Chapter Text
Nothing to be ashamed of. After all, I’ve been experiencing that feeling for a while now.”
You gasp, feeling adrenaline run through your veins as you wake from the dream. That dream again?
After that…day, you’ve been having those impure dreams that made you wake up feeling sticky all over. The stain of his touch remained prominent on your skin, engraved into your core.
You’ve been trying your best to ignore him these days, not give into his advances.
But that task was much more difficult than you anticipated. Of course, you still answer his questions but you no longer humor his efforts for long conversations. It’s petty, but what more can you do? Starving yourself doesn’t work because he’d just forcefully feed you. Escape was futile because everytime the thought raced in your head, the image of those bloody bodies hit you with terror.
You’re startled when you feel the bed shifting. “It’s just me.” A voice you recognized speaks in the dim room. You blink in a daze and adjust yourself. Peter smiles. “What’s the matter? Bad dream?”
Bad? Perhaps it was bad.
“No,” you bring your knees to your body. “Nothing.”
For reasons unknown, he’s dressed in clothing that’s different from his usual attire. You don’t know how he’s done it, but you two have been managing everything: food, clothing, supplies. You had your suspicions on his methods, a strong hunch he got the materials in foul play. Even when you questioned him, his expression was enough for you to know it was unwise to ask any further.
You sigh and frown at your lack of clothing. Peter’s oddly considerate–or that’s what he wants you to think. You know he doesn’t shower you in gifts out of a bleeding heart, he does it for his own benefit.
He’s dressing you up like a doll, like you’re meant for a trophy. Eventually, you’re going to get used to the skimpy yet intricate nightgowns he provides for you.
“Are you going out again?”
“Mhm. I might be home late today so don’t wait for me,” he runs his hand against the flesh of your neck. Even when you two were younger, Peter had an obscure fixation with your neck. And the love bites that dapple your skin is enough evidence of his fascination.
“Late doing what?” You inquire suspiciously, narrowing your eyes at him.
He merely smiles. You already know what’s to come.
“Would you like to have breakfast with me?”
-
The house is awfully ominous when you’re alone. You usually don’t believe in superstitious nonsense but you sense that there’s something off with this house. You tried asking him about the history behind this house but once again, your answer was only silence.
Peter usually arrived home when it was half past 6; it was 11 now.
I hope he’s not doing anything bad. I hope he’s safe.
Any sensation of comfort dissolves when you sit alone on the bed, surrounded by nothing but old furniture. In your free time, you cleaned up the house mindlessly. There wasn’t much to do when you’re alone. But now that it’s night, you can’t help but feel dread wash over you.
As much as your pride forbids you, you needed Henry here with you.
You frown and go to the restroom, hoping to wash your face to clear your head. His presence was ubiquitous: the walls, the scent. You think it’s your mind playing tricks on you but you don’t think you can shake off his touch on your body. Not when he’s touched you where you were most sensitive.
The sink water is cold, good for a peace of mind. But you can’t shake that feeling off.
What could he be doing to make him 5 hours late? Was he hurting anyone? Should you just go to sleep?
The inner dilemmas that scream over your surroundings make you oblivious to the spider that crawls just right on the mirror. Under normal circumstances, you’d remain indifferent but you saw it: the hourglass shape that seemed impossible to miss.
A black widow.
With a scream you back away from the sink and shake. Why the hell were there black widows in the house anyways?
You look at the vent on the floor. Oh.
You needed to get out of here. A few steps backwards and a trembling heart. You didn’t hear the sound of someone else entering.
It’s when you hit a solid compress–one that’s not the wall or anything nonliving. You’re so shaken up that you don’t even recognize the source of your fears before you panic. You were screaming before you could stop it, but a cold hand covers your hand.
“Shhh,” that unmistakable velvety voice is not hard to know. For a moment, you’re glad that it’s him that you end up crashing into, not some stranger who broke in. Yet, you really wouldn’t know which one is more dangerous. “Don’t be scared.”
He’s so close.
You look up at him but he’s not looking at you. Instead, you see a trance swirling in his eyes. He’s admiring the spider. His hand that presses against your lips falls while his legs move to the direction of where the arachnid lies.
“Peter,” you whisper. “Stop, it’s dangerous.”
“Most people fear spiders,” he lifts his hand, allowing the black widow to crawl on his index finger. “They detest them.”
You shake your head. “Peter, stop.”
He pays no mind to your concern. “And yet, I found them endlessly fascinating. More than that, I found a great comfort in them.”
“--a kinship.”
You don’t know how long it's been since you’ve held your breath.
“Like me, they are solitary creatures. And deeply misunderstood,” his expression flickers to that familiar rage you saw at the lab. You don’t know who you’re more scared of: Henry or the creature he praises. “They are gods of our world. The most important of all predators. They immobilize and feed on the weak bringing balance and peace to an unstable ecosystem.”
Part of you burns the moment you understand where this conversation was headed. You scoff. “ Henry , you’re no God.”
Momentarily he glances at you, walking to the vent and letting the creature crawl back down. You gulp when he comes forward to you and begins setting his fingers on your shoulders. He leans down. “I don’t need to be one to change the world.”
“You forget that it’s you against everyone,” you retort. “What makes you think alone, you’ll manage to change the system of this world.”
“I will do it. And I will protect you.”
You laugh. “Protect me? Seriously? What about your ‘gods’?” You flit your eyes to the vent “I bet you wouldn’t mind if their poison killed me.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” You challenge. “You act as if that’s worse than what you did to the lab.”
Even with your insults and adamantine expression, that impossible patience rests on his face. “Then what about you?” He muses warmly.
You raise a brow. “What about me?”
“Were you worried when I touched the spider?”
You froze. Your eyes widened in horror and the silence pinched you–provoking you to ponder his words. It hadn’t occurred to your conscious that deep inside you, there remained a semblance of what was attachment. For the first time since you were pulled into this mess , you considered your true feelings for Henry.
You could never forgive him for what he did to people in the lab.
You needed to answer him–you needed to deny him.
“No, I wasn't worried.” Your attempts to keep your voice steady was in vain. It makes a little more sense now: why you couldn’t completely push him away. At first it was out of fear. Now, you’re not so sure if fear is the only pull factor. “I was not worried.”
“My angel , your hand,” he says readily before flashing that look again. The one that made you feel stupid for even trying to rebel. He takes the hand you hide behind your back and gives you a knowing look. “It’s shaking.”
You don’t need a response to know that he’s right.
“You’re lying to me,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. “No matter how much you try to deny it–”
You drew a breath in.
“--you were worried for me.”
There is an unprecedented guilt that may hit you sometimes: like being caught taking the last cookie and having to admit you took it–the shame that comes from it. But in this situation, there was no need for words for admission.
The guilt and needing to meet the impassive look in Peter’s eyes made you feel like you were caught in a trap, a spider-web that made your limbs feel tangled. He takes your silence as an invitation to kiss the knuckles of your hands. “(Name)?”
You feel your breath hitch when he calls your given name.
You stare at him, doed eye, caught in the headlights. In the dimly lit bathroom, you registered your pulse skyrocketing. And instead of confronting this shame, you unclasp his hand and run.
As you slam the bedroom door shut, you feel the terrible pit of guilt setting in. Not because he caught you, but because you allowed yourself to feel anything but hate for him.
And on the tiled floor of the restroom, Peter smiles to himself. If this was progress then he’d take it. He never minded a game of cat and mouse, especially if he could see that conflicted expression of yours again.
-
Ignoring the only person you talk to is a lot harder than you considered it to be. Seeing him everywhere you went was difficult. But that heat…that ache in between your legs made the situation miles worse. Why now?
You can relieve yourself but you’ve tried. Nothing. You’d rather die than admit it to him. But you needed Henry to help you.
The moment will pass.
Some part of you knew that it was just empty words–affirmations in your head that struggled to differentiate itself from the other…provocative things you thought of. You expected its effects to dissolve in the midst of time. You just never thought it would grow worse in the middle of the night where Peter sleeps soundly next to you.
It all happened when you had that dream again, the one where he was touching you and you were feeling him.
It happened too fast for you to stop yourself. Your fingers reach out to grip out the fabric of Peter’s shirt and shake him. He looks partially angelic in the night light. It’s deceiving you, makes you feel safer.
Your breath catches when he opens his eyes. His blue eyes don’t leave your face as he sits up, motioning you to come closer. “Another bad dream?”
You hate that your heart tingles at what sounds like genuine concern.
You shake your head and come closer. You would think that comfort would lull you to sleep. But his body touching yours sprouts the seed of lust. You’re heaving little breaths already, desperate for him to touch more of you.
“You’re really warm,” his oblivious expression makes you more frustrated, on the edge. It’s when you turn to him that a part of him knows why you’ve been fidgeting in his embrace. How could he ever forget that look ? A dangerous light shines in his eyes and his lips quirk up. “Talk to me angel .”
Teasingly, he moves his hand from your waist and places it below your breasts, just barely grazing your nipples.
“Peter,” you mumble, glancing at his eyes that only look at you. And seeing that interest, that unadulterated warmth he reserves for you is what drives you over the edge. “I need you. I need you to touch me.”
He leans back, a wicked smile gracing his face. He’s won . You came right to him.
“Are you sure you want that?” There’s an alluring lilt to his voice now, the same as they were when you both shared your first time. And his scent, it fills you to the brink where you can only nod dumbly.
“Didn’t you know it’s good to use your words?”
You feel his fingers touch your neck again.
“I want it! I want you, please.”
Before you know it, his lips are on yours. The kiss is hungry but there is an intention to tease, to feel you, to swallow your little moans. You grip his shirt tighter, allowing him to pull your nightgown up and feel the wet patch of your panties.
“See how good honesty feels?” He asks, studying the twitching of your thighs. Your breath stops when he runs his finger up and down the slit of your folds–tantalizing and languidly. “There was no need for modesty.”
“ Like I told you . There’s no shame in this.”
You close your eyes when he pulls the elastic of your panties down. Your body follows his gentle touches on your body. He’s admiring you, taking in the image of your flushed form with an easy smile. He moves in between your legs.
You let out a small whimper when you feel his tongue probing at your inner thighs where he makes his way up to your heat. A warm breath hits your center while his arms hold on your thighs in place. “Open your eyes, angel.”
It doesn’t take much for you to register his words. But the overwhelming sensation of his arms touching you makes it hard to drag your eyelids open. “Let me see you.”
This time, you acknowledge the threat biting at his voice.
Though he does not smile, you can see the smallest bit of satisfaction on his face. Part of you feels good from the praise. So you don’t disobey him when he drags his tongue on your folds, licking in a circular motion that nearly makes you scream .
You reach to pull his head back but he’s quicker, taking your hand and holding it to your stomach. He continues his assault on your center, sucking lightly on your clit. Your hips jolt at his ministrations, releasing broken moans that you’re not able to contain.
All the while, he doesn’t let you break eye contact. He licks up every drop you have to offer while his nails press into your thighs. He’s just watching, finding morbid amusement in your efforts to contain your pleasure. You’re shaking now and Henry’s here with you.
And he’s watching , just watching.
Maybe that’s what pulls you to the edge as you release with a high pitched moan.
Peter works you to your orgasm, deliberately working you through your orgasm. With a small, cocky smile, he taps your thigh gently. But you want more, need more.
The greedy side of you was begging for more. You needed him in you.
“No, Henry,” you feel the straps of your nightgown fall lower. “Please give me more.”
He hums. And for a moment, you think he’s going to leave you again. But he withdraws himself from your legs and pushes up to kiss you on your lips. “More? I don’t seem to understand, angel.”
You whined. “Don’t play games with me now, Peter!”
He cocks his head. “Why not?” He asks. “I’ve been playing yours for nearly a week now.”
Either way, he positions your back against his chest. His fingers dance around your shoulders before they pull down the nightgown, off until you’re entirely bare for his eyes. A sigh escapes from his lips, barely audible but it sends a ripple of heat to your core.
You feel his fingers dip to feel your slick again. “Be a good girl and tell me what you want.”
You jolt when he rubs your clit, whining when his lips find purchase on the crevice of your neck. You frantically shake your head. You wanted to be saved from this embarrassment.
His fingers slow and you jut your hips when you sense the smallest motion of withdrawal. You grab onto the hand that lies between your legs. “N-no. Don’t stop!”
“I won’t.”
He moves even slower.
Letting out a frustrated moan you feel your eyes watering from the lack of stimulation. And you’re not quite sure when you break, but the river of pleas escapes: “Please make me cum! I want you–I want you in me! Please Henry!”
He smiles, reveling in your desperation. “See how easy that was?”
His fingers plunge into you and the heat that coils in your stomach grows stronger with each stroke of his hands. You’re really crying now.
The coil builds up, knotting as you move your hips in the rhythm of his fingers. And as your body shakes with each breathy moan, you release.
Suddenly, you’re seeing stars.
With a broken whine, you lunge against him. The room is filled with heavy pants, your hand that grips his falls to the side.
His eyes gleam. “That’s a good look on you.” His favorite .
There’s no thought beneath your eyes. You’re dumb on the feeling, sensitive to every touch he leaves on your body.
“You can handle one more right?”
Your breath stops. One more? You’ll break if you cum again. But that look he adorned, the one that was so convincing. It worked on you before and it still works on you now. You’re about to nod but you remember.
“Use your words.”
“I-okay,” you nodded, hiding your face in his neck.
A smile tugs at his face. Gently, he lays you down and can feel his hardness press against your heat. Now that you see him closely, he’s just barely controlling himself. His skin seems feverish as he pulls his shirt off.
And that overwhelming pleasure sinks in, the stretch and the way he fills you up to the brink. The first time it was more painful. The second time made you inebriated on him.
Peter thinks you were made for him. Like how your pussy sucked him in; or the way you gasped with each inch he shoves in; and how you called his name so sweetly. Part of him wants to tease you for giving up and submitting to him. But the effect you have on him is otherworldly.
“We love each other,” he groans, pressing your chest closer to his. He knows you’re about to culminate and break. He knows he’s going to be addicted to the way your body thrashes and clings onto him. In fact, he already knows that if anything, his weakness was what you do to his heart.
He lets out a string of curses. “Say it,” his hands wrap around your neck, lightly squeezing, a little gesture but your pussy clenches even tighter. He lets out an airy laugh. “Say you love me.”
The warmth is spreading.
Your senses are saturated and you’re about to cum. Answer him. You grip his arms. “I-I love you. I love you Henry.”
Then you collapse. Henry’s hips stutter when your hole spasms around him and with a groan, his self-control crumbles–releasing into you. The feeling of his cum filling you feels too good to be true.
The feeling is pleasant, you think. His warmth touching you; his breath staggering against your neck. He’s here . He’s right here.
Listlessly, you acknowledge the kisses on your forehead. You’re half-conscious but if you could see it, the way the blue in his eyes rippled. If you were only awake you realize that his embrace grew more possessive. Soon, you’ll love him. And soon, he’ll bathe you in roses and kiss you everyday.
Just like how lovers act.