Archive of Our Own

Peter slumped against the door, the metal tang of New York soot and ozone clinging to his suit. He peeled his mask off, his hair a total mess. “Note to self,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes, “don’t take on three robberies and a guy with electric—whatever that was—on four hours of sleep.”

“Sounds serious,” a voice called from the living room, smooth and teasing. “Good thing there’s a professional here.”

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn't expected MJ to be awake. Since MJ was a nurse, Peter knew how brutal his shifts at the hospital got; he figured his boyfriend would have been passed out hours ago.

He stumbled into the living room, apologies already on the tip of his tongue for being loud and potentially waking him up. But the words died in his throat the second he actually looked at MJ.

Michael James Watson was leaning against the couch like he owned the place (which, technically, he did), dressed in what could only be described as a criminal misuse of a nurse uniform.

Peter’s brain hit a wall as his eyes drifted down. The white fabric was stretched tight over his massive chest and shoulders, and that heart-shaped cutout was doing a lot of heavy lifting

The outfit also featured white garter belts and stockings, finishing off with a pair of high heels. MJ was standing in them effortlessly, looking more comfortable in stilettos than Peter did in his own civilian shoes.

"MJ," Peter choked out, his face heating up. "You’re... you're awake."

MJ pushed off the couch, walking toward him with a confidence that should have been illegal. The heels clicked perfectly on the floor.

"I stayed up just for you," MJ said, stopping right in Peter's space. He reached out, his hand cupping Peter’s face. "You look exhausted, Pete. Luckily for you, I'm an expert in bedside manner."

So, you’re probably wondering why MJ is wearing a sexy nurse costume…

Let’s rewind a bit.

Being a nurse at a busy New York hospital meant MJ usually came home looking like a zombie. For the last few days, he’d basically been a ghost—stumbling through the door and face-planting into the mattress before Peter could even say "hello."

A couple of nights ago, MJ had woken up around 3:00 AM, his throat feeling like he’d swallowed sandpaper. He wandered into the living room to grab some water, only to find Peter hunched over his laptop, the blue light reflecting off his wide eyes.

The screen wasn't showing that "fascinating" physics documentary Peter had been rambling about at dinner. Instead, a very familiar video was playing—a recording from their anniversary. On screen, Peter was... well, let's just say he was being very thorough with MJ.

Peter nearly broke the desk trying to slam the laptop shut. "MJ! Hey! You’re... awake. Hi. I was just... checking the, uh, resolution. For the cloud storage."

MJ leaned against the doorframe, rubbing his tired eyes. "Checking the resolution, huh? Funny, I don't remember that being part of your 'Spider-Man' duties, Pete."

"I missed you, okay?" Peter sighed, looking like a kicked puppy. "You’ve been working sixteen-hour shifts, and I didn't want to wake you up. I know how much you need your sleep."

MJ walked over, his heart softening. He sat on Peter’s lap, wrapping his arms around Peter's neck. "You’re a terrible liar, but a great boyfriend. I’m sorry I’ve been a corpse lately."

"It’s fine, really," Peter murmured, his hands resting tentatively on MJ's waist. "I just... I get lonely."

MJ pulled him into a deep, lingering kiss that tasted like a promise. "I know.” He coos. “And I’m gonna make it up to you. I just need to survive this shift rotation, and then I’m all yours."

But the real kicker was last night.

MJ woke up in the middle of the night feeling like he was inside an oven. MJ felt Peter’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist, pinning him against a very warm, muscular chest.

"Pete... move, man," MJ grumbled, half-asleep. He tried to pry those super-strong fingers off him. "It’s too hot."

Instead of letting go, Peter’s grip tightened. He pulled MJ even closer, his face burying into the crook of MJ’s neck. MJ froze when he heard it—Peter was panting, heavy and desperate, right into MJ’s ear.

MJ’s eyes flew wide open as he felt a familiar pressure against him. Peter was fast asleep, but his body was on autopilot. He was dry-humping MJ’s thigh with a slow grind, his hips moving forward in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

"Oh," MJ breathed, his own heart starting to hammer.

Then, Peter’s hand began to wander.

Still deep in sleep, Peter’s palm slid up under MJ’s shirt, his calloused fingers grazing over MJ’s ribs before settling on his chest. MJ gasped as he felt Peter’s thumb start to tease and circle his nipple, while his other fingers firmly fondled and squeezed his pec.

At the same time, the rhythm below changed. Peter started rutting against MJ’s hip even faster now, his movements becoming urgent and frantic. The friction was intense, and Peter let out a long, shaky moan that vibrated right against MJ’s skin.

"...Please..." he whimpered, his voice thick with sleep-fueled desperation. "...Nurse... Watson... I need you..."

MJ had just laid there in the dark, his own breath hitching as Peter continued to mindlessly worship his body in his sleep. As Peter’s movements hit a peak, he let out one final, muffled groan into MJ’s shoulder, his body shuddering as he finally came.

Peter slumped back into a deep, quiet sleep, but MJ stayed awake for a long time after, his heart pounding against his ribs. A slow, wicked smirk climbed onto his face. He realized Peter had been thinking about his job a little too much—and MJ finally had a brilliant idea on how to fix their dry spell.

The next morning, Peter woke up first. He felt the gross, cold sensation of dried cum sticking his slacks to his thigh and died a little inside. He looked over at MJ, who was still snoring softly, and felt his face turn bright red. Memory of the "nurse" dream flashed in his mind. He didn't say a word; he just crept out of bed, threw his clothes in the wash, and hurried to the kitchen to start on some "apology" pancakes, praying MJ hadn't felt a thing.

When MJ finally drifted into the kitchen, smelling like sleep and looking effortlessly good, he didn't bring it up. He just grabbed a coffee and watched Peter flip a pancake with way too much nervous energy.

"Long night, Pete?" MJ asked innocently, leaning against the counter.

"Uh, yeah! Lots of... webs. And swinging. Very tiring," Peter stammered, focusing intensely on the spatula.

MJ just hummed, hiding a grin behind his mug. Today was his first day off since the shift rotation finished, but he wasn't going to tell Peter that. Instead, he made a show of checking his watch. "Well, duty calls. Another double shift at the hospital. Don't wait up, Pete."

As soon as the door clicked shut, MJ didn't head for the subway to the hospital. Instead, he took a cab deep into the city to the nearest adult boutique. He spent an hour picking out the most ridiculous, nurse outfit they had—one with a heart-shaped cutout that showed off his hard-earned gym progress.

But he had a problem: the heels. He’d bought a pair of white stilettos that looked amazing but felt like death traps. He pulled out his phone and dialed Gwen.

"Gwen, I need a favor," MJ said as soon as she picked up. "I bought five-inch heels for a... thing. And I need you to teach me how to walk in them without breaking an ankle in the next four hours."

Back in the present,

Peter was looking at the white garter belts and the sheer heart-cutout like he was seeing God. His eyes followed the line of MJ's muscular legs up to where the white stockings met the hem of the tiny dress.

"It seems you’re injured, I can help with that," MJ whispered, his voice dropping into that deep, silky tone. He stepped closer, the heels clicking with lethal precision.

Peter swallowed hard, his hands trembling as they hovered near MJ’s waist. "I think my heart just skipped a beat. Is that bad, Nurse?"

MJ laughed, grabbing Peter's collar and pulling him toward the bedroom. "Good thing I’m specialized in your specific condition. Let's go, Tiger. You're overdue for a check-up."

Peter let out a strangled noise that was half-laugh and half-gasp as MJ hauled him toward the bedroom. Usually, Peter was the one doing the heavy lifting in this relationship, but when MJ was in a mood like this, Peter’s super-strength seemed to evaporate.

The bedroom door clicked shut behind them, and MJ didn't waste a second. He pushed Peter back onto the edge of the bed, the white stilettos clicking sharply against the floor as he stepped between Peter’s knees.

"First things first," MJ murmured, his large hands reaching down to grip the hem of Peter’s tattered Spidey-suit. "We need to get you out of this gear. It’s a major hygiene risk, Mr. Parker."

Peter was basically a puddle at this point. "Whatever you say, Doc. I’m—I’m fully cooperating with the staff."

MJ smirked, peeling the spandex down. He took his time, his fingers intentionally grazing over Peter’s skin, lingering on the muscles of his chest and stomach. Once Peter was stripped down to his boxers, MJ stood back up, towering over him. The view from down there was even more ridiculous—the garter belts framed MJ’s thick, muscular thighs perfectly, and the heart-shaped cutout on his chest was practically an invitation.

"You've been very restless lately," MJ noted, his voice dropping into that deep, hospital-hushed tone. He leaned in, placing his palms flat on Peter’s shoulders and pushing him back until he was lying flat on the mattress. "I heard you had some... nocturnal symptoms last night."

Peter’s face turned a shade of red that matched his suit. "You—you were awake for that?"

"Let’s just say that you weren’t exactly ‘subtle’," MJ chuckled, the sound vibrating through the small space between them. He crawled onto the bed, the bedframe creaking under his weight. The sight of MJ crawling toward him in a nurse's outfit and heels was enough to make Peter’s Spider-Sense go into total haywire.

MJ straddled Peter’s lap, the white stockings friction-burning against Peter’s skin. He leaned down, his nose brushing against Peter’s. "I think the treatment for a patient this worked up is going to be very, very long. Do you have any objections, sir?"

Peter reached up, his hands finding purchase on MJ’s waist, pulling him down firmly. "I think I’m gonna need a second opinion... and a third... and maybe a fourth. Don't stop until I’m fully cured."

MJ grinned, nipping at Peter’s lower lip. "As you wish. I'm staying on the clock until you're completely exhausted."

MJ didn't stay on top of him for long. He pulled back with a playful wink, the white heels clicking against the floor as he slid off the bed. Peter let out a pathetic little whine of protest, his hands reaching out into empty air.

"Patience, Mr. Parker," MJ teased, his muscular back rippling under the sheer fabric as he walked over to the dresser. "A good nurse always prepares the equipment before the procedure."

Peter propped himself up on his elbows, watching with wide eyes. MJ reached into a black shopping bag he’d tucked away earlier and pulled out two items.

The first was a pair of cheap, plastic toy handcuffs—the kind with the fuzzy pink trim and the little safety release lever that Peter could probably snap just by sneezing. The second was a thick, polished black cockring.

Peter swallowed hard, his throat suddenly bone-dry. "MJ... are those for me or for you?"

MJ turned around, dangling the fuzzy cuffs from one finger, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Well, seeing as you're the one who can't keep his hands to himself in his sleep,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, commanding tone as he walked back toward the bed, “I think it’s best we secure the patient. We wouldn’t want you… interrupting the examination, now would we?”

He tossed the plastic cuffs onto the mattress. They landed with a light clack next to Peter’s head. MJ then held up the ring, turning it slowly between his thumb and forefinger.

"And this?" MJ’s smirk widened. "This is to make sure you stay exactly where I want you while I take my time with you. I’ve been working double shifts for a week. I’ve got a lot of built-up energy, and I’m going to spend every bit of it on you."

Peter looked from the cuffs to MJ’s intense gaze, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "I... I think I'm starting to really like this hospital."

"Glad to hear that, Mr. parker," MJ murmured, crawling back onto the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight. He grabbed Peter’s wrists, his grip firm and warm. "Now, hands up. Let's see if we can get your heart rate even higher."

He pulled Peter’s arms up over his head, the plastic of the toy cuffs clicking shut around his wrists. The fuzzy pink trim looked hilarious against Peter’s toned arms, but the way MJ was looking at him—like he was a snack he’d been waiting a week to eat—made the jokes die in Peter’s throat.

"There," MJ whispered, leaning down until their chests were almost touching. The heart-shaped cutout on MJ's uniform framed his pec perfectly right in front of Peter’s face. "Now you’re exactly where a patient belongs, Mr. Parker."

He began to slowly explore Peter’s body, his warm palms sliding over Peter’s ribs and down his stomach. Peter’s breath hitched, his core tight as he instinctively tried to reach out, only to be reminded by the light tug of the plastic cuffs that he was supposed to lay still.

"Uh, MJ?" Peter rasped, his eyes fluttering shut as MJ’s thumbs brushed over his hips.

"Hush, Sir. I'm checking for... tension," MJ teased. He leaned down, finally bringing his lips to Peter’s neck, nipping at the sensitive skin just below his jaw. Peter let out a shaky moan, his head tossing back into the pillow.

MJ moved higher, his stubble grazing Peter’s cheek before he finally captured Peter’s mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. It wasn't the sweet, sleepy kiss from a few nights ago—it was demanding and heavy, tasting like a week’s worth of pent-up frustration.

As they kissed, MJ’s hand drifted lower, his fingers hooking into the waistband of Peter’s boxers. He pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes hooded and intense.

"I think it’s time for the internal exam, Mr. Parker," MJ murmured against his lips as he reached for the cockring he’d left on the nightstand. 

He expertly slid Peter’s boxers down, tossing them somewhere in their bedroom without breaking eye contact. Peter felt the cool air hit his skin for only a second before MJ leaned back over him, the white fabric of the nurse’s dress rustling as he shifted his weight.

"You’re looking a little flushed, Mr. Parker," MJ noted. He picked up the cockring, the smooth material catching the light. "We need to make sure we keep your blood pressure exactly where I want it."

Peter watched, his breath coming in shallow hitches, as MJ’s steady hands worked. The contrast was enough to make Peter’s head spin.

As the ring slid into place, Peter let out a sharp, choked-off moan, his hips instinctively bucking upward. The toy cuffs rattled against the headboard, a frantic plastic clack-clack-clack.

"Easy, Sir," MJ shushed him, placing a heavy hand on Peter’s chest to keep him pinned. "Your nurse hasn't given you permission to move yet."

MJ leaned down, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from Peter’s ear. He could feel the heat radiating off MJ’s body.

"I remember how much you were enjoying yourself last night while I was trying to sleep," MJ whispered, his hand sliding down to grip Peter’s thigh, his fingers digging into the muscle. "You seemed very desperate for a professional’s touch. Is the treatment meeting your expectations so far, Mr. Parker?"

"MJ—please," Peter groaned, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought the urge to just rip the plastic cuffs apart.

"That’s 'Nurse Watson' to you, Sir," MJ corrected him with a playful nip to his earlobe.

He leaned down, his shoulders blocking out the light as he focused entirely on Peter’s lap. "You're very tense, Mr. Parker," MJ murmured, his voice vibrating deep in his chest. "I think we need to relieve some of that pressure."

Peter’s breath hitched as MJ’s hand wrapped around him, his thumb grazing the edge of the cockring. The restriction was already intense, making every nerve ending scream. Then, MJ leaned in and took him into his mouth.

The sensation was overwhelming. Between the expert suction and the tight, suffocating grip of the ring, Peter felt like he was about to short-circuit. He tossed his head back, his hair damp with sweat, the plastic toy cuffs rattling violently against the headboard as he instinctively tried to pull his hands free.

"MJ—wait, I—" Peter choked out, his voice breaking.

MJ didn't stop. He looked up through his lashes, his dark eyes locking onto Peter's blown-out pupils, while his free hand reached down to firmly fondle and massage Peter's balls. He was being relentless, his tongue swirling in a way that pushed Peter right to the ledge.

Peter was a complete disaster. The combination of the suffocating cockring and the heat of MJ’s mouth had turned the superhero into a whimpering, whining mess. He wasn't the "Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man" right now; he was just a desperate patient at the mercy of his nurse.

"Please... Nurse—please," Peter sobbed out, the toy cuffs clattering frantically as he strained his wrists against the plastic. He was bucking his hips, trying to find some sort of release that the ring wouldn't allow, his breath coming in high-pitched, needy whines.

MJ pulled back for a second, a thin strand of saliva connecting them, his expression draped in mock professional concern. He reached up, running a thumb over Peter’s trembling lower lip.

"You’re making a lot of noise, Mr. Parker," MJ murmured, his voice a deep, vibrating rumble. "Are we feeling a little impatient, Sir?"

"It hurts—it's too much," Peter whimpered, his head tossing back and forth on the pillow, eyes shiny with desperate tears. "I need to... I need you, please, let me—"

"I told you that I’m going to take my time with you." MJ interrupted, his voice dropping into a stern, commanding tone. He went back down, his hand sliding underneath to continue his actions with a firm, steady pressure that made Peter let out a broken, high-pitched wail.

Peter was vibrating with need, his toes curling as he felt the pressure backing up, trapped and heavy. Every time he felt like he was about to break through, the ring kept him right on the edge, leaving him spiraling in a cycle of pure overstimulation.

"You're such a needy patient tonight, Sir," MJ teased against his skin, vibrating the words right into Peter's sensitive flesh. "I think you might need to stay in this ward for a long, long time."

MJ paused for a moment, letting the heavy, suffocating pressure of the ring do its work while Peter let out a high-pitched, broken whine. Then, MJ ran his tongue in a long, wet stripe from the base all the way to the top, savoring the way Peter’s entire body jolted against the mattress.

Before Peter could even catch his breath, MJ leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss right to the tip.

Peter whimpered, his head thrashing against the pillow, the toy cuffs rattling like crazy as he begged for a release that wasn't coming any time soon.

MJ pulled back. His chest heaving slightly as he looked down at the absolute wreck he’d made of Peter. The white heels clicked one last time as he stepped away from the bed, reaching down to unbuckle the straps.

"I think the nurse needs to get comfortable for the next stage of your treatment, Sir," MJ said, his voice husky. He kicked the stilettos aside and his hands moved to the back of the uniform, his fingers fumbling with the small buttons to peel the sheer fabric off his shoulders.

"No—please!" Peter whimpered, his voice cracking. He strained against the toy cuffs, the plastic biting into his wrists as he tried to sit up. "Don't take the dress off. Keep it on... please, Nurse Watson."

MJ paused, his hands still on the fabric. He looked back at Peter, seeing the way his eyes were wide and glazed, his body still trembling from the restricted pressure of the ring. Peter looked completely pathetic, begging from the mattress with his arms pinned above his head.

"You like the uniform that much, Mr. Parker?" MJ asked, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. He let the dress slide back into place, smoothing the white fabric over his broad chest.

"I—I do," Peter whined, his hips giving a small, involuntary twitch. "You look... it’s perfect. Just stay like that."

MJ chuckled, a deep sound that seemed to vibrate through the bedframe as he crawled back onto the mattress. He moved until he was looming directly over Peter, the sheer fabric of the dress brushing against Peter’s heated skin.

"Well, since you asked so nicely, Sir," MJ whispered, leaning down until their noses touched. "I suppose I can keep it on for the 'procedure.' But you better be prepared, because I’m not going to be gentle just because I’m in uniform."

MJ chuckled, the mattress dipping significantly as he crawled back onto the bed. But instead of facing Peter, he turned around, his back to the "patient." He moved with a deliberate, slow grace, hovering just over Peter’s lap.

The sight was enough to make Peter’s heart feel like it was going to burst out of his ribs. MJ’s broad, muscular back was a landscape, barely contained by the sheer white fabric of the nurse’s dress. MJ began to move, grinding on Peter.

"Nurse, I can't take this," Peter whimpered, his hands pulling fruitlessly against the pink fuzzy cuffs.

"Patience, Mr. Parker," MJ murmured over his shoulder, his voice a deep, rumbling purr. "We haven't even gotten to the good part."

Slowly, MJ reached back and lifted his dress slightly. He hiked it up inch by inch, revealing the tops of the white stockings and the intricate lace of the garter belts. As the fabric rose higher, it revealed a pair of matching white lace panties.

But it was what was centered right in the middle that made Peter’s jaw drop. Tucked perfectly behind the lace was the base of a plug, topped with a large, glittering pink heart-shaped diamond.

Peter’s brain officially short-circuited. The sparkle of the jewel against MJ’s skin, combined with the way MJ was rhythmically grinding his hips back against him, was too much.

"Do you like your gift, Sir?" MJ asked, looking back with a wicked, hooded gaze. He shifted his weight, making the heart-shaped diamond catch the light and shimmer. "I thought a little extra 'heart' might help your recovery."

"I... I’m gonna die," Peter whined, his entire body trembling as he watched the heart move with every one of MJ’s grinds.

MJ laughed, “We can’t have that, Sir,” He settled more firmly that had Peter wailing into his pillow. "You're doing so well, Mr. Parker. But we're just getting started."

MJ leaned back, putting more of his weight onto Peter’s lap, the pink heart-shaped diamond shimmering every time he moved his hips. "You’re staring, Mr. Parker," MJ teased, glancing back over his shoulder. The white nurse’s cap was slightly askew, making him look even more dangerously handsome. "Enjoying the view?"

Peter whimpered, his eyes fixed on the way MJ moved. He was panting now, his chest heaving as he strained against the toy cuffs. "Please, Nurse... I can’t breathe. It’s too much."

MJ didn't slow down immediately. He reached back, his hand cupping the glittering pink heart. With a slow, steady pull, he began to remove the plug. Peter’s breath hitched in a high, broken whine as he watched MJ’s muscles flex with the effort, the diamond catching the light one last time before MJ set it aside.

MJ turned around to face Peter, his knees framing Peter’s hips. He bunched the white fabric up around his waist, the garter belts and stockings creating a frame for his thighs. He guided Peter’s restricted, throbbing length—still trapped by the cockring—to his entrance and slowly, agonizingly, began to lower himself down.

The sensation was overwhelming. MJ let out a long, shaky breath, his hands trembling as they braced against Peter’s chest. He began to move at his own torturous pace, teasing, lifting himself up until they were barely connected before sinking back down just as slowly.

"Oh my god," Peter moaned, his hips instinctively bucking upward to meet the friction.

MJ stopped immediately. He lifted his hips entirely, Peter’s dick sliding out with a wet sound. MJ looked down at him with a stern, narrowed gaze.

"Do that again, and this ends here, Mr. Parker," MJ warned, his voice low and dangerous. "You can figure out yourself who will be taking care of you then. Is that what you want, Sir?"

"No! No, please," Peter wailed, his head thrashing against the pillow, the pink fuzzy cuffs rattling frantically. "I—I’ll stay still. I promise. Please come back."

MJ settled back down, resuming that slow, rhythmic grind. "But, MJ... it’s not enough. More... more please," Peter begged, his voice breaking into a high-pitched whine.

"Because you asked so nicely, Sir," MJ whispered.

Suddenly, MJ increased his pace with a heavy force. The white lace and garter belts blurred as he worked his hips, letting out a guttural moan as he fell forward onto Peter’s chest. He leaned up to capture Peter’s lips in a messy kiss. "So good," MJ breathed. "You feel so good, Sir."

MJ pulled back up, his spine arching as he reached down to jerk himself off in sync with the wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting.

"Not enough…" Peter whimpered. The toy cuffs were rattling louder and louder, the plastic straining until—snap.

Peter snapped the plastic chain like it was paper. He grabbed MJ’s waist and flipped their positions in one motion. MJ hit the mattress with a soft oof, his legs flying up. "Wha—!" MJ’s brows furrowed. "That’s disobedience, Mr. Parker!"

Peter slid in and out with a desperate rhythm, and the friction was the final straw for MJ. As Peter drove into him, MJ’s back arched and he came with a silent, breathless cry.

Peter slowed down but didn't finish. He hiked one of MJ’s legs over his shoulder and buried his face against MJ’s inner thigh, kissing and pulling at the stockings with his teeth. "Please let me take it off," Peter begged, looking up with watery eyes. "I’ve been so good... please."

"You’ve been a very, very bad patient, Mr. Parker. Why should I give you permission?"

Peter just ruts against his thigh, sobbing "please" over and over. Finally, MJ rasped, "Fine. Take it off."

The second the ring was off, Peter’s control snapped. He folded MJ nearly in half and slammed home. MJ let out a silent, wide-mouthed scream.

"P-Peter—stop—still sensitive—" MJ gasped, but Peter didn't hear him. He was lost in the sensation.

The room was filled with the sound of Peter’s ragged breathing and the steady, heavy rhythm of their bodies meeting. He was completely gone, his forehead pressed against MJ’s shoulder as he drove himself into his partner with a desperate, shaky intensity.

The overstimulation was finally breaking him. After being restrained for so long, the sheer physical sensation was overwhelming. Tears began to prick at the corners of Peter’s eyes and soon enough, he was actually crying—tears of pure relief and sensory overload streaming down his flushed face.

Peter pulled himself back, his forehead leaving MJ’s shoulder as he reached down to hook his hands firmly under MJ’s knee’s. He hiked MJ’s legs up even higher, spreading them wide as he delivered earth-shattering thrusts. With every powerful drive, Peter’s back and arms flexed under the dim light, his super-strength making every movement deep and absolute.

MJ’s head thrashed against the pillows, his eyes rolling back into his head. He let out a series of loud, unfiltered moans, his voice cracking as the sheer force of Peter’s desperation hit him.

"MJ... MJ, please," Peter sobbed, his voice a broken wreck. He had completely dropped the act, his need for his partner far outweighing the roleplay. He sounded desperate, his body finally processing the built-up tension. "I love you... I'm sorry— it's just so much—"

"It's okay, Pete. I’ve got you," MJ managed to gasp out, his own voice losing its authoritative edge. "Just let it all out."

Peter let out a long, high-pitched whine. He slowed down just enough to lower MJ’s legs, but as he leaned over, he found himself frustrated. He wanted to feel MJ’s skin, specifically his chest, but the heart-shaped cutout wasn't enough anymore. The fabric of the dress was in the way.

Despite having begged MJ to keep the outfit on only minutes ago, Peter reached down and gripped the neckline. With a sharp, sudden yank, he ripped the polyester dress right down the middle.

"Hey! Do you know how long it took me to put this dress on?" MJ managed to protest, though his voice was weak and airy.

Peter ignored him entirely. He buried his face in the valley of MJ’s pecs, groaning at the direct skin-to-skin contact. He began to mindlessly play with MJ’s nipples, rolling them between his fingers before lowering his head just enough to latch onto one with a sharp, needy bite.

MJ whimpered, his hips jerking up as Peter resumed the heavy pounding. The friction was relentless, and with one last, deep thrust, Peter went rigid. He let out a loud, broken sob as he finally came, his body shuddering with the force of it.

They collapsed into a tangled heap of sweat and torn white fabric. Peter buried his face in MJ’s chest, hiding his eyes as the last of his tears faded. He was still trembling, the occasional whimper vibrating against MJ's skin

MJ let out a long, shaky exhale, his hand coming up to stroke the back of Peter's messy hair. He felt completely drained, but as he looked down at Peter, a soft, genuine smile touched his lips.

"You—You are one hell of a patient, Sir," MJ whispered, his voice returning to that deep, affectionate tone.

Peter sniffled, shifting just enough to look up at MJ with big, glassy eyes. "Am I... am I cured, Nurse Watson?"

MJ chuckled, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to Peter’s nose. "For tonight, Mr. Parker. But I think you're going to need some very long-term observation."

Peter let out a tiny, contented sigh, closing his eyes as he drifted toward the best sleep he'd had in weeks. "I think I'm okay with that, Nurse."