[ There's Peter shrugging, momentarily letting go of the webbing on the ceiling so he can free his hands to give that shrug more emphasis. With his legs still clinging to the webbing, or more accurately - the webbing still clinging to his legs - Peter isn't worried about falling off any time soon. He thinks to discard the webshooters, suspecting they'll just be in the way... before aiming down below. Firing a thread, only to hoist it so he can retrieve his mask. He puts it on but only just so, leaving his face below the bridge of his nose still exposed. Only then does he drop the web shooters onto the sofa, before regarding Felicia with an amused smirk. ]
Figured you'd like this.
Not because you like the Spider more than the Man.
[ He won't ignore, after all, how much Felicia's consciously changed. ]
But because you love both.
[ Before he can ruminate too long about accidentally saying "love," he cuts to the chase. That spider stamina Felicia was talking about goes unquestioned here, Peter well over the need for some kind of post-coital recovery period. Not even cuddles. Rather, said stamina instead compels him to remain secure in front of Felicia, holding her in an embrace while she's more or less bound to the webbing he's produced: he slips a hand through the small of her back, his arm cradling it as his other hand fondles her nearest breast. Back, in some sense, to the way they started. In Peter's encroachment, though, this isn't a spider out to consume their prey... by any literal meaning.
What he seems keen to do, instead, is sample her. To secure himself, he straddles one of her legs. Braving the white floof of her hair that's beholden to gravity, Peter faces down the side of her neck to plant a languid kiss on its skin. He sucks on it, licks it up, kisses it - each gesture more smothering, more supplicant than the last. There's a fervency here that he struggled to contain when Felicia was riding him, Peter forgetting that the object here is to disturb neighbors who've shown less care over the loudness of their own fucking.
Now, it took discipline over time for Peter to know how to manage his sticky fingers. How to be able to let go of a surface without the struggle that comes with adhesive palms and fingertips. He exercised such mastery earlier, when fondling Felicia on the sofa. But now, it's time to demonstrate just how much he can control. For in fondling Felicia now, Peter purposefully allows his hand to stick at times. After a particularly drawn out squeeze, he pulls while Felicia's nipple and areola still cling to his palm. He doesn't release until it's clear she responds to just enough of a pulling sensation. With his fingertips, he eventually repeats this, tormenting the same nipple he'd already been caressing into hardness. ]
Promise I'll clean up the webs after this.
[ He whispers into her ear when saying this, before his kisses travel across her cheek and finally, to her lips. ]
Now don't mind me brainstorming a pun that'll rock your world.
no subject
[ There's Peter shrugging, momentarily letting go of the webbing on the ceiling so he can free his hands to give that shrug more emphasis. With his legs still clinging to the webbing, or more accurately - the webbing still clinging to his legs - Peter isn't worried about falling off any time soon. He thinks to discard the webshooters, suspecting they'll just be in the way... before aiming down below. Firing a thread, only to hoist it so he can retrieve his mask. He puts it on but only just so, leaving his face below the bridge of his nose still exposed. Only then does he drop the web shooters onto the sofa, before regarding Felicia with an amused smirk. ]
Figured you'd like this.
Not because you like the Spider more than the Man.
[ He won't ignore, after all, how much Felicia's consciously changed. ]
But because you love both.
[ Before he can ruminate too long about accidentally saying "love," he cuts to the chase. That spider stamina Felicia was talking about goes unquestioned here, Peter well over the need for some kind of post-coital recovery period. Not even cuddles. Rather, said stamina instead compels him to remain secure in front of Felicia, holding her in an embrace while she's more or less bound to the webbing he's produced: he slips a hand through the small of her back, his arm cradling it as his other hand fondles her nearest breast. Back, in some sense, to the way they started. In Peter's encroachment, though, this isn't a spider out to consume their prey... by any literal meaning.
What he seems keen to do, instead, is sample her. To secure himself, he straddles one of her legs. Braving the white floof of her hair that's beholden to gravity, Peter faces down the side of her neck to plant a languid kiss on its skin. He sucks on it, licks it up, kisses it - each gesture more smothering, more supplicant than the last. There's a fervency here that he struggled to contain when Felicia was riding him, Peter forgetting that the object here is to disturb neighbors who've shown less care over the loudness of their own fucking.
Now, it took discipline over time for Peter to know how to manage his sticky fingers. How to be able to let go of a surface without the struggle that comes with adhesive palms and fingertips. He exercised such mastery earlier, when fondling Felicia on the sofa. But now, it's time to demonstrate just how much he can control. For in fondling Felicia now, Peter purposefully allows his hand to stick at times. After a particularly drawn out squeeze, he pulls while Felicia's nipple and areola still cling to his palm. He doesn't release until it's clear she responds to just enough of a pulling sensation. With his fingertips, he eventually repeats this, tormenting the same nipple he'd already been caressing into hardness. ]
Promise I'll clean up the webs after this.
[ He whispers into her ear when saying this, before his kisses travel across her cheek and finally, to her lips. ]
Now don't mind me brainstorming a pun that'll rock your world.
The cat's pajamas of jokes.