“That’s it, baby. Fuck!”
Peter whined around the cock in his mouth, his scalp aching as the fingers twined in his hair tugged and pulled. The ground beneath his knees was hard and unforgiving, but there wasn’t any time to shift his weight or sweep away whatever grit was catching on the denim of his jeans. Inside his pants, his cock was hard and full; the scent on his tongue was clean and musky, and for the first time in months Peter was fully in the present, poised on the knife-edge between too much and not enough.
His eyes watered, tears wetting his cheeks and catching on the thin fabric of his t-shirt.
“Such a good boy for me,” the man above him crooned, and Peter relaxed at the praise, eyes closing against the feeling of bliss.
He hadn’t meant to be there. But in the months since Ned’s family moved away, separating him from his best (and only real) friend, Peter had taken to walking the streets in the evening. It had given him something to do besides homework and coding, especially after he’d lost his job when the owner’s niece came back to the city and needed a place to work. It built up his leg muscles, too, keeping him lean and giving him stamina - important when Flash and his little gang were after him again.
He’d discovered some real gems. His Instagram, flush with cityscapes, was booming. He’d found a few hidden treasures - places he’d never eaten before, that antique shop where he’d found May’s birthday present and got a discount because the owner saw him stop to help a guy having a seizure.
Peter didn’t feel like he deserved a discount for being a decent human being, but it put the pretty necklace in his woefully tiny price range, so.
Twisted Twinkie wasn’t a gem.
It was an addiction.
Peter had barely realized he was gay before stumbling into the place one night - literally. The streets don’t go quiet often in the city, but that night it was late and someone in a Prius was taking the corner too fast. Peter leapt to the side, reflexes kicking in to say Danger! even though the driver never made it up onto the curb, and fell against the doorway, startling the bouncer.
He was picked up, dusted off, and sent on his way, but not before catching a few cheeky winks and getting a quick glimpse inside the bar.
It was fascinating. It probably wasn’t any different to any other bar, but he found himself coming back that way again and again, just watching the casual way the men, and sometimes women, interacted. Arms thrown around one another, quick kisses stolen on the way in, patrons leaving who both obviously didn’t know each other and also obviously were about to know each other a little better.
It wasn’t like he lived under a rock. He’d interacted with other gay people before. He knew that May wasn’t homophobic - or at least, she wasn’t the sort of homophobic who would bring up some stranger’s sex life because she wanted to complain about it.
But everything about being gay was so new . His relief at figuring himself out was so vast .
And the closet still seemed so endless .
So he walked by when he was out anyway, sometimes lingering down the alley - he needed to check his phone, or tie his shoe, damnit, he wasn’t actually being some pathetic eighteen year old creeper - and when a drunk older man called him pretty and made him blush he found himself running his mouth just enough to get himself dragged down that alley.
God, sweetheart. You were born for this.
Such a pretty boy. That’s it baby.
Good boy. Swallow me down now.