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Peter bites.
It's not like, a conscious thing. He blames it on the spider, yes he calls it The Spider like he's Bruce Banner with The Hulk.
It's not the same thing, but sue him, things tend to stick.
After Peter sorta-kinda-not-really got his shit together, he and The Spider seemingly found common ground, or— webbing. Sure, Peter still dealt with overstimulation, but that could be managed with a few tweaks to E.V and a set of noise cancelling headphones that made his wallet weep. On occasion, Peter woke up to his apartment webbed, tucked away in a cocoon, but at least he was inside and still decent.
He stopped just sleeping in his boxers after the second time.
It was fine, manageable, even.
Until it… well, wasn't.
Weeks later, Peter's gums ached like they never did before. Inflamed and raw, a paralyzing sort of pain. It made it difficult eat, drink, hell — even just talk. Apparently criminals shit their pants when Spidey doesn't make his quips. It was almost funny enough to soothe the pain. Almost.
It took many hours of looking in the mirror, just as he was about to scrounge up the money for the dentist, for Peter to notice it. Them.
Fangs.
He had fangs now. Because of course he did.
They'd been slowly dropping, inch by inch, elongating enough that they peeked from behind his lips if Peter wasn't hyper aware of how he held his mouth. They were naturally, and annoyingly, sharp as hell. His healing factor got rid of cuts near immediately, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt when he bit his lip on reflex, only to draw blood.
But still, that was fine. Peachy. Cool. Peter could handle that.
Until he started biting Frank.
The first time it happened, it naturally happened at the worst moment possible.
Frank had him folded like a damn pretzel, soles by his ears as Frank took advantage of Peter's dexterity. Peter had been lost to the sensations; Frank's cock stretching him wide, massaging his slick, twitchy walls. Frank's voice above him, low and rumbly like a vintage motor: "You like that, Dollface? So pretty. Just for me, takin' me so well. Open those pretty lips, I wanna hear ya singin' for me."
And Peter did.
Breathy mewls, punched out moans when Frank hit the spot that made him see stars, Frank's name falling from his kiss-swollen lips like a sinner confessing their misdeeds in God's house. It only made Frank go deeper, harder, until there wasn't one part of Peter that didn't know the grace of skinship with Frank.
And then something shifted. Those fangs that'd been growing in agonizingly slow for the past few weeks suddenly gnashed at the same time Peter's cock kicked, painting his chest in ropes of white as Peter did, what could only be described as lunged, and buried those shiny new teeth in the meat of Frank's shoulder. Hard.
At the first taste of blood, Peter had never moaned so lewd, so loud, it could've put a pornstar to shame. It was as if pulled by some deep, buried instinct he didn't know he had. Hidden by webs and the sharp sound of New York City. Peter dug his teeth in deeper, until the flat of his tongue rolled over the unbitten skin.
Frank cursed, a large hand that was once holding his ankle in place now engulfed his nape, ripping his mouth from Frank as the older man stared down at him. Clearly pissed the fuck off.
"Peter," even though his voice dripped with malice, Frank's thrusts didn't stop. They faltered, slowed, as his body registered that it's now hurt. "What the fuck was that?!"
And maybe it was the way Peter mewled, or maybe it was his dewy eyes staring at Frank through the curtain of his eyelashes, pupils narrowed and cat-like, as he licked his bloody lips, tasted Frank, and oh so prettily whimpered, "Frank…" that made the older man's eyes go wide, his grip loosening as his body tightened, and then there was suddenly a burst of warmth filling Peter to the core, wet and sticky, as Frank growled, slumping over his body, sweaty and bloody and cursing Peter's name.
It was the first time Frank cummed inside him. Peter felt that was memorable to mention, too.
"Frank I'm so sorry!" Peter cried out for the nth time. Doe eyes helplessly drawn to the sizable bite mark on Frank's shoulder, it looked deep, it looked like it hurt.
Frank grunted, wincing slightly as antiseptics were applied. He'd need to bandage it too, to ensure it stayed clean from infection. Oh God, what if Peter produced venom too?! What if he's poisoned Frank because his mind was too goddamn horny to think straight—
"Peter, I already told you it's fine." Frank sighed, finishing up the last of the clean-up to move to the seat of the toilet. He stared at him, assessing, critical, perhaps even judging. It made Peter feel small, and he didn't miss the lack of fond endearments Frank usually gave so easily. It almost felt like they were back to being kind-of-not-really-coworkers again.
"I just want to know why." Frank said, his tone no less gruff than before. Peter wrung his hands uselessly at his side, the embarassed flush painting him a pretty pink deepening.
"I- I think it's a spider thing?"
"A spider thing," Frank echoed, crossing his arms. Silent demand for Peter to go on.
"I- well, uhm, I have fangs now. They've slowly been coming in. Hurt a lot too, but— fangs."
Frank's eyebrows draw together, less angry and more confused. Peter watches as those dark eyes fall to his lips, as if noticing the pointed tips playfully peeking out for the first time. "And what's that got to do with you biting me?"
Peter's eyes dart every which way. "W-well, some… spiders, they will bite their mate during reproducing. To make sure they don't go anywhere a-and… uhm, eat them?"
This time, Frank's eyebrows shoot to his hairline. "You tryna fuck me to death, kid?"
"No! It's just that— that you were fucking me really, really good—"
"Thanks."
"—And I just got, I don't know! Overwhelmed I guess? With my new senses I just, I can feel and hear every part of you. I can smell you too! All the time! You smell like tobacco and guns and musk and it— it drives me crazy! Not bad crazy but more like 'if I don't bounce on his dick right now I'll die' type of crazy! Pair that all together with The Spider hormones being difficult and new and I just…" Peter heaves, red from the tips of his ears to his neck. Frank is for once in his life, wearing an expression that could only be described as shocked. Eyes wide, mouth gaping, posture loose but not relaxed. Peter stumbles over himself, because his dignity went out the window the second used Frank as a chew toy.
"I just really wanted to bite you in that moment, so I did."
A silence stretches between them, thick and near suffocating. Peter shifts on his feet, suddenly feeling like he has taken too much from Frank. Fuck, he's wearing his shirt even now, his cum is still stuffed in his ass and slowly trailing down his inner thighs like raindrops on the car window. But Peter likes Frank, really likes Frank. And they've got this— thing going on that Peter doesn't want to lose. Can't lose. The Spider will win this time, and it'll be his own fucking fault, again.
He doesn't realize when the world becomes blurry, eyes glazed with his tears, until Frank is in front of him. Fore fingers guiding his chin up, their height difference isn't that big, but Frank has a way of making Peter feel small in the best of ways. Tall, confident, strong, just so Peter can feel tucked away and prized.
Frank's fingers ghost his skin, from chin to his lips, wiggling the pads between his lips to force Peter to open his mouth. Which, he obeys, after Frank sends him a pointed look.
"These definitely weren't here before," the older man mumbles, touching the smooth texture of his fangs. Frank's fingers taste like sweat, like the chili they ate earlier, like Peter. A whimper drags itself like a beaten dog from the back of his throat, high and needy. It makes something darken in Frank's eyes. His expedition continuing mercilessly, running along every ridge and bump from his flat teeth to the canines. Back to his gums, rubbing them, playing with his tongue until Peter's knees feel weak and his brain is dissolved web fluid. Sludge and goo.
Frank lays his fingers on the flat of Peter's tongue, and he glances up, curious and helpless to speak as shiny drool collects in his mouth, spills from the corner of his lips to the floor and over his bare feet.
"Bite." Frank instructs, voice thick with want.
The taste of blood has Peter's eyes rolling back into his skull.
From then on, Peter just… doesn't stop biting. There's not a single time they have sex where Frank doesn't come away looking like he's been mauled by a vicious pack of dogs, or a particularly feisty cat. The shame still lingers in Peter when the recesses of his mind pulls away for clarity to come back. But Frank seems to wear the marks with a sense of pride, admiration. Like he likes being claimed.
It makes Peter like claiming.
It extends to non-sexual activities. Peter can't lie, some of his favorite times with Frank just involve make out sessions. Crawling in Frank's lap and giving sloppy kisses that speak of his inexperience and Frank's experience, slicking their lips with spit and doing nothing more than a little heavy petting, rolling their clothed, strained erections together and trading sighs of pleasure in each other's mouth.
Frank tenses, as if expecting it when Peter dips his face into the crook of Frank's neck. Nosing along the flesh and sniffing his musky scent like crisp cocaine. It's only a matter of seconds before Peter's jaw drops, fangs glistening, and burrowing back into a previously healed mark, now reopened with the intent to heal and scar. A forever claim. Blood oozes lazily. Peter laps it up, savors it, peppers kitten licks for an apology that he's not really sorrowful for.
Frank's hands tighten on his hips. Pulling Peter down to grind his cock against Peter's, a husky groan slips, addled by a curse, naturally. "Fuck, sweetheart. Keep doin' that, markin' me up. You're a jealous little thing, aren't you?"
Peter can only moan, sink his teeth in again. Let Frank puppet his hips for the older man's pleasure as Peter took his with teeth, flesh, and blood.
They cum in their pants. Heaving, red. A string of drool dangles like a spider's delicate web from Peter's lips, and Frank's attention can't help but be caught in it. Rough pad of thumb swiping over his bottom lip, pupils blown while his are sharp.
Frank kisses him, sucks the taste of his blood from Peter's tongue and rolls his own over Peter's sharp teeth until it bleeds. Trading moans like whispered secrets under stars.
Okay. Peter will admit, maybe the biting turned out to be manageable in the end.