(Okay, maybe she knew. Just a little.)
Peter clears his throat—at least she thinks he does, she still can’t really hear all that well—when she moves back to play with her clit, her pace set to a slow and steady start. But then, she hears a slight crack, almost like wood splintering—
She opens her eyes to see Peter holding onto her desk with one hand in a death grip.
And she laughs.
She also gets another idea.
“You can—” she pauses, doing everything to keep her voice and breath steady. “—you can sit on the bed. If… if you want.”
Peter’s gaze snaps to hers as he smiles sheepishly, not having noticed that she was looking at him in the first place. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “That, uh—that’s a better idea.”
“Yeah, please don’t break my desk,” she manages to joke.
“My bad,” Peter replies.
And again, he doesn’t move at first, almost as if he’s unsure of what to do with himself, as if he’s thinking too much already, how to move to the bed without making an ass of himself. He swallows, rising from the chair, and in that moment, Michelle feels her heart climb into her throat, pulse quickening at the sight of the growing hardness in his sweats.
Again. Normal friend activity.
Her eyes flutter shut as she lays back again, her legs unconsciously closing as she feels the dip in the mattress at her feet. She prises them apart, reveling in the faint groan that escapes Peter.
This time, her pace is hurried as she scrubs at her clit.
It helps when the subject of all her fantasies is right there in the room with her.
It helps a lot .
But still, she finds herself growing frustrated, the sweet edge growing nearer, but the burning coil in her stomach just keeps tightening and tightening. Her brows furrow as she chases any kind of release, as she brings her other hand that had been kneading at her breast down to the apex between her thighs, as she slides two fingers into her entrance.
“That’s it, MJ.”
Her mouth falls open at the sound of Peter’s soft voice while she’s knuckle-deep inside herself.
“Peter.” His name spills from her lips without warning, something she’s sure she’d be embarrassed if she weren’t so ridiculously turned on from all of this.
“Fuck,” Peter curses under his breath, and she cracks an eye open, almost smiling at the sight of him biting at his knuckles with his gaze fixed on her cunt.
But still, it doesn’t quite feel like it’s enough. Her fingers are curled, each brush of her spot perfectly timed with the fingers on her clit, and yet, her peak still feels frustratingly out of reach.
“Peter…” She trails off again, his name almost a plea.
God, she wants him.
“You look so fucking pretty,” she hears him say. Under normal circumstances, she might tease him for this, rib him for equating her beauty to her value, just to see him squirm.
Now, however, since the circumstances are far from normal, she can only manage a wet moan as she tosses her head back.
And then, he keeps talking, muttering filthy praises as she touches herself, her release so close she can almost taste it on her tongue.
But it’s still not enough.
Her eyes flutter open, and she looks up, biting back a moan as she’s immediately drawn to the sight of Peter slowly palming himself through his sweats. “You know, you can—” She starts. “You can come closer.”
A look of adorable concern paints itself on Peter’s face, his brows knit together slightly. “You sure?”
She nods, laughing breathlessly. “Get up here.”
The lopsided grin that tugs at Peter’s lips makes her heart skip at least two beats, even more as he starts crawling up the bed. The warmth that radiates from him as he lays beside her is dizzying, the feeling of his body against hers, of his hardness pushing into her hip sending a heated shiver that climbs her spine, rippling from her head to her toes in the best way.
Peter’s right fucking there; she can feel his heat, the pounding of his heart against his ribs. She can smell the cologne from earlier in the day still clinging onto his t-shirt, the tickling of his hair on her cheek. It’s enough to drive her up the wall.
He stills a moment, and although she can’t see his face, she can feel his smile.
“Was the talking too much?” He asks, still not moving to touch her.
“No. God, no.” Michelle’s laugh is cut off by a hitched breath when she shifts the angle of the fingers buried in her cunt. She shakes her head, swallowing. “Keep—keep going.”
Her pace on her clit quickens at the feeling of his breath on her neck, his lips ghosting over her shoulder. She feels his hand come to rest on her thigh, the gentle press of his fingers on her skin intoxicating.
“Fuck, Em—”
She groans at the nickname of her nickname , his fingers digging into her thigh in response.
“You’re doing so well—” He plants a deceptively chaste kiss against her skin. “So good.”
As his thumb starts to draw soothing lines into her skin, as he continues to now whisper praises into her neck and hair, as he smiles against her, the tightening coil in her stomach twists and pulls even more, burning unbearably hot.
It builds, climbing higher and higher, and she feels Peter’s hand on her thigh move to cover the hand playing with her clit, matching the movement of her fingers as his lips drag along the slope of her shoulder. It’s what causes everything to snap, molten heat pulsing through every muscle, every nerve, electricity crackling from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and she finally— fucking finally —comes with a wet moan of his name.
It’s an out-of-body experience, the euphoria she feels as she comes down from her high, as Peter guides her through the final lapping waves of her orgasm. His touch is gentle as his hand returns to her thigh, her own pulling away and resting on her stomach, his lips soft on her skin as he tells her how that was so fucking hot, Em.
He takes her hand, his gaze flitting up to meet hers in a silent question. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes that makes her squirm. “Can I…?”
At first, she’s not sure what he’s asking, but it hits her with a heady rush, and she’s nodding before she can even think to speak.
The way he smiles at her is almost too innocent for what he’s asking, and it’s enough to make her heart melt. He hums softly as he takes her index and middle finger into his mouth, licking them clean, the sound and sensation of his tongue pulsing straight to her center. It’s a struggle to keep her eyes from fluttering shut, to keep them from rolling into the back of her head.
Again, for the nth time, she’d be embarrassed if she weren’t so turned on.
And when he pulls back to look at her, her fingers sliding from his mouth with a stunningly audible pop , when they meet eyes after all of that, she does the only thing she can think to do at that moment.
Another God-tier idea, really.
She kisses him, and she pretends that Peter’s surprised, yet pleased, hmph doesn’t make her smile.
And when he eagerly kisses back, his hand instantly moving to hold her jaw, his thumb resting on her cheek, she pretends that she doesn’t feel the way her stomach flutters up into her chest.
His lips move almost too perfectly with hers. It’s all so familiar—his feeling, his taste, his warmth—in a way that it definitely feels like something they’ve been doing this whole time. Or at least should have been.
The breathy whine she lets out as his tongue smooths over her lips causes her cheeks to burn, but she doesn’t care. She meets him readily, hungrily. There’s a jittery giddiness to her movements as she momentarily breaks the kiss and pushes him back against the mattress, his body welcoming hers as she climbs on top of him. But he’s quick to push himself upright, pulling her down into his lap. She sucks in a breath, feeling the hard line of his erection brush against her, still sensitive, before his lips find hers again.
His hands fall to her waist, squeezing gently, and she realizes with a rush that she’s still, in fact, naked. On top of her best friend and roommate, grinding against him—unconsciously, of course.
But then, she’s struck by the thrill of it—by how her heart jumps, how her skin ignites under his touch. She’s hit with a wave of warmth feeling his lips on hers, a warmth that’s so alarmingly comforting, so safe as his hand reverently smooths over her ribcage, just barely brushing the underside of her breast.
There’s an overwhelming sense of how right this feels that makes her pull him closer, her arms draping around his neck, hands carding through the curls at the nape. He groans into her mouth when her nails drag lightly across his scalp, and she fights the grin tugging at the corner of her lips.
Her hands fall, traveling the expanse of his hard chest, down his stomach—and again, she has to keep herself from breaking the kiss to smile when his muscles twitch at the ghostly touch—toying with the hem of his t-shirt.
But then, like a light switch, Peter pulls back, his hands falling from her body. “MJ—shit—” He breathes heavily. “I—don’t…” He looks away, wincing.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.”
And just like that, all the warmth she felt is replaced by a heavy, sinking feeling in her gut.
Her brows furrow, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What?” She asks, her voice coming out weaker than she’d ever intended.
“I just—” He huffs, shaking his head, running a hand over his face.
He’s silent after that, seemingly at war with himself as Michelle watches on, feeling as if the room is growing colder and colder.
And it’s infuriatingly confusing, why she feels so hurt by this. Technically, it’s not the best idea for best friends-slash-roommates to fuck each other.
Normally, that can make things… difficult.
But why—why now—is Peter saying it’s a bad idea? Does he not like her in that way? Better yet, why does Michelle care so much whether or not he does now that he’s slammed on the brakes? It’s not as if she likes him in that—
Oh.
Oh.
Shit.
“—I just… don’t think this is a good idea because I don’t want—” He struggles for a moment, trying to find the words. He sighs heavily, groaning at his own stupidity. “God, I should’ve said something earlier when you had me… watch… but—I… I don’t want this to be some one-time thing… something casual.”
The emotional whiplash is real—in one second, she’s feeling this swirling pit of doom in her gut, and the next that warmth comes crashing back in a giant wave that threatens to drown her in the undertow.
Michelle sputters a moment, unsure if she actually understands him or if it’s just wishful hearing.
“What do you… what do you mean?”
“I like you, MJ,” he says, finally meeting her gaze. “In, like, a romantic way.”
This time, she doesn’t do anything to stop the shy smile that pulls at her lips. “Really?”
“Really.”
And she laughs—both at the fact that she’s still naked, still on his lap while they’re having such a serious conversation and that she was worried for absolutely nothing at all.
“I like you, too,” she responds easily as her hands find their way back to drape over his shoulders, feeling as if some weird weight’s been lifted off of her chest—as if it’s been waiting for years and years for its release. “Also in a romantic way.”
“Oh,” Peter says with a breathy chuckle, his own hands returning to her waist. “Well, that’s good to know.”
They sit there a moment, neither saying a word as they share a light laugh. In an instant, the room shifts again, the static in the air popping between them. Peter looks up at her with playfully narrowed eyes, his thumbs smoothing lines on her hips.
“Now that we cleared that up—” Michelle starts, shifting in his lap, pleased to find him still hard.
He grunts.
“Can we get back to what we were doing?”
Peter’s lips quirk downward as he gives a shrug. “I think so,” he replies with a borderline-sinful grin.
They make quick work of his shirt, working together to yank it off of his body and toss it somewhere in the room. Michelle sits back slightly, drinking in the sight of his bare chest, unable to keep her hands from following the same path as her heated gaze. But her celebration of his Greek God-like body is cut short by the feeling of his hardened cock grinding against her.
Yeah, there’s time for ogling him later. Now, she’s not sure she’s ever needed anything more than Peter to fuck her into the mattress.
Though, of course, she’s fine with doing a little bit of the work. Half at least.
“Sweatpants off, please.”
A faint smirk tugs at the corner of Peter’s mouth as she climbs off of his lap. “So polite.” Her eye roll only makes him laugh. “Since you asked so nicely…”
She can’t decide if she wants to smack him or kiss him.
(It’s probably both.)
“Thank you,” she quips back, her eyes immediately drawn to his hands working at the tie of his sweats, his thumbs as they hook into the waistband, dragging the soft grey fabric down. She’s delighted to find him bare underneath—sans boxers—as he kicks the fabric off the bed.
A snort escapes her. “Damn you were ready, huh?”
“What?” Peter’s confused for a moment, eyeing her quizzically before glancing down to his dick just springing free. “Oh! Yeah.” He waves it off. “Spider-Man stuff.”
“That doesn’t answer the question, though?” She smiles, unable to keep herself from reaching out and smoothing an errant curl on his forehead.
“It’s just easier to wear the Spidey suit without any… resistance.”
Michelle nods slowly, her lips pressing together as she reaches over to grab a condom from her bedside table. “Gotcha.”
“But yes, I am ready.”
Another too-loud laugh spills out of her as she tears open the package. “Yeah, I can see that,” she replies cheekily after a beat, reaching out to wrap her hand around his erection, her smile growing when Peter sucks in a shaky breath as she rolls the condom down his length.
She gives his leg a single, lame tap when she’s done.
“Fuck, I like you,” Peter says before surging forward, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. And somehow, it’s more urgent than before, and she can feel just how much he likes her, how much he needs her. It briefly makes her chest tighten, the emotion welling within her for a moment before she’s crawling back into his lap again.
She breaks the kiss, pushing him onto his back. She concentrates on taking his cock in her hands again and guiding it to her center. Their shared curses and soft moans fill the room as she coats him in her wetness, swirling his head over her clit teasingly. It’s easy to get lost in the feeling, so easy to just stay there, languidly grinding her hips into his tip, before she feels the weight of Peter’s hand on her waist, fingers digging into her skin. Not wanting to waste another second, she sinks down onto him.
The way he slides in so easily, yet still fills her completely has her burrowing her face into his neck. His eyes are screwed shut, jaw tight as he gives her a moment to adjust to the warm weight of him twitching inside her. A slow grin tugs at his lips when the slightest shift of his hips elicits a faint gasp from her.
Taking her hand, he pulls her to lay on top of him, his mouth easily finding hers in a languid kiss.
And it’s slow at first, the rock of her hips against his, his hands as they explore her body, her lips as they drag along the underside of his jaw.
But it’s the filthy praises that he mutters into her ear, the sweet kisses he plants here and there, the way he reaches down to grab her ass so he can thrust up into her as she rides him that has her losing all sense of control and restraint.
She moans without abandon, curses spilling from her as the angle shifts, mouth falling open as his tip brushes her spot so easily now.
“Fuck, MJ, yes—” Peter hisses as he squeezes her. “You feel so good. So wet.”
A breathy whine is all she can muster in response.
“God… So fucking perfect.” He emphasizes each word with a snap of his hips into hers.
She can’t help but smile as she pulls back to look at him, and he looks up at her with such tenderness and want that it makes her heart seize. Peter reaches out, and she leans into the touch of his hand on the back of her neck before he reels her in for another kiss. It’s messy, all tongue and teeth, hands greedy as they roam each other’s bodies.
Without warning, Peter hooks a hand under Michelle’s knee and flips them over.
The yelp that comes out of her mouth is less than dignified.
But with the way Peter laughs against her neck, she doesn’t care.
And when he starts fucking her into the mattress moments later—just like she’d wanted—she really doesn’t care.
Honestly, this couldn’t have gone any better, she thinks.
Her thoughts are immediately derailed when he pushes one of her legs up higher, back arching as he deepens his thrusts. And it’s then—as his hand’s trailing down her stomach, his thumb easily finding her clit—that she can see how dangerous this could be. Not because of catching feelings—because they’re well past that point. They’ve already been screwed for a while.
No, if Peter’s been this fucking good this whole time, what’s stopping them from just staying in the apartment, here, forever?
She feels herself getting closer and closer, clenching around him as his thumb presses her clit, scrubbing furiously. The molten heat spreads, blooming as he tilts her hips even more, stars blanketing her vision at the new angle. Her muscles spasm as she squeezes him, her head falling back, slack-jawed as he continues to fuck into her.
Her second orgasm of the night hits her so suddenly, and she comes with a cry of his name, unable to say anything else as she pulses around him.
“Fuck, yes. Peter—”
Peter’s rhythm falters, arms shaking, muscles tensing as he holds himself above her. He clings to her, almost for dear life, his fingers digging into her skin, so incredibly close. He dips his head down, moaning into the crook of her neck, his hips stuttering as his own orgasm crashes into him.
Michelle decides that it’s a good look for him.
His breathing is ragged as he practically flops down on top of her, his head in her chest, eyes closed with a dreamy smile on his face.
And Michelle’s about a hundred-and-ten-percent sure the same dopey expression is on her face, too.
It’s natural, instinctive the way she reaches out to smooth down his sweaty curls.
And it’s funny how her heart will keep skipping beats when he looks up to smile at her.
“I’m really glad I saw your nudes,” she finds herself saying, almost under her breath. “And just naked in general.”
Peter snorts, rolling half-off of her, though still keeping close. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Her dumb grin only gets bigger as she pulls him in for another kiss.
His lips are soft and sweet against hers, the contrast from just seconds before setting the butterflies in her stomach free.
When he pulls back, there’s something in his expression that makes her want to pull him right back in and never let go.
“I’m really glad I saw you naked, too.”