boys without fathers
Title: Avengers
Fandom: Spider-Man 2
Character, Pairing: Peter, Harry/Peter
Rating: explicit sexual content
Disclaimer: not my characters
Note: double drabble
Avengers
Do you still want to hurt me?
Do you still want me to hurt you?
I think I do.
He can never remember the sensation of the burn itself. No. Only the moments after. Harry stalked back to the bed, running a shard of ice across his mouth. He crouched down by Peter’s hips, pressed his cold lips against his thigh, bringing some relief to the pain. It made him so hard to have Harry’s face so close to his cock; he couldn’t look at Harry’s mouth without aching to press inside. Over and over Harry rubbed the ice against his fingers, his lips, pressed his cold flesh against Peter’s wound, until the ice had melted away. Then he held his wet fingers to Peter’s mouth, let him lick off the drops of water. He pressed his fingers, sticky with spit, against Peter’s cheek, he leaned forward so that their foreheads brushed together. I’m sorry, he whispered. There’s something wrong, bad, bad inside me. I shouldn’t want you, hurt you, Pete, but I do. Your eyes are too blue. I hate you for that.
No, Peter whispered back. No. But there was. There was something missing inside both of them.
Fandom: Spider-Man 2
Character, Pairing: Peter, Harry/Peter
Rating: explicit sexual content
Disclaimer: not my characters
Note: double drabble
Avengers
Do you still want to hurt me?
Do you still want me to hurt you?
I think I do.
He can never remember the sensation of the burn itself. No. Only the moments after. Harry stalked back to the bed, running a shard of ice across his mouth. He crouched down by Peter’s hips, pressed his cold lips against his thigh, bringing some relief to the pain. It made him so hard to have Harry’s face so close to his cock; he couldn’t look at Harry’s mouth without aching to press inside. Over and over Harry rubbed the ice against his fingers, his lips, pressed his cold flesh against Peter’s wound, until the ice had melted away. Then he held his wet fingers to Peter’s mouth, let him lick off the drops of water. He pressed his fingers, sticky with spit, against Peter’s cheek, he leaned forward so that their foreheads brushed together. I’m sorry, he whispered. There’s something wrong, bad, bad inside me. I shouldn’t want you, hurt you, Pete, but I do. Your eyes are too blue. I hate you for that.
No, Peter whispered back. No. But there was. There was something missing inside both of them.