[ It's only at a time like this that Felicia's moans couldn't possibly be more melodic, fomenting the apex of Peter's arousal. Or, more accurately, the steady climb towards it: a climb that had become increasingly unsteady with the acceleration of their combined movements. Because the further Felicia goes, the further Peter follows... and vice versa. The descent of her body is met by the ascent of his hips, their hands gripping each other tight as the two - in unison - utterly give to each other. And then she gives him something else: a frivolous question. Teasing, in more ways than one. In a way that gets Peter to crack an amused smile in Felicia's direction. ]
Don't you know, Felicia?
With you, every view's a good view.
[ He means it. If he wasn't so gung ho about power and responsibility, he could stare at her for hours... in a non-creepy way. More from a place of admiration, which is not entirely different from the way he views her now. Tinged, perhaps, with both lust and longing. But ultimately, admiration prevails. Not just for who Felicia is, or even who Peter believes she can be, but who she wants to be because of him.
Who she is, however, is currently more than enough. Especially for Peter's body, which buckles under the encroaching tide of his own pleasure. The sensation swells from between his legs, radiating through his cock as he pumps it faster, now, than ever in the past night. Harder, yes, but again-- never so hard as to send Felicia flying. A small instinct of Peter's compels him to rationalize his temptation, imagining himself quickly leaning sideways uncomfortably to reach for his discarded spider-suit, just to retrieve a webshooter. All to catch Felicia in webbing before she can ever collide with the ceiling.
But no. For now, that's a pipe dream. Inspiration, maybe, for how he can later treat Felicia. Just not now.
Because now, Peter definitely feels it. Not just his own approaching orgasm, but his spider-sense: practically flaring as it tells him to pull out lest he face the consequences of this tryst. So as Peter's own breathing quickens, moans escaping his lips in something of a crescendo that matches Felicia's candor... he finishes. ]
Felicia-- hold on, I'm--
[ He relinquishes his cock upon Felicia's next ascent, and finishes. His own seed spurts from the head of his cock, the array landing instead on Felicia's thighs and lower stomach.
It is definitely a coincidence that it happened right when she made the cat pun.
Sated and spent thanks to all the energy he devoted to the act, Peter then collapses on the coach, neglecting to even admire the mess he made. He does look on at Felicia, though, with a tired smile. Softened, no doubt, by fatigue from his laborious efforts. But while she mounts him still, having probably shifted to straddle one of his thighs, she'll find him still recovering, still attempting to catch his breath as his muscles - once visibly tensed in the height of his orgasm - now relax. Tension made evident by Peter's anxiety before and during the act is now gone, his body instead dormant in postcoital repose. ]
no subject
Don't you know, Felicia?
With you, every view's a good view.
[ He means it. If he wasn't so gung ho about power and responsibility, he could stare at her for hours... in a non-creepy way. More from a place of admiration, which is not entirely different from the way he views her now. Tinged, perhaps, with both lust and longing. But ultimately, admiration prevails. Not just for who Felicia is, or even who Peter believes she can be, but who she wants to be because of him.
Who she is, however, is currently more than enough. Especially for Peter's body, which buckles under the encroaching tide of his own pleasure. The sensation swells from between his legs, radiating through his cock as he pumps it faster, now, than ever in the past night. Harder, yes, but again-- never so hard as to send Felicia flying. A small instinct of Peter's compels him to rationalize his temptation, imagining himself quickly leaning sideways uncomfortably to reach for his discarded spider-suit, just to retrieve a webshooter. All to catch Felicia in webbing before she can ever collide with the ceiling.
But no. For now, that's a pipe dream. Inspiration, maybe, for how he can later treat Felicia. Just not now.
Because now, Peter definitely feels it. Not just his own approaching orgasm, but his spider-sense: practically flaring as it tells him to pull out lest he face the consequences of this tryst. So as Peter's own breathing quickens, moans escaping his lips in something of a crescendo that matches Felicia's candor... he finishes. ]
Felicia-- hold on, I'm--
[ He relinquishes his cock upon Felicia's next ascent, and finishes. His own seed spurts from the head of his cock, the array landing instead on Felicia's thighs and lower stomach.
It is definitely a coincidence that it happened right when she made the cat pun.
Sated and spent thanks to all the energy he devoted to the act, Peter then collapses on the coach, neglecting to even admire the mess he made. He does look on at Felicia, though, with a tired smile. Softened, no doubt, by fatigue from his laborious efforts. But while she mounts him still, having probably shifted to straddle one of his thighs, she'll find him still recovering, still attempting to catch his breath as his muscles - once visibly tensed in the height of his orgasm - now relax. Tension made evident by Peter's anxiety before and during the act is now gone, his body instead dormant in postcoital repose. ]
Well. That came and went.
Or, more specifically... I did.