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Only Spiders Know
🕑 Added 2019-08-28 21:00:02 +0000 UTC
Despite her well-honed ability to compartmentalize, Natasha Romanov found it impossible to leave the day’s events back on the airport. The battle had been grueling both physically and emotionally. Her opponents weren’t terrorists or aliens, but her friends, and besides that, all of them were either master combatants or superhumanly powerful.
And the choices she’d made… who to battle and who to side with… they weighted on her like nothing had since she’d betrayed Bruce—literally turned him into a monster as she had once been transformed. This felt as harrowing. Siding against friends, siding with enemies. The stress was the kind she knew she couldn’t live with.
In the absence of peace of mind, Natasha had learned, a hot shower was often the next best thing. Tony didn’t have a base in Germany but he did have a branch office of Stark Enterprises with an executive suite. For him alone, it would be opulent. With her and the few other remaining Avengers there, it was merely luxurious. Sickeningly so. In its empty majesty, it was hard to forget that Rhodey was in the hospital, Tony with him, Vision off in a little exile over what he’d done.
That was okay. Natasha was good with being isolated. She’d long ago learned—perhaps been born—with the ability to draw strength from solitude, rather than weakness. Fresh from the doctors with a clean bill of health, she went through the lushly furnished surroundings on a beeline to the communal shower. Best not to think if that had been an upgrade from Tony’s original specs or if he’d always had enough shower stalls to furnish a woman’s prison.
She pulled the zipper on her catsuit down as far as it would go, airing out her sweat-soaked body, then peeling the material from her flesh to let it hang loosely from her shoulders, giving herself a degree of comfort that usually wasn’t found in head-to-toe leather. It was in that state of undress that she came across Peter Parker, and seeing a teenage boy in jeans and a T-shirt shocked her. Which was saying something after years of fighting robots and Norse gods.
She didn’t know what he was: threat, misguided fan, secret Tony Stark lovechild… but after an eternal five seconds, her tired brain chugged into motion and identified him. He was in Stark’s private files, which meant Natasha knew all about him—she’d memorized his file minutes after Tony had plotted a course for Queens. But knowing that his middle name was Benjamin and running into him before she showered were too different things.
Evidently, Peter picked up on how much danger he was in, surprising her. He held up his hands defensively. “Whoa, hey, Ms. Natasha… Black Widow… Miss Romanov…”
“Natasha’s fine,” she said simply. She made no move to pull up her zipper. She’d undressed in good faith, with nothing to be ashamed of, and if he was put out by that or turned on or supremely unintelligent enough to be indecent, it was his concern, not hers.
“I’m, uh, I’m… Mr. Stark’s intern… Bill… I just wanted to see if you had enough… coffee… or vodka…”
“Really?” Natasha asked him. “How old are you? Sixteen?”
It was a tease. She knew he was telling the truth when he replied: “I’m eighteen.”
“Well, eighteen-year-old Bill…” She nodded to the rolled-up towel he had under his arm. “It looks more like you’re going to take a shower.”
“Yeah, I mean, if you don’t need any coffee…”
Natasha smiled, leaning against the wall. “I know it’s you, bug-boy. You had some okay moves out there. Did real well against Ant-Man.”
“Ant-Man? Who’s he?”
And he’d seemed like such a bright kid. But then, Tony had a tendency to play things close to the chest—overcompensation for how Tony he himself could be. “Must not’ve given you any remedial reading,” she commented. “He was the big guy.”
“Yeah, and he could get really small,” Peter remembered. “Weird he’s named after the small thing. You’d think the big thing would be a bigger… thing.”
“I think it’s new. It wasn’t in his file.”
Peter looked her over, no longer so gobsmacked by her appearance. He blushed beet red to see her with her catsuit hanging open. It was a little gratifying. If nothing else, Natasha still had a body to die for and boys eager to die for it. And, short and gangly as he was, that skintight uniform of Peter’s had shown off plenty of muscle. Trust Tony to add a touch of fashion to whatever he built. Sometimes, he was about the gayest straight man Natasha had ever met.
“I suppose thanks are in order,” Natasha said, drawing closer to him.
“Thanks?” Peter mumbled.
“For having my back out there. If nothing else, you’re a team player. You don’t let your ego get in the way.” She looked into his eyes. “I don’t know what Tony sees in you.”
He met her eyes briefly, then averted his gaze. “I… I know that’s a joke, but I don’t have any comeback, but I know that’s a joke…” He cleared his throat and flushed an even deeper red.
“Well, if you don’t want to banter, I have a shower to take and a bed to crawl into. It’s been a long day.”
As she walked past him, she slipped her arms out of her sleeves and worked the catsuit down her body. She could feel his eyes burning at her back. Natasha chuckled softly as she entered the bathroom and finished taking off her uniform. She left the door cracked slightly, wondering what Peter’s response would be. After the wringer that the battle had put her through, she didn’t have the energy to be offended if he tried to sneak a peek. In fact, she almost rooted for him to do so. Him having the balls to do it would prove him interesting enough to catch Tony’s attention. Natasha loved solving little mysteries like that.
She turned the shower on. Even now, she didn’t trust hot water to be instantly available. Benefits of a Siberian childhood. So even as the steam rose to fill the room, she finished stripping. Taking off her boots, her various holsters, her gauntlets, and finally her underwear. Her necklace came away last, the little arrowhead pendant reminding her of Hawkeye. She doubted Steve would leave him in the Raft, but if he did… she wouldn’t.
Refusing to allow herself to think and brood over their situation more, Natasha stepped under the shower spray, both enduring and welcoming the hot water as it lashed at her vulnerable body, provoked her bruises as it soothed them. How perfectly Russian, she thought, before lathering her body with scented soap, finding a measure of enjoyment as the slick suds foamed on her bare flesh. She wondered what Peter would make of that. The ‘sideboob’ revealed by her open catsuit had seemed to send him through puberty a second time.
She craned her neck, looking over her shoulder, and saw there was a shadow interfering with the hall light. Peter must’ve been standing there, hidden by the door jamb. Only his mussy hair was visible from where she stood. Natasha smiled to herself as she rinsed off the soap.
“Peter!” she called out loudly. “Could you bring me a towel? I forgot one!”
As light as his feet as he was, she still heard some of his slapping footsteps before he got far enough away to answer.
“Sure!” he called back, his voice a little cracked.
A few moments later he came into the bathroom with her towel, his eyes downcast.
“Here you are.”
“Thanks,” Natasha said. She pulled the shower curtain aside to take it, not displaying her body, but not hiding herself behind the curtain’s censorship either. Peter’s eyes flicked at her bare legs—a quick, hungry look—but he turned his head away. The poor boy… he really was trying to be a gentleman, but he just couldn’t resist her sexuality.
She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, rubbing the towel over the front of her body. Still not hiding herself, still not displaying herself. She could see how the sight of her bare body was snatching at Peter’s gaze like it would pull his eyeballs out of their sockets.
“What are you going to do before you go back to New York?” she asked. “Let me guess: 4K television.”
“Maybe,” Peter said softly. “I don’t know. I’ll probably just go to bed.”
“If you haven’t decided yet, do me a favor?”
“Sure. Name it.”
“Give me a rubdown? I’m tight as a drum.”
That perked Peter up too much for even him to be self-conscious about. “I’d love—” he started eagerly, before containing himself: “…yeah, if you want.”
Natasha tied the towel around herself, knotting it between her breasts, where its edge barely covered her nipples. Now that he was ‘allowed’ to look at her, his eyes were pulled toward her cleavage stronger than ever.
“Come on then,” Natasha said. “No time like the present.”
She walked away from him, the towel barely covering her ass either—the lucky devil had grabbed one meant for a less statuesque woman. Or maybe it was just that Tony wasn’t the tallest guy around.
She arrived at her guest bedroom, letting the towel fall away before lying bellydown on the bed. She arched her back to give her ass a seductive angle, as if it needed the emphasis. Peter froze in the doorway. When she glanced at him, he looked like a starving man somehow afraid of food.
“Come on, Peter,” she said quietly. “I’m sure you’ve seen lots of naked women… nice boy like you…” Nice boy with an internet connection, she added to herself.
Peter took a hesitant step forward. “No, it’s… none of them are like you…”
“Why?” Natasha teased. “I don’t have any powers. Maybe you’re thinking of Scarlet?”
“They just don’t… no one looks like you do. No one carries themselves like you do…”
“No one lies naked on a bed, asking for you to touch them?” Natasha propped her chin up on her hands, taking the emphasis off her juicy ass. Though having Peter’s gaze now drawn to her crimson hair probably didn’t make much of a difference. She knew how some guys were about redheads. “You should get some experience. Then tell me how special I am.”
Peter stumbled toward her, almost falling over his feet before he managed to right himself, sitting on the bed next to her. He reached out his hand, settling his fingertips on her shoulder blade before withdrawing them as though burned.
“What’s the matter?” Natasha asked. “Afraid of cooties?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean…” He forced himself to put his hands on the back of her neck, feeling out the tension in her muscles as Natasha felt the tension in his shaking hands. “I haven’t… seen a lot of naked women. Not for real.”
“You’ve never been with a woman?”
Peter jumped up suddenly. One look at him and Natasha could see flames blooming on his red cheeks. “You should find someone else!” he said, bitterly angry, and stormed off.
Natasha sighed. Now you’ve done it, Romanov. You’ve scared him off.
She laid there, wondering if he’d come back, hoping a little bit. She knew he wanted to. How hurt could he possibly be? She knew she’d laid it on a bit thick, but really, all she wanted was a little stress relief. Most men would kill to relieve her stress.
Finally, she resigned herself to him not coming back. Getting up, Natasha went to the closet and grabbed a morning robe to wrap herself in. She wandered the suite, but couldn’t find him. She worried about him running off into the city, a bit ridiculously. He could probably handle himself better than anyone on the continent, save for the Avengers.
She walked past the door to another guest bedroom and heard someone whimpering, as if in pain. She paused and listened, assessing the threat, ready to rush in and confront whatever the problem was. Peter moaned. Then bedsprings squeaked, as if his weight was shifting around on the mattress. Natasha heard the sheets rustle. She pressed her ear against the door, hearing another groan, then… could it be?
It was difficult to hear clearly. Her sense of hearing, well-trained as it was, was still only human. But she’d known the state he was in. As upset as he was, he was also horny—and now the sound of his fist shooting up and down his hard cock was unmistakable. He was jerking off, no doubt thinking of her as he did it. Natasha felt the tension in her ratchet up another degree. To all her troubles, now she could add sexual frustration. She wanted to reach down to her cunt and join in… she wondered what Peter would think of that, having her masturbating only one thin wall away from him. One thin wall and a door…
She supposed it was an odd reaction, being aroused. Maybe she should’ve been embarrassed, angered, shocked. But she wanted to throw open the door and expose herself once more to Peter—see how much more frantic his masturbation could get. Natasha got more excited as she considered it. More than that, she wanted to leap into bed with him, feel his hard young ass, comb her fingers through his hair, touch the thickness of his hard prick.
She found herself wondering just how big it was. His costume was so tight that there was an exciting bulge at his crotch, and she doubted anything at the airport had made him hard. If that was him flaccid, she wondered what her own naked body did to him. She felt possessive of his erection. However big his hard-on was, she had given it to him. Didn’t that give her some right to see it, touch it? That was the way the world worked: woman got the man hard, then he used that hardness on her. It was ridiculous for them to separate, for him to go jerk off and her to be left totally unsatisfied…
She knocked at the door. Peter’s panting and grunting abruptly stopped. “Peter? Are you alright?”
Knowing there wasn’t much he could say to that, she opened the door. Sunlight seeped through the drawn curtains, casting diffused light onto him and the bed. He’d stripped and slipped under the covers, but Natasha imagined he hadn’t been able to sleep, prompting him to try and work off his frustrations. Now he sat up, looking at her in startlement.
Natasha sat on the side of the bed and ran her fingers through his sweat-damp hair, perversely enjoying his anxiety. She was both spoiling his autoerotic pleasure and turning him on even more. “It sounded like you weren’t feeling well.”
“I’m fine, N-Natasha. You must have been hearing things,” Peter said nervously, guilt in his eyes.
Natasha caressed his cheek. “You feel warm,” she said. The flat of her palm ran gently down his neck to feel his racing heartbeat. “You’re sweating. Did you overexert yourself? Maybe take a really bad hit you haven’t quite shaken off?”
“No, Natasha, I’m okay. I got checked out by the medics and the scanny thing…” His voice faded as she ran her hand down his belly, checking his ribs with a combination of just-to-be-sure medical awareness and prurient interest. Natasha always had been a multitasker. His bruises were already fading, like they were weeks old instead of hours. He barely flinched as she checked for broken bones.
“You must have had a bad dream then,” Natasha said soothingly.
Peter was breathless. “Yeah, maybe I did.”
She felt his eyes dip into the hanging neckline of her robe. Her pussy tingled, demanding attention, the kind of attention that went with the smell of sex in the air. Now that it was almost happening, Natasha felt her tension dispel. She relaxed even with, because of, the fire in her veins.
“I’m sorry if I rubbed you the wrong way earlier,” she whispered, running her hand back up to his chest, now openly feeling the firm muscle of his pecs.
Peter stared at her, his eyes as wide as saucers. “It’s okay… I was just a little wound up… I didn’t do a good job out there…”
“You did great. Especially for a first-timer,” Natasha assured him. She ran her fingertips around his nipple, amused by how quickly it became erect. “I was just trying to have a little fun with you. But I should’ve known you wouldn’t necessarily take it the right way. When you don’t have much experience, I suppose that can feel a lot like bullying. Instead of… an invitation.”
“What… what invitation?”
“Shh. Relax. It’s perfectly natural, doing what you were doing… but pointless. There are better ways to relieve tension. For both of us.”
“Both of us?” Peter gasped.
Opening her robe, Natasha totally revealed the plump contours of her breasts to him, every inch of her naked chest. Peter’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Natasha smiled, feeling her tension spike, shrink down to a neutron-tight core… she was in complete control now, about to get what she wanted, and she wanted it more than ever.
“Do you like them?” she asked huskily. He didn’t answer, too busy gaping in astonishment. “Not a letdown, I hope…”
“No, no,” Peter insisted, mesmerized by her beautifully hardened nipples, engorged like ripe fruit on the tips of her heaving breasts.
“No padding,” Natasha said proudly. “No implants, either. And no ice to get my nipples hard. That’s all you.”
“Me?”
“Do you want to touch them… feel how hard they are?”
He nodded. It was impossible for him to speak with an offer like that on the table. He looked her plaintively in the eyes, like he was begging for this to be real—asking for her to have a word with the universe and make sure this wasn’t a dream.
Natasha smiled comfortingly at him. She took his chin in her hand and leaned up to him, kissing him, her tongue disappearing into his panting mouth. He moaned into her stroking tongue, his arms going around her bare back, pulling them into an awkward yet perfect embrace. Her breasts flattened against his muscular chest, making him suck hard on her tongue. He slid his instinctively into her mouth, tangling it with her tongue as his hot breath fanned her face.
He reached down under the back of her puddled robe, feeling the beginnings of her curvy ass, having to force himself to follow its slope and discover the vibrant roundness of her buttocks. He patted her asscheeks in seeming disbelief, making Natasha giggle a little into their continuing kiss, then he tightened his grip, molding his hand to her warm voluptuousness. Squeezing her ripe hips, the backs of her thighs, her juicy ass. As good as my tits, huh? she thought. Maybe even better? Well, as long as we’re getting to know each other…
She reached between the covers, feeling the wonderfully defined lines of his abdominal muscles, then the softness of his downy pubic hair, and finally his fully erect member. Her heart skipped a beat when she grasped it. He was enormous. Nine inches long and as thick as her wrist. She felt her cunt melting, twitching with the fear and anticipation of taking such a beast.
She stopped kissing him, looking over his tensely eager face from a range so close it had to be intimate. “Do you want me?” she whispered.
“Yes—it’s crazy, but… I mean… I’ve never wanted anything this much…”
“Crazy, maybe. But it’s not wrong. Not when it’s what we both want. I know you’ve never done this before, but if I weren’t here, I’d be in my bed. Doing what you were doing. Thinking of you.” She smiled: not calculated, but in honest fondness of his naiveté and sweetness. “Neither one of us should be imagining that. Not when we could be doing it.”
He blushed all the way to his scalp, then looked down, as if having to reassure himself that she was really holding onto his prick—that it was no crazy dream. She looked down with him, enjoying the sight of his magnificent cock, looking exactly as big and as thick as it felt in her hand. As much as she wanted Peter, she thought she might want his cock even more. To have inside her, to taste… maybe even more, if it was even half as good as its intimidating appearance promised.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” she teased, stroking him and wondering idly how it compared to how he’d been jerking himself off before she’d come in. She thought her technique was pretty good, but then, who knew more about his prick than a teenage boy?
“I didn’t know it was the kind of thing you brought up in polite conversation,” Peter quipped, sounding a bit more confident, a bit less fraught. Good.
“If I didn’t want it brought up, I wouldn’t have flashed my ass at you.”
Natasha noticed him fidgeting as she stroked him—wincing as if in pain. It must’ve been driving him crazy, not having it in her pussy when she was this close, and yet just lying there and letting her jerk him off had to be equally tempting. Quite polite on his part not to try topping her yet. A man who knows his limitations… at least, he thinks he does.
“You really haven’t been with a girl before, have you, sweetheart?”
“No,” Peter admitted. “But I’d love to be with you,” he assured her.
Natasha chuckled. Sweet boy. “Somehow I didn’t think you were saving yourself for marriage. Don’t worry—I’ll make it special. I’ll teach you. About your body—about women’s bodies—about how to make us feel good. And you might just enjoy it too.”
Peter fell back to his pillow, sensation swirling in his grip as Natasha kept stroking him. He could feel himself growing even more engorged, his cockhead swelling up, turning purple. “I’m going to come, Nat,” he said, voice cracking. “Please…”
“What do you think I’m going to do?” Natasha asked, taking her free hand and grabbing one of his from where it was fisted in the covers. She brought it between her legs, placing it on her pubic triangle.
“It’s wet!” Peter gasped.
Natasha couldn’t help but smile. “I’m enjoying it just like you are, Peter. I like touching you as much as you’d like touching me. And we both want to feel that gorgeous fucking cock inside me…” She felt his fingers exploring her, touching the lips of her sex, stirring up feelings as she could’ve only hoped he would. The man was a natural. “Don’t you want to fuck me… right here in my cunt… where it’s so nice and wet and tight…”
“Yes!” Peter cheered, his cock giving a throb in her hand. He was almost coming already. Natasha stopped stroking, sure now that he wouldn’t get the wrong impression. And though he was halted right on the verge of coming, she could see Peter didn’t mind. Neither of them wanted all his cum going to waste.
“Lie back,” she told him, pulling back the covers until they didn’t cover an inch of his lovely body.
“What are you going to do?” Peter asked, his brow creased with concern.
“It’s our first date. A gentleman always pays for the meal,” Natasha said, licking her lips. “And I have a big appetite.”
Comments
Shendude
Oooh, yummy. Also, I gotta say, I really like the, uh, voice, I think is the right term? You have for Natasha.
