#seriously just make a new Spidey I’m so tired of dragging out him and MJ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forasecondtherewedwon · 5 years

Note

Some combination of 10 and 36 might be interesting.

Thanks to all of you for the requests!! There were a few overlaps with these numbers, so all four prompts have been incorporated into this fic. Enjoy!

Steers Looking at You, MJ

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle)Rating: E/NSFWWord count: 3120

10. “You’re really going to make me beg for it?”

30. “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

36. “If I have to pull over, you won’t be able to walk for the next week.”

50. “You have no idea how good you make me feel.”

“Hey,” Peter says, glancing sideways as his girlfriend grabs the driver’s seat at his shoulder. He looks forward again, watching the luminescent dividing line on the highway flash past in the dark. “I thought you’d sleep longer.”

She yawns and climbs into the passenger seat.

“I’ll catch up tomorrow night. Couldn’t sleep back there.”

“It isn’t Betty and Ned, right? They aren’t…” He clears his throat. “…making noises?”

MJ laughs, pulling her foot up to tuck her ankle beneath her other leg, getting comfortable.

“No, they’re out. So far, the RV is not a-rockin’.”

They sit in contented silence for a few minutes. Peter’s eyes flick once to the clock; 5:17am. They’ve been on the road (apart from rest stops) since midmorning yesterday. Having drawn the final driving shift, he’s not quite tired enough to view the whole ‘let’s make the trip in a day’ as a mistake. Of course, having MJ―the second driver―suddenly next to him does a lot to perk Peter up.

MJ leans forward to scrutinize the clock.

“You’ve been driving for… what? Two hours?”

“Almost. We crossed into Florida a little while ago.”

“Woohoo,” she says sleepily. “I guess that means we’ll have time to nap before we start our tourist stuff.”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t be so bossy about the itinerary,” MJ groans. She plucks his lukewarm coffee from the cup holder and takes a greedy sip. (The last rest stop, where Betty and Peter traded off driving duty, had a Starbucks―the modern traveler’s oasis.)

Slotting the cup back in place, she lays her warm hand on his thigh, giving it a gently petulant shove. When she goes to pull it away, Peter drops one hand from the wheel and tugs her fingers back.

“No. Stay.” This early, they’re well ahead of morning highway traffic.

She snorts a laugh and he catches her smirk in the corner of his eye.

“Ok, caveman. You might want to try to come across as more evolved when we get to Kennedy Space Center.” His girlfriend shifts in her seat, holding his leg for balance and continuing to smirk. “Unless you’re hoping to remind them of the old days of launching animals into space.”

Peter rolls his eyes and replaces his hand on the wheel. Better to be safe.

“Cute, but I’ve already been.”

Rolling her head lazily against the headrest, MJ shoots him a look. Accompanying it is a squeeze of her fingers on his thigh that, while probably innocent, makes Peter swallow with difficulty.

“And yet you continue to have such a hard-on for Cape Canaveral.”

He laughs weakly, easing his foot off the gas as he comes up on a slower vehicle. It makes MJ’s hand slide higher along the denim of his jeans and she lets her hand stay there as he accelerates again after changing lanes.

“A lot of history was made in that spot,” Peter says defensively. He licks his lower lip.

“Which is why,” she reminds him, leaning closer with her weight resting on his thigh, “we’re going on the earliest tour and we’re going to take lots of pictures.” MJ concludes her promise with a kiss on his cheek.

He’s smiling because of the anticipation and because of what’s happening right now, with her. But…

“You’re distracting me.”

“Because I’m touching your leg? The seat is also touching your leg. So are your jeans.”

Peter hasn’t experienced early-morning smartass MJ before and he’s finding her kinda adorable. In a sneaked look, he sees her yawn into the loose neck of her oversized sweatshirt. Did she sleep in it? He’s abruptly curious to know what it smells like, to pull her close and bury his head against her… No. He’s driving.

“That’s completely different.”

“You wanted me to keep my hand here,” MJ says, casually drumming her fingers high up his thigh.

He clears his throat, sensitive to each of her fingertips tapping.

“I think your hand was lower down when I said that.”

“See? You’re alert. Very aware of your surroundings.” She props her far elbow on her knee and leans her face on her fist, watching him slyly.

“Despite your hand.” Peter drops his gaze for a split-second to see if the way her fingers feel like they’re tracing towards his inner thigh is all in his mind. Uh, no. It’s not.

“Or because of it,” his girlfriend counters. “I’m providing external stimulus to help your Spidey senses concentrate. White noise,” she simplifies when he glances at her with raised eyebrows.

“You’re great at bullshitting for someone who’s only half awake.” He laughs, then chokes on it as her fingers run along the inner seam of the leg of his jeans. Automatically, Peter shifts to sit with his legs wider.

“Maybe I do my best thinking before six, you don’t know.”

She yawns again, so he doubts it, but what does seem to be true is that she’s her horniest before 6am. Not that he’s previously had a chance to find out. Peter operated as a superhero under May’s nose for ages, but his aunt can spot his attempts at an x-rated sleepover with his girlfriend from a mile away. This spring break, the girls are supposed to be sharing one hotel room while the boys take the other. Like that has a chance in hell of happening, especially with MJ starting the foreplay before sunrise. By the time they actually go to bed tonight… Shit. Peter runs an anxious hand through his hair. That’s a long time to wait.

“Is it really that distracting?” MJ asks seriously, probably misinterpreting his nervous tick.

“No, you just…” Peter laughs softly to himself. “You have no idea how good you make me feel.”

“Well,” she says, and her tone is completely dangerous because it tells him that he just made things way worse (and better) for himself, “if you think this feels good, I’m very interested to know how this―” Her hand leaps from his thigh to his crotch. “―feels.”

He was starting to get hard from the moment she laid a hand on him, looking like she’d just rolled out of bed (she had) and his fantasies. Now, he’s struggling not to squirm as her warm palm just rests there on top of his growing bulge. His hands go white-knuckled on the wheel. What makes Peter groan is when MJ reaches over with her other hand and rolls up the cuff of her sweatshirt, like she’s going to need it out of the way for some reason. And still, her hand doesn’t move, doesn’t grasp or stroke. TORTURE.

“That’s… it?” he asks, desperate to be wrong as he darts a glance at his girlfriend’s calm face.

“Tell me how it feels,” she encourages, cheek back on her fist as she assesses him.

“Good.”

“One adjective? Peter, you can do better than that.”

“Really good.”

MJ sighs. He notes a road sign (still a lot of road ahead of them, amazingly) and looks again at her expression. She’s totally messing with him and he suddenly gets what she wants.

“You’re really going to make me beg for it?”

She shrugs, careful not to move the hand covering his erection.

“I mean, it would keep me entertained. We could play ‘I spy’ instead, but I’m pretty sure you have better night vision. So, yes. Beg, Parker.”

“One thing in exchange?”

“I thought it was obvious what you were getting in exchange.”

“An extra thing? Because you love me?”

The weighty phrase is new for them and he wields it gleefully.

“Depends what it is,” she says evasively.

“It’s really simple,” Peter promises. “I just want you to take off your sweatshirt. Not knowing what’s underneath is way more distracting than your hand in my lap.”

“Are you sure you won’t be even more distracted if I do?”

He grins through MJ’s conjecturing, knowing she’ll agree without having to take his eyes off the road.

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

In the ultimate teasing move, she finally trails her fingers along his erection, but only while withdrawing her hand. Though he asked for this, the cruel tempting is all her. Again, Peter’s excited for tonight.

MJ tugs her sweatshirt over her head and drops it in her lap. In a quick glance, he sees that she’s in a camisole, braless beneath.

“Quit staring at my nipples,” she orders (he’s an open book to her, he knows). “This is what happens when you make me remove my outer layer.”

“I wasn’t,” Peter argues, laughing. He takes another look and when his gaze darts up, he meets MJ’s ominously determined expression.

“Allow me to redirect your attention.”

Her hand goes straight back to his dick and this time her fingers close around him (as much as they can through his jeans), her thumb rubbing firm strokes up and down. Peter grunts, which she’ll surely find very satisfactory.

“Now…” MJ slides into the narrow middle seat, dumping her sweatshirt in the space she vacated. She comes in close, dragging her nose lightly up the side of his face so that the hair on the back of his neck stands up. “Beg,” she whispers. Her fingers flex on his erection.

“Fuck,” he hisses. Maybe the air blasting out of the vents is too hot because Peter’s close to sweating. “Please, M, please.”

He adjusts his hands on the wheel, trying not to grip too hard and snap it by accident; then she’d never believe he wasn’t distracted. His girlfriend slips a finger under his fly and he feels her nail rasp along the zipper.

“Please what?”

Peter bangs his head back into the headrest with a burst of laughter that he quickly stifles. Ned and Betty are still sleeping and he wants (needs) them to get more rest for a purely selfish reason. He can’t help hitching his hips up a little into MJ’s hand. Startlingly, she squeezes his erection and he nearly chokes.

“Please undo my jeans.”

“Why?”

The tranquility of her voice is almost painful to him.

“So I can feel your hand on me,” Peter grits out.

Mercifully, MJ uses both hands to unbutton, then unzip him and he sighs loudly. After that, she does exactly nothing.

“MJ,” he whines, dick tenting his boxers.

“Mhmm?”

“I need your hand on me.”

“On you where?” He can hear her smug smile.

“In my pants.”

“Promise not to get distracted?” Her voice is an intoxicating sleepy singsong, but Peter feels more alert than ever.

“It’s so unfair that I’m driving right now.”

“I was just trying to keep you company,” she explains, sneaking her hand suddenly beneath the hem of his t-shirt, flat to his abdomen. He clenches his teeth to suppress the urge to guide her hand lower.

This is his cue to turn on cruise control so that maintaining the RV’s speed is one less thing to worry about.

“Please,” he manages, “just keep… keep doing stuff. It’s driving me nuts that I can’t do anything to you.” He glances swiftly at the poke of her nipples through the fabric and MJ, obviously aware, quickly tugs down her camisole to flash him her breasts. “Oh FUCK,” Peter just about shouts, really restless in his seat now.

“Pull over if you can’t handle it,” his girlfriend mockingly suggests. She knows how devoted he is to keeping them on schedule.

“If I have to pull over,” Peter warns, “you won’t be able to walk for the next week.”

“Hmm, better not then. We have too much ground to cover before we drive back to New York for me to be laid up like that.”

“Oh, you’ll be getting laid up all night,” he nonsensically assures her, itching for her caress and practically melting into the seat when MJ dips her fingers under the band of his boxers.

“Don’t drive us into the ditch, ‘k?”

When Peter looks, she’s regarding the road, though she clearly trusts him not to put them in danger. His girlfriend can be surprising, but she isn’t reckless. They have about an hour and a half until sunrise and he’s told MJ before about the dark being easier for him to see in. Right now, he almost wishes they’d had a discussion about a different kind of overstimulation. Specifically, Peter’s absolute lack of discipline whenever she touches him.

Her hand creeps in farther and, too soon for him to process, closes around his rigid dick.

“Can I suggest… breathing?”

“Right,” Peter says, gasping.

“That’s better. Now watch the road, Parker.”

He wants to argue that he is watching the road, hasn’t taken his eyes off of it since she snuck her hand into his underwear, but speech isn’t a priority. Driving. Driving and breathing. These are the only things he needs to do. MJ will take care of the rest. Take care of… Peter tucks his chin and drops his gaze to his lap for a second, just for a glimpse of the lump of her hand in the front of his plaid boxers. Ok, so that doesn’t help his concentration. He inhales shakily and stares ahead at the highway again.

MJ leans lightly into his side, not enough to impede his steering, and, presumably, gets her arm into a comfortable position. Which Peter is all for; her being comfortable equals no interruptions for changing positions or shaking out a cramped hand or stiff elbow.

She starts off slowly. The way her careful fingers feel him out reminds him of the first time they ever did this, under a blanket on his couch while watching a movie he can’t recall right now. Peter shivers when she curls her hand under, fingertips skimming his balls. Her palm’s a little damp and there’s no chafing as she moves leisurely across his thin skin. Jesus. Breathing heavily, he reaches over to the temperature controls and eases back on the heat and the fan. It might not be that making them sweat though. Or it is, but it’s also the thought of Ned and Betty sleeping nearby. The awareness that the gradually increasing number of cars passing them in the other direction might be able to see Peter and MJ’s faces when the sky lightens, but not their laps. Not what his girlfriend’s doing with her hand.

After a dozen unhurried strokes up and down his length, she cups the head of his cock and wiggles her palm around, spreading his wetness. Peter groans deeply and, feeling MJ’s gaze on his face, mumbles, “Please.”

With a smirk he catches from the corner of his eye, she slides her hand along his shaft. Her palm’s passage is slicker now and Peter does a hiccup of a thrust on instinct. MJ returns to his head, then again after a brief caress, thoroughly lubricating his dick and her hand. It feels so smooth, her hand so incredibly warm and (despite her making fun of him for the plain language) good that he starts pumping through her fist.

He’s attempting to be as restrained as she was, but when he fails―face flushing hot after his hips almost leave the seat trying to chase down the ring of her fingers―she doesn’t tease him. She speeds up.

Now Peter’s talking in a low-level moan, babbling noises like ice cracking on a frozen river (he’s happy they’re spending their break in Florida because spring’s taking its time coming to New York this year).

“Shhh,” MJ soothes, but she doesn’t change pace and he knows she wants to hear everything that’s coming out of his mouth. It’s what she asked for.

Her face tilts towards him and she places a fluttering series of kisses on his neck that really cause Peter to lose his shit. Tightening her fist, MJ makes each stroke more deliberate, doing her best to keep her movements measured with him thrusting irregularly, end in sight. Like the rest stop and lookout point advertised on the sign they just passed. Yeah, he might need to pull off after this. Feel some fresh air on his face.

His girlfriend traces her nose up the side of his neck and licks a ticklish spot behind his ear.

“Beg,” she murmurs.

“MJ, please,” Peter pants.

She gives him a firm downward stroke and stuffs her hand deeper into his boxers to massage his balls.

“I’ve got the wheel,” MJ says at the last second.

He feels her free hand clamp next to his on the steering wheel and Peter closes his eyes as his orgasm surges through him, dick rubbing against the inside of MJ’s forearm. He rocks against her until the pleasure grows less sharp. When he opens his eyes blearily, the first thing he sees is her arm stretched across, competently holding the wheel.

“Forgot about that part,” he admits hoarsely, wiping a hand over his face. “Guess I did get distracted for a second.”

She shrugs, unconcerned.

“I took care of it.”

“I know. I got it now,” he assures her and she drops her hand, gently extracting the other from his boxers.

They’re a mess and he’s going to have to change before the others see him. Peter signals at the exit lane to the rest stop and they pull off the highway, parking in the lot with the other large vehicles.

MJ climbs out first, throwing her sweatshirt back on and promising hot drinks from the coffee place on the other side of the gas station. Meanwhile, he darts into their shared bedroom and riffles through his clothes for a fresh pair of boxers.

When he thumps down onto the asphalt, stretching his back, she’s already approaching, a takeaway cup in each hand. They wait for a minute, sipping their coffees before the liquid’s really cool enough, in case Ned and Betty wake up. When the other couple doesn’t make an appearance, Peter and MJ tangle their hands together and wander over to the lookout, breathing deeply.

“Better keep going,” he says after a few minutes, and they turn back.

Peter tries to get back in the driver’s seat, but his girlfriend refuses. Although he protests that she already took her turn driving, she just glares until he slides across to the passenger seat. Of course, that’s when someone wakes up.

“DID WE STOP?” Betty calls groggily from the back bedroom.

“PETER WAS TIRED,” MJ shouts back, shooting him a teasing smile. “YOU CAN SLEEP FOR ANOTHER HOUR, BETTY.”

When she yawns, both Peter and MJ relax again, buckling their seatbelts for the final leg of the journey south. She shoves her sleeves up her arms.

“Just don’t try anything,” his girlfriend warns as she turns the key in the ignition.

Peter smiles guiltlessly back, letting his hand fall on her thigh.

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