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One would think he was used to this. The endless yapping, the topics suddenly shifting from one thing to another after almost every sentence… But the difference between kids and Peter Parker, is that Peter's stamina never depletes. A child would talk themselves to sleep. Peter will not. The boy doesn't have an off switch.
Frank's been unconsciously counting the time.
It just hit the sixteen minute mark. Peter was laying in his lap, his legs outstretched over the couch and kicking out with little bounces as he continued to talk about his day. The only other sound in the room was Frank occasionally grunting in acknowledgement or a muttering a short comment.
Don't get him wrong. He loves listening to Peter. He cherishes the domesticity of it, and how Peter makes sure to tell him every little thing that happened in his life, like he’s guaranteeing that Frank won’t miss anything.
It’s very sweet, and endearing.
But it's also a lot.
Especially if you’re not in the mood.
Frank's head is throbbing from an ache he's sure will develop into a migraine. He was resting with his elbow on the back of the couch, his palm spread across his forehead as he kept pinching the bridge of his nose to try and dull the pain. His other hand was below, sitting on Peter's curly hair. He had been stroking through the locks, but his movements eventually stopped.
He was staring straight through the blank TV in front of them.
Everything was loud.
Peter was still talking.
“So Ned got tickets for it, but I mean I kinda think it’s just gonna be a cashgrab more than anything, but he wants to go anyway– so I’m going too. It’s the only thing he’s gonna be talking about for the rest of the week so I thought–”
“For crying out loud.” Frank groaned.
His hand slipped down from Peter’s hair. Frank didn’t have much of a chance to even process what he was doing before it happened.
His fingers practically pried Peter’s lips apart, and two digits shoved themselves inside the boy’s mouth.
“Do you ever give your mouth a break, kid?” Frank growled with a sneer, his expression twisted and his tone snappy.
Peter gasped around his fingers. He fell silent as those wide brown eyes of his gazed up at Frank with a mixture of confusion and something Frank doesn’t quite recognise just yet.
Frank froze.
He’d fucked up.
“Shit–” Frank hissed, his entire body stiffening. “Fuck. I didn’t mean that. I'm sorry.” he said quickly.
He grimaced.
Of course he meant it. Wouldn’t’ve said it otherwise.
That wasn’t the point though.
Peter’s existence makes Frank want to be less of an asshole.
And he’d just shut the kid up when all the boy was doing was happily talking to him.
Frank should apologise again. Retract his fingers and beg his ray of sunshine for forgiveness. Let him keep rambling about whatever movie he wanted to tell Frank about.
…
Frank doesn’t pull away.
Maybe it’s because Peter hadn’t moved yet.
Or because Peter didn’t even look upset with him.
Peter’s legs were still. Not stiff. Just… still. Like they were resting.
In fact, that hyperactive energy seems to melt out of Peter.
His body had relaxed on Frank’s lap, and his eyes softened, like he’d become tired.
Peter stared up at Frank in a sort of dizzy way, uncharacteristically quiet, and pliant.
Frank’s fingers were still in Peter’s mouth. He could feel the boy’s warm tongue under his digits.
Frank doesn’t know what prompts him to shift closer. But he moves, burying his fingers deeper in Peter’s mouth.
Peter was like putty in his lap. All soft looking and small.
Like he wasn’t overwhelmed by the weight of the world that he took upon himself to carry every day.
Peter let out a small sound, a noise close to a mewl, or maybe a hushed moan.
It made Frank’s heart skip a beat.
The room was silent without Peter’s talking. Without the little tapping or the shuffling in place.
But the quiet wasn’t heavy for once.
The air around them just felt… peaceful.
Frank’s thumb glided down to the bottom of Peter’s lip, where he gently pressed down to coax the boy’s mouth open even further.
Peter did so without hesitation, and Frank slid the remaining length of his fingers inside.
Peter’s mouth was warm around Frank. And while he only had a small portion of Frank inside him, even that much was enough to make a blissful heat course through the rest of Frank’s body.
And then came the suction.
The smallest little suckle from Peter’s mouth, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.
Frank didn’t pull his fingers out.
His other hand came down to cup the boy’s cheek, his thumb brushing a loose curl behind Peter’s flushed ear.
Peter sucked again.
It wasn’t lewd.
It was more grounding than anything.
Frank stared down at Peter for a moment, watching the way his eyes became glassy and soft.
A sigh escaped Frank’s own throat.
He leaned back against the couch, his eyes closing.
Frank’s headache slowly starts to subside as he’s able to relax.
And it seems Peter’s relaxing too, in his own way.
Frank’ll figure that new ‘outlet’ out later.
For now, he just lets the gentle intimacy wash over him as his hand continued to caress through Peter’s hair, and his fingers stayed warm.