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.