The party was over the top. Tony Stark never did anything in half measures including throwing a party for his favorite (only) intern. The problem was, the only person who wasn’t having fun was Peter. It all started great. He wore a tuxedo that was worth more per day than his and May’s rent each month and he’d got to see May smile in a way that she hadn’t for months. Currently she was dancing with Bruce, probably trying to find out all the things that Peter hadn’t told her, which admittedly wasn’t that much. May and him were pretty tight.
The problem was, everyone was drinking and having a good time. Except Peter. He’d tried. He’d danced with Natasha, Wanda and Shuri and it was fun, but somehow lackluster. Probably because everywhere he went, someone was ruffling his hair or calling him Kid. The party that was meant to celebrate him becoming a man was starting to just feel like a reminder that no one here considered him one. Being hit with a car? No big deal. Being an adult? No way, not Peter Parker!
Despite not being legal to drink, he’d already snuck a drink of every alcoholic beverage he could get his hands on and none of them affected him at all. Now that hadn’t bothered him much before, but it definitely bothered him now. He really just needed out of his head for just a little while, was that too much to ask? His savior came in the form of the God of Thunder, who saw him at the buffet table staring at the champagne glasses lined there.
“Man of Spiders! Rejoice!” A heavy arm slung over his shoulders before Peter could even turn his head towards his boisterous teammate. “Why, on the day that this great planet has determined you to be a man, are you not swimming in an intoxicated bliss? Or trying to propagate your species with a beautiful woman,” he lowered his voice slightly although Peter was sure that most of the people around him could still hear if they cared to. “…that’s how I became a man, but admittedly I was much younger than you. Better late than never, fine Sir!”
Peter couldn’t help but smile. Sometimes Thor was ridiculous, but he was a good man and probably the only Avenger that didn’t treat him like a child even when he technically was one. “I can’t.” He admitted. “I’ve tried everything alcoholic in here and my body just processes it in seconds. I don’t even have time for the buzz before it’s over. And I don’t think anyone here is interested in…ah…propagating the species with me. If that was even something I wanted. Jeez, Thor. I literally just turned eighteen. I’m not really interested in being a dad yet. Babies are cute…from a distance.”
“Oh Peter, you are fortuitous indeed.” Thor looked both ways before he slid a hand to his belt and unhooked a flask. “It is my pleasure to present to you the….finest…Asgardian mead reserved for royalty. As a battle brother, I think you deserve a little fun on your birthday.”
Peter took the flask with wide eyes and also a cautious look around as if someone would take it away if they found him with it. He was in the process of uncorking it when Thor stopped him. “Wait, a word of caution. “ Thor leaned down and actually whispered, which Peter was surprised that he was even capable of, to be honest. “Since this is your first time, find someplace private to drink this. It has been known to affect humans a little differently than Gods.”
Peter was skeptical, but he nodded and tucked it into his suit jacket. “Thanks, Thor. Really, man. You’re the best!”
And that was how Peter came to be out on the rooftop of Stark tower, legs dangling over the side in a way that would make most people nervous but never Peter. Granted, he…was…drunk but Oh! Was he drunk in the very best way. The city lights glimmered and swayed like his very own Aurora Borealis. He heard the door open behind him, but he just couldn’t be bothered to turn and see who it was.
Peter Quill knew all about parties. He was an expert. He loved them, after all. Was almost an obligatory way to sign off on a mission. Took up quite a lot of any pay checks he earned, too. And so he’d seen a lot, done a lot, gotten into bar fights in Knowhere and partaken in pub crawls on Contraxia. That was one area where his knowledge was truly something to behold. He could be an academic if he wanted to be, pioneering the study of how that ubiquitous desire to get wasted and do stupid shit manifested in different alien species.
Recklessly imbibing intoxicants, ritually disassembling all inhibitions, engaging in acts of revelry and depravity that resulted the next day in awkward conversations and painstaking attempts to recreate memories lest some grave error had been unknowingly committed – these were by no means unique to human cultures. No, Star Lord had travelled throughout the universe, met dozens of big personalities from dozens of species, and though there were few true universal social norms (hell, even metaphors and basic morality seemed to be of a limited reach), some sort of zest for partying, some zeal for recreation, seemed to be as close to a universal as one could get.
So yeah, Peter knew a lot about what to expect. But he was still…well, this was new to him. He hadn’t really been to any big human parties before. Well, as a kid he’d been to parties, but they were a different sort of party altogether. The focus was on cakes and balloons rather than drinking and hookups. Which wasn’t to say Peter didn’t love cake and balloons – thankfully they were here, too – but yeah, Peter’s focus was on the booze and the flirting.
He knew roughly what to expect. As a kid, he’d witnessed enough adults on night outs, absorbed enough culture, saw enough TV that he shouldn’t have been watching, to have a rough idea of what American parties were like before going on. They weren’t too far afield from what many other species had – and there was the benefit of knowing every substance on offer was physiologically compatible with his internal organs. Which, you know. Reassuring. Some aliens ate sand or slurped the blood out of live space worms or inhaled noxious gases that made mammalian hairs catch alight and the like, so cool. Peter didn’t have to worry about that.
It was fun. It was great. But the feeling that this was home, that this was the life he could have lived…yeah. That was surprisingly exhausting. Quill wasn’t normally so vulnerable to sentimentality, but the drink had definitely worsened his defences. So he needed a break. Needed a bit of a respite. Peter decided the roof was the best place for that. And, drink in hand, he stepped out into the cool night air, expecting to be on his own. But he immediately saw that he had company.
“Birthday boy!” he yelled. He flinched, immediately realising that he might have made his younger namesake jump and slip or something, but that spasm of fear was short-lived, washed away as he took another sip. “How are you finding your party?” Peter Quill spoke with emphasis on every syllable, a consequence of his inebriation, walking towards the younger man to share his view of the night sky.
Once near him, to where he no longer needed to shout to be sure he got heard, he slumped against a rooftop air con unit, looking over at the nice view. The New York skyline looked pretty good too.
Peter normally wouldn’t have jumped at all. His spider sense had a way of helping him keep track of people coming and going sometimes without him even acknowledging that he was doing it. But tonight, his spider sense was busy trying to process his gifted elixir of the gods and so Peter’s head snapped around too fast and the resulting spin made him sway slightly. Fortunately, he still had a firm grip on the ledge and it just took a moment with his eyes closed before the world righted itself.
One last look at the New York sky told him that the mead was already starting to fade, so he took another drink and turned sideways to peer at his guest. “Mm…I’s okay. I’s big.” Peter took a deep breath and slid off the ledge to sit on the ground instead, his foot knocking the Star Lord’s lightly. Later, he would probably freak out at the carelessness he was showing towards his tux. But for now, his jacket was tossed about three feet away in an earlier hot flash and after sinking to the ground, Peter found himself tugging at his bow tie until he could drop it beside him.
Peter looked over at his older namesake in curiosity. They hadn’t really had time to get to know each other that well, which might explain why he felt comfortable murmuring, “Just thought I’d feel…older, but I don’t. I’m still like a kid to everyone at that party.”
Peter shakes his cask lightly as he said, “Except Thor, who gave me the good stuff.” He stops a moment to unscrew the lid and take another small sip. He’d found that if he took small sips he could keep the buzz going better than if he simply swallowed a mouthful. “…’cept he mentioned he’d already had sex long before me.”
Peter leaned his head back against the ledge and ran his fingers through his hair, effectively messing it up completely, but feeling good about it. “I’m Spiderman. I’ve had panties thrown at me, you know? Which is weird, by the way. Imagine how much respect they’d have for me if I just went and picked up used panties or hit on the people I saved. Like…yeah, I know there’s a robbery going on right now and I should be saving the day, but do you think I could get your phone number?…Not going to happen.”
At this point, Peter doesn’t even realize he’s rambling so hard. “And when I’m not Spiderman…I’m just me. Just Peter Parker, smart but too nerdy to flirt with. Kid.” The last word held a note of bitterness. He tilted his head to look at the Star Lord as he added. “Yeah, so…how’re you liking my party?”
Quill couldn’t resist a hearty chuckle as the normally adroit and effortlessly athletic Spider-Man stumbled and floundered under the influence of alcohol. The kid – no, not a kid any more, as he was making so insistently clear with a justified vexation that Quill could fully empathise with – was clearly not used to coordinating his lithe and limber form and his agile frame under the influence of something as strong as Asgardian mead. That shit was designed for gods, after all. And sure, Peter Parker was some superpowered badass with enhanced metabolism and heightened senses and all that, but if Quill was a betting man (which he was), he would bet that once those things were stripped away, the younger Peter would be a bit of a lightweight.
“That’s good,” Quill replied to Parker’s grammatically atrocious insistence that he was okay. He chuckled again as Parker’s foot clumsily bumped up against his own. In Quill’s intoxicated state, that little bump sent a ticklish tingle coursing up his veins, mixing with the crisp high-altitude to make him shiver. It was an exaggerated and animated reaction, and Quill was in no mood to tone it down or act more low-key. “That’s good, dude,” he repeated, his capacity for vocalising intelligent and insightful thoughts – never exactly his strong suit, because while he was a bit of a cunning whiz in some areas Quill sucked at communicating that – diminished by the more terrestrial alcohol that had become Quill’s drink of choice tonight.
And then came the venting. Star Lord was a little bit taken aback at first. Not that he wasn’t happy to be ranted at, or that he didn’t thrive when given the limelight of being someone’s proverbial shoulder to cry on. Hell, he loved it. Made him feel all important and emotionally intelligent and appreciated for stuff beyond just his sheer badassery and dashing good looks and galaxy-saving vocation. Quill loved being appreciated for those reasons, but come on, sometimes it was nice to be appreciated for something else.
But he barely knew Parker. He was new to all this stuff, new to all the dynamics and relationships and petty squabbling that defined the lives of Earth’s guardians (which, hey, made him feel right at home considering what the Guardians were like).
But that was it, really. That novelty was exactly what made Peter Quill the right person to vent to. Now, putting aside the obvious thought that, hey, the only people who wanted to have heart to heart chats with him were people who barely knew him, that made a lot of sense actually. They still viewed him as a kid. Still viewed him as the prodigy, as the ingenue, as the one that needed to be sorta protected and mollycoddled and all that. Quill could sympathise with that. A lot.
But despite his sympathy, despite his internal commitment to just listen until the kid was down venting, he couldn’t help but laugh out loud at what Thor had said to him. “Fucking hell, dude, Thor’s something else.” Thor was a horny fucker, Quill knew that straight away. Took one to know one, maybe, but still. “Did he tell you to go ‘propagate your species’ too? Because, man, he says that to everyone.” Quill blinked. “Fuck, imagine Thor as a dad. That’s fucking hilarious.” He paused to take a sip, but regretted that pause – his mind immediately pondered the rather frightening prospect that he himself might have accidentally knocked up a Kree or even an A’askvarian. Not that he thought that was likely, but as the first human to bone half the species in the galaxy, there was always the chance.
“But yeah, don’t worry about Thor,” Quill mumbled, deciding not to add that he too had already long cashed in his V card. “Different circumstances when you’re the son of a Viking god-king or whatever he is.” The same was true in Quill’s case, too – unlike in New York, when in space his cock was some exotic and mythical new thing that was sure to catch the eye of deviants and kinksters.
But it was clear that the younger Peter – inhibitions and bashfulness thrown aside by alcohol – had a lot of anxiety about the whole being a virgin thing. There was a sort of responsibility, a sort of duty, for him to make the kid feel better. “Nothing wrong with not sleeping around just yet, you know. I mean, you’re a good looking guy, you’ll get some action eventually.” He took another sip. Couldn’t get over how cute and damn twinkyPeter was, now that he thought about it. “I’m liking the party a lot, thanks for having me,” he replied to Parker’s question, giving himself time to think.
“If it’s any comfort, I would.”
Peter was in the process of bringing the flask up for another sip, but paused in mid tilt. What? Did he…? He slowly lowered the flash and squinted a bit at the Star Lord. It took a moment for his spider senses to get it together and sharpen enough for Peter to focus on his face, but when they did, he was surprised to see that the other man was staring right at him. Suddenly he couldn’t tell if he was flushed because his body was working overtime to clear through the mead or if he was flaming from the thought of climbing onto Quill and rubbing off on him like the teenager he technically still was.
The Star Lord was hot. While not being completely certain what his preferences might be, Peter’s dick knew what it wanted even if it wasn’t sure how he wanted to get it. It had perked up and begged for attention on more than one inappropriate occasion and from the little that he’d interacted with Quill, he was the king of inappropriate occasions. But the question remained whether or not Quill was serious or just trying to be reassuring. The last thing Peter needed was meaningless platitudes.
“You would.” Peter repeated stupidly before his brain rearranged the words into what he meant to say. So he tried again. “I mean…you would what…?” Peter meant to leave it there, but there was just enough mead left processing for him to add, “…Fuck me?”
As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he imagined it. He’d watched some porn once on Ned’s computer when Ned was in the shower. He’d been slightly afraid of Karen or worse, Stark, somehow seeing his browser history if he used any of his own devices. The mental image of male bodies writhing together was burned beneath his eyelids and god, he’d wanted to try it. He’d tried his own fingers once and was horribly disappointed. It just…wasn’t what he wanted. The same with masturbation, he could do it and sometimes he did but it wasn’t good enough. He wanted another hard body against him, closing him in and holding him down.
Quill couldn’t help but be beset by a little vexing doubt, eating away at the outwards bravado and confidence he was conveying. There had been that small chance that Peter Parker was so innocent, so guileless and unworldly, that he would have missed out the meaning of that one liner. The thought came to Quill ever the ‘would’ left his lips, and he knew it to be likely to be ridiculous, likely to be rather insulting, to assume the teen was so jejune and childlike that he didn’t even know the meaning of ‘would’ as a verb in that context. But he couldn’t stop the thought occurring to him, and so it was with bated breath that he waited for how the younger Peter would respond.
But it became quickly apparent that, yeah, as his reason and logic told him, there was next to no chance that Parker was that inexperienced. The kid – no, not kid, stop mentally referring to him as that – had obviously absorbed enough pop culture and partaken in enough crude banter to understand such a simple turn of phrase. And it was pretty clear, from how he acted, that he understood. The way he paused, looked over Star Lord, all flustered and pensive, all anxious and mind racing – Parker understood. He may be inexperienced, and his nerves betrayed that, but he was definitely not innocent. The perfect mix.
So Quill wasn’t too surprised when Parker decided to demonstrate his understanding with some choice profanity. Of course, hearing it out loud, said so explicitly and so lewdly, the prospect of what he was doing became all the clearer. He was offering to take the virginity of an 18 year old, with all the emotional implications and dizzying expectations that came with that, with the solemn duty not to take advantage or exploit any vulnerabilities or anything of the sort. But while Quill did give some thought to those more sombre considerations, the overwhelming feeling was one of excitement.
Partly this was borne from ego about his sexual capabilities. A well-justified ego, it had to be said. Quill had received rave reviews from people from dozens of species. He was going to be the standard by which the rest of Parker’s sexual history will be compared to. He would be his sexual salvation. He would teach him just how good sex could be. And that was amazing for Parker. But Quill would have a good time too. After all, he would be taking the virginity of this hot young twink. That was a common fantasy for a reason.
So Quill, nonchalant and relaxed in contrast to Parker’s more excitable demeanour, shrugged and took another sip. “If you want to, I’d be more than down for that.” After taking another sip, he turned to Spider-Man with a devilish grin. “I forgot to buy you a gift, after all.”
Peter shifted his torso forward and raised his knees slightly to rest his elbows. He tried to play it off as cool as possible, but in reality, he was trying to hide his boner that he was sure he shouldn’t have before they’d even done anything. He swallowed down his nervousness, though his ability to act nonchalant had always been lacking, but his pride demanded that he not rush out with all the questions and comments running through his head.
What does finally come out of his mouth, surprised even him. “You…you can’t tell anyone. Mister Stark is kind of protective…” Peter trailed off a second as his thoughts wrapped around that statement. Part of Tony Stark would be proud that Peter had accomplished another milestone to adulthood, but doing it with Peter Quill, aka the Star Lord was likely something that would piss him right off. Despite his slight hero complex for his mentor, that just made Peter want to do it even more. Huh…
“…and Aunt May would kill you. Maybe Natasha too, but worry about May first.” Peter realized that he probably wasn’t helping himself and chanced a glance back at Quill. “I want to. I really, really want to.” Peter shifted and tried again to adjust himself discreetly, but knew on some level that he was failing and as a result, his cheeks were tinged with embarrassment. At this point there was no way he could blame his coloring on the mead. Most of it had worked its way out already.
Quill knew enough about hiding inopportune erections to know all too well what the younger Peter was doing. He loved it, personally. Though he had to begrudgingly admit his unconventional heroics were more praiseworthy, the compliments like these, even non-verbally and non-intentionally made, about his sexual magnetism were the ones that really got him going, that really made him feel good. Another part of his psyche that made him perhaps a non-ideal pick for a Guardian of the Galaxy and all of the obligations and responsibilities that came with it, but whatever. The way he saw it, if he was still kicking ass and saving lives and wasn’t hurting anyone, it didn’t matter what harmless foibles he had in his personal life.
He wasn’t expecting the warnings, though. Quill nodded along with them at first, wanting to give Parker every chance to say his piece, every possible opportunity to back out or change his mind, all the time he needed to mull over the repercussions of getting fucked senseless by the Star Lord. And even Peter Quill himself had to admit that, yeah, while all feedback about the sex itself was positive, sometimes he was trouble.
And there was quite a long list of people who’d be liable to attack Quill for fucking Spider-Man. He couldn’t help but be turned on by the risk, by the taboo. Basic human psychology, right? The forbidden fruit and all that. He laughed as he went over the list one more time in his head. “Oh, dude, you don’t even know the half of it. I’ve had whole governments after me before because of who I’ve slept with.” Granted, they were usually the extraterrestrial equivalent of county governments that had placed vendettas against him, but still. “Bring on the danger, bring on the secrecy, I love that shit!”
His tone became more…not serious, but more muted, more sincere, suffused with a trace of introspection and contemplation. “I really want to too.” Quill stood up, and took a couple of steps forward. There was a pretty big tent in his pants. The fabric confines surrounding his manhood seemed to only serve to magnify every twitch of anticipation, every tremor of unmet need. Time to boost Spider-Man’s ego. “This, my friend, is what happens when I think about fucking you.”
Peter looked up at the crazy man standing in front of him and couldn’t help something like a giggle escaping. There was no way he would have imagined hearing those words from anyone, and now he knew why. No one else could pull off that kind of corny one-liner and mean it as earnestly as Peter Quill.
Suddenly the ice was broken and after the need to laugh subsided, Peter shifted once more onto his knees until he could reach out and put a tentative hand on Quill’s thigh, just shy of the arousal pressing through the man’s pants. Peter’s cheeks were red because he knew how he would look when he shifted his soft brown eyes up at the Star Lord from where he knelt and he hoped it was as sexy as he imagined.
He could only keep eye contact with Quill for a moment before gravity and curiosity led his eyes to lower and follow the outline of the cock in front of him. It wasn’t small. Peter was both glad and terrified. A small cock wouldn’t be as intimidating considering what he wants to do with it, but there was some weird competitive streak inside Peter that dictated that having a small cock as his first would be cheating. Taking a deep breath, he flexed his hand…moving it slowly to trace the line of his cock with the tips of his fingers.
“Will you tell me what to do?”
The younger Peter was clearly amused. Not in a mocking way. He wasn’t laughing at Quill’s corny one-liners. Well, he might have been. The older Peter wouldn’t have blamed him. But there was more behind that chuckle, that giggly half-laugh, than just mere amusement. It was more that his nerves were being defused, the tension being melted, by being reminding that no matter what, Quill would always be a good-natured, slightly goofy, well-meaning guy at heart. And that sort of contagious easy-going nature, that sociable disposition that was lethal to any anxiety or reticence, wouldd stay intact, even if he was balls-deep inside a virgin.
But Quill wasn’t given much time to think about the ice breaking. Nah. Parker was a virgin, sure, but he had some instincts. He knew, whether consciously or not, how to be sexy. That hand on his thigh – so tantalisingly close, yet so torturously far – was a great way to get Quill’s lust really going. He had to blink, exhale, try and clear his thoughts. He knew full too well that if he allowed himself to get all flustered now, by such a simple sensation, he would have no hope. After clearing his head, he looked down.
And fuck if that wasn’t one of the sexiest sights Quill had ever witnessed. Those eyes, so sweet, so eager to please. That face, so cute and adorable, slightly obscured by the shadow from Quill’s tent. And then the way his eyes drifted down, taking in Quill’s length. It was such an adoring, such an appreciative, gaze, and Peter Quill had to admit there was something awesome about that. Just…well, Parker wasn’t saying anything, but what that gaze communicated was that ‘wow, I’m really happy I’m losing my virginity to this cock’. Star Lord was a sucker for praise. Even if that praise was conveyed by a pensive, hesitant, yet awestruck stare.
That finger, too. Fucking hell. It just traced along his length with a feather-like, almost ethereal touch, sending electrifying shivers up his spine. Quill groaned at that point. He was getting excited. Gleeful, even. Spider-Man had an innate talent, an intrinsic sex appeal, and if this was how the first few seconds went, well, he could only imagine how much better this could get.
And then Parker asked the older man to give him instructions, and fuck, this was heavenly.
“Okay. Well, let’s start off slow. Take my cock out, and stroke it.” It was a simple request, but to help speed along the process, Quill was already impatiently unbuckling his belt and casting it aside.
Peter sucked in a breath and felt his heart jolt at his first command. He removed his hand while Quill quickly unbuckled his belt but as soon as the belt hit the ground, he was tugging at the button and zipper of the man’s pants. Once the pants were undone, Peter paused a moment to take in the fact that he was about to put his hand inside another man’s pants. His own cock was pressing insistently against his tight slacks and he was sure a wet patch might already be forming. Despite that, he wasn’t at all nervous and that was because of Quill.
Peter couldn’t help the look of intense concentration on his face as he slid his right hand inside to pull Quill’s cock out of his pants. It wasn’t that easy considering how hard it was and the fact that Peter hadn’t actually removed the man’s pants, but simply worked around it. He’d thought about pushing Quill’s pants down, but somehow the urge to follow his instructions precisely won out. The proximity to his mouth was uncanny and Peter felt his mouth water. He wasn’t sure since he’d never done anything before, but he suspected he might quickly develop an oral fixation. For now, he’d settle for knowing what that single bead of precum accumulating on the tip of Quill’s cock tasted like. Peter took a shuttering breath as he reached his left hand down to press his own cock down. Then he bit his lip and got to work, remembering that despite the soft texture of velvet surrounding it, Peter liked a tight grip and a firm stroke. So that’s what he did to Quill’s.
On his first full stroke, the bead of precum started to slide down and Peter made a soft noise as he resisted catching it with his tongue.
Quill normally wasn’t one for being curt and brusque with his commands. Normally he shrouded them with jokes and quips, laced them with in-jokes, made it seem more like a friendly suggestion than the order of a superior. It was just the way he was. Normally, authority didn’t come to him naturally. But under the circumstances, a steady tone with no room for ambiguity and no space for doubt just seemed like the best option. Partially it was for Parker’s sake – most people did not want their first time peppered with cheesy jests and tricky-to-navigate sarcastic barbs. But also it was for his own sake. Quill was, for once, the undisputed authority, the unchallenged expert, a hot twink begging to be made into a submissive before him, eager to acquiesce to his every whim and master the techniques that brought him the most pleasure.
When the cold night air washed over his cock, Quill couldn’t resist another shiver, his cock primed and ready to be acutely sensitive. Somehow the alcohol seemed to have heightened his senses there, even when everything else was blurred and slurred. Peter Parker didn’t take a firm grip straight away. At least at first, Quill’s desire for more intimate contact had had to make do with the brushes of skin, first against his clothed length, then against his own bare flesh, as Spider-Man fumbled to pull the older man’s cock out into the open. But when Peter started to stroke his length in full, with a steady rhythm and a firm grip and that coquettish look on his face as he savoured the sight, Quill let out a moan. It was a long, guttural release, completely unguarded and leaving his lips too fast for him to temper the thirst and need apparent in its timbre.
“Fucking hell, Parker,” he finally was able to say, surprising himself with every coherent word he was able to say. “You’re a damn natural.”
Quill swallowed, feeling that little bead of precum beginning to trickle down his shaft. It was on the underside of his cock, but he could imagine it glistening and shimmering in the moonlight, catching the eye of the horny teenager pumping his dick. He could see Peter’s gaze following it, could see the young man fighting a disobedient temptation to swoop in and lick it up. Quill made sure to commit this sight to memory, because as enticing as it was, he knew that sooner or later, that rivulet of precum would be swept away by Parker’s regular strokes, and the opportunity to have Parker taste the first drop of precum ever spilled for him would be lost.
Straightening his back and steadying his voice, imitating all those for whom authority came more naturally, Quill spoke coolly. “You see that drop of precum?” A rhetorical question; Quill knew the answer. “Kiss it. Let me see it on your lips.”
Peter closed his eyes and let the praise wash over him. Making a man like Quill drop his humor and moan in satisfaction felt amazing, but hearing the words made pleasure slide down his spine. It took only a few more strokes before Quill issued his command and when he did, Peter took another shuddering breath and quickly leaned forward to purse his lips and press them against the sliding bead of liquid.
Peter tried to be good. He pulled away with the drop on his lips. He rubbed his lips together slowly to coat them both…and then his tongue slid out and licked it away. His eyes closed and he moaned a soft plaintive sound. Half because he loved the salty taste and half because his cock ached so much that he had to press it down again from within his tight slacks. He felt a rush of embarrassment that he couldn’t even follow his first direction properly, but he was so tightly strung he couldn’t help it.
Peter found himself leaning his head against Quill’s stomach with his panting mouth only inches from the cock in his hand. He still managed to stroke it, but at this point it was barely an afterthought. The words rushed out in between hard breaths even as he slid his right hand down to squeeze his own cock through his pants. “Quill, p…please tell me to suck your cock. I think I need it.”
There were few moments in life as pristine, as galvanising in Quill’s awe and wonder at the universe, as that moment when Peter’s pouting lips made contact with his precum-glazed cock. “Ga-ahhh.” Quill couldn’t help but let out an incoherent gasp, his capacity for rational and coherent statements shattered (or more shattered than usual, he could still imagine one of his friends saying). Quill tried to stay cogent. Tried to maintain that whole steely aloof demeanour, that of the nurturing and mentoring dom, that he imagined Parker so craved. It was hard, though, when even a single kiss, the sensations from his precum being smeared and lathered over his tip, rendered him dumb.
And it was all but impossible when Peter Parker, in a spurt of unrestrained impudence, went above and beyond what Quill had commanded. Just as Quill was looking down, keen to revel in the sight of Peter Parker with Quill’s precum defiling his virgin features, Parker’s tongue just shot out, slurping up the evidence of Quill’s arousal. The sight was hot enough that another jet of pre all but shot out of Quill’s slit.
The panting against his stomach was the icing on the cake, the final straw, that made any attempt at a teasingly drawn out foreplay an exercise in futility for them both. Just Peter’s breath, harried and wanton, washing over his cock was a pleasure Quill had never before known. “Fuck, man. Fuck.” Quill sighed, forcing himself to open his eyes, just to savour this sight, giving himself a second so he could compose his words. He wanted this moment to be perfect, after all. Something that they could both go back to, time and time again.
“Peter Parker. Please, suck my dick. I need it too, man.”
Peter barely managed to wait until Quill was done giving him permission. The moment the admission was made, Peter dropped his head down and slid the weeping head into his mouth. The feeling of Quill’s aroused flesh brushing against his tongue and filling his warm mouth felt like fate. Like every moment of Peter’s life was wasted before having Quills cock in his mouth. Frankly, Peter was too busy moaning around just the head and the delicate texture and taste on his tongue to care how ridiculous that was.
He felt a rush of power when Quill’s stomach quivered and more noises poured out of the man’s mouth. Peter realized then that he wanted more. He’d never done this but he wasn’t naïve and even if he had been, he really just had to follow everything that felt good and god did Peter bet that everything with the Star Lord would feel good. So he gripped the man’s pants and tugged him closer, tilting his head and parting his lips to pull the hot flesh deeper into his mouth.
The result was that he was still human and as the head nudged the back of his throat, Peter gagged slightly. Tears welled up even though he pulled back and sucked in a breath. He was blushing harder than before, a sweet mixture of embarrassment from making such a weird noise and aggravation that he still wanted to take it all. Peter released his own tight grip on his cock to wipe away some of the spit left on his lower lip and trembled as his cock pulsed. A harsh breath later, he had to check to make sure he hadn’t just cum but other than the same pool of precum, he was still hard and his pants weren’t filled with ejaculate.
Still trembling slightly, Peter chanced a look back up at Quill before murmuring a soft, “Sorry,” and sinking his lips over the cock again. Though he knew he shouldn’t, Peter took it back again until he felt his throat threaten to close. Holding it just shy of too far and trying to conquer the need to swallow brought a desperate moan from the same throat he was sweetly torturing.
As the tip of his cock disappeared between Parker’s soft and inviting lips, Quill almost feel backwards, almost allowed himself to just fall onto his back in a drunken and catatonic haze, so utterly contented by the avid ministrations of Peter’s virgin mouth that remembering to stand up straight suddenly seemed like a trivial side quest. As his cock slid further and further into Peter’s face, breaking in new sensations and having the honour of being the first person to feel the back of his tongue and the roof of his mouth, Quill found himself almost forgetting to breathe, too.
There was something special about this. Sure, Parker had no great experience – though he had a natural talent that was only further honed by his spider senses – but he had an enthusiasm. He seemed grateful to be holding Quill’s cock within his cheeks. He seemed jubilant. And it showed, from the way his tongue swept around the girth, from the way he urged the older man to pry past his lips ever further, from the way he threw aside concerns about breathing properly to just revel in the sensation of having Quill’s thick member occupy the space between his cheeks. His mouth was wet, and warm, but most of all welcoming. Quill loved that, and his hard cock throbbed and pulsated, trembled and quivered, precum trickling out down the teenager’s throat in increasingly copious quantities, sometimes spilling out of the side of his lips.
This was addictive. It was intoxicating. Mind-numbing. Quill knew that there was a risk that he could just forget himself, that somebody could walk up to the roof or fly up to it or Friday could snitch on him to Tony, but he didn’t care. He was fine with that risk. Because he was fucking Peter Parker’s face. On his eighteenth birthday. Now that, that was the sort of thing that any sane red-blooded man would take a risk for.
That youthful exuberance, coupled with an incredibly permissive ‘mentor’, meant that it was only a matter of time before Parker went too far. Quill felt the tip of his cock, now primed to be hypersensitive and relish every minor graze and caress to an almost supernatural degree, brush against what could only have been the back of Peter’s throat. First, he felt his cock just smear precum against the muscle. Then he felt the rush, the rise of spittle, and then the sounds of gagging muffled by the girth within Peter’s mouth.
It felt good. So good that Quill forgot that gagging around a cock for the first time probably was more overwhelming a sensation than most teenagers were prepared for.
“It’s okay,” he muttered, at Parker’s apology, too dazed to apologise himself. “Fuck,” he continued, as Peter diligently got back to work. “Whenever I’m in New York, I’m gonna visit you. Just…so you know. Fuck.” He meant it. This was the ideal rest and recreation activity after weeks of galaxy saving. His hand slowly came to a rest on the back of Peter’s head, and before he could really think about what he was doing, Quill was taking Peter’s attempts to deepthroat up to eleven, pushing the young man’s head down onto the base of his cock, slamming his hips forward.
That was it. As soon as Peter felt the pressure of Quill’s hand on the back of his head coupled with the abrupt shove of his cock past his throat’s defenses, Peter lost it. He gripped Quill’s pants tighter to hold himself up even as he shook…and shook, as this time, he came hard in his pants. The keen that came out of him as his sensitivity rose even higher to the point that feeling his own cum in his pants rubbing over his cock was almost uncomfortable. The only thing distracting him was Quill’s firm hand on his head and cock in his throat.
Peter swallowed wetly around the flesh and forced a shuddering breath through his nose before he let go of his fierce grip on Quill’s thighs. If he hadn’t been out of his mind, he’d have worried about bruising the man, but for now Peter looked up through tearstained eyes in supplication. With a throat that still managed to tremble by instinct occasionally, he shifted and tried to suck. Normally he would be ashamed at having cum with so little stimulation, but this had been…the most…satisfying orgasm he’d ever had and now that the tension was released, Peter was determined to enjoy everything he could get out of Quill.