Chapter Fifteen Caravaggio, dir. by Derek Jarman #3
“I’m enjoying it,” Eli says, but he hands the phone back to Peter because he can tell that Peter’s getting uncomfortable.
“I can stop, though.”
“Do you really think that it’s good?” Peter takes the phone, staring at the face reflected back from the empty screen.
“Yeah, maybe there were some grammar mistakes, but coming from someone who will literally toss a semicolon anywhere I feel
like it, I’m certainly not the authority on punctuation,” Eli says. “Will you let me read more one day?”
“Maybe...”
Eli stares at Peter, at the sharp features that still look so soft on him. He feels his heart thudding again, wondering if
this is the moment to tell Peter. The article is done, at least the writing part.
There’s no conflict of interest, not anymore.
He could tell Peter. Tell him the truth.
I think I have feelings for you.
It almost feels like he’s admitting them to himself for the first time as well. He might as well be with how hard he’s been
fighting them. Peter was never an option. Hell, Eli never thought he’d want another option after Keith.
But he can’t deny what he’s feeling.
Peter finally turns, the wide line of his mouth breaking into a smile when he realizes just how long Eli’s been looking at
him. “Iced Americano.” Eli says the words carefully.
“What?” Peter almost giggles.
“Can I kiss you? For real?” Eli asks him. Of all the words he could think of, he surprises even himself when those slip out.
Peter’s ears turn red. “Um... yeah... yeah, you can.”
“Do you want me to?” Eli asks, just to be sure.
“Yes,” Peter says after a moment of silence.
And Eli closes the distance between them. His hand automatically goes to cup Peter’s cheek, his skin soft under Eli’s touch.
The kiss is short, chaste, and Eli pulls away after just a second. But Peter shocks Eli when he goes in for a second kiss.
This one he lets linger, kissing Peter softly before he dares to prod at the seam of Peter’s mouth with his tongue. Peter’s
response is automatic, letting Eli in. He’s still so careful, not wanting to push Peter’s boundaries, not now. But he can
feel a desperate heat rising in his stomach. He wants this so bad, to taste Peter, to feel him come apart at Eli’s touch.
And if the tenting in Peter’s sweatpants is any indication, he wants this too.
“Sorry.” Peter pulls the jacket into his lap, desperate to cover his shame. “Guess it’s been a while.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Eli laughs, his hand finding the jacket.
Eli still can’t help but think it’s so adorable the way that Peter stumbled through that sentence, how quick he is to embarrass,
the blush showing through the neon darkness of the bowling alley.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—”
Eli silences Peter with a hand on his thigh. “I know that jacket covered it up all night, but I literally cannot get the image
of how perfect your ass looks in that costume out of my head.” Eli says the words low, close to Peter’s ear, so he can make
out each and every syllable.
He leans back, watching the words register on Peter’s face, his throat bobbing as he tries to swallow nothing.
“What are you thinking about?” Eli asks him, leaning in to rest his chin on Peter’s shoulder. “Tell me the truth, Peter.”
“I, uh... I had to sit down earlier,” Peter admits. “Because your shorts rode up when you were bowling, and your butt just looked so... perfect.”
“Good.” Eli rubs Peter’s thigh, squeezing softly. Peter’s reaction is immediate. “You mean you got all worked up in front
of your coworkers like that?” He dips his toe in the water.
“I didn’t mean to,” Peter says. “I just... couldn’t stop staring.”
“Well.” Eli’s hand dares to drift further and further down. He’s waiting to wake up from the dream, to realize that he’s still
in bed, having one of the most visceral fantasies he’s ever experienced. For Peter to utter the two-word coffee order that
would put an end to this endeavor so that he can offer to take Peter out for a late-night dinner that isn’t the curly fries
they inhaled an hour ago.
But Peter remains silent, even as Eli wraps his hands around the half-hard length still obvious through the sweatpants. He
should probably reflect and think about why Peter dressed in a Spider-Man costume paired with loungewear is enough to drive
him up the wall, but he doesn’t have the time or the energy. He’d rather lean in, nibbling on the lobe of Peter’s ear, grateful
that the tall back of their booth hides them from everyone in the now nearly deserted bowling alley.
“Ohh...” Peter lets out a low, guttural whine, and it’s music to Eli’s ears.
“Come on.”
“I have to, uh... I have to wait a bit.”
Eli can’t help but laugh. “Just hide it with your jacket.”
“R-right, yeah,” Peter stutters. “Let’s, uh... let’s go.”
***
The drive back to the apartment is torture, mostly because Eli doesn’t want to take his hands off Peter, but Peter’s driving,
and Eli’s not nearly horny enough for his libido to outweigh his will to live.
He’s close , but not that close.
Peter and Eli both settle for a hand on Peter’s thigh, massaging the muscle there. Eli even dares to let his fingers trace
the outline of Peter’s growing erection, but Peter slams on the brakes in the middle of a deserted intersection.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Peter says through a nervous laugh. “Just wasn’t, uh... expecting it.”
Eli’s grateful for the parking spot that’s right in front of Peter’s building, following Peter closely as he tries his best
to get into the apartment as quickly as possible. Peter’s shaking with what Eli hopes is anticipation, even dropping his keys
as he tries to unlock the gate before he finally gets through, and they race through the garage.
They’ve barely made it inside before Peter turns, taking Eli’s cheeks in his hands and pulling him in for another kiss. It’s
surprising for Peter to take the lead, but Eli loves how demanding the kiss is, how desperate Peter already sounds.
“Jacket off, tiger,” Eli begs, giving Peter just enough breathing room to slip out of the coat and for both of them to step
out of their shoes before Eli takes Peter’s hand and leads him to the bedroom. “Sweatpants next.”
“Right, yeah!” Peter says through heavy breaths as Eli falls onto the edge of the bed, once again the perfect height to be
eye to eye with Peter’s crotch.
In one fluid motion he peels out of the sweatpants, his erection on full display through the stretched spandex. And just as
Peter goes to reach for the carefully hidden zipper of the Spider-Man costume, Eli stops him.
“Leave it on, just for a bit.” He swallows, actually nervous.
Peter can’t help but smirk at him. “Right, I forgot you have a costume kink.”
“Not a kink,” Eli says. “Just... an interest.” Eli dares to reach down, to grip Peter’s clothed crotch in his hand, giving his dick a soft squeeze.
It’s always amazed him just how sensitive it can be; he loved teasing Keith about it as they were getting out of bed, ready for the day, the yelp that Keith
would let out as he avoided Eli’s prying hands. Peter doesn’t disappoint as he shudders when Eli presses his hand to the aching
cock, hissing despite how tender the touch is.
Eli dares to lick the length through the stretched material; it’s an odd taste, a bit too spandex-y, but Eli can’t bring himself
to care. It’s been months since he felt the touch of another human, minus his one adventure in the public bathroom. It’s only
now, faced with the natural way Peter’s hand finds his hair, that he realizes just how hungry he is for it.
Peter’s whines are music to his ears, soft sounds that he drinks in as he continues to run his tongue along Peter’s erection
where his precum has formed a dark stain.
“Eli... please.”
“Please what, Peter?” Peter sucks in a hard breath as Eli kisses the tip.
“Please, suck my dick.” There’s a desperation in his voice that Eli drinks up.
Eli presses a sly smile against Peter’s crotch. “I am.”
“No, I mean please let me take this costume off.”
Eli continues, the sweet taste of Peter’s precum on his tongue. “But I’m having fun,” he teases. “You know what they say.
With great power comes great responsibility.”
Peter pauses. “You didn’t just say that.”
Eli laughs with him, ignoring the question. “You can take this off under one condition.”
“Anything, please,” Peter begs. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“Don’t you dare throw this costume away.”
“Fine, yeah. I’ll keep it—now please let me take it off?”
“Okay.” Eli reclines back on the bed, watching Peter stretch, the costume lacking the give it once did as he reaches for the zipper and pulls it down in a single move.
Eli grabs onto Peter’s hands, freeing his fingers from the sewn-in gloves and watches as Peter yanks the top half of the costume free.
He’s even sexier with his chest and arms naked, his soft belly poking out over his waist, broad chest on full display, nipples hard.
Eli has to resist the urge to reach up, to cup Peter’s tits, desperate to feel the pillowy, unflexed flesh in his hands.
But he has a job to do, and he reaches out to help Peter slide down the rest of the costume before Peter stops.
“Wait.” Peter tells him, hands on top of Eli’s. “I, uh... the costume wouldn’t fit with my underwear.”
“You went commando?”
“It kept bunching up.” Peter’s nervousness comes back in an instant. “And it was uncomfortable. That’s why my dick kept showing
through.”
“You weren’t wearing any underwear? All night long?”
“I...” Peter stares down to where Eli sits in front of his crotch. “Yeah?”
“I hate how hot that is.”
“Really?”
Eli nods, biting his lip.
“Right, yeah.” Peter lets Eli’s hands go, allowing Eli to peel the costume further down. First there’s Peter’s belly, the
skin below his navel coated in a sparse trail of black hair.