Work Text:
“You know what you need?”
Peter huffs out a laugh, poking at his chow mein with his chopsticks. “What do I need, Frank?” he asks wryly, sure this is going to be entertaining at the very least.
“You need to get laid.”
He chokes on nothing, noodles halfway to his mouth, and has to reach for his Dr. Pepper to clear his throat. “What?”
Frank smirks, looking way too pleased with himself. “Come on, you’re what, twenty-two? You’ve spent the last four years pining over your high school girlfriend who is not interested–”
“Thanks for rubbing it in!” he huffs, setting his cup down a little too harshly.
“You’ve been so in love with a memory that you don’t even know who you are now,” he goes on. “You’re young! Get out, fuck around! Bet there’s lots of people who want to fuck Spider-Man.”
“Geez, okay, Frank,” he groans, going back to his noodles. “We did not start weekly take-out nights so you could interrogate me about my love life.”
“Can’t interrogate you if you don’t have one,” he snorts. “Unless you got some other secret long-lost love you still need to confess to.”
Peter goes quiet at that, poking at his noodles a little more vigorously. “No, there’s no one,” he says softly. “Not anymore.”
There’s a long moment of silence, and then Frank sighs heavily. “I gotta ask? Or you gonna keep being cryptic?”
“Not much to say,” he snorts. “Just pining after another teenage crush.”
“Ned?”
“What?! Oh god, no–” Peter stammers, making Frank chuckle. He raises a brow at him, and it makes Peter blush, ducking his head, grabbing his soda again for something to do. It reminds him of Tony.
“You’re blushing–”
“Don’t!” he whines, angrily jamming his straw through the ice to get to the last dredges of soda in the bottom of his cup. “I did not have a crush on Ned.”
“Then, who? Captain America? Get in line with every woman in New York.”
“Why are you assuming it was a man?” he asks defensively.
“Why aren’t you denying it, huh?”
“Ugh,” he complains, tossing his noodles aside. He scrubs his hands over his face and then realizes this is part of the whole sharing your feelings and being vulnerable with your support system thing he’s trying to be better at. “Fine. It was Tony.”
It’s rare that Frank looks surprised, but his jaw actually drops. “Tony? As in Tony Stark?”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have a crush on Tony at the bodega now, do I?” he grumbles. “Yes, Tony Stark.”
“Damn,” he whistles. “You’ve got a type, kid.”
Peter squirms in his seat a little, snatching up his noodles again for something to do. “You have no idea,” he mutters. “Anyway. Even if I did sleep around. I don’t really want someone who only wants to fuck Spider-Man.”
“So get on the dating apps,” he suggests. “Peter Parker ain’t a bad lookin’ dude.”
He raises a brow at him, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “You callin’ me hot, Frank?” he teases, totally kidding.
“Hey, you wanna hear whatever boosts your ego, daffodil, by all means,” he smirks. “But seriously. Stark? Did you two ever–”
“No, no,” he says quickly, shaking his head. Then he thinks about his not-so-fake internship, all those lingering looks and touches, moments that felt like straddling the line of something dangerous. “Maybe it could’ve been. But he died before I was old enough, so–” He sighs heavily. “It’s okay. He loved Miss Potts and his daughter. I’ve made my peace with the what-ifs with him.”
“You know that's the first time you’ve said somethin’ like that, and I believe you,” he murmurs, a little more serious. Peter laughs a little, taking a bite of noodles, which is a bad idea because that means he chokes again at Frank’s next statement. “So you’re a virgin.”
“Frank!”
“What? Am I wrong?”
“I– no,” he huffs.
“So, all the more reason,” he shrugs. “Find some twink who wants you and your super muscles to rail them.”
“Oh my god, Frank, please,” he bemoans, putting his head in one hand. “That’s not– mm, you know what, I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to be sharing my sexual preferences with you.”
“Why not?” he chuckles. “We’re both adults. We’re friends. It’s what friends do.”
“Is it?” he asks, laughing a little hysterically. He doesn’t look at him. He can’t. He’ll know. “Look, I just think I would be the worst person on the planet at dating. You know how awkward I am.”
“Well, that’s true; you are awkward,” he admits. “I mean, it’s endearing, but–”
“I’m sorry, did you just use the word endearing–”
“Okay, you know what, punk–”
Peter bursts out laughing, throwing his head back and putting one hand to his middle. Four years without laughing, and now he laughs all the time. It makes him weirdly emotional, but he loves it.
Frank chuckles too, setting his takeout container to the side. Then he rests his hands on his thighs, the ones Peter has not thought about straddling, thank you very much, and looks at him intently. “Tell me the truth, c’mon. What are you scared of?”
“I dunno,” he mumbles. “Rejection? Being bad at it? Squeezing someone’s dick off?”
“How would you– oh. Oh, you’re talkin’ about–”
“Don’t make fun of me,” he grumbles.
“Hey, I’m not,” he says sincerely, holding his hands up in a surrender gesture. “I support bottoms of all shapes and sizes.”
Peter gives him an incredulous look, laughing a little. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
Frank looks at him for a moment, seemingly thinking about something, and then pats his knee. “Alright, c’mere.”
“What?!” Peter yelps, heart falling out of his ass faster than when he jumps off a building. “What do you mean ‘c’mere’?!”
“What do you mean, what do I mean? Come here,” he repeats. “Someone’s gotta rip the band-aid off.”
Peter’s eyes go wide, and his breathing goes ragged. “Wh–”
“Stop being dramatic, c’mon,” he beckons again. “It doesn’t mean shit. Haven’t you ever heard of friends with benefits?”
He swallows thickly, then pushes to his feet before he can think better. Frank leans back in the armchair a little, the invitation clear. Peter bites back a whimper as he straddles his lap, tingles going down his spine as Frank’s thick thighs press against his own. His hands slide around his waist, and Peter’s breath hitches when he touches the spot where the bullet hit him.
“Does it still hurt?” Frank murmurs quietly.
“No,” he gulps. “Just tender sometimes.”
“That sounds like it hurts.”
Peter laughs softly, ducking his head. “Okay, fine,” he admits. “But I’m okay, Frank. Honest.”
Rough, callus fingers slide over Peter’s jaw, and he swallows nervously again, looking up to find that same emotional look on Frank’s face that he’d had in the hospital. “I dunno what I would’ve done if you hadn’t made it, kid,” he whispers.
Peter can’t help but lean into the touch, eyes fluttering as his nervous hands finally find purchase on Frank’s broad chest. Frank’s thumb brushes over Peter’s cheek, over a still-healing cut from the day before. Peter sighs softly, the touch feeling like a healing balm to his still touch-starved body. Four years without a single kind touch. No wonder he mutated.
“Oh, you need it bad, daffodil,” Frank murmurs. Peter can’t help but whimper and nod, fingers tightening on his black t-shirt. He’s pulled forward, right into strong arms and chapped lips. A moan escapes him as Frank kisses him, his hips rocking forward of their own accord before he aborts the movement. “Don’t be shy, c’mon.”
“What are we doing?” Peter asks with a little laugh before he kisses him again, grinding his clothed cock down and shuddering.
“Making out,” Frank chuckles when he gets a breath. His other hand grips Peter’s hip, lazily guiding his movements. It already feels so good, especially with Peter’s new sensitivity levels. When he moans a little louder than before, Frank chuckles knowingly, and Peter knows he’s never gonna hear the end of this. “Don’t tell me you're gonna cum in your pants, sunshine.”
Peter makes a strangled noise, panting heavily. “Not my fault,” he protests, unable to stop himself from chasing the impending orgasm. “Spider. S’fine, I can– mm– no refractory.”
“Well aren’t you a lucky duck?” he laughs in disbelief. Then he pulls Peter closer, both hands on his hips now, helping him grind against his bulge. “Take what you need, sweetheart. Show me.”
“Oh god,” Peter whines needily as the words push him over the edge. It’s sharp and punchy, making him cry out as he cums in his pants. It feels so good, and he can’t help but slump forward in Frank’s arms, still humping it out. “Frank–”
“Good boy–”
“Ah!” Peter cums again at that, totally not expecting the praise or the orgasm. Tears of overwhelmed pleasure fill his eyes, and he clings to Frank like a lifeline.
“Damn, you weren’t kidding.”
“Nope,” he pants, too overwhelmed to be snarky.
Frank hums softly, and Peter shivers when he kisses his jaw. “You want more?” he asks in a low tone. Peter can only whine and nod his head against his shoulder. Hands leave his hips and move between them, and Peter opens his eyes to watch as Frank unbuttons his jeans and pulls his dick out. Jesus, he’s huge. How the hell would that fit inside him? “Like what you see, daffodil?”
“You’re so big,” he laughs, a little delirious.
“Oh yeah?” he chuckles, reaching for Peter’s pants next. “You’re one to talk. That suit doesn’t hide much, sweetheart.”
“M’not as big as that,” he insists. Frank’s hand wraps around his dick, clearly not caring about the sticky cum all over his boxer-briefs, and Peter groans loudly at the feeling. Being released from clothes always feels good, but then Frank is bringing him closer until their cocks touch, wrapping his hand around both of them, and he swears his soul ascends out of his body. “Frank–”
“I gotcha,” he croons, using Peter’s cum as lube as he starts to stroke. He groans as well, and Peter grabs him by the shirt and hauls him into another messy kiss. His free hand roams all over Peter’s body, his thighs, his ass, his back, his hair. Peter whines sharply when he tugs on it, and the man chuckles. “That your sweet spot, baby?”
Baby. Fuck. “Mhmm– yeah,” he nods desperately, squirming like a worm on a hook in his lap, trying to get more, more, more. Frank tugs on his hair again, and that’s all it takes. He cums for the third time with a loud cry, pleasure licking up his spine like white-hot flame. “Oh god–”
Frank groans, kissing and nipping at his jaw. “Please tell me you keep lube in this god-awful apartment.”
“It’s bigger than your place!” he whines, before pointing over at his nightstand. He yelps when Franks stands up without warning, mess and all, sticking himself to him so he doesn’t fall. “Are you gonna–”
“Oh, that was just the warm-up, kid,” he chuckles. Peter blushes, tucking his face into the crook of his shoulder. “Sorry. Shouldn’t call you that during this.”
Peter whimpers, embarrassment only turning him on further. “I like it,” he admits shamefully.
“Why?” Frank asks, clearly confused.
“Um, h-he called me that,” he mumbles. “Tony.”
“You know I think deep down you’re a kinky little virgin?” he accuses, and Peter giggles. “Now that’s a sound I haven’t heard.”
“Less teasing, more band-aid ripping,” he huffs.
“Oh, now he’s with the program,” he snorts.
Peter’s whole world suddenly tips, and he disengages his sticky as Frank lays him down on his creaky bed frame. There is every chance they’re going to break this thing, but he doesn’t give a shit. He wants this. He really wants this.
Frank goes right for his clothes, making Peter blush as he’s hastily stripped bare before he can even think to be shy. He shivers slightly, his nipples pebbling in the cold air of the apartment. His arms naturally drape above his head, arching his back a little as he stares up at the older man.
“You don’t look very awkward to me,” he chuckles, peeling off his shirt.
“Well, you apparently find it endearing, so–”
“I’m never living that down, am I?”
“Nope,” he grins, eyes trailing down his chest hair and happy trail as he pushes his pants off. Peter licks his lips a little at the sight of his cock full out and hard. “Are we really doing this?”
“You’re asking that three orgasms in?” he snarks, opening up the nightstand drawer and pulling out the lube. “Roll over. Makes it easier.”
Peter raises a brow at that but obeys, pulling a pillow under his chest so he’s more comfortable. The sheets are gonna be a mess, but he can wash them. It’s fine. It’s worth it when Frank gets on the bed behind him, and his larger frame completely covers Peter’s. He moans when his cock presses against Peter’s ass, pushing back to grind against it.
Frank chuckles, bending over him to kiss his neck and shoulder. “Gonna start calling you spider slut,” he growls, rubbing his dick against Peter. He whimpers, goosebumps prickling over his skin. “Yeah? You like that, kid? Tell me.”
“Yes, yeah,” he gasps, nodding frantically. “Wanna be your spider slut, Frank, please.”
He groans loudly, biting Peter’s shoulder hard enough to make him hiss a little before pulling away. He whines when he feels a big hand spread open his cheeks, and that’s all the warning he gets before cold lube is squirted over his hole. He gasps and shudders, but welcomes the first touch of Frank’s thick finger against his rim.
“You done this part before?”
“Mhmm,” Peter nods. Then his spider sense tingles briefly, before– smack! “Ow! What was that for?”
“Use your words when you talk to me, boy,” he says, his tone a little harsher, and Peter’s cock immediately starts drooling. “I ask you a question you say–”
“Yes, Daddy,” he groans. There’s a long pause, and Peter glances over his shoulder in worry. Frank is kneeling there, stunned. “Frank? Was that– mm!”
Frank surges forward and grabs his chin, kissing him rough and harsh, all tongues and teeth, claiming Peter like a ravenous beast. At the same time, he pushes his finger into Peter’s hole, making him cry out loudly. “Yeah, that’s it, baby. Cry for Daddy.”
“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, cock drooling even more beneath him. He whines as his hole is bullied open, finger fucked without time to adjust, barely stretched before he’s adding a second one. “Daddy!”
“Good boy,” he growls, crooking his fingers upward. It takes a few tries, but his fingers are so thick, and Peter is so tight, it’s not long before he’s hitting his prostate. Peter’s senses alight and he can’t even breathe as he cums so hard he sees white, whole body going tense before he melts into the bed in a puddle. “Breathe, sunshine.”
Peter sucks in a desperate gasp of air, fingers clawing at the sheets as Frank is still pressing on his prostate, sending him to new heights of pleasure overstimulation. “I can’t–” he hiccups, tears slipping down his cheeks. “S’too much.”
“You can take it,” he murmurs, going back to those long deep strokes, occasionally widening his fingers. “You want it, don’t you, baby? You need this. Need Daddy to turn off that stubborn little brain of yours.”
“Y-yes, Daddy,” he hiccups. “Want your cock, please.”
“Almost there,” he murmurs. Peter keens when he adds a third finger to his rim, slowly pushing in, stretching him wide. “Yeah, you’ve got a tight little ass, kid. Don’t want you snapping off my dick, remember?”
Peter laughs wetly, and it turns into a groan as a new zip of pleasure courses up his spine. Fuck, this feels so good. He always wondered, never thought he’d experience this, but it’s better than he imagined. It’s like that time Dr. Strange knocked him out of his body. He’s starting to feel floaty and weightless, totally enveloped by Frank’s warm body and the pleasure coursing through him.
“Oh, you are gone, daffodil,” Frank chuckles. Peter just hums happily, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. After a few more minutes of stretching, he starts to pull his fingers out, and Peter whines at the loss. “Shh, shh, just be patient. Gonna give you what you need.”
Being patient is hard, but Peter manages, even when it means Frank has to sit up, taking away his comfort and warmth. He hears the squirt of the lube bottle, the wet squelch of Frank slicking up his cock. Peter can’t help but wiggle a little, needing an outlet for his emotions.
“Stay still,” Frank huffs out, more of a laugh than anything. Peter giggles, adjusting his hold on the pillow and arching his back so his ass is out more. Then he feels it. The thick tip of Frank’s cock pressing against his rim. Fuck. Was three fingers enough? “Deep breath.”
Peter inhales deeply, and on the exhale, Frank pushes in, and he groans. “Oh fuck.”
“Okay? Not gonna super squeeze or somethin’?”
He laughs and shakes his head, pushing back a little more. “S’so good,” he slurs out. “Keep going. M’in control.”
“Mm- fuck, okay,” he groans, pushing in further. Little by little, he starts to work his cock in, and Peter is so overwhelmed in the best way possible. He does his best to breathe, but by the time Frank is almost all the way in, it feels like he’s in his lungs. “Christ, sunshine, you’re so tight.”
“Daddy,” he whimpers.
Frank shushes him softly, moving down to rest on his elbows on either side of Peter, bracketing his smaller frame once again. They’re pressed together head to toe, and to Peter’s touch-starved body it feels like heaven. Fresh tears start to pour down his cheeks as Frank pulls out a little and then pushes back in, starting to fuck him in deep, slow rolls.
“That okay?” he murmurs in Peter’s ear, and he nods. “Good. You’re bein’ so good for me.”
Peter exhales shakily, open-mouthed whining as Frank fucks him. Is this fucking? This feels way more intense than pron, in the best way possible. He’s emotional, despite the claim that it wouldn’t mean anything. He never expected to feel this way.
“Talk to me, kid,” Frank growls in his ear.
“Feels so good,” he sobs. “Don’t stop.”
“Not gonna stop,” he promises, panting with pleasure now. “C’mere.”
Peter obeys, arching his back and twisting so they can kiss. Everything feels suspended in time, like that moment before he sends out a new web and he’s free-falling. His body is weightless, and nothing matters except the thrill coursing through him. He never wants this moment to end, doesn’t want to go back to before. Now that he’s had a taste, he’s totally addicted.
“Whoah, hey–” Frank says suddenly, pulling away with concern on his face. “Are you hurt? These are sad tears. What’s wrong?”
He can’t formulate words right now, so he just shakes his head, wiping at his cheeks. Frank suddenly pulls away, and he makes a panicked noise. “No, wait!”
“Trust me, just hang on,” he soothes. Peter gasps when he pulls out, and he feels so open. Then he yelps as he’s suddenly flipped over, his legs guided around Frank’s waist. When he pushes back in, he somewhere feels it even more, and he sobs with pleasure. “There we go, see? Daddy knows what you need.”
Peter makes grabby hands at him, and when he leans down again, he clings to him tightly, even engaging his sticky a little. “Don’t leave,” he pleads, even though he knows that won’t make sense. “Don’t stop.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t have your stamina,” he murmurs, even as he slides an arm under Peter’s back to pull him closer, their bodies practically fused together. “Gonna go as long as I can, alright? Just relax. Take a breath– there ya go, sunshine.”
The soothing words help calm him down, and his brief moment of panic turns to pleasure again. His head tips back and Frank starts to mark up his throat. He’s not gentle about it, clearly trying to mark up Peter’s skin with a hickey. He wants him to. He wants a permanent mark so he doesn’t ever think this was just a dream.
“Mm– fuck, kid–” Frank finally groans, hips stuttering a little. Peter’s stomach is sticky with cum, from orgasms he didn’t even process having. His whole body is just one vibrating thrum of pleasure. “Almost–”
“Yeah, yeah, please,” he pants. “Fill me up, breed me, please–”
“Oh, god– fuck!”
Peter cums again at the first rush of warm cum on his insides. He clings to Frank like a life preserver, panting with pleasure as the man’s hips stutter against his. When he’s finally done, he collapses on top of Peter with a grunt, but he welcomes the weight. A happy sigh escapes him, almost a purr, and his head lolls to the side.
“Wow,” he laughs, a little delirious.
Franks laughs as well, lifting his head to look at him. “How’s that for your first time?”
“So good,” he hums, looking back at him. Then he softens a little, running his fingers through his hair. “The only time, though?”
He sighs, looking away with a conflicted expression. “Kid, I don’t do all that sappy stuff I know you want,” he says softly. “Sex is one thing, but a relationship? You don’t want that with me. We’d hate each other.”
“You don’t know that,” he pouts. “And I know you. I know you’re a big teddy bear inside. You like that stuff more than you let on.”
“I do not!”
Peter can’t help but giggle at his immediate defense, which feels a little weird with his cock still inside. “You don’t have to bring me chocolates and flowers,” he laughs. “We’d just, like, sit on the same couch for take-out night, and call taking down a bank robbery date night.”
“Oh, we would, huh?” he chuckles. Then he softens. “I just don’t wanna lose you if it doesn’t work out.”
“Frank, I saw you cry in the hospital–”
“I did no such thing!”
“ – I think you like me a little more than you’re letting on.”
He grumbles and growls, and Peter’s spidey sense tingles, but he can’t get out from under him to escape the tickling that’s coming his way. He shrieks and giggles, squirming under him, with no escape. Finally, Frank decides he’s suffered enough and stops, but when he kisses him, Peter knows he’s won. “I’m not bringin’ you flowers,” he says sternly.
“No flowers,” he agrees with a giggle. Then he tilts his head to the side like a curious puppy. “Wait, so then why do you call me daffodil?”
He snorts. “It’s a way of callin’ someone gay,” he explains, and Peter’s jaw drops open. “Think the actual plant is some bisexual or some shit. Ever heard the phrase gay as a daffodil? I thought you were supposed to be smart.”
Peter squawks in indignation and grabs a spare pillow, whacking him with it. “I am smart!” he pouts. “And sticky. Go get me a towel.”
“Oh, and now you’re gonna be demanding, huh?” he grins, giving him a peck before he gets up. “Why am I not surprised?”
“You’re the one that wanted to take my virginity!” he calls as he walks away.
“As a friend! This boyfriend shit was not in the original agreement!”
“Oh, so we’re boyfriends?”
“You–”
Peter laughs, absolutely delighted with himself. Even with how his life has been getting better, this is the most relaxed he’s felt in a while. Frank was right. He did need to get laid.